A Choice of Treasons (75 page)

“Hit it hard, Mister Eldinow,” York growled. “This is no time for a soft touch.”

Eldinow obeyed instantly, but sublight drive was nothing compared to the transition velocity of the freighter overtaking them. “Here she comes, sir,” Gant said. “Eight hundred million kilometers and closing . . . Five hundred million . . . Two hundred . . . She’s going to pass to within . . . forty thousand kliks. Here she comes.”

They could all feel the leading edge of the freighter’s transition wake as it interfered with
Cinesstar’s
internal gravity. York’s stomach did a somersault and a wash of static surged through the air as the freighter passed over them. “Shit!” Eldinow squeaked. “Up-transition, sir.”

“All ahead full, Mister Eldinow,” York shouted, swallowing to keep the sandwiches down. “Don’t let us down-transit. Not now.”

Cinesstar’s
hull groaned as the freighter’s transition wake twisted and warped her gravity. The readings on York’s screens shot upscale as her transition drive struggled with the mess in local space created by the nearness of a large ship in transition. Wave after wave of gravity rolled through the decks, and the computer started diverting power into
Cinesstar’s
structure to hold her together. “Mister Eldinow,” York shouted above the noise. “To starboard, minimum drive power, one second burst.”

He couldn’t hear Eldinow’s reply but he saw the response on his screens, and as
Cinesstar
slid farther out toward the edge of the freighter’s transition wake, the warring pressures on the hull eased slightly. But it wasn’t enough for a young tech at Gant’s scan console. York had to give him credit though. He had the presence of mind to turn his head and blow his breakfast all over the deck rather than on his console. And then he had the further presence of mind to wipe his chin and turn back to his work as if nothing had happened, vomit staining his tunic.

York watched his screens, held on tight, tried to ignore the noise as the hull of the ship complained loudly. He was close to vomiting himself, but he was certain no ship’s captain had ever puked on his own bridge, and he would accept utter damnation before being the first man in the history of Fleet to do so.

He held on, watched his screens, kept his mouth shut, monitored the freighter’s velocity and
Cinesstar’s
relative proximity. He had only one order to give in this situation. His crew knew what they had to do, but it was up to him to tell them when to stop doing it. The freighter was slowing steadily, dumping inordinate amounts of power to kill her velocity. Then she appeared to hesitate, almost to pause as if waiting for something. York hadn’t been sure what he should be watching for, but that was it. “Down-transition,” he shouted, “All stop.”

“Down . . . transition,” Eldinow groaned.

The change was so sudden he almost did lose his breakfast. One moment he was hanging on while
Cinesstar’s
hull screamed at them, and the next a frightening, intense silence settled throughout the ship.

York swallowed hard. “Miss Gant?”

“Nothing yet, sir.”

The freighter down-transited just in front of them.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir. One minute, sir.”

They waited while Gant tried to assess their situation. York switched to the command channel. “All station commanders, this is the captain. If you had the same kind of trouble we did you’ve got some fairly sick people on your hands. Don’t assign clean-up details yet. We may be under fire momentarily.”

“We’re two-point-one light-days out, sir,” Gant interrupted him. “Coasting in at point-five-six lights . . . We’re well within the rear picket line . . . None of the pickets we identified are turning toward us . . . None are powering up. No signs of any abnormal activity in our vicinity . . . Wait a minute!”

Gant worked at her console frantically, and York kept his mouth shut. “There’s one ship ten AUs off our port bow, another fourteen off our stern, but we were tracking their vectors before we made transition and they haven’t changed course. No signs of anyone else suddenly powering up.”

“McGeahn,” York growled. “What’s on the com?”

She hesitated. “Well there’s lot’s of stuff, sir. We’re in Luna system, you know.”

York lost his patience. “Yes, Miss McGeahn. And if anyone picked up an unauthorized transition, or anything out of place, there’d be a system-wide intruder alert on every channel, and all hell would be breaking loose.”

“Oh, sir. Sorry, sir. Didn’t think of that, sir.”

McGeahn switched channels several times, listened to each carefully. “Nothing, sir. Just a lot of chatter, and the usual traffic. Though the Watch Commander at Luna TC is giving that freighter captain hell. Nothing else, sir.”

York looked at his screens. Traffic flowed in front of them, behind them, over them, under them, everywhere, some military and some civilian. York looked up from his screens and glanced around the bridge.

They were all looking at him, waiting. “We . . . made it. Yes, we made it.”

They waited for several seconds, then suddenly McGeahn let out a yelp, and they all cheered.

“We coast for another day or two,” York told Cassandra and Lady d’Hart. “Get right into the heart of the system. We’re still in danger here, but the closer in we get the better chance we have.”

Cassandra frowned. “Why not just announce ourselves now? I have a grand speech all written up. We can saturate the media with my face and a wonderfully happy report of our successful escape from the clutches of the evil DCO. Surely they wouldn’t try anything now.”

York shook his head. “We’re still out far enough they can jam our signal. We’ve got two rings of picket ships behind us, an inner ring of orbital weapons platforms in front of us. I’d like to get within that, get inside
heliopause
. It’ll then be difficult for anyone to make an accurate transition toward us, and impossible for them to use their transition batteries with any accuracy unless they’re right on top of us. Less chance for them to jam us, more time for you to broadcast.”

Cassandra smiled. “You’re the expert, Captain. At least let me congratulate you, and thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We’re now in the most dangerous part of this. We’re at a good targeting distance for them, and we’re too close to run.”

Cassandra waved the comment off, but when York left he remembered that Lady d’Hart had frowned, as if that were terribly upsetting news.

“. . . I don’t know where I am, but I’m all right.”

Sylissa d’Hart watched the screen on her terminal go blank, had to force herself not to cry. She’d watched the recording of her son a dozen times, had struggled almost continuously with the choice before her. They had Andrew. They had her son and there was nothing she could do to help him.

She reached out to play the card again, realized she was only torturing herself. Juessik had said she would know the right moment. They had Andrew, and now she must choose.

CHAPTER 33: HONOR ABANDONED

Bella Tzecharra tried to conceal her uneasiness. Five admirals—Bargan Abraxa, Andralla Schessa, Johan Soladin, Katrine d’Avollo and Shinton Diego; respectively the Dukes and Duchesses de Maris, de Vena, de Satarna, de Tarris and de Uranna—one slip and Tzecharra’s career would end. “We’ve confirmed their course, Your Grace. If the Kinathin armada continues on its present course they’ll transit into Lunan
nearspace
in just under eight days.”

Andralla Schessa leaned forward pensively. Next to Abraxa, Tzecharra feared her more than any of the others. “You say
if
. Where else would they go?”

“The Kinathins are not fools, and they have no way of knowing the chaos that has resulted here in Third Fleet. After the defeat at Aagerbanne they could guess that Third Fleet is not strong enough to engage them directly, but they would still expect fairly strong resistance. So I can’t believe they intend to just transit directly to Luna.”

Schessa nodded her approval. “Very good reasoning.”

Diego interrupted her. “But we all know the rebellion of Leonavich’s officers has rendered Third Fleet incapable of any resistance. So that leaves Home Fleet as the only formidable battle force we have between Luna and an armada of a hundred Kinathin warships. And I doubt if any of us wants to trust our lives to Home Fleet.”

Tzecharra couldn’t hide her confusion. “But, Your Grace, Home Fleet has more than two hundred battle-ready ships. Surely they can . . .”

d’Avollo interrupted her. “Captain Tzecharra, please don’t be naive. The average combat experience among the officers of Home Fleet is a few months at most. Home Fleet itself has not been in a serious engagement for more than a century.” d’Avollo’s eyes drifted downward, as if embarrassed by what she was about to say. “Home Fleet is the repository for our children, the children of the wealthy and the privileged. The more fool-hardy among them get some real experience, but no more than a year or two. And then we bring them back here where we can insure their safety.” d’Avollo looked up and met Tzecharra’s eyes. “I’m afraid if Home Fleet must face that armada it’ll be a rout.”

Tzecharra struggled to hide her shock and dismay. “There are some things we in Third Fleet can do, have been doing already.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “A few.”

Soladin demanded, “Such as?”

Tzecharra shook her head and tried to think. “I’ve been using the few ships I have that are battle worthy to strike quickly, then retreat before anything serious starts. We can position those that aren’t battle worthy as if they’re ready to engage. The Kinathins won’t drive suicidally into that; they’ll stop, engage at long range and we’ll withdraw. It’ll buy us a few days. Then maybe we can lay down a gauntlet of mines. It won’t defeat them, but it’ll slow them.”

Schessa smiled at her warmly. “As I said before, very good reasoning. Buy us what time you can, though we don’t expect anything foolish. Seventh Fleet is in transit now, but they’ll be hard pressed to get here before the Kinathins. Buy us time, Captain. Buy us time.”

It was the alert klaxon!

York struggled out of bed, realized it wasn’t the alert klaxon, just the emergency buzzer on his terminal. “Lights,” he grumbled at the computer as he floated across the deck and hit the receive switch. Rame’s face appeared. “What is it?” York demanded.

“Unauthorized transmission,” Rame said. “Lower decks. It’s broadcasting continuously, some sort of scrambled transmission. Not as visible as a transition wake but someone’s damn well going to home in on it. I’ve got the marines sweeping G through K decks now, but I think it’s too late.”

York didn’t have time to react, to think about who or what or why. “Sound General Quarters. Tell Cappik to stand by for full status immediately. I’ll be right up.”

York floated onto the bridge half dressed, and by the time he strapped down at the captain’s console two patrol boats were already changing their orbits to intercept and investigate, and Luna TC was broadcasting a
stand-to and be boarded
warning.
Cinesstar’s
stations were still checking in so York sent a call down to the empress. The staid Major Dewar answered. “No time for explanations,” York snapped. “We’ve been double-crossed. Get Her Majesty up here on the double. Tell her to wear something nice, look real calm, and be ready to give her speech. Our only chance is to make a run for it, now.”

He cut the circuit just as the alert klaxon went silent. “All stations standing by, sir,” McGeahn said, an edge of fear giving her voice an overly mechanical sound. “Turret three has a minor malfunction . . .”

York listened with one ear, while he scanned his screens and tried to let part of his mind think ahead. The two patrol boats were moving quickly. They had transition capability, though they couldn’t maintain that long enough for interstellar transit, but soon they’d be on top of
Cinesstar
, and they’d give the weapons platforms the information that an armed intruder was deep within Luna’s defenses.

“Cappik,” York ordered. “Gravity, shields, drive, now—full status. Mister Eldinow, all ahead full. Force us into transition, soonest. Miss Gant, I want a course for Luna herself.”

Eldinow kicked in the sublight drive. They were quickly approaching one of the big weapons platforms. “Jakobee, arm a one hundred megatonne warhead. Fuse it for detonation one million kilometers in front of us while it’s still in transition. And stand by.”

York felt it before Eldinow said it. “Up-transition, sir.”

York had to fly by instinct. They were in transition now and their data had to be extrapolated from what they’d acquired earlier. On York’s screens the weapons platform was only a few AUs distant. “Hard a’port, Mister Eldinow.”

“Hard a’port, sir.”

York waited a few seconds for the maneuver to change their vector, then ordered, “Down-transition, now.”