The Lost Stars: Imperfect Sword (16 page)

Drakon stared at the hatch after it closed, trying to remember if Conner Gaiene had ever before saluted him when they were in private.

—

ICENI
was sitting in her office, clasped hands before her mouth, brooding, when an urgent alert sounded. Muttering a curse, Iceni spun to look at her display. What she saw made her anger change to a jolt of anxiety.

“An enigma ship arrived at the jump point from Pele,” her watch-center supervisor reported anxiously.

She took a deep breath, calming herself and focusing her attention. “Only one? Is he a scout for a larger force?” The enigma had shown up more than four and a half hours ago. But watching its movements still created a sense of urgency in Iceni.

“Madam President, we cannot determine— He altered vector. A major change.”

Iceni watched the movements of the enigma, movements made hours ago, the alien ship whipping around at an amazing rate.
If only our ships could move like that!
“He’s . . . heading back,” she said.

Then he was gone.

“The enigma ship has jumped back to Pele,” the supervisor reported. “It must have been a surveillance mission, Madam President, taking a snapshot of everything here, then getting out before we could react.”

“He could have hung around the jump point for hours and been safe from any reaction by us,” Iceni said. “We don’t have the luxury of stationing warships near that jump point.”

The supervisor hesitated. “He very likely had firm orders to leave immediately.”

“Why?” Iceni asked. She had learned the importance of encouraging her workers to share information instead of jumping down their throats whenever they volunteered something. That sort of thing was hard for the workers to get used to after their experience with the shut-up-and-do-it attitude of the Syndicate.

The watch-center supervisor spoke with care, feeling out each word. “We have seen numerous indications that the enigmas have a Syndicate-type level of discipline. The enigma commanders who sent this ship could not know whether we would have somebody stationed at the jump point, guarding it, so they may well have given that ship orders to return to Pele immediately after making their observations rather than giving its commander discretion on how long to stay and observe. It had plenty of time to see every ship here and what else was happening inside this star system.”

“And so accomplished its mission with minimum risk of failure,” Iceni said. “You are probably correct. Thank you.”

She ended the call and stared glumly at the display, wishing that the enigmas had timed their reconnaissance mission for a different period. As it was, they would have seen precious few defensive assets in this star system, and the last extra thing she needed now was for the enigmas to launch another assault.

—

MORGAN
had made a mistake, allowed herself to be spotted while killing that last sentry because she hadn’t realized there would be a tertiary backup sensor monitoring the sentinel. Tertiary sensors were not standard in Syndicate practice for this layer of security in this kind of building, raising the question of just how many other additional security measures might be ahead of her. Alarm sirens split the predawn night as Morgan spent two seconds deciding whether to press on and try to reach the transmitter in this building. But, even if she managed to get past the alerted security, there did not seem any chance of having the time to get a warning message out to the general before the transmitter was disabled and overwhelming force cornered her.

Fading backward, Morgan moved like a ghost toward the access she had opened through the fences protecting the building. Extra lights were on, sweeping the cleared area between the building and the fences for anyone whose heat signature was blocked well enough to remain undetected by the infrared sensors. An aerospace craft swung into sight overhead, sliding over the building, weapons tracking in search of targets.

Someone had taken some very extensive extra measures to protect those comm terminals powerful enough to punch a signal through the wide-scale jamming that had replaced the comm stand-down. These extra security measures, too, had not been in the snake files. Someone had hidden them from not only spies like Morgan but from most of the snakes in Ulindi as well.

Morgan rarely felt any trace of uncertainty, but as she added things up, a very ugly picture had begun to appear. Ulindi had looked weak even when closely examined. An inviting target with, in Supreme CEO Haris, the sort of ruler who would motivate the leaders of Midway to strike at him.

But hidden beneath the surface had been another Ulindi, and what had been happening lately, the comm stand-down and the jamming and this extra security, implied that someone was trying to ensure that their prey did not see or hear anything before an ambush was sprung.

These thoughts ran through her mind as Morgan took careful aim on the hovering aerospace craft and put two shots into the spot where the lateral controls were least protected on the side facing her.

The warbird’s weapons swung toward the place where the shots had been fired, but Morgan was no longer there. As the aerospace craft twisted in place to head for the spot, it lurched wildly as half of its lateral controls failed. At low altitude, the craft couldn’t recover before sliding close enough to the building to clip it.

Morgan huddled against the building, just around the corner from where the aerospace craft was noisily self-destructing. The instant the wave of concussion, heat, and debris was past, Morgan ran, heading for the path she had cut through the fences. Behind her, part of the building’s wall collapsed in a prolonged rumble punctuated by the thuds of large pieces of the warbird crashing into the soil all around.

She made it to the fence as shots finally erupted, tearing through the air around her while Morgan raced through the access path she had painstakingly created to get inside the complex. She had just cleared the last fence when a shot slammed into her right arm from close range. Morgan rolled with the blow, spinning to a halt on the ground with her pistol up and aimed at the guard who had waited to see if she was dead before he fired again. He never got the chance as Morgan put a shot between his eyes.

Forcing herself to her feet despite the pain of her wound, Morgan put away her pistol, grabbed the guard’s body, and held it before her as she moved toward the perimeter road through the confusion.

Two more guards were standing by a vehicle, looking around anxiously, their weapons ready. “This guy got hit!” Morgan yelled at them as she carried the dead guard toward them at a trot.

“How bad?” one of guards asked, lowering his weapon and taking a step to meet her.

“Hey—!” the second guard started to say as he got a better look at her.

Morgan dropped her burden, yanking out the dead guard’s own sidearm as the body fell, and shot both guards. It took only a couple of seconds to find the key fob in one of the guard’s pockets, start the vehicle, and block the remote override routines in its control software. Morgan hauled one of the bodies into the vehicle and tore off down the road.

There was a checkpoint, of course, but once again Morgan yelled, “I got a wounded sentry here!” and raced through it.

That bought her enough time to clear the checkpoint, but shots pursued the vehicle as Morgan floored the accelerator.

She held on for about a kilometer, activating the vehicle’s autodrive so she could apply a field bandage from the vehicle’s first-aid kit to her arm. Morgan set the vehicle controls to continue at maximum safe speed down the road, then rolled out and down the embankment, slamming the door shut behind her as she dropped away.

It hurt all the way down the slope, especially every time she rolled over her wounded arm.

Morgan stayed in place just long enough to rebandage her injury to stop the bleeding. She headed off at right angles to the frenzy around the complex, knowing that sensors and searchers would be looking for someone heading directly away from it. By sunrise she was still moving but barely conscious as she stumbled through an alley in the town where she had prepared an emergency hidy-hole sometime before.

She found the hidden access, pulled aside the concealing cover, slid inside the cramped space, and barely managed to get the cover back into position. Her confused thoughts were working mainly on instinct at that point, unable to formulate any clear plans for what to do next. Morgan passed out to the rhythm of her mind repeating the same words.
Got to warn him . . . got to warn him . . . got to warn . . .

—

“IN
another fifteen minutes, there will be two hours’ travel time remaining to the inhabited planet,” Senior Watch Specialist Czilla reported.

Marphissa scowled at her display. The freighters were braking their velocity at the best rate they could manage, which didn’t say much. The planet was only about four light-minutes away now, so close that the images she was seeing of Supreme CEO Haris’s heavy cruiser and light cruiser were getting close to real time.

As of four minutes ago, neither cruiser had moved from its orbit about the planet.

Diaz knew what was bothering her. “Why don’t they do something? Maybe they are planning to surrender to us.”

“Half of their crews are probably snakes!” Marphissa objected. “They would have to be carrying out their orders from Haris right up until they mutinied, and why would Haris have them just sit in orbit instead of sending them to try to hit our freighters? They should have come after us days ago. It’s almost time to notify General Drakon to prepare for his landings, and those damned cruisers are still just sitting there! I don’t like this. It’s like they’re waiting for something.”

“What could they be waiting for?”

“If I knew that—”

Urgent alerts blared, cutting off Marphissa’s comment as she gazed at the warning symbols springing to life on her display.

“Kommodor!” Senior Watch Specialist Czilla called out, his voice shaking. “We have just seen more mobile forces, at the closest gas giant.”

“They’ve been behind it since we got here,” Diaz said, studying his display with an appalled expression. “They must have known we were coming and stayed positioned behind the gas giant to hide from us until now. How did they know and where did Haris get more ships?”

“Spies must be how. They knew not only that we were coming but about when we would get here. They must have a good inside source at Midway.” Marphissa stared at her display as the sensors on her warships combined their readings and produced an assessment. One battleship. One heavy cruiser. Three Hunter-Killers. She didn’t need the sensors to confirm the identity of the warships. “It’s Happy Hua’s flotilla. The one that escaped from Midway and bombarded Kane.”

Kapitan Diaz shook his head, bewildered. “Happy Hua’s flotilla? But they’re Syndicate. They should have attacked Haris.”

“They didn’t.” The only possible reason struck her. “Haris is still Syndicate. He must be. That’s the only reason why CEO Boucher wouldn’t have attacked him.”

“But,” Diaz gasped, still trying to recover from the surprise, “why hide out there? Why not hit us earlier? They’re far enough away now that we can outrun them if they come after us.”

“Not all of us can run fast enough,” Marphissa said, her voice grim. “They waited until we were deep into this star system and a long ways from any of the jump points. Have your specialists run some vectors. Tell me if there is any way for us to get our freighters out of this star system before that battleship can catch them.”

Diaz’s eyes went from her to his display, his face stricken. He gave the order to his specialists, then leaned close to Marphissa so he could speak in a very low voice. “I don’t need to run vectors. That battleship is in position to block any escape run by our freighters unless they head for the jump point for Kiribati.”

“That’s my assessment also,” Marphissa said. “I was hoping I was wrong.”

Less than a minute later, Czilla’s report confirmed her fears. “The only route the freighters could take that would avoid the battleship is heading across the star system and taking the jump point to Kiribati in Syndicate-controlled space, Kommodor. Any attempt to return to Midway or reach the jump point for Maui has a one hundred percent chance of intercept by the Syndicate battleship.”

“If only these freighters were faster!” Diaz snarled.

“They’re not,” Marphissa said. “You might as well wish that we had a couple of battleships of our own, or that Black Jack would show up in the nick of time again.” She gestured toward the comms specialist. “I need to speak with General Drakon immediately.”

It only took a few seconds for Drakon to reply. He did not look happy. “The crew of this freighter is really upset. Are they right? Is that a Syndicate battleship?”

“Yes. Commanded by the same snake CEO who attacked Midway and bombarded Kane.” Marphissa wasn’t about to sugarcoat the situation. “They were waiting for us.”

“No matter what else happens, we need to make sure that information gets back to Midway so that President Iceni will know we have a serious internal security problem. What are our options?”

“Option one,” Marphissa said, “the freighters continue on to the main inhabited world and drop you off before the battleship can get here to stop you. That gives you a fighting chance on the ground, but after that you’ll have to worry about a battleship overhead. Option two, all of the freighters continue onward at the best acceleration they can manage, all the way to the jump point for Kiribati, and jump for that star, hoping that the Syndicate doesn’t have anything waiting to ambush you at Kiribati.”

Drakon shook his head. “These freighters have limited life support, food, and water for the numbers of soldiers they are carrying. We have enough to get back to Midway if the landing was aborted, but traveling across the rest of the width of this star system followed by a jump for Kiribati would put us close to exhaustion of everything, even if there weren’t more Syndicate warships waiting there.”

“You could try doubling back, jumping back for Ulindi right after arriving at Kiribati, hoping that all of the Syndicate warships followed you to Kiribati, and that they wouldn’t get there until those clumsy freighters managed to get turned around. But you’d have to put your people on starvation rations starting right now, and even then you might not make it back before they were exhausted.”