Knight's Move (8 page)

Or maybe it wouldn’t
, she thought.  The Dragons had never really appreciated the true industrial might of the Federation.  She might have disliked and distrusted the Core Worlds and the interstellar corporations, but even she couldn't dispute their efficiency when it came to producing warships and war material.  Losing Earth would have been painful; it wouldn't have been fatal.  There were enough industrial nodes away from the homeworld to rebuild the TFN even after a desperate struggle to save Earth.

“It’s good to see a friendly face,” Feingold said, as she started to lead him towards the hatch.  “Chandra is an interesting conversationalist, but she never lets her guard slip around me and her cronies know better than to talk openly.  I was rather dreading this trip.”

Sandy nodded in understanding.  “Why didn't you take a different ship?”

“The Senate offered me transport on a military ship,” Feingold explained.  “I think they believed I would be impressed with the display of military might.”

“I see,” Sandy said, dryly.  She’d read Feingold’s record.  He’d fought in a dozen battles, including two that had taken place after Bottleneck had been liberated and links formed between the colonials and the Federation.  He was unlikely to be impressed by a single heavy cruiser, no matter how capable, not when he'd seen over a thousand superdreadnaughts and fleet carriers gathered in one place.  “And to stop you talking to others?”

“Perhaps,” Feingold agreed.  “But I did send a full report back via the communications network, so it would be pointless.”

Sandy said nothing else until she reached Feingold’s cabin and keyed it open for him.  “You might want to be careful what you say,” she said, once the hatch hissed closed behind them.  “There’s an Intelligence Officer on this ship, searching for evidence of disloyalty.”

Feingold made a face.  “It’s that bad?  Already?”

“I’m afraid so,” Sandy said.  She’d already heard muttered complaints from several officers and crewmen, including the Senior Chief Crewman.  Cynthia had been making herself unpopular without ever bothering to suggest there was a
reason
to keep her on the ship.  “I think this cabin is clean, but that will change.”

Feingold nodded.  “Tell me,” he said.  “Where do your loyalties lie?”

Sandy winced.  It was the question she’d hoped would never be asked, whatever else happened.  Was she loyal to the Federation or the Bottleneck Republic?  Or was she loyal to the
ideals
of the Federation rather than the Core Worlds or the nationalist power blocs?  Or, for that matter, the corporations?  And, if so, what should she do?

It had been easy when fighting the Dragons.  They wanted to reduce humanity to slavery at best, exterminate the entire race at worst.  She had few moral qualms over destroying helpless ships and refusing to take prisoners, even over bombarding enemy planets from orbit rather than forcing a landing on their surface.  The Dragons had committed thousands of atrocities before the human race began to repay them in kind.  There could be no
compromise
with such an enemy. 

But if humans fought humans ... which side was she on?

She could see advantages and disadvantages to both sides.  The Federation had fought and won the war – she was honest enough to admit that the Bottleneck Republic could not have won in the long run, not without the Federation absorbing the main body of the Dragon fleet – but it was also intrusive, prone to thinking that it knew best.  And it was largely controlled by forces that disliked the thought of independent colony worlds. 

But the Bottleneck Republic was a creature of compromise, quite willing to exterminate the alien refugees rather than tolerate them for much longer, and unwilling to assist people who needed it.  About the only thing that bound the republic together was fear of outsiders, be they Federation or Dragon.  It was easy to see why the Federation eyed them askance, suspicious that the Exile Code – among other laws – had been broken.  Or, for that matter, that the Bottleneck Republic was still building up its fleet.

“I do not know,” she confessed.

“That leaves you doing nothing until it is too late,” Feingold pointed out, smoothly.  “You have to take a stand.”

Sandy scowled at him.  Her
father
had come up with that phrase, which had somehow become a catchphrase across the entire republic.  In some ways, she thought she understood why Captain Knight had joined the TFN.  Both of them had sought to hide from unwanted family connections, even if the connections were likely to help their careers.

“I will make up my mind when the time comes,” she said.  It
had
been so much easier fighting the Dragons.  “What do you think will happen now?”

“It depends on the Governor,” Feingold said.  “I’m not hopeful.”

Neither was Sandy.  She’d feared trouble from the moment she’d read Governor Wu’s file and nothing she’d seen when she’d actually
met
the Governor had convinced her otherwise.  Governor Wu, Liberal-Progressive, was exactly the sort of person most likely to alienate the Bottleneck Republic and irritate its elected representatives.  Condescending, patronising, convinced she knew better than people who had spent their entire lives in the cluster ... it was a recipe for trouble.  She didn't know who had made the final choice, but it was one they were likely to regret.

Maybe the LPs thought they could get rid of her if she did a bad job
, she thought.  It was as good a theory as any. 
Or maybe they just don’t care enough to pick someone more likely to be diplomatic
.

“I shall decide when the time comes,” she said, turning to head towards the door.  “But I dare say we will have time to chat during the voyage.”

“Of course,” Feingold agreed.  He gave her a smile that seemed completely genuine, unlike the Governor’s perfect pose.  “And thank you for spending time with an old man.”

Her thoughts churning, Sandy exited his cabin and walked towards the bridge.  The mission orders had been updated to include a small convoy of freighters that were being sent to Bottleneck and then deeper into the Cluster. 
Dauntless
was required to serve as their escort, something that worried Sandy more than she cared to admit.  Space near Earth might be relatively free of pirates – the convoy system instigated during the war had driven most of them out towards the edge of explored space – but the borders were still infested with the bastards.  Rogue Dragons, unwilling to accept the surrender; a handful of former colonial vessels turned pirate ... it was not a safe region.  One heavy cruiser couldn't hope to cover a small convoy on its own.

But they had no choice.  The request for additional escorts had been turned down.

At least the bridge looked more professional, she decided, as she stepped into the compartment.  Lieutenant Commander Nathan Cooke stood up from the command chair and nodded politely to her, then stepped over to the tactical console.  Sandy nodded back, then took the chair and brought up the convoy details.  At least the merchant commanders were experienced officers.  The last thing she needed was a civilian officer convinced he or she knew better than the military.

And yet her thoughts kept returning to Feingold’s question.  What side
was
she on?

“We're picking up a final signal from the dockyard, sir.” Lieutenant Danielle Lawson said.  The Communications Officer turned to face him.  “They have cleared us to depart.”

Glen felt a frisson of almost childlike excitement. 
Dauntless
seemed to be humming as, one by one, the fusion cores were brought up to full power.  The engineering crew had insisted on carefully starting every system one by one, rather than a flash-wake, just in case something went wrong at the last minute, but everything seemed to be fine.

“Break the umbilical cords,” he ordered.  “And then bring up the main drives.”

A faint shudder ran through the ship as the connections to the dockyard were severed.  It was followed by a growing hum, a sense that the ship was finally drifting free in interplanetary space.  Glen monitored progress on his display as the drive field shimmered into existence around the ship, ready to take them away from the dockyard to a point where they could open a portal into hyperspace.

“All systems report ready,” Lieutenant Helena Li reported.  The helmswoman seemed as excited as Glen felt, her fingers flying over her console as she shaped and reshaped the drive field.  “Power curves are precisely as predicted.”

Glen nodded, unable to escape a flicker of relief.  An unstable drive field would set up harmonics that, at the very least, take
years
off the drive’s lifespan.  At worst, it would render the entire drive useless within a very short space of time.  No wonder that both sides in the war had experimented with weapons designed to set up such harmonics in enemy drive fields, even though they had been largely unsuccessful.  If they
had
succeeded, it would have been a neat way to shatter entire fleets with only small losses.

“Excellent,” he said.  He keyed his console, linking to Sandy on the secondary bridge.  “Madame XO?”

“All stations report ready,” Sandy confirmed.  “All systems are nominal; all non-assigned crew are off the ship.  We are ready to depart.”

Glen looked over at Helena.  “Then take us out,” he ordered.  “Nice and gently.”

Dauntless
quivered again as her drive field slowly pushed her away from the dockyard.  Glen watched, silently praying that everything would work without problems, as the starship moved slowly through space towards the weapons platforms guarding the edge of the dockyard.  Partly civilian or not, the TFN was still responsible for its physical security.  The humming sound seemed to fade away slightly as the drive propelled them onwards, settling down into a recognisable pattern.

“We’re picking up a signal from the convoy,” Danielle reported.  “They’re in position to follow us into hyperspace.”

Glen scowled.  The flight to the Bottleneck would take upwards of a month even without the convoy.  With it, the flight would take six weeks if they were lucky.  He’d wanted to protest his orders when he’d been given the bad news, but apparently Governor Wu had organised the convoy herself and she didn't want to arrive without it.  There was no manifest – a breach of convoy regulations – yet Glen knew there was no point in lodging a complaint.  It was unlikely that the Governor would bring anything really dangerous with her.

Maybe she’s smuggling drugs or alcohol
, he thought, remembering some of the more amusing scandals that had gripped the Federation before the war had concentrated more than a few minds.  There were planets that banned drugs, alcohol, electronic simulation and VR porn, all of which had been smuggled in at one time or another.  But he couldn't imagine needing six whole freighters to carry anything of the sort.  Besides, surely that wouldn't have gone unnoticed. 

He pushed the thought aside and smiled.  “Helm, you may open the portal at will,” he said.  “Take us out of here.”

The hum grew deeper as the generator came online, drawing power from two entire fusion cores into its heart.  Few starships could open a portal for more than a few seconds; only superdreadnaughts and fleet carriers could hold one open long enough to allow an entire fleet to enter or exit hyperspace. 
Dauntless’s
convoy would open their own portals and join the cruiser in hyperspace.  There were projects to open fixed gates into hyperspace, but the energy levels required to do it on a regular basis were staggering.  So far, they had never worked as designed.

He smiled as he linked into the sensors and watched as the portal blossomed into life in front of them.  It looked deceptively simple – the naked eye only saw a spinning wheel of light – but the starship’s sensors showed its true complexity. 
Dauntless
rocked as gravity waves struck her hull, then yanked her forward and into hyperspace.  As always, Glen felt slightly queasy when crossing the boundary into the alternate dimension.  There were civilians who never grew accustomed to hyperspace; it was petty, but he couldn't help hoping that some of the Governor’s staff would be forced to remain in their beds or a stasis pod.  It had been a day since she had come onboard and too many of her staff had had to be warned to stay in their quarters, rather than getting in the way.

Hyperspace was a roaring maelstrom of shimmering multicoloured light.  Glen stared at it for a long moment, then delinked himself from the sensors before the sight could overwhelm him.  Even experienced navigators had problems in hyperspace; it was easy to believe that a starship was right on the edge of an energy storm if one looked with the naked eye.  There were stories of starships that had somehow navigated home without sensors or access to the beacon network, but spacers knew that such stories were largely nonsense.  It was far too easy to become lost forever without proper sensors.

“The convoy has completed transit,” Danielle informed him.  “They’re standing by.”

“No encroachments detected,” Cooke added.  The tactical officer sounded disgruntled, unsurprisingly.  Hyperspace was so chaotic that an entire enemy fleet could be right on top of them and they’d never know about it until it was too late.  Few tactical officers dared relax in hyperspace.  “No starships within trustworthy sensor range.”

Glen nodded.  He’d been a tactical officer himself and he knew just how nightmarish hyperspace could be.  Sensor ghosts popped up with disturbing regularity; hell, there were people who claimed that there were entire alien races living in hyperspace.  It was unlikely, he had decided when he’d first heard the stories, but it was easy to see how they might have spread.  Hyperspace was just plain weird.

“Set course for the Bottleneck,” he ordered, as if Helena hadn't already worked out the course when they’d planned the voyage.  “Estimated ETA?”

“Seven weeks, unless one of the storms clears,” Helena reported.  The hyperspace monitoring network tracked storms, but their behaviour was still largely unpredictable.  One might die away ... or spring up right in front of them, forcing the convoy to detour.  Glen wasn't inclined to take chances by skimming the edge of a storm.  “Course laid in.”

Glen smiled.  “Take us out,” he ordered.

He settled back in his command chair as
Dauntless
headed away from Sol, towards the Bottleneck.  Whatever else happened, he was now completely free, unable to ask for orders from Luna HQ.  If they ran into trouble, he would have to take care of it himself.  It was, he knew, the joy and terror of being a starship commander.  The buck definitely stopped with him.

The voyage would be boring, he knew, unless they ran into pirates.  But the pirates would be grossly unwise to attack a heavy cruiser, even if they
were
renegade Dragons.  Even so, he couldn't escape the feeling that he’d wind up wishing that it was a longer voyage.  Once they got to the Fairfax Cluster, the real work would begin.

Summoning Sandy to his office, he stood up and turned the bridge over to Cooke.  The tactical officer took the command chair without demur, although Glen couldn't help noticing that he was still calibrating and recalibrating the sensors, trying to pull as much range as possible out of their equipment.  It had been his obsession too when he’d been a tactical officer, grimly aware that a smart enemy could use hyperspace as a cover and sneak close to his ship.  Few people would willingly pick a fight in hyperspace, but if one was already at a major disadvantage ... why
not
attack and hope that hyperspace would even the odds?

His XO looked tired as she entered his cabin, reminding him that he needed to ensure that she and the rest of the crew caught up on their sleep.  They could probably afford to go on a reduced duty schedule for a week or two, once they knew that everything was working as designed.  Glen didn't feel that he needed sleep, but then Sandy and most of the crew had been working for a month before he had arrived.

“We’re off,” he said, as lightly as he could.  He needed a good relationship with Sandy, just like the one he had tried to form with Captain Smith.  But Smith had been far more experienced than Glen, capable of maintaining the right combination of intimacy and distance.  “How do you feel the ship is performing?”

“Adequately,” Sandy said, bluntly.  “We won’t have full results for certain systems until we’ve run them for a few weeks, but it seems unlikely that we will suffer a catastrophic failure.  I still shudder to think of that crack in the fusion coils.”

Glen winced.  The fusion coils needed to be produced to exact specifications – and one had been allowed to slip through the inspection process, despite being cracked.  If they'd had it installed and gone to full power, the coil would have fused and there would have been an explosion.  There was enough redundancy built into the system to keep the starship operational, but it would have been a serious problem if they’d been called upon to
fight
.

“Let us hope that was the last of them,” he said.  It wouldn't stop him keeping his crew running checks on all of the spare parts they’d taken onboard, but at least it reassured him that they
could
detect problems before they exploded in his face.  “I need to talk to you about the colonies.”

Sandy looked up, warily.  Not that Glen could blame her, he had to admit.  Cynthia had been shadowing the XO for a day before Glen had become aware of it and ordered the Intelligence Officer to bother someone else.  If he could have done, he would have put Cynthia off the ship and insisted on receiving someone else, but her orders had been written by someone at Luna HQ.  Getting rid of her didn't seem to be an option.

“I’ve read too many briefings over the past few days,” Glen continued.  “But I don’t think most of the writers know their ass from their elbow.  What’s
really
going on beyond the Bottleneck?”

Sandy took a moment to gather her thoughts.  “The Fairfax Cluster, whatever the media tells you, was not considered a suitable place for investment,” she said.  “They looked at the Great Wall and decided that profits would always be limited, at least as long as the wall endured – and that could be thousands of years.  So most of the colony missions that passed through the Bottleneck were small groups seeking an independence they wouldn't have in the Federation.”

Glen nodded.  The standard way to deal with rogue or unwanted groups was for the government to buy them a starship and settlement rights to a distant world, then wash their hands of them.  Quite a few such groups had produced civilisations of their own, but others had died out or decided that they wanted to embrace the culture that had expelled them after all.  On the other side of the Great Wall, it was unlikely that they would ever pose a problem for the government ... although it might give the government a claim to their world.  But enforcing it would be tricky.

“The Great Wall doesn't block access from the Draconic Empire,” Sandy continued.  “So when the Dragons thrust into the Federation, they also attacked the edge of the Fairfax Cluster and blocked access to the Core Worlds.  You probably know how the colonies organised themselves and continued to fight.”

“And held the Dragons off long enough for the Federation to fight its way back to the Bottleneck,” Glen said.  Not for the first time, he cursed the Great Wall.  If the Federation had known that the colonies had survived, the TFN might have launched the relief mission sooner, ensuring that the colonies were more grateful to their rescuers.  “I know that part of the story.”

Sandy nodded.  “Well, the Bottleneck Republic sent ships and crew to the Federation, such as myself” – she waved a hand towards her chest – “to ensure that they were in on the kill.  And they launched raids into Draconic space as the final invasion began, helping to draw ships and defences away from the advancing Federation Navy.  But they weren't inclined to just subordinate themselves to the Federation after being abandoned.”

She took a breath.  “You grew up in the Core Worlds, so you may not understand just how much damage the Dragons did to the colonies,” she explained.  “They butchered hundreds of thousands when they invaded planets, enslaved thousands upon thousands of our people, moved in millions of conscript workers and forced us to fight like mad bastards to keep them away from Fairfax and the other makeshift industrial nodes.  I was there when
civilian
freighter crews took bulk freighters with bolted-on weapons into the fires of battle, just to buy time.  They all died just to win us a few more months of freedom.