“Thank you, General,” Rogero said. “You know you can trust Colonel Gaiene as well. He may not keep track of affairs inside his brigade as closely as he should, but his executive officer is making up for that.”
“And Colonel Kai has always been loyal,” Drakon noted.
Rogero grinned hugely. “You can count on Kai, sir. For him to betray you would require Kai to act quickly and recklessly. When has Kai ever been quick or reckless?”
This time Drakon laughed. “He’s like a rock, for better and for worse. No one’s going to move him. Try to counter the rumors, keep me informed of them, and see if your senior specialists can trace the rumors to any sources. I would really like to speak to whoever is introducing those rumors into the ranks.”
“Yes, sir. So would I.”
“And, Donal, if anyone can handle that Syndicate attack force on the way, it’s Captain Bradamont and that Kommodor.”
It was easy to tell that Rogero forced his answering smile. “Yes, sir. If anyone can.”
—
THIS time, the alert resounding through Manticore’s bridge did not warn of anything as easy to handle as a courier ship.
“One battleship,” the senior watch specialist announced. “Three heavy cruisers. Five light cruisers. Ten Hunter-Killers. All are broadcasting Syndicate identification. They are arranged in Standard Box Formation One.”
Kommodor Marphissa nodded, keeping her eyes on her display. Standard Box Formation One was as frequently used by Syndicate mobile forces as its name implied. The battleship occupied the center of a box formed by the smaller units with it, the three heavy cruisers holding three of the front corners along with one light cruiser at the fourth, while the other light cruisers held the back four corners and the small, expendable Hunter-Killers were evenly arrayed in the region between the cruisers and the battleship. “Is it the same battleship that was here last time?”
“Yes, Kommodor,” the watch specialist said. “It is broadcasting BB-57E unit identification code, the same unit as was in the last Syndicate flotilla.”
Kapitan Diaz turned a disapproving eye on the specialist. “Just because it is broadcasting that code does not mean it is the real code for that ship. See if you can spot the hull features that will confirm the battleship’s identity.”
“Yes, Kapitan,” the specialist said, looking worried at his mistake. Things had changed on these warships since the revolt against the Syndicate, but no one could forget the experiences they had under the old system. Not answering a supervisor’s question accurately, even for the best of reasons, often produced tongue-lashings or worse punishment.
But, having been on the receiving end of plenty of those tongue-lashings herself, Marphissa had vowed to reserve them for real, serious screwups. All she did was grimace, wondering what tricks the Syndicate flotilla might have up its sleeve. “At least the information from CEO Boyens was mostly correct. Let us see who is in command of this flotilla.”
Kapitan Diaz glanced over at her. “Do you want me to—”
“No maneuvers, yet, Kapitan. They’re ten light-minutes away. I want to watch what they do before I decide what we should do.”
Captain Honore Bradamont came onto the bridge, moving fast. “It’s them?”
The spectacle of an Alliance officer on the bridge of a former Syndicate warship was strange enough. Even stranger was that the specialists and officers on the bridge greeted her arrival with relieved smiles. Bradamont might be an officer of the hated Alliance, but she was also one of Black Jack’s officers, and one who had played a critical role in ensuring the success of some recent operations by Marphissa’s warships. To the crew of Manticore, she was no longer an enemy officer but one of theirs.
“It’s them,” Marphissa confirmed, turning a brief smile of her own on Bradamont. “They’ve got a battleship, all right.”
“Damn.” Bradamont came up next to her seat and squinted at Marphissa’s display. “Where’s Pele?”
“Still twenty light-minutes away.” The battle cruiser had been charging toward the hypernet gate for the last several hours, accompanied by the heavy cruisers Basilisk and Gryphon. Far behind them, lumbering along its orbit as it had for countless years, was the gas giant planet near which Midway’s main ship-repair facility hung in space, looking oddly forlorn now that Pele, the heavy cruisers, and the battleship Midway had left it.
Unlike the battle cruiser, though, Midway was slowly heading away from the other warships. Her projected path formed a huge arc through space, finally merging with the orbit of the main inhabited world where most of the humans in this star system lived and worked. At the sluggish rate she was accelerating, it would take Midway a week to cover the distance to that world.
Bradamont bent close to Marphissa’s ear. “Is Pele really that ready for battle? Her shields and weaponry look in great shape.”
“Kontos wouldn’t fake the readiness of that ship,” Marphissa said. “Not to us. I’ve known many an executive and CEO who would, to curry temporary favor, but not Kontos. He’s too honest.” She smiled again, bitterly this time. “He wouldn’t have lasted another year under the Syndicate. Speaking truth to CEOs is a deadly habit.”
“He’s not being too honest about the status of Midway,” Bradamont noted, nodding toward the depiction of the battleship on Marphissa’s display. “It looks like the ship has suffered a recent major propulsion casualty rather than having full capability as it really does.”
“That’s some impressive camouflage, isn’t it?” Marphissa said. “It looks just like more than half of the main propulsion units blew up. But that’s misleading the enemy, not his own superiors. I’m perfectly fine with that. If Midway looks like a bird with a broken wing, the Syndicate flotilla should leave her alone and plan to nail her after they’ve gained control of the star system.”
“Or they might try something foolish, thinking she’s an easy target. You’re keeping this formation?” Bradamont asked, phrasing the loaded question diplomatically. Marphissa had arranged her own warships in Standard Box Formation One as well, though in this case the two heavy cruisers with her, Manticore and Kraken, occupied the center, with the light cruisers Falcon, Osprey, Hawk, Harrier, Kite, and Eagle at six of the eight corners of the box, and her twelve Hunter-Killers at the other two corners and positioned inside the box.
“For now,” Marphissa replied. “I know it’s not the best formation to engage that Syndicate flotilla, but I want the Syndicate commander to think I’m still following Syndicate doctrine.”
“Good idea,” Bradamont approved. “The longer they believe you’re going to fight a predictable battle, the better.”
“Kommodor,” the communications specialist announced, “we have just received a transmission from the Syndicate flotilla. It is addressed to the commander of our force.”
“Bounce it to me,” Marphissa said.
The window that appeared before her showed a woman whose wide mouth and cheekbones appeared to be set in a perpetual state of kind merriment. She would have seemed the personification of a warm, happy grandmother except for the jarring juxtaposition of the finely tailored Syndicate CEO suit that she was wearing.
“Happy Hua,” Kapitan Diaz murmured, horrified. “That’s really her, isn’t it?”
“Speaking of false appearances,” Marphissa said. “Even though I’ve heard of her, I still have trouble believing someone who looks like that is the most ruthless bitch in the Internal Security Service.”
Hua began speaking. Her voice would have been pleasant enough, but the words she was speaking destroyed any illusion of congeniality. “To the commander of the rebellious mobile forces in this star system. You have two choices. Surrender your mobile forces to me, and be allowed the opportunity to prove your usefulness to the Syndicate Worlds once again, or die. I expect an immediate response. For the people, Boucher, out.” As usual in Syndicate communications, the CEO droned out the “for the people” phrase in a quick slur of rote words that her delivery made c
lear were meaningless.
“That was clumsy,” Bradamont snorted. “She should have tried to fool you into letting her get a lot closer before she issued that ultimatum.”
“She’s a snake,” Diaz said. “She’s not used to negotiating with her victims. I guess their offers to surrender or confess and you might live must fool some people because they always say that, but no one who was really guilty would be dumb enough to believe it.”
Marphissa nodded. “That offer only catches the innocent who think their innocence will protect them. That CEO threatened me right off, Honore, because she doesn’t realize how hard it will be to catch our ships with her battleship. Unless you’ve done space operations, it’s hard to grasp just how huge the battlefield is. I bet she’s thinking in planetary surface terms. Like, she can see us, so we can’t be all that far away.” She paused to think. “Comms. Give me a broadcast to every ship in the Syndicate flotilla.”
“You have it, Kommodor. Key Two.”
“Also prepare a copy of the record we have of the destruction of that Syndicate light cruiser the last time they were here. The one that mutinied.”
“In a moment, Kommodor. One moment. Ready. Attachment Alpha.”
Marphissa gestured Bradamont away from her seat, so that the Alliance officer would not show in the transmission, then took a deep breath and tapped the control. “To the people in the crews of the mobile forces still under control of the Syndicate, this is Kommodor Asima Marphissa of the free and independent star system of Midway. We are no longer slaves of the Syndicate. We rule ourselves. Every snake in this star system is dead, so we do not serve the whims of internal security or fear for the safety of our families and loved ones. We are free, and you can be as well! Do not serve those who see you and treat you as cattle! Rise and slay the snakes among you, then join us, or return to your own homes to help them gain the freedom we have fought for. But beware of snake tricks. They will slay you without warning or cause, as they did the crew of this unfortunate light cruiser which belonged to the last Syndicate flotilla to come here. Join us, who value and respect all, workers and supervisors alike. For the people!” she ended, emphasizing and giving power to each word. “Marphissa, out.”
She tapped the attachment control, sending the image of the light cruiser being blown to fragments by its own power core. Did the crews of the other Syndicate vessels know that light cruiser had been destroyed to prevent its crew from taking the ship? They would now.
“Those ships must be crawling with snakes,” Diaz muttered. “What chance of successful mutiny do any of the crews have?”
“Probably none,” Marphissa admitted. “But all of those snakes will be redoubling their watching of the crews of their own ships, worried about them, instead of watching and worrying about what we’ll do. The snakes will question everything anyone in the crews does, slowing their actions and making them hesitate. You’ve been there, just like me. You know what it’s like.”
“Don’t remind me! There were times I was afraid I might breathe wrong.”
It would take ten minutes for the defiant reply to reach the Syndicate flotilla, but only three minutes later the operations specialist reported movement. “The Syndicate mobile forces are accelerating and coming onto an intercept vector with our formation, Kommodor.”
“Standard acceleration profile for a battleship formation,” Diaz noted. “Happy Hua is doing everything by the book.”
Marphissa nodded again, her eyes once more on her display. “What are you thinking?” she asked Bradamont.
“If this CEO is inexperienced in space combat,” Bradamont replied, “then, if it were me, I wouldn’t merge this formation with Kapitan Kontos’s when Pele gets close enough. I’d have Kontos operate separately. That CEO will have a lot more trouble grasping the situation and deciding what to do if she has two attacking formations to deal with instead of one.”
“She’s going to use the automated systems,” Diaz said. “Don’t you think? Hua Boucher won’t trust the supervisors or workers in the crews, but she will trust the software because people that high up always believe their own propaganda about how perfect the automated systems are.”
Marphissa nodded, chewing her lower lip as she thought. “Yes. Kapitan, you are right. And so are you, Captain Bradamont.”
“Are your automated systems that bad?” Bradamont asked.
“It’s not that they’re so bad, though they’re far from perfect; it’s that we know them. We’ve got older versions of whatever CEO Boucher has, so we will know pretty much what those automated systems will tell her to do.”
“Taking down a battleship is still going to be tremendously difficult with the forces you’ve got,” Bradamont cautioned. “The ideas we discussed before are still your best options. Peel away the escorts, destroy them during repeated attacks, and leave the battleship alone so you can keep pounding it. They’ll probably still be able to get away if they run, but if they stay to fight, you can eventually do enough damage to knock it out. It’ll very likely cost you, though, and if you push the attacks too close, too early, your ships will get torn apart by that battleship’s firepower.”
“I have to be aggressive,” Marphissa insisted.
“Yes. And patient. It’s a tough combination. Syndic . . . I mean Syndicate battleships of that model are best hit on their stern flanks. That’s where their shields and armor are weakest. You face more firepower than if you hit them dead astern, but their shields facing directly aft are a lot stronger.”
Diaz gave Bradamont a troubled look, which Marphissa understood. The Alliance captain had gained her knowledge through experience, through battles against Syndicate warships like that battleship, and like the heavy cruiser which she now rode. It was jarring to be reminded of that, of how many times Bradamont had fought and killed their own comrades, while their comrades had done their best to fight and kill her. Only months, not years, separated those times from now. “Those were Syndicate,” Marphissa murmured. “We are not.”
Diaz bit his lip and nodded, while Bradamont looked away, understanding their discomfort. “Who is in command of Midway now?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Kapitan Freya Mercia,” Marphissa said. “One of the Reserve Flotilla survivors we brought back. President Iceni was very impressed by her.”
Bradamont looked away again. That hadn’t been a safe topic after all. She had been in command of an Alliance battle cruiser, the Dragon, when Black Jack’s fleet had destroyed the Syndicate Worlds’ Reserve Flotilla. “I met her, too. If she is half as capable as she seems, Kapitan Mercia will do a good job in that command.”
“But Midway is not in this fight,” Marphissa said as she took another glance at her display. “And Kapitan Mercia can do little without weapons no matter how capable she is. We will reposition and begin making things as difficult as we can for CEO Boucher.”
For all their mutual hostility, the Alliance and the Syndicate Worlds had retained the same simplified conventions for determining directions in the vast reaches of space that otherwise had no defined directions. Every star system had a plane in which its planets orbited. Humans designated one side of that plane as up, and the other as down, anything toward the sun was starboard or starward, and anything away from the sun was port. It wasn’t precise, but it got the job done, where otherwise a command to “turn left” might find ships turning in every conceivable direction.
The Syndicate flotilla had finished turning their way, but would still require more than an hour and a half to intercept Marphissa’s ships because of the battleship that was the enemy flotilla’s greatest strength but also a drag on the flotilla’s ability to accelerate. Because they were on a direct intercept, constantly closing the range, the Syndicate warships remained just off to the left of Marphissa’s formation and slightly above it. They would stay in that aspect, getting closer and closer, unless and until Marphissa maneuvered her own ships.
Pele was way behind Marphissa, below and about fift
een degrees to the right relative to her. At least, that’s where she had been twenty minutes ago. Midway was much farther away, nearly three light-hours, below and twenty degrees to the right relative to Marphissa’s warships. “We will drop back toward Pele, so we can conduct simultaneous attacks with Kapitan Kontos. I want a vector that brings us within two light-minutes of an intercept with Pele, and maintains four light-minutes’ distance from the Syndicate flotilla until then. Work it up.”
Diaz gestured to his specialists, who began calculating the maneuvers. It wasn’t hard, given the assistance of the automated systems. Input the variables, tell the systems where you wanted to go, and the answer would display itself in less than a second. It was just physics and complex math, measured against the exact capabilities of the warships under Marphissa’s control, all of which automated systems were very good at. “Four light-minutes?” he asked Marphissa.
“It’s not too close,” she told him. “I don’t want to end up within reach of that battleship’s firepower unless it’s on my terms. Four light-minutes gives us time to see what the Syndicate ships are doing and counter it. But it should also be close enough to make CEO Boucher very frustrated as she tries to close that gap and can’t come to grips with us.”
“So near, yet so far?” Diaz said with a grin.
“Exactly. She’s a senior snake. She’s used to the universe bending over backward at her command. No one defies her orders. But we will.”
“We have the maneuver prepared, Kommodor,” the senior watch specialist reported.
Marphissa squinted a bit as she studied the plan on her display. It showed her formation swinging into a wide arc up and to the right that steadied out onto a flattened curve reaching to meet the projected course of Pele and the two heavy cruisers with her. Next to the lines were time marks, indicating when to initiate each stage of the maneuver. With systems like that to produce solutions, it was easy for someone lacking experience (like CEO Hua Boucher) to think that they didn’t need such experience to match those with a lot of time driving ships in space.