Glenlyon Star System had won its last war on a shoestring, which had convinced many that any lack of preparation for defense could be overcome by last-minute improvising. That was looking less and less like a viable way of doing business, but at the moment it was all Glenlyon had.
Which was why what amounted to a hastily organized council of war had gathered in the most secure room in the Glenlyon government office complex. Even Ninja had grudgingly admitted to Rob Geary that the room was “a little difficult” to penetrate with any possible surveillance method.
Rob sat next to Mele Darcy, she wearing the new scarlet Marine working outfit that contrasted sharply with the deep blue of Rob’s fleet uniform and the dark green of Colonel Menziwa’s ground forces garb. Glenlyon still had nothing in the way of aerospace forces for defense of her airspace and near orbital locations, so no one in the traditional light blue aerospace uniform was present. Despite the age-old rivalry for funding and missions between fleet warships and aerospace defenses, Rob wished Glenlyon had invested in at least a squadron of warbirds to back up Saber’s defense of the planet.
The three in uniform faced a long table where the Emergency Defense Committee sat. Rob had a sense of déjà vu as he looked at them. Council President Chisholm still led the government, having ridden to reelection on the popularity that had come with the successful repulse of Scatha’s attacks three years ago. Council Member Kim beamed at the three officers with an outward show of support that Rob had learned the hard way didn’t mean any personal concern for them. Council Member Odom still watched the others suspiciously, on constant guard against militarism. And Council Member Leigh Camagan eyed everyone else, alert, not betraying her thoughts, but also Rob knew his staunchest ally in the government.
President Chisholm looked around as if having to count the seven occupants of the room to ensure all were present. “This room is locked down. All security protocols in effect. Colonel Menziwa, please give us your assessment of the situation.”
Menziwa pursed her lips as if still thinking through her statement, but when she began speaking her words were firm. “We cannot successfully defend this planet from invasion against the size of the forces arrayed against us. Our three options would be to either surrender before the enemy lands, engage the enemy as they land in a full-out battle that would result in my regiment being rapidly overwhelmed and forced to surrender, or disperse my forces into undeveloped areas and wage a protracted guerrilla war against the invaders in the hope of either other star systems eventually providing assistance or making the cost of the occupation too high for the invaders.” Menziwa paused. “If the government is willing, I would recommend also dispersing forces through the cities to force the invaders to confront urban threats and the damage that would inflict upon facilities they want intact. But I have to warn the government that such a course of action would greatly increase the risk of injuries and death among the citizens.”
The council members listened with grim expressions. “Which option do you think we should follow?” Chisholm asked in the manner of someone knowing she wouldn’t like the answer no matter what it was.
“Protracted guerrilla warfare, in the countryside and the cities,” Menziwa said as matter-of-factly as if proposing a parade.
Chisholm sighed. “Commander Geary?”
Rob tried to keep his own report just as professionally calm and detached. “If we are attacked with a force of two destroyers, there is a small but outside chance Saber might be able to repel the attack. If the enemy force includes three warships, which we believe is well within the capability of our opponents, our chances would be effectively zero. Against those kinds of odds we could harass the invaders or die trying to stop them, but we could not prevent an enemy force from bombarding this world and landing an invasion force.”
“What could you do?” Leigh Camagan asked.
“Harass them, try to inflict losses as they approach the planet, continue to strike at any available targets as long as fuel permits,” Rob said. “But we’d run low on fuel and face the choices of either surrender, of scuttling the ship to keep it out of enemy hands, or trying to fight our way through to a friendly or neutral star system where we could refuel.”
“What would you recommend?” Chisholm said in the same reluctant manner.
“Harass the enemy and wait for an opening. If they did something really stupid, we could exploit that. But we’d eventually have to try fighting our way to another star system after the enemy establishes control of the orbital facility and the cities on this world. I would not consider our chances of making it to another friendly star system to be very high.”
Odom shook his head. “You both say it’s hopeless, but you both recommend fighting. That’s irrational.”
“War is irrational, sir,” Colonel Menziwa replied. “I’m charged with defending this world, and I will do that to the best of my ability.”
Rob’s initial negative opinion of Menziwa improved considerably. “I concur,” he said.
“Captain Darcy,” Leigh Camagan said, “you’re a strategic thinker as well as a tactician. What is your recommendation?”
Menziwa spoke sharply. “Council Member, with all due respect, Darcy is not an equal member of this group.”
“She is the commander of our Marine forces,” Camagan said, her voice mild but somehow still carrying force. “I want her opinion.”
Rob’s worries that Mele would take that as a chance to speak a little too freely weren’t helped when Mele surreptitiously winked at him. But she kept her words as professionally cool as Rob had.
“I agree with Commander Geary and Colonel Menziwa,” Mele said. “Scatha and Apulu and their friends know what our situation is. As I discussed with Commander Geary, they want us to surrender everything intact. If they know we’re ready to fight, they’ll wait to see if our resolve crumbles over time as the blockade remains in effect. We want to project an image of ready to defend but wavering on whether to give in. That’s what will give us the most time to come up with better solutions than we now have available.”
Menziwa looked as if she were tasting something bitter, but nodded. “I concur.”
“How do we come up with better solutions?” Odom demanded.
“I can recruit more people into my ground forces,” Menziwa said. “And industrial output can be shifted to produce more equipment and weapons. Given time, I can expand our ground forces and reserve forces to the level that could defeat an invasion outright. We have the means to construct antiorbital weapons, particle beams and missiles, which can defend this planet against any ship that comes close enough.”
“Those weapons could be bombarded from outside orbit, though,” Leigh Camagan noted. “We need warships in addition to the planetary defenses.”
“Can we construct more warships?” Kim asked Rob.
Rob shook his head. “We don’t have sufficient capacity. If we gave over the orbital shipyard to doing nothing else, it would take more than a year to turn out a couple more destroyers. But that kind of activity is easy to spot and keep track of. We’ve seen occasional visits from ships that pop out from a jump point, take a look around, and jump out again hours before we even know they’ve arrived. That sort of thing could easily tell when our ships were close to being ready and hit us then before we could actually use them. That would give the enemy two almost completed new warships.”
“What can we do?” Chisholm asked.
“We need external assistance,” Rob said. “Either forces from other star systems to come to our aid or else new units acquired from Old Earth or the Old Colonies. But both of those things require someone with sufficient authority getting through the blockade.”
A long pause followed his statement, most of the council members looking at the desk as if answers lay scrawled on its surface.
“All right,” Leigh Camagan finally said. “I’ll go. As long as the council gives me the authority to reach temporary agreements with other star systems, and if necessary to purchase warships declared surplus by Old Earth or the Old Colonies. We still have the freighter Bruce Monroe in orbit. There are vital items we need from outside this star system. We can send the Bruce Monroe supposedly for that purpose, pay the extortionate demands to get through the blockade, and get the help we need.”
“That’ll be dangerous,” Odom objected. “If you’re identified, I can’t imagine their letting you pass freely.”
Leigh Camagan shrugged. “We’re already asking many other men and women to risk their lives for Glenlyon.”
“The council intends continuing to resist the demands on Glenlyon?” Colonel Menziwa asked. “Do I understand that correctly?”
Council President Chisholm nodded. “Our ancestors fought many a battle against terrible odds, Colonel. I suppose we haven’t learned much. We’ll do the same.”
“Our ancestors lost a lot of those battles,” Odom pointed out.
“They were still worth fighting. We won’t give up our freedom out of fear.” Chisholm looked around the room again. “We’re in agreement, then? Is there anything else?”
Rob nodded. “The Bruce Monroe brought back survivors from the Claymore. About half the crew, many of them injured. Their status has sort of been in limbo. I would like the council’s assurance that all of those men and women are still under contract as part of the fleet’s forces, and that the costs of their medical treatment will be covered. If we’re going to get more ships, we’re going to need good people to crew them. If we set a good example of looking out for our people with the survivors of the Claymore, it will establish an important precedent.”
Kim frowned. “I regret having to bring this up, but all reports say that the Claymore was quickly destroyed without inflicting any damage on its attackers. Are those survivors really the sort of people we want crewing other ships?”
Rob made an effort to control his temper before replying. “The loss of Claymore was due to a senior leadership failure. There is no evidence that any of the crew failed in any aspect of their duties. Give them good leaders and they’ll fight well to avenge the loss of their friends and shipmates and to defend this star system.”
Menziwa shot Rob a sidelong glance as he waited for the council’s reply. He wondered how the colonel felt about his clearly blaming Claymore’s loss on a failure by the senior leaders.
“I move we approve Commander Geary’s proposal regarding the survivors of Claymore,” Leigh Camagan said.
No one objected, leaving Chisholm free to declare the meeting over.
As Menziwa stood to leave, she walked closer to Geary, eyeing him. “I wasn’t aware that the official investigation on the loss of Claymore had been completed,” she said in a low voice. “You might want to be careful about too quickly assigning blame.”
Rob nodded, but his words didn’t reflect agreement. “I appreciate your concern. Both the Commodore and the Captain of the Claymore were probably once good officers, but they’d been subjected for too long to a training and evaluation system that robbed them of the ability to think and act when they needed to. I’m going to change that system.”
“Are you? Take it all apart, discard tradition and the lessons of the past? You might want to be careful, Commander, when you start ripping out parts of a structure. Things you consider useless might turn out to be load-bearing walls, leading the ceiling to fall in and the floor to collapse, leaving you nothing to stand on.” Menziwa nodded to him once in farewell before turning and walking over to speak with Council President Chisholm.
“I have to give her credit,” Mele commented. “That was a pretty cool metaphor.”
“Do you agree with the colonel?” Rob asked.
“Oh, hell, no. This is the way it’s always been done is the stupidest reason possible for doing things a certain way.” Mele stopped speaking as Leigh Camagan joined them.
“Thank you,” Camagan said to them both. “Rob, I’m going to need some false travel identification documents so good that nothing and no one can see through them. Do you think Ninja would assist with that? Or is she still extremely angry with me?”
“Ninja wasn’t that angry with you,” Rob protested.
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that my door access codes have been changing randomly for the last few days,” Leigh Camagan said dryly. “No one can identify the problem.”
“I’ll talk to Ninja.”
“Council Member?” Mele said. “Do I need the council’s approval for the name of the Marine barracks?”
“There’s a Marine barracks?” Leigh Camagan asked.
“That’s what I’m calling the area in the orbital facility leased for my people’s accommodations,” Mele explained. “I want to call it Duncan Barracks after Sergeant Grant Duncan.”
“Who died while serving with Squall,” Leigh Camagan said.
Rob couldn’t help smiling at her. Three years had passed, but Camagan still remembered the names of those who had died in the battles then. His smile faded as he wondered if there would be so many dead in future battles that no one could recall all the names.
“I’m sure the council will approve,” Camagan told Mele. “Go ahead. Take care of the star system while I’m gone, you two.”
“How soon are you leaving?” Rob asked.
“As quickly as possible. I want to be on my way before any word of what’s going on might be able to leak to our opponents.”
“You’ll be heading for Kosatka first?”
“Yes. It’s along the way to almost every other place and the closest possible source of help for us.”
“Do you think Kosatka will have anything to spare for us?” Mele asked. “They must have heard about what happened at Jatayu by now, but we haven’t heard anything.”
“I think,” Leigh Camagan said, “that Kosatka and Glenlyon are both facing dangers that demand all we can manage. But even if we can’t do anything else for each other, standing back-to-back together might help both star systems with the knowledge that we’re not alone in our fight. And maybe seeing Kosatka and Glenlyon working together to defend each other will inspire others to come to our aid. I’m hoping that the pressure on us means that Kosatka is facing less trouble at the moment.”
Rob saw Mele shake her head.
“If Scatha and its pals are smart,” Mele said, “and they’ve been way too smart lately, they’ll know we can’t do much after losing Claymore. They might decide to hit Kosatka harder while we’re unable to do anything.”
“That makes way too much sense,” Rob said, glancing toward the other council members as an idea came to him. “Leigh, this might be the time to do something that could be either really smart or really stupid. I’ll need council approval to do it, but it might help ensure you make it through to Kosatka. And if Kosatka is under more pressure, it might help them, too.”
“I’m in,” Mele announced. “You had me at really smart or really stupid.”
“Let’s see if we can get President Chisholm to sign off on whatever your idea is, Rob,” Leigh Camagan said. “For me, I trust your instincts. And Kosatka may need our help as badly as we need them.”
* * *
Of the three cities so far constructed on Kosatka, Ani remained a shiny ghost town and battlefield, Drava had about two-thirds of its buildings occupied and the atmosphere of a place under siege, and the capital and original city Lodz was full of people, bustling with everyday life and commerce, only additional security checkpoints here and there hinting at the problems so far mostly kept far enough away to allow a feel of normality.
The intelligence offices occupied several rooms in a boxy structure once intended for record-keeping. Design features meant to keep out anything that might damage files also worked to keep in classified information. Those who came to Kosatka hadn’t been eager to establish a formal means of spying on others, having seen too much of that sort of thing on Old Earth. Now that the need for that was as obvious as the fighting around Ani, Kosatka was still reluctant to create a permanent institution. So instead of a formal organization, the intelligence offices had been grouped under what someone had thought was the innocuous name Section Eight.
“Why does saying Section Eight always make you smile?” provisional intelligence chief Loren Yeresh asked Carmen Ochoa.
“It’s just an old joke from Earth,” Carmen told him. “One of the largest militaries there also used the term. What is it you need?”
“One of our remote pickups in a rebel-held area intercepted this,” Loren told her, bringing up an image on his display. Instead of words, stylized symbols appeared. “I assume it’s a message, but it looks more like pictograms than words. None of our gear can make sense of it. Can you?”
She felt a shock of recognition that brought a lot of unpleasant memories with it. “Yes. This is an old gang code,” Carmen said. “The Tharks. They control a lot of territory around Tharsis on Mars.”
“Our enemies are still hiring Reds, then,” Loren said.
“A lot of people will do almost anything to get off Mars,” Carmen reminded her superior officer. “These Reds are being paid to get to go somewhere else. We could recruit our own,” she added, not able to remember how many times she had made that recommendation.
And once again Loren Yeresh shook his head. “Carmen, no one trusts them. I agree that’s stupid when we’ve got you as an example, but people don’t look at you and see a Red.”
“Maybe they should. We need fighters.”
“I’ll pass your recommendation up the chain again. What’s the message say?”
“I don’t know all the code,” Carmen said, tapping a semicircular symbol with a short vertical line drawn inside. “That’s a cent. It can mean one or one hundred. And this next one . . . that’s like the beggar code symbol for full so I think it means the cent stands for one hundred. The mark is usually used for money but . . .”
“That next symbol looks like a gun. This is about an arms shipment?”
“No,” Carmen said. “The gun represents a person. A man or a woman who is a gang fighter. That’s how a lot of things are done on Mars. People are only worth what they can do or what their work is so they get represented by symbols showing whatever that is.”
“Really?” Loren asked, studying the symbols. “What sort of symbol represented you on Mars?”
“None of your damned business.” Carmen took a deep breath. “So, one hundred men and women, fighters. This here, that large, tall triangle with smaller triangles attached to the bottom on either side, represents a spaceship. But it’s got a heavy line under it, so the ship is landed, which means a spaceport.”
“What’s the horse mean?” Loren asked.
It did look like a horse, the stick figure drawn with the legs straight up and down as if the animal were standing stock-still. Carmen didn’t have to guess what that meant. “It means a trick. Like a Trojan Horse. That’s where it comes from.”
The pieces lined up in her head. “This says they’re going to hit our main spaceport with a sneak attack.”
Loren stared at her. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what it looks like! Maybe some shipment along the rail line into the spaceport, maybe inside some trucks.”
She waited as Loren Yeresh called up schedules, flipping rapidly through screens on his pad. “Because of the sabotage to the rail line from Drava, there aren’t any freight trains due in today. But there’s also the mass transit line that goes past the spaceport and has a stop there. I’ll notify the security office—”
“Wait.” Carmen pointed to another symbol she had recognized. “See that? A circle with short lines radiating out from it? That’s a crater.”
“A crater? How does that—”
“A crater represents a threat from above, because something falls and makes a crater. Maybe the threat is someone high-ranking who’s out for you, or maybe it’s a physical threat, like a bomb or an aerospace craft. But it means something dangerous coming from above.”
“Coming from above. At the spaceport.” Loren flipped through more screens. “There are the usual shuttle runs between here and the orbital facility. I’ll notify security up there.” He paused, thinking. “Trojan Horse. That literally was a big, fake horse, right? So nobody would expect it to hold people.” Loren checked his pad again. “There are also a couple of cargo drops due in. One hundred people. Size . . . size . . . yeah, cargo containers that size could carry that many, and there’s nothing unusual about cargo containers being pressurized to protect the contents. One of the drops is today.”
“What freighter is dropping it?” Carmen asked as she tapped her pad to call up the data. “The Terrance Griep. Supposedly out of Brahma. Arrived here via the jump point from Kappa. Why would a freighter from Brahma have come here from Kappa?” Kappa was a red dwarf, smaller and dimmer and cooler than stars like Kosatka, with a bevy of cold, lifeless worlds circling it. With far better worlds available elsewhere, no one had settled at Kappa, but a few months ago Apulu had claimed ownership of it. Since there was no one with the means and the desire to dispute that claim, it hadn’t yet been challenged.
Loren leaned over her shoulder to look. “He could have come to Kappa from Catalan. That’s what he reported as his last stop.”
“He also could have come from Hesta,” Carmen pointed out.
Her boss pulled up more data. “Shark is handling patrol duties while Piranha is getting some repair work done. The Terrance Griep showed up while Shark was running down another freighter that had jumped in from Jatayu.”
“That was convenient.”
“Yeah. It kept Shark from doing any physical search of the Griep before the freighter reached this world. Maybe this job is making me paranoid, but right now I really wish I knew exactly what was in that cargo container that is due to drop in about an hour.”
“I think we already know what’s in it,” Carmen said.
He hesitated. “If we’re wrong . . . hell, I’ll call in an alert,” Loren decided. “That’s what we’re here for, right?”
“Supposedly. Look, we only learned of this because I was working here and I’m a Red,” Carmen said. “We need to hire more. There are good people trapped on the hellhole called Mars. Give them an option to escape Mars and help ourselves at the same time.”
Loren Yeresh paused long enough to nod to her, his expression serious. “I promise you that I will make that case in the strongest possible terms. You get to the main spaceport fast. I want you there when that drop comes down. Try to get us some live prisoners. The more proof we can get that these ‘rebels’ are being recruited by other star systems, the better our chances of getting help against them.”
“I’m on my way.” Carmen jumped up and ran out, pausing only to grab her rifle as she went.
It felt odd to hop into an automated public transit vehicle en route to a fight, but it was the quickest way to get there. The other passengers gave wary looks to Carmen, in her camos and resting the butt of her rifle on the floor of the vehicle. The main city still hadn’t seen much violence from the “rebels,” so Carmen seemed out of place.
By the time she reached the spaceport the scheduled cargo drop was only fifteen minutes away. Carmen saw soldiers and public security officers streaming toward the port as she dialed in access to the spaceport’s official system to identify the drop pad the cargo would land at.
“Pad Six,” a security officer called out as she raced by. Carmen joined her, another security officer dropping in alongside. Both carried sidearms in addition to the nonlethal shockers that used to be the sole armament of public security officers.
Carmen spotted a low shed that offered an overlook of Pad Six and veered off toward it as a squad of militia volunteers added their numbers to those of the public security officers. Hauling herself up on top of the shed, which proved to be a cover for equipment monitoring the cargo pads, Carmen lay down on the roof before looking upward.
There it was, a spark of light against the blue sky as thrusters fired to slow the descent of the cargo lifter and the container nestled under it.
Her comm beeped. “All personnel in the vicinity of the spaceport, switch to command frequency two.”
Carmen made the switch as another announcement boomed across the spaceport’s public announcing system. “All non– security personnel clear the spaceport immediately. Evacuate toward the terminal and out onto the plaza, then wait for instructions. Mass transit, road, and rail access to the spaceport has been temporarily suspended. Repeat, all non– security personnel must leave the spaceport immediately and gather on the plaza outside the entrance to the main terminal.”
A lot of people were being inconvenienced, Carmen thought. If she’d made a mistake in interpreting that Thark gang code, those people were going to very unhappy with her.
She readied herself, staying prone as she loaded her rifle and sighted toward the pad, making sure the scope was set to start recording data and automatically relaying it back to where Loren Yeresh waited to forward the information to whoever needed it.
Another order came over the command circuit, the speaker sounding breathless with either excitement or worry. “All personnel hold fire until order is given. Repeat, do not shoot until order is given.”
The cargo lifter came down in a flurry of dust devils, dropping nearly vertically on final to Pad Six. The last stage of the descent was slow, coming in gently. The cargo container, ten meters long, six meters wide, and three meters high, bore no external sign of being anything other than a routine drop.
It must be uncomfortable for those packed closely together inside, Carmen realized. But for a Red, brought up in the harsh living conditions that made Mars misery for all but the elite, it would be just one more thing to endure.
She really, really hoped none of the men and women inside that cargo container was anyone she had known back on Mars.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe it would be the next drop. Or maybe she’d misread that gang code.
The lifter grounded.
Automated loading equipment began rolling toward the cargo container, the usual human supervisor nowhere to be seen. Would that tip off the possible occupants of the container?
The pressure seals popped, and the front of the cargo container dropped, not in the usual deliberate manner but in a sudden fall.
“Fire!” came across the command circuit.
Carmen’s sights were on a man carrying a rifle who was in the front rank of those dashing out of the cargo container. He wore lightweight armor, the sort of thing more suited to police patrols than combat action.
She centered her sights on the man’s chest and fired, deliberately avoiding looking at the man’s face.
A barrage of fire erupted from a dozen points facing the cargo container, riddling the front ranks of the raiders. The falling bodies in front tripped up and hindered those behind, slowing them and making them easier targets for the defenders.
Carmen fired again, her scope recording the action. She could see the attackers shouting as they tried to get out of the container, struggling amid their fallen comrades blocking the way, screaming as they were hit, falling and bleeding.
She had to look away as the defenders’ fire continued to rake the front of the container.
Cease fire. Please. Cease fire. They’ve been stopped. We’re slaughtering them.
Realizing that she had to act, Carmen punched her comm. “Request cease-fire! I need prisoners! Live prisoners!”
Did her message jar someone out of a frenzy of killing? “Cease fire!” the command came.
How many were left? Carmen saw a dozen men and women stumbling out of the cargo container, their empty hands held up. Some of those lying in heaps near the front of the container were probably still alive. But at least half were surely dead.
“Thanks, Carmen,” Yeresh said over her comm. “Great job. They could have done a lot of damage and killed a lot of people hitting the spaceport by surprise like that. Thanks to you, they never had a chance.”
She looked at the bodies lying in front of the cargo container. “Yeah. Great job.” Carmen dropped down off the shed and began walking toward the prisoners, her rifle held across her body. The prisoners were on their knees now, arms raised, nervous soldiers and public safety officers holding weapons still aimed at them.
Carmen paused to look at the tattoos on the arm of one of the male prisoners. “Tharks,” she confirmed. “This one’s a jed, a high-ranking member of the gang. Keep him separate.”
The prisoners watched her, their eyes still stunned from the disaster that had befallen their planned attack. “Hey,” one woman called out to Carmen. “You Hellas? ValMar? We deal.”
Carmen shook her head. “Not Hellas or ValMar. If you talk, we’ll deal. No talk, no deal.”
“Wherefrom?”
“Shandakar.”
“Shanda?” The survivors exchanged glances in which distress warred with the shock at the slaughter of their comrades.
“What’s their problem?” a security officer asked Carmen.
“Shandakar is where the wimps on Mars supposedly come from,” Carmen said. “They’re embarrassed at losing to a Shanda.”
“Reds are crazy,” the officer said. “Except for you.”
“No, I’m crazy, too,” Carmen said. “Let’s get all of these prisoners in restraints. I don’t want to lose any more.”
“What about the freighter that dropped them? They must have known about this. There’s no way these people were hidden in that container all the way from Catalan.”
“I doubt that freighter ever went to Catalan,” Carmen said. “We’ll see what his navigation files say when Shark intercepts him.” High above the planet, the destroyer Shark swooped down toward her prey, looking very much like her namesake on the prowl in the waters of the far-distant world of Earth. Shark had originally been built by the Old Colony of Franklin, using the same plans as those for the Founders Class destroyers of Earth Fleet, and spent over a decade as the Bonhomme Richard. Two and a half years ago, after being declared surplus, Franklin had sold her to Kosatka, which hadn’t been sure who that guy Richard had been and decided that Shark made a better name. She wasn’t the newest warship in space by any measure, but out here Shark was still a force to be reckoned with.
Especially when Shark’s target was a lumbering, boxy merchant freighter.
“Merchant ship Terrance Griep, your ship off-loaded a cargo container full of enemy combatants. Stand by to receive a boarding party,” Shark’s commanding officer Commander Pyotr Derian broadcast. Trying to keep ships from smuggling combatants and weaponry down to the surface wasn’t the most exciting job for a warship, but it beat boring holes through endless space while hoping for something interesting to happen. He turned his head to speak to the operations watch stander on the bridge. “Initiate final intercept maneuver.”
“Initiating final intercept maneuver,” the watch stander repeated before activating the command.
“How did they think they’d get away?” Shark’s weapons officer wondered.
“They probably hoped we’d be patrolling a long ways off,” Derian guessed, “and that in the confusion after the attack on the spaceport they could get far enough to reach a jump point before we caught them.”
The reply that came from the merchant ship was brief and belligerent. “We have committed no crime. We will not permit an illegal search.”
Shark’s captain smiled, but his answer held no humor. “This is not a search. Your ship is being seized for aiding an attack on the people of Kosatka. I repeat, prepare to receive a boarding party.”
Shark’s main propulsion fired to brake the ship’s velocity as the destroyer made its final approach on the freighter, her path curving inward to meet that of the other ship.
An urgent alert sounded, warnings appearing on the display before the captain. “He’s shooting at us?” Derian asked in amazement.
“The freighter has a grapeshot launcher mounted,” the weapons officer reported. “It was hidden, but we have the launcher site identified now. Our shields can take a lot more hits before they’d be in danger of failing.”
Being shot at certainly justified the use of force. “Use the pulse particle beams. I want that launcher fried.”
Pinpoint targeting in combat situations often wasn’t possible, but with the two ships so close and moving slowly relative to each other it was a simple task for the fire control systems. Shark trembled slightly as the streams of charged particles tore through space before slashing through part of the freighter and the grapeshot launcher.
“Launcher out of commission, Captain,” the weapons officer reported. “We’ve rescanned the freighter, looking for anomalies that might indicate other hidden weapons, and found nothing else. Which part of the freighter should we target next?”
Commander Derian frowned as he considered the question. Taking out the freighter’s propulsion would prevent it from accelerating any more but would force Shark to put across a towline and go through a long, tedious process of using her own propulsion to get the freighter to Kosatka’s orbital facility. There was also a real chance those shots could cause serious structural damage. On the other hand, destroying the control deck and other living areas would only require Shark’s engineers to install temporary controls to replace any destroyed. And the threat of shooting up the areas where the crew was located would more likely cause the freighter’s crew to back down.
Decided, Derian tapped his comm controls again. “Terrance Griep, cease maneuvering and stand by for a boarding party. If you do not comply, my next shots will be into your control deck and crew compartment.” He looked over at the weapons station. “Did you copy that?”
“Yes, sir. Targeting control deck and crew compartment.”
“Captain? The boarding party commander wants to know whether nonlethal shockers or lethal weaponry should be employed in case resistance is encountered?”
Derian almost tossed off a casual command to use lethal weaponry, pausing as he realized how easily that decision had come to him. Lethal weaponry. Just like that. A few years spent fighting an unpredictable and ruthless enemy had resulted in some uncomfortable changes in perspective. Adding nonlethal shockers to the boarding party armament wouldn’t add a significant burden, and would give them alternatives to killing. “Carry both,” the captain finally ordered. “Their orders are to employ shockers first. But lethal force is authorized if required by circumstances or if the freighter crew employs lethal weapons.”
Shark glided right next to the freighter, which was now behaving itself. Derian eyed the other ship with suspicion, though. “Make sure our maneuvering systems are set for automatic collision avoidance. If he tries to use his thrusters to bump us, I want us out of the way before he gets there.” On automatic, Shark’s thrusters should easily get the far more agile destroyer clear before the freighter could collide with her.
A secondary display lit up next to the captain’s seat, showing the boarding party in survival suits preparing to leap across the gap between ships toward the access hatch for the freighter crew compartment. Both ships were moving through space, but with their vectors matched it felt as if they were sitting absolutely still next to each other.
“They’re getting awfully bold, aren’t they?” the operations officer said, her voice worried. “What kind of idiot uses a single grapeshot launcher to attack a destroyer?”
“Yeah. Crazy for them to do that when it’s just them and us.” Derian paused, thinking. “I wonder what kind of backing they’re expecting to show up? Maybe that was part of their plan for getting away. Comms, get a message off to Piranha and the defense office. Tell them we might have some dangerous company coming.”
“Nothing specific, sir?” the comms watch asked. “Just a concern about dangerous company?”
Another alarm sounded on the captain’s display, this time accompanied by two red markers four light hours away at the jump point from Jatayu. Four hours ago, a pair of destroyers had jumped into this star system, the light from that event only now reaching ships near the inhabited world.
Neither destroyer was broadcasting any identification. That was both odd and threatening.
“Both new contacts are traveling at point zero four light speed,” operations reported. “It will take them one hundred hours to get here at that velocity.”
That changed things. Derian grimaced, unhappy at having his guess proven accurate so quickly. “Tell Piranha and the defense office that unknown destroyers have entered the star system and at current velocity will reach our position in a little more than four days. Request orders.”
This day had just gotten far too interesting.
He felt Shark’s thrusters fire before seeing the alert on his display.
“The freighter is firing full thrusters in an attempt to collide with us,” the operations officer reported. “We’re evading.”
“What’s the status of the boarding party?” Derian demanded.
“All still aboard. They were lining up to jump when the freighter started moving.”
“He jumped the gun,” the weapons officer remarked. “If that freighter had waited until our boarding party was moving, we’d have had to figure out how to recover them. What the hell is he trying to do?”
“Disable us with a low speed collision so we’d be easy pickings for those two destroyers, maybe. He’s not going to get a second chance,” Derian said. “Open fire on the freighter’s control deck and crew compartment. We’ll see how they like playing tag with particle beams and grapeshot.”
He’d tried to be humanitarian, and they’d forced him into killing all or most of them anyway.
“If those two destroyers are commanded by officers as zealous as whoever captained that freighter,” the operations officer said, “we’re going to have a nasty fight on our hands.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Derian said as he watched the freighter’s bridge and crew compartment dissolve under the fire from Shark. Fortunately, Piranha was not far off, docked at the orbital facility for some minor repair work. She could rejoin Shark in plenty of time to face those two newcomers at equal odds.
“Sir, we’ve got some odd readings from the freighter’s power core,” the engineering watch reported.
“He’s launched an escape pod,” the operations officer called out a moment later as the alert appeared on Derian’s display. “They must have been in it before the freighter began that last maneuver. It was all on automatic.”
The Terrance Griep, still sliding toward Shark, was now angling beneath the destroyer as Shark continued to climb to avoid a collision.
“They launched that escape pod at maximum boost, but they can’t outrun us even with that,” Derian said. “What the hell are they trying?”
“Captain, the readings from the freighter’s power core indicate it’s becoming unstable!”
He got it then. He understood the entire plan. The only question left was whether he still had a chance to frustrate it.
Derian had spent years learning to follow proper procedures, but had also served under a commanding officer who had introduced him to the dangerous idea that sometimes proper procedures weren’t the answer.
Instead of following proper procedures now, calling out a propulsion order for the watch stander to confirm and carry out, Derian hit the command on his display for propulsion, running the power level up to full.
Shark jerked as her main propulsion cut in at full power, shoving the ship ahead and away from the freighter. Members of the crew grabbed for handholds, crying out in surprise, as Derian punched the control for the ship’s general announcing system. “All hands in survival suits! Brace for—!”
The Terrance Griep exploded as its power core overloaded. This close, Shark’s sensors only had time to begin sounding an alarm before the shock wave of gases, heat, radiation, and debris hit the fleeing destroyer.
Hit from behind and below, Shark’s stern pitched up, her maneuvering systems firing to try to prevent the ship from going into an end-over-end tumble through space.
“Main propulsion is off-line,” the engineering watch stander on the bridge reported in a shaky voice. “Serious damage aft. Engineering is not responding to requests for their status.”
“How’s the power core?” Derian asked, before getting a partial answer as the lighting went off, replaced with the dimmer glow of emergency lanterns.
“Checking, sir . . . our power core just carried out an automated emergency shutdown due to damage.”
He couldn’t afford to let anger overwhelm him, Derian told himself. “Do we still have comms?”
“Yes, sir. Primary comm system is rebooting, but the secondary is online and running on backup power.”
“Send a message that we’ve lost main propulsion and sustained other damage to engineering. Casualty count unknown. A full update will follow as we assess damage and get more details. Ensure that Piranha knows about the escape pod that left the freighter. Maybe they can catch it.”
“They set us up,” the operations officer said, angry and ashamed in equal measures. “The raid on the spaceport, the freighter that was intended to take us out, and those two destroyers arriving from Jatayu.”
A backup display appeared next to Derian’s seat. He saw the red markers on it showing where Shark had taken damage. It could have been worse. If he hadn’t ordered full acceleration, Shark would have taken the full force of the freighter’s death throes.
But that was small comfort at the moment. The enemy had been two steps ahead of them at every point.
“The orbital facility reports that it’s sending a tug to intercept us and help us get back for repairs,” the comm watch said. “The escape pod from the freighter is heading down toward the planet. Best estimate is a landing site near Ani.”
“Can Piranha handle those two destroyers alone?” the operations officer wondered.
“I hope so,” Derian said, bitterness filling him. He’d saved his ship but otherwise failed.
It would be up to others to save Kosatka.