Horizon Storms (66 page)

Instead, she intended to be the best EDF officer they could ever hope to serve under. And sometimes, she very much enjoyed strictly enforcing the military regulations.

1145ZHETT KELLuM

It made no sense, even when Zhett tried to look at it from the warped Eddy point of view. She still could not see what had driven the EDF prisoners to concoct such a ridiculous escape plan, to take such unwarranted chances. What were they thinking?

“They must have a brown dwarf for their Guiding Star,” she muttered.

After the debacle with the ore processor crashing into the admin dome, her father had been enraged to discover the missing prospector scout ship. At first he’d feared that one of his Roamer prospectors had not returned from a scouting run. For days, the EDF prisoners had been intensely tight-lipped, and Zhett herself finally backtracked the location of the missing ship, discovered that Fitzpatrick and a soldier named Bill Stanna had been working nearby . . . that Fitzpatrick had triggered a suspicious fire alarm, though no evidence of combustion had been found in the supply room.

She’d reported it to her father. “I think one of the prisoners . . . escaped.”

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“Escaped with an in-system ship? That’s ridiculous!” He had paced back and forth in the admin dome, scratching his salt-and-pepper beard and shaking his shaggy head. “By damn, what crackpot scheme did they have in mind? Where was he going to go? That ship has a limited range and not much fuel.”

Finally, many days after Bill Stanna would have succeeded—or gotten himself into deep trouble and in need of rescue—Fitzpatrick quietly told Zhett what the soldier had in mind.

She hauled him onto the carpet in the repaired administration dome.

“You mean he just blindly headed off for the comet zone? Do you know how big the Kuiper Belt is? You can’t simply fly up and expect to find our facilities, even if we hadn’t taken pains to hide them. How was Stanna ever going to just stumble into the right spot?”

Fitzpatrick shrugged. “He wanted to try.”

Zhett shook her head, her long dark hair flying. “That’s just plain stupid.”

Clan Kellum had done everything to make life tolerable, productive, and—yes, dammit—pleasant for the soldiers in the Osquivel shipyards.

Wasn’t it perfectly clear why the refugees couldn’t be returned to the Big Goose, especially after the Roamers had cut off all trade with Earth, and after the EDF had just destroyed Hurricane Depot? Now, more than ever, Roamer facilities had to remain hidden.

Fitzpatrick faced her, standing rigid. He had been alone with Zhett before, but this time he seemed intimidated, even ashamed at all the trouble Bill Stanna had caused by blundering off into interplanetary space.

She finally turned to him, frustrated. “I don’t get it. Is it really so bad here with us, Fitzie?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You have to ask that? We’re unlawful prisoners of war. What do you expect? We’re supposed to try and escape.”

“You can bet we’ve given you more freedom than the Eddies are allowing the Roamer prisoners they kidnapped from Hurricane Depot. Nobody even knows what’s happened to them.”

“Don’t go getting all indignant, Zhett—nobody knows what’s happened to us, either.”

*

*

Hundreds of Roamer searchers were dispatched to comb the area for any sign of the lost prospector scout, but the volume of empty space in the Osquivel system was immense.

Knowing at least the broad outlines of the escapee’s ill-conceived plan, the Roamers focused their search, crisscrossing space, trying to pick up any sign of the vessel. The cometary-extraction fields performed a complete vessel inventory and confirmed that none of their ships were missing.

Stanna had not gotten away.

Finally Kellum reported that they had found the prospector scout ship.

The remaining thirty-one EDF prisoners gathered in a large cargo-landing grotto as Roamer vessels slowly towed in the small stolen craft.

The craft came through to the loading dock, and atmosphere-containment fields were dropped after repressurization. Zhett noticed the ship’s cold engines, the darkened portholes. Beside her, Fitzpatrick pressed his lips into a firm line, his face unreadable.

Her father stepped out of the lead tow-ship, hands on his hips, his expression angry and disappointed. He turned to watch as other Roamers came forward to open the hatches of the silent spacecraft. Zhett had never seen her father look so frustrated.

Kellum raised his voice, yelling at the prisoners. “Your comrade stole this ship from us. Worse, he flew off into empty space without a course, without supplies, without even a fully charged life-support system. Out in space, stupidity and poor planning are equivalent to death.”

He struggled to keep his temper in check. “It didn’t take him long to get lost, and he ran out of air before he starved. He did trigger the SOS beacon when he realized he was in deep trouble, but by then it was way too late. He was far from our cometary-extraction facilities, and it took seven hours for his signal to reach any listener, another ten to respond.”

The Roamers had opened the craft now, and they marched in a somber procession to retrieve Bill Stanna’s stiff, pale body. When they carried the soldier out, the EDF captives groaned, and a buzz of heated conversation filled the chamber.

“There was no reason for this, by damn,” Kellum said. His voice sounded plaintive. “There was no possibility he would get away, and yet still he flew off on this suicidal mission. Some of you—all of you—must have known 422

he was going to do this. How could you let him? Where is your common sense?”

“You want us all dead anyway,” muttered Shelia Andez, her voice dripping acid.

Kellum flushed red and put his hands on his hips. “Would I keep yelling at you to be careful if I wanted you all dead?”

Standing close to Fitzpatrick, Zhett wanted to comfort him, felt anger and resentment flowing in waves from all the prisoners. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but even he turned away.

1155ADMIRAL LEV STROMO

Since the EDF was sending such an overwhelming force against the Roamers, Admiral Stromo had no worries about the impending military operation. This would be an unqualified victory that he could take credit for. It was quite a relief, really.

Previously, each time he’d gone into battle, an icy ball in his stomach had spread numbness through his body. He had felt detached from all events, out of control, even though he was supposed to be the one in command. Times of peace and prosperity in the Hansa had allowed a smart and savvy man like himself to advance his career; unfortunately, everyone expected Stromo to be a tough military genius as well.

Early on, when he’d decisively put an end to the Ramah insurrection, he had been considered a war hero. He had always felt he deserved those medals, ribbons, and promotions—until he’d faced a real enemy and a real military crisis. His utter defeat at Jupiter had changed everything. He’d never been so frightened in his life, and he had lost his nerve. Something had broken within him, and afterward he had never felt the same. He’d lost his edge. No doubt, the EDF troops talked about him behind his back.

But this severe disciplinary action against the Roamers would restore his clout. Stromo felt he could do it. No, he was sure he could do it. . . .

Sixteen Mantas entered the unremarkable star system where a red dwarf shone dull light into a mess of orbiting rocks. The Roamers were hiding in there, according to the data they had extracted from the clan ship seized at Hurricane Depot. The space gypsies didn’t know his fleet was coming, but they would find out soon enough. Even though General Lanyan had not authorized the use of massive Juggernauts, worried about taking them from hydrogue patrols, it was quite an impressive show of force.

One of the eager young tacticians hunched over a console on the lead Manta’s bridge. “Detecting space traffic, Admiral—right where we expected them to be. It’s a Roacher nest, all right.”

Stromo drew a deep breath. “Focus in on any artificial structures. See if you can pinpoint the main complex—a cluster of asteroids . . . spaceports, loading docks, connecting girders.”

“I’m tracing back flight paths, sir. There, a clear convergence!”

“Disperse our battle group so we come in from all sides,” Stromo said.

“Remora pilots to the launch bays. This is a containment and absorption action. It’s your job to make sure nobody slips away. Our job is to make a bold statement here, and actions speak louder than words.”

“Our net will have plenty of holes in it, Admiral. Once they scatter, some of them will slip away,” said the Manta’s commander, Elly Ramirez.

Stromo remembered her name in particular because she had been elevated in rank so that she could take command of this cruiser, which had formerly belonged to the Roamer officer Tasia Tamblyn. He couldn’t remember any of the other minor officers, though, since he’d barely met the crew before launching from Earth.

He paced the Manta’s bridge. If the mission didn’t look completely successful, then he would redefine the objective so that he could honestly call it a victory. “All right, we can tolerate a few leaks. Let somebody get away to tell the other clans that we mean business. It’s my intention to put a full-blown fear of the Hansa into them. They’ll think twice before they defy us again.” He shook his head. “Proceed in full attack configuration.”

Ramirez cleared her throat. “They’ve probably spotted us already, Ad-

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miral, so let’s not give them a chance to pack any suitcases. I suggest we start transmitting standard warnings, before this gets out of hand.”

Flight sergeants barked out commands. Stromo nodded, happy to let Ramirez handle the details. This textbook assault would give the newer soldiers an excellent first taste of what the EDF was all about. They would see Stromo as their brave commander crushing the resistance of those who refused to aid the greater cause.

The heavily armed cruisers swooped in, following planned trajectories to surround and engulf the Roamer population center. Stromo had his clear orders; unlike at the operation at Hurricane Depot, he wasn’t supposed to waste time seizing leftover matériel or scrounging for information. This was to be a swift and decisive knockout punch.

Before the iron-hard fist of Mantas could close around the asteroid complex, a flurry of ragtag clan ships scattered in all directions. “As I suspected, Admiral—they’re getting away,” said Commander Ramirez.

“Well, then shoot at a couple of the smaller ones. Let them know we’re serious.”

The new commander paled, and some of the other bridge officers shifted uneasily. Ramirez said, “But Admiral, you haven’t even issued instructions yet. This isn’t really fair—”

Stromo glowered. “Chairman Wenceslas gave the Roamers a warning weeks ago, and Speaker Peroni threw it back in his face. They certainly can’t have any doubt as to why we’re so angry.”

Ramirez backed down, though she was decidedly uneasy. “All right, take a few potshots at some of the fleeing ships.”

Four of the jazer strikes hit their targets, but ten missed. If anything, the flood of escaping Roamer ships grew heavier. The Admiral decided he would insist that these crews undergo thorough practice runs—unless they were being less than competent on purpose. Did they have some lingering loyalty to their former Roamer commander? Perhaps Tamblyn’s presence was more insidious than the EDF had thought. . . .

With a sigh, Stromo stepped up behind the captain’s chair. “Give me the open-channel command frequency.” He adjusted his uniform, smoothed his hair, and fixed a no-nonsense expression on his face. Ramirez moved out of the projection zone.

“Ready to go, Admiral.”

“This is Grid Zero Commander Admiral Lev Stromo, issuing an ultimatum to all Roamer personnel at Rendezvous. The Earth Defense Forces and the Terran Hanseatic League consider you hostiles. You have been declared a rogue government whose actions pose a clear and present danger to the human race. Your asteroid complex is now under the jurisdiction of the EDF. Surrender immediately. Any ships attempting to escape will be met with lethal force.”

A shocking flurry of insults and curses flew back at him from dozens of different ships. Stromo coughed in embarrassed surprise. The Roamers must all know what had happened at Hurricane Depot. Seeing so many heavy cruisers coming for Rendezvous, how could they not surrender?

He’d expected terrified pleas or meek submission, not rudeness and disrespect.

He worked his jaw, but forced himself to take the high road, to be the proud military commander. “Do not attempt to flee. Any ship defying this order will be destroyed. You have two hours to evacuate the Rendezvous facility and surrender to us. After that time, demolitions technicians will begin ultimate disassembly operations. Any Roamer casualties incurred will be strictly the result of your failure to follow precise instructions.”

Ramirez added her own postscript to the transmission. “The EDF

guarantees that all detainees will be treated fairly. You will not be subjected to unnecessary harassment.”

“As if they’ll believe that,” Stromo muttered.

Another barrage of blustering insults was transmitted back to him. In disgust, he gestured for the communications officer to cut off the audio.

He scowled as the ships continued to fly away, despite his admonition.

“Doesn’t that remind you of cockroaches scurrying when the lights are turned on, Commander Ramirez?”

The small vessels offered difficult moving targets that zigzagged between the outlying asteroids. Though the Mantas opened fire again, the weapons officers missed most of the time. This crew definitely needs a lot more training, the Admiral thought.

Too many of the unruly ships were getting away. Stromo shook his head, then nodded to the Manta’s captain. “Commander Ramirez, disperse all EDF ships, launch every Remora squadron. Let’s tighten our net.