Original Work The Fires of Freedom

The Fires Of Freedom is the direct sequel to The Burning World, which was itself a sequel to The Firelighters, and concludes the Belos story arc trilogy, set within the A Learning Experience universe. If you haven’t read those books, all you really have to know is that a race of alien scavengers kidnapped the wrong people from Earth 60 years ago and those people captured the alien ship and technology, then - instead of handing it over to the government - decided to set up their own independent nation, the Solar Union. The Solar Union eventually fought a major war with the Tokomak, the masters of the known universe, and won. They now have to repay a debt they incurred in The Firelighters, which means picking a fight with another alien race that could easily turn into a second, even bigger, interstellar war.

You can see the other books here - The Chrishanger

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Prologue I

From: Covert Operations of the Solar Union, Baen Historical Press, 101SY.

As we have seen in previous volumes, the desperate need to crack the secrets of GalTech forced the Solar Union to risk deploying a covert operations team, the Firelighters, to Belos, a world that had been effortlessly conquered by the Tichck hundreds of years ago and turned into a nightmare that would make Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin and Jefferson Davis blanch. The team had orders to capture one or more GalCores – the keys to GalTech – and smuggle them back home, a mission they rapidly discovered would be very hard to carry out. Indeed, their first attempt at stealing the GalCores was an abject failure. They had to flee into the hinterland and hide, while preparing for a second attempt against an alerted foe.

Luck was with them, and they made contact with the planet’s underground resistance movement. The natives – the Belosi – wanted to be free of alien domination, although the sheer gap between the natives and their overlords was almost impossible to comprehend, let alone surmount. The Belosi were little better than slaves, at best, and they were kept ignorant of the outside universe and the rights they could, in theory, claim under Galactic Law. There were few powers even aware of the resistance, let alone willing to help. The Firelighters, by contrast, were more than happy to enlist the Belosi as allies, providing weapons and equipment that gave them a fighting chance against their oppressors. It was a considerable stretch, and the Covert Operations Oversight Committee argued that the Firelighters had exceeded their authority, but it paid off for them. As the Belosi rose against their enemies, the team was able to make a second attempt to secure the GalCores and ship them out of the system. That attempt proved successful, giving humanity the keys to the universe. It is no exaggeration to say the Solar Union would not have survived without the mission, nor that humanity owed a great debt to the Belosi.

Realising there was no way the Tichck would allow the Belosi to remain independent, the Firelighters encouraged the underground to steal as many FTL-capable starships as possible and flee the planet, heading into the trackless wilderness of interstellar space. It would be impossible to track the fleeing ships, they reasoned, and the Belosi would have years, or decades, to build up their forces in preparation for a return to their homeworld. There was a considerable split within the ranks at that point, with a number of resistance fighters choosing to remain and fight for their freedom, but a sizable number – nearly a million – Belosi were uplifted before the hammer came down and the Tichck regained control of the high orbitals. Precisely what happened on Belos after that remains uncertain, as the Tichck imposed a complete information blackout, but it is clear the resistance was defeated. The Tichck, embarrassed in front of their peers, were unlikely to be gentle. They went so far as to deploy a genetically engineered bioweapon to keep the remaining Belosi under control. Any native who escaped into the hinterland, and was therefore no longer being fed on the plantations, would die in short order. The resistance died out shortly afterwards. Literally.

The Solar Union had an additional stroke of luck. The Tichck knew the Belosi had been incited by off-world elements, but they had no idea who had tried to bury a knife in their back. Indeed, they were unaware of the real purpose of the mission; the GalCores were reported destroyed in the confusion, and – of course – an advanced race would have no difficulty either bringing along a GalCore of their own or simply duplicating their abilities through less spectacular means. The Tichck blamed a number of their rivals, most notably the Vesparians, and though the Tokomak were able to pour cold water on the confrontation before it turned violent the Tichck never lost their belief the Vesparians had been behind the world affair. This was incredibly fortunate for the human race. The Solar Navy of that era could not have stopped the Tichck if they had chosen to attack Sol, nor would the Tokomak have lifted a finger to stop them.

The Belosi Exiles spent the next few decades mastering GalTech, building up their population and preparing for a return to their homeworld. The Solar Union kept them at arm’s lengths, fearing they would jump the gun and attack ahead of time, exposing them to a near-certain defeat that might expose human involvement too, but a number of human advisors – including the remaining Firelighters – were deployed to assist them. On paper, these advisors were mercenaries, deniable elements that had no ties to the Solar Union; in practice, they were and remain agents of the Solar Union. It was difficult, at times, to keep the Belosi from launching a mission to their homeworld, even a single probe, and they were chaffing at the bit during the opening moves of the Human-Tokomak War. The only thing that kept them from attacking, and throwing the galaxy into even greater chaos, was the promise of human support in recovering their homeworld after the Tokomak were defeated. And when the war ended in a decisive human victory, the time came to keep that promise.

That was not an easy task. The Solar Navy was spread out over thousands of light years. The task of maintaining garrisons and patrols over occupied space, demilitarising large numbers of enemy starships and keeping the gravity points open for interstellar trade meant that there were few starships that could be spared to support the Belosi. Worse, the defeat of the Tokomak had encouraged a number of other Galactics to assert themselves, in a bid to either succeed the Tokomak as unquestioned masters of the known universe or simply to asset their independence from all other powers. There was a very real risk of a number of Galactics banding together to challenge the human race, and many of those powers were nowhere near as hidebound and ultra-conservative as their former masters. The Solar Union needed to keep its promise, true, but it also needed to keep prospective rivals off-balance as long as possible.

A task force, under the command of Commodore Elton Yasser, was put together as quickly as possible. It was carefully designed to make it tricky for any watching eyes to work out who had actually dispatched the fleet, using ship designs that had been largely finalised before the rise of the first human civilisations and weapons that could have come from anywhere, instead of the advanced missiles and other technologies the human race had used to win its war. The presence of humans amongst the landing force was not, in itself, indicative of anything; a sizable number of humans had served the various alien superpowers as mercenaries for centuries, and there was no reason to tie their presence back to the Solar Union. Indeed, every attempt was made to convince the Tichck that their local rivals were backing the Belosi. It was a lie the Tichck were disposed to believe.

Commodore Yasser had additional orders. If the Tichck reacted quickly, and there was a very good chance the entire task force would be destroyed, he was to cut his losses and withdraw as quickly as possible. The Solar Union could not afford heavy losses, even if they escaped blame for the entire disaster. Those orders would cause considerable friction further down the line.

The task force linked up with the Belosi and stormed the Belos System, securing the gravity points and the high orbitals before landing troops on the planetary surface. It rapidly became clear the Tichck on the ground had no intention of surrendering, and bombarding the megacities from orbit would result in massive civilian casualties. The Tichck had worked hard to turn Belos into an industrial centre, inviting investment from hundreds of interstellar corporations, and – intentionally or not – those off-worlders served as de facto living shields. The troops would have to take the megacities on the ground, forcing them into an uneasy stalemate while the task force brought pressure to bear against the Tichck elsewhere.

Already in the middle of a plan to assert control of the local sector, and the stars surrounding their sphere of influence, the Tichck reacted quickly. They dispatched a fleet up the gravity point chain towards Belos, forcing the task force into a series of running battles, and another though starships and gravity points that were technically supposed to be neutral. This fleet broke back into Belos, threatening to trap the task force against the planet and destroy it. Precisely what happened at that point remains debatable, as Yasser’s orders to withdraw were clearly not heeded, but it is clear they chose to make a stand. The combination of Belosi and Solar Union warships met the Tichck, and bested them. The planet was secure …

And there was a window of opportunity, a very short one, to win the war once and for all.

Prologue II

A human who saw the innermost conflict chamber would have described it as unbearably gauche.

The Tichck disagreed. There was no point in being amongst the wealthiest and most powerful races in the galaxy, they reasoned, if you couldn’t show off a little. Or a lot. The walls were lined with expensive paintings from a hundred different systems, the shelves and cases covered with artworks that were rare, if not unique, and worth more money than the vast majority of sentient beings would ever see in their lives. It was not enough to have made it, to have climbed to the top through fair means or foul; it was the cold desire to prove their success, to remind anyone who visited that they were nothing more than supplicants, prostrating themselves before their superiors even as they bided their time, hoping to reach the top themselves. The Tichck had never heard of the human observation that the rear one kicked on the way up might wind up being the one you had to kiss on the way down, but if they had they wouldn’t have taken it for the warning it was meant to be. It was the way things worked. If you won, you deserved it by right; if you lost, you deserved everything you got.

Chairperson Harpeth sat on his chair – a human would have thought of it as a throne, and rightly so – and watched the servants fussing about, their faces carefully blank as they handed out the food and endured abuse from their masters. The Tichck prided themselves on being hard and ruthless, willing to do anything in search of power and profit, and the ones who reached the very top were the hardest and most ruthless of all, unwilling to let even a moment go by without reminding their inferiors that they were inferior. Competition was baked into their society, even in scientific research and technical development. Harpeth had seen enough of other societies to understand the downsides, but he had no intention of trying to convince his people to take a different path. The Tokomak had tried to freeze the entire galaxy in stasis and look how that had worked out for them! No, competition was the way forward, and the Tichck were well-placed to win.

He waited for the last of the servants to leave, then tapped the console beside his throne. The GalCore ran through a series of security checks, ensuring the chamber was as secure as GalTech could made it, then displayed a holographic starchart in front of the committee. A low hiss ran through the chamber as the councillors stared at the display, a handful of stars surrounded by tactical icons that cautioned them the data was dangerously out of date. The Tichck had expended a great deal of money building up a communications network that was second to none, but the vagaries of the gravity points and the limits of FTL travel ensured it took weeks, if not months, for reliable data to flow from the edge of their sphere of influence to the homeworld, and by the time the homeworld replied to any messages the situation had already moved on. It was hard to be sure of what was happening a mere ten light years away, let alone on the other side of their sphere of influence, but one thing was clear. Belos remained in enemy hands.

“The report is vague to the point of uselessness,” he said. He didn’t bother with any preliminaries. They were for lesser races. “The operation to recapture Belos and regain control of the gravity points has failed.”

Another hiss ran through the chamber. The Tichck had expended billions of credits in expanding their network of influence, buying politicians and hiring influencers who might – openly or covertly – steer their planets into becoming de facto client states. Some were well known, others were so well hidden that no one, as far as they knew, would realise they were actually working for the Tichck. It had taken dozens of such deniable assets to convince the various governments to allow the task force to pass through their systems and gravity points, turning the concept of their neutrality into a joke. Harpeth knew it would have been dangerously revealing even if the operation had succeeded, as local reporters and analysts started asking hard questions about just why so many politicians and military leaders had bent over backwards to please the Tichck. The networks would be uncovered, and that meant …

“Impossible,” Chairman Tomah said. “How could we lose?”

“The Belosi have backers,” Harpeth pointed out. “And they are clearly a very powerful race.”

He felt his canines slip into a snarl. The Belosi had been primitives, too stupid to even come up with fire, when they’d been discovered, and very little had changed in the hundreds of years they’d spent under Tichck domination. They were fit only for brute labour, their minds too small to comprehend what they were doing or their ultimate role within the Tichck Consortium. No, they could not have come up with the idea of revolting against a vastly superior race on their own, not when they had no comprehension of the greater galaxy or the towering civilisation surrounding them. The whole idea of allowing other races to set up shop on Belos had been, in hindsight, a mistake. Someone had gotten greedy, someone had decided to make a play for the entire system …

But who?

The analysts had drawn a blank. The enemy starships were designs that dated back hundreds of years, hulls in service with a hundred different races … the design so old, he reflected grimly, that the ships they were facing might have passed though several separate sets of owners before being deployed against the Tichck Navy. They had been modernised, according to the analysts, but again there was nothing that pointed to their true owners. Everything from their jump drives to their missiles were almost disturbingly common, products of fabricators that could be found on almost any truly developed world. The Tichck had put feelers out, trying to determine who might have hired a few thousand mercenaries, but results had been inconclusive. Everyone was hiring mercenaries at the moment, from races with ambitions of conquest to others who feared their neighbours were planning to invade. The intelligence staff had admitted, reluctantly, they had been unable to identify their culprit. They’d covered their tracks in a manner that would have been admirable, if it hadn’t been aimed at him.

“We cannot afford to let this pass,” he said, quietly. “It makes us look weak.”

“It does weaken us,” Chairman Tomah pointed out, dryly. “We’re not collecting any revenue from the gravity points.”

Harpeth couldn’t disagree. The Belos System had always been prime real estate, as far as the Galactics were concerned, because of the three gravity points. They’d been able to charge transit fees to anyone who wanted to pass through, and there had never been any shortage of people willing to pay. But now, the Belosi – and their new masters – were in control of the system. The Tichck had declared the gravity points off-limits, yet he knew better than to think anyone would actually listen. The galaxy cared nothing for words, when action was all that counted. And he couldn’t keep starships from transiting the gravity points.

“It’s the Vesparians,” Chairman Domoh said. “Who else can it be?”

“You say that because they’re pressing against your territory,” Chairman Tomah countered. “It could be the …”

The discussion dissolved into chaos, the chairmen arguing loudly over just who was the prime suspect. Harpeth kept his mouth shut and listened, without committing himself. The Vesparians were probable suspects, and they had an excellent motive for seizing control of Belos and the nearby systems … a better one, perhaps, than they knew. If the plan to take covert control of many surrounding systems worked, the Vesparians would find themselves surrounded and restricted on all sides. They might well have chosen to act in a covert manner, leaving themselves with enough plausible deniability to back off if the operation failed. But they weren’t the only suspects. Harpeth was all too aware his people had enemies. Their competitive approach to galactic power made them feared, rather than loved. He didn’t care if his race was hated as long as their enemies were too scared to lift a hand against them. But if that fear died away …

“We need to act fast,” he said. “And that means launching another fleet as quickly as possible.”

“We can’t spare many ships from our other commitments,” Chairman Domoh pointed out. “And even if we can muster a fleet, can we send them through neutral space again?”

“We have enough firepower to force the gravity points, if they refuse to let us pass peacefully,” Chairman Tomah snapped. “If they wish to be our enemies, we can treat them as such.”

“We already have enough enemies,” Chairman Domoh countered. “Do we really need more?”

Chairwoman Maris leaned forward. Harpeth tensed. Maris had an absolute gift for looking foolish, right up to the moment she buried her knife in someone’s back. She had an odd view of the universe that, he had to admit, had somehow worked out for her. No one who had climbed to the top could be taken lightly, but Chairwoman Maris was easily the most eccentric of the councillors. And perhaps the one most likely to think outside the box.

“We could try to come to terms with the Belosi,” she said. “If we can separate them from their allies …”

“Treason,” Chairman Domoh howled. “They cannot be trusted!”

“And they are primitives,” Chairman Tomah added. “Why should we work with them?”

“Because we cannot afford a long drawn-out conflict,” Chairwoman Maris snapped. “Let us make a deal, and expose their allies. We can always deal with them later.”

Harpeth considered it, briefly. On paper, Maris had a point. There was no way the Belosi, primitive in name and nature, could understand the subtle tricks their masters would use against them, let alone realise how they were being isolated and prepared for the slaughter. Making concessions now might save them a war, and expose their mystery backers. But in practice, it would make the Tichck look weak. Other races would demand concessions, and that would be the end of their power. The galaxy was a lawless jungle, now the Tokomak were no longer enforcing the rules. If the Tichck slipped, they would fall a very long way.

The argument went on for hours, the Subdo servants bringing food and drink and then withdrawing as silently as they’d come. Harpeth paid them no mind. They were a servitor race and their opinions were irrelevant, in the great scheme of things. He kept his mind focused on the debate, although he already knew the outcome. It was unlikely the council would heed Maris, not when everything was at stake. The vote, hours after the meeting had opened, was a mere formality.

There would be war.

 

Chapter One

The enemy fleet looked as if it had been through the wars.

Commodore Elton Yasser stood in the observation blister, his hands clasped behind his back, and studied the remnants of the alien fleet thoughtfully. The Tichck had always believed that size mattered, and they’d taken the original battleship designs and crammed hundreds of modern weapons into their hulls, but it hadn’t been enough to save them. Their ships had been lured into a trap, forced to fight a duel at point-blank range with an enemy who didn’t care if they lived or died, as long as they hurt their tormentors, and then finally mouse-trapped by a superior alien fleet. Elton knew, with a hint of shame, just how close he had come to conceding defeat and fleeing the system; he had no illusions, not really, about just what his superiors would say when they found out what had happened. He had gambled, and won, and yet … he could easily have lost. The Solar Union could not afford to lose more than a handful of ships, not now. It could cost them all the gains of the last war.

Light glimmered in the distance as shuttles made their way to and from the airlocks, conveying the alien prisoners to temporary holding cells, and repair drones patched up the damage as best as possible. The enemy CO had been bullied into surrendering without destroying the fleet’s datacores, ensuring the ships could be put back into action relatively quickly, but it didn’t mean the ships were fit for anything more than soaking up missiles. The human prize crews would have very real difficulty flying and fighting them, if only because the Tichck had designed their ships to be as specific to their species as possible. A great many systems would have to be reconfigured for human or Belosi use, before the ships could be taken into battle, and the Tichck – in defiance of Galactic Law – had made that surprisingly hard. Elton had no idea if it was a security precaution, or simple laziness, but he couldn’t deny it had worked in their favour. It would be weeks before the ships could be pointed at their former masters, at best. And that might be dangerously optimistic.

The communicator pinged. He glanced at it, torn between relief and a certain kind of apprehension as the update appeared in front of him. The reinforcements had arrived … such as they were. The Solar Navy had been able to detach old and outdated vessels that had been surrendered, in the wake of the last war, but there would be no modern weapons and very few crew. Elton understood the logic – the moment the fleet deployed Hammers or LinkShips, the Tichck would know precisely who they were fighting – yet it still gnawed at him. The war could have been shortened, quite sharply, if he’d been able to use the most advanced weapons in the known galaxy.

No, he corrected himself. The most advanced weapons you know to exist.

He scowled. He didn’t need to bring up a political starchart of the explored galaxy to understand the dilemma facing the Solar Union. The Tokomak had been beaten, but their defeat had freed a considerable number of major powers from their straightjacket of alien control, powers that could face the human race on equal terms and were no less capable of innovating for themselves. Elton had been a diplomat as much as a military commander – he knew without false modesty he was a better diplomat than a commodore – and he knew the Galactics were very far from stupid. The Tokomak had tried to keep a lid on technological development, but now they were gone. It was just a matter of time before the human race was challenged, probably on multiple fronts.

We’re like Alexander the Great, he reflected. We beat the Persians. But now we have to somehow integrate their empire into ours, while also dealing with threats as far afraid as Rome, Carthage and India. And if we try to keep it all, we won’t be able to keep any.

The thought didn’t please him. Military victories were easy, compared to keeping and ruling one’s gains. Just ask Napoleon, or Hitler. The Solar Union controlled an unimaginably vast region of space now, let its control was very light and there were doubtless places where it wasn't felt at all. The Galactics might be shocked by the fall of Tokomak Prime, and the defeat of the once-invincible Tokomak, but that wouldn’t last. It was just a matter of time before they banded together to face the human race, or started warring amongst themselves. There were already at least a dozen minor wars underway, if the reports were accurate. It was hard to be sure. They were already several weeks out of date.

His communicator pinged, again. “Commodore, nine transports just arrived from the exile colony,” Captain Lana Mendlesohn said. “They’re bringing additional trained crewman.”

Belosi crewmen, Elton thought. The Belosi had done remarkably well, for a race that had been effectively slaves seventy years ago, but he feared the gaps in their knowledge. Humanity had started from a far more advanced point, when the first FTL ship had been captured by Steve Stuart and the rest of the Founding Fathers, yet it had taken years to evaluate GalTech and work out how to improve upon it. Are they up to the task before them?

He took a breath. “Get them through the biofilters, then on to their new ships,” he ordered, finally. It would be tricky, but they’d have to cope. “Make sure they know not to head to the surface. We’re still working on genetic scrubbers.”

“Yes, sir,” Lana said. Her voice darkened. “They won’t take that well.”

Elton grimaced. He was old enough to remember the days mankind had thought itself alone in the universe, old enough to remember when a young man could have a fairly good – and safe – life on Earth, before it had turned into hell. He had little inclination to return to what remained of his hometown, and he was fairly sure it would be unsafe, but he understood the impulse. He, at least, had left willingly. The Belosi exiles had fled Belos, all too aware that if they stayed they’d be slaughtered. Elton couldn’t blame them for wanting to set foot, once again, on the eerie yellow-green hills of their homeworld. But it would put the exiles in immense danger.

He ground his teeth in silent frustration. The Tichck had crushed the rebels, and slaughtered vast numbers of natives to make their point, and then – just to make sure further revolts were impossible – they’d infected the survivors with a genetically-engineered bioweapon, altering their biological makeup so they couldn’t survive without regularly ingesting a very specific compound that was carefully added to their plantation rations. Any Belosi who fled, on the assumption he could live off the land, was going to die in short order, ensuring the natives could no longer assemble outside Tichck control. It was a neat and simple solution to the problem, Elton reflected, and yet no one had anticipated it until the bioweapon had been discovered during the invasion. And now, any exile who went down to the surface would rapidly become infected himself.

“They’ll just have to cope,” Elton said. He recalled hearing stories of people who’d been evacuated from Chernobyl, after the disaster, and then tried to sneak their way back into the district. They had wanted to go home, if he recalled correctly, and didn’t care about the risk … even if they understood it. “We don’t have enough medical support to tend to all the victims.”

He cursed the Tichck under his breath. Human medical science was superior to anything the Tichck could boast, but isolating the bioweapon and scrubbing it out permanently was a nightmarishly difficult task. They simply didn’t have the resources to do it on the required scale, and the medical supplies they’d captured on Belos – the planet itself was now completely in their hands – were designed more to keep the bioweapon appeased rather than remove it completely. They’d been lucky the Tichck hadn’t thought to destroy the facilities. It would have led, rapidly and inevitably, to the death of most of the slave population. He wondered, idly, why they hadn’t. Perhaps they’d thought they could retake the world. It wasn’t as if they gave a shit about public option.

“Yes, sir,” Lana said.

The connection closed. Elton rubbed his forehead, feeling a wave of tiredness threatening to overcome him. The task force had won a battle, but the enemy was still out there. They had at least one squadron of their own on the far side of Gravity Point One – Elton wanted to believe his missile barrage had damaged or destroyed the enemy fleet; decades of naval service had taught him the dangers of wishful thinking – and they would have reinforcements on the way. His analysts had predicted the enemy homeworld already knew what had happened … Elton didn’t want to believe it, but he couldn’t deny the logic. The smart money was still on a Tichck victory. The smaller powers orbiting their sphere of influence wouldn’t change sides unless they thought the outcome was in doubt. The hell of it was that they might be right. If the Tichck brought their entire fleet to bear against Belos, the Belosi would lose.

He turned his head, staring into the starfield. The Tichck had turned the system into a major industrial node, and most of the fabricators had fallen into their hands when they’d invaded. Given time, the Belosi would have a chance to build up a fleet of their own … but would they have that time? The Tichck had to be planning trouble. And God alone knew what the rest of the Galactics were thinking.

They invested a shitload of money into the system, he reflected, as he opened the hatch and left the blister. And they’ll want their investment back as quickly as possible.

Elton put the thought aside as he walked through the ship, the naval crewmen saluting him as they hurried about their duties. MacArthur hadn’t taken heavy damage in the final engagement, thankfully, but there was never any shortage of work for her much-reduced crew. Assigning half her complement to repair duties on other ships was a risk – there might not be enough time to get them home if the shooting started without warning – yet there was no other way to get the ships ready for action before it was too late. Elton had seen the computer models, watched the hundreds of possible enemy actions get slimmed down to a handful of possibilities. They might be attacked within two weeks, perhaps less if enemy reinforcements were already on the way. They had won a great victory, but their gains were fragile. They could still lose.

He sighed, inwardly, as he stepped into the CIC. The big displays were throbbing with activity, from warships and support vessels holding station near the gravity points and the planet itself to mining and industrial ships making their way from the asteroids to the fabricators and back again. It was an impressive sight, representing more industrial might than the United States at the height of its power and sophistication, yet he knew it was tiny compared to the enemy’s core worlds. They were churning out missiles and mines already, and they were well on their way to producing starship components and sensors, but the enemy could outproduce them by several orders of magnitude. He wanted – he needed – a silver bullet, one that could render the enemy’s fleet little more than scrap metal. It was galling, to say the least, to know that the Solar Navy had one. He just wasn’t allowed to use it.

And that policy won’t change, he reflected, as he took his seat and scanned the reports. We’ll just have to grin and bear it, and hope we can get ready before the storm finally arrives.

***

Sarah Wilde wondered, not for the first time, how actors like Michael Dorn or René Auberjonois managed to survive their careers, wearing rubber masks and costumes that made them look almost completely alien. The guise she wore was lighter than those, made from modern materials that were designed with her comfort in mind, yet they were still hot and sticky and left her feeling weirdly exposed even though she was heavily disguised. She would have preferred to wear a heavy battlesuit, although they were bulky and everyone knew they made easy targets for alert enemies. They didn’t leave her feeling as though she was trapped in a rubbery slimy nightmare.

She kept the thought to herself as she stood and watched the alien prisoners being escorted out of the shuttles and into the makeshift POW camp. No one was quite sure what would happen to the alien prisoners – Tichck, Subdo, a bunch of others from races that were important or considered themselves to be – but it went against the grain to mistreat them, or allow others to mistreat them. There would be a demand for an accounting, sooner or later, and that could easily lead to trouble if a race was looking for an excuse to start a fight … not, she supposed, that it would matter even if there wasn’t such a race. The Solar Union had very clear rules on the proper treatment of prisoners, and mistreating POWs who were behaving themselves was asking for a court martial and a long prison sentence. She didn’t want to find out the hard way what would happen if she allowed the Belosi to mistreat them. She understood the impulse – she had seen the plantations – but it could not be allowed.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched the POWs sorting themselves out. The officers and corporate suits had been taken to another complex, where they’d be interrogated before they were traded back to the enemy, and it looked as if the POWs were segregating themselves. The Tichck were refusing to share barracks with Subdo, while the other races were separating themselves still further … she didn’t care, as long as it didn’t turn into a fight. They had warned the POWs not to fight each other, or try to escape, but Sarah had little expectation they’d do as they were told. She’d been through the dreaded Conduct After Capture course herself, and she knew she had a duty to resist, and to attempt to escape, to the best of her ability. There was no reason the enemy wouldn’t have their own version of the course, and their own orders to escape …

Her lips quirked as she turned away. Any who tried would find it difficult. The island had been abandoned years ago, the native population either transferred elsewhere or simply left to die when the bioweapon swept over the planet. They could make a raft if they wanted, and set sail for the mainland, but they’d have to cross nearly two hundred miles of water, teeming with dangerous sea creatures, and then somehow survive the Belosi on the far side. Sarah doubted any would last long enough to reach a megacity, and even if they did it would be impossible to get offworld. She hoped they’d listened, when the staff had pointed it out. They had no friends on the planet, just enemies who were less hostile than others. And nothing could keep the Belosi on the mainland from slaughtering every Tichck they caught.

“We should be able to keep them fed and watered, for the moment,” Lieutenant Patty O’Rourke said. She looked like a parody of a Vesperian, although Sarah had the advantage of knowing it was a rubber suit. “The food will be bland, but there won’t be any problems with compatibility.”

“Let us hope so,” Sarah said. One Galactic’s favourite food was another’s poison. Literally. The Galactics had had centuries to devise ways to feed multiple races at the same time, but the food tended to be tasteless at best and foul at worst. Her body had been genetically modified to consume almost anything, yet there had been times when she’d had to force herself to choke down the slop. “Let them talk, if they will. Some may know something useful.”

“Of course,” Patty said. “But I doubt it.”

Sarah couldn’t disagree. The Solar Navy cross-trained its personal and a very high percentage of the officer ranks were mustangs, officers who had been crewmen and then transferred to officer training. Solarians were expected to think about what they were doing, and initiative was keenly encouraged. The Galactics, by contrast, rarely trained their crewmen in anything that didn’t touch on their role, and never told them anything more than they needed to know at any one time. She hoped it would impose limits on their naval expansion programs, but it was hard to tell for sure. The Tokomak had believed quantity had a quality all of its own and they’d written the tactical manuals the other races had read, then copied.

Her communicator bleeped. “Sarah, report back to the shuttle,” Captain Riley Richardson said, curtly. “We’re invited to a conference on the flagship.”

“Got it.” Sarah let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. They’d won one battle, and secured the planet, but the war was still to be won. Or lost. “I’m on my way.”

She closed the connection, then took one last look at the alien POWs. They looked listless and worn, something that could easily be an act. No POW in their right mind wanted to look dangerous, for fear they’d be knocked down – or worse – by the guards. For them, the war was over. Or was it? The enemy might regain the high orbitals and the POWs would suddenly find themselves called back to duty. And that would be the end of any hope of freedom for a sorely troubled and abused world.

Not if we have anything to say about it, she told herself. And we do.

 

Chapter Two

Captain Riley Richardson kept his face under control as he stepped into the conference room, his eyes flickering around the table. Commodore Elton Yasser and his flag captain sat at one end; Sarah Wilde and Commander Ewan Raiser, an intelligence officer who specialised in the Galactics, sat at the other. There were no Belosi, something that made him a little uncomfortable even though he understood the reasoning behind it. The Belosi were committed to the war, in a manner the Solar Union was not, and there was a very real chance they might drag the human race into a conflict that would be incredibly expensive and disruptive even if they won. It still didn’t sit well with him. The Galactics looked down on everyone who hadn’t invented the jump drive before their civilisation was overrun by the expanding wavefront of interstellar civilisation, and the Belosi had barely mastered the wheel when they’d been discovered, but the human race was supposed to be better. There was no reason to think the Belosi were stupid. Their intelligence had been measured, repeatedly, and they were neither more or less intelligent than the average sentient.

His mode darkened, briefly. There was very little known about the pre-contact civilisation on Belos. The Tichck hadn’t bothered to keep proper records, and what little they’d extracted from captured datacores was suspiciously unreliable. It struck him as absurd – he’d met some cultural supremacists in Afghanistan who had been dismissive of the local society, yet they still knew a great deal about how it worked even as they looked down on it – but perhaps it made a certain kind of sense. The Belosi could not go back to a mythical past if they knew next to nothing about it … if they even knew it had existed at all. Far too many believed the Tichck had always been their masters, and that was how things were meant to be. It would take decades to convince the liberated Belosi that they were free, that they didn’t have to defer to the Galactics; decades, he feared, they didn’t have. Earth was a very long way from the heart of interstellar civilisation. The Belosi were far too close for anyone’s peace of mind.

He took his seat and studied the display thoughtfully. He had been a Navy SEAL before joining the newborn Solar Union, and becoming an enhanced commando who had carried out dozens of missions that wouldn’t be openly acknowledged for decades to come, but he knew how to read a starchart. A halo of stars, linked together by lines that represented the gravity points; they looked absurd, like a ball of wool being picked apart by an angry cat, yet no one had found a better way to display the vulgarities of interstellar astrography. Alien empires looked profoundly weird, compared to the simple national borders back on Old Earth, but he supposed human civilisation had developed and flourished along the waterways first and only later expanded into the hinterland, where it was harder to travel without modern technology. Or what had passed for modern, in those days. If someone more competent than a scavenger race had stumbled across Earth, seventy years ago, the human race would be lucky if they only ended up like the Belosi. A race advanced enough to understand technology, yet too primitive to stand against a Galactic power, might be quietly exterminated. The records were unclear, but Solar Intelligence believed it had happened at least a dozen times in the last thousand years and it could easily happen again.

And I believe it, Riley thought. He’d been a deep-cover insertion agent for most of his career. He knew the Galactics. He’d felt the deep contempt they had for primitives, the entitlement that made the most entitled brat on Earth look modest and unassuming. They wouldn’t hesitate to wipe out an entire race if it suited their purposes, or enslave it. We cannot risk letting them have a clear shot at Sol.

Commodore Yasser called the meeting to order. “The repair work is well underway,” he said, without preamble. “The task force should be back to full readiness within a week or so, once we get the newly-produced weapons and components loaded and installed, and with the addition of captured starships from the previous war we actually have more mobile firepower than we did before the previous engagement. We are also mass-producing and deploying mines, automated weapons platforms and converted freighters, giving us a reasonable chance of holding the gravity points or at least bleeding the enemy, if they try to reinforce their fleet in Parnassus and then punch through Point One. That said” – he allowed the words to hang in the air for a long moment – “we cannot guarantee the physical safety of the system. The enemy have copied our tactics for assaulting through a gravity point, and if they are prepared to soak up heavy losses they will break into the system.”

Riley grimaced. The Tokomak had been careful to ensure the gravity points remained unfortified, allowing them to deploy their vast fleet around the known galaxy with terrifying speed. They’d reasoned that any hostile civilisation, even a first-rank power, would have immense difficulty building up enough fortifications to keep the Tokomak from punching through and teaching them a lesson, which struck Riley as a failure of imagination. The onset of war with the human race had empowered a number of other races to tow orbital fortresses from their planetary defences to the gravity points, as well as laying mines and other surprises to make punching through the fortifications extremely costly. It would have worked, if the human race hadn’t deployed missile pods in response. And now the Galactics were deploying their own missile pods …

“The Belosi have come up with a number of ideas for blunting a missile pod assault,” Sarah said, her voice calm and controlled. “We can make such an offensive incredibly expensive.”

“Given what is at stake, I doubt we can make it too expensive,” Yasser countered. “They can just keep launching pods through the gravity point until our defences are worn down to the point of uselessness.”

Riley couldn’t disagree. It was difficult, almost impossible, to exaggerate the sheer industrial potential of a first-rank system. The Galactics could churn out a near-infinite number of missiles and missile pods, enough to literally sweep the defences away under a bombardment so intense the defences could stop nine-tenths and still lose. Parnassus didn’t have such a sizable industrial base, and the task force had neutralised the local fabricators during the brief occupation, but the enemy could easily bring in missiles from another system or purge the fabricators of the malware rendering them worse than useless. Given time, the Galactics could make Parnassus impregnable and then thrust into Belos. If they were willing to soak up the costs …

If, Riley thought. The Tichck were incredibly competitive, their society so capitalistic it was almost a parody from the days before the human race realised it wasn’t alone. They were unlikely to tamely accept the loss, not when whoever held Belos could use the gravity points to boost their economy into the stratosphere. They won’t let us go in a hurry.

He scowled, inwardly. Panama might not have been a sizable nation, back in the pre-space days, but her possession of the Panama Canal had given her an importance that couldn’t be justified by her population or industrial base. It wasn’t as if the canal could be moved, although he knew there had been plans to carve a second canal through Nicaragua or Columbia, and the same could be said for the gravity points. The Galactics had been researching the gravity points for longer than the human race had known fire, trying to find a way to create artificial gravity points, but so far they hadn’t succeeded. Riley didn’t know how the Solar Union’s own program was progressing – the project was so highly-classified the only reason he knew it existed was because he was certain it would exist – yet he was fairly certain any success would have been announced to great fanfare. The idea of being able to create gravity point at will, and transfer a fleet from one side of the galaxy to the other instantly, was too tempting to be ignored.

And that means the Belosi will never be allowed to be free, he thought, coldly. Their system is just too important.

“Right now, the enemy are preventing us from making full use of the three gravity points,” Yasser continued. “They are blocking transit through Point One directly and, indirectly, harassing anyone who attempts to use Points Two and Three. They’re insisting all three points belong to them, and cataloguing anyone who passes through without paying the transit fees with the intent of charging them later. This is impeding our ability to either use them to earn currency or muster support amongst the interstellar traders for a favourable end to hostilities.”

“Cowards,” Riley muttered. “It isn’t as if the bastards can force them to pay.”

“They can bar all future transit through the gravity points,” Yasser pointed out. “As long as the outsiders think the Belosi won’t maintain their independence for long, they’ll be reluctant to irk the Tichck more than strictly necessary.”

Riley scowled. The Galactics talked about law and order, but in reality the galaxy was governed by the rule of naked force. The humans who had insisted, very loudly, that aliens would be inherently more civilised than mankind had been very disappointed, when they’d discovered the truth. Might didn’t make right, not in any real sense, but it did determine what happened. It didn’t matter who was morally in the right, when the outcome was determined by whoever had the larger guns and bigger armies. As long as the outcome of the current conflict was in doubt, the neutral powers would refrain from doing anything which put them on the wrong side of the dispute. As Sir Terry had put it, many years ago, the wrong side was the one that lost.

“We could offer to collect and store fees,” Sarah said. “If the Tichck win, we can even offer to transfer the funds to them.”

“Or we could conceal the identities of whoever passes through the gravity points,” Riley offered, feeling a twinge of disappointment. Sarah should know better than to indulge in anything that smacked of appeasement. There was nothing to be gained by giving a bully an inch, not when they would use it to take a foot. Pretty soon, as the old joke went, you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. “If they don’t know who made transit, they won’t know who to charge.”

“They’ll have the gravity points under observation,” Yasser said, quietly. “The neutrals will certainly assume they do.”

Riley made a face. Humanity had the most advanced sensors in the galaxy, as far as anyone knew, and yet it was damn near impossible to spot a passive sensor platform orbiting the gravity point at a safe distance, radiating nothing in the way of betraying emissions that would draw attention from prowling starships. The only way to find a stealthed platform was to ram it and the odds of that were incalculably small. Hell, the star system might be tiny on an interstellar scale, but the navy could hide an entire fleet within the system and be fairly sure of remaining unnoticed, as long as they were careful. Yasser might be a conservative naval officer – and Riley couldn’t help wondering about Lack of Moral Fibre – but he had a point. They might be unable to convince the neutrals they were free to make use of the gravity points, at least without it coming back to bite them later.

“We can drive them out of Parnassus again,” Yasser continued. “But afterwards …”

“We can’t afford a constant between the two systems,” Riley mused. “We need another option.”

“They have been trying to build networks of influence within the neighbouring systems,” Sarah reminded him. “If we expose their existence …”

Riley doubted it would have any real effect, certainly not in the short run. Corruption had been a part of galactic society for centuries. The neighbouring powers would be embarrassed to know how deeply they’d been penetrated, he was sure, but revealing the traitors within their ranks wouldn’t earn the human race any gratitude. Hell, he couldn’t help wondering if the captured files had deliberately exaggerated their success. It was incredibly difficult to build up any sort of intelligence network in a culture that was literally alien, and he found it hard to believe the Tichck had done any better than Solar Intelligence. But then, they had been part of the interstellar community for much longer and they had immense wealth and power. He’d been cautioned it was unwise to attribute human motives to aliens, and he understood the logic behind it too, but in this case he thought it made a degree of sense. An agent could take a sizable payment and vanish before his own people caught up with him.

“It might work,” Yasser said. “But as long as we’re seen as the underdog, they won’t take our side.”

“Probably not,” Riley agreed.

His heart twisted. He liked the Belosi. They had remarkable potential, a potential they’d been steadily developing for the last fifty years. He didn’t really blame them for wanting to retake their homeworld – Belos had been stolen from them, not destroyed by their own people – and he wanted them to succeed. And yet, the cold weight of raw numbers told against them. The Tichck had come very close to recovering the system, and they might still succeed if they tried again. They certainly couldn’t afford to simply let it go. It would make them look weak, and looking weak – in the lawless post-war galaxy – was the most dangerous thing to be. If …

He keyed his console, adjusting the starchart. Perhaps they were looking at the problem from the wrong angle. The Tichck had enemies, hundreds of them. Given their nature, it was inevitable. They didn’t know when to stop, when to keep from taking advantage of a potential target’s weakness or even when to stop grinding their prey’s face in the dirt. They were sore losers and sorer winners, the kind of opponent people would keep fighting because being smashed into rubble was better than having their nose rubbed in their defeat. Riley had seen the way they treated others, even races barely any less powerful than themselves. They had enemies. And those enemies were potential allies.

But they won’t intervene unless they think the Tichck are bound to lose, he reflected. Unless …

A chuckle escaped his throat. Unless they had some reason to intervene that had nothing to do with us.

Yasser shot him a sharp look. “Do you think there’s something funny about our situation?”

Riley looked back at him. “They don’t know who they’re fighting, do they?”

Yasser looked at Commander Ewan Raiser, who grimaced. “As near as we can tell, they don’t know for sure who’s backing the Belosi,” he said. “The captured datacores list a number of suspects, with the Vesparians at the top, but … they don’t know for sure.”

“No,” Riley agreed. “We made sure not to show them anything that could be easily traced back to Earth.”

He felt his lips curve into a nasty grin. The task force ships were built on standard hulls. Their missiles were standard designs. Their shields and sensors and nearly everything else were common or garden technology, systems that any first-rank race could put together very quickly and then sell to any second or third-rank race it chose. The presence of humans amongst the task force proved nothing, not when there were human mercenaries operating right across the known galaxy. And that meant …

“There is an old story,” he said. “There was a man, who had two deadly enemies. Those enemies were both giants, and the man knew he couldn’t fight even one of them alone. It was just a matter of time before one or both beat him into a pulp, leaving him deader than dead.”

He paused, dramatically. “How did he solve his problem? He tricked them into fighting each other.”

His smile grew wider. It wasn’t the first time he’d convinced two groups of enemies to fight each other. There had been operations in Afghanistan and the Middle East where they’d worked to get two groups of terrorists to come to blows, making it harder for them to cooperate against the infidel … and everyone else who had just wanted to live in peace, without worrying about being punished for defying some obscure law they’d never heard of. It was astonishing, he reflected, how many laws had been enforced for unholy purposes, but the cynic in him wasn’t really surprised. The footsoldiers might have believed in their cause; their leaders, by contrast, were in it for the power.

“The Tichck have enemies,” he said. “And they already suspect one of those enemies is backing the Belosi. I suggest we make it clear that the Vesparians – their prime suspect – really is behind the operation, in a manner they cannot ignore.”

He paused, again. His blood felt cold. It was a hell of a risk, although he was aware they were doomed if they fought a conventional war … and that defeating the Tichck ran the risk of exposing themselves to the Vesparians. They were another potential threat, another race hoping to succeed the Tokomak as masters of the known universe. If they could be weakened too, it would work in humanity’s favour. He didn’t care to think about the morality of such a plan. It wasn’t as if moral behaviour guaranteed safety and security. He had been a military officer and covert operative too long to believe the moral high ground conferred any protection at all.

“And if we trick them into going to war with each other,” he added coldly, “we win.”

 

Chapter Three

Commodore Elton Yasser knew, without false modesty, that he was a better diplomat than a naval officer. He had largely sat out the great interstellar war, although his captaincy of Odyssey during the Harmonies Crisis, and the ship’s desperate flight from a trap, had given him a reputation he sometimes felt he didn’t deserve. It wasn’t that he was a coward – he knew better than to think of himself as anything of the sort – but that he believed in high-mindedness and the importance of following the rules, and of making a show of doing so, rather than pushing them aside in the interests of short-term advantage. It would be a short-term advantage, he was sure; once you established a reputation as someone who didn’t follow the rules, no one would trust you again. Ever.

Elton stared at Richardson for a long moment, torn between hope and horror. He had no illusions about Galactic Law, or about how the rules were written to benefit the powerful over the powerless. He had no illusions, either, about how sparsely the laws had been enforced, even before the enforcers had been soundly defeated. There was no reason to believe the Galactics would honour the rules, even as they penalised lesser races for breaking them. Hell, the invasion and occupation of Belos, and the de facto enslavement of the Belosi, had been perfectly legal under Galactic Law. The Tichck had been quite within their rights to do so.

And yet, the idea of winning a war by starting a conflict between the Tichck and the Vesparians horrified him.

It was cold and practical and the diplomatic part of his mind doubted it would work. The two races might exchange salvos, but the diplomats would get involved before the conflict grew out of control. Or would they? The two races had come very close to blows fifty years ago, when the Tichck had blamed the Vesparians for the uprising, and outright war had only been averted by the Tokomak. This time, would they actually start fighting? And if they did …

He shuddered. Galactic Law was supposed to keep interstellar conflict relatively civilised, but he knew better than to believe it. There would be atrocities, accidental at first, that would spark demands for bloody revenge and retribution, triggering off wave after wave of reprisal attacks that would send countless millions – billions – of intelligent life forms into the fire. Elton was no racist. He knew, better than most, that aliens were as intelligent, as worthy of life, as any human; he knew he didn’t want to live with an interstellar conflict, even a relatively restrained one, on his conscience. And yet, he didn’t want to abandon the Belosi either. He knew he’d come too close to doing exactly that, using his orders as a shield to cover himself. The hell of it was that he might well have made the wrong choice. His superiors might well feel that way.

“You are talking about triggering a war between two major races,” he said. The risk was immense. If one or both races worked out what had really happened, humanity would face an alliance of the remaining major powers. “If they figure out who is behind it …”

“They won’t,” Richardson said. He sounded supremely confident. “There is enough hatred and suspicion between the two races to make it easy for them to blame each other for the crisis, instead of us. Or anyone else.”

He leaned forward. “The Tichck will blame the Vesparians for the crisis. The Vesparians will know perfectly well they are innocent, and assume the Tichck are trying to come up with a justification for invading their territory. They do control some of the potential spacelanes leading from Tichck Prime to Belos, if they don’t want to hammer their way up the gravity point chain or send another fleet through neutral territory. The crisis will make it harder, much harder, for them to calm down and start thinking about what’s really happening, when the need to retaliate will be pressing. If we get them fighting each other …”

“If,” Elton put in.

“We can make use of the diversion to secure our own position,” Richardson continued. “It might be doable.”

“It might,” Elton agreed.

He stared at the display for a long moment, trying to organise his thoughts. He’d never been confident the deception would last indefinitely, no matter what desk-jockeys a few hundred light years away insisted. The Tichck had no reason, as far as he knew, to blame the Solar Union for the uprising on Belos, but in his experience the truth always came out eventually. It was easy enough to come up with a brilliant plan that worked brilliantly, at least on paper, yet decades of naval experience insisted that no plan, no matter how brilliant, survived contact with the enemy …

It looked good. The Tichck would assume the Belosi uprising was a diversion, designed to convince them to redeploy their fleets from the borders. The Vesparians would assume the whole affair was a put-up job, providing a justification to start a war … perhaps. Elton wasn’t so sure about that. Richardson was right to say the Vesparians would know they were innocent … unless they assumed they were getting the blame for something one of their rivals had done. The Tichck weren’t short of enemies. And if they looked weak, they might be jumped by several enemies at once.

He scowled. It went against the grain to take part in a deception operation. But he couldn’t think of anything else.

“We’ll have to draw up possible action plans,” he said. Perhaps his staff would come up with a reason not to launch the operation, although he doubted there was any simple reason not to take the risk. “And if they do start fighting each other …”

His eyes narrowed as he studied the starchart. He’d seen the campaign plans, action concepts drawn up by staffers who lacked both authority and responsibility. They had assumed a steady series of victories, against an enemy unwilling or unable to redeploy ships and crews to meet a threat advancing towards their homeworlds, and Elton had dismissed them as nothing more than wishful thinking. And yet … he keyed the display, adjusting the starchart. If the enemy were diverted, if they thought there would be a major interstellar war, they might be able to pull it off. Might.

“If the enemy lets us, we could reach Sakrknda,” he mused. It was a bottleneck system, connecting two clusters of Tichck stars together. If the system fell into unfriendly hands, the Tichck Consortium would be cut in two. “But taking the system would be immensely difficult even if the enemy withdrew all their ships.”

“Perhaps not,” Sarah said. “I have an idea.”

Elton eyed her, warily. Sarah was more practical than Riley Richardson, for all that they’d served together for decades, but she had shamed him into taking a stand against the invading fleet only two weeks ago. Elton understood her thinking, yet it meant defying his orders …technically, no matter the outcome, he was in for some trouble when he returned home. He scowled inwardly, suddenly understanding – all too well – just why so many military officers had made seemingly inexplicable mistakes. They had put their careers ahead of their countries.

Or they didn’t know something obvious in hindsight, he reminded himself. There could be a million-strong battle fleet roaring towards the system, and he wouldn’t know anything about it until it dropped out of FTL. What you don’t know can hurt you.

He met her eyes. “Go ahead.”

“There’s no guarantee of anything,” Sarah said, “but our interrogations revealed a number of Subdo who were … are … less than happy with their role in the Tichck Consortium. They don’t enjoy being de facto slaves and serfs, working for alien masters, and some are planning to do something about it.”

Elton nodded, slowly. He didn’t blame them. The Subdo had been a great deal more advanced than the Belosi when they’d been discovered, but nowhere near advanced enough to build an empire of their own. The Galactics had swept them up and turned them into middle-managers, slave overseers and soldiers who would never be anything more, save – perhaps – for a handful who had fled to the Rim and were now little more than just another scavenger race. They had a reputation for being cruel, as unpleasant to races they considered lesser as their masters, and yet … if they were plotting a revolution, it was something they could use.

“I see,” he said, finally. “And can you trust anything they told us?”

“We interrogated them carefully, using baseline data on their species to watch for lies,” Sarah said. She didn’t bother to point out lie detectors were not always reliable. Some could be tricked, with the right training or implants; others could be rendered worse than useless through incomplete or inaccurate data. The captives might be telling the truth, but it was impossible to say for sure. “A handful insisted they were part of a revolutionary cell, linked to a network running though Tichck-held space. We may be able to use them.”

“May,” Elton repeated. He had no illusions about the task ahead of them. There were four gravity point transits to Sakrknda, and the system itself would be heavily defended. The enemy would have plenty of time, too, to reshuffle forces to meet him. But if they were distracted by events on the far side of their empire. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

“We make contact with whatever cells there are in Sakrknda,” Sarah said. “And we proceed from there.”

Elton scowled. It was one thing to have a plan, even if the plan went off the rails very quickly, and quite another to wing it. The Firelighters – and the other Covert Operations Teams – were supposed to be good at improvising, but it offended his military soul to be so confident they could find a way to make things work when they were hundreds of light years from any hope of succour. He reminded himself, sharply, that the team had done it before, saving an entire race from servitude or extinction in the process. They could do it again.

“Draw whatever you need from central storage,” he said. “And let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

“We’ll just need a freighter, one that doesn’t look remotely military,” Richardson said. “And we’ll need an excuse to flee the system.”

“We’ll have to swoop into Parnassus anyway,” Elton said. There would be an immediate flight from the planet, again, when the task force punched its way through the gravity point. Every freighter within the system would be running for its life, the confusion providing more than enough cover to slip a covert operations team – or two – into the next gravity point. “Just make sure your papers are in order.”

“We have done it before,” Richardson reminded him. “We know what we’re doing.”

“I hope so,” Elton said.

He kept his face under tight control. The team had orders to trigger their suicide implants if they were caught, ensuring no one could dissect their brains and discover proof they came from the Solar Union, but there was no way to know they’d actually do it until it was too late. No matter how carefully they covered their tracks, the risk of a leak had to be taken seriously. The Solar Union was a great deal stronger than it had been fifty years ago, when the first mission to Belos had been dispatched, but the Solar Navy was dangerously overstretched.

Which might provide another justification for sparking a war between alien powers, he told himself, grimly. If they are fighting us, they are not going to be fighting each other.

No. That wasn’t funny.

“My staff will evaluate the possible options and determine how best to proceed,” he said, instead. “If they believe the operation can be carried out successfully, we will begin as quickly as possible.”

Richardson leaned forward. “And how quickly is that?”

“A week, at the most,” Elton said. “I want to ensure this system is as secure as possible before we leave it.”

“That should be more than long enough,” Richardson said. “It can be done.”

Elton hoped, grimly, that he was right. It was one hell of a risk, quite apart from any moral concerns. If they were caught …

No, he told himself firmly. They would not be caught.

***

It was against regulations, technically, for an officer and a subordinate to wind up in bed together, but the Covert Operations Teams had always been a world of their own. It didn’t help, Riley had acknowledged years ago, that Sarah and he had been the only humans on an alien habitat for over a decade, and regular sex was a vital part of keeping a human sane and healthy. It wasn’t love – in truth, he had been a military officer so long that he couldn’t imagine a life outside the service – but in some ways it was far more intimate than any civilian relationship could possibly hope to be. They were both old enough to understand what they were doing, no matter how young their bodies seemed, and mature enough to understand it couldn’t last. It was just sex. And if that made them friends with benefits, that was what they were.

“It’s been too long,” Sarah said, as they lay together afterwards. The battlecruiser was hardly an alien world, and there were plenty of other possible sexual partners in the crew, but they were still together. The naval crew simply couldn’t appreciate what they’d gone through, let alone the hard choices that needed to be made when they were far beyond the Solar Union’s loose borders and looser laws. “Do you think the plan will work?”

Riley turned to face her. “Do you think we can trigger an uprising on a world none of us have ever visited?”

“Perhaps,” Sarah said. “But we won’t know until we get there.”

“Yeah.” Riley had dealt with hundreds of dissidents, rebels, terrorists and freedom fighters, human as well as alien. He’d also dealt with thousands of loudmouths who’d had about as much connection to genuine terrorists, or freedom fighters, as he’d had at the time. There was never any shortage of idiots prattling about connections to impress their peers and young women, something that appeared to be a universal constant. “They might have been lying. Or they might have been lied to. We’ll find out.”

He sighed, inwardly. “Can we rely on the commodore to carry out his side of the operation?”

Sarah shot him a warning glance. “I think he’s a good man, if rather careful,” she said. “And he can be talked into doing the right thing.”

Riley made a face. Orders were orders, yes, but it had been drilled into him that orders issued by men hundreds of light years away, men who knew little of the true situation, were to be taken as guidelines rather than holy writ. It would take weeks, at best, to get a message to Sol and receive a response, even if the return message was dispatched immediately. If they had gone underground on Belos and sent a message requesting further orders, would the whole affair have worked out as well as it had? Or would they have been trapped when they tried to flee the planet, trapped and captured and interrogated? Riley knew the implants of that era hadn’t been wholly reliable. They could have been forced to reveal the truth. And that would have been utterly disastrous.

“I hope you’re right,” he said. He was tempted to ask her to remain behind, but there weren’t many other trained operatives attached to the task force. There was no time to request a dedicated unit, let alone get one sent out to join them. “If nothing else, an uprising behind the lines should buy time for the Belosi to make their system impregnable.”

He knew, even as he spoke, there was no such thing. The early era of space exploration had been marked with heavy gravity point fortifications, forcing would-be invaders to soak up heavy casualties … an era that had come to an abrupt end when the Tokomak had developed FTL drives and sent their fleets around the gravity points. The Belosi had captured a sizable industrial base and they were using it to churn out missiles and weapons and everything else they needed, but it wasn’t enough. It could never be enough. They could do everything right and still lose.

“And make them rethink the wisdom of using so many other races as slaves,” Sarah added, dryly. “Their economy is largely dependent on slave labour.”

Riley grimaced. It seemed impossible, to say the least, that a modern economy could rely on slaves. It was something out of a nightmare, perhaps out of the alternate history books he’d devoured years ago … and yet, the Tichck had made it work. Somehow. They’d tied their workers up in a web of debt and interest payments that kept them from ever buying themselves free, while allowing their own people to struggle to reach the top. If the entire system could be wrecked … it wasn’t much of a plan, he reflected, but it was the start of one. And who knew just what opportunities would present themselves when they reached the target systems?

He sat upright, admiring Sarah’s naked body. She was physically perfect, a combination of constant exercise and genetic modification giving her strength, speed, and good looks. The latter were hardly rare in the Solar Union, but he was old enough to understand a pretty face wasn’t enough. He supposed it was one benefit of the rejuvenation treatments they’d both had, over the years. They were mature enough to realise what they had, while their bodies were young enough to enjoy it.

And we might not make it back home alive, he thought, as he climbed on top of her. We have to enjoy ourselves while we can.

 

Chapter Four

The freighter had no name, nothing beyond a registry number that was probably fake.

Sarah stood on the bridge, or what passed for a bridge on a ship that was barely large enough to qualify as a starship, and frowned as she studied the datacore. It was not the original datacore and, no matter how she looked at it, she suspected it had been inserted by someone who didn’t know what they were doing and didn’t have to put their life at risk by travelling on the starship. The unnamed freighter wasn’t a military or intelligence vessel decked up to look like something shot down by a missile and then patched up by a handful of drunken monkeys, but a vessel that really was on the brink of coming apart if someone so much as coughed in her direction. If someone had tried to sell the ship to anyone who wasn’t completely desperate, they’d be laughed out of house and home. Sarah had seen banged-up old cars sold by dubious dealers that looked safer than the tramp freighter wrapped around her. She should be paid for taking it off their hands.

She took a long breath, tasting something unpleasant in the air, then forced herself to examine the datacore a little more carefully. The machine was up to the task, barely. The ship would be in very real trouble if she ran into a warship, or even a converted civilian starship, but Sarah hadn’t gone looking for a ship that appeared even remotely threatening. The Galactics took more care when examining warships, or civilian ships that could easily be converted into warships, and there was something to be said for looking harmless. It might get them picked on – and she knew how dangerous it could be to look harmless, in a lawless jungle – but it wouldn’t get them blown away on suspicion.

Her implants reached out to touch the datanet, or what there was of it. The bandwidth was minimal, so primitive it could have passed for a computer from the pre-space era. A handful of sealed datacores glowed in her awareness, demanding passwords; she ran a couple of automated cracking programs to unseal the files, then recoiled in shock as a torrent of interspecies porn downloaded itself into her head. She shuddered in disgust – the Galactics regarded interspecies sex as taboo, as much as humans recoiled from sexual material that exploited children – and made a mental note to remove the datacores before they left. If they were unlocked by someone who wanted to know what they’d be carrying, they’d be arrested and disappeared very quickly. It was just too dangerous to carry.

“And no one would want to buy it,” she muttered. “At least, no one we want to deal with.”

Riley stepped onto the bridge, looking grim. “The hull is cracked and broken in a dozen places,” he said. “Why do I have a sudden urge to take my sick leave?”

Sarah snorted. They might be lovers when they were off duty, but they were very professional when they were on active service. They’d be on duty all the time, from the moment they slipped through the gravity point and headed for their destination. It was almost a shame … she shook her head, nipping that thought in the bud. The mission came first, always.

“You have a working brain,” she said, dryly. The hull had been patched up by the repair crews, who had orders to do a shoddy job that wasn’t too shoddy, but she wouldn’t have felt safe if she hadn’t known her implants would keep her alive long enough to get into a suit, if the hull cracked open in interstellar space. “If you kick a bulkhead in the wrong place, the entire ship will shatter into rubble.”

“I need a drink,” Riley said. “Several drinks.”

Sarah smiled, knowing it was a joke. “Sorry,” she said. “No can do.”

Riley snorted, then collapsed into a misshapen alien chair. “Can this heap of junk get us there, or should we ask for another ship?”

“On paper, yes,” Sarah told him. “In practice …”

She made a face. The Tokomak were good starship designers, if a little uninspired, and the unnamed freighter had been a very reasonable piece of work a few thousand years ago. She hadn’t been designed for refits, according to the files, and her successive owners had struggled to cram more modern tech into her hull without breaking something actually important. The only reason the Belosi hadn’t taken the ship and turned her into a makeshift warship, or at least something that would soak up a few enemy missiles, was that she really was old. There was no point in wasting effort trying to bring her up to modern standards.

“I trust you,” Riley said.

“You can trust me all you like,” Sarah said, waspishly. “You probably shouldn’t trust this ship.”

Riley nodded. “As long as it gets us there. Cover stories?”

“Loaded into the datacores,” Sarah said. “If they’ll believe us …”

She tried not to scowl. It had been easy, fifty years ago, to sneak around the enemy systems, trusting they were beneath suspicion. Now … all the old certainties had collapsed, one by one, in the wake of the Human-Tokomak War. Some races were sealing their borders, others ruthlessly exploiting their control over nearby gravity points to support their friends and beggar their enemies … it was possible, all too possible, that they’d be denied transit permissions, or simply ordered to turn around. The open society she had known as a young operative had died a long time ago.

Riley keyed his datapad, and examined the story. “Tramp freighter, looking for cargo?”

“It’s probably our best bet,” Sarah said, after a moment. The big interstellar shipping cartels had never quite managed to lock smaller companies and individual shippers out of the market, but it wasn’t uncommon for freighters to jump from system to system in search of a cargo, something they could carry without a long-term contract. There wouldn’t be anything inherently suspicious in the pretence, although if anyone bothered to check the story wouldn’t take that long to unravel. “They might see us as smugglers, but infiltrators?”

“As long as we are below suspicion,” Riley groused. “Do we have any cargo?”

“Just a consignment of datacores and a sob story,” Sarah said. “Make sure you know it all by the time we leave, because we have to keep the story straight.”

“It does have the virtue of simplicity,” Riley said. “Did Charles say when he was coming?”

“I think he was checking in with the Belosi before we left,” Sarah said. “There’s still a couple of days before departure.”

Riley stood. “I’d better go back to inspecting the hull,” he said. “I’m starting to think we should sleep in spacesuits.”

“Yeah.” Sarah laughed, although the joke wasn’t really funny. They knew how to cope with a hull breach, but this ship was so brittle it was hard to imagine the hull standing up to someone tapping on the metal. A popgun pellet would be overkill. “It would probably be a good idea.”

“We can bring in a life support bubble too,” Riley offered. “Or a tent.”

Sarah nodded in agreement. It wouldn’t give them any protection if the aliens put a shot through the hull, but it might make the difference between life and death if something gave way and the vessel’s interior was exposed to vacuum. She had her doubts about the ship’s FTL drive too … the original drive section had been torn out long ago and replaced with something that was supposed to be far smaller and yet – thanks to the poor interior design – somehow managed to be quite the opposite. It did provide a certain number of hiding places for their supplies, but still …

She turned back to her work as he left, bringing the console online and examining the control routines. They were very simplistic, to the point she was surprised the original owners had managed to land the craft at all. They’d be far better off taking her into orbit and docking with the orbital stations, rather than risk trying to land or using the teleporters. The latter looked as if they might dematerialise someone, but not put them back together again. Sarah knew better than to mess with the sealed unit, and she suspected the repair crews would refuse to try if she asked; she made a mental note to use it only in case of dire emergency, then put it aside. Teleporters were dangerously unsafe to repair, if you didn’t know what you were doing. Most races chose to replace the entire device, rather than put lives at risk through shoddy repairs.

“We should be safe,” she muttered. The story looked thin, but she knew from experience it would provide a reasonable degree of cover. She would have preferred to pass through a couple of systems, leaving behind a data trail that was completely authentic, but she doubted they had time. They’d have to rely on the fact their cargo wasn’t worth much, certainly not to anyone who had any better options. “And once we get there, we can vanish.”

She keyed her datapad, bringing up the files. There was surprisingly little in the navy’s datacores about Sakrknda, but they’d captured a bunch of alien datacores and they’d filled in the gaps. Sakrknda was a major transit world, with a ring and industrial nodes and a large – and constantly growing – population, most little more than transients. There would be no long-term settlements, she was sure, certainly not legal ones. She’d seen dozens of worlds just like it. Oddly, the thought gave her a smile. It would be far easier to get around than Belos, before the war.

“We can do it,” she told herself. “And if this crate can get us there, we will.”

***

The gravity point was invisible, at least to the naked eye, although Elton’s imagination filled in a faint hint of distortion against the unblinking stars, a faint hint there was something in the darkness, something twisting the light as it pulsed through interstellar space and brushed against his eyes. The wreckage of the last engagements had been cleared away, replaced by automated weapons platforms and mines that were equally invisible to the naked eye … some invisible, at least in part, to both active and passive sensors. There were interstellar agreements against such things, laws designed to benefit the strong over the weak, but the Belosi had chosen to ignore them. Elton could hardly blame them, not when they had nothing to gain by following the rules. They had been denied what few rights the rules offered them, and they were very few indeed.

His lips twitched. The slaveowner might decree slavery legal, he mused. But why would the slave care to follow his rules?

The thought wasn’t really amusing. They’d spent the last few days going through the plan, some determined to make it work and others desperate to find an excuse to cancel it. The concept was sound, Elton had been assured, but it relied on two very different kinds of aliens dancing to his tune. Elton knew better than to believe everything would go according to plan – the naysayers had been very graphic, when they’d pointed out all the opportunities for disaster – yet they would be operating within the enemy’s command and control loop, once they broke into Parnassus and started swinging through enemy systems. They’d need time to react and as long as he didn’t give them that time …

His eyes found the invisible tear in space, his mood darkening. He had no idea what might be waiting for him on the far side of the gravity point. The enemy CO was a wily one, and their technicians might have unlocked the fabbers Elton had ordered sabotaged before they’d fallen back to Belos. Even if they were dependent on supplies from the next system up the chain, they could still have brought in enough firepower to bleed the task force white. There could be hundreds of enemy ships holding position near the gravity point, close enough to intercept his ships without being too close … close enough to get hammered by the missiles he intended to use to clear his way. He dared not assume the enemy would fall back on old tactics, tactics that were now worse than useless. They might not have believed the first reports from the war front – wishful thinking, he told himself sharply – but they’d felt missile pods themselves. They knew the risks.

What would I do, Elton asked himself, if I was in their shoes?

He scowled, inwardly. The Solar Union was a constitutional democracy, a state that was responsive to its citizens and very aware of their constitutional rights. The population did not feel oppressed, nor would it rise in revolt if the Solar Union lost a battle or two. There were certainly no slaves groaning under the yoke, no resentful populations who would look at their masters taking a beating and start thinking about how they could free themselves … in many ways, he admitted, the Tichck were almost dangerously alien. In their shoes, he would trade space for time. He wasn’t sure if they would feel the same way. A perception of weakness, of an interstellar empire turning into a military vacuum, could so easily become reality. The Tichck would know it too.

His intercom bleeped. “Commodore, the final task force units have arrived and taken up position,” Lieutenant Harris reported. “They’re making the final preparations now.”

“Understood,” Elton said. He glanced at his wristcom. There were two hours to go, two hours to get everything ready, run a final set of sims and make sure the crews got some rest. There had been no way to keep the crew from learning the fleet was about to go on the offensive, again, even if he’d wanted to try. The tension had taken a toll before the fleet had so much as moved into position, committing itself to the attack. “Was there any update from the sensor crews?”

“No, sir,” Harris said. “Would you like me to ask for one?”

“No,” Elton said. The sensor crews would have contacted the CIC at once, if they’d picked up something. “Alert me if anything changes.”

He closed the connection, then turned and walked out of the sensor blister. The battlecruiser throbbed with activity, the crew rushing around the decks to make sure everything was in place before their ship jumped into the unknown. He felt a flicker of guilt as he realised just what would happen to the crew if the ship was disabled, if she risked falling into enemy hands. The captain had orders to hit the self-destruct, to maintain the secret of humanity’s involvement … it was hard, almost impossible, to think about what he’d done. And yet, there was no choice. If the Galactics worked out who was behind their recent troubles ….

You’d think they’d already know it, he mused, as he made his way back to his cabin. Who else burst onto the Galactic scene and bested the Tokomak themselves?

His lips quirked. The projections suggested the Galactics wouldn’t draw the right conclusions. Belos was a very long way from Earth, and the troubles on Belos had started a long time before humanity had burst onto the galactic scene. Logic suggested humanity had nothing to do with the whole affair, certainly not the human government, but aliens were no more logical than humans. They might draw the right conclusions for the wrong reasons.

He stepped into his cabin and collapsed onto the sofa. A quick power nap would leave him refreshed, ready to face the coming offensive. It felt wrong to be resting when his officers and crew were so busy, but there was little else he could do. They all knew their roles, they all knew what to do … there was no point in micromanaging, not when it would only make their roles harder. He’d had a few micromanaging commanders in his career and he’d detested them. It had been a relief to leave them behind.

The alarm pinged, what felt like seconds later. Elton stared at the display, then poured himself coffee and drank it while checking the updates. There was nothing important, just tedious minutiae that was better left to his staff. He sighed, suddenly understanding why his old commanders had been micromanagers. It was a way to feel they were doing something, even when they were – in reality – accomplishing nothing. The hell of it was that most couldn’t bring themselves to admit that was what they were doing.

But doing something would be better than doing nothing, just sitting at my desk and biting my fingernails as I wait, he reminded himself. He felt a stab of envy for the crew who had something to do, even if they had no idea of the greater picture. It would be …

The alarm pinged, again. Elton stood, opened the hatch and made his way down to the CIC. The display was brightly lit, the gravity point surrounded by so many icons it looked as if someone could jump from weapons platform to weapons platform effortlessly. Elton knew it was an illusion – packing weapons platforms so tightly together was asking for trouble – but he hoped it would impress any watching eyes. Whoever was in charge on the far side was no dummy, yet … were they in charge of the entire fleet? He doubted it. A society as competitive as the Tichck would put forward officers more intent on reaching higher rank through backstabbing than achieving military glory. It helped, he supposed, that until recently there had been no risk of a greater interstellar war.

“Bring the fleet to full readiness,” he ordered, as he took his seat. The prospect of action was always welcome. “And prepare to attack on my command.”

“Aye, sir.”

 

Caught something nasty. Normal service will resume ASAP.

Until then ...

PRE-ORDER NOW – Conquistadors!

 

You're not gonna get-off that easy! Man up and get to writing!  Really, take care of yourself!

 

What does Jefferson Davis have in common with Hitler and Stalin?

 

Chapter Five

Admiral Veetacore stood on her command deck and thought cold thoughts about her superiors.

The plan had been perfect, on paper. Send one fleet to Parnassus and drive the enemy back to Belos, then send another through a different gravity point into Belos itself and pin the enemy against either the first gravity point or the planet. Either way, the exiled Belosi would be trapped and their mysterious backers would be forced to either abandon the Belosi or intervene openly, allowing the full might of the fleet to be brought to bear against their core systems. The plan had been perfect, on paper …

Which was probably why it had failed.

There was no way to be sure what was happening on the far side of the gravity point, but the simple fact the other fleet hadn’t sent a courier drone through the point to tell her she could relax and reopen direct communications between Belos and Tichck Prime was all the proof she needed that something had gone horribly wrong. Trying to coordinate a multi-prong offensive was difficult enough at the best of times, and when it took weeks to send a message from one assault force to the other it was damn near impossible. The plan had relied on their enemies being primitive idiots who couldn’t count past twenty without getting undressed, and their enemies were clearly a little smarter than that. The Belosi were primitives, unable to develop their stolen technology past a certain level because their intellectual development had come to a halt when they encountered a more advanced race, but their backers had done a good job of preparing them for modern war. Veetacore hated to admit that she was impressed, even to herself, but it was true. The Belosi had put up one hell of a fight.

She scowled as she glanced at the latest intelligence update, as useless as the rest. The analysis staff were trying to earn their pay, but the lack of any solid data made it difficult for them to offer anything new. Their reports ranged from sober and repetitive analysis to wild speculation, the latter so far beyond any rational grounding that Veetacore was tempted to suggest the analysts take a break. There was no need to invent stories of hyper-advanced races from beyond the edge of explored space, carefully undermining what remained of galactic civilisation, when there was no shortage of enemies she knew to be all too real. The practical list of suspects was relatively short. There just weren’t many powers that would risk moving in on Tichck territory without being able to back up their covert operation with open war, if they were exposed before it was too late.

Her fingers darted across the console, pulling up a starchart that had been burned into her memory for the last few months. She knew the awful logic imposed on military operations by the gravity point chains, understood the importance of regaining control of Belos as quickly as possible. It was only a matter of time before the Belosi started making bank off the remaining two gravity points, the ones that weren’t blockaded, and once other powers had an interest in keeping the system open it would be all over bar the shouting. The Belosi even had an odd advantage, she reflected ruefully. Their sheer lack of awareness of interstellar affairs might wind up working in their favour, if they allowed other races to use the gravity points without charge. It would give them an unbeatable edge. Even if the Tichck offered the same, no one would believe them.

An alarm pinged.

Veetacore tensed, bracing herself as secondary alarms howled through the massive battleship. No military crew could hope to remain on alert forever, and she was almost painfully aware that most of her officers and crew were resting. The enemy might be poking the gravity point in a bid to wear her subordinates down, reasoning that a few dozen alerts would leave them in no state to resist when the real offensive started, or they might be launching the first offensive without warning. Veetacore frowned as a cluster of red icons materialised on the gravity point, cursing under her breath as she spotted the mixture of decoys, missile pods and courier boats. The latter were the real danger, she knew all too well. They were unarmed, but their crews would pop back through the gravity point within seconds and provide better targeting data to the next set of missile pods. Thankfully, she’d kept much of her fleet back from the gravity point. It was against tactical doctrine, but doctrine had been written before missile pods had entered mass production.

The gravity point flickered into a haze as the ECM drones went to work, confusing her sensors as the missile pods picked their targets and opened fire. Veetacore braced herself as her shuttle pilots brought their drives online, swooping into the gravity point in hopes of wiping out a number of courier boats before it was too late. Perversely, that was a piece of old doctrine that was still worth keeping, even though it ran the risk of leaving missile pods untouched long enough to unload their missiles on the nearest target. But then, the missile pods would be much less dangerous if they had to find their targets themselves. The more time she had to destroy them, the better.

“Activate our ECM,” she ordered, curtly. “And hold the fleet back from the gravity point.”

Her eyes narrowed as nuclear explosions racked the gravity point. She hadn’t been able to convince the local fabbers to start churning out modern weapons – they’d been sabotaged to the point they might never be brought back online, at least without the right codes – but she had been able to obtain a great many primitive mines and automated weapons platforms, too primitive to pose any real threat to a modern fleet if the fleet had plenty of room for manoeuvre. The enemy did not. They had to come through the gravity point and that meant they would be trapped in a relatively small volume of space, at least until their weapons and sensors could clear them a path out of it. If she was lucky, the sheer primitiveness of the makeshift weapons would work in her favour. It was quite possible enemy tactical datanets would overlook the weapons, on the grounds they couldn’t possibly pose a threat. If she wasn’t …

A sensor operator glanced up from his console. “Admiral, at least two courier boats made it back through the gravity point.”

Veetacore nodded. She had no gunboats, no small craft designed to sweep the gravity point before the enemy could make their sensor sweeps and run. Another flaw in tactical doctrine, she noted absently. A decade ago, such craft hadn’t been considered particularly important. Nice to have, true, but useless in a straight fight. Now, they were important and she didn’t have any of them. She made a mental note to demand more, as quickly as possible. They were going to need them when the time came to take the offensive once again.

Or at least that’s how I’ll be spinning it, she thought. She had requested reinforcements, but so far she hadn’t received more than a handful of starships. The Consortium had too many enemies and not enough ships to deter them all. But the truth is we may be on the defensive for quite some time.

The display sparkled again, the second wave of enemy missile pods materialising and opening fire. They appeared to have split their fire, sometime technically against doctrine … she reminded herself, sharply, not to be too wedded to doctrine. The enemy might have more than a few tricks up their sleeves … they’d sent one wave of missiles against the relatively puny fixed defences and the second against the fleet itself, something that puzzled her. The missiles were amongst the fastest things in space – only a handful of races had faster missiles, and their use would have been far too revealing – but her fleet would have plenty of time to track the missiles, identify which ones were genuinely dangerous and blow them to dust before they got anywhere near her ships. Perhaps they were trying to force her to waste her time, blowing them away, or perhaps they were trying to convince her to keep her distance. It was a waste of resources, if that were so. Veetacore could not afford any losses. Her fleet was the only major formation between Belos and Sakrknda. If she lost, the enemy could force their way up the gravity point chain without impediment, at least until the homeworld gambled and redeployed ships away from the border.

Her eyes narrowed as a third wave of missile pods and courier boats materialised, the former opening fire without hesitation. They were all targeted on her fleet now …

“Deploy sensor drones to sweep their missile formations,” she ordered. The enemy was being incredibly wasteful. Their targeting data was good, and she had a healthy respect for their sensors, but even if they could somehow relay information from one system to the other practically instantaneously their targeting data had to be out of date. They would be shooting missiles at ships that were no longer in the same position, ships that might no longer exist. Unless … “Look for drones amongst the missile flight.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

Veetacore leaned back and forced herself to watch as the first wave of missiles crashed into her defences. The point defence network had had plenty of time to track its targets and now … dozens, hundreds, of missiles were swept from existence. A handful survived long enough to throw themselves on their targets, but not enough to do any real damage. Missiles were cheap, if one didn’t add any bells and whistles, yet … a nasty thought ran through her mind. Was she being tricked in some way? Was the whole attack nothing more than a diversion?

“Admiral, we’ve detected a handful of drones in the missile flight,” the sensor operator said. “There’s no targeting data being exchanged …”

“There will be,” Veetacore said. The enemy couldn’t possibly be using lasers to communicate, not when the missiles were constantly altering position to make it harder to target and destroy them, but there was so much electronic distortion that low-power radio signals would largely go unnoticed. “Signal the point defence crews. Those drones are now priority targets.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

***

“Commodore,” Lieutenant Gavin Patel said. “The fleet is ready to proceed.”

Elton nodded, studying the display thoughtfully. He’d hoped the Tichck would position their fleet on top of the gravity point, allowing his missile pods to inflict horrendous damage in the first salvo, but it looked as though they’d stationed their units far enough to avoid serious damage while still covering the gravity point. His eyes narrowed, his fingers darting over the console to confirm the enemy ships were firing on the missiles with genuine weapons. The Tichck could easily have taken a leaf out of humanity’s book and used drones to soak up the missiles, but drones couldn’t return fire. Perversely, the simple fact the enemy were opening fire was almost a relief. It was clear proof of their exact location.”

He took a breath. “Signal the fleet,” he ordered. “All units are to advance.”

A low shudder ran through MacArthur as she started to move, the rest of the fleet falling in around her as she glided towards the gravity point. He hadn’t dared move the fleet too close, not when the enemy might launch a spoiler attack with their own missile pods, and that meant there would be a slight delay … too short, he told himself, for the enemy to get their ships closer to the gravity point. The fifth wave of missile pods were already making transit, throwing enough firepower into the other system to give the enemy a very hard time if they tried. Elton doubted they would. It was hard to be certain, but a combination of prisoner interrogation and datacore analysis suggested the Tichck were reluctant to risk committing the forces they needed to safeguard Parnassus and recover Belos. Elton certainly hoped it was true. If the Tichck were overstretched, they might see sense and come to terms before it was too late.

Except they can’t afford to be seen as weak, he reminded himself. They are surrounded by enemies. It won’t be long before one of their older foes jumps them.

He pushed the thought aside as the ship reached the gravity point, the starships making transit one by one. The timing was tight, and he would have preferred to allow more time for each ship to pass through the gravity point, but he needed to get as much firepower into Parnassus as quickly as possible. His stomach twisted painfully as MacArthur jumped, the display blanking and then hastily coming back to life as the ship’s communications arrays locked onto the sensor drones that had been slipped through the gravity point with the second wave of missile pods. There were others deeper within the system, passive sensor platforms they’d hidden before retreating back to Belos, but it would take time to contact them and their data would be a little out of data. He allowed himself a moment of relief as the display cleared, the fleet forming up hastily as their momentum carried them away from the gravity point. The enemy fleet appeared largely undamaged. Elton could sense the disappointment rippling through the CIC, although he wasn’t surprised. The enemy CO had had all the advantages he could ask for. Their point defence crews would have needed to be asleep at the switch for the long-range missile attack to do any real damage.

“Deploy sensor drones, prepare to attack,” he ordered. The enemy was unlikely to stand and fight, if the analysts were correct, but the prospect of destroying so many mobile units was too good to pass up. His eyes narrowed as the sensor drones sped away from the fleet, sweeping space with active sensors. They’d be easy targets, when the enemy started shooting, but there was no choice. The visible enemy ships could easily be bait in a trap. “And take us out on a least-time intercept course.”

“Aye, sir,” Patel said.

The display lit up, a flock of new contacts suddenly visible. Elton sucked in his breath, his mind refusing to accept – just for a second – what his eyes were seeing, Missiles and mines, the former using primitive rockets and gas jets rather than drive fields or electromagnetic catapults. It would have passed unnoticed, he realised numbly, if the Tichck had faced almost anyone else. The weapons were primitive even by the standards of pre-contact Earth, yet there were a hell of a lot of them and his fleet was practically pinned down. He felt a twinge of respect for his opponent as he snapped orders, directing the fleet to wipe out as many of the primitive weapons as possible. The enemy had imposed a delay, and that was going to hurt …

“Order the second wave to hold position for the moment,” he said. The enemy didn’t need more targets. Nor did his ships need to be jumping into a position where they could easily be mistaken for a weapon and engaged by their teammates. Friendly fire was a danger he preferred to avoid where possible. “They can make transit once we have cleared the point.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton nodded, lifting his eyes to inspect the tight cluster of red icons holding position near the gravity point. The enemy were well clear of the gravity flux, ready to pop into FTL the moment his fleet got clear and started to close on their position. If he’d had more ships under his command, he might have tried to block their escape through the second gravity point, but as it was he didn’t have anything like enough ships to do both. Trying to be clever had doomed the Tichck attack on Belos, he reflected, and it was cheaper to learn from the enemy’s mistakes rather than make your own …

A dull shudder ran through the battlecruiser as a nuclear mine detonated against her shields. Elton glanced at the damage report, then breathed a sigh of relief. The enemy hadn’t had time to put together bomb-pumped lasers, if they were even a thing as far as the Galactics were concerned. Their missiles were designed to direct all the blast into the target, but … he shook his head as the remainder of the primitive weapons were cleared away. The gravity point would have to be swept carefully, once the system was secure, yet … in a way, the sheer primitiveness of the weapons worked against them. They didn’t have stealth coatings, or passive sensors, or anything else that would make them damn near impossible to detect.

“Admiral, the fleet is largely clear of the gravity point,” Patel reported. “Squadrons Two and Four are in position to engage, and requesting permission to do so.”

“Order them to wait,” Elton said. Perversely, the more he dragged out the battle the better. The enemy needed to be given time to retreat. “Deploy ECM drones and blur their sensors, then prepare to launch missiles. And signal the second wave to make transit.”

His eyes flickered to the long-range sensor display. A flock of starships were already leaving Parnassus, some heading to the gravity point and others fleeing into interstellar space. He didn’t really blame them. The Tichck had not been popular, and a great many collaborators had been killed in the aftermath of the first invasion … if he was any judge, the second generation of collaborators had been even worse than the first. They hadn’t had long to make themselves unpopular, but …

“And signal the special fleet,” he added. The words caught in his throat. They would be committed … no, they were already committed. “They are authorised to proceed with Operation Shell Game.”

“Aye, sir.”

 

Chapter Six

“We are not calling this ship the Leaky Rustbucket,” Riley said. “It’s bad enough that we have to take this ship through the gravity point.”

“But she does need a name,” Charles Isabel pointed out, sweetly. “And just think of the children! All the kids who will be reading about our heroic adventures, stripped of all their excitement by their teachers and reduced to raw facts and factoids … let them have a smile, when they read the name of our ship!”

Sarah tried not to roll her eyes, although she could see his point. The Solar Union had avoided many of the mistakes that had blighted American education in the days before the Collapse, but it had made some mistakes of its own. Besides, there was a very good chance the truth would never be openly revealed. The Firelighters – and the other covert operations teams, teams she wasn’t supposed to think existed – were completely off the books. The mission might remain classified for the rest of time, no matter the Solar Union’s commitment to complete government transparency. There was too great a chance of the truth leading to war with multiple alien powers.

“Right now, we have bigger problems to worry about,” she said. The sensors were outdated, and the shields even more so, but they were still flying into the middle of a war zone. “Get your masks on. It’s time to fly.”

She pulled her own mask over her face, then keyed the console carefully. The starship lurched forward, nasty little shivers running through the air as the internal compensators struggled to keep up. Sarah cursed under her breath, promising herself she would track down the used starship dealer who had sold the Belosi the ancient starship and nail him to the hull. The Tokomak built their ships to last, and they had over a thousand years of experience, but some components were less reliable than others. Anyone who took liberties with the compensators – or bypassed the compressors – would be lucky if they merely triggered a failsafe and shut the entire ship down. If they weren’t …

“Let’s go with Rustbucket,” Charles said. His voice was muffled under the mask. “Why not?”

Riley gave in. “Rustbucket she is,” he said. “Sarah?”

“Sure, why not?” Sarah was too focused on the console to care. “We have to be careful.”

She leaned forward, cursing again as the ship inched forward. There were dozens of freighters slipping into the gravity point, broadcasting IFF codes that suggested they were from a hundred different systems … a suspiciously high number, if the plan worked perfectly, could be traced back to the Vesparians and their clients. It wouldn’t be enough to start a war on its own, she was sure, but it would hopefully shape enemy suspicions in the right direction. Rustbucket herself had a far simpler code, one that shouldn’t draw attention. If it did …

We have a cover story, she told herself. We should be fine.

She put the thought out of her head as the gravity point seemed to loom over them, a distant unpleasant sense of falling running through her as the drive activated. The universe went dark, as if she were about to sneeze, and stayed that way long enough to worry her. If the drive failed … she wondered if they’d remain trapped in a gravity fold forever, or if they’d be spat out again in pieces. The universe snapped back into place a second later, the hull ringing as if the ship had been slapped by an angry god. She checked her mask automatically, gritting her teeth as red icons flared up onto to vanish shortly afterwards. The mask and shipsuit would provide no protection if an enemy ship mistook them for a weapon and opened fire, but if the hull sprang a leak it might make the difference between life and death. Might.

“Fuck,” Charles muttered. “Are we dead?”

Riley sounded as if he were in pain. “It feels that way,” he said. “How old is the fucking drive?”

“Too old,” Sarah said. She hadn’t felt much of anything. Perversely, it was more worrying than throwing up inside the mask. They’d have to check the ship carefully, again, once they got out of the war zone. “We need to move.”

She keyed the console, hoping the plan worked. Rustbucket didn’t have military-grade sensors. If she ran into a mine, there would be no warning until it was far too late. Or they could be heading right towards an enemy fleet … she didn’t think so, the last update had put the enemy fleet on the far side of the gravity point, but it was impossible to be sure. She hadn’t felt so exposed since a mission she preferred to forget, when she had been sneaking close to a terrorist camp and a terrorist had come so close to her she could have reached out and touched him. She wasn’t sure how she’d managed to get away with it. Camouflage and masking fields were strikingly effective, but he could have seen her if he’d looked. But then, it had been dark and the bastards had thought they were safe …

The hull creaked, alarmingly. Sarah forced herself to ignore it as Rustbucket picked up speed, wishing she dared draw a live feed from the military datanet. It would have told them if local space was clear, if the drones had done their work, but they dared not do anything that would mark them as possible spies. The sensor display flickered and flared, reporting energy surges and explosions that darted back and forth, revealing nothing about who was launching the missiles and who was getting it in the neck. Sarah felt blind, as well as naked. A lone shuttle with a pair of popguns would have no trouble ridding the universe of Rustbucket, if she spotted the ship.

“We’re clear,” Riley said. “FTL?”

“Yeah.” Sarah keyed the console, bracing herself. “Let’s go …”

Rustbucket creaked, again. The gravity field grew stronger, then died as the starship plunged into FTL. Sarah silently thanked anyone who might be listening that she’d had the foresight to strap herself into her chair, even though it had been designed for someone with an entirely different set of hindquarters and was monumentally uncomfortable. At least she wasn’t drifting around the bridge. A low tremor ran through the hull as Rustbucket dropped out of FTL – Sarah checked the navigation computer and was surprised to note they were well within acceptable distance of their destination coordinates – and breathed a sigh of relief as they rounded the planet and dropped back into FTL. The gravity sensors were as crappy as the rest of the ship’s systems, but they were sharp enough to note dozens of starships fleeing Parnassus. Hopefully, they would blend in with the crowd. She tapped her console, changing the IFF signals to something they’d recovered from an enemy datanet. It should be enough to get them to Sakrknda.

“Five minutes,” she said. “We should have more than enough time to get through before the enemy fleet arrives.”

“We’ll see.” Riley sounded grim, all too aware they were dangerously exposed. The last time they’d done anything like this, it hadn’t been in the middle of a war zone. “If the codes hold out …”

Sarah nodded. They had contingency plans, but she was experienced enough to know the plans were little more than placebos. She would have been happier if they’d had more time to put the plan together, yet … she shook her head as the seconds ticked downwards. The enemy wouldn’t find anything, if they went through Rustbucket. The important information was stored in their implants, in memory cells that couldn’t be accessed without her consent. If they were caught … she knew they’d die before they allowed themselves to be turned into traitors. Their implants wouldn’t allow them any other choice.

You knew the job was dangerous when you took it, she reminded herself dryly. If you wanted a safe life, you could have stayed at home.

Rustbucket lurched, violently, as she dropped back into normal space. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief as she realised there were no defences around the gravity point, not even a simple traffic control station. The fleet had smashed what few defences they’d been, the last time around, and the Tichck clearly hadn’t had time to rebuild. Sarah was surprised they hadn’t dragged a handful of planetary defence fortresses through the gravity point, although it was quite possible they were waiting on the far side. The Galactics might have started purpose-building gravity point defence fortresses now too. It wasn’t as if the Tokomak were in a position to stop them any longer.

“Last chance to go somewhere safe,” she said. “Any takers?”

Riley snorted. “Right now, Ochoa is probably safer than Belos,” he said. “And besides …”

Sarah nodded in understanding. It wasn’t like them, like any of them, to give up at the first hurdle. They’d been a covert operations team for too long, the thousands of volunteers pressed to the limits to ensure anyone incapable of handling the job was weeded out before it was too late. She knew there were some battles that couldn’t be won, and she wasn’t too proud to back off when it was clear she was losing, but giving up completely? Impossible. She would sooner die.

There was no traffic control, she noted grimly. Normally, that would have been asking for trouble. Now, with a sizable fleet breathing down their necks, hundreds of starships were trying to get through the gravity point before it was too late. She hoped they really would blend in as they made transit, and that they wouldn’t collide with another ship as they popped through the gravity point. It would be ironic indeed if their mission failed because of … the hull creaked and groaned as they made transit, a shock of pain running through her. It felt, just for a second, as if someone had punched her in the stomach, without implants to dampen or absorb the pain. She retched, fighting to stay upright. She dared not trust the automatic systems to handle the aftermath.

“Ouch,” Charles said, as the display rebooted with a terrifying lack of speed. “I think they’re ready for trouble.”

Sarah nodded. The Tichck had found twelve fortresses and positioned them around the gravity point, a layered defence that would have been very effective in the era before missile pods and still frighteningly dangerous, if the defenders knew what they were doing. The Tichck had sneered at the concept of missile pods, once upon a time, but they knew better now. She wished Rustbucket had better sensors, even though they would likely lead to some harsh questions when they were spotted. The Tichck would be incredibly suspicious. And they’d be right.

“I’m transmitting the IFF now,” she said. Ochoa wasn’t the most important system in the Consortium, but it was on a least-time course to Sakrknda and Tichck Prime. The enemy would have to be careful who they let through the gravity point … right now, it looked as through the Tichck weren’t trying to calm the sudden influx of freighters, but that would change. “And taking us out now.”

Charles muttered a curse under his breath. “And if they decide to search us?”

“Remember, we’re good little smugglers and mercenaries,” Riley said. He didn’t sound any happier. There were just too many things that could go wrong. “We’re well-behaved dudes who only take orders from our paymasters, the Tichck.”

Sarah laughed, although it wasn’t really funny. They had a handful of rare artworks in their hold, part of a collection belonging to a Tichck official who – at least on paper – had bribed them to smuggle the goods out of the occupied system. It was unlikely they’d be arrested for smuggling, but they might be ordered to leave the system rather than being allowed to make transit through the next gravity point. There was no way to determine just how good their cover story was without actually putting it to the test, and merely attracting attention could be very dangerous even if the cover story was perfect.

“They’re not trying to stop us,” she said, wryly. “They’re just letting us through.”

“Probably a political necessity,” Charles said. “How many races will be pissed off if they don’t let their freighters escape, before the hammer comes down?”

Sarah nodded, feeling cold as they made their way off the gravity point. There were twelve fortresses … enough firepower to do serious harm to a planet, yet nothing like as much firepower as she had expected. There were probably layer upon layer of mines, stealthed weapons platforms and free-floating missiles, orbiting the gravity point too, invisible to her sensors even though she was well within their range. She hoped the traffic controllers were doing their duty. The risk of a collision was low, but not as low as she wished. A gravity point was about the only place in the known universe where the odds of ramming something, quite by accident, were better than slightly – just slightly – above zero.

She frowned as she noted hundreds of other ships dropping into FTL as soon as they were clear, heading to the next gravity point or out into interstellar space. The Tichck defenders had to be fretting, even though most of the ships were freighters … it didn’t make them harmless. Sarah hoped they looked harmless as she triggered her own FTL drive, following the freighters across the system. They were on their own now, even though they were in the midst of a populated system. Every man’s hand was turned against them …

Her lips twisted. It was just like old times.

“We’d better relax now,” she said. She didn’t want to risk pushing the FTL drive any harder, not now they were clear of the shooting. There was no need to race across the system as if the devil himself was after them. “We’ll have an hour or two to kill, then the first real test.”

Riley nodded. “You want to play the winner?”

Sarah hid a smile. Riley and Charles were playing Forethought on a datapad, a game that had been invented by the Tokomak and become astonishingly popular amongst the other Galactics. It had enough in common with Chess to become popular in the Solar Union too, although some of the differences could be incredibly confusing if the players lost track of which game they were playing. It wouldn’t arouse any suspicions if they were found to own a copy of the game. Rather the opposite.

She leaned back in her chair and forced herself to relax. They’d done everything they could, and passed through the gravity point before the enemy fleet could seal it, and now there was nothing to do but wait. She keyed her own datapad, bringing up the files on the local system before catching herself and switching to a trashy novel instead. The heroine was a simpering idiot, and the hero clearly a cad of the first order, and the idea of them developing a lasting relationship was completely absurd, but it kept her mind off what they were doing. Riley had once told her his comrades, back in SEAL Team Six, had invented an incredibly complex game to ward off boredom and she believed him. She’d seen enough during her career to know that military service was mainly boredom, at least when there wasn’t an operation underway.

You should think about retirement, a voice said, at the back of her mind. It sounded a lot like her sister. Before you get too ossified, too set in your ways.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The Galactics had invented rejuvenation technology, and they’d paid a steep price. Their admirals were so old, relatively speaking, that they had trouble adapting to the new galactic order. The missile pods had caught them by surprise, even though there was no reason they couldn’t have devised them for themselves. She wondered, idly, if the Solar Navy had done the Tokomak, and the rest of the Galactics, a backhanded favour by killing so many officers who had reached their ranks before America broke away from the British Empire and became the United States. Their replacements would have to be a little sharper, she told herself. They could hardly be less so.

And the Tokomak did start making reforms, she reflected. Not enough to save them, but if they’d had more time …

She closed her eyes for a long moment, feeling grim. They were making a jump into the unknown, relying on data she knew to be outdated even if it wasn’t actively misleading. The operation could easily end badly, and that meant …

“I win,” Charles said. “Sarah?”

Sarah opened her eyes and shrugged. “Sure, I’ll play,” she said. There was little else to do. She wanted to prowl the ship and check for problem – she didn’t trust the internal datanet to report anything, from an outdated component to an outright hull breach – but she didn’t want to do any maintenance while they were in transit. A normal ship wouldn’t have a problem; Rustbucket, she feared, would explode if she meddled with the wrong system at the wrong time. “Is there a prize?”

“Washing up duty?” Riley grinned. “Or do you want a few bottle caps?”

Sarah laughed. They were silly stakes, but better than nothing. And it would keep them from thinking about the impending transit.

“Cooking duty instead,” she said. “The winner does the cooking.”

“It depends on who wins,” Charles said. “Riley’s cooking is …”

“Better than anything you’ll get from the onboard processor,” Riley said. “Seriously. Who owned this ship?”

Sarah couldn’t disagree. Riley wasn’t a great cook, but the food processor could only churn out food cubes that were supposed to be edible. The good ones tasted of cardboard. The unpleasant ones tasted worse. Much worse.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, finally. “It’s our ship now.”

 

Chapter Seven

“The enemy fleet is advancing, Admiral,” the operator said. “And a sizable number of freighters are transiting the gravity point.”

Veetacore nodded, curtly. The freighters were a bad sign, if only because they were heading for the other gravity point faster than she could stop them. Their IFFs indicated they came from a number of different systems, from races powerful enough to give the Tichck a very hard time if the freighters were denied transit. The Belosi had put her in a very difficult position, she acknowledged, although thankfully they’d also given her an excuse to get out of it. Her fleet was too far out of position to intercept the freighters before they made it to the second gravity point.

“Record their IFF codes for later analysis,” she ordered, finally. The enemy fleet had taken the time to bring its reinforcements forward, then form up before beginning their advance. That was a bad sign. It suggested they knew she didn’t have any reinforcements herself. “And prepare to take us into FTL on my command.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

Veetacore said nothing as the situation steadily unfolded. The analysts, with more raw data, were putting together a better picture of enemy capabilities, but they were still drawing a blank on the most important question of all. The enemy starships were common designs, some older than most races, and their missiles were cheap and nasty, used by nearly every spacefaring power in the known galaxy. There was nothing unique about their weapons loads, save for a handful of sensor arrays that were clearly Tichck in origin. She ground her teeth in frustration, certain she was being mocked. The enemy fleet had done a very good job of hiding its true nature.

“Admiral, the enemy will be in effective missile range in five minutes,” the operator said. “Your orders?”

“We’ll go with Plan Three,” Veetacore said. She didn’t like the plan, but there was little choice. The chances of pulling off a victory were low, unless the enemy messed up. So far, there was no suggestion they would. “Fire when the enemy enters effective range, then prepare to withdraw.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

***

“Commodore,” Patel said. “Shell Game is underway.”

Elton nodded, his eyes never leaving the display. Hundreds of freighters were streaming through the gravity point, most with orders to vanish into FTL and then wait just outside the system, outside detection range. The remainder would carry forged data packets to their destinations, setting off a torrent of disinformation that would eventually wash away the Tichck and end their reign of terror. And the Firelighters were out there too … his eyes searched the display, looking for their battered old ship, then turned away. The team was on their own now. They preferred it that way.

“Signal the fleet,” he ordered. He would have sold his soul for a single gravity-well generator. The prospect of locking the enemy fleet in realspace and blowing it away from a safe distance was incredibly tempting, but as long as humanity was the only race known to deploy such technology it could not be allowed. “The battle line will advance to engage the enemy.”

He leaned back as the fleet juddered into motion, ice prickling down his spine. The enemy had been kind enough to give him all the time he needed to get organised, something tactical doctrine strictly forbade. A human CO would have closed to extreme range and opened fire, accepting the risk of being trapped in exchange for the opportunity to do real damage. Was the enemy CO short of missiles as well as starships, or was the enemy fleet being used as bait in a trap? A battle plan that relied on the enemy doing as he wanted was a plan that was doomed to fail, or so he had been told, and yet the Tichck really were doing as he wanted. His eyes narrowed. Perhaps it was a trap.

“Missile separation,” Patel snapped. “I say again, missile separation!”

Elton nodded. “Point defence is cleared to engage,” he said, calmly. Perhaps the enemy was hoping to bleed him, just a little, before they ran. They’d certainly unleashed more missiles than he’d expected, either through bolting missile pods to their hulls or simply deploying the missiles into interstellar space to wait for the orders to attack. They could easily have done the latter in advance, if they’d planned to give a bloody nose. “Ramp up the sensors, then engage at will.”

Patel shifted. “Sir, Squadron Two is requesting permission to return fire.”

“Denied,” Elton said. The enemy would have plenty of time to plot their defence or simply run before his missiles reached their targets. It would be throwing good money after bad. “Let the range close first.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and forced himself to watch as the enemy missiles threw themselves into his defences. The point defence datanet had had more than enough time to track every missile and calculate the best way to wipe them all out, but there were too many missiles to take them all down before it was too late. His face didn’t change as a handful made their way through his defences and slammed into his shields, their fire – thankfully – scattered over a dozen targets rather than concentrated on a single ship. There was nothing new in their firing patterns, as far as he could tell, but there was an awful lot of missiles …

The range closed. “All ships, Fire Plan Alpha,” Elton said. “I say again, Fire Plan Alpha.”

MacArthur shuddered as she unleashed her first salvo. Elton leaned forward as the missiles roared towards their targets, silently calculating just when the enemy CO would have to bring up his drives if he wanted to drop into FTL and run. Keeping a drive on standby put immense wear and tear on the equipment, guaranteeing there would be a catastrophic failure sooner or later, but the Tichck could probably afford to repair an entire fleet’s worth of drives … if they had the time. They probably would. Elton knew better than to think he could immediately push into Ochoa, even if it had been part of the plan.

“Thirty seconds to impact,” Patel said. “Second salvo?”

“Hold fire,” Elton ordered. He ignored the sharp intake of breath. “I suspect …”

He broke off. On the display, the enemy ships vanished.

***

Veetacore hadn’t expected her first and only salvo to wipe out the entire enemy fleet, but she had expected it to do a great deal more damage than it actually had. The seeker heads had been programmed to coordinate the missile strikes, yet the simple fact the attack had failed suggested the makeshift datanet hadn’t survived the enemy point defence. A disappointment, but … she shook her head. The enemy was already closing the range, opening fire with deadly intent. She couldn’t afford to wait any longer.

“Take us into FTL,” she ordered. “And set course for Point Two.”

The drives grew louder, just for a second, as the stardrives came online. Veetacore hid her relief as the entire fleet dropped into FTL … keeping the drives churning, ready to escape the moment she gave the word, had been a calculated risk. It could easily have ended badly, and if she knew her superiors it still might. They would blame her for the cost of replacing damaged stardrives and point out just how badly it would affect the fleet’s readiness, if the enemy showed itself openly. But at least the fleet would be intact. A damaged battleship could be repaired. A battleship that was nothing more than a cloud of atoms was worse than useless.

She waited, wondering if the enemy would give chase. They’d need a few minutes to clear the gravity point, but they’d already been well on the way. She wouldn’t know, either, until they dropped out of FTL themselves. It was difficult to use sensors in FTL and the only ships on the display were the rest of the fleet, flying in formation. She breathed a sigh of relief as they popped out of FTL near the gravity point, dozens of freighters still making transit. They scattered as the fleet approached, fearing they’d be fired on without warning. Veetacore tried not to snort in disbelief. The Tichck had far too many enemies already. They didn’t need more.

“The enemy fleet is giving chase,” the operator warned. “They’ll be on top of us in twenty minutes.”

“Interesting,” Veetacore mused. The enemy wasn’t moving at top speed. That meant … either they were taking their time, or they didn’t have first-rate stardrives. Probably the former. Whoever was backing them risked nothing by installing modern systems into their starships. The designs hadn’t been state secrets for nearly a thousand years. Not that it mattered. The enemy had given her time to extract her fleet and she didn’t intend to waste it. “Take us through the gravity point.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

***

Elton braced himself for the worst as the fleet roared out of FTL, a safe distance from Point Two, and glided straight towards their target. The enemy could make a stand on the gravity point, if they wished, or bring in reinforcements from Ochoa to retake Parnassus. Instead, the enemy ships were making transit in a tight stream, pushing their luck about as far as they could go. It looked, very much, as if they were unwilling to risk heavy losses.

“They’re not holding position,” Patel confirmed. “And there are no orbiting defences around Point Two.”

Elton wasn’t surprised. The Tichck had never seen any need to fortify the near side of Point Two and he supposed they had a point. They owned both sides of the gravity point, and there had been no reason to think their control of Parnassus or Belos would ever be threatened. The far side was a different story, if the reports were accurate. The Tichck had started the process of fortifying Ochoa as soon as they’d become aware there was a threat, and they’d had enough orbital fortresses orbiting the planet to put up a heavy defence, once they were towed to the gravity point. He would snipe at the defences, of course, but he had no intention of bleeding his fleet white trying to break into the system. Better to go around than through.

“Let them go,” he said. There were no mines on the gravity point, as far as he could tell, but … a certain degree of caution shouldn’t look suspicious. “Deploy the ECM drones, then send a courier boat to bring up the mines.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton sat down and checked the latest reports. The enemy clearly hadn’t realised that closing with his ships, and accepting the destruction of their fleet in exchange for inflicting severe damage on his, would be enough to put a stop to any further plans on his part. It would be incredibly costly, but it would also be the winning move. And that meant … the analysts hadn’t had time to come up with more than a preliminary report, yet it appeared the enemy was being remarkably sensitive to losses. Their odd tactics made a certain degree of sense, if they were more concerned with preserving their fleet than the system itself. And that was … encouraging.

“Deploy the mines and automated weapons platforms,” he ordered, when the freighters arrived. “And then launch the missile pods through the gravity point.”

“Aye, sir.”

The display updated, rapidly. Elton allowed himself a moment of grim relief. The enemy would have to remain on the alert, all too aware an attack could come at any moment, or take the risk of smashing through the gravity point and trying to regain the system. The first wave of missile pods should concentrate their minds, and the following series of raids should make it hard for them to plan any counteroffensive. Or even look for a way to approach Belos that would allow them to escape detection, at least until they were in the system. The more time they had to think, the greater the danger.

“The missile pods have gone in,” Patel reported. “But the courier boats didn’t make it out.”

Elton frowned. Ten good men, atomised. “Don’t send in the second wave,” he said. The crews had volunteered, but there was nothing to be gained by sending them to certain death. The enemy fleet had to be dangerously close to the gravity point … it was a shame he didn’t have more missile pods to hurl through the gravity point, but … it didn’t matter. “Continue deploying the mines and decoys.”

“Aye, sir.”

“And signal Squadron Four,” Elton ordered. “They can move to lay claim to the high orbitals and force a surrender.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton leaned back in his chair. Parnassus would surrender quickly, given that it could no longer defend itself. The fabbers could be unlocked, allowing the mass production of modern mines, missile pods, and other weapons; the gravity point could be made as close to impregnable as humanly possible very quickly. Not close enough, if the enemy were prepared to soak up the losses and keep pushing through, but the cost would be staggering. They would know it too. They’d certainly need their own missile pods to clear the way and Elton already had a counter. That was no secret. The enemy themselves had shown him the way.

He kept a wary eye on the chronometer as time ticked onwards. The longer the gap between their arrival and any enemy counterattack, the greater the chance the system could be held without the fleet. The enemy would assume the fleet hadn’t moved – his decoys would see to it – and that would ensure he could operate unimpeded, at least until he showed himself openly. And that meant …

His mood darkened. He didn’t like the plan. He didn’t like what they were going to unleash. And yet, what choice did they have?

And to think, there were suggestions Churchill knew Pearl Harbour was coming and chose to do nothing, to ensure the United States joined the war, he reflected. It was a crazed conspiracy theory that had somehow never died, even though Churchill would have had to be absolutely insane to do anything of the sort. Perhaps it made a certain kind of sense. Britain would have been screwed if Hitler had beaten Russia and then turned his attention back to Britain, or if Stalin had beaten the Germans and the Red Army found itself on the Channel, and bringing the Americans into the war might have been their only hope. What we’re about to do is something worse.

He shook his head. The plan was distasteful, but there was no alternative. And he would see it through to the bitter end.
***

“The damage was minimal,” Admiral Thruwne said. “The Belosi clearly don’t know what they’re doing.”

Veetacore kept her face under tight control. Thruwne and she were technically equal in rank, although a fortress commander was always outranked by a fleet commander. It was lucky, or he would have tried to relieve her of command, in the best Tichck manner. Not, she supposed, that it would matter when her report of the engagement reached the homeworld. She had written it carefully, pointing out that she had been denied the ships and logistics support she’d demanded, but it might not be enough to save her from disgrace. The Consortium would need a scapegoat and she was the only one they had. So far.

“They chased us out of one system and threw missiles into another,” Veetacore pointed out, finally. The missile barrage had been poorly timed. Her ships had had just enough time to wipe out the courier boats before they could escape, while the missile pods had scattered their fire over all twelve fortresses rather than targeting one or two. “They didn’t have time to put together a better attack. That will change.”

She looked away, studying the assessment from her analysts. There had been no time to destroy what remained of Parnassus’s industrial base, which meant the fabbers would be unlocked and turned against their owners. Given a week or two, they’d be able to take the offensive again, hurling missiles through the gravity point until the defences were ground down and destroyed. There would be room for a spoiling attack or two, but …

“We have to accept the new reality,” Veetacore said, knowing even as she spoke that it was unlikely he’d listen. “I need you to get churning out missile pods now, so we can take the offensive again.”

Thruwne eyed her. “And why should I listen to a failed admiral such as yourself.”

Veetacore allowed herself a smile. “I have a plan to retake Parnassus before our investment can be destroyed,” she said. “Do you want to be the one who makes the plan impossible.”

His face twisted. Veetacore could tell what he was thinking. There were dozens of corporations that had invested in Parnassus to some degree, and not all of them were Tichck. They would be demanding action as soon as possible, and then the head of whoever blocked an immediate offensive … not a safe place to be, if the Consortium was looking for a scapegoat. Thruwne would be lucky if he was summarily dismissed.

Veetacore moved on, lowering her voice. “We can sit here and do nothing and we will be blamed for the disaster,” she said. “Or we can work together to regain Parnassus and even Belos itself. And where will we be then?”

She leaned forward. “Do you want to be a winner, or do you want to wait to lose?”

“I hope you’re right,” Thruwne said. “Because if you’re not …”

“If I am not, my career will go down in flames,” Veetacore said, flatly. There were limits to her patience. “And yours will go down with mine, if you don’t work with me now.”

 

Chapter Eight

It was a simple and largely unavoidable truth of military strategy, Elton reminded himself, that starships in FTL could be tracked by other starships and planetary detection stations, at least as long as those starships were in realspace themselves. The Tokomak had experimented with baffles designed to limit the time between detection and the fleet’s arrival, and humanity had devised small starships that were effectively undetectable as long as their crews were careful, but the vast majority of FTL movements could be detected and tracked from quite some distance and there was no way to be entirely sure the fleet wasn’t being watched. Elton had chosen to play it safe and ordered the freighters to remain on their preset course until they were at least two light years from Parnassus, where they could change course and head to the rendezvous without any real chance of being detected. It imposed a certain degree of delay, he conceded ruefully, but secrecy had to be maintained. Besides, it would take time for the Firelighters to reach their destination and anything that made the enemy increase security would also make their task a great deal harder.

He stood on the CIC, studying the display as missile loads were transhipped to the warships. The Belosi had taken the human concept of a mobile repair yard further than the Solar Navy had ever done, converting a massive colonist-carrier into a portable factory ship crammed with fabbers and everything else they needed to support a long-distance deployment. Elton had been doubtful of the Belosi at first, seeing them as just another scavenger race, but he had to admit they were worthy allies to humanity. If they’d had a few more centuries before they’d been discovered, he suspected, they’d have gone far. But their prospects of an interstellar empire of their own had died the moment alien starships had entered their system, and discovered they were ripe for the plucking. It made him wonder how humanity would have coped, if Earth had been invaded by a far more powerful race. Would human culture have been eradicated as thoroughly as so many others, wiped out so completely that there was little left but speculation, or would humans have been allowed to keep what they could in exchange for their servitude? The example of the human cyborgs, descendents of humans kidnapped centuries ago, was not encouraging. It boded ill for a universe in which someone rather more competent decided to conquer the human race instead.

And you really shouldn’t allow yourself to be aware of the interstellar desert, he told himself, drolly. It makes you incredibly morbid.

His lips quirked at the thought, although it wasn’t particularly amusing. The fleet was five light years from the nearest star, a trip that would take upwards of twenty light-years if the stardrives failed, a trip that would be epic if they managed to make it to their destination. They were unimaginably far from civilisation, the entire fleet little more than sand grains in an endless and largely empty ocean. There was a religion that insisted the stars and planets didn’t exist, on the grounds even they were tiny against the sheer infinity of the universe; Elton had always thought it a silly belief, yet he understood it better than he cared to admit. The fleet was completely alone, so far from the shipping lanes that their odds of being discovered were minimal. They were all alone in the night.

And we should be able to make it to our destination without being detected, at least until we are a great deal closer, he told himself. They’d plotted their course carefully, intending to avoid any detection stations until they neared their destination. There was no way to be certain someone hadn’t set up a ring of starships a light year or two from the target star, or any star, with strict orders to return home the moment they detected incoming ships, but he doubted it. The logistics would be a nightmare, even for the Galactics. Once they see us coming, it will be too late.

Patel cleared his throat. “Commodore?”

Elton turned to face him. “Yes?”

“We have completed the reloading operation,” Patel reported. “The fleet train is ready to accompany us to the next waypoint.”

Elton nodded, curtly. It went against the grain to risk taking such a high-value unit so close to combat, although he understood the importance of having their resupply vessels on hand. The Solar Union had had to reinvent interstellar logistics for the war – the Tokomak had solved the problem by installing a network of bases across the known galaxy, which hadn’t been an option for the human race until after the war – and it had been a nightmare, not least because there weren’t enough freighters in the navy to transfer supplies and escort ships to make sure they didn’t get raided along the way. They’d been lucky the Tokomak hadn’t started attacking the convoys in force, he reflected curtly. A handful of warships could beat off a fleet of pirates, who wanted to capture the freighters intact so they could sell their stolen goods, but an enemy battle squadron would sooner blow them away than risk trying to force them to surrender.

“Order the fleet to depart as planned,” he said. He’d kept his crews busy as best as he could, running emergency drills for crewmen who weren’t involved in the restocking operation, but he knew the sheer vastness of the interstellar void would grate on anyone who wasn’t completely focused on their work. It was odd that being in FTL didn’t have the same effect, yet … he shrugged. It was just a fact of interstellar life. “We’ll make our way to the waypoint and detach the freighters there.”

Patel nodded. “Aye, sir.”

Elton looked back at the display, then frowned. “Did the tactical analysts turn up anything interesting?”

“Other than the enemy’s seeming reluctance to risk serious losses?” Patel shook his head. “The enemy deployed primitive weapons, sir, and if we’d risked a frontal assault without softening them up we might have taken heavy losses, but … there wasn’t anything else.”

“Let us hope it stays that way,” Elton said. “The enemy is very far from stupid.”

He scowled as Patel saluted, then hurried away. The Tichck had taken a bloody nose, and they really had been reluctant to risk a short-range duel even though it would have worked in their favour, but … they had a sizable fleet, vast resources and clients, all things they could use to press their agenda. They were on the back foot right now, but that would change. His mood darkened as he turned his attention to the starchart. The fleet was going to be out of contact for quite some time. For all he knew, the Tichck had already counterattacked and forced their way to Belos. They might have already won the war.

No, he told himself, firmly. The Belosi will not give up without a fight.

He felt a shimmer running through the hull as the battlecruiser dropped into FTL, the rest of the fleet falling into a loose formation around her. The FTL emissions would blur together, hopefully confusing anyone who genuinely did have a monitoring station so far from their primary star. It made him wonder just what they’d think, if they spotted the human fleet. Perhaps they’d be taken for scavengers. There were entire communities living on travelling starships, driven from their homeworlds and denied the chance to settle elsewhere; they were rarely allowed to stay in one place very long, at least in any civilised system. The Galactics looked down on them … he knew, all too well, that there were humans amongst the travelling folk. Some wanted to enjoy the adventure. Others wanted to ensure the human race survived, at least in some form. If the war had gone the other way, they might have been all that was left of the human race.

Unless the planned long-range colony mission was more than just a figment of a conspiracy theorist’s imagination, he reflected. There had always been rumours of a colony ship being sent thousands of light years from Sol, well away from the Galactics, but nothing had ever been confirmed. It made a degree of sense, he thought, although the records would have been carefully destroyed once the colony mission was launched. If Sol had been overrun, there would have been no clues leading the Galactics to the final colony. Who knows what’s happened to them, out amongst the stars?

He kept the thought to himself as the fleet sped through the void, travelling at an unimaginable speed that was still little more than a crawl, compared to the sheer vastness of interstellar space. There were gravity points they could have used, but there was no way to take the fleet though any of the regional gravity points without being detected and alerts being sent up the chain. They would have to do it later, he thought, yet right now they needed the advantage of surprise. It would be harder for anyone to draw the right conclusions if they thought his fleet was still orbiting Parnassus, preparing to either take the offensive through the gravity point or meet and defeat any counterattack before it could push through to the planet itself. Not that it would be targeted on the planet, he reflected. The enemy would take the other gravity point first and then worry about the planet.

There was little in the way of a social life in FTL. Elton joined the captain and her senior officers for dinner several times, but it was awkward … and even more so when he hosted meals for his flag staff. He was tempted to withdraw into a touchy-feelie VR environment, or simply lose himself in a book or movie series, yet it was difficult to force himself to focus when he knew they were heading into the fire. The sheer immensity of what they were doing gnawed at his mind, his thoughts running in circles as he went through the arguments time and time again. The issue was settled, and there was no way to avoid it, and even trying would be dereliction of duty, and yet … he told himself not to be silly. It had been easier when he’d been commanding a starship, rather than a whole fleet. But then …

Colonel Shane Roper joined him one evening. “The boarding parties have practiced their arrogance,” he said, shortly. “But we train our people too well for them to really pull it off.”

Elton grimaced. The most entitled human being he’d ever met, a middle-aged women who had appeared to believe she owned the entire universe, had been modest and unassuming compared to a Tichck bureaucrat. They could have given lessons to the Tokomak, when it came to demanding their rightful due … or what they considered their rightful due. He didn’t blame the Subdo for wanting to rebel against them, or indeed their neighbours for arming themselves to the teeth. He’d met a couple of Tichck, during his secondment to the Diplomatic Office, and they’d talked to him as if he were something unpleasant they’d scraped off their shoe. It had been maddening, and a grim reminder of just what kind of fate humanity could expect if the Galactics won.

“They’ll have to suffice,” he said. Solar Marines were trained to be the best of the best, so confident in themselves that they felt no need to swagger around, let alone put others down to feel superior. Rejuvenation technology helped, ensuring they gained experience and maturity without losing any physical fitness. Elton knew a couple who were well over a hundred and still going strong. “And the combat suits?”

“Crude,” Roper said. “They’ll have the right markings, sir, but I don’t know how convincing they’ll be. We don’t have time to shrink our troops.”

Elton snorted. The average Tichck was quite short and thin, at least by human standards. The only humans who were that thin had deliberately engineered their bodies to look that way, a conceit he had never fully understood. There was no way a human could pass for a Tichck without a hell of a lot of genetic augmentation, using techniques that were regarded as borderline unethical even when used on volunteers. Thankfully, combat suits could be used to conceal their true features. The Tichck didn’t bother to design suits that were smaller than the average combat suit. He couldn’t help wondering if it was a hint of an inferiority complex. Perhaps not. There was nothing odd about a race smaller than the galactic average, certainly not when the race was powerful enough to challenge nearly every other major power.

“We won’t give anyone time to get a good look at them,” Elton said. The entire operation depended on speed and subterfuge. If they let themselves get bogged down, they were doomed. “It should work.”

“Even if they figure out there are humans amongst the attacking fleet, they won’t draw a direct line to Sol,” Roper pointed out. “The Tichck could easily afford to hire human mercenaries.”

“They were breeding and augmenting Belosi,” Elton said. He had seen some horrors in his career, but the sheer inhumanity of the alien farms – growing intelligent beings as if they were farm animals – was a nightmare beyond words. “We still don’t know why.”

“They might want an expendable military force,” Roper said. “One they can order into the fire without hesitation, if need be.”

Elton couldn’t disagree. It was rare for the Galactics to order suicidal tactics, even when sacrificing a handful of their ships and crews would guarantee victory. Their previous engagement would have gone the other way, perhaps, if the Tichck had closed the range rather than retreating. But … he had a nasty feeling Roper was right. A race of purpose-built combat cyborgs, brain-burned and unable to reflect on the horror they’d been made, would be one hell of a weapon, if you were depraved enough to consider the idea without immediately dismissing it. But then, the Tichck didn’t consider the Belosi to be intelligent beings in their own right. They were property. They could be turned into monsters – or worse – without crossing any lines.

“Perhaps,” he said. He liked to think the spooks would uncover a hidden data cache, back on Belos, that would fill in the blanks, but he doubted it. The Tichck had managed to destroy a number of secure datacores, before the surrender, and there was little point in interrogating the POWs. Hell, given the sheer size of an entire planet, there might be an entire data haven hidden somewhere on the surface, one that would never be found save by sheer chance. “We may never know.”

Roper shrugged, and went through a list of exercises and training drills. Elton listened carefully, making mental notes of the strengths and weaknesses of the planned deployments. They’d have to play a great deal by ear, when they reached their first destination, but … he sighed inwardly. It was better to go through a hundred different training exercises, covering every contingency they could imagine, and not need it … rather than discovering they did need it too late. He’d done it himself with his staff, trying to get through every possible variation. He couldn’t help thinking the real world was going to throw him a curveball. It always did.

The thought nagged at his mind as the fleet crept onwards, haunting him until they reached the first waypoint. It was almost a relief to leave the fleet train, the freighters and their escorts under strict orders to move to the second waypoint and then maintain a complete blackout until the fleet returned. There was nothing to be gained by adding them to the order of battle. It would simply give the enemy more targets.

“Commodore,” Patel said. He sounded disgustingly fresh, but then he didn’t have to feel responsible for the entire operation. “The fleet is ready to proceed.”

Elton nodded, gritting his teeth. They were going to be flying in dangerously close formation. There was no choice – it would convince the enemy that there was only a single squadron of ships heading towards them – but it was still risky. The odds of a collision between two ships were low, even in close formation, yet the risk couldn’t be discounted completely. He kept the thought to himself. They would have to take the risk, this time. Later, they could use other tricks to fool their targets.

“Order the fleet to prepare to advance,” he said, checking the chronometer. It was impossible to be sure, but even in the worst-case scenario the Firelighters should be able to reach Sakrknda before word arrived of their current operation. He tried not to consider the possibility that something had already gone wrong, that they were repeating the enemy’s mistake of trying to be clever and attempting to coordinate a multi-prong offensive over several light years. “And check the baffles, and the IFF codes.”

“Aye, sir,” Patel said. There was a long cold pause. “The IFF codes have been confirmed, sir. They’re ready.”

Elton took a breath. “Signal the fleet,” he ordered. He had never been one for fine speeches and he saw no reason to start now. His lips twisted in dark amusement. No doubt the Hollywood version would include a handsome actor playing him, reciting a speech so dramatic no one would take it seriously. He probably wouldn’t recognise the operation when Hollywood finished turning it into a major movie, or the love interest he was sure they’d give him. “The operation will commence immediately.”

“Aye, sir.”

And now, we’re on our way, Elton thought. The operation would be tricky, all the more so as he wanted to avoid casualties if possible. If this works …

His mood darkened. If it doesn’t, it will be the end of a great many things.

 

Chapter Nine

There was little special about the handful of dead worlds orbiting a dim sun that made up the Ta-Conk System, but the four gravity points were more than enough to attract attention from the Galactics. Five separate races had attempted to lay claim to the system in the last thousand years, with the Tokomak – in their role as galactic arbiters – finally granting control and settlement rights to the Vesparians. They had rapidly turned the system into a fortress, settling two of the dead worlds, setting up a sizable industrial base and installing enough fixed defences to deter the attack their admirals expected to come at any moment. The Tichck insisted they were the rightful owners of the system, and that the Tokomak had been tricked into upholding the wrongful claim, and their stars were dangerously close to the borderline. Indeed, the Vesparians were surprised the Tichck hadn’t jumped them the moment the Tokomak lost their power. They’d certainly prepared for an attack.

Senior Nest Leader Vassar sat in his command centre and surveyed his kingdom. The gravity points had been left undefended while the Tokomak ruled the known universe, but now a number of orbital fortresses had been towed to cover the gravity points – just in case someone felt like attacking before it was too late – and a cloud of mines, automated weapons platforms and sensor buoys had been installed, in hopes of breaking any attack before it could clear the way into the system itself. The attackers would have trouble even if they succeeded, he reflected. The navy had deployed nearly two hundred starships to cover the system, and counterattack if the Tichck launched an attack. Vassar clicked his beak in grim approval. The Tichck had missed their chance to take the system without a real fight. He was sure of it.

His beady eyes fixed on the holographic display. There were streams of freighters coming and going around the gravity points, and others flying around the system itself. The Vesparians had allowed other races to settle, as long as they respected the Vesperian control of the system itself, and a seemingly worthless set of planets was slowly turning into a vital part of the Vesperian Empire. Vassar had been cautioned that the navy might be called upon to take the offensive, if a first strike seemed prudent, but he rather hoped not. War would be disastrous …

But then, they might not have a choice. The Tichck were greedy and grasping. If you gave them a feather they would rapidly take a whole wing, and then you wouldn’t be able to fly. They were vicious little creatures – it was folly to reflect on how they resembled a particularly nasty predator on Vesperian Prime, but he couldn’t help it – and there was something to be said for striking first. Everyone knew it was just a matter of time before they struck, so why not? It wasn’t as if the Vesparians were short of potencial allies. Everyone hated the Tichck.

An alarm howled. Vassar looked up, sharply.

A handful of red icons glowed on the display, racing towards the system at several times the speed of light. They were on a least-time course from the nearest Tichck system, close enough to assemble a fleet before launching an attack and far away enough to ne certain the fleet would remain unnoticed until it was too late. Nineteen starships, at least … nowhere near enough to take the system, unless they had one of the hyper-advanced weapons systems he was sure existed only in the minds of paranoid intelligence officers. It was a little odd, odd enough to make him wonder if it was a diversion. The mystery fleet was heading right for Gravity Point One and that was even odder. They had to know they’d be plunging right into the heaviest defences the system had to offer.

“Bring all defences to combat stations and send an alert up the chain,” he ordered, clacking his beak for attention. “And order all freighters to vacate the gravity points immediately.”

He felt a surge of gratification at how quickly his staff got to work, then forced himself to sit back and contemplate the tactical-strategic situation. Gravity Point One was linked, through a handful of other gravity points, to the homeworld itself. Any invasion force would have to capture and blockade it first, to keep the defences from receiving any assistance from outside forces … at least, he reflected sourly, quickly enough to matter. There were contingency plans, but even if they worked perfectly it would be at least three standard weeks before any reinforcements arrived. The enemy had to know it too, and that meant … what?

“Nest Lord, the invaders will enter the gravitation surge in thirty standard minutes,” a staffer informed him. “The defences will be ready and waiting.”

Vassar wasn’t so sure. The enemy was doing something foolish, and the Tichck weren’t foolish. He had heard the stories of cunning deals and clever tactics, of bribes offered to make certain enemy commanders surrender rather easily or convince subordinates to stab their commanders in the back. He knew his staff were loyal, yet … the Tichck were masters of corruption. What if … he clacked his beak in disgust. They could not have subverted more than a handful of his officers, at the most, and they’d be horrifically outnumbered if they tried to take down the defences from within. The datanet was designed to be difficult for anyone, no matter how high-ranking, to impede its operations, let alone shut it down completely. There were so many redundancies built into the system that losing the datalinks wouldn’t be enough to stop the datanet doing its duty.

He forced himself to wait, counting down the seconds as the unknown squadron approached. The defences prepared themselves, starships undocking from orbiting stations and making their way to join his fleet even as the fortresses armed their weapons and brought their active sensors up to full power. It would put a great deal of wear and tear on the sensor units, he knew, but replacing the sensors was cheaper than replacing the entire system. The enemy had to have something up its sleeve. They were acting stupid, and that meant they were up to something very clever indeed …

“Contact,” the staffer snapped. A hint of panic shot through his voice. “We have contact!”

“Report, calmly,” Vassar ordered. The emergency drills should have prepared his staffers for combat, but they always left out the emergency. They’d known the drills weren’t real. The thousands of enemy ships investing the system had been nothing more than images on the display. “What are we facing?”

“Ninety-seven ships,” the staffer said. “Their IFF codes are Tichck …”

Vassar frowned. Ninety-seven … the enemy fleet must have flown in very close formation to hide their numbers. Some of those vessels might be sensor ghosts … no, it was unlikely. The ghosts would have flickered when the ships dropped out of FTL and his sensors would have noticed it. The enemy were bringing their ECM online now, as their ships spread out to avoid presenting a very bunched up target, but … he clicked his beak in annoyance. Either the enemy had messed up and come out of FTL too early, or their plan was going exactly as they intended.

“Raise them,” he ordered. Ninety-seven ships weren’t anything like enough to take the system. What were they doing? “Tell them they are to lower their shields and prepare to be boarded.”

“Picking up a signal from the enemy ships,” a staffer said. “They’re broadcasting to the entire system.”

Vassar keyed his console. The message was in clear, stating that the system belonged to the Tichck and the defenders were to surrender, at once, if they valued their lives. The analysts noted that there were other messages, carefully encoded, buried under the first message … they’d be trying to crack the ciphers as quickly as possible, but there was no guarantee they’d have the messages deciphered in time to matter. Vassar glanced at the display and clacked his beak in irritation. There were millions of aliens on the planets and millions more passing through the system and the message could be intended for any or all of them. The clear message was bad enough, he noted curtly. The speaker was drivelling on about the rewards that would be offered to anyone who surrendered, rather than fighting to the death. Vassar was entirely sure that the reward was nothing more than a bullet in the back of the head, or a quick way out an airlock without a spacesuit. A traitor could never be trusted, not even by the beneficiaries of his treachery. Treachery tended to be habit forming.

“Deploy the fleet to eradicate the intruders,” he ordered, shortly. The Tichck would have to run quickly, if they didn’t want to be destroyed. Unless … a nasty little doubt ran through his mind. The Tichck had given him more than enough time to concentrate his forces, something every tactical manual agreed was a very bad idea, and that meant … did they want him to deploy his entire fleet? Why? “And instruct them to be ready to jump into FTL at a moment’s notice.”

His eyes bulged as the fleet slowly moved away from the gravity point, making the transit in realspace. He’d heard all sorts of rumours from the Human-Tokomak War, stories of superweapons and magical technology and other weird concepts that couldn’t possibly be real. He knew little about the human race – and he was fairly sure the rumours had grown in the telling – but they had beaten the Tokomak. What if they’d sold their tech to the Tichck? Or the Tichck had simply stolen it? No one could deny they were very good at sneaking around …

Or perhaps that’s what they want us to think, he thought. The longer the enemy fleet was left alone, the harder it would be to convince his superiors – and everyone within the system – that the situation was under control. He had to drive them out as quickly as possible and they had to know it, which meant everything he was doing was entirely predictable. He found himself trapped in an agony of self-doubt, unsure if he was doing the right thing or playing straight into his enemy’s hands. Are they capable of facing a fleet four times their side and beating it?

His eyes lingered on Gravity Point Four. It led straight into Tichck territory. He knew from freighters making passage that the Tichck had heavily fortified the far side … had they assembled their fleet there too? Or … or what? He found himself second-guessing himself, questioning everything. The wrong move could easily end in total disaster, but what was the right move? He didn’t know.

The fleet advanced on the enemy position. Vassar forced himself to watch. If he was wrong …

***

Elton couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy as he surveyed the enemy system, even though he knew that such a high-value location, so close to the border, would be an utter nightmare to defend. It was hard to forget just how old galactic civilisation was, yet it was difficult to comprehend what that actually meant until you actually saw it with your own eyes. There were installations orbiting the planets, and the gravity points, that were older than the Roman Empire, inhabited by countless aliens, heirs to an ancient civilisation, who couldn’t possibly have pointed to Rome on a map of Earth. The entire Roman Empire was less than nothing to the Galactics.

The fleet plunged onwards, broadcasting its messages. Most of the encrypted messages were little more than junk, certain to confound the enemy because no amount of decryption could decrypt a message that was just random words and numbers strung together into something that looked significant. The remainder were aimed at genuine Tichck agents, ordering them to do things that would almost certainly get them caught. Elton suspected most would pretend they never heard the messages – there was no point in doing something that would ensure they never claimed their reward - but it didn’t matter. The important thing was that it looked as though the Tichck were probing the system. In force.

“Commodore, the enemy fleet is deploying,” Patel reported. “They’ll enter missile range in nine minutes.”

Elton frowned. “Alter course to keep the range open,” he said. The enemy would be wise to drop into FTL, trying to close the range as quickly as possible, and at such short distances they’d pull off a near-perfect Picard Manoeuvre. “Keep the FTL drives spooled up, ready to go.”

He felt sweat prickling down his back as the seconds ticked onwards. The enemy didn’t seem inclined to let him pull them into a stern chase, suggesting they were ready to dart back to the gravity point – and the cloud of fortresses and other defences – if it turned out they’d bitten off more than they could chew. It suggested a worrying degree of caution, one that might not be as helpful as he’d hoped. Did they think he’d brought a much bigger fleet with him, a dozen battle squadrons concealed under cloak? Or did they think he was trying to lure them away from the gravity point? It made a certain degree of sense. The enemy might expect his allies – his supposed allies – to launch a major offensive though the gravity point, after their ships had been lured away. It would be a pain to coordinate, but it might be doable. If the message didn’t reach the waiting fleet, it would just wait a while longer.

“They’re picking up speed,” Patel reported. The fleet was dodging closer to Gravity Point Four, which didn’t seem to have a battle squadron assigned to cover it. Curious, but very much a secondary concern. “And locking missiles on our hulls.”

Elton took a breath. If the plan worked, great. If not, court-martial would be the very least of his worries.

“Activate Fire Plans Alpha and Beta on my command,” he ordered. The last seconds ticked away. “Fire!”

The battlecruiser lurched as she unleashed her first salvo, then followed up with a flight of drones. Elton leaned forward, bracing himself as the drones flashed towards the enemy ships, pulsing out waves of sensor distortion and infiltration software that would hopefully make the enemy point defence have problems isolating and destroying the real missiles. Elton doubted the infiltration software would do any real damage – they couldn’t assign a proper hacker to the job – but he’d be pleased if it merely kept the enemy off balance for a few seconds longer. The enemy fleet opened fire a second later, their missiles operating at extreme range. Elton allowed himself a tight smile. They were impaling themselves on his missiles, while theirs would be very lucky not to burn out before reaching his point defence envelope. He almost wished he dared hang around, to watch the outcome …

“Signal the fleet,” he ordered. The enemy wouldn’t take much, if any, damage, but it would anger them. Angry people tended not to think straight, something he’d noted was pretty much a universal constant. “All units will drop into FTL on my mark. Mark!”

***

Vassar leaned forward, cursing under his breath as the enemy fleet vanished into FTL, scudding around the system. Their ECM was making it harder for the fleet to give chase … Vassar wasn’t even sure the fleet had seen the enemy move. The enemy drones were pumping out waves of pseudogravity, weakening their gravimetric sensors. He snapped orders, directing his staff to transmit sensor records from the gravity points, but the time delay was going to be a killer. By the time the fleet straightened itself out …

The enemy fleet reappeared, far too close to the gravity point for comfort. Vassar snapped more orders, directing the missile racks to open fire. The enemy was playing an odd game … they couldn’t possibly have a fleet on the far side of Gravity Point One. If they had, the war might well have already been lost. No, it was far more likely this was just a provocation, a reconnaissance in force to determine just how serious the Vesparians were about keeping the system. And he knew his superiors were very serious indeed.

He clacked his beak in anger as the enemy fleet disappeared again, not even bothering to return fire. It would have been a waste, yet … he couldn’t help finding it a little encouraging. The enemy were clearly unwilling to close the range and seize the gravity point, their only real hope of pulling off any sort of victory. And that meant … the enemy fleet reappeared, near the second gravity point, and danced away again. The fleet gave chase, but they lost track of the enemy every time they dropped into FTL. There was no way to keep them updated either. And that meant …

“The enemy fleet has dropped back into FTL,” a staffer reported. “They’re heading back to their base.”

Vassar keyed his console, his clawed hands flexing as he examined the display. The enemy fleet wasn’t trying to hide its destination, not when it knew the Vesparians would be deploying in force. He had strict orders not to let any provocations go unanswered, and that meant … his mind raced. The enemy had made no attempt to get a signal through Gravity Point Four. That suggested there wasn’t a fleet on the far side, and that meant it was just a provocation, a test of their determination. He really couldn’t let it go.

“Signal the fleet,” he ordered. The enemy ships were already racing out of the system. There was no time to waste. Engaging the enemy fleet was one thing, but tangling with fixed defences was quite another. “They are to give chase, and engage the enemy short of their fixed defences.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

 

Chapter Ten

“We are clear of the system,” Patel reported. “And heading straight for Point Cowboy.”

Elton nodded, silently assessing the situation. The plan was simple enough, but it depended on the enemy acting in a predicable fashion and it was never easy to say which way an alien commander would jump. The Tokomak had ground a great deal of cultural diversity out of existence, and ensured everyone learnt from the same tactical manuals, but he knew from grim experience that even they couldn’t eradicate everything. The Vesparians were supposed to be quick to anger, and quick to react to any slight, yet … there was just no way to be sure.

“Hold us on course,” he ordered. “We have to be well clear of their detectors when we drop out of FTL.”

His lips quirked. In the old movies, the cowboy always managed to find a hidden gully and the hunters chasing him always missed the turning and went haring off into the wild while the cowboy had a good laugh at their expense. It hadn’t worked out so well in real life – Elton had studied the disaster at Little Big Horn as a young cadet – but even if the Vesparians didn’t take the bait they’d still have very real trouble locating and destroying the human fleet. They might know the fleet had to be somewhere along a predictable line, yet when that line was well over a couple of light years long the knowledge was pretty much meaningless. The fleet would appear to vanish, the moment it dropped out of FTL.

Unless they’re trying to be clever, he reminded himself. There were tactics to track down a fleeing fleet, but they required a degree of organisation and prior preparation that should defeat any attempt to put one together in a hurry. The Tokomak were the only ones known to have pulled it off and only then because they had had such a large fleet they could afford a degree of commitment no other race could match. We’re not out of the woods yet.

He leaned back in his chair, studying the starchart. The spooks had yet to come up with a detailed explanation for the confused political system, but it was clear the Tichck and Vesparians had fleet bases within a handful of light years of each other. Close enough for government work, close enough for one power to mount a surprise attack on the other without much in the way of warning. The Vesparians would have no choice, but to assume the worst. And that meant …

They probably won’t risk an all-out attack on the naval base, certainly not if they don’t see our ships there, he mused. But they will blame the Tichck and act accordingly.

“Commodore,” Patel said. “We are coming up on Point Cowboy.”

“Take us out of FTL as planned,” Elton ordered. The timing had to be exact. “And then activate the passive sensors.”

“Aye, sir.”

The gravity field flickered, very slightly, as the battlecruiser dropped out of FTL. Elton leaned forward, bracing himself as the display updated rapidly. A sizable fleet of starships was on their tail, actually gaining slightly … Elton wondered, with a flicker of dark amusement, just what would have happened if they really had been a Tichck fleet and the enemy fleet had beaten them to their destination. Both sides would have been incredibly confused.

“The enemy fleet will pass our current position in twenty minutes,” Patel reported. “Your orders?”

“Stand by all weapons,” Elton ordered, grimly. If the Vesparians somehow figured out what had actually happened, they’d have to fight. For real, this time. “Prepare to engage.”

He felt as if time itself were threatening to slow down as the range closed sharply, the enemy fleet nearing their position … and then roaring past at several times the speed of light. Patel breathed a sigh of relief and Elton was tempted to join him. The enemy could have dropped out right on top of them. Now … they were relatively safe.

“Begin the reloading,” he ordered. “Are the tugs in position?”

“Yes, sir,” Patel reported. “They’re ready to latch on when ready.”

“Start the procedure, as soon as we have reloaded our missile tubes,” Elton said, calmly. “I want to be gone by the time the Vesparians start thinking about what actually happened.”

“Aye, sir,”

***

Captain Samra Wiseman knew, without false modesty, that her ship was not, in any sense of the word, a warship. The freighter had been passed through a dozen pairs of hands before it had been purchased by the Solar Navy, refitted several times over with technology that nearly any spacefaring race, or corporation, could easily produce or purchase, and turned into a makeshift spy vessel. She was fairly sure the Galactic inspectors would find nothing suspicious, if they examined her ship, but it was never easy to be sure. The Tichck had gone through her ship so carefully she’d been tempted to ask if they were going to take her to dinner later, while keeping one hand on the self-destruct … just in case. The idea of blowing herself into atoms was bad, but the idea of falling into enemy hands was worse. Sure, the Tichck shouldn’t have any reason to think there was a connection between her human race and the Belosi, or the Vesparians, but it was impossible to be sure.

She sat on her makeshift bridge and studied her display thoughtfully. The Tichck called the system something unpronounceable, at least unless you had more teeth in your mouth than the average humanoid; the Tokomak, and nearly everyone else, called the system Roster. The Tichck inspectors had snapped at her for daring to use the name, something that puzzled her. Very few races could speak their language, and even they had to understand it. Not, she supposed, that it mattered. The sheer scale of the system was daunting.

Her lips quirked. What do you call a nine-hundred pound gorilla? Sir.

She felt her humour slip away as she studied the defences. There was an entire Ring orbiting the planet, with enough firepower to intimidate nearly every race in the known galaxy, and a fleet that was small, in comparison to the immense formations that had fought the Human-Tokomak War, but still large enough to give any enemy a very hard time. It would be tricky to take the system, even if the rulers surrendered after their fleet and orbital fortresses were destroyed. It would be harder to take the Ring. A single mistake could lead to utter disaster. And if the Ring shattered, the planet below would be rendered uninhabitable …

“Captain, I’m picking up a powerful fleet approaching the system,” Lucy Goldman – her sensor officer – reported. “No word from System Command, not yet.”

“Charming,” Samra muttered. “Bring up the drives, but don’t start undocking procedures until I give the word.”

“Aye, Captain,” Michal Forbes said. The helmsman sounded doubtful. “If we go into FTL close to the Ring, we might bring the Ring with us.”

“Or a sizable chunk of it,” Samra said. There was no way her tiny freighter could drag the entire Ring into FTL, but … she shrugged. If matters got that bad and they had to make a hasty getaway, the local defenders would have a great deal more to worry about than a lone freighter making a break for it. “We don’t want to leave too early.”

“I think a number of ships disagree,” Lucy said. “They’re on their way already.”

“And to hell with System Command,” Michal added.

Samra shrugged. The defenders were clearly preparing for a fight, ordering their warships to assemble in position to provide fire support to the orbital defences or escape if the attacking fleet proved too strong. It was hard to get any good reading on the size of the fleet bearing down on the planet, but there were at least thirty ships and probably a great deal more. The Tokomak were the only race that might have expected an immediate surrender, if they sent a mere thirty ships, and their power was broken. For now. Solar Intelligence had been unable to determine if the Tokomak would try to rebuild, or tamely accept their defeat. Samra would not have cared to bet on the latter. In her experience, those who lost power would do whatever it took to regain it.

And the Tichck are not going to take this lying down, she mused. There were dozens of freighters fleeing the system, heading out into interstellar space without even bothering to file a flight plan. They had to be scared. The Tichck were sticklers for paperwork and proper details, even the ones most races chose to ignore. Even if there’s no missile exchange, the local economy is going to take a major downturn.

She put the thought aside and plotted her escape as the final seconds ticked down to zero. The newcomers materialised right on time, close enough to the planet to be threatening and yet far enough to ensure they could beat a hasty retreat if they ran into something they couldn’t handle. Samra kept a wary eye on the sensors, watching how the Tichck scrambled to respond and the newcomers – the Vesparians – held their position. It appeared as though they were looking for someone. Samra didn’t know the full details of the Commodore’s plan, but it seemed it had worked beyond his wildest dreams.

“They’re signalling the defenders,” Lucy said, quietly. “Demanding they hand over the aggressors.”

Samra’s lips twitched. The Tichck were not going to like that, and they’d have disliked it even if they weren’t getting blamed for the fleet’s actions. They had complete control over the system and having it challenged at gunpoint was not going to go down very well. They wouldn’t want to give up the aggressors even if they could, not when it would make them look weak … she felt a twinge of disappointment, recalling all the old stories about hyper-evolved and supremely peaceful alien societies waiting for humanity to mature and join them. The real world was rarely so obliging. Those who wanted peace and refused to prepare for war often found themselves enslaved, when the barbarians arrived. Galactic history was littered with cautionary tales about what happened to races that looked weak, and so was human history.

She leaned forward, watching the messages exchanged between the two fleets. Someone had slapped an encryption protocol on the signals, to make sure no listening ears could be sure of what was actually being said, but the sheer volume of the signals suggested a major argument. The Vesparians were sure the Tichck were hiding an aggressive fleet, if they hadn’t launched the attack themselves, and the Tichck were equally sure they were being slandered. She wondered if the Vesparians would risk starting the war immediately, rather than backing off and letting the diplomats sort it out. They might be able to crush the Tichck fleet, if not the fixed defences. If they could see the aggressor fleet, they wouldn’t have hesitated.

And that would make the Tichck look weak too, even if they hadn’t sent the fleet themselves, she thought. This is their system. They make the laws. The last thing they want is someone else trying to enforce the laws.

The messages kept flickering between the two fleets. Samra recorded it all for later analysis – the spooks might be able to decrypt the messages, too late to do her any good but it might help her successor – and waited, imagining the two races shaking their fists at each other. The Vesparians were avian, if she recalled correctly. Did they have fists? Did it matter? She wondered, idly, if …

“Missile separation,” Lucy snapped. “The Vesparians fired!”

“Bring up the drive,” Samra snapped. The Vesparians had fired a full salvo, aimed at the Tichck fleet. The war was about to start, and her unarmed ship was far too close to the planet for comfort. “Get ready to start undocking, and prepare to cut our way free if they refuse to let us go …”

The display flickered. Samra sucked in her breath as the Vesperian missiles detonated simultaneously, a clear warning they could not be pushed around. There was no way to explain it away as anything other than a decision to make a point, no way to suggest the Tichck had shot all the missiles out of space or somehow generated a force shield capable of protecting the entire planet. It was a threat as well as a warning … she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding as the Vesparians dropped back into FTL, heading back to their naval base.

Michal cleared his throat. “Captain? Do we still disengage?”

“No.” Samra had a bunch of fake IDs, but she didn’t want to discard one if it could be avoided. There were limits to how far she could disguise the ship. “Signal System Command. Request permission to undock and depart. We’ll play at being good little boys and girls.”

Her lips twisted. The Tichck had looked down on her, even though her race had beaten the Tokomak. They hadn’t hesitated to show their disdain for anyone whose race hadn’t been spacefaring for hundreds of years, and that very much included humanity. She had dealt with racists and sexists and outright bigots who hated her for the colour of her skin, and yet none had been able to match the towering distaste the Tichck had shown. It worked in her favour, she supposed. They wouldn’t consider her dangerous, despite everything.

The galaxy has been set in stone for a very long time, she reflected. The console bleeped, notifying them that they were cleared to depart … in nine hours. The Galactics would be permitted to leave first. Of course. And they’re having trouble adjusting to the new galactic order.

She leaned back in her chair. There was no hurry. She would be a good little captain – the Tichck made it sound as if she were playing with dolls and die-cast models, not real ships – and leave when she was commanded, heading straight for the RV point. Her report would be passed to the commodore, and then … who knew? There was no way tensions wouldn’t rise, no matter how much the Tichck protested their innocence. A second incident might just be enough to bring the two powers to blows, creating an opening the Belosi could exploit. And bring in other powers that wanted to knock the Tichck down a peg or two.

Who knew? It might just work.

***

“The Vesparians threatened the Tichck,” Patel said, after Captain Wiseman had given her report. “They didn’t open fire.”

Elton wasn’t surprised. The Vesparians were powerful, but so were the Tichck. The former would have to be insane to open fire on the latter, certainly without solid proof the attacking ships had gone to ground at Roster. He had no idea what sort of Rules of Engagement the Vesparians used, but most races would hesitate to start a war with a peer power unless they were very sure they could win.

“They will be suspicious and angry,” he said, instead. “And the Tichck will be equally so.”

His lips twisted. The Tichck would know they were innocent. They’d assume the whole affair was a frame-up, a deliberate attempt to manufacture an excuse to go to war. The Vesparians had allies too, allies who would be reluctant to join the war if the Vesparians were clearly responsible for starting it. Arranging matters so the Tichck were blamed for the war instead made a certain degree of sense. And the Tichck would start thinking about striking first.

He looked at the display. The Vesperian fleet had blazed past them again, heading home. Elton could easily imagine messages racing all the way to their homeworld, warning of a possible war. What would they do? Relying on the diplomats to sort it out would be smart, if one wanted to avoid a major conflict, but the Vesparians dared not look weak. And nor did the Tichck. Both sides would take logical actions, both sides would regard the other’s logical actions as inherently hostile … both sides would find themselves trapped in a escalating conflict, forced into backing down or taking steps to defend themselves. Elton had been told, once, that military conflict often had a logic of its own, that once the tensions reached a certain point open war was inevitable. He suspected it was true. When one side stood to gain a major advantage by striking first, the impetus to do so was almost irresiabale.

“Signal the fleet,” he ordered. “We’ll proceed to the RV point and link up with the fleet train, and then head onwards. By then, we should have a better idea of how both sides will react to our provocations.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elton sat back, watching as the tugs started to move. The simplest trick for evading sensors was to have a warship towed through FTL by a seemingly civilian vessel, a trick the Tokomak – of all people – had pioneered in the war. The Vesparians would work out what he’d done, he was sure, and deploy their ships to track him down, but as long as the warships kept their FTL drives offline there’d be no way to pick them out from the hundreds of other freighters within detection range. There was no point in checking schedules either, he reflected. The twin attacks had sent thousands of civilian ships fleeing into the interstellar night. By the time it all calmed down, they’d be a good long way away.

He felt cold, even though he knew his forces had performed well. They were planning to start a war. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, would die, even if the laws of war were observed. And it would be on him, and him alone. He could have said no.

But they were committed. And they’d been committed from the moment the mission began.

 

Chapter Eleven

“Good God,” Charles said. “We made it.”

“And there are an awful lot of guns being pointed at us,” Riley said. His stomach hadn’t felt so bad since he’d had the dreaded D&V, years ago. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

He looked down at the display. The gravity point was heavily defended. There were at least five fortresses within detection range and he was fairly sure there would be others, although even a lone fortress was overkill. Rustbucket was so old the enemy could cough in her direction and she’d be damaged beyond hope of repair. An exaggeration, but not by much. A near-miss was rarely a concern to a starship, yet in this case …

“I’m sending our codes now,” Sarah said. Her voice was flat, professional. They’d been in tough spots before, but anyone who knew her well could hear the concern underpinning her tone. “They should accept them.”

Riley nodded, curtly. The trip had been long and tedious, the team going over the data time and time again and hoping – praying – they reached their destination before word of the fleet’s deception operations reached Sakrknda. There was simply no way to calculate how long it would take for the penny to drop, how long before the enemy realised they were on the cusp of a major war and started to reinforce their defences, as well as checking for weak points. The Galactics had been caught flat-footed, more than once, by a reluctance to constantly test their own security measures, but he dared not assume they’d overlook potential weaknesses any longer. The galaxy was no longer a safe place, even for the most powerful races in the known universe.

The console bleeped. Riley glowered at it, recalling how many consoles had exploded in countless movies. It was a cheap and nasty way to show the vessel taking damage, one that was about as realistic as anything else in the old-time movies: it was rare, almost unknown, for bridge consoles to explode in real life. Anything that hit the ship hard enough to inflict that sort of damage would likely blow the vessel to atoms, wiping out the crew before they had a chance to realise they were doomed. But on this ship … he had spent weeks replacing hundreds of components, and bypassing others that were too degraded to be trusted, and he still feared for their lives. He could easily imagine a console exploding if he looked at it the wrong way.

“We are cleared to proceed,” Sarah said. Her hands darted over the console, a lurching sensation running through the ship as the sublight drives came online. “They haven’t said anything about entry procedures, but … I doubt we’ll be allowed to get too close without some inspection.”

“As long as we get close enough to make the hop,” Riley said. “We don’t want to risk passing through security, not if it can be helped.”

He leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax. He didn’t think the Tichck would have the team in their databanks, but the possibility couldn’t be ruled out. They’d passed through security screening at Belos, decades ago, and the records could have easily been copied and stored before all hell broke loose. Hell, if he’d been in command of planetary security, he’d have made damn sure to copy every surviving record after the shit hit the fan. Sure, there’d be hundreds of thousands, covering every visitor to the system in the months before the uprising, but modern computers could store trillions of records. Any security officer worthy of the title would reason the infiltrators had been amongst the visitors, correctly, and keep an eye out for their reappearance somewhere else.

If there had been time, we would have sent another covert team further into enemy space, he thought. His DNA had been enhanced and his body augmented, as technology advanced over the years, but it was impossible to guarantee he’d pass through screening without being caught. The Commodore was right to be worried about it.

“We’re being ordered to remain in realspace,” Sarah put in. “I don’t think they trust us.”

“Let us hope it is just the ship they don’t trust,” Charles said. “Who wants to go to bed?”

Riley put on a completely false falsetto. “Oh, you devil, and my husband still in the house too.”

Sarah gave them both the finger. “Get some rest,” she said, dryly. “I’ll monitor events from the bridge.”

“I’ll stay,” Riley said. He had long-since mastered the art of being able to sleep anywhere, from a barracks designed for alien life forms to a foxhole in the middle of a battleground, but he wanted to get a feel for the system as they approached the planet. “You go have a nap. You’ll be needed when we make the hop.”

“Try not to get too distracted,” Charles teased. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

He stood and left, the hatch hissing closed behind him. It jammed before it closed completely, a serious problem that would have any competent inspection team withdrawing the ship’s licence to sail the spaceways. A hull breach didn’t have to be lethal, but if the automatic systems couldn’t seal the compartments before it was too late the atmosphere would vent into space, either forcing the crew to fall back on spacesuits or choke and die on vacuum. Riley stood and poked the hatch, hoping it could be fixed in a hurry. The dark underside of interstellar travel might care little for safety rules and regulations, but they dared not draw any attention from planetary inspectors. If one decided to be an asshole, the team might be exposed a long time before they reached the planet.

“I think the controlling software is fucked,” Sarah said. “Try the manual system. It might still work.”

She smiled, rather thinly. “Or it thinks we should be chaperoned.”

Riley snorted as he closed the hatch. There was a time and a place for sexual congress, he knew, and it wasn’t when they were making their way towards an enemy system. They could be ordered to deactivate their drives and prepare to be boarded at any moment, although the sheer scale of spacefaring activity within the system presented a daunting task for any security staff who wanted to inspect every ship before it could reach any of the planets. He recalled just how hard it had been to search wet-navy vessels heading to America, back before First Contact, and how much had slipped through the web. The Tichck had the same problem, on a much greater scale. He would be surprised if they inspected even one-tenth of the vessels passing through he system.

But they will make sure to inspect everything nearing the Ring, he thought, coldly. They dare not let anything happen to the megastructure, or the entire planet will be lost.

He sucked in his breath, studying the display as more and more details were revealed. He’d seen the files, of course, but seeing it with his own eyes had an impact that could not be understated. Sakrknda had been settled for thousands of years and it showed, from the giant Ring revolving around the planet itself to the uncountable numbers of cloudscoops, asteroid mining settlements, deep-space colonies and orbital battlestations surrounding the gravity points. The network of fabrication nodes alone, he reflected, could effortlessly out-produce pre-Contact Earth; the fleet of warships, holding position well clear of the planet itself, represented enough firepower to make any naval force think twice about challenging the defenders. The sensors were too basic to pick up the cloud of automated weapons platforms, sensor arrays and mines that backed up nearly every set of fixed defences in the known galaxy, but he knew they were there. It was hard not to be awed at the sheer scale of the system, or have doubts about their mission.

“If the Navy hit this system,” he muttered, “it would likely bounce.”

“Depends,” Sarah said. “How much of our tech has been duplicated by now?”

Riley shrugged. The Tokomak had worked hard to keep research and development from progressing any further, although even they had been unable to keep the Galactics from exploring the potentials of their own technology. Hell, there had been Tokomak who had disagreed with their own government, helping to set up a research station on Belos in hopes of avoiding inspection until it was too late to put the mushroom cloud back in the warhead. Riley had no idea what they’d really been doing, as the files had been destroyed before Belos was liberated, but he dared not assume there weren’t other covert research programs elsewhere. And they wouldn’t be covert much longer. If the Solar Navy kept improving its weapons, and the Galactics refused to make innovations of their own, sooner or later their navies would become nothing more than scrap metal, just waiting to be destroyed.

Just imagine a modern battleship at the Battle of Trafalgar, he mused. Lord Nelson was a brilliant naval officer, but even an incompetent battleship commander would have no trouble wiping out both fleets and winning the day, without taking any damage himself.

He felt cold as they maintained their course towards Sakrknda. Space appeared to be boiling with activity, hundreds upon hundreds of freighters, sublight transports and other vessels flying to and from the planet. There were hundreds of patrol boats too, but they seemed overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the task before them. Riley wondered, idly, just how many had taken bribes to look the other way, when smugglers brought their wares to the system. It wasn’t impossible. He’d yet to meet a race that was completely beyond corruption, even the Tokomak. If you found the right incentive, they’d do pretty much anything you asked.

“They’re ordering us to land on the Ring,” Sarah said, suddenly. “I guess they’ll be inspecting us there.”

Riley nodded, keying his communicator. “Charles? Wake up. We’ll be making the hop shortly.”

“Twenty minutes at most,” Sarah said. “I’d prefer to jump at fifteen.”

“Got it.” Riley unbuckled himself and stood. “Upload the program, then join us.”

He left the bridge, pausing as he passed a porthole. The naked eye should not have been able to pick out such distant objects, not against the inky darkness of interstellar space, but he could see the Ring surrounding the planet, a structure built on a scale that had never been surpassed. He couldn’t help thinking of a donut, with the planet in the centre … he knew, from experience, that the interior would be a nightmarish maze of apartments, fabricators, shipyards and everything else needed to sustain a modern civilisation. There were surprisingly few settlements on Sakrknda itself, something that had puzzled him until he checked the rules. The Tichck and their alien servants were allowed to reside on the surface, but nearly everyone else had to stay on the Ring. Perhaps it was a security measure, or perhaps it was just the Tichck refusing to share. They certainly didn’t seem to want the multispecies and multicultural communities Riley had seen on many other planets. The hypocrisy was no surprise. It was common to nearly all races.

Everyone wants to live amongst their own kind, he reflected. But few have the wealth and power to make it happen.

Charles joined him, looking disgustingly fresh as they checked and rechecked the spacesuits and other supplies, then checked each other’s work. Riley knew prospective operators who bristled at the thought of having their work checked, as if they weren’t trusted, and he’d always made certain to keep such types out of his team. Mistakes happened, no matter how many decades of experience you had, and it was better to catch those errors before it was too late to fix them. It also made certain everyone knew just what they had on hand, allowing them to consider what options might be available at any given time. Riley’s lips twitched, although it wasn’t really funny. He knew good men who had died because they hadn’t realised there were other options open to them.

“The program is set,” Sarah said, as she entered the compartment. “If you left anything behind, now is the time to grab it.”

“Nothing,” Charles said. “You know the rules.”

They exchanged nods. The team had strict orders to avoid carrying anything that could be traced back to the Solar Union, a remnant of the days in which drawing attention to Earth would be utterly disastrous. He’d taken an eReader with him, one rigged to wipe its files several times over and then atomise itself, once the time came to leave it behind. Everything else was common or garden material, spacesuits and supplies so basic they could have come from anywhere. Riley had been tempted to deliberately source materials that had been produced by the Tichck, but he’d resisted the temptation. They might start to wonder if the supplies had been taken from Belos.

They scrambled into their spacesuits and checked each other’s gear, plugging in communications links to ensure they stayed together without radiating any betraying emissions. The Ring was a haze of electromagnetic activity, from simple ship-to-shore signals to heavily-encrypted military communications that they could neither decrypt nor record for later analysis, and it was reasonable to assume their low-power signals would go undetected, but there was no point in taking chances. If the enemy picked up a signal, it would be far too revealing.

Sarah tapped a control, opening the hatch. “Let’s go.”

Riley led the way out into open space, using gas jets to steer a course well clear of Rustbucket. The ship was programmed to send an emergency signal in ten minutes, reporting a catastrophic drive failure and then triggering a series of explosions that would reduce the vessel to an expanding cloud of atoms. The local authorities would take one look at the ship’s inspection record, Riley hoped, and conclude the lack of proper maintenance had finally caught up with the vessel’s crew. It would hardly be the first time a scavenger race had lost a ship to a disaster any spacefaring race would know to avoid. The Tichck, who looked down on everyone who wasn’t them, would certainly chalk the disaster up to incompetence and have a good snigger.

Assholes, he thought. They don’t have to treat everyone else as if they’re dirt.

He pushed the thought aside as they started their fall towards the Ring. It was expanding rapidly, the metal band seeming to grow until it blocked the blue-green orb of the planet itself. Riley knew it was an illusion, knew that it was merely their perspective that was changing, yet he found it hard to convince himself of anything of the sort. His heart raced as the darkened structure eclipsed everything else, dull horror pervading his mind. There were only three of them. How were they going to take on such a mighty empire and win?

The enemy is not all-powerful, he told himself, firmly. And there are more rats within their walls than they care to admit.

The Ring grew ever-larger, his eyes picking out habitat domes and industrial nodes scattered over the surface, seemingly at random. He dared not risk using any active sensors, but it seemed the locals insisted on everything moving near the Ring carrying an IFF beacon … a piece of common sense, he reflected, that actually worked against them. The most advanced sensors in the known universe would have trouble picking the suits out against even the silent reaches of interstellar space, and there was so much activity in the local district that the suits were effectively invisible. The odds of an accidental collision were very low at the worst of times, and here the enemy was kindly pointing out the danger points for the infiltrators as they neared the surface. It was surprisingly – and suspiciously – helpful.

He sucked in his breath as they landed nearly on the surface, eyes flickering from side to side as they looked for potential threats. The surface was immense, so big it was difficult to pick out the curve … he understood, suddenly, why humans had believed, once upon a time, that their homeworld was flat. There should be a horizon, but it was practically invisible. He put the thought out of his head as he looked for a way in. They were relatively safe on the surface, but they couldn’t stay on the outside forever. There would be no way to complete the mission before it was too late.

Charles pointed, indicating an airlock near a giant docking complex. It was a counter-intuitive choice, but it made a great deal of sense. Their spacesuits looked like regular gear, and that ensured no one would think anything of their presence if they were spotted. The complex didn’t look too active either, something that nagged at his mind as they walked closer. It felt as if they were tiny, insects crawling across a structure that was too large, too alien, for them to comprehend. A shadow fell across them and he looked up, one hand dropping to his sidearm; he breathed a sigh of relief as he realised it was just a freighter, heading to the nearest docking complex. He forced himself to keep going as they neared an emergency airlock, then stepped aside to allow Sarah to go to work. Opening the airlock was easy, but opening it without setting off any alarms was a great deal harder.

The hatch hissed open. They were in.

Riley stepped into the airlock, bracing himself. They had reviewed the files, but there had been no way to be sure what they’d find. The sheer size of the Ring should leave them with plenty of hiding places, yet … he took a breath as the inner airlock opened, revealing a massive docking complex. The Ring was big enough to house a number of ships, from tiny freighters to giant transports. He didn’t see the point of pressuring the chamber, but he had to admit it worked in their favour. Their repair crews wouldn’t need to don spacesuits to do their work.

He put the thought out of his head. It was time to get to work.

 

Chapter Twelve

Sally closed her eyes and activated her implants, trying to access the local datanet.

She had always been a brilliant hacker, even in the days before First Contact and GalTech had opened up entirely new vistas for both computer developers and their enemies alike. The implants she’d been given decades ago had been upgraded repeatedly, as humans sought to understand GalTech and improve upon it, and she no longer needed a GalCore to make GalTech sit up and dance. The simple fact that GalTech used the same basic technology, right across the galaxy, made her task a great deal easier. If she could learn to hack one system, she could learn to hack them all.

They probably rethought that policy, after what we did to Belos, she thought. It wasn’t clear how much the Tichck knew about what had happened, but they’d have to know a number of starship datacores had been hacked and subverted. And yet, replacing every last piece of GalTech with something new will take decades, even if they start now.

Her lips twisted in dark amusement. The Solar Navy had made the very deliberate decision to avoid using GalTech in its modern starships, ensuring that any hackers who tried to gain access to their datacores would have to start working from scratch. Sarah hadn’t been involved in the testing process, in which her peers had tried to test their security by hacking the datacores, but she was fairly certain the navy had studied the results carefully and updated their software to close all the gaps in their defences. The Galactics could have done the same, she supposed, yet the sheer scale of the task would have made it tricky. But then, there were any number of stopgap procedures they could implement to make her task a great deal harder.

The thought mocked her as she let her mind flow into the datanet. It was immense, easily several orders of magnitude greater than the network she’d hacked on Belos, with millions of datacores and trillions of messages flowing from place to place. Her mind roamed free, noting sections of the datanet that were isolated, sealed behind passwords and firewalls that would have to be hacked carefully. Very carefully. The Galactics might not know how far hacking tech had advanced over the last few years, but they understood their own technology very well. She made a note of their location, then drew her mind back and scanned the nearby datacores. It was easy enough to slice the system open and insert a fake backstory, as well as access permissions, for the team. It was a little harder to locate a hostel that would take them, but there was no shortage of advice for visiting spacers on the net. They would have to head further into the underground shortly, yet now …

She pulled her mind out of the datanet. “We are cleared to proceed,” she said, stiffly. “Just don’t do anything that’ll attract attention.”

Riley nodded. “Got it.”

Sarah let the two men take the lead as they walked down a metal corridor and into a washroom, where they removed their spacesuits and folded them up, tucking them into knapsacks they’d brought with them. She would prefer to dispose of the spacesuits, but there was nowhere to do it without attracting attention. There was always an underground market for used spacesuits and other spacer gear, and they’d have no trouble finding one here. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, then checked her appearance in the mirror. She looked like any other spacer down on her luck, kicked off one ship and looking desperately for a billet on another. The fact she was human wouldn’t raise eyebrows, not here. Very few freighter captains, particularly those who wavered back and forth between legal and illegal activities, could afford to discriminate. It was asking for trouble.

Charles caught her eye. “Are they saying anything about Rustbucket?”

“Not much.” Sarah checked, to be sure. “They seem to think it was an accident.”

“Or at least that’s what they want us to believe,” Riley pointed out, darkly. “They could be trying to lull us into a false sense of security.”

Sarah could see his point, but she rather doubted it. The final telemetry from Rustbucket had been a work of art, a failure record so complete and comprehensive there was little room for suspecting anything worse than shoddy or non-existent maintenance. Outright sabotage would have looked a great deal different, if the engineers who’d helped her put it together were correct, and even if the disaster had been caused purposefully there would be signs that simply didn’t exist. Cold logic suggested they were in the clear, but the Tichck had to be feeling jumpy. They had gambled everything on a desperate plan to reclaim Belos and their plan had failed spectacularly. The odds were good they wouldn’t take anything for granted.

She let the two men lead her out through a series of airlocks, their forged IDs more than enough to gain clear passage, and into the promenade. It was a red light district, like so many others she’d seen over the years, offering everything a spacer might need after weeks or months away from home. Her lips twisted as she spotted VR brothels, with sexbots that could be configured to meet the requirements of just about every known race, and restaurants offering meals from right across the galaxy. She was surprised the Tichck allowed it, given their superiority complex, but it made a certain degree of sense. The more they offered, the more money they could earn from passing visitors. Some things were universal, no matter how far one travelled. Locals intent on separating a spacer from his hard-earned money was one of them.

The two men kept walking, ignoring hawkers and traders selling their wares. Sarah did her best to look like a submissive servant, the kind of person who might be overlooked even as she kept her eyes open for the main chance. She wasn’t the only one: her lips twisted in distaste as she spotted a handful of Sarnia, the intelligent females shadowed by males who had little more intelligence than the average dog. Sarah had heard all the jokes about men losing their intelligence the moment they saw an attractive woman, as all their blood had flowed from the large head to the small, but none had ever really struck her as amusing. There were races in which one gender was intelligent and the other not. Really not. Human researchers had assumed, at first, that the races were lying, in much the same way human men had insisted women couldn’t be trusted to govern themselves or vice versa. Their research had proven otherwise. And no one was very comfortable with it.

She kept her face under tight control, allowing her eyes to sweep the stalls. Food and spare parts, guns and ammunition, toys and games and countless other things to keep spacers distracted on long voyages, including a sex of alien sex toys that resembled torture devices more than anything else. Sarah had no idea which species the toys were designed for and she didn’t want to know. The Galactics banned interracial relationships, fuelling a demand for illegal porn, but she suspected they hadn’t needed to bother. It was vanishingly rare, even on the more tolerant worlds, for a person to date someone from another race.

The racket grew louder as they reached the far end, where the downmarket hostels were waiting. She spotted members of at least fifty different races, including a number of humans … she’d expected as much, but it was still a relief to see it. They wouldn’t stand out so much … and besides, it would make life difficult for their enemies. Some visitors came from very powerful races indeed, including some that were just itching to teach the Tichck a lesson. If they were mistreated, it could expand the war.

Riley led the way into their hotel – the name translated loosely as Robotnik, which made Sarah smile – and pressed his ID band against the sensor. Sarah braced herself, all too aware the slightest mistake could lead to disaster, then relaxed as the system accepted the ID without question. Riley tapped a credit chip against the sensor, then took the offered keycards without hesitation, keeping one for himself and passing the other two to Sarah and Charles. They didn’t speak as they found the elevator and rode it down to the lower levels. The hotel was designed to make it hard for one set of guests to run into another, the air heavy with privacy fields and sensor dampeners. Sarah guessed they were rigged to be ineffective on the best frequencies. It was a common trick, and hellishly difficult to detect if you didn’t have the right equipment.

“Home sweet home,” Charles boomed, as they opened the door to their suite. “Who wants a cup of lukewarm water with hot grit in it?”

Sarah shot him a sharp look – he was overdoing it, although it was unlikely any non-humans would notice – dropped her knapsack on the floor and made a show of wandering around the suite, making awed remarks as she scanned for bugs. She wasn’t particularly surprised to note a pair of pick-ups perfectly placed to record anything that happened on the bed, and two more in the washroom. Sarah was used to having absolutely no privacy – a military career left little room for dignity, and she’d long-since overcome any reluctance to undress in front of her trusted teammates – but it was still irritating. Aliens might not have any interest in her naked body, yet … she shook her head as she checked the tiny kitchenette. There was yet another bug in place to record their doings. No doubt ordering the wrong kind of food would attract attention.

She made her way back to her teammates, moving her hands in a pattern that would be meaningless to anyone without the right training. Room bugged. Can’t disable. Careful what you say. The two men showed no visible reaction, but their babbling about a football match that had been won or lost months ago was clear proof they understood. Sarah lay on her bed and closed her eyes, carefully making contact with the local datanet. Someone had been lazy, she noted wryly. They’d tied the security network into the guest datanet. Odd, but … she shrugged and went to work. Disabling the pick-ups would have been easy, yet it would have set off alarms. Ensuing they broadcast little of value was a great deal harder.

“We should be able to talk now,” she said, finally. “But not for very long.”

Riley nodded. “How tough is their network?”

“It depends,” Sarah said. The hotel they’d used on Belos had been bugged too. She had no idea if the Tichck were looking for blackmail material, or merely wanted to keep an eye on foreign visitors. Either way, it posed a serious problem. If they ran the records through analysis software, they’d notice the pattern and realise the bugs were being spoofed. “I don’t think they have any reason to take a careful look at us, but they have the computing power to do it anyway.”

She scowled. She had cut her teeth on the most advanced software pre-Contact Earth had devised, which had been almost laughably simplistic compared to GalTech. The Solar Union had had no trouble accessing even the most classified of government databases, including some kept in Sensitive Compartmented Information Facilities, and scanning countless faces and records to determine which immigrants were actually government agents. There was no reason the Tichck couldn’t run the recordings through analysis programs themselves. It would cost them almost nothing and the rewards, if they found something they could use, would be priceless.

“So we keep our heads down and make snoring noises,” Charles said, practically. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced in disgust. “Or go out hunting for crap.”

“And billets,” Riley said. “We just don’t want to do too good a job.”

“Yeah.” Sarah had heard, a long time ago, of someone who had practically lived in a big indoor shopping mall. He had gotten away with it for quite some time, his presence only discovered after the security software noted he’d somehow never left the mall. The Tichck could easily do the same. If they noted the team didn’t seem interested in leaving, they might start asking why. “You go. I’ll carry on here.”

Charles passed her a cup of coffee. “I’ve had worse.”

Sarah took a sip. It tasted foul. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Let’s go,” Riley said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“And don’t forget you are being watched,” Sarah said. “You won’t be able to talk freely when you get back.”

She watched the men go, then inspected the kitchenette. The food processor was dangerously outdated, the menu as suspicious as a fifth-rate diner in a very poor country. She had made the mistake of taking one of those menus for granted once, and never again. The food would be technically edible, she was sure, but probably not quite what was written on the menu. She turned and walked back into the bedroom and clambered into bed, closing her eyes as her mind roamed into the datanet once again. The local network was designed to limit access – she wasn’t sure if it was another security measure or simple greed – but she had no trouble circumventing it, carefully erasing all the evidence of her activity even as she scanned a series of semi-secure datafiles. It was easy to establish that there were literally millions of Subdo on the Ring, and millions more scattered over the system.

Yeah, she thought. But which ones are prospective allies?

She dismissed the prospect of using arrest records at once. The suspects had either been deported at once or seemingly allowed to remain, in a manner that made her suspect they were under close observation. The Tichck might have a superiority complex, but that didn’t mean they were stupid and the Subdo were inherently more dangerous than the Belosi. She could easily imagine them keeping an eye on possible rebels, in hopes of rounding up the entire cell. It was what she would do, if she was in their place.

Which means we need help, she mused. A handful of information brokers were listed in the central database, but that almost certainly meant they had ties to the local security forces and couldn’t be trusted. Who can we trust and why?

She allowed her mind to keep moving, darting through the files. There would be a group of unregistered information brokers, she was sure, but finding them would be tricky. Just because they were unregistered didn’t mean they were unknown to the security forces. It would be harder to justify leaving them alone, yet … she could easily imagine them being left off the books, in exchange for keeping their eyes open for something that threatened the system’s security. It would be ruinous if they were caught, as their business model depended on secrecy, but the Tichck had more than enough carrots and sticks to convince the brokers to cooperate. They could certainly compensate them for any lost profits.

Perhaps I’m going about this in the wrong way, she mused. What we really need is a suspect.

She allowed her mind to swim through the torrent of data, looking for patterns within the shipping and logistics files. The Subdo were often lower-level bureaucrats when they weren’t enforcers and middle-management, and a clerk in the right place could be far more effective as a spy than a senior officer. Sarah knew one junior clerk, a man who had never drawn any attention, who had been working for the Russians, his double life only uncovered through sheer luck. He’d been very smart, much smarter than he’d let on. He hadn’t made any of the obvious mistakes.

Slowly, a pattern started to emerge. It was hard to be certain – if you looked at enough data, you would often start to see patterns that simply weren’t there – but she was fairly sure she was on to something. A set of tiny movements, docking ports reassigned at very short notice … a handful of ships cleared to land at certain places, and others ordered to keep their distance. It could be a smuggling ring, but if it was it was a ring that was very well connected to the local authorities. Not entirely uncommon, yet …

She smiled, then hastily forced her face into a bland expression. There were no connections between the mystery group and any senior authorities, which meant the Tichck. She would have to check carefully, just to be sure, but she was certain she was onto something. If she was right … if.

Charles and Riley returned, looking grim. “There’s a war warning,” Riley said, his eyes cautioning her to be careful what she said. “Apparently, the Vesparians blew through a Tichck system.”

Sarah made a show of looking fearful. “But that’s a long way from here, isn’t it?”

Riley’s lips twitched at her display of wide-eyed innocence. “It depends on how far the war spreads,” he said. “If the Vesparians punch through a handful of gravity points, they could reach this system.”

“Yeah,” Charles agreed. He jerked a finger at the wall. “And everyone out there knows it.”

Sarah nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself. Tensions were bound to rise now, and the Tichck would feel bound to respond. And who knew where it would end?

“You two get some sleep,” she said, trying to sound domestic even as her fingers told a different story. “We can try looking for more billets tomorrow.”

“And we will,” Riley said. He signalled back, telling her to wait. “Is there any good food here?”

Sarah snorted. “Good food? Here?”

“Point taken,” Riley said. “We’ll go out for dinner later.”

 

Chapter Thirteen

The secure bunker was buried deep beneath the surface of Tichck Prime, so far underground that nothing short of a planetbuster would do anything more than irritate the occupants. The planet’s surface could be blasted into a lifeless ruin, the network of orbital fortresses, asteroid settlements and industrial nodes could be shoved out of orbit and rained on the planet below, and the core of the Tichck Consortium would survive. The massive complex had everything they needed to survive, from vast stockpiles of food and drink to servants to tend to their every need, and enough communications and digging equipment to be sure they could remain in touch with the outer galaxy and eventually escape their complex that would otherwise become their tomb. They might be all that was left of the Consortium, but at least they would be alive.

Chairperson Harpeth wondered, despite himself, if constructing the bunker had been a mistake. It had made sense at the time – the planet itself might be attacked, but the Consortium itself would go on – but now it felt as if the money would be better invested in more battleships and planetary defences. There had been no real risk as long as the Tokomak ruled the galaxy, yet now … he eyed the starchart sourly, silently calculating just how many of their enemies were just waiting for a sign of weakness before they attacked. It was the way of the universe, he reflected sourly. The strong did as they pleased, as long as they remained strong. If they weakened, or appeared weaker, it would be the end.

He forced himself to wait as the rest of the council joined him, taking their seats in the massive sprawling chamber. It was larger than the surface chamber, large enough to make him forget they were buried an unimaginable distance below the ground. The holoprojections of the outside world only added to the illusion, although the combination of greenery and interstellar stock indexes – threatening to fall, as word spread – was slightly jarring even to him. The servants fussed around the councillors, trusted Subdo bringing refreshments to their masters. Harpeth wished they’d been able to keep the Tokomak servants instead, but they couldn’t be trusted completely. The Tokomak were broken, yet they still had enough military force to pose a danger if they decided to strike.

And anyone who has been made to look weak will do whatever it takes to correct that impression as quickly as possible, Harpeth reminded himself. It was the way of the universe and could not be denied, no matter how many idiots argued otherwise. The only true safety for anyone lay in strength and dominance, and those who refused to arm themselves and overawe their neighbours would be overawed in turn. Are they behind our recent setbacks?

The thought nagged at his mind. The Tokomak had been so conservative that it was difficult to believe they’d ever invented the wheel, let alone the stardrive. The combination of absolute mastery of the known universe and rejuvenation treatments ensured their naval officers never thought outside the box, although that had been changing before the humans had somehow beaten the Tokomak in open combat. Had that kept changing? Or was he overthinking it? It wasn’t as if they were short of suspects.

A low chime ran through the chamber. The privacy shields were in place. The servants retreated to the edge of the room, close enough to be summoned and yet far enough not to overhear much, if anything, of the coming discussion. The bunker was the most secure place on the planet and now … no one, absolutely no one, would be able to monitor their conversation. It was time. The meeting could begin.

“Admiral,” Harpeth said. The formalities could wait. “You may begin.”

Admiral Attica stood, his face showing hints of barely-hidden resentment. Normally, a junior officer would give the briefing, if only so the senior officers could escape the blame if the council started looking for a scapegoat, but few junior officers were cleared for the bunker, let alone the council chamber. Harpeth had few illusions about his people, including just how far they would go for a tiny little advantage over their peers, and he would bet good money that many junior officers served two or more masters. Why not? He had, when he’d been a youngster starting his climb up the ladder.

“Six standard days ago, a sizable Vesperian force entered the Tah-Chik-La System,” Attica said. “The Vesparians claimed they were in hot pursuit of a raiding fleet – one of our fleets – that had attacked their base in the Ta-Conk System and then vanished into FTL. Needless to say, no such fleet movements had been authorised. There was a strong exchange of words between our local commander and theirs, followed by a missile launch that could have done severe damage, if the missiles hadn’t self-destructed before they entered our engagement envelope. The Vesparians withdrew to their base, but we have tracked their patrols sweeping along the edge of our systems and we suspect they also sent messages, on seemingly harmless freighters, through the gravity points.”

He paused. “Regardless, we do know they also sent messages through their own gravity points, with their side of the story. It has to be faked, but it is a very good fake. Our analysts have yet to locate a discrepancy we can use to discredit their lies.”

Harpeth kept his face under tight control, even as considered the implications. Given enough computing power, you could fake almost anything. There were equally powerful analysis programs designed to spot deepfakes before they could do real damage, but as analysis software advanced the technology to fool it advanced too. The data images had to be deepfakes, as no such attack had been ordered, and yet proving it would be difficult. He knew from experience that the most convincing lies were the ones people wanted to believe, and his race had so many enemies that one or more would continue to believe even if the deepfake was proven. And that meant …

Tomah cleared his throat. “Surely, the lack of any identifiable starships amongst the attacking fleet would be proof the data was faked.”

Attica said nothing for a long moment. “Unfortunately, there are some identified starships amongst the fleet,” he said. “They were attached to the fleet sent to recapture Belos, a fleet we believe destroyed. Given the other oddities in the data, we suspect the fleet’s IFF codes were duplicated. Worse, given the sheer amount of electromagnetic distortion in the recordings, any discrepancies can be easily explained away. Right now, it seems unlikely we will be able to prove the fakes have been faked in time to prevent the lie from spreading across the known galaxy.”

“Impossible,” Tomah said.

“Clever,” Harpeth contradicted. The deepfakes would have problems, of course, but if they could be easily explained away … it would be more than enough political cover for any of their enemies to claim the deepfakes were real. Even if the truth came out later, they wouldn’t look complete idiots. “And yet, we know no such attack took place.”

Chairman Domoh tapped the table. “And if they are faking the data, what for?”

Harpeth looked at Attica. “Have there been any further updates?”

“No, Chairperson, but it takes at least five standard days to get a message from the border to the homeworld, and another five days to reply,” the admiral said. “Whatever happens, we won’t know about it for five days. At least.”

“Five days?” Chairman Domoh glared. “That is unacceptable!”

The admiral showed a flash of anger. “Chairman, the basic laws governing interstellar communications cannot be changed, at least without a major breakthrough in FTL signalling. It takes time to transmit a signal from one gravity point to the next, copy it onto a drone and then signal it further up the gravity point chain. There is nothing we can do about it, short of moving the capital to the border. I submit to you that such measures would cause more problems than they would solve.”

“So we retaliate,” Tomah said. “Launch a fleet at their nearest system and give them a fright.”

“And that could easily start a war,” Chairman Hokan objected. “We have too many enemies on our other borders to risk a major engagement.”

“We are already at war,” Chairman Domoh snapped. “We have proof they backed the Belosi! We have proof they …”

Harpeth held up a hand. “Admiral, what is the situation in Parnassus?”

“At last update, the Belosi were settling into the system and fortifying the gravity point to the best of their ability,” Attica said. “Admiral Veetacore believes that a frontal attack on the system will be futile, at least until her fleet is heavily reinforced and I am forced to accept she has a point. The Belosi, or at least their backers, have shown a flair for unconventional tactics and it will not be easy to dislodge them. She has been launching a number of spies through the gravity point, but the endeavour appears to be largely pointless. And wasteful.”

“She should be brought home to put on trial,” Domoh hissed. “She lost an entire system to an inferior race!”

“She did as well as she could, under the circumstances,” Attica said. “And there is nothing inferior about the Vesparians.”

The table erupted in argument. Harpeth sat back and listened, studying the admiral thoughtfully. No one reached the top without a willingness to bury a knife in a subordinate’s back, if the political winds demanded it, and Attica’s defence of Admiral Veetacore was out of character. Did they have a connection, somewhere? She had high-ranking patrons or she would never have reached flag rank, which suggested Attica was either amongst them or unwilling to risk angering them. Harpeth sighed inwardly, all too aware of his race’s weakness. The constant struggle for superiority made it harder to focus on a single goal.

He waited for the argument to start to die down, then tapped the table for attention. “We cannot afford to let this challenge go unanswered,” he said. He wasn’t sure what the Vesparians were playing at, but the fact they’d – apparently – taken control of Belos and then started hammering their way up the gravity point chain, as well as harassing the border stars … he had to admit, sourly, that it was a neat little plan. “Nor can we afford to get sucked into a major war. Not yet.”

There was a long pause. “I propose we do three things. First, we fortify the Parnassus Gravity Point as heavily as possible. While we do need to reclaim both Parnassus and Belos, the Vesparians are clearly trying to lure us into dispatching our fleets far from the homeworld and the core systems. They have no reason to care about the Belosi, which means they will let the Belosi soak up the casualties and weaken us, before they drive a lethal blow into our core worlds and win the war.”

The words hung in the air. None of the councillors cared one jot for the Belosi, and why would they? The Belosi were primitives, hardly worthy of consideration. They had been well on the way to extinction before their uprising and afterwards utterly dependent on regular doses of antiviral agents to keep from dropping dead. There was no reason to care in the slightest about a race that was barely fit to work the fields, lacking even a hint of the intelligence they’d need to be a good race of house servants. The only thing they had that anyone wanted was the gravity points. Harpeth could easily imaging the Vesparians letting the Belosi die out and then laying uncontested claim to the system. It was what he would do. The idea that they had a duty to the lesser races, and that those races had rights that should be expected, was alien to both of them.

“Second” – he glowered at Domoh to keep him from interrupting – “we dispatch our fleets to strengthen the border and deter any further provocations. The Vesparians will have the chance to choose when and where the war starts, and we must avoid giving them any easy targets. Third, and finally, we must make a demonstration of our own. We must not let them think we can be pushed around, or they’ll keep pushing us.”

“We need to push them back,” Domoh growled. “If we launch an offensive through the Catawba Gravity Point …”

“We’ll be aiming a fleet into the teeth of heavy defences,” Attica said, bluntly. “Even if we won, the cost would be staggering.”

Harpeth nodded, curtly. A frontal assault into a gravity point always was, even when the attacker deployed missile pods. The whole idea of sneaking a fleet around and attacking Belos from an unexpected direction had been to avoid a frontal assault, although the plan had clearly not been as clever as they’d thought. If it had worked … but it hadn’t, and the recriminations were already well underway. Admiral Veetacore had argued against the plan, if he recalled correctly, a point in her favour to set against a list of failures. They hadn’t been wholly her fault, but what did that matter? Someone had to take the blame.

“It is not aggressive enough,” Domoh seethed. “We need to make our point clear.”

“We also need to acknowledge our weaknesses,” Attica said. “The truth is, we took heavy losses during the fighting at Belos, and our enemies are taking up positions along the border. We can replace those losses, and take advantage of the opportunity to upgrade our military with the latest in warfighting technology, but we need time. If we overextend ourselves, it could be disastrous.”

He paused, dramatically. “No. It will be disastrous.”

Harpeth tapped the table before the argument could start again. “Shall we vote?”

He allowed himself a moment of relief as the votes were counted. Six councillors supported his plan, although with cavorts that would allow them to change their minds if the plan led to disaster. The other two wanted stronger measures, so he promised they would be taken when the fleet was in position and the border stars heavily fortified. In hindsight, he reflected, they might have been wiser to fortify their positions to a far greater extent, instead of simply transferring planetary defence fortresses to cover the gravity points. It had looked a good idea at the time, but the enemy could simply flood the gravity point with missile pods and then fly through the wreckage afterwards. They needed a new tactic and they needed it fast.

“You have your orders,” he told the admiral. “Carry them out.”

Attica stood and bowed. “Yes, Chairperson.”

***

Callosity stood by the edge of the room, her hands clasped behind her back and a dumb servile expression pasted on her face, maintained with the ease of long practice and the grim awareness of precisely what would happen if she showed one hint of her true contempt to show on her face. The Tichck disdained their servants and cared little for them, rarely bothering to learn anything about their race, yet … there were one or two, she knew, who were genuinely decent despite an upbringing that insisted they were destined to become the new masters of the universe. If one of her masters saw anything of her true feelings, she’d be lucky if she was merely whipped and then dispatched to a work camp. It was far more likely she’d be executed as a warning to the rest of her kind, a display of just what would happen if they angered their masters.

She played dumb, even as she listened. The privacy fields were extremely good, and there was little hope of slipping a passive bug into the chamber, but they couldn’t block her ears. They certainly hadn’t realised how sharp they were, or they would have taken steps to make sure she couldn’t repeat anything to anyone. But it helped, sometimes, to be thought of as nothing more than a slave.

The councillors left, paying no attention to their cringing servants. Callosity did her duty, cleaning the conference chamber and preparing it for the next meeting. There would be another one soon, she hoped. Her masters were so arrogant that it was clear they were riding for a fall. If there was anyone who liked them, she didn’t know them. There were times when she was fairly sure the Tichck hated themselves as much as they were hated by everyone else.

She did nothing to arouse suspicion as she made her way back to the servant quarters, where her supervisor assigned her a handful of tasks that would take her through the communications section. The Tichck knew the Subdo could operate technology, but they didn’t seem to believe the Subdo could actually understand it. They hadn’t been primitive when they’d been discovered, merely unlucky. And that meant that, given time, they could plot against their masters. The Tokomak had been broken. Anything could happen now.

Her fingers danced over a panel, sending a coded message, then she resumed her work before anyone could catch her. She’d been assured the messages were undetectable, and that they were forwarded to her superiors, and … she hoped it was true. The only thing that kept her from wondering who she was really working for was her contact, a Subdo rather than a Tichck. The latter would have more freedom of movement, but could never be trusted. The former wouldn’t be dragged into Tichck power games.

The thought made her smile inwardly, although she kept her expression blank. It was impossible to be sure she wasn’t being watched, and she knew a handful of servants who had disappeared – who had been disappeared – for no apparent reason. If she was caught, she'd be disappeared too. She knew she was taking a hellish risk, but …

If it is the only way to free my people, she told herself, it is what I will do.

 

Chapter Fourteen

It was impossible, Elton reflected as he stood in the observation blister, to pick out the target star with the naked eye.

Their target was nothing more than just one of many stars, to the naked eye, even though it was easily the closest to their current postion. Two light years were nothing, on an interstellar scale, but the distance was hard – almost impossible – to truly comprehend. It was just so big, and yet so tiny. Elton flew amongst the stars, on starships, and yet …

The intercom pinged. “Commodore, the fleet is ready to depart.”

Elton keyed his communicator. “Very good,” he said. The blister was already darkening. Gazing into the interstellar void was one thing, but watching as the fleet dropped into FTL could be – at best – incredibly disconcerting. “Inform the fleet we will begin the operation in ten minutes.”

“Aye, sir.”

The channel closed. Elton took a long breath, feeling a multitude of confusing and contradictory emotions. He had fewer qualms about this operation than the previous one, yet … the risk of being mouse-trapped was dangerously high, all the more so because they wanted the enemy to get a good look at them. Their intelligence ships – in reality, nothing more than freighters operated by intelligence crews – had reported that the Tichck were starting to take the bait, sending war warnings to their frontier stations and dispatching reinforcements to secure the border. It was harder to be sure of what the Vesparians were doing, but the various news networks were insisting they were reinforcing their borders too. Elton had little faith in the various galactic news networks – they were controlled, directly or indirectly, by their governments – but there was normally a kernel of truth buried in the mountain of bullshit. And besides, the Vesparians would have to be crazy not to reinforce their borders.

Because it would be very easy for their enemies to switch from a defensive to an offensive posture at any moment, he thought. If you deploy starships forward for defence, you can easily launch an invasion instead.

He chose to ignore all the old doubts as he turned and walked out of the blister, heading back to the CIC. The mood on the flagship was darker now, as the reality of what they were doing started to sink in. The Solar Navy encouraged its personal to think, and very few crewmen were incapable of realising the possible consequences, if the operation went badly wrong. Elton almost envied the junior officers and crew, as he passed a handful practicing emergency damaged control techniques. They had something to do, something to keep them from thinking about just how many things could go wrong. Elton had to sit in the CIC and fret, without showing his crew he was fretting. It was his duty to avoid showing his doubts or fears.

And you would be complaining more if you were summarily demoted to Crewman, Third Class, he reminded himself, dryly. Wouldn’t you?

He stepped into the CIC and checked the timer. The fleet was scheduled to depart in five minutes, and everything was as close to ready as the crews could manage. The livestream from the datanet, carefully altered to make it look Vesperian, was constantly updating, confirming that each and every ship was ready to do its duty. Elton took his chair and checked the latest intelligence reports. The system ahead was waiting for them, ripe for the plucking.

“Commodore,” Patel said. “The tow lines have been secured, and the cloaking devices are ready to come online.”

“Good,” Elton said. They wanted the enemy to take the bait, and that meant they had to look threatening without looking too threatening. A human might risk his ship to save a colony, a Tichck would not. Probably. Elton knew better than to take the xenospecialist reports too seriously. No human could ever truly imagine being a Tichck and vice versa. “Bring the cloaking devices online, then take us into FTL.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton leaned back in his chair as he felt the indescribable sensation of a starship dropping into FTL. The fleet would materialise quite some distance from the target world, something that would hopefully be seen as incompetence rather than an attempt to hide the cloaked ships. Humanity had the best cloaking devices in the known galaxy, as far as anyone knew, but the cloaks would fluctuate when the fleet dropped out of FTL and it would be difficult, if not impossible, to hide their presence if the enemy were a little bit closer. Ideally, Elton would be able to complete the mission and withdraw without the cloaked ships being revealed. If not … at least he’d have more firepower than the enemy thought.

“The tow lines are functioning as planned,” Patel said. “The cloaked ships should be undetectable.”

“We’ll see,” Elton said.

He scowled as the seconds ticked away. It had been the Tokomak, of all people, who had figured out the simplest way to fool an FTL detector was to have one ship tow a bunch of others. They’d come very close to catching Admiral Stuart by surprise, during the war … technically, Elton supposed, they had won that engagement. The Tichck would know what the Tokomak had done, he assumed, but there was nothing they could do about it. A starship that kept its FTL drive stepped down was effectively undetectable, at least with gravimetric sensors. And yet, it was impossible to be entirely sure.

“Two minutes to breakout,” Patel reported. “They’ll have seen us coming …”

“Of course,” Elton said. He doubted the enemy would attempt to stage an ambush, even if they knew the exact exit coordinate … and they didn’t. “Stand by …”

He projected an image of calm as a low shudder ran through the ship, signalling their return to realspace. The display flickered and updated rapidly, revealing a single planet and a handful of orbital installations quite some distance from their arrival coordinate. Elton couldn’t tell if the sensor platforms were top-of-the-range – the Yelena System had never been particularly important – but it hardly mattered. At such distances, the cloaked ships should go unnoticed.

“Disconnect the tow lines,” he ordered, quietly. “Force One will flank the flagship and proceed as planned, Force Two will assume overwatch position.”

“Aye, Commodore.”

Elton nodded, feeling a flicker of grim anticipation. The Yelena System had been charted centuries ago, but – for reasons the archivists hadn’t been able to uncover – had been left largely alone until comparatively recently. It bothered him, at a very primal level. Yelena was inhabited by a primitive race, barely on the cusp of developing radio technology, and such a race would normally be dragged, kicking and screaming, into the galactic mainstream. The Tichck had enslaved the Belosi, why would they hesitate to do the same to another – equally vulnerable – race? The best explanation anyone had been able to come up with was the simple fact that Yelena was a border system, that the Tokomak had compelled both the Tichck and the Vesparians to leave the system alone, and yet somehow it didn’t seem satisfying. But then, the Tichck had moved in and taken over after the Tokomak had been broken.

And giving the locals a chance to free themselves will be a good deed in and of itself, he thought, coldly. It might make the bastards think twice about bullying younger races.

The display changed. A pair of courier boats swung out of orbit, dropping into FTL the moment they were clear of the gravity well. There was no time to intercept them, even if Elton had wanted to try. He wanted the enemy to be aware of his position. Instead, he leaned forward and watched the reports update as the fleet neared the planet. The Tichck hadn’t bothered to install a modern defence system, calculating the system wasn’t worth fighting for if a peer power decided to try to snatch it, but there were a sizable number of bombardment platforms. Elton hoped their presence meant the natives were fighting back, despite being hopelessly outmatched. They might even be waiting for a chance to drive the aliens off their world.

“Sir,” Patel said. “The orbital defence network is challenging us.”

“Send the pre-recorded reply,” Elton ordered. The range was closing slowly. He could have brought up his drives and closed the range a great deal quicker, but he wanted the enemy to have time to evacuate their platforms. The Tichck would be more humiliated by being forced to abandon ship than having the platforms, and their crews, blown apart from well beyond their effective range. “And then start the countdown.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton forced himself to wait, counting down the seconds himself. The Tichck appeared torn between defiance and a grim acceptance there was no way the planet could be held, although it was hard to be sure. The display noted a stream of messages from the planet, ranging from the offer of a sizable bribe to demands the fleet take the orbital personnel as prisoners rather than force them to land on a very hostile world. Elton knew the Tichck would retaliate against the natives, if they recovered the planet, yet … he hoped they’d honour interstellar codes of conduct. It was hard to be sure, now the enforcers were gone. A genocidal attack might go unpunished.

You’re committed, he reminded himself, sharply. And so are they.

“The weapons platforms are being abandoned,” Patel reported. “We’ll be in effective weapons range in five minutes.”

“Open fire as soon as we cross the line,” Elton said. He didn’t think the orbital platforms posed any real threat to his ships, but there was no point in taking chances. Someone could have crammed long-range missiles into the platforms, or seeded the high orbitals with missile pods, and the first inkling he’d have of their deployment would come when they opened fire. “Clear them away as quickly as possible.”

MacArthur shuddered as she unleashed the first salvo. It wasn’t that heavy, but it would suffice. Elton watched grimly as the enemy point defence came online, trying to down a handful of missiles … nowhere near enough, he noted coldly, to do any real damage. The orbital point defence really was outdated. One by one, the orbital platforms exploded, sending debris spinning out in all directions. The locals would look up to see fragments of the platforms falling from the skies. Would they understand what it meant, he asked himself, or would they think the debris was nothing more than shooting stars?

“The platforms have been cleared, sir,” Patel reported.

“Take us into orbit,” Elton said. It was unlikely there were any major planetary defence stations on the surface, but he kept a wary eye on the display anyway. “And get me a breakdown of enemy positions.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton keyed his console, bringing up the live feed from the recon drones orbiting the planet. It was like looking into the past, images of expanding cities and metal war machines and factories contrasting oddly with the alien structures nearby. He imagined Earth on the eve of the First World War, the human race suddenly forced to share their world with an alien presence … it looked like a low-budget remake of The War of the Worlds. Here and there, he saw the wreckage of alien cities, casually wiped out by modern weapons. To the Galactics, it was just a spanking for an imprudent younger race; to their targets, it was a disaster beyond compare. They didn’t appear to have aircraft, as far as he could tell. He suspected the Tichck shot any aircraft down without hesitation.

His eyes narrowed. The Tichck had deployed a number of fortresses near the alien cities – and what looked like a colony, on an island the size of Australia. There didn’t seem to be any locals on the island – continent, really – although there were a number of Subdo and other servitor races. Perversely, it struck him as a good sign. Yelena wasn’t pacified yet, and hopefully never would be.

But they are caught between two greater powers, he reflected numbly. Their only hope might be to steal a fleet of starships and escape into interstellar space, just like the Belosi.

“Sir,” Patel said. “The planetary government is offering conditional surrender.”

Elton took a breath. “Inform them they have five hours to transfer all personnel to the settled continent,” he said. “At that point, all off-world installations outside that continent will be destroyed. There will be no further warning.”

Patel sounded doubtful. “Yes, sir.”

Elton understood, better than he cared to admit. The enemy installations were dangerously close to local settlements. KEW bombardments weren’t radioactive, but there was no way to guarantee that no locals would be caught up in the bombardment, killed by someone who was supposed to be on their side. There was no way to guarantee the Tichck wouldn’t use the locals as shields either, although their disdain for all other races argued they wouldn’t think to try. If they considered the locals worthless, the odds were good they’d expect Elton to have the same attitude. And that meant …

He leaned forward as more and more data flowed into the display, the sheer torrent of information only underlining what they didn’t know. The local radio transmissions were few and far between, providing nowhere near enough samples of their language for the xenospecialists to put together a translator program. It would be consistent with Tichck arrogance to insist the locals spoke their language, or at least one of the Galactic Standard Tongues; Elton hoped, despite knowing what it would mean for local culture, that they’d taught the locals how to speak to off-worlders. It might be the only way his fleet could communicate with the locals.

“The enemy appears to be evacuating most of their bases,” Patel said. “So far, no reaction from the locals.”

“Get the shuttles down there,” Elton said. He’d brought a handful of bulk freighters, adapted for troop transport, with the fleet. If they could take a sizable number of locals into interstellar space, the race might survive even if the Tichck decided to blast the entire planet down to bedrock. There was no logical reason to blame the locals for the invasion, but he dared not assume the Tichck would be logical. “And hurry.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton tried not to pace as the seconds ticked onwards. It wouldn’t be an easy undertaking at the best of times. There was no way to establish contact with the locals, no way to deal with them except on a purely local level … he wasn’t even sure they could convince the locals to flee into space, not without using force. He’d heard reports of scavenger races landing in the middle of big cities, rounding up everyone they could as slaves and then fleeing again … he couldn’t help feeling they were doing the same thing, even if their motives were good. He hoped the locals listened, although it would be hard to blame them for being suspicious. The first attack on Earth, nearly a hundred years ago, had left scars on the human psyche. And they hadn’t been a full-scale occupation.

“The shuttles are landing now,” Patel reported. “The operation is underway.”

Elton nodded, trying not to think of all the ways the plan could go wrong. He didn’t want to get into a shooting match with the locals, and yet if the locals offered any resistance he might not have a choice. They really were being kidnappers, even if they were taking the locals to a better place. He wondered, numbly, just how many real kidnappers had told themselves the same thing.

He watched the reports and waited, feeling the seconds tick away slowly. The Tichck were cooperating, thankfully, although he knew better than to give them time. It was odd they weren’t looking for ways to convince him to relent … he shook his head. They didn’t know who they were really facing. The armoured combat suits were easily large enough to conceal an avian form, and they’d expect the Vesparians would show as little mercy to the locals as themselves. Hell, they might even accuse the Vesparians of slave-trading. It would be hypocritical, but what wasn’t? Galactic Law was little more than an attempt to formalise what the strong would do to the weak in any case, an agreement amongst thieves and looters to keep what they stole and stay off each other’s patch. Why not try to press charges? It wasn’t as if they had anything to lose.

Patel cleared his throat. “The Tichck report that their bases are cleared.”

“Destroy them,” Elton ordered. If nothing else, watching their tormentors get blasted from orbit would give the locals some hope. “And then order their settlement to wait.”

He leaned back in his chair, feeling a twinge of relief mingled with a grim awareness the affair wasn’t over yet. The courier boats were the fastest things in known space. By his most pessimistic calculations, they’d reach the nearest Tichck naval deployment in three days and the enemy fleet would arrive five days after that. Would they even bother to respond? He didn’t know. They might assume his fleet wouldn’t wait around to get its ass kicked and not send anything larger than a cruiser to investigate. Or they might arrive in force.

The longer they give us, the more locals we can evacuate, Elton said. He knew better than to think they could save more than a few hundred thousand at most, and that was if they were lucky, but modern technology would give the race a chance to survive. They would make a new and powerful ally, given time and support. They already had more than enough motive to fight their former masters. And if the Tichck think we’re stealing their slaves …

His lips twisted. So far, everything had gone according to plan.

But the enemy, he knew from grim experience, would have plans of his own.

 

Chapter Fifteen

How long, Elton asked himself, can we stay here.

He had expected to be attacked within ten days at the most. The Tichck needed to recover their colony as quickly as possible, both to keep him from destroying what remained of their presence on Yelena and to ensure they didn’t look weak in front of their enemies. Instead, they had let him remain in orbit for nearly fifteen days, giving him all the time he needed to make contact with local authorities and arrange a far more effective evacuation. He’d even wondered if he could get the freighters to a safe place, unload the evacuees and have them return for more before their time ran out. It wasn’t as if they were short of volunteers. The locals knew, all too well, what would happen if they stayed on their homeworld.

His eyes lingered on the starchart as he calculated and recalculated the possible travel times between Yelena and the nearest Tichck base. Were they wrong about enemy deployments? Or about how the Tichck would react? Or … was the war already underway? He didn’t know what sort of Rules of Engagement the Tichck commanders had been given, but he could easily imagine an ambitious commander mounting a retaliatory strike on the nearest Vesperian-held system. If it worked, the commander would be promoted; if it failed, at least any further Vesperian offences would have been knocked off schedule. If …

He took a long breath, trying not to feel the tension pervading the ship. They were isolated in the middle of one of the most populated regions of the galaxy, effectively cut off from the makeshift intelligence network they’d been trying to put together. Anything could be happening out there, anything at all; the war might be underway, or the diplomats might have poured oil on troubled waters, or … he was tempted to send a courier boat back to the RV point, to get what updates he could, even though they would be several days out of date. If the war had begun, there was no point in hanging around Yelena any longer. The fleet would need to get into position to prepare the final offensive.

“Commodore,” Patel said. “Gravimetric sensors are picking up a flight of freighters, heading towards the system.”

“Show me.” Elton felt a flicker of excitement. Yelena wasn’t far off the beaten track, unlike pre-Contact Earth, but she had little to offer any passing freighters. Not yet. “How many?”

“At least seven,” Patel reported. “And they’re flying very close together.”

Which means there might be more of them, Elton thought. It was rare for so many freighters to fly in formation, let alone visit a system like Yelena. And that they might be towing warships too.

He allowed himself a cold smile as he assessed the situation. There had always been chatter about putting freighter drives in warship hulls, but no tactician worthy of the title would happily accept the downgrade in manoeuvrability in exchange for a little more stealth. The Tokomak had never bothered to ban purpose-built Q-Ships, simply because they were essentially pointless. One could either refit a genuine freighter as a Q-Ship, or build a real warship. The purpose-built Q-Ship would have the weaknesses of both, and the strengths of neither. It was unlikely the Tichck had made any breakthroughs that would change the cold fundamentals of war.

Probably, he thought. They might have tricks up their sleeves.

“Signal the Marines,” he ordered. The enemy ships were two hours away, unless they changed course or speed, but they dared not leave behind anything that could be traced back to the human race. “All shuttles are to be off the surface in thirty minutes, along with the final group of evacuees. The Marines themselves are to teleport up immediately after, at which point the transports are to leave for the RV point.”

“Yes, sir,” Patel said.

Elton grimaced. No one would be very happy about halting the evacuation, let alone leaving everyone left on the surface to the mercy of a race that wasn’t known for it. He could easily imagine the objections he’d be sent from the surface, the pointed demands to continue teleporting the locals until the very last moment. He would have to deny those demands, if they were made. So far, the Tichck had made no attempt to disrupt the evacuation, but if that changed … shutting down the teleporters would be very easy. They could even make it look like an accident, if they’d spent the last few days preparing. No, there was no time to lose. The settlers would see the incoming fleet too. Elton wondered if they’d understand what they were seeing.

“Redeploy the Marines for crowd control,” he added, grimly. “We can’t afford any diversions.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton forced himself to study the display, silently calculating the odds. The hell of it was that he had an excellent chance of besting the enemy fleet, assuming his analysts were right about just how many warships the freighters could tow. But he didn’t want a major clash, not yet. He wanted the enemy to see him, and perhaps exchange some long-range fire, before his fleet dropped into FTL and vanished. An engagement would be unpleasantly counterproductive, even if he won. Too many loses would doom the operation to failure.

“Force Two is to prepare to disengage and vanish as planned,” he ordered. “Force One is to move to Point Stalingrad the moment the evacuation is completed.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton sat back, cursing under his breath. The disengagement would be tricky, if he wanted to hide the cloaked ships. He was tempted not to hide them at all, to have the fleet light out for interstellar space and leave the Tichck with a disturbing mystery, but there was no way to be sure how they’d react. They might assume he was trying to pull the wool over their eyes or … they might start wondering if the entire attack was a diversion. It would be amusing, he supposed, if the Tichck turned around and raced back to their naval base, but … he shook his head. There was no point in worrying about it.

Sweat prickled down his back as he waited, despite the cool air. The last evacuation shuttles took off and raced to the fleet, the starships already adjusting their positions to prepare for their redeployment. He studied the nearspace display, wondering numbly if they were under observation. It wasn’t impossible, if the enemy had managed to sneak a ship into the system without being detected. Humanity was supposed to be the only race that had managed to come up with a way to evade FTL sensors, but there was no reason the Tichck couldn’t come up with the same concept themselves. Hell, for all he knew, they might be reluctant to use it because they thought they were the only ones who had it.

“The freighters are leaving orbit,” Patel reported. “They’ll be jumping out in two minutes.”

“Good,” Elton said. “One way or the other, the locals will survive.”

He sighed, inwardly. He’d purposely kept himself from learning anything about the locals, from learning anything that might make it harder for him to abandon the system, but … he gritted his teeth. The Tichck hadn’t bothered to learn much, if anything about the locals, and their own records were printed on paper rather than uploaded into datacores, and that meant the refugees were going to lose much of their culture over the next few years. Elton was too experienced a naval officer and diplomat to believe all cultures were equal, and there were quite a few that should be shovelled into the trashcan of history, but he had no reason to believe the local culture deserved to die. There was nothing they could do about it, yet … he still felt guilty. He couldn’t drive the Tichck off the world for good, and make them stay away. He knew it for a fact. And yet, it still bothered him.

The display updated. The freighters vanished into FTL. Their commanders had strict orders to change course at least four times before heading to the RV point, making it difficult – if not impossible – for them to be tracked all the way home. It was going to be cramped for evacuees and humans alike, but … better they endure some discomfort than being exterminated if the Tichck took their anger out on Yelena. It would be pointless, nothing more than petty spite, yet … who knew? They might decide to punish the locals for something that had nothing whatsoever to do with them.

“The enemy ships will arrive in twenty minutes,” Patel said, breaking into his thoughts. “If we assume they’re heading for the emergence zone …”

“We know they have to appear somewhere along their vector,” Elton said. If the enemy ships changed course suddenly, it would be worrying. There wasn’t supposed to be a way to get a signal from realspace to a starship in FTL, but a hundred years ago humanity had known it was alone in the universe and FTL travel was impossible. If they received realtime updates from the planet’s settlers … no, it was impossible. “Their precise arrival point doesn’t matter.”

The timer bleeped. Elton ran through the possible outcomes in his head. If the enemy didn’t move … part of the reason he’d ordered the fleet to redeploy was to spite any enemy observers who might be keeping an eye on them from a safe distance. The Tokomak had once pulled off an ambush by getting semi-realtime data flashed to them and adjusting their course accordingly, a battle that was still studied right across the galaxy, and he saw no reason to risk letting the Tichck do the same to him. And …

“Contact,” Patel snapped. The display lit up with red icons. “I count twelve … no, fifteen, battleships!”

Elton allowed himself a cold smile. Whoever was in command was not a very experienced naval officer, unless he was taking orders from someone who was even less capable. Fifteen battleships was an awe-inspiring force against primitives or scavenger fleets, but the lack of any escorts would cost them in a straight fight. Light cruisers and destroyers couldn’t add many missiles to the engagement, not when it was impossible to cram more than a handful of missile tubes into their hulls, yet they mounted point defence that was very effective at protecting the bigger ships from enemy missiles. It was almost a shame he had no intention of standing and fighting. He rather thought he could take the enemy fleet.

“Deploy missile pods,” he ordered. The Tichck were shaking themselves out with the unsteady determination of naval officers more used to exercises than actual combat. Elton wondered if their drills had been randomised, to make their officers react to unexpected threats, or if they were scripted carefully to ensure the right side always won. The Tokomak had never bothered to hold unscripted exercises until it had been far too late. Had the Tichck learned from their mistake? Or were they making the same mistake themselves? “Prepare to fire.”

The display washed red. “They’re locking weapons on our hulls, sir,” Patel reported. “And they are demanding our immediate surrender.”

“No response,” Elton ordered. There was no point in bandying words. Not now. “Move the ECM drones up, into position.”

The enemy icons sparkled with red lights. Elton tried not to roll his eyes. Whoever was in command of the alien fleet really didn’t know what they were doing. Firing missiles at such an extreme range was pointless at best and openly wasteful at worst. Perversely, they wouldn’t even realise their mistake in a hurry. His intention of retreating at speed, once he deployed the ECM drones to cover their departure, would make it look as though he had fled rather than face the enemy’s wrath.

“Flush the missile pods,” Elton ordered. The missiles were programmed to explode near the enemy ships, rather than actually try to take them out. It was wasteful too, but it couldn’t be helped. “And then bring the ECM drones online.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton sucked in a breath as the display fuzzed. They’d taken the ECM drones from an enemy weapons depot near Belos, just to remind the Tichck that the people backing the Belosi and the people harassing their colonies were one and the same. Elton had been reluctant to use the drones at first, but … the Tichck would have no trouble realising they’d built the drones themselves. It wasn't as if he was deploying anything that could be traced back to Sol. And yet …

“Signal the fleet,” he ordered. “All ships are to drop into FTL as planned.”

He shuddered as the flagship jumped into FTL, leaving behind a haze of ECM distortion that would blind enemy sensors for a few precious minutes. It was difficult to be certain, unfortunately, but they should have enough time to get halfway across the system and drop out of FTL before the enemy managed to reboot their sensors and work out where they were going. They’d know what had happened, of course, but tracking down the fleet would be impossible until the fleet dropped back into FTL. Probably.

Assuming they don’t have someone watching us from a safe distance, he reminded himself, grimly. There had been nothing to suggest it, but he dared not rule it out. If they have a scout far enough to avoid being affected by the ECM, they’ll be able to track us all the way to the RV point.

“Maintain battlestations,” he ordered, as the fleet dropped back into realspace. The display updated rapidly, showing no trace of the Tichck ships moving in pursuit. That might change in a hurry, and there’d be very little warning before the enemy landed on top of them. “Deploy the tow cables now, and quickly.”

He paused, gritting his teeth. “And signal the fleet. If the enemy comes after us, all ships are ordered to retreat at once.”

“Aye, sir.”

Elton forced himself to relax, although the battle was far from over. It took days to travel from one star to another, even on a courier boat, but crossing something as small as a star system – the thought made him smile – took only a few moments at most. If the enemy came after them, they’d have to abandon the cloaking gambit and escape before it was too late. The Tichck would be horribly confused, and who knew how they’d react? Would they assume he had strict orders to avoid a major engagement? Or would they suspect they were being played?

The seconds ticked by, one by one. There was no sign of the enemy fleet. Elton wanted to believe it was badly damaged, perhaps even destroyed, but he knew better. They’d fired their missiles at extreme range, giving the enemy plenty of time to plot their defence or simply drop back into FTL and outrun the missiles before it was too late. No, it was more likely they were making contact with the settlers on the ground and reminding the remaining locals that their control over the system had been regained, if they weren’t insisting it had never truly been threatened. Elton prayed the Tichck didn’t punish the locals, although he feared the worst. If they did …

“Commodore, the tow lines have been attached,” Patel said. “The fleet is ready to depart.”

“Deploy a second set of ECM drones, then take us into FTL,” Elton ordered. “We’ll follow the planned course and see if they want to try following us.”

“Aye, sir.”

***

“The Vesparians should have been destroyed,” Commissioner Hirsh-Gill snapped. “Why weren’t they?”

Because you fired too early, you useless piece of trash, Commodore Garsha thought, keeping his face under tight control. The Consortium might have dispatched reinforcements to the border, but it had also dispatched commissioners – agents of the government’s will – to take control of the military deployments and command operations against the Vesparians, if a shooting war actually broke out. If you had closed the range, we might have killed or captured a few of their ships.

He didn’t say that out loud. “The enemy was clearly already preparing to retreat,” he said. The planned ambush had failed. Either the enemy had figured out what was afoot or they’d been planning to leave anyway. Luckily, the commissioner was too ignorant to realise what had gone wrong. “We drove them away, without breaking our orders.”

Commissioner Hirsh-Gill looked unhappy. Garsha didn’t really blame her. Their orders had been written by a committee, charging them with preventing a war through deterrence while, at the same, ordering them not to open fire unless they were fired upon first. They had to protect their territory while avoiding an open clash, something that struck him as impossible. If they had to wait for the enemy to fire first, the enemy would have the chance to pick the time and place of the first engagements. It could prove a decisive edge.

“Then take us to the planet, and prepare for heavy bombardment,” the Commissioner snapped. “They dared to lift a hand against us …”

“The natives did not,” Garsha pointed out. He tried not to cringe at her glare. A word from her in the wrong set of ears could kill his career. Instead, he tried to look for an argument she’d accept, something that would convince her not to destroy the entire planet. There was no point in citing Galactic Law, or even public opinion. Neither one mattered any longer. “And the planet belongs to the Domoh Corporation. If we destroy their property …”

The Commissioner turned away, her face darkening. “Very well,” she said. “You will take what steps you need to restore our authority, without compromising our defences. And then you will find a way to track down the Vesperian fleet.”

Garsha nodded, curtly. “As you command, Commissioner.”