The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (28 page)

He silently checked his implants, counting down the days.  Nine months before
any
rival could hope to appear, unless - of course - the Grand Alliance managed to produce a proper media machine of its own.  And even then ...

“Good luck,” he said, as he turned to face Ensign Howard.  “Bring back another story for me?”

“I’ll try,” Ensign Howard said.  He checked the teleport settings carefully, then keyed a switch.  “Goodbye.”

***

Thomas watched, unsure if he should be concerned, as the figure of the reporter dissolved into blinding white light before fading from view.  He had no illusions about the task before him, or the odds against a safe return.  The XO hadn't minced words - and, if he’d been inclined to believe it would be easy, four days fixing the patrol boat would have been quite enough to convince him otherwise.  His ship was on the verge of falling apart at the seams.

It’s not quite that bad
, he told himself, as he walked back to his console and sat down.  Even uniting the different control linkages had been a major headache, despite the Galactic fetish for standardisation.  Whoever had worked on the patrol boat before losing her to the previous owners would have gone far, if they’d had a proper education. 
It could be a great deal worse
.

He sat in the command chair - although it was also the tactical station - and studied the readings from the rest of the ship.  A single hit might not be enough to destroy the vessel, but it sure as hell would be enough to disable them.  He’d done what he could, before the engineering crews had been withdrawn to patch up another ancient ship, to build as many redundancies into the system as possible, yet he knew - all too well - that there were limits to what they could do.  Anything that knocked out the main control network would probably knock out the backup network as well. 

But it’s your first command
, he told himself.  He could be addressed, legally, as
Captain
.  He was master of the ship, commander of the crew ... and almost certainly doomed, if the ship was disabled.  There would be no hope of escape. 
And when this is finished, you’ll go right back to being an ensign.

He scowled down at his console as he ran through the final checks, then told himself - firmly - not to be silly.  Command experience at such a young age, even of a patrol boat that had entered service at roughly the same time as King Richard was fighting in the Crusades, would look
very
good on his record ... assuming, of course, that he made it back alive.  The odds were not in their favour.  He shook his head, irritated, then checked the latest intelligence reports.  He’d been warned, time and time again, that they were out of date, but they
were
the only things he had to go on until they actually reached their patrol area.  They’d find out for sure what was facing them shortly afterwards.

The communications console chimed.  “Captain, we are being hailed by the flagship.”

Thomas nodded.  The handful of crewmen under his command were
all
newcomers to the Solar Union, all born on Amstar, all offered citizenship in exchange for enlisting in the squadron.  They all had experience on freighters - and some of the ships Amstar had used to patrol its territory before the Druavroks arrived - but they lacked the discipline of Solarian crewmen.  And yet, they were all he had.  He was mildly surprised Captain Stuart had seen fit to assign
him
to the crew.

“Put it through,” he ordered.

“Mr. Howard,” Commander Wilde said.  Thomas wasn't particularly surprised that the older man didn't address him as
Captain
.  “Are you ready to depart?”

“Just about, sir,” Thomas said.  They’d loaded antimatter missiles - Galactic missiles, unfortunately - early in the morning, then checked the handful of weapons the ship had carried when she’d been passed to the Grand Alliance.  “We should make our departure time as planned.”

“Very good,” Commander Wilde said.  “And have you chosen a name?”

Thomas hesitated.  The Solar Union wasn't
particularly
superstitious - although there were cantons that practiced one form or another of religion exclusively - but very few spacers would choose to serve on a ship without a name.  It was supposed to be bad luck.

“Yes, sir,” he said, taking the plunge.  Thankfully, there was no requirement for a dignified name, not for a tiny and expendable patrol boat.  “She’s the
Rustbucket
.”

“A very fitting name,” Commander Wilde said.  He didn't sound either pleased or horrified.  But then, choosing the name - by long tradition - was Thomas’s right, as the ship’s first human commander.  “And the crew?”

“We’ve drilled as much as possible, sir,” Thomas said.  He tried to keep his doubts out of his voice, although he was sure the vastly more experienced officer could hear them.  “And we’ll be drilling more on the way.”

“Very good, Mr. Howard,” Commander Wilde said.  “You are cleared to depart, as planned.”

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas said.  “We’ll come back with an enemy ship painted on our hull.”

“I hope you are right,” Commander Wilde said.  “But remember, you’re not flying a human ship.  Don’t assume you can fix anything that goes wrong.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  He felt a shiver running down his spine.  “I won’t forget.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

President Garrison - formerly General Garrison - blasted the Texan-led Alliance for the Preservation of the United States in a speech today, in which he asserted that the Texans, far from preserving the Union, are intent on destroying it.  He made particular reference to the flat ban on illegal immigration put into law by Texas, noting that the law is a civil war waiting to happen.  Outside observers have noted that the civil war is already happening
.

-Solar News Network, Year 54

“The Grand Alliance has offered to cede the Polychrome System to us, as partial payment for our operations,” Captain Ryman said.

Commander Wilde snorted.  “You mean - keep us active within the sector,” he said.  He eyed the starchart doubtfully.  “This is another Guantánamo Bay.”

Hoshiko gave him a sharp look.  “How so?”

“Guantánamo Bay kept the United States involved in Cuba, even though there were some solid reasons to withdraw,” Commander Wilde said.  “Turning the Polychrome System into a Solar Union settlement will keep us involved
here
, no matter what happens.”

Captain Ryman shrugged.  “Is that a bad thing?”

Hoshiko studied the display, thinking hard.  The Polychrome System had been the subject of several disputes in the sector, mainly between the Gloudathua and the Tradresh.  It had no life-bearing world, but it did have a gas giant and a
mammoth
asteroid field that - by some freak chance - had never become a planet.  The Tokomak had never bothered to assign it to one of the races in the sector, leaving it up for grabs ... and several races had tried, very hard, to grab it.

“It would make a convenient place to establish a permanent settlement,” she mused.  “Even if there isn’t a great deal of long-term investment, the combination of fabbers and a human population keen on establishing a home of its own would certainly make the system viable.”

“They’d make a very large canton,” Wilde noted.  “And they’d be a
very
long way from Earth.  They’d have a great deal of autonomy whatever political system they adopted.”

“That would be true in any case,” Hoshiko said.  “
We’re
six months from Earth.”

She tapped the display.  “We don’t have the resources to start work on the system now, but we can certainly lay the groundwork,” she added.  “Once we have a few dozen habitats up and running, the population can start to flow into the system.”

“Not
everyone
likes the idea of living on an asteroid,” Wilde pointed out.  “They may push for a
real
homeworld.”

“Then they can go back to Earth,” Hoshiko said, bluntly.  “A fight over land rights here, in this sector, will be a great deal worse than anything back home.”

She shook her head in tired disbelief.  Why would
anyone
sane want to live on a planet’s surface?  There was limited room for expansion, there was a shortage of natural resources and too many idiots were allowed to breed.  Space, at least, killed off the morons who forgot the four basic rules of airlock safety before they managed to threaten others.  She had no doubt, once a fabber or two was established in the Polychrome System, the system would start becoming habitable very quickly.  And then it could start churning out starships of its own.

“Captain,” Wilde said.  “I should ...”

He broke off as the intercom bleeped.  “Captain,” Lieutenant-Commander Biscoe said.  “Our long-range sensors are picking up a small flight of enemy warships in FTL, heading directly towards Amstar.”

Hoshiko sat upright, her tiredness forgotten.  “Do you have an accurate count?”

“They’re flying in close formation, Captain,” Biscoe said.  “The FTL gravity waves are overlapping.  Battle Comp thinks they have somewhere between nine and fourteen ships, but it’s impossible to be sure.”

“I see,” Hoshiko said.  She exchanged glances with Wilde.  “ETA?”

“Two hours, unless they pick up speed,” Biscoe said.  “They’re making a very leisurely approach.”

“Odd,” Hoshiko said.

She keyed a switch, activating the tactical display.  The Druavroks were either being very stupid or they had something up their sleeves - and she dared not assume it was the former.  There was no way to prevent the defenders from getting at least
some
warning of their approach, but it wouldn't have been hard for them to ensure the defenders had much
less
warning.  They seemed determined to make sure she had all the time she needed to prepare a hot reception.

“It’s a trick of some kind,” Wilde said. “It has to be.”

“Probably,” Hoshiko said.  She cleared her throat.  “Commander Biscoe, bring the fleet and planetary defenders to yellow alert.  Order civilian ships within the system to slip into FTL or get under the planetary defences.  We’ll go to red alert ten minutes before the enemy are due to arrive.”

“Aye, Captain,” Biscoe said.

“I’ll return to the surface,” Captain Ryman said, standing.  “The Grand Alliance needs to know we’ll be sharing the danger with them.”

Hoshiko watched him stride out of the cabin, then looked at her XO.  “It’s a trick of some kind,” she agreed.  “But what?”

“I wish I knew,” Wilde said.  He studied the display thoughtfully.  “Those are cruisers, at a guess.  But even if they were battleships they’d still be massively outgunned.”

Hoshiko couldn't disagree.  The Grand Alliance had responded to the success at Dab-Yam by sending dozens of additional warships to her fleet.  If the enemy had counterattacked at once, she thought, they
might
have had a chance to do some real damage, but not now.  Her freighters had been reloaded and she’d absorbed more refitted ships into her ranks.  The only real downside was that she’d sent a hundred raiders into enemy space ...

But those ships didn't add much firepower to our forces
, she reminded herself, firmly. 
I wouldn't have sent them away from the fleet if they did
.

“Maybe it’s a suicide run,” she said.  A handful of cruisers flying right at the planet - and slamming into it at a fair percentage of the speed of light - would be enough to depopulate Amstar and render it uninhabitable once and for all.  She certainly wouldn't put it past the Druavroks to
try
.  “But we have plenty of firepower assembled to defend the planet.”

She scowled at the display.  The fabbers had been working non-stop, turning out everything from automated weapons platforms to mines and missile launchers.  There were no battlestations covering the planet - those took months to construct, even in the Solar Union - but she could practically
walk
across the orbital defences now.  Amstar could give a good account of itself even without the Grand Fleet to back up its own defenders.  The Druavroks could charge the planet if they wished, yet they didn't have a hope of reaching the surface.

“I’ll be in the CIC,” she said.  “You take command on the bridge.”

“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said.

Hoshiko sucked in a breath as he left, then walked through the hatch herself and strolled down to the CIC.  A new mood of urgency was spreading through the ship, but the tense awareness that they were in a battle had yet to materialise.  Yellow alert, after all, merely called the crew to
prepare
for a possible engagement.  She walked through the hatch, checked the display quickly to make sure nothing had changed, then settled down in her chair to wait.  There was nothing else she could do.

At least the planet’s defenders are taking the threat seriously, these days
, she thought.  It had been hard, very hard, to convince the provisional government that the success at Dab-Yam did
not
give them an excuse to commit genocide themselves.  The Druavroks in the enclaves were doing nothing, save for the occasional burst of sniper fire. 
They’re certainly more aware of what will happen if we lose
.

She forced herself to watch, grimly, as the timer slowly ticked down to zero.  She’d ensured her subordinates knew what to do, if the Druavroks came calling.  There was nothing to be gained by micromanaging them, let alone peering over their shoulders as they struggled to do their work.  But she wanted - she needed - to be doing something.  Grimly, she pulled up the latest set of intelligence reports and started to work her way through them.  The reports were out of date - of course - but they agreed that the Druavroks had abandoned two sieges and withdrawn a number of squadrons from the others.  They were clearly planning
something
...

It was a frustrating thought.  The Druavroks had to know - now - that they were meeting heavier resistance and counterattacks.  It wouldn't be long, either, before they knew that starships were raiding their supply lines, even reaching their homeworld itself.  But what would they do in response?  Attack Amstar?  Attack Martina?  Or send a fleet on the long voyage to Sol?  She doubted they’d take the risk, but still ... it was a thought that nagged at the back of her mind, when she was having trouble sleeping late at night.

They have to know the fleet they’re sending here isn't enough to wipe the system
, she thought, darkly. 
Which means ... what?

“Captain,” Brown said.  “The enemy fleet has entered the system limits.”

“Sound red alert,” Hoshiko ordered.  “Bring the fleet to condition one.”

She leaned forward as the squadron girded itself for war.  The Druavroks were
still
making their frustratingly slow approach, although
slow
was an odd term when applied to FTL starships.  It would be at least fifteen minutes before they reached the planet, before she knew just what she was facing.  She glanced at the network of human-grade stealthed recon platforms she’d scattered around the system, bound together by a web of laser beams that were impossible to detect, save by sheer luck.  If the enemy intended to try to sneak something through the defences under cloak, it was unlikely to escape detection.

New icons flashed into life on the display.  “Contact,” Brown snapped.  “Twelve cruisers; I say again, twelve cruisers.  Holding position!”

Interesting
, Hoshiko thought.  The Druavroks weren't
trying to
hide; they weren’t trying to do anything, save announcing their presence.  She doubted there was anyone in the system who
wasn't
aware of their arrival, thanks to their casual advance towards the planet. 
Are they trying to make us look away from something else
?

She studied the display for a long moment, as if she could wrinkle answers out purely through mental effort.  But there was nothing.  No freighters were moving in a suspicious pattern that might have warned of suicidal attackers, no cloaked warships were attempting to make their way through her defences ... it was odd, yet, as far as she could tell, the enemy were doing
nothing
.

Wilde’s voice echoed in her ear.  “If they’re trying to intimate us,” he said, “they didn't send anything like enough ships.”

“True,” Hoshiko agreed.  She looked at Brown.  “Signal Task Forces 5.3 through 5.6.  Order them to proceed towards the enemy and obliterate them.”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.

Hoshiko forced herself to relax as the alien warships moved out of formation, advancing on the Druavroks with casual grace.  It would, if nothing else, give the newcomers a chance to draw some blood ... and, if it
was
a trap, her most valuable ships would not be at the epicentre.  But what could it be?  She racked her brain, tossing ideas around as she tested and rejected each one ... surely, they couldn't have loaded the cruisers with antimatter?  Even
they
would hesitate just to throw away so many ships. 

And it wouldn't cost us much
, she thought. 
Unless losing forty or so warships proves to be enough to convince some of our allies to back off.