“Twenty minutes until arrival at Kosatka.”
Rob Geary waved one hand to acknowledge the report. He was doing his best to appear confident and relaxed, when in truth his stomach was clenched into a tight knot and his mind was filled with endless variations on possible disasters that Saber might encounter after leaving jump space.
It didn’t help that jump space itself was acting odd.
“There’s another one,” Lieutenant Cameron said.
“What the hell are they?” Ensign Reichert asked.
Rob watched the mysterious light bloom on his display where only the drab gray of jump space should be visible. Like the one seen the day before, the light flared in a sudden burst of brightness before quickly fading and disappearing.
“Nothing on it from our sensors, Captain,” Reichert reported. “Just the light itself. No heat, no other radiation, no indication of how close or far away it was. No detectable source.”
“Very well,” Rob said, which was what someone in charge on a ship said when they couldn’t think of anything else to say. He’d heard a few stories about inexplicable lights in jump space but had never seen any himself before this jump.
“After the one we saw yesterday, I checked the ship’s records on human experience in jump space,” Lieutenant Cameron offered. “The first jumps never encountered any lights. The initial reports of them later on were discounted as hallucinations or equipment malfunctions. But the number of sightings may be increasing. We don’t have enough data aboard to know whether that’s true.”
“Is it some kind of reaction to us?” Reichert wondered as she studied her display. “Jump space itself, I mean. Maybe when human ships pass through we cause something or trigger something. The more ships, the more it happens.”
“There’s nothing in jump space that could be reacting,” Cameron said. “Not as far as we can tell.”
Chief Petty Officer Quinton on the engineering watch station spoke up. “There are stories going around that the lights are something watching us. Or something that signifies good luck. Nobody seems to think the lights are dangerous or malevolent.”
“They don’t look or feel dangerous,” Reichert agreed.
“Let’s take it as a sign of good luck,” Rob said, aggravated by the conversation when he was worried about what would happen when they left jump space. “There’s nothing we can do about them. Everybody focus on their tasks. We don’t know what’ll be waiting for us at Kosatka.”
Silence fell on the bridge. Rob stared at his display, angry at himself. Great. He’d turned into THAT kind of commanding officer. Chewing out his crew for being human, and in this case for discussing matters that arguably were of professional importance. He could let it rest at that. Or not. The last thing he wanted was for his crew to be focusing their attention on the captain’s moods instead of on their jobs.
“By the way,” Rob added, trying to sound professionally casual and certain that wasn’t going over right, “that was an interesting discussion. I’d like to follow up on those lights when things settle down. Maybe on the way back to Glenlyon we’ll see more and get some better data.”
The bridge stayed quiet, but Rob could feel that the tension was once again aimed at what might await them rather than on him.
“Five minutes to Kosatka.”
Rob nodded toward his display. “Confirm status of weapons and shields.”
“Weapons are active, particle beam projectors powered, shields at maximum,” Ensign Reichert said.
“Captain, should we set weapons to engage targets upon exit from jump space?” Lieutenant Cameron asked.
“No,” Rob said. “The first ship we encounter might be one of Kosatka’s. We can’t risk firing on them. If we come under fire after exit, we’ll accelerate away from the engagement and figure out who we want to shoot at before we open fire.”
The timer on his display counted down the remaining time. At one minute, Rob used the ship’s general announcing system to speak to the crew. “We’re about to arrive at Kosatka. All hands brace for action.”
A brief alarm tone sounded as Saber dropped out of jump space and into normal space. Stars once more blazed amid infinite blackness outside the ship as Rob fought to regain his mental sharpness and clear the blurring in his eyes that kept him from reading what was on his display. At the moment, he’d much rather humans figured out how to avoid jump exit mental fog than whatever those lights were.
But the lack of alarms sounding was a good sign. As Rob finally blinked his eyes back into focus he saw ship markers updating as Saber’s systems automatically took in everything visible in the star system. The data was in some cases hours old, because light took that long to cross so much distance, but at least it told him where those ships had been. And those other vessels wouldn’t see the light announcing Saber’s arrival for hours, giving Rob a chance to decide what to do before acting.
At first glance, the picture was puzzling. One of Kosatka’s ships, Piranha, was broadcasting her identity from where she orbited about half a light hour out from the primary inhabited world. But the other destroyer that Kosatka had, Shark, was apparently docked with the planet’s sole orbital facility. Why, when a flotilla of ships not broadcasting any identifying data were heading toward that world after apparently having arrived at the jump point from Kappa?
“Why’s Shark sitting there close to their primary world?” Rob called out. “Have our sensors focus on it and give me a detailed image.”
That world, and Shark orbiting it, were about four light hours, or roughly four billion kilometers, from where Saber was. But space offered few obstacles to clear views of objects even many billions of kilometers distant. With the right multispectrum sensors picking up even the faintest images impinging on them, a fairly sharp image could be obtained. A four-hour-old sharp image, a picture of how things had been in that other place in the recent past, but still clear enough to see details.
“There’s work going on,” Lieutenant Cameron reported. “And damage visible on Shark. Most of it aft.”
“Main propulsion damage,” Chief Quinton said. “See that gear? They’re trying a full rebuild. Something trashed Shark’s main propulsion.”
“How long would that kind of repair take, Chief?” Rob asked.
“Depends on a lot of things, sir, but it couldn’t be anything less than a couple of weeks even with people working around the clock.”
“That’s why Piranha’s on her own facing those others. Who are they?” Rob asked of the watch standers.
“We’re not seeing anything to indicate where they’re from,” Lieutenant Cameron said.
“Our systems are showing visual identification of one Sword Class destroyer, one Founders Class destroyer, and one Adventurer Class cutter,” Ensign Reichert said. “They’re escorting several freighters and a Fellowship type passenger ship.” She paused, peering intently at her display. “The freighters have heat radiating from many of their cargo areas. They must be pressurized and at livable temperatures. They’re carrying people. A lot of them.”
“A Sword Class and a Founders Class ship,” Rob said. “The same types that station’s records showed leaving Jatayu for here. And the same types that destroyed Claymore.”
“The time line fits,” Lieutenant Cameron confirmed. “They got here long ago enough to have gone to the Kappa jump point to meet up with those other ships. What are we going to do, Captain?”
Rob looked over his display again before answering even though he already knew the answer. Saying it still felt a bit like stepping off a cliff, though. “The enemy is obviously concentrating efforts against Kosatka. We’re going to give Kosatka all the help we can. If we can defeat these guys here, they won’t be able to hit Glenlyon later. Comms, I need a transmission lined up on the inhabited world.”
“It’s ready, sir. Tab Two.”
The signal wasn’t aimed at where that planet appeared to be, which was already four hours ago. By the time the signal got there, the planet would be four more hours along its orbit from where it really was now. Worlds orbiting nearer their star, the ones that were most likely to be livable for humans, tended to move faster than planets farther out. In this planet’s case, that meant twenty-six kilometers per second. By the time the message Rob was sending got there, the planet would be about seven hundred fifty thousand kilometers from where it now appeared to be. In space, comms had to lead their targets by some pretty large amounts.
He took a deep breath, sat up straight, and touched the control.
“To the government of Kosatka, this is Commodore Geary aboard the Glenlyon destroyer Saber. We intend assisting you in defending your star system. Saber will proceed in-system on a course to intercept the force approaching your world from the Kappa jump point. Request advise . . .”
Advise what? Kosatka couldn’t give orders to him, and if they tried, he shouldn’t obey them. Big details like who would be in charge if the two star systems ever cooperated in defense had helped hold up for years the formal signing of a mutual defense agreement.
But if he operated Saber independently of Piranha, each ship doing its own thing, they’d lose the advantages gained by cooperating in planning their actions. With the odds still against them, they’d need every advantage they could get.
“Request advise your desires for employment of Saber,” Rob finished, hoping that was sufficiently vague to fend off a court-martial when he got back to Glenlyon. “Geary, out.”
He gestured to the comm watch. “Give me a signal to Piranha.”
“Yes, sir. Ready, sir. The beam will be a little wide to include all the places she might be by the time the signal reaches her. Tab Three.”
“Piranha, this is Commodore Geary aboard the Glenlyon destroyer Saber. You look like you could use a little help. We’re on our way. It’s my intention to . . . cooperate with you in your defense of this star system. Please advise me of your intentions. Geary, out.”
“Intercept course on your display, Captain,” Cameron said. “Three and a half light hours distance. At point zero eight light speed estimated time to intercept is forty-three point seven hours.”
Almost two full days, Rob thought. They’d jumped into the middle of an invasion, and it would be almost two days before they got close to the action. “All hands stand down from general quarters. Reduce shield strength to standard. We expect to reset battle conditions in approximately forty-two hours.”
He took a moment to study the maneuvering solution that Lieutenant Cameron had worked up with the help of the ship’s systems. Space had no up or down, but every star system had a plane that its worlds orbited in. Humans just had to arbitrarily label one side of that plane up and the other down. Right and left were also meaningless outside of any given ship so those were set in terms of the direction toward or away from the star. Given those human rules, nearly four hours ago Piranha had been slightly above where Saber now was, off to one side of the star that Saber was nearly pointed at. The intercept vector aimed at meeting the invasion force, a long curve through billions of kilometers, required Saber to go a little up, and turn a ways port, or away from the star. “That looks good given what we know. We’ll adjust it when we get data that’s not as time late and when Piranha lets us know what she’s planning to do. Come up zero four degrees, turn zero one six degrees to port, accelerate to point zero eight light speed.”
“Understand come up zero four degrees, turn zero one six degrees to port, accelerate to point zero eight light speed,” Cameron repeated. It was an old ritual, arguably very redundant with modern maneuvering systems, but it ensured that everyone heard and understood orders correctly before beginning to carry them out.
As far as Rob was concerned, that particular tradition was a good thing.
As Saber strained to accelerate to a small but decent fraction of the speed of light, Mele Darcy came up on the bridge. She stopped by Rob’s command seat, gazing at his display. “I understand there’re a few thousand ground forces potentially on those ships. We might need more than a half dozen Marines to handle that.”
Trust Mele to find a way to lighten the mood. He gave her an amused smile. “Too bad we couldn’t have brought all twenty-one Marines.”
“Is one of those destroyers an internal match for this one? I see one is labeled Sword Class.”
“Yes,” Rob said, “but that’s not the one that’s a sister ship to Saber. That would be the one labeled Founders Class.”
Mele shook her head. “This isn’t a Sword Class ship, so it got named Saber.”
“Military logic,” Rob said. “Though in this case it was the logic of the government of Glenlyon. Maybe someday they’ll name a ship after you.”
“No thanks. The only people who get ships named after them are dead heroes and living politicians, and I have no desire to be either. Is it okay if my grunts do some drills on this ship to get familiar with fighting through it?”
“Sure. But coordinate with every department head whose compartments and passageways you’re going to be using so nobody gets shot or gets scared.” Rob gestured around to encompass the entire ship. “How’s the boarding training for the crew going?”
Mele shrugged. “They’re squids. I’m doing what I can. If somebody boards us, they’ll face a tough fight. If we board someone else, it could be ugly. Being on the attack is tougher.” She paused, her eyes on him growing somber. “I’m sorry. You already knew that.”
“Yeah,” Rob said, remembering those chaotic moments during the boarding of a Scathan warship three years ago. For some reason the instant had always stayed particularly sharp in his mind when the shot that killed her had knocked Danielle Martel across a passageway. “That’s okay. Mele, do you think we’d have a shot at taking one of those warships?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Depends what they’ve got. Depends on a lot of things.”
Including what he did, Rob knew. And whether he made any big mistakes.
Hopefully, he had enough work to keep him busy for the next two days. Otherwise, he’d spend all of that time worrying.
* * *
Messages began arriving for Saber about eight hours after Rob had sent his own messages out. Because of the closer orbit of Piranha, her reply came in first.
Piranha’s captain was an older woman whom Rob found oddly familiar at first glance. He found out why when she began talking. “Commodore Geary, this is Captain Tecla Salomon. Welcome. I understand you also used to serve in Alfar’s fleet. I haven’t received any instructions from Kosatka yet on how to deal with you, so let’s just say I’m grateful for your support in a very difficult situation and hope we can figure out how to work together to defeat this threat. I’ll contact you again after I hear from Kosatka. Salomon, out.”
Soon after that, an unexpected message arrived from the invasion force. A man wearing an attitude as big as the shoulders on his uniform bore a stern, intimidating look as he spoke. “You’ve been identified as a warship belonging to the neutral star Glenlyon. This star system is a war zone. Apulu has chosen to intervene for humanitarian reasons in the cruel war raging in Kosatka and causing numerous civilian casualties. They will bring a halt to hostilities and allow the people of Kosatka to vote for new leaders under the protection offered by Apulu’s volunteers.
“Scatha and Turan have chosen to assist Apulu in this humanitarian operation. Any attempt to hinder our compassionate mission will require us to use all available force and will result in Glenlyon’s being identified as an enemy of peace and security. Change your vector immediately and leave this star system as soon as possible. Failure to do so risks sharing the unfortunate fate of Glenlyon’s only other warship, leaving your home defenseless. Out.”
The commander of Scatha’s ships hadn’t even had the courtesy to identify himself, perhaps thinking that would further frighten the crew of Saber.
“Let the crew see this,” Vicki Shen advised, her words coming out fast and clipped with anger. “It’ll make them even madder, even more determined to kick that guy’s teeth in. Humanitarian! How long have wolves been wrapping themselves in that form of sheep’s clothing?”
“And an election under the protection of soldiers from Apulu,” Rob said. “I’m sure Apulu’s puppets would win a huge majority. Go ahead and release the message to the crew so they can see who and what we’re dealing with.”
Lieutenant Commander Shen shook her head, looking angry. “The same sort of lies they fed Commodore Hopkins. I’ve been remembering the things he said before Claymore left. Someone was feeding him information that led him to believe Scatha didn’t want a fight. The Commodore didn’t want a war. He believed what he was being told.”
“I don’t want a war, either,” Rob said. “Unfortunately, that scum and the people he works for do want a war.”
Finally, the first reply came in from Kosatka. First Minister Hofer looked considerably older than Rob remembered, but given how things had been the last few years that was understandable. “Captain— Commodore! Once again you arrive when Kosatka needs you. We’d already resolved to fight rather than surrender, but with your ship our chances will be much improved. I don’t know what your instructions are, and I can’t issue orders to you, but I will instruct Captain Salomon of the Piranha to work with you to the best of her ability.”
Hofer hesitated, his smile wavering. “Unfortunately, I cannot yet allow Piranha to be placed under your command. My government is still . . . debating that issue. If you’ve been instructed to place your ship under our command, that will simplify things greatly. Please let us know so we can proceed. Hofer, out.”
Vicki Shen shook her head in disbelief after she’d seen that message. “They’ve got an invasion fleet on their doorstep and they’re still playing politics? Does our side deserve to win? Because from where I sit, we look too stupid to win.”
Rob nodded, his mouth twisted unhappily. “We seem to be doing our best to lose, don’t we? We have something going for us, though. I know Tecla Salomon. I finally remembered why. She was an officer on a ship I spent time on while I was training.”
“And that’s good?”
“I think so. My memories of her are that she was good at what she did and didn’t seem interested in playing political games. It’s not too surprising that she ended up out here. Politics was the way to get ahead in Alfar’s fleet.”
“Politics is the way to get ahead in every fleet,” Shen said. “Are you considering placing Saber under Salomon’s overall command?” she added in a cautious voice.
Rob couldn’t help a bitter laugh at the question. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t. I have no authority to surrender control of this ship to someone from another star system. And while our goals match, the means we’ll be willing to employ won’t be the same. Salomon and I both want to defeat that invasion force, but she can afford to have Piranha beat to a wreck doing that and be hailed as a big hero on Kosatka. But if I don’t keep Saber in good enough shape to get back to Glenlyon and defend it, I’ll be labeled a failure and probably deservedly so.”
“They’ll never agree to putting Piranha under your command,” she added.
“No, they won’t.”
“Because they’re going to be worried that you’d sacrifice Piranha to advance Glenlyon’s interests. How are we going to win this under those conditions?” Vicki Shen asked.
“Hopefully, one of us will come up with a brilliant plan,” Rob said. “Let me know if you do. Fortunately, we still have almost a day and a half before we get near that invasion force. As we get closer to it, and Piranha, I’ll be more easily able to exchange ideas with Commander Salomon.”
The next eight hours brought them steadily closer toward a meeting with the invasion force, the long arc of Saber’s path angling upward and to one side to meet with the sweeping curve of the invaders’ vector through space.
Rob spent some of that time walking through the narrow passageways of Saber, talking to the crew, and looking over the equipment. Saber’s most powerful weapons, her pulse particle beam projectors ranged around the bow, hunched like gleaming monsters of metal and composites. In Alfar’s fleet, similar weapons were sometimes emblazoned with small images of deadly real or mythical beasts, or at least had names stenciled onto them, as if the weapons were indeed some kind of ogre or other creature. Either Earth Fleet or Commodore Hopkins hadn’t tolerated such frivolities so the only markings on these weapons were their numbers: 1, 2, and 3.
But Rob took the time to give each one a pat as the weapon crew looked on, happy to see their captain treating the device with respect. “Get us some good hits,” he told the beam projectors before nodding to the gun crews to show he respected them as well.
From inside the ship the grapeshot launchers actually looked a bit like guns. Big-Ass Shotguns, Mele Darcy called them. Firing patterns made up of solid metal ball bearings about five centimeters in diameter, the grapeshot had to score multiple hits to take down shields or inflict enough damage, making them short-range weapons just like their namesake in the days when warships had used sails on the waters of far-distant Old Earth.
He stopped by the small medical compartment, barely large enough for a desk, a single bunk, and a variety of trauma care devices whose glowing status lights provided both comfort and apprehension. “How’s it going, Doc?”
Chief Petty Officer “Doc” Austin stood respectfully and gestured to his equipment. “Ready and waiting, sir.”
When Rob had first come aboard he’d been surprised to see that the “ship’s corpsman” on Saber had completed requirements to be a fully qualified doctor but had remained a chief instead of being promoted to officer rank. “It’s simple, Captain,” Doc Austin had explained. “Regulations call for the medical support on a destroyer to be a Petty Officer First Class or a Chief. If I were to be promoted to officer rank, I’d have to be transferred to a larger ship.”
“There is no larger ship in Glenlyon’s fleet,” Rob had pointed out.
“Exactly, sir. If I was promoted to officer rank, I couldn’t stay aboard this ship, but I couldn’t go anywhere else. Rather than risk creating a paradox that might rend space and time, I decided to decline a promotion. Though,” Chief Austin had added, “I do get more respect from the crew as a chief than I would as an ensign, and the food in the chief’s mess is better than they serve the officers, so there are some benefits.”
Now Rob looked over the trauma equipment again, trying not to dwell on the fractured memories of the time when such gear had saved his life. “I’ll try not to give you any extra work, Doc.”
Austin shrugged. “Sir, back in Earth Fleet I was told that when destroyers go into a fight they either come out pretty much untouched or they get blown to hell. There aren’t a lot of minor damage situations for a combatant this size. You know how that works.”
“Yeah, I do.”
He also stopped by the mess decks, pretending to share a meal with the off-going watch even though he didn’t have much of an appetite.
“Are we going to get those bastards, sir?” one of the sailors asked. “I had friends on Claymore.”
“Yes,” Rob said. “We’re going to make them pay for that.”
Eventually, he found himself back in his stateroom, looking at the small display built into his desk, which was focused on a magnified image of the enemy force. The large passenger ship, carrying the bulk of the invasion troops, sat at the center of a hollow cylinder shape formed by the eight large freighters carrying supplies and more soldiers. The two enemy destroyers and their cutter were arrayed in a vertical triangle in front of and slightly below the cylinder, facing the approaches of both Saber and Piranha. The most powerful enemy destroyer, the Founders Class ship, was positioned at the lower corner where Saber would come in, the Sword Class warship was at the apex of the triangle facing Piranha, and the cutter sat at the third corner. The Adventurer Class cutter was still no match for either Saber or Piranha, but newer and better than the older Buccaneer Class cutter that Saber had destroyed at Jatayu.
The Scathan commander could easily shift his forces to concentrate all three ships against either Saber or Piranha as they attacked. Even if the warships from Glenlyon and Kosatka managed to work out a coordinated attack, they’d still face a slightly superior enemy force blocking their path to the freighters and passenger ship.
“What’s Earth Fleet doctrine in a case like this?” Rob asked Vicki Shen.
She shrugged unhappily. “Earth Fleet doctrine assumed that both friendly ships would be under Earth Fleet command. Beyond that, we’d either be told to concentrate on the warships, or on the freighters, and try to wear them down by repeated passes.”
Rob gave her a sidelong glance. “No offense, but that doesn’t seem very imaginative.”
Another shrug. “Space limits your options,” Vicki Shen said. “The enemy is going to see you coming from a long, long ways off. They can easily adjust their formation to meet you.”
“We can make last-moment adjustments,” Rob said.
“So can they. And if the adjustments mean we miss the intercept, passing outside effective weapons range, that’s a win for them. We have to hurt them. All they have to do is keep us from hurting them.”
Rob frowned before nodding in reluctant agreement. “What’s your advice?”
“Hit the freighters. There’s a limit to how much damage we can do on each pass, but that’s our best bet for inflicting significant damage before they reach the planet. Just doing some damage to the escorting warships won’t stop the invasion and won’t help Kosatka.”
“Do you see any way we can stop them from reaching the planet?”
“With two destroyers?” Shen shook her head.
He stood up, frustrated, and hit the nearest bulkhead. “Earth Fleet could do anything. That’s what I was told growing up, and in training. Where’s my miracle, Commander Shen?”
“Earth Fleet was better at building its reputation than it was at doing things,” Vicki Shen replied, both her voice and expression somber. “Like, here? This situation? There were checklists. And if we did everything on those checklists, it would be an official victory. It wouldn’t have mattered if the planet fell to invasion. We’d completed the checklists, and that was the only win or loss criterion that counted.”
Rob dropped back into his seat as something finally went home inside his head. “I’ve always thought in terms of us building on what Earth Fleet did, of using their methods as the foundation for our own ways of winning. But there wasn’t any real foundation, was there? Great technical skills, highly trained individuals, but no real ideas how to translate those things into victories that mattered.”
“That’s a fair assessment.”
He could see how much that admission hurt her. “Lieutenant Commander Shen, what we do is going to matter. Others are going to build on what we do even if they don’t remember we’re the ones who did it.”
She managed a tight, ironic smile in response. “Or they’re going to remember us as the examples of how not to do it.”
* * *
Ten hours later, nineteen hours until intercept with the enemy. Both sleep and inspiration remained elusive. A message arriving from Piranha proved a welcome distraction.
Captain Salomon had the look of someone who hadn’t slept well. Rob understood that and imagined he looked the same. “My guidance is unchanged. Work with you to defend Kosatka. Do not agree to any relationship subordinate to Saber. We’re still stuck being on the same side but unable to work as one.
“As I see it,” Salomon continued, “we have three basic options. One is to jointly but separately engage and try to defeat the escorting warships, then go after the troop transports. The second option would be to jointly but separately try to avoid the escorts and hit the transports. And the third would have us agreeing that one of us would engage and try to draw off the escorts while the other attacked the transports.”
Salomon paused to take a drink of coffee. “Acting jointly but separately in a tactical situation would put us at a serious disadvantage against the unified command on the enemy side. But acting singly raises the risk that one of us will be defeated, allowing the other to be the sole target of the enemy. That might still be our best option, though.
“It’s my job to stop the enemy. Therefore, I propose that Piranha engage the escorts, keeping them busy, while Saber hits the transports. If you can do enough damage to those troop ships, the invaders will have to withdraw. Even if all you do is damage some of those ships so they require a longer time to slow down when approaching the planet, it might give us enough time to get Shark operational again.”
Piranha was still far enough away that a real-time conversation was impossible, giving Rob time to think about Salomon’s proposal. “What do you guys think?” he asked Vicki Shen and Mele Darcy after replaying the message for them.
“She’s offering to do the heavy lifting,” Vicki Shen said. “Keeping those escorts busy would mean giving them decent shots at Piranha.”
“Yeah, I give her full credit for that. Piranha could get badly beat-up fighting single-handed against three opponents.”
Mele shook her head. “I’m guessing Piranha wouldn’t last long doing that. You know my usual advice, which actually comes from that Sun Tzu guy. Figure out what the enemy is going to expect you to do, then do something different. So, what are they going to expect? Are they going to be thinking that we’ll act as one with Piranha?”
“No,” Rob said. “Nobody out here has acted together except the bad guys. The good guys have been too busy clinging to their virtue to consider compromising enough to work together.”
“You sound a little bitter about that, sir,” Mele observed.
“I am. A lot of people have insisted on everything being just as they want, and other people end up paying the price for that purity. Including people like us and the ones we command.” Rob waved one hand toward them. “Not that either of you are to repeat a word of that to anyone. To answer your question directly, what the enemy will expect is that Piranha and Saber will operate independently, each refusing to surrender any degree of control to the other.”
“That means we know what’ll surprise them.”
It was Vicki Shen’s turn to shake her head. “That’s nice in theory, but how can we operate jointly with Piranha? There can’t be a single commander. We’re not permitted to yield command, and neither is Piranha’s commander.”
Mele looked at Rob. “You’re willing to listen to suggestions. Maybe Salomon is, too.”
“Suggestions?” Rob asked. “How can you run a battle on the basis of suggestions?”
“It’s not about me. It’s about you. Can you and Piranha’s commander agree on a specific course of action? And then agree on what to do next?”
Shen sighed. “Captain Darcy, you know what combat is like. There’s not much time for trading suggestions and negotiating a mutually agreeable middle ground.”
“You space squids have a lot more time between shots than we Marines and ground apes do,” Mele pointed out. “Commander Geary,” she added in formal tones, “can you check your ego at the air lock and find a way to dance with Piranha as your partner? Neither one of you leading, but both of you knowing what step the other one is going to take next.”
Rob gazed at Mele, thinking over her words. “Dancing. That’s an interesting way of putting it.”
“You know how renowned Marines are for our verbal skills. Show the enemy what they expect to see. They’ll believe it because they expect it. And then do a switch up at the last possible moment that would only be possible if you and Piranha were working as one.”
“That’s good,” Vicki Shen said, eyeing Mele with surprise. “If we can hit them hard enough on the first go-round, it might give us the advantage we need.”
Rob checked his desk display. The distance between Saber and Piranha was down to one and a half light hours. Which still meant a three-hour time delay to send a message and get a reply. “I’m going to have to get a lot done with a few messages. Let me think over what to try and get back to Commander Salomon. She can’t agree to do whatever I say, but maybe she’ll accept an invitation to dance.”
* * *
Aboard the Oarai Miho, Lochan Nakamura morosely eyed the tiny display image offered by the panel in his room. The jump point that offered escape toward areas as yet free of conflict was close as such things were measured in space. Several light hours away on the other side of the star system, warships were moving toward each other.
The display in his room offered minimal useful features beyond a no-frills depiction of space outside the freighter, and showing or playing books or vids. It had been ridiculously difficult to figure out how to use the “intuitive interface” to calculate movements ahead. But Lochan had finally managed to figure out that the warships would meet about five hours before the Oarai Miho jumped out of the star system. Which meant the light showing what happened would still be hours away when the freighter left. He wouldn’t even see the results of the first clash.
It didn’t look hopeful in any event. Two defenders against that big group of invading ships.
Carmen had sent another update, which had arrived an hour ago. Kosatka’s two occupied cities were emptying out, the citizens spreading through the vast as yet unsettled countryside to prevent their being targets for orbital bombardment. Not that anyone expected indiscriminate bombardment, but someone had done it before at Lares, and that someone might have been tied to Scatha or Apulu or Turan.
Kosatka’s militia was being rapidly expanded as volunteers flocked in. There weren’t enough weapons to arm everyone who wanted to fight. Dominic Desjani had been promoted to captain and placed in command of a company of soldiers. Carmen had admitted, with a wry look that warned him against any future “I told you so,” that she and Dominic had quickly married, so at least she’d taken his advice on that.
Lochan sat, his head in his hands, thinking of war rolling across the world he’d come to care for deeply. A world that held both Carmen and Brigit, and now Carmen’s husband as well.
At least Mele Darcy was probably safe back at Glenlyon. As safe as anyone could be these days, anyway.
But he was leaving. Leaving them all. And no matter how Lochan tried to tell himself that he was doing something critically important, that victory might ultimately rest on whether he could gain Kosatka the help it needed, he thought of others fighting and his leaving them and felt a deep emptiness inside.
Humans feared death. Lochan knew he did. All of science’s advances over the centuries had served to keep people healthier and stronger for longer, but the total life span had not budged much in millennia. As ever, humanity’s means of killing advanced more rapidly than its means of sustaining life.
And he, not a hero, not a fighter at all, wished that he was holding a rifle and standing with Carmen and risking death doing that rather than leaving her to her fate while he rode a freighter fleeing to safety.