The Black Sheep

(A Learning Experience - Book III)

Book One: A Learning Experience
Book Two: Hard Lessons
Book Three: The Black Sheep

Christopher G. Nuttall

http://www.chrishanger.net
http://chrishanger.wordpress.com/
http://www.facebook.com/ChristopherGNuttall

All Comments Welcome!

Cover Blurb

The third stand-alone book in A Learning Experience ...

In the wake of Earth’s collapse into chaos, Captain Hoshiko Stuart made the mistake of speaking her mind - and was exiled six months from Sol to a naval base in an unexplored and uncontacted sector.  Placed in command of a single squadron of starships, she expected nothing but boredom.

But when she discovers an alien race threatening to exterminate all other races within the sector, Hoshiko and her squadron are drawn into a war to stop them, even if it means forging an alliance with aliens who may themselves become a threat to humanity and building an empire that may alienate her from her family once and for all.

Prologue

Datanet Discussion Forums are buzzing after Captain Hoshiko Stuart stated, publicly, that the Solar Union should not consider intervening in the ongoing civil war on Earth.  Her comments have been repeated by a number of other ‘Solarians’ who feel that the affairs of our former homeworld are none of our concern ...
-Solar News Network, Year 54

“Admiral,” Lieutenant Marie Campbell said, over the communications network, “Captain Hoshiko Stuart has arrived.”

Admiral Mongo Stuart, Commander-in-Chief of the Solar Navy, looked up from his desk, keeping his face impassive despite his inner dismay.  He knew how to reward good performance and he was an expert at chewing out the incompetent or criminally stupid, but dealing with someone who had crossed the line without quite doing anything against the Solar Navy’s regulations was a little harder.  The whole affair left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d seen enough good men and women railroaded by the former United States Navy on Earth, all for political reasons, to hate the thought of doing it himself.  But there was little choice.

“Send her in,” he ordered.  “And then hold all my calls unless they’re urgent.”

“Yes, sir,” Marie said.

Mongo sat upright as the hatch hissed open, revealing Captain Hoshiko Stuart.  She was third-gen, the granddaughter of Steve Stuart - Mongo’s brother - himself, the closest thing to outright royalty in the Solar Union.  Not that she or anyone else in the Stuart family had been allowed to think of themselves as royalty.  Hoshiko had earned her stripes, as surely as any of her peers in the Solar Navy; no one, not even the handful of politicians who argued the Stuart family exercised undue influence within the Solar Union, questioned her competence.  But that hadn't stopped them from using her words as a talking point.

“Admiral,” Hoshiko said.

Mongo studied her for a long moment, allowing the silence to lengthen.  She was tall, her features a mixture of Caucasian and Japanese, her skin tinted and her almond eyes dark and expressive.  Like all third-gen children, she had the genetic modifications that ensured both a natural lifespan of over two hundred years and an immunity to disease, most poisons and even tooth decay.  She could have turned herself into a goddess, if she’d wished - most teenagers went through a stage of changing their looks on a daily basis - but she’d stayed with the appearance her parents and grandparents had gifted to her.  At thirty-five, she looked twenty-one.  And she held herself with the poise of a seasoned veteran, waiting for him to speak.

Her file flashed up in front of his eyes, prompted by a mental query to his implants.  Born in Year 19, entered the Solar Navy in Year 35 - the youngest possible age - and graduated from Sparta Military College in Year 39.  Assigned to a destroyer, then to a light cruiser; assigned to command an alien-designed battlecruiser during the Battle of Earth, where she acquitted herself well.  No black marks in her file until two weeks ago, when she’d made a number of statements to the Solar News Network that had ignited a political firestorm.  

And she’s certainly bright enough to understand what she’s done, Mongo thought, as he directed his attention back towards Hoshiko.  The only question is why?

“Captain,” he said, coolly.  He might be her Great-Uncle, but he wasn't going to do her any favours and she had to know it.  “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Yes, sir,” Hoshiko said.

“Explain,” Mongo ordered.

“I gave an interview to the Solar News Network,” Hoshiko said.  Her voice was very flat, suggesting she was either keeping it under tight control or using her implants to ensure she betrayed none of her internal feelings.  “I expressed my feelings on the planned intervention on Old Earth.  The interview went viral and spread through the datanet.”

“Correct,” Mongo said.  He cocked his head to one side.  “Why did you give that interview, Captain?”

Hoshiko, for the first time, showed a flicker of animation.  “I was asked for my opinion, sir,” she said, “and I gave it.”

Mongo lifted his eyebrow, inviting her to explain further.

“I am a Solarian,” Hoshiko said.  “My parents may have been born on Old Earth, but I was not.  I grew up on an asteroid colony, sir, with all the boundless wealth of space all around me.  My fellows and I enjoy a freedom that none on Earth can even comprehend.  The problems of Old Earth do not concern us.  They are free to move to the Solar Union, if they wish, or continue to live amongst the dirt.  The social and political breakdown on the planet is none of our concern.  We certainly do not wish to spend blood and treasure trying to save the Earthers from themselves.”

“And that was what you told the reporters,” Mongo said.

“Yes, sir.”

Mongo had to admit, if only in the privacy of his own thoughts, that she had a point.  The Solar Union’s invitation to everyone on Earth remained open - and would remain open for as long as the Solar Union itself endured.  Leave the gravity well and live in space, where even a low-paying job could ensure a decent lifestyle.  Hoshiko, like so many of her peers, couldn’t comprehend just why so many Earthers were scared of implanting technology, let alone genetic splices and fixes, into their bodies.  Hell, Mongo found the concept scary at times ... and, without the nanotech and automated doctors they’d captured from the Horde, he knew he’d be dead by now.  But there were other concerns.

“Many of us have ties to Earth,” he pointed out.  “Don’t you feel we might have legitimate concerns?”

“No, sir,” Hoshiko said.  “The Solar Union was founded on the concept of escaping Earth, of escaping governments that were too controlling to allow true freedom.  I see no value in looking back to our roots.”

“You have relatives down there,” Mongo pointed out.

“I don’t know them,” Hoshiko countered.  “Surely they could come up here, if they wished?”

Mongo gave her a long considering look.  Hoshiko had never seen the Stuart Ranch, where Mongo and his brothers had been born and raised.  She was used to controlled environments, not the beauty of Earth.  But, at the same time, he knew she had a point.  The American melting pot had only started to come apart at the seams when it had become easy, too easy, to remain in touch with the Old Country, for old grudges to cross the oceans and infect the United States.  Mongo still mourned the country he’d served, even though it had left him behind a long time before the Solar Union had been formed.  It was hard for him to say goodbye.

“Military officers are not supposed to talk to the press,” he said, instead.  “You should not have given that interview.”

“Military officers are supposed to speak their minds, as long as they can back up their statements,” Hoshiko countered.  “Can I speak freely, Admiral?”

“You may,” Mongo said.

“Am I in trouble because I’m a military officer who spoke to the press,” Hoshiko asked, “or because I’m a Stuart who disagreed with the family line?”

“The family does have an interest in its property on Earth,” Mongo said.

“Which it shouldn’t have,” Hoshiko said.  “It provides a tie to the planet we sought to escape, sir.  The older generation may want to keep it, but the younger generation sees no value in it.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Mongo agreed.

He cleared his throat.  “Yes, you are in trouble because the family can no longer present a united front,” he admitted.  “Our opponents in the Senate have not hesitated to capitalise on your remarks.”

“The united front did not exist,” Hoshiko pointed out, coolly.  She waved a hand at the walls, where a number of images from the Battle of Earth were prominently displayed.   “You may want to try to recover territory on a single world; we want to get out there and build empires, carry the human race to heights unmatched even by the Tokomak!  There is nothing to be gained by becoming involved with scrabbles on Earth when there’s an entire universe out here, just waiting to be seized.  Our manifest destiny is out there, Admiral!”

“We are one small system, with a handful of allies,” Mongo said.  “There is no way we can hope to conquer the entire galaxy, let alone the universe.”

“Not now, no,” Hoshiko said.  “But we seem to have a choice between building an empire - call it what you like, Admiral - of our own or taking the risk that someone else will build an empire.  The Tokomak still have millions of starships under their command, sir, and we’re not the only ones who can innovate.  Even if the Tokomak Empire falls apart, sir, one of the successor states may pose a greater threat.  We don’t have time for narrow-minded people who look at the prospects before us and flinch away.”

Mongo took a second to place firm controls on his temper before speaking.  “You present us with an unusual challenge,” he said.  “If you were to be court-martialled for your actions, it would require open discussion of the issue, which would not rebound to anyone’s credit.  But if you are not punished, it will look as though the family name has protected you from the consequences.  I’ve decided to take a third option.”

He waited for a long moment.  Hoshiko said nothing.

“We have been asked to establish a military and trader base in the Martina Sector,” he explained.  Hoshiko closed her eyes for a moment, clearly consulting her implants.  “This base will have a battle squadron of heavy cruisers attached to it, as well as a handful of support ships and intelligence personnel.  You will be reassigned to Jackie Fisher as her commanding officer, but you will also be in overall command of the detachment and roving ambassador to any local alien powers.  I’ll assign a steady hand to serve as your XO.  You’re going to be very busy.”

“That’s six months away,” Hoshiko said, shocked.

“Yes,” Mongo said.  He hid an amused smile.  The rest of the assignment clearly hadn't sunk in, yet.  “You and your squadron will be on a five-year deployment.  During that time, you will have considerable autonomy, as long as you stay within the standing orders.  Assuming all goes well, you will be relieved by another squadron at the end of your time on station.  By that point, one would hope the political crisis here will be resolved, one way or the other.”

It was, he thought, a neat solution.  Hoshiko couldn't remain in touch with anyone in the Solar Union, not when it would take at least a year for her to send a message and receive a reply.  If anyone questioned her deployment, he could point to it and say it was a punishment, but if she did well, her career could resume its more normal course after her deployment came to an end.  A court-martial, on the other hand, would terminate her career even if she was found innocent.

“You’ll receive a full intelligence brief, what little we know about the sector, once you reach your new command,” he told her.  “Martina itself is a shared world, thanks to the Tokomak, but there are several alien races nearby that may pose a threat.  There’s also a large number of humans, descendents of alien slaves, living within the sector.  We’d like you to try to build ties with them, as well as protect shipping and generally represent the Solar Union to the locals.”

“Yes, sir,” Hoshiko said.  She snapped off a tight salute.  “I will make you proud.”

“See that you do,” Mongo warned.  “You’re going to be on your own out there.  Good luck.”

Chapter One

Fighting broke out again in California as the Mexican Independence Front, with armoured support from Mexican tanks, attempted to push north against the United Farmers Alliance, who have been receiving support from Texas.  The Governor of Texas stated that she would not hesitate to support her fellow Americans in their struggle against the Mexican threat.
-Solar News Network, Year 54

Hoshiko didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but she was bored.

She was the kind of person who always wanted to be doing something.  She'd always been a very active person, even as a young girl growing up on Stuart Asteroid.  Hoshiko had been first to take a spacewalk, first to explore the nooks and crannies of the asteroid without parental supervision, first to use a neural interface and plunge into a virtual world, first to lose her virginity and first to apply successfully to the Naval Academy.  The thought of just sitting in orbit around Martina was horrifying, yet she’d been stuck there for over six months.  There were only so many tasks for the squadron and she was privately surprised that morale had held up as well as it had.

Because we’re pretty much isolated out here, she thought, as she paced her cabin and scowled at the near-orbit display.  And there’s very little to do.

She glowered at the blue-green planet at the centre of the display, surrounded by hundreds of starships, orbital habitats and industrial nodes.  Martina was a shared world - there were over twenty different races living in near-harmony on the surface - and there was almost nothing in the way of planetary authority.  No one had been able to muster the authority to tell her she couldn't establish a naval base in the system, but no one had been able to meet her for more substantive discussions either.  She hoped, for their sake, that no one ever decided to view the system as a target - there was no unified defence force - but she knew the peace surrounding the planet wouldn't last.  Martina had no less than nine gravity points orbiting the local star, each one a money-making bonanza for a military power strong enough to demand passage fees.  

And they’ll get them too, she reminded herself.  Interstellar shippers will pay whatever it takes to get through a gravity point, cutting hundreds or thousands of light years off their trips.

She picked up the datapad containing the latest set of readiness reports, then put it down again unread.  There was no point.  The squadron had exercised regularly, both to ensure their skills were kept up to par and show off humanity’s military might to potential threats, but they hadn't fired their weapons in anger since a brief encounter with a pirate ship two months ago.  Her real problem was keeping her crews busy and entertained, ensuring they didn't slip into VR worlds or sneak down to the planet and desert.  There was a small human community on Martina after all, descended from men and women who’d been taken from Earth centuries ago.  An enterprising crewman could probably make a few local contacts and vanish if he wished.  Somehow, Hoshiko doubted the local authority would help to search for a missing crewman.

“And if Uncle Mongo wanted to punish me,” she muttered to herself, “he couldn't have found a better way.”

She glowered at the display, again.  The squadron was so far from Earth that everything they heard was second or third-hand, passed on by a handful of supply ships and freighters that had made their way to Martina, hoping to open up new trade routes into the sector.  Hoshiko didn’t blame them for trying - having dinner with the trader captains was one of the few highlights of her position - but so far their results had been very poor.  The sector didn't have anything unique or interesting ... and it was very far from Earth.  She was surprised the freighters kept coming.

Probably trying to buy more starships, she thought, crossly.  We can never have enough.

Her intercom buzzed.  “Captain, this is Ensign Howard on the bridge,” a voice said, nervously.  He clearly hadn't managed to overcome his fear of interrupting his commanding officer, who would doubtless be doing important work in her cabin.   “We have five ships inbound to Martina at FTL speeds.”

Hoshiko frowned.  Ensign Howard was so young she was marginally surprised he wasn't still in diapers.  Jackie Fisher was his first assignment, right out of the Academy; he was simply too inexperienced to realise that few captains would be angry if they were disturbed, not even if it turned out to be nothing.  Better safe than sorry was a lesson the Solar Union had drummed into its citizens from a very early age.  Asteroids, even with modern technology, were hardly safe.

“Five ships,” she repeated.  Every day, there were hundreds of starships passing through the system.  She tried to keep her voice calm.  “Why do you think this is important?”

There was a pause.  “Captain, two of them read out as Livingston-class freighters,” Howard said, finally.  “The other three seem to be warships - and they’re in hot pursuit.  They’re practically right on top of the freighters.”

Hoshiko’s eyes narrowed.  Livingston-class freighters were unique to humanity, as far as she knew; there were only a handful in the sector, all of which were registered with the Solar Union.  Two of them flying in unison almost certainly meant a trade mission ... and, if that was the case, the pursuing warships were an ominous development.  She sent a command through her implants into the cabin’s processors, getting them to display the live feed from the gravimetric sensors.  Howard was right.  Five ships would not be flying so close together if three of them weren't trying to run the other two down.

“I’m on my way,” she said.  Assuming the freighters were heading for the base she and her crews had painstakingly established, they’d drop out of FTL within two hours.  “Sound yellow alert, then inform the squadron to prepare for combat manoeuvres.”

“Aye, Captain,” Howard said.

It was probably nothing more than pirates, Hoshiko told herself as she checked her uniform in the mirror before striding out of her office and down towards the bridge.  But she couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement anyway.  The pirates wouldn't be expecting to run into nine heavy cruisers, not at Martina.  There wasn't even a formalised out-system patrol force to fend off pirates who might come calling.  Even the ground-based defences weren't as formidable as they could have been.

She stepped through the hatch and walked to her command chair.  No one saluted - yellow alert protocols insisted that crewmen had to watch their consoles at all times - but she saw a number of backs stiffen as Ensign Howard practically leapt out of the command chair and snapped to attention.  Hoshiko gave him an approving smile, then nodded towards the tactical console.

“I have the bridge,” she said, firmly.

“You have the bridge, Captain,” Ensign Howard said.  “Intruder ETA is now 97 minutes ...”

“Assuming they drop out at your predicted endpoint,” Hoshiko said, cutting him off.  She didn't blame the ensign for assuming the unknown ships were heading for the base, but there was no way to be sure.  “Squadron status?”

“Yellow alert,” Ensign Howard reported.  “Combat datanet is standing by, ready to activate; tactical communications net is up and running.  No signals from the planet as yet.”

“Unsurprising,” Hoshiko said.  She took her seat and studied the tactical display for a long moment.  “Take your console, Ensign.  Let’s see what’s coming our way.”

She heard the hatch opening again behind her, but said nothing as her XO, Commander Griffin Wilde, stepped into view and took the seat next to her.  Wilde wasn't a bad man, she had to admit, yet he was easily twice her age - he remembered living on Earth before his parents had emigrated to the Solar Union - and he had almost no imagination at all.  Hoshiko had a feeling that Wilde had actually been assigned to the squadron to keep an eye on her, or at least try to dampen her more ambitious schemes.  But if that were the case, it was hardly necessary.  The opportunities she’d hoped would appear, when she’d led the squadron through the gravity point for the first time, had never materialised.

“Captain,” Wilde said.

Hoshiko turned and gave him a tight smile.  He even looked old, with grey hair, although she’d seen his medical report and knew he was physically fit.  Choosing not to make himself look like a young man was a statement, just as much as her refusal to alter her looks was a statement, although she didn't understand it.  Some men, she’d been told, were just born old, without the mindset that would allow them to have fun.  She didn't understand that either.

“Commander,” she said.  “We may be in for some excitement.”

She leaned back in her command chair, watching the reports flowing in from the remainder of the squadron, as the unknown ships came close.  Tracking did their best, but apart from estimates regarding the size and power of the warships they weren't able to add much else, certainly nothing solid.  Hoshiko rehearsed the engagement in her mind, contemplating the different weapons mixes they might face and waited.  At least, now there was a prospect of action, she could wait patiently.

“Captain, they’re altering course slightly,” Ensign Howard said.  “They’re now angling directly towards the station.”

“Understood,” Hoshiko said.  She contemplated, briefly, detaching two of her ships to take up a different position, but decided it would probably be futile.  A few seconds in FTL would put the incoming ships millions of kilometres from the waiting ships.  “Hold position and wait, but prepare to move us when they arrive.”

“Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Sandy Browne said.  The helmsman had been running tactical simulations of his own.  “Drives are ready and free; I say again, drives are ready and free.”

Hoshiko nodded, then waited as the last minutes counted down to zero, knowing that there were too many uncertainties.  There was no way to know the ships were heading for the base, for her squadron; they could easily be planning to skim around the planet’s gravity well and try to lose their pursuers.  Or they could be planning to plunge into a gravity point at speed, hoping to escape through sheer nerve.  They’d be vomiting on the decks, if they survived, but it might be their only hope.  Did they even know there was a human squadron at Martina?

“Contact,” Ensign Howard said.  “They just dropped out of FTL.  Two freighters, Livingston-class; I say again, two freighters, Livingston-class.”

“Raise them,” Hoshiko ordered.  

She took a long breath, knowing they had bare seconds before the warships arrived and announced themselves.  Thankfully, there shouldn't be any problems establishing communications with human ships ... unless, of course, something had wrecked their communications systems.  The Tokomak had done their best to ensure that everyone spoke the same language, at least during interspecies communications, but even they had never succeeded in making the handful of artificial languages universal.

And a good thing too, she thought, remembering her lessons at the Academy.  Those languages were carefully designed to dampen individual thought.

Three red icons popped into life on the display.  “Contact,” Ensign Howard said, again.  This time, he sounded almost panicky.  “Three warships, unknown class.  Database comparison suggests they’re light cruisers.”

“Sound Red Alert,” Hoshiko ordered.  “Raise shields.  Charge weapons.”

She frowned as more data flowed onto the display.  Most alien races used starships based on Tokomak designs, knowing them to be reliable even though they were hard to modify or rebuild.  They were, quite simply, the most prevalent ship designs in the galaxy.  Even the Solar Union, which was ramping up its own design and building process as fast as it could, still used thousands of Tokomak-designed ships.  But facing a whole new design ... there was no way to know what she might be about to encounter.  If humanity could invent a weapons system that smashed battleships as if they were made of paper, who knew what another race could design and put into operation?

“Unknown ships are scanning us,” Ensign Howard reported.

“No word from the freighters,” Lieutenant Yeller added.  The communications officer was working his console frantically.  “The unknown ships are attempting to hail us.”

“Put them through,” Hoshiko ordered.

There was a long pause, then a dull atonal voice - the product of a translator - echoed through the bridge.  “We are in pursuit of criminals,” it said.  “Allow us to capture the criminals or you will be fired on.”

Hoshiko blinked in surprise.  The unknown ships had defied communications protocols that had been in existence long before humanity started building anything more complex than stone axes and rowing boats.  Every spacer in the known universe used the protocols, save - perhaps - for the race in front of her.  Could they be completely new?  Her heartbeat raced at the thought, although she knew it was unlikely.  The Tokomak had held the sector in their grip for thousands of years.  They’d know every power in the sector intimately.

“Those ships are human ships,” she said.  She had strict orders to defend human shipping, if nothing else.  Besides, she had no idea just what was going on.  “Allow us to take them into custody and investigate.  If they are criminals, they will be dealt with.”

“Enemy ships are charging weapons,” Lieutenant-Commander Rupert Biscoe snapped.  “They’re locking targeting sensors on our hulls.”

“Return the favour,” Hoshiko ordered.  No one, unless they had almost no understanding of the ships they controlled, allowed anyone to see their weapons being charged unless it was a deliberate threat.  Just what was going on?  “Try and raise the freighters again ...”

“Incoming message,” the communications officer said.

“This matter is none of your concern,” the atonal voice said.  “Stand down or be fired upon.”

Hoshiko took a long breath.  “We will take the ships into custody and investigate the crews,” she said, tartly.  “Should they be confirmed as criminals, they will be returned to you.  We ...”

Jackie Fisher rocked, violently.

“Enemy ships have opened fire,” Biscoe said.  “Standard directed-energy weapons.  Shields held.  No damage”

A warning shot, Hoshiko thought.  She fought down the urge to simply return fire, even though she was sure she held a considerable advantage.  Are they mad?

“Picking up a message from the lead freighter,” Yeller reported.  “It’s very weak.”

“Put it through,” Hoshiko ordered.

“This is Captain Ryman of SUS Speaker to Seafood,” a voice said.  Hoshiko hastily launched a query into the datanet, trying to confirm Ryman’s identity.  Moments later, a voiceprint match popped up in front of her.  “We have a cargo of refugees from Amstar.  We need help ...”

“Enemy ships are locking weapons on the freighters,” Biscoe reported.

“Move us forward to shield them,” Hoshiko ordered.  Refugees from Amstar?  Her implants told her it was a star system thirty light years from Martina, but there was little else current in the datafiles.  Like Martina, Amstar was a shared world, peaceful and boring.  Why would refugees be fleeing to Martina, on human ships?  “Tactical ...”

“Enemy ships are opening fire,” Biscoe reported.  “Freighter Two is taking heavy damage.”

“Open fire,” Hoshiko snapped.  Human-designed freighters carried better shields than the average Tokomak-designed freighter, but they weren't strong enough to stand up to a full barrage from the light cruisers for long.  “I say again, all ships open fire.”

She expected the enemy vessels to turn and run, but instead they accelerated towards the human ships, one of them firing a final spread of missiles in passing at Freighter Two and blowing her into an expanding cloud of plasma.  It didn’t look as though anyone had managed to get to the escape pods, Hoshiko noted; the ship had been lost with all hands.  She swore under her breath as one of the alien ships exploded, followed rapidly by another; the third kept on towards Jackie Fisher, firing every weapon she had, until her shields were finally overloaded and a handful of missiles slammed into her hull, disabling her drives.

“Prepare a marine boarding party,” Hoshiko ordered.  If the third ship had lost power completely, they should be able to teleport an assault force over to the enemy ship rather than dispatch a shuttle.  “Get them suited up and ...”

The third icon vanished from the display.  “Enemy ship destroyed,” Biscoe reported.  “That wasn't our fire, Captain.  They self-destructed.”

“Belay that order,” Hoshiko said.  Judging from the blast, it was unlikely there would be anything worth recovering.  The enemy ship had been completely atomised.  “Ready a marine party to examine the freighter instead.”

She sucked in her breath, thinking hard.  Who the hell were they facing?  The Horde might have launched a suicide attack, but the Horde rarely dared face anyone who actually knew how to use their ships.  God knew the Horde had been so criminally ignorant that a bunch of humans, from a low-tech world, had taken their ship out from under them.  Anyone else ... surely, they would have assessed the balance of power and backed off.  If the freighters had been carrying criminals, she would have had no choice but to hand them over.

“Order the freighter to be ready to receive boarders,” she said, grimly.  At least she wasn’t bored any longer.  “All ships are to remain on yellow alert until we get some answers.”

She glanced at Commander Wilde.  “Accompany the marines,” she ordered.  “I want to speak to Captain Ryman as soon as he’s cleared to board Fisher.”

“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said.  He rose.  “Ensign Howard, with me.”

Hoshiko felt a flicker of envy, which she rapidly suppressed.  She was the Captain-Commodore of the squadron, as well as Jackie Fisher’s CO.  There was no way she could leave the bridge, not when they might be at war.  All she could do was wait and see what her crew found ...

... And pray, silently, that she wouldn’t wind up wishing she was bored again.

Chapter Two

Washington saw a second night of heavy fighting between soldiers of the Tenth Mountain Division and civilian militias as martial law, in place since the coup, was extended for a further sixth months.  Morale in the military is believed to be poor and rumours of mass desertions cannot be ruled out.
-Solar News Network, Year 54

“Gently does it, Ensign,” Major Bjørn Hyldkrog said.  “We don’t know what might be waiting for us.”

Ensign Thomas Howard nodded, fighting to keep his hands from shaking.  The marines had never said anything threatening to him, but he couldn't help finding them far more intimidating than anything else he’d encountered.  Four years at the Academy hadn't prepared him for rough men and women who practically carried knives in their mouths or strode around the ship as though they owned the vessel.  He was sure it was technically against regulations for the marines to pick on him - and they hadn't - but they still scared him more than he cared to admit.

He watched through the shuttle’s hull-mounted sensors as he carefully guided the craft towards the freighter.  The hulk had clearly taken a beating, he noted; carbon scoring criss-crossed the metal, burning off the paint and sensor blisters alike.  Someone had done some intensive patching, probably while the vessel was in FTL.  Humanity built good ships, he’d been told, but it was a minor miracle the freighter had survived long enough to reach Martina and find help.  Judging by the emissions from the rear of the ship, she’d be unable to go FTL without a complete refit.  It might be cheaper to scrap the hulk and buy a new ship.

“There’s a standard hatch towards the prow of the vessel,” he said.  That wasn't a surprise.  The Tokomak had insisted on a degree of uniformity among interstellar shipping and what the Tokomak wanted, they got.  Even humanity had seen the advantages in copying the Galactic model.  “Do you want to dock there?”

“Yes, please,” Hyldkrog said.  He seemed to be in command of the mission, even though the XO himself was accompanying the marines.  “Put us up against the hatch, then latch on.”

“Maintain standard security procedures at all times,” the XO added.  “We do not want someone slipping a piece of malware onto the shuttle.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  The XO was old enough to have served in the wet navy, long before the Solar Union had been anything more than a dream.  “The shuttle computer cores are isolated from the hatch processors.”

He sucked in a breath as the freighter came closer, wondering if the next second would be his last.  If it was a trap, if the freighter was playing possum for some inexplicable reason of its own, they’d be fired on the moment they came within point-blank range.  Or the vessel might be crewed by pirates, intent on swarming the shuttle and using her to force their way onboard Jackie Fisher.  A shiver ran down his back as he looked at the marines, carefully checking their weapons and suits of armour; for once, he was grateful to have them along.  They’d know what to do if it really was a trap.

“Docking in ten seconds,” he said.  “Hatch cycling now ...”

A dull thump ran through the shuttle as it made contact with the freighter.  The gravity field flickered, just for a second, as it merged with the human-standard gravity field projected by the freighter, a subtle confirmation that the ship was probably still in human hands.  Unless, of course, the Horde or another race of low-tech interstellar barbarians had somehow managed to gain control of the ship.  They probably wouldn't dare to fiddle with the artificial gravity, even assuming they’d known how.  One mistake at the worst possible time and they’d be smashed against the deck, if the compensators failed.  They wouldn’t even have a chance to realise what had happened before it was far too late.

“Contact,” he said.  He heard the marines moving forward as the hatch began to open.  “Sir ...”

“Remain behind until the marines have secured the ship,” the XO ordered, calmly.  “They know what they’re doing.”

Thomas nodded, then gagged as a foul stench blew through the hatch and into the shuttle.  He hastily clicked the air fresheners to full, then triggered his implants and ordered them to dim his sensitivity to the smell.  What had happened on the freighter?  It smelled worse than the dorms at the academy!  He’d been told, by some of the newcomers from Earth, that the planet smelled bad, but surely it wasn't as vile as the freighter?  How could the human race have survived?

“They’ve overloaded their life support, sir,” Senior Chief Brian Siskin said.  He’d somehow wrangled his way onto the mission, even though Thomas wasn't sure why the Senior Chief was considered necessary.  Maybe his job was to keep an eye on the young ensign.  “That’s the smell of too many bodies in close proximity.”

“Reminds me of Haiti,” the XO said.  He didn't sound pleased.  “Have the shuttle cleaned thoroughly once we return to the ship.”

“Yes, sir,” the Senior Chief said.

Thomas kept one eye on the live feed as the marines moved through the freighter, securing the bridge, life support system and engineering compartment with practiced efficiency.  There didn't seem to be any resistance, merely a string of remarks about helpless people.  The XO rose as soon as the ship was secured and motioned for Thomas and the Senior Chief to follow him through the hatch.  Thomas checked the pistol on his belt - he’d spent hours on the range, as per regulations, but he was no expert marksman - and locked the shuttle’s controls before rising.  If the freighter was a threat, the crew would be unable to turn the shuttle against her mothership.

“Remember to set your implants to record,” the Senior Chief muttered, as they stepped through the hatch.  “You might find yourself giving evidence later.”

“Yes, Chief,” Thomas said.  “A full-spectrum recording?”

“Yes,” the Senior Chief said.  “You never know what might be important.”

He cocked his head as he sent the commands to his implants, even though it bothered him on a very primal level.  What was in his head should stay in his head.  The cadets at the Academy had suspected that their superiors could access their implants at will, even though hacking a person’s implants was a guaranteed death sentence once the perpetrator was caught.  He’d certainly been told there were times he’d have to share his recordings, no matter what rights he thought he had.  Joining the military meant giving up a few rights to protect everyone else’s rights.

Warning icons flashed up in front of his eyes, informing him that the atmosphere in the freighter was barely breathable for unenhanced humans and compatible races.  The Senior Chief had been right, Thomas realised; the freighter’s life support had been pushed right to the limits.  Judging by the number of contaminants in the air, it might well have gone over the limits.  It was a frightening thought - Thomas knew just how much over-engineering was worked into life support systems - but for the moment it posed no threat.  His augmentations would be more than capable of ensuring his survival.

He sucked in his breath as they passed through a solid metal airlock and into a long corridor leading towards the bridge.  It was crammed with people; men, women and children, all staring at the three Solarians with terrified eyes.  Thomas wasn't sure where to look; his gaze moved from refugee to refugee, even though he wanted to look away from them.  There was a mother, sitting against the bulkhead, rocking her child against her breast; there was a young girl and boy, holding hands as they stared at the newcomers, terror clearly visible on their pale faces.  The XO looked neither left nor right as he made his way through the mob of desperate people; the Senior Chief showed no visible reaction, but his stiff back suggested he was just as horrified as Thomas himself.

“Contact the ship,” the XO ordered, as soon as they passed through a second airlock.  “Tell them we need additional life support and ration packs, now.”

“Aye, sir,” Thomas said, relieved to have something to do.  “Do you want them teleported over?”

“Teleport them onto the shuttle,” the XO said, after a moment.  “We don’t know if there’s any clear space on this damned freighter.”

Thomas hastily keyed his wristcom, forwarding the XO’s commands, as the next hatch opened.  The XO led the way through another hatch and onto the bridge.  Thomas looked around with interest, taking in the number of jury-rigged modifications to the original design.  He’d been taught the basics of Galactic technology, back at the Academy, but he’d never seen any ship that had been so obviously modified by her owners.  A handful of sleeping rolls lay against one bulkhead, as if the crew had been confined to their own bridge.  If the remainder of the ship was crammed with refugees, Thomas told himself, they might well have been.

“Mr. XO,” Hyldkrog said.  “Allow me to present Captain Ryman of the Speaker to Seafood.”

Thomas stepped back as Captain Ryman nodded tiredly to the XO.  He was a tall man, clearly a second-gen Solarian judging from the way he held himself, but he looked almost unbearably tired.  It was evident, from the way his eyes were darting left and right, that he was running on coffee, energy pills and implant stimulation.  There was a reason, Thomas recalled, why abusing energy pills and implants was against regulations, certainly on active duty.  After a few days without sleep, Captain Ryman had probably started having hallucinations.  He was lucky that his heart hadn't given out, despite all his augmentation.

“Captain Ryman,” the XO said.  “I’m Commander Wilde, XO of Jackie Fisher.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Captain Ryman said.  His voice sounded slurred.  “They killed Kenny, didn't they?”

The XO frowned.  “Kenny?”

“Captain Kenny Rogers,” Captain Ryman said.  He yawned, suddenly.  “My partner.  Commander of Speaker to Morons.”

“I’m afraid they did,” the XO said.  “There are no survivors from the other freighter.”

He cleared his throat.  “With your permission, Captain, we will bring a team of medics over to your ship to assist your crew and passengers,” he added.  “And we can teleport you back to our sickbay for examination.  We can even start on basic repairs.”

“Too much to do,” Captain Ryman said.  “I ...”

He stumbled, then toppled forward.  The XO caught him before he hit the deck; a pair of marines hurried forward, pressed a sensor against Captain Ryman’s neck and then lowered him to a blanket on the ground.  His crew, Thomas noted, didn't look in any better shape; a teenage boy had fallen asleep at his console, a pair of middle-aged men were eying the newcomers warily and a young girl, barely entering her teens, was cowering back against the rear of the compartment, her eyes wide with terror.

“Give them all a sedative, then take control of the vessel,” the XO ordered.  He turned to look at Thomas.  “Update on our support?”

Thomas hastily checked his implants.  “The engineers are beaming over now, sir,” he said, “along with additional marines.  There’s a pair of medics waiting to be teleported.”

“I can work on the life support, sir,” the Senior Chief offered.  “We really need to get some of the refugees off the ship, though.  There are just too many of them to be transported safely.”

“See to it,” the XO said.  He looked at one of the middle-aged men.  “Can you give us the control codes for your processors?”

The man looked doubtful - Thomas knew it was rare for a starship crew to willingly hand over their control codes to outsiders - but cocked his head, sending commands to the bridge’s processors.  A moment later, a new icon popped up in front of Thomas, informing him that the local computer network had just unlocked itself.  The XO thanked the man, then nodded to the marines, who administered the sedatives.  Thomas suspected, as he helped to prep the crew for teleport, that they were grateful they finally had a chance to sleep.

“That girl may have been molested in some way,” one of the marines commented.  “I’d advise keeping her sedated until we speak to her parents.”

“Understood,” the XO said.  He glanced at Thomas.  “See if you can download the ship’s logs.”

“Aye, sir,” Thomas said.

He sat down at the nearest console and keyed commands into the system.  It was an odd combination of human and alien technology, as if the freighter crew hadn't been able to obtain a number of subsystems from Earth.  Given how far they were from the Solar Union, they’d probably been forced to jury-rig a great deal more than just the control consoles.  He would have been impressed, if the system hadn't been so clunky.  Half the files spat out by the damaged system had nothing whatsoever to do with either operating a starship or whatever had forced Ryman and his crew to run for their lives, carrying thousands of refugees and chased by three warships.

“We just completed the headcount, Commander,” one of the marines said.  “There were six thousand refugees, mainly human, crammed into the hulk.  At least nineteen died in transit, sir, and thirty died when a shield generator exploded.  I honestly don’t know how they survived as long as they did.”

“We’ll have to ship them over to the base or down to the planet as quickly as possible,” the XO said, slowly.  “Inform Captain Stuart that we may need to request support from the local authorities.”

Thomas shook his head in horrified disbelief.  Speaker to Seafood was seven hundred metres long, one of the largest ships that could land on a planetary surface, but cramming six thousand humans into the hull would have been damn near impossible.  They’d have to be crammed into the ship like sardines in a can.  What the hell had they been running from, he asked himself as he drove further into the computer network, that impelled them to take the risk?  Losing only nineteen passengers to suffocation - or whatever - had been amazingly lucky.

A new file popped up in front of him.  “I think I’ve found something, sir,” he said.  “It’s not the logbook, but it is a personal diary.”

“Skim the last few entries and summarise them,” the XO ordered.  “Can you tell who wrote it?”

“I’m not sure,” Thomas confessed, after a few moments.  “It reads like it was written by a young person, but there’s no way to be certain.”

“Never mind, for the moment,” the XO said.  “What does it say?”

The girl wrote it, Thomas thought, as he brought up the last few entries and skimmed them as quickly as he could.  He couldn’t help feeling as though he was intruding on her privacy - she talked about video stars she liked as well as her feelings for someone who remained nameless - but there was no choice.  Why doesn't she say anything useful?

He paused as he read the last entry, dated three weeks ago.  “She talks about the ship landing on Amstar,” he said, slowly.  “There’s a long section in which she complains about being confined to the ship, about being told she can't even cross the landing pad to visit her ... her friend on the other freighter.  The grown-ups are apparently talking about something she’s not supposed to know about, then ...”

The XO leaned forward.  “And then?”

“Nothing,” Thomas said.  “That’s the last entry, sir, but assuming they made all speed from Amstar to Martina they’d have been in transit at least a week.  What happened between the last entry and their departure must have been bad.”

He glanced back over the prior entries, but saw nothing remarkable.  The girl had hoped to be a trader herself, he noted; her parents were teaching her the tricks of the trade, in-between making sure she had a well-rounded education.  He couldn't help feeling a stab of envy - he’d grown up on an asteroid himself; he hadn't seen an alien until he’d enrolled at the academy - at the life she’d led, before dismissing the thought.  Whatever she’d experienced on Amstar had traumatised her.

“No doubt,” the XO said.  “Continue searching for files, Ensign.  If you find anything useful or informative, let me know.  The intelligence staff will want to take a look at them too.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  He moved away from the personnel files and glimpsed into the engineering records.  Years ago, he’d been shown how to interpret the different files and put them together to build up a picture of what the ship had been doing.  Now ... he frowned as a number of automated statements suddenly fell into place.  “Sir?”

“Yes, Ensign?”

“I think the freighter went FTL while she was still in the planet’s gravity well,” Thomas said, slowly.  It was impossible to be sure, but why else would they have expended so much effort compensating for outside gravity fields?  And yet, it was generally agreed that trying was certain death.  “They must have been frantic.”

He pulled up the dates and checked them against his internal logs.  Speaker To Seafood had gone FTL barely a week ago, suggesting she’d been running constantly since then.  Given the damage to the drive, Ryman must have feared being unable to go FTL again if he stopped for repairs - assuming, of course, he’d been able to evade his pursuers.  His partner hadn't been lucky enough to survive.

“Sir,” he said, “what were they running from?”

“Good question,” the XO said.  “I have no doubt Captain Ryman will be happy to tell us, when he wakes up.  Until then ...”

He pointed at the console.  “Back to work, Ensign.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.

Chapter Three

In a landmark statement last night, the Houses of Parliament in London declared the adoption of Islamic Law throughout Great Britain and its own dissolution and replacement by a council of clerics.  Since then, thousands of refugees have been making their way to Scotland or the Solar Union.
-Solar News Network, Year 54

“There’s nothing wrong with Captain Ryman, save for exhaustion and fatigue poisons,” Doctor Shari Carr said.  “I’ve given him a booster, for the moment, but he really needs at least a day or two of sleep.  Once you’ve spoken to him, Captain, I want to put him back under.”

“Understood,” Hoshiko said.  She’d had her staff drawing information from the freighter’s computers and intelligence from the refugees, but she wanted to hear Captain Ryman personally.  “Can I speak to him now?”

“He’s awake,” Shari said.  She ran her hand through her short blonde hair.  “Like I said, though, he really needs to go back to sleep.  I wouldn't have woken him if I hadn't needed to place his implants in stand-by.”

Hoshiko nodded and followed the doctor through the hatch into the private room.  Captain Ryman lay on a bed, his arms hooked up to a life support machine.  He looked tired, Hoshiko thought, despite the brief period of enforced sleep.  She privately resolved to take as little time as possible as she sat down beside his bed, studying him closely.  He looked back at her, his eyes very tired.

“I’m Captain Hoshiko Stuart,” Hoshiko said.  “Commanding officer of this squadron.”

“Stuart,” Ryman repeated, as he sat upright.  “One of those Stuarts?”

“I’m afraid so,” Hoshiko said, stung.  Was there nowhere she could get away from her family’s legacy?  “I’m afraid I have some questions I need answered.”

“I understand the routine,” Ryman said.  He gave her a tired smile.  “But you’d better ask quickly before I fall back into blackness.”

“It's a simple question,” Hoshiko assured him.  “What happened on Amstar?”

Ryman laughed, harshly.  “That doesn't have a simple answer,” he said, after a moment.  “Let me see ...”

He took a breath, clearly composing his thoughts.  “Captain Rogers and I have been partners ever since we bought our own freighters and set off to explore the galaxy,” he said.  “We had an ... understanding with both the Deep Space Corporation and the Independent Traders Association; they’d underwrite some of our expenses in exchange for a detailed report on trade prospects within this sector.  The ITA, in particular, was very interested in making contact with human settlements, believing they would serve as a way to defeat the trade cartels that dominate a number of sectors.  That was two years ago.”

“Before the Battle of Earth,” Hoshiko commented.

“Barely,” Ryman agreed.  “We only heard rumours until we got a message packet from home ... anyway, by that time, we had managed to make a few contacts with human settlements, including a number of communities on Amstar.  They were quite friendly to us, Captain; my crew enjoyed their times there.  It’s one of those worlds where hundreds of different races rub shoulders frequently.  It was a good place to gather intelligence as well as pick up trade tips and make new contacts.

“But we couldn't stay on Amstar, so we more or less made it our home base as we wandered the sector, buying and selling trade goods of all descriptions.  Most of the cartels collapsed when the Tokomak withdrew ... life was good for independent freighters, particularly as the cartels had forgotten how to turn a profit.  We were actually taking on apprentices from Amstar, all human, and thinking about investing in more ships.  I was looking forward to the future when we landed on Amstar once again, three weeks ago.  But things were already changing.”

He shuddered and lay back on the bed.  “Amstar is - was - ruled by a cooperative council, set up by the Tokomak when they colonised the world,” he explained.  “Every race with more than ten thousand sentient inhabitants was allowed a seat on the council, including human settlers.  It worked fairly well as no one wanted the Tokomak to take direct control of the planet or turn authority over to one of the races that serve as their bully-boys.  Most races did what they wanted as long as other races weren't involved.  But a week after we arrived, the Druavroks launched a coup.”

Hoshiko took a moment to consult her implants.  The Druavroks were listed as one of the bully-boy races, like the Varner; a race that served as enforcers for the Tokomak and, in exchange, were allowed to lord it over everyone else in their sector.  There wasn't much else in the files, save for the observation that the Druavroks were a lizard-like race that laid eggs and had a major population problem.  She would have been surprised if anyone on Earth had given any thought to the Druavroks.  They were six months away, after all.

“They snatched control of the orbital defences, then took the council building and declared themselves the sole rulers of Amstar,” Ryman continued.  “That alone wouldn’t have been so bad, but they insisted that everyone else had to ritually submit to their rule or face the consequences.  The submitted have no rights, Captain; the Druavroks think nothing of eating their slaves or butchering them for fun.  A number of other races flatly refused to submit; the Druavroks bombed isolated settlements from orbit, then sent in ground troops to cleanse the cities.  They’re bent on committing genocide on a colossal scale.”

Hoshiko sucked in her breath.  “And what happened to you?”

“We were down on the planet when they took over,” Ryman said.  “They told us - Kenny and I - that we had to submit or face the consequences.  I submitted, while making contact with some of our friends.  We smuggled over ten thousand refugees into the spaceport, loaded them onto the ships and took off.  They opened fire on us once we were in the air, so we went FTL as soon as we could.  The drive was badly damaged, but we made it out.  We’d heard there was a human presence at Martina ... I decided to gamble and run for help.  And when we dropped out of FTL ...”

His voice trailed off.  “I understand,” Hoshiko said.  “You encountered us.”

“The sensors were so badly battered I didn't realise just how closely they were following us,” Ryman confessed.  “I didn’t mean to lead them right to you.”

“We survived,” Hoshiko said.  “What are they doing on Amstar?”

“They’re killing everyone who refuses to submit,” Ryman said.  “Perhaps they would have dealt with us earlier, but they were rather occupied.  It’s like bloody Paris in some of the giant megacities, Captain.  Everyone is fighting like mad bastards because they know they’re all going to be killed.  I heard of children being gassed, men and women being firebombed ... the only thing keeping them from destroying the cities from orbit is the presence of their own settlements.  But I don’t see how the defenders can hold out for long.  They didn't have many weapons when the Tokomak withdrew and hardly any time to build up an arsenal since.  No one expected a coup.”

He shuddered.  “They have some people fighting on their side,” he added.  “One of them ... one of them hurt my daughter.  I could do nothing to help her.”

Hoshiko forced herself to remain calm.  “How did you get so many people here safely?”

“Everything we could think of,” Ryman said.  “Used sedative gas to keep them quiet and content, recycled damn near everything we could to feed ourselves ... built makeshift air scrubbers out of spare parts and jury-rigged everything else we could.  How many did we lose?”

“Nineteen on the trip,” Hoshiko said.  She decided not to mention the refugees who’d been killed when the freighter was attacked.  “We’re having the refugees shipped down to the planet now.”

“The Druavroks will come after them,” Ryman said.  “I don't think this is a localised uprising, Captain.  They didn’t have sole control of the Amstar Defence Force before the coup.  Those ships might have come from their homeworld itself.”

“And with the Tokomak gone, they might be thinking of a little empire-building of their own,” Hoshiko said.  It was a chilling thought.  She had a duty to preserve human lives and now human lives were under threat.  “Taking Amstar and its gravity points will give them a stranglehold on economic development throughout parts of the sector.”

“Taking Martina will do the same,” Ryman pointed out.  “But I think they’re more interested in genocide, Captain.  Those bastards slaving for them are likely to be the last to be eaten, but they will be eaten.”

“That is probably true,” Hoshiko said.  Where did her responsibilities lie?  She had a duty to preserve human life ... and humans were under threat.  And, if other races were also under threat, there was an opportunity in the midst of tragedy.  She had orders to find new allies for humanity, if she could.  “Thank you for your time, Captain.”

“My ship,” Ryman said.  “What will happen to her?”

“She really requires a full-scale refit,” Hoshiko said.  The bean-counters would probably insist on Ryman buying a new freighter and scrapping the old one, even though she’d managed to get her master and commander out of a lethal hole.  “My engineering crews have secured her, for the moment, but it would take months to repair her.”

“I’m not giving her up,” Ryman insisted, firmly.  “She’s come a long way.”

“A very long way,” Hoshiko agreed.  She understood the overwhelming impulse to protect one’s ship, even though cold logic insisted that repairing the older ship was pointless.  “She will be turned back to you, after you recover.  After that ... what you do is your own choice.”

Ryman nodded and yawned, loudly.  Shari hurried over to him, inspected the life support machine, then jerked her head towards the hatch.  Hoshiko understood; she rose, nodded goodbye to the older man, then turned and walked out of the compartment as Shari put Ryman back to sleep.  He’d have at least two days of uninterrupted sleep before she woke him.  After that ...

He can stay with us or go back to Sol, she thought, as she waited for the doctor.  I can arrange for free passage back to the Solar Union, if necessary.  He won’t owe us for that.

She closed her eyes and accessed her implants, sending copies of her recordings to her senior staff.  They’d have a chance to review them before she called a staff meeting to decide what, if anything, they should do about the crisis.  There would probably be a long argument, Hoshiko knew, but she had no intention of allowing anyone to dissuade her from following her first impulse.  She had a duty to protect humans and humans were at risk.  Taking her squadron to Amstar was the only logical response.

“Captain,” Shari said, as she emerged from the compartment.  “Captain Ryman will remain asleep for at least three days.  It should be long enough to purge his body and refresh his mind.”

“Good,” Hoshiko said.  “And the rest of his crew?”

“The daughter was raped,” Shari said, flatly.  “Thankfully, she had a contraceptive implant so there was no danger of an unplanned pregnancy.  Physically, she’s fine; mentally, she’s a little shaken up.  I’ve left her sedated, for the moment, but she will probably require a considerable amount of help before she’s fit to re-enter society.  It isn't just the rape, Captain; it’s the sudden awareness that her father was unable to protect her, that she could be just ... used ... that she could lose all control of her body.”

Hoshiko shuddered.  Violent rape was rare in the Solar Union.  Between genetic enhancements, augmented strength, implant recordings and lie detectors, a woman had an excellent chance of fighting off a man, summoning help or - if nothing else - ensuring a conviction afterwards.  Besides, anyone who felt the impulse to get his or her kicks through violent sex games could find a willing partner on the datanet or simply lose himself in VR simulations.  But rape was prevalent on Earth, all the more so as society broke down and law enforcement agencies stopped functioning.  She’d heard enough horror stories to know that it wasn't safe to go into a city on Earth without powered combat armour and a marine guard.

“Take care of her,” she said, firmly.  “Can we track down the rapist?”

“Probably not,” Shari admitted.  “She cleaned herself thoroughly, Captain, probably more than once.  That’s not uncommon among rape victims, but it destroyed the evidence.  The only DNA I found on her was her own.  She may be able to identify the bastard, if she sees him again ...”

“We can try,” Hoshiko said.  “And the others?”

“Mainly tired, although the younger ones managed to get some sleep on the flight,” Shari said.  “I think they would have been in real trouble if the flight had lasted much longer, Captain - there’s a limit to how far genetic enhancement goes - but thankfully we caught them in time.  I’ve had them all sedated, for the moment; I imagine they’ll be glad of the rest.”

“No doubt,” Hoshiko said.  They were citizens of the Solar Union, after all.  Protecting them was her job.  “And the refugees?”

Shari’s face darkened.  “I haven't seen them personally, Captain, but I’ve been following the reports from the medics.  These people have been through hell.  They were half-starved before they were loaded onto the freighter and the food processors simply couldn't keep up with the demand for food.  I haven’t seen so many cases of bad nutrition and genetic problems since I was working on one of the intake asteroids, just after I qualified as a doctor and we were getting yet another flood of refugees from Earth.  I’d be surprised if some of the children don’t wind up dead within the next couple of weeks anyway, no matter what we do.”

Hoshiko winced.  “Is there nothing we can do for them?”

“I’ve put the worst cases in stasis, but I’ve already run out of stasis pods,” Shari said.  “They really need extensive nanotech-treatment, Captain.  I can work on them one by one, once we have the rest of the refugees under control ...”

She shook her head.  “They really need better facilities,” she admitted.  “We’re not set up to handle so many casualties.  Ideally, we need to keep them in stasis until we get them back to Earth or a fleet base.  The facilities on Martina may not be sufficient for the task.”

“Thanks to the Tokomak,” Hoshiko said, sourly.  Humanity had been able to unlock the full potential of nanotechnology, but the Tokomak had made damn sure that the nanites they supplied to their client races were deliberately limited.  Having made themselves effectively immortal, they’d been determined to make sure that no one else lived so long.  “Can we adapt a local autodoc?”

“Probably not,” Shari said.  “The Tokomak made certain the base codes couldn't be altered without special access permissions.  Trying would merely render the autodoc useless.”

“And we don't have a full-fledged AI on the squadron,” Hoshiko muttered.  It was the one concession to the Tokomak fear of artificial intelligence, although humanity’s homemade AIs hadn't become monsters.  The Tokomak must have had a bad experience with AI somewhere back in the mists of time.  “Cracking the base codes would be beyond us without one.”

“Yes,” Shari said.  “Those limitations are hardwired into the base codes.”

The Tokomak might have had a point, Hoshiko conceded, privately.  Immortality had turned the Tokomak into a stagnant race, unable to advance because of the growing population of oldsters who kept a firm lock on the levers of political power.  Her grandfather, Steve Stuart, had departed the Solar Union because he feared what would happen if he remained as President indefinitely, but there were others who were growing older and older ... and not dying to allow the younger officers a chance to claim the highest positions.  Great-Uncle Mongo was still fleet commander despite being in his second century ...

But we’re expanding, she told herself, firmly.  There will be room for all of us for thousands of years to come.

Great, her own thoughts answered her.  I’m sure the Tokomak thought the same when they cursed themselves with near-immortality.

It was a chilling thought.  The Tokomak Navy was the finest in the universe ... when it came to parades, formation flying and stately advances towards its few targets.  It hadn't been prepared for anything outside its understanding of warfare, let alone how a determined and innovative race could actually produce newer and better weapons.  Could the Solar Navy end up that way, one day?  Humanity had had long periods of stagnation on Earth, after all ...

She pushed the thought aside, angrily.  “Do what you can for them,” she ordered.  By now, her officers would have reviewed the recordings she’d made.  “Have a report on their condition uploaded to the datanet by 1700.”

“Aye, Captain,” Shari said.  She cleared her throat as Hoshiko turned to go.  “Do you expect the locals to play host indefinitely?”

Hoshiko sighed.  The human settlements on Martina had agreed to allow the refugees to land, thankfully, but they’d insisted on being paid in advance.  Hoshiko had paid out of her emergency expenditure fund, yet she knew it wouldn't last indefinitely.  Galactic currency was no longer worth what it had been, two years ago, and human currency was barely recognised outside Sol.  It was just another reason to be confident that life in space was far superior to life on a planet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.  “We may have to arrange transport to Sol.  Or see if they can find homes here.  But as long as they’re safe, for the moment, that’s all that matters.”

“Yes, Captain,” Shari said.

Chapter Four

Heavy fighting broke out on Intake Asteroid Five between two separate groups of refugees with Earther grudges.  Solar Marines moved in, separated the combatants and deported them back to Earth.  Their families seemed relieved to be rid of them.
-Solar News Network, Year 54

If he were forced to be honest, Commander Griffin Wilde would have had to admit that he cordially disliked his commanding officer.  She was young, the granddaughter of the Solar Union’s founder ... and given command of a squadron as a punishment - or a reward - for shooting her mouth off in public.  Griffin, who had seen too many half-trained officers be promoted for being well-connected or ‘diverse’ in the United States Navy, didn't like the idea of such dangerous ideas infecting the Solar Navy.  She wasn't an idiot, he had to admit, but she didn’t always think before she acted.  It would have been better if she’d been broken of such dangerous habits before she reached flag rank.

But it wasn't quite flag rank, Griffin thought, as he stepped into the cabin.  Admiral Stuart had given his grand-niece a ship command as well as squadron command.  Hoshiko should have insisted on a promotion to Commodore, and being assigned the staff she needed to serve as the squadron’s commanding officer, instead of trying to split her time between serving as a starship’s commanding officer and serving as the squadron commander.  Griffin was honestly unsure if Hoshiko, determined to keep command, had insisted on the arrangement or if her great-uncle hadn't been bothered to make a final judgement.  The only thing he could say in her favour was that she hadn't expected him to serve as captain while only drawing a commander’s pay.

“Commander,” Hoshiko said.  She was seated on a sofa, sipping tea from a cup.  “Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Griffin said.  He sat down facing her and rested his hands in his lap as the steward appeared, carrying a mug of coffee.  “The freighter has been completely emptied, for the moment, and we've stripped out the computer cores for analysis.”

“Good,” Hoshiko said, as Griffin took the coffee from the steward.  “Did you decompress the ship?”

“I’d prefer to wait until her crew decides what they want to do with her,” Griffin said.  “The ship really needs to be scrapped, Captain, but they may have other ideas.  And there are probably personal possessions onboard that need to be recovered.”

“Understood,” Hoshiko said.  She wasn’t overruling him on a whim, at least.  “And our crews?”

“Returned to the ship, Captain,” Griffin said.  He frowned, inwardly.  There had been something in the way she’d spoken that worried him.  “The freighter is currently abandoned and depowered, save for a single beacon.”

Hoshiko nodded, slowly.  Griffin studied her, feeling a tangle mixture of impatience and resentment.  She wasn't just young, she looked young, like so many of her peers.  They’d embraced the fantastic potentials of technology while many of the Earth-born had shied away from them.  And they saw no limits in the universe around them.  But there were limits, Griffin knew, and some of those limits were deadly.

A low chime echoed in the room.  “It's time,” Hoshiko said.  “Are you ready?”

Griffin wanted to roll his eyes as the first holographic image popped into view, followed by eight more.  Hoshiko had eight captains under her command, rather than the regulation nine; it wasn't the least of the problems facing the squadron that Griffin, a mere commander, had a vote if it came to a council of war.  Admiral Stuart should really have kicked his niece upwards, into flag rank, and allowed someone else to take command of Jackie Fisher.  It would have made the discussions a little less awkward.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” Hoshiko said.  “Thank you for attending.”

There was a brief pause as the holographic images organised themselves.  Griffin sighed, inwardly; there was a reason most meetings were meant to be face-to-face, rather than via hologram.  The captains could be using holographic masks to conceal their true feelings; hell, they could be completely naked and no one would know, as long as they had the common sense to ensure their images wore a mask.  Hoshiko might be a child of the Solar Union, but even she had good reason to appreciate personal meetings.  She must have a motive to insist on holographic communications for this meeting.

“I trust you have reviewed the data,” Hoshiko continued, after a moment.  “The interview with Captain Ryman, the debriefing of the refugees, the intelligence recovered from the freighter’s databanks ... is there any doubt over what’s happening on Amstar?”

Griffin shook his head.  The evidence was overwhelming.  No one would have expended three warships and an entire freighter, to say nothing of risking a shooting war with the Solar Union, just to set up a trick of some kind.  The idea of one alien race trying to exterminate everyone else ... humans hadn't found it hard to come up with justifications to commit genocide against their fellow humans, why wouldn't an alien race come up with a reason to slaughter billions of different aliens?  God knew there were humans who had advocated, in all seriousness, exterminating the Hordes in response to their crimes against humanity.

“I have very little information on these ... Druavroks,” Captain Hamish Macpherson said, curtly.  “My datafiles are curiously scanty.”

“I have put in a request for more information from Martina,” Hoshiko said.  “But, from what little we know, it seems they now want an empire of their own, instead of holding up someone else’s empire.  Taking Amstar makes sense from an economic point of view, but outright genocide ...”

Her voice grew very cold.  “I intend to take this squadron to Amstar and put a stop to it,” she added.  “It is our duty.”

There was a long pause.  Griffin felt his blood run cold.  He understood the impulse, he understood how far their standing orders stretched, but it could be a terrible mistake.  The Solar Union had no treaty with anyone on Amstar, nor was it directly threatened by the Druavroks.  It was hard to escape the feeling that they were about to commit a direct violation of their orders.

He cursed Admiral Stuart under his breath.  As a captain, it was his right and duty to argue with his commanding officer, if he believed it necessary, even in front of other captains.  But as a commander, he couldn't argue in front of the senior officers.  He was supposed to present a united front with his captain, even as he disagreed with his commodore.  There wasn’t anything in regulations for a semi-permanent arrangement where the captain and the commodore happened to be the same person.

“Captain,” Captain Joanne Mathewson said, finally.  “Is this actually wise?”

“There are times when wisdom will not serve,” Hoshiko said.  “Our orders say, basically, that we are to protect human settlements throughout the sector - and, in more general terms, throughout the galaxy.  Humans are being threatened with extermination by the Druavroks, along with countless members of over twenty other races.  It is our duty to respond, to save them from certain death.  It’s the right thing to do.”

And you weren't interested in intervening to prevent the fighting on Earth, Griffin thought, coldly.  He didn't actually disagree with Hoshiko’s stance - Earth was reaping what it had sown over decades of mismanagement - but she lacked even basic comprehension of how everyone else felt about the affair.  What makes this different?

“There's another issue,” Hoshiko said.  “We have orders to find allies, to meet strange new races and make friends.”

“And boldly go where lots of people have gone before,” Captain Abdul Hassam said, deadpan.

“Yes, but they live here,” Macpherson said.  “They don't count.”

Hoshiko ignored the byplay.  “The point is this,” she said.  “Humanity is not the only race under threat.  If we intervene to save members of other races, we may win new allies.”

“And start a war with the Druavroks,” Griffin pointed out.  “Captain, with all due respect, we don’t know the slightest thing about what we’re getting into.”

“We know they’re murderous bastards,” Hoshiko said.  If she was angry at his comment, and she had every reason to be, she hid it well.  “They’re killing humans, Commander.”

“We have no idea how many starships they have,” Griffin said.  “They may - they may - back off when they realise the humans in this sector have powerful protectors, but it is far more likely they will see our actions as a declaration of war.  We are six months from Sol, Captain.  There is no hope of receiving reinforcements in less than a year - and that assumes Admiral Stuart sends them when Sol needs protection itself.”

“They’ve already declared war on us,” Hoshiko pointed out.  “Slaughtering humans cannot be allowed, Commander.”

“Perhaps we should ask for orders from Earth,” Captain Patrick Faison said.  “Our standing orders call for the defence of humans, Commodore, but also to avoid conflict with powerful alien races.”

“It will take a year to send a message to Earth and receive a reply,” Hoshiko said.  She sounded angry for the first time.  Griffin didn't really blame her.  “By then, Amstar will be a graveyard and the bastards will have moved on to a new target - Martina, perhaps.  We have to act now, while the humans on Amstar still have a chance.”

She tapped the table.  “Our standing orders are to protect humans, make friends and spread the reputation of the Solar Union,” she added.  “Going to Amstar and preventing genocide will accomplish all three.  It isn't as if most races will go to the wall for another race.”

Griffin nodded, conceding the point.  The Tokomak had never tried to foster any sort of pan-species unity, perhaps suspecting that - once unified - their subject races would turn on them and demand change.  Indeed, there were few races in the galaxy that would cross the road to piss on another race, if he happened to be on fire.  They’d be far more likely to view the whole affair as a kind of spectator sport, rather than something that involved them.  But humanity ... if humanity made a stand against genocide, who knew where it would lead?

“It is unlikely the Druavroks have technology to match ours,” Hoshiko continued.  “They were probably not encouraged to innovate, any more than the Varner were.  Their technology is almost certainly second-line Tokomak gear, rather than anything new.”

“But they will have a lot of it,” Griffin pointed out.  “Our supply line is a shoestring, Captain, if that.  Our supply of missiles is very limited and we have no Hammerhead Missiles.  We could kill one of their ships with every missile we fire and still lose the war.”

“I admit there are risks involved, Commander,” Hoshiko said, curtly.  “There are always risks involved.  Standing up to the Tokomak was a risk.  They had - and still have - hundreds of thousands of starships.  But if we allow the prospect of risk to blind us, we will have no hope of doing anything beyond sitting in orbit until we are attacked again.  This is a chance to take a stand against genocide and, by doing so, win friends and influence opinions.”

She paused.  “The decision is mine,” she added.  “The squadron will depart Martina in two hours, which should be long enough to prepare the base for independent operations.  If any of you want to file an objection, please inform me and it will be noted in my log.”

Griffin kept his face impassive with an effort.  Technically, he could challenge her, call for a full council of war and a vote, but he knew he might well lose.  And losing a challenge would mean court-martial when he returned home, with the verdict a foregone conclusion.  No board composed of commanding officers would countenance a challenge with so little evidence against its target.

“I have reservations,” Captain Faison said.  “But we cannot with honour allow genocide to proceed unhindered.”

The hell of it, Griffin knew, was that Faison had a point.  Griffin was old enough to recall hundreds of small genocides carried out on Earth, each one watched by outside powers with overwhelming firepower and no will to intervene.  By the time something was done - if it was - the genocide was nearly completed and hundreds of thousands of people were dead.  And yet, the only problem had been lack of political will.  Stopping the Holocaust had required a full-scale war against Nazi Germany and it had been too late to save millions of victims.  The Nazis would have ignored a string of protests from the outside world as they completed their grisly task.

But we don’t know what we’re going to encounter at Amstar, he thought.  The Solar Union had stopped a Tokomak fleet dead in its tracks, but who knew how powerful the Druavroks actually were?  Hoshiko might be right - they might not have been able to improve upon Tokomak technology - yet there was no way they could take that for granted.  This might be the first shot in a whole new war.

“Good,” Hoshiko said.  “Prepare your ships for departure.  If your crews have messages they wish to send, have them uploaded to the base before we leave.  I’ll be sending a standard report to Sol informing them of our discoveries and my intentions.”

And they won’t be able to tell you to stop, Griffin thought.  The year it would take for any message to reach you would be more than long enough for you to start a war.

“Dismissed,” Hoshiko said.

The holographic images vanished.  Griffin wondered, inwardly, just how many of the commanding officers agreed they had to intervene, but there was no way to know.  Hoshiko was right, after all; regulations insisted that they had to do everything in their power to protect human lives, even humans who weren't Solarians.  And besides, it was possible they’d make a few friends and allies at Amstar.

“You don’t approve,” Hoshiko said, flatly.

“No, I don’t,” Griffin agreed.  “Captain, there are too many unpredictable elements here.”

“That’s always true,” Hoshiko said.

“Yes, it is,” Griffin said.  “The problem here, however, is a matter of practicality.  Do we have enough firepower to compel the Druavroks to abandon Amstar?  If so, are they going to take the defeat lying down or will they launch a counterattack?  And if they do, can we stop it?”

“They’re hardly going to dispatch a full-sized fleet to Sol,” Hoshiko pointed out.  “It would be a blunder on the same level as dispatching a fleet and army to Sicily in the middle of the Peloponnesian War.  Their rivals will be delighted.”

“If they have rivals,” Griffin reminded her.  “Our intelligence concerning changes in this sector is sadly lacking.”

“Then it's high time we learned,” Hoshiko said.

Griffin took a breath.  “There's another issue, Captain,” he warned.  “One that you have to consider carefully.”

Hoshiko lifted a single eyebrow.

“We have an ... emotional revulsion at the thought of genocide,” Griffin said.  “The idea of committing mass slaughter of helpless innocents is bad enough, but exterminating every last member of a given race, or an ethnic group, is repulsive to us.  And that’s how it should be.

“But such emotions can also blind us to the practicalities,” he added, when she said nothing.  “We are one squadron of ships, Captain; nine heavy cruisers and a handful of support vessels, facing an alien empire of unknown power.  We may be about to bite off more than we can chew.  I understand the impulse to stop the genocide, but we also have to be aware of the dangers.  The Druavroks may not even be capable of understanding that genocide is wrong.  We could wind up going to war to impose our own view of the universe on them.”

“One shared by the Tokomak,” Hoshiko pointed out.  “They banned indiscriminate planetary strikes on pain of death and destruction.”

“But clearly not by the Druavroks,” Griffin countered.  “And the Tokomak are no longer around to enforce the rules.”

“I understand the risks,” Hoshiko said, after a moment.  She sounded almost pensive as she studied the remains of her tea.  “But they have to be faced.”

She cleared her throat.  “I want Captain Ryman and his crew to remain onboard, for the moment,” she added.  “Speaker To Seafood is to be turned over to the base - they can look after her until we return to Martina.  It's a five-day flight to Amstar at best possible speed, so Captain Ryman should be able to assist us by the time we arrive.”

“Aye, Captain,” Griffin said.

“I’ll record a message for Fleet Command now,” Hoshiko said, as she finished her tea and placed the cup on the table.  “If you wish to record a message of your own ...”

Griffin shook his head.  He did have his doubts, but there was no point in airing them to Fleet Command.  By the time they decided what - if anything - to do, the situation would have already moved on.  Hoshiko’s orders were so vague, at least in part, because there was no way she could call home and ask for clarification.  Her great-uncle had given her, quite literally, the power to bind and loose.  She could form an alliance with alien powers if she wished without ever overstepping the bounds of her authority.

“That won’t be necessary, Captain,” he said.  He finished his own coffee and rose.  “With your permission, I’ll see to the freighter and her crew.”

“Thank you,” Hoshiko said.  She gave him a smile.  “And thank you for your honest opinions too.”

But you’re not going to listen to them, Griffin thought.  Hoshiko was the CO, after all.  The buck stopped with her.  I tried.

He left the cabin and headed down to his office.  There was work to do.  

Chapter Five

Heavy fighting spread across Bavaria for the first time in three months, following the effective collapse of the German Government.  The Bavarian Government has declared its intentions to preserve a little of Germany and its willingness to accept refugees of Germanic descent only.  Non-Germans are warned that they will be shot out of hand if they attempt to cross the border.
-Solar News Network, Year 54

“It’s hard to imagine,” Max Kratzok commented, “that there are other ships out there.”

Hoshiko nodded as she entered the observation blister and stepped up beside him.  There was literally nothing to see in FTL; nothing, save for an endless darkness that had been known to drive grown men into panic attacks.  It scared Earthers, who expected to see stars streaking past, but the Solarians saw nothing to fear.  They grew up surrounded by the endless darkness of interplanetary space, after all.  She peered into the darkness for a long moment, then turned to look at him.  The reporter was young, his brown hair cut close to his scalp and his features sculpted into a reassuring handsomeness that was too bland to be natural.  She couldn't help thinking that he hadn't - yet - learned the value of individuality.  But then, putting people at their ease so they would talk to him was part of his job.

“They’re wrapped in their own bubbles of compressed space-time,” Hoshiko said, as she sat down on the loveseat.  Traditionally, couples could use the observation blister for making out - assuming, of course, that they weren't on duty.  “They can't see us any more than we can see them, but they’re out there.”

“FTL sensors can pick them up, I assume,” Kratzok said.  “There’s no risk of an accidental collision?”

“The squadron is spread out,” Hoshiko confirmed.  “Even if we were flying in formation, Max, the odds of an accidental collision would be very low.  It takes deliberate malice to ram one starship into another at FTL speeds.”

Kratzok shrugged.  “I spoke to John Ryman,” he said, as he turned to look at her, leaning against the transparent bulkhead.  “The picture he painted wasn't pretty.”

“No,” Hoshiko agreed.  Captain Ryman’s son had been in line for a command of his own, before he’d landed on Amstar.  Now ... he was badly shaken by his sister’s rape, their narrow escape and the deaths of his friends.  “It wasn't pretty.”

“And we’re heading to Amstar to intervene,” Kratzok added.  “Is that a good idea?”

Hoshiko gave him a long look.  “On or off the record?”

“Whatever you want,” Kratzok said.  “I assume you’re recording the conversation yourself.”

“I am,” Hoshiko confirmed.

She smiled, rather tightly.  One advantage of implants that few Earthers realised was that everything could be recorded.  If Kratzok decided to publish a version of their conversation that was at odds with reality, she could upload her own version to the datanet and demand compensation for being misquoted.  Her grandfather had loathed reporters - or, at least, he’d loathed their editors - and he’d insisted on writing strong laws prohibiting the kind of bullshit, as he’d put it in his Commentary, that had brought the American media establishment to its knees.  Not that she’d need the recordings, if push came to shove; she could merely object to the quote and force them to prove she’d said what they claimed she’d said.  And if they couldn't, she could collect some pretty heavy compensation.  Most media outlets in the Solar Union knew better than to take the risk.

“Call it off the record, for the moment,” she said, carefully.  “I may change my mind later.”

Kratzok nodded in understanding.  “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

Hoshiko took a moment to think before answering the question.  It galled her, although she would never have admitted it, that she had no idea why Kratzok had requested the assignment to the Jackie Fisher.  The Solar Union Navy had no problems with embedded reporters, as long as they respected the limits, but her squadron had been dispatched so far from Sol that Kratzok’s reports wouldn't reach home for months.  She had wondered, absently, if he’d managed to get into trouble with his superiors too, yet there had been nothing in his file suggesting that he was anything other than a roving reporter in good standing.

And yet all of his followers will be discomforted by the lack of updates, she thought.  Like most roving reporters, Kratzok had a private following of hundreds of thousands of people who read his reports.  They wouldn't be his exclusive fans, of course, and he had to work hard to keep their interest.  He may lose them all before he gets home to start putting out new copy.

“I think we don’t have a choice,” she said.  She’d spoken briefly to the crew, once they’d departed Martina, giving the same rationale she’d given her captains.  Their standing orders called for them to protect humans and win allies and intervening in an ongoing genocide would serve as a way to do both.  “Someone has to do something.”

Kratzok met her eyes.  “Why us?”

“We’re the ones on the spot,” Hoshiko said, simply.

She smiled to herself as she remembered one of her few meetings with her legendary grandfather, when he’d slipped back into the Sol System as a private trader.  He’d been full of stories about men who’d passed the buck further and further up the chain of command instead of taking action for themselves, which ensured that the situation constantly worsened  and that the superiors themselves had to demand orders from their superiors.  Hoshiko had no idea why anyone would fight in a shit-tip like Afghanistan when the solar system was ready for the taking, but the principle was the same.  Nipping a problem in the bud tended to be cheaper, in the long run, than allowing it to fester.

But then, her grandfather had been used to a world where he could call Washington and expect an answer within minutes.  She lived in a universe where it could take hours to get a signal from one end of the solar system to the other, days to get a courier boat from Sol to the nearest inhabited star ... and six months for a one-way trip from Sol to Martina.  The vast authority she’d been given - she’d gone over her orders very carefully when she’d first been assigned to Jackie Fisher - was necessary.  It was unlikely that any problem would agree to wait for a year while she sent a request for orders to Sol and waited for a reply.

If, of course, I don’t get summarily dismissed for gross incompetence and stupidity, she thought, ruefully.  They wouldn't have sent me out here if they didn't have faith in my ability to use my own judgement.

“So we are,” Kratzok agreed.

Hoshiko shrugged.  “There’s no one else in the sector I can ask for orders, or even for advice,” she said.  “I am ambassador-at-large as well as commander of the squadron and this ship.  The buck stops with me and I say yes, we have to put a stop to attempted genocide.  I hope you’ll explain that to the folks back home.”

“They may not care about events so far from Sol,” Kratzok pointed out.  “Earth’s collapse is absorbing most of their attention.”

“Idiots,” Hoshiko muttered.

She shook her head in disbelief.  A vast universe just waiting for humanity, enough space for every living human and the Solar Union was worried about affairs on a planet crammed with people too stupid to take advantage of the chance to leave.  It wasn't as if emigrating to the Solar Union was difficult, not when there was no shortage of receiving stations scattered around the globe.  And if the local governments tried to stop their people from fleeing, the Solar Navy could hand out a beating in an afternoon that would make them think twice.  No, the only thing stopping the locals from leaving was their own stupidity.

But then, in the Solar Union, you are expected to work and follow the rules, she reminded herself.  It isn't as if they’re hard rules to follow too.

It was hard, very hard, to believe that Earth was anything other than a cesspit.  She’d been told that there were places on Earth where women were little better than slaves, places where great mobs of ill-trained idiots only survived because the government fed them, where criminals pleaded mental disorders and were let free, places where being the wrong colour, or the wrong religion, or the wrong ... well, anything ... could lead to certain death.  Hoshiko found it hard to wrap her head around the concept of women being automatically inferior, let alone any of the other issues.  Surely, such a world would have collapsed into anarchy a long time ago.  Her teachers had to have been exaggerating ...

... And yet, if they weren't, why weren't far more people fleeing into space?

“Many of them have ties to Earth,” Kratzok pointed out.  “And even if they didn't, Earth represents a pool of untapped manpower.”

“Which could move to the Solar Union at any point,” Hoshiko noted.  Her grandfather had talked about self-selection, about how the best immigrants were the ones who were prepared to move and put in the hard work to earn money and blend in.  “And problems on Earth don’t concern us.”

Kratzok gave her a droll look.  “And problems on Amstar do?”

“Touché,” Hoshiko conceded.  “The difference, though, is that humans are not trying to slaughter other humans, but being slaughtered themselves by another race.  We are the protectors of humanity against outside threats.”

“And internal threats can go hang?”

“If an alien force attacked Earth for the third time, I would die in its defence,” Hoshiko said, dryly.  She had been at the Battle of Earth, after all.  “But there’s a limit to how much we can do to save Earth from itself.”

She looked past him, out into the darkness.  “We made a very deliberate decision to cut our ties with the past,” she added, slowly.  “To step away from Earth and its corrupt and inefficient governments, its hang-ups about proper behaviour and the right way to live.  I see no point in looking back.  If they want to wallow in squalor, let them.”

“Some people would say that was cruel,” Kratzok noted.

“And what,” Hoshiko asked, “would they have us do?

“We offer to take anyone who’s willing to work; hell, we even make sure that local governments can't keep people from leaving.  It isn't as if the Earthers don’t have access to the datanet.  Beyond that, what are we supposed to do?  Send in the troops, crush the local governments and rule the planet ourselves?  We’d have to create a police state infinitively nastier than anything that ever existed in human history just to root out the irredeemable bastards and condemn them to permanent imprisonment.  And what would creating such a state do to us?”

Hoshiko shuddered at the thought.  Her grandfather had been a great man, but his Commentary had talked, with a certain amount of fear, of the prospects for abusing Galactic Tech.  It was possible to strip privacy away completely, to monitor an entire population 24/7 ... and, with AIs to do the monitoring, escape would be completely impossible.  Hoshiko had grown up without many of the taboos that were taken for granted on Earth, but even she disliked the thought of being under constant observation.  And who knew what having so much access would do to the watchers?

Maybe that’s why so many religious people become fanatics, she thought, grimly.  They believe that they are being watched every hour of every day from birth until death.

And constant inescapable surveillance was only scratching the surface.  She had no fear of having implants installed in her brain, yet a redesigned implant would be enough to steal her independence and turn her into a drone.  A Borg.  Even the worst of criminals weren’t fitted with control implants, no matter what they’d done.  Stealing someone’s independence of mind was a taboo so strong that the merest hint of it was enough to start a full police investigation.   And if someone was discovered to be hacking implants or controlling unwilling victims, the Solar Union would never be satisfied with mere death.  Their revulsion would be so strong that the usual prohibitions against cruel and unusual punishment would be forgotten.

Kratzok cleared his throat.  “A debate for another time, perhaps,” he said.  “What do you intend to do when we reach Amstar?”

“Warn the Druavroks off, if I can,” Hoshiko said.  “If they won’t leave, I’ll have to engage them before they can turn their weapons on the planet itself.”

“And once you hold the high orbitals?”

“Try to impose a peace on the planet,” Hoshiko said.  “There are human and alien factions on the surface who will support us, I think.  The trick will be preventing them from committing genocide themselves, against the Druavroks.  Revenge is a very powerful human motivator.”

Kratzok leaned forward.  “And then?”

“I don’t have any solid long-term plans,” Hoshiko admitted.  “Our information on the sector is very lacking, Max.  If we’re lucky, we can put together an alliance of other races and ... convince ... the bad guys to stand down.  If not, we may have to make up a new plan on the fly.”

“I’d like to go down to the surface, if I can,” Kratzok said.  “A full set of sensory recordings will be needed, Captain.  They’ll do better than a thousand pictures at explaining the current situation.”

“Assuming the situation is not resolved, one way or the other, before the recordings reach the Solar Union,” Hoshiko said.  She’d never cared for full sensory recordings herself - it was a little like living through someone else, rather than living her own life - but she understood their value.  Everyone who accessed the sensory recordings would be assaulted by everything the reporter saw, not just the sights and sounds.  It was almost as good as actually being there, she’d been told, but she had her doubts.  “There’s no way to speed up the signal, I’m afraid.”

“No,” Kratzok agreed.  “There should be some interesting stories to tell, Captain.”

Hoshiko looked at him.  “Why are you here?  I mean ... why are you on the squadron?”

“There aren't many true scoops these days,” Kratzok said.  “The reporter who breaks a piece of news, Captain, is often overshadowed by other roving reporters or armchair analysts who are happy to elaborate on The Meaning Of It All.  Getting the sort of fame I want isn't going to happen in the Solar Union.  There are just too many competitors.”

He sighed.  “And then there's the rush to get your recordings and articles online before someone beats you to the punch,” he added, “and then you make a tiny little mistake and your career is blown out of the water.  Being here, Captain, limits the competition’s ability to put out their own stories.”

“Except you didn’t know something was going to happen,” Hoshiko pointed out.

“I was losing readers,” Kratzok said.  “A couple of my rivals had lucky scoops, a couple of others ...”

His voice trailed away.  Hoshiko understood.  Being a reporter - or an artist - in the Solar Union meant an endless battle to stay in the public eye.  Losing subscribers to his mailing lists, online sites and suchlike indicated that a reporter was slowly sinking into obscurity - and, once the downward slide began, it was very hard to stop.  Gambling that something would happen he could use to rebuild his career had been his only reasonable option.

She smiled.  Being the sole reporter in the Martina Sector would give Kratzok a lock on all articles and recordings, at least until another reporter arrived.  And none of his rivals would know there was anything that needed covering for at least six months, giving Kratzok an edge they’d find hard to beat.  Kratzok would have ample time to make all the contacts he needed before anyone else arrived.

“You’ll have plenty of exclusives here,” she said, thinking hard.  “I may even be willing to offer you an interview with myself.”

Kratzok blinked.  “You would?”

Hoshiko smiled at his confusion.  She’d declined his first interview request, when he’d first arrived on station, and rarely spoken to him until the refugees had arrived.  And ambushing someone to demand an interview, even a serving government officer, was the kind of conduct that could get a reporter slapped with a heavy fine or a restraining order.  But now, he could help her as much as she could help him.  The Solar Union would find it harder to condemn her if public opinion supported her actions.

Because my orders are a little vague, she thought.  If they feel I overstepped myself, they can find grounds to condemn me.

“All I ask is that you explain why we’re doing what we’re doing as well as what we’re doing,” she said.  He’d understand the unspoken part of the offer.  You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.  He'd know what she was asking him to do, but it worked in his favour as well as her own.  “The public needs to know the truth.”

“Of course, Captain,” Kratzok said.  He gave her a long considering look.  “When can we hold the interview?”

“After we reach Amstar,” Hoshiko said.  “I have too much work to do to sit down with you before then.  But you can watch from the bridge as we enter the system.”

“I look forward to it,” Kratzok said.  He paused.  “They’ll see us coming, won’t they?”

“Yes,” Hoshiko said.  It wasn't easy to fool gravimetric sensors.  The Druavroks would see her squadron as it lanced towards the system.  She’d thought about having her warships towed by freighters, but there hadn't been time to organise it.  “But we’ll do our best to keep them guessing.”

Chapter Six

The Swiss Government declared a state of emergency after armed militia bands tried to cross the border into Switzerland from Austria.  Martial law has been declared.  Members of radical Islamic groups have been rounded up and marked for deportation.
-Solar News Network, Year 54

“This,” Thomas muttered, “is incredibly frustrating.”

He wasn't sure if the XO had assigned him to the task because he wanted a fresh pair of eyes or he merely wanted to give a young and inexperienced ensign a task that would keep him busy for several days, but either way he hadn't been able to pull anything useful out of the datafiles they’d obtained from Martina.  Either there wasn't much on the Druavroks, which struck him as unlikely, or the local settlers had deliberately decided to withhold information the squadron could actually use.  Their homeworld was clearly identified, their history as yet another race of bully-boys was discussed, but there was very little else.  There was certainly nothing that might suggest why they’d suddenly decided to declare war on the rest of the known universe.

Or maybe it’s just the bastards on Amstar, he thought, as he flipped through the remaining files.  The rest of the Druavroks might have no intention of fighting a war.

He puzzled over the thought for a long moment.  The Tokomak had spread millions of settlements of every known race right across the galaxy, mixing hundreds of races together in melting pots that hadn't been anything like as effective as the Solar Union.  He’d been told at the Academy that they’d probably hoped to play divide and rule.  They’d certainly not bothered to do more than the bare minimum to ensure that everyone got along.  Given that some races rubbed others the wrong way, fighting and ethnic cleansing on a galactic scale was perhaps inevitable.  

But we took in aliens and invited them to live with us as equals, he added, silently.  The Tokomak had far greater resources.  Why couldn't they do the same?

The Academy had had some pretty sharp things to say about the Tokomak, he recalled.  They were the masters of the known universe - had been the masters of the known universe - but they’d been sluggish, slow to move and unwilling to recognise that other races moved at a faster pace.  Maybe it had been so obvious to them that races should work together that they hadn't realised that other races might disagree.  Or, perhaps, they’d hoped there would be war as a way to stay on top.  They’d certainly played favourites among their subject races.

He sighed and turned his attention to the holographic display showing the local sector, including five hundred settled systems and nineteen homeworlds.  The Druavroks came from the far side of the sector, he noted; Amstar was in the rough centre, surrounded by a number of other multiracial worlds.  There was surprisingly little data on all of the worlds, save for charts showing gravity points and pre-war trade routes.  God alone knew what half of them looked like now.  The squadron had collected a great deal of intelligence, but most of it was contradictory.  It was impossible to tell what might be waiting for them at Amstar.

The hatch opened.  He turned and straightened in his seat as the Senior Chief entered, then rose.  Technically, as a commissioned officer, he was Siskin’s superior, but only a complete idiot of an ensign would take that for granted.  The Senior Chief, like the XO, dated back all the way to the pre-Contact wet navy.  He had more practical experience than all of Thomas’s graduating class put together.

“Ensign,” Siskin said.

“Chief,” Thomas said.  He hesitated, unsure if he should ask for help or not, then took the plunge.  “I can't draw anything else useful from these files.”

Siskin gave him a considering look.  “You can't get into them or there’s nothing important in them?”

“There's very little important in them,” Thomas said.  “I thought the Tokomak had a fetish for recording everything.”

“They do,” Siskin said.  “Natural bureaucrats, the lot of them.  Everything must be signed and dated in triplicate before they’ll get off their butts and do something.  But that doesn't mean they’ll share everything they know with the peons.  Can't have the peons knowing too much about how the universe works, can we?”

“No, sir,” Thomas said.

“Wrong answer,” Siskin said.  He smiled, rather dryly.  “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong place.”

“I don’t know where to look,” Thomas confessed.  He rubbed his eyes, tiredly.  “I’m not even sure why the XO gave me this job.”

“To see what you did with it,” Siskin said.  “If you needed to know something, Ensign, how would you find it out?”

Thomas frowned.  “Look it up online,” he said.  “The naval database has lots of data.”

“So it does,” Siskin agreed.  “And what would you do if the database doesn’t include information you need?  Like, perhaps, how to slot a missile launcher into a modified casing?”

“Oh,” Thomas said, remembering.  It had been one of the tests for young officers, back when he’d boarded the ship and he had a feeling he’d failed it, although no one had given him a definite answer.  There had been nothing in the files, but when he’d asked the Senior Chief in despair he’d been told that the launcher needed to be adjusted manually when it was halfway into the casing.  “I’d ask someone with more experience.”

He looked down at the deck for a long moment.  “But who on this ship has ... oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Siskin said.  “Why don't you ask Captain Ryman?”

Thomas looked back at the files on his screen.  “I thought I was meant to find out what the files said ...”

“You were told to learn what you can about the Druavroks,” Siskin corrected.  “Did the XO specifically tell you not to ask Captain Ryman or his crew?  They have something no one else on the ship has, Ensign: direct personal contact with our potential enemies.  You should ask them before we reach Amstar.”

Thomas glanced at the wall-mounted display.  They’d spent four days in transit, with three more to go before they arrived at their destination.  He’d hoped he’d find something useful in the files, something that would make the XO notice him as more than just another wet behind the ears ensign, but nothing had appeared.  Indeed, the ship’s intelligence staff had probably already come to the same conclusion.

“I’ll ask the doctor if I can speak to Captain Ryman,” he said.  “Thank you, chief.”

“Make sure you don't waste the opportunity,” the chief warned.  “You won’t get a second one, I suspect.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  He hastily activated his implants, uploading the request to the doctor’s office, then looked back at the Senior Chief.  “Can I ask a question?”

“You can ask any question you like,” the Senior Chief said.  “Just remember that such questions are always a learning experience.”

Thomas paused, trying to organise his thoughts.  “The intelligence staff must have already gone through the files - and interrogated Captain Ryman,” he said.  A message popped up in front of his eyes, informing him that the doctor had cleared his visit to the freighter captain, provided he was quick.  “Why ask me to do it too?”

“I could give you two possible answers,” the Senior Chief said.  “First, having a number of different eyes on a problem makes it more likely that a solution will be found.  The intelligence staff are good at their work, but they’re not always good at understanding the real universe.  Second, the XO gave you the task to see what you would do with it.  Sure, you could have spent the next three days trying to get actionable intelligence out of some very thin files ... instead, you thought outside the box and found a new angle of approach.”

“After you helped me,” Thomas said, slowly.  He shook his head morosely.  “I should have thought of it for myself.”

“It isn't a crime to want to ask for help,” the Senior Chief said.  “And it isn't against regulations to ask for information one of your comrades or subordinates possesses.  You never know just how much your comrades know until you ask them.”

He shrugged.  “But it is a crime to hit a dead end and then continue to pick through the intelligence, rather than admitting that there’s nothing to find,” he added.  “That caused no end of problems with intelligence officers, back in the day.”

Thomas looked up at him.  “Can I ask a question?  I’ve looked at your file - the sections that were open to me, at least.  Why did you never switch to command track?  They’d have fast-tracked you through the Academy and made you a lieutenant as soon as you graduated.”

Siskin considered it for a moment.  “I’ve been a chief on a dozen vessels,” he said, slowly.  “I was a chief on the Enterprise, the aircraft carrier, long before I joined the Solar Navy and left Earth behind.  I grew to enjoy supervising crewmen and mentoring promising young officers, but it wasn't a task I could do properly back when I was younger.  Too much political interference.  Here ... I can do it properly and enjoy passing my wisdom on to older officers smart enough to listen.”

“I see, I think,” Thomas said.  “Why would anyone interfere, politically?”

“You’re not a senior officer,” Siskin said, “but you are someone who could grow into one, someone who could influence the future direction of the navy.  People who think about anything other than the long-term good of the navy try to influence selections and promotions in the hope of appeasing a political agenda.  And the fact you don’t understand what I’m talking about shows just how far the Solar Union has come.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said, privately resolving to look it up in the history files.  “Are you going to accompany me to see Captain Ryman?”

The Senior Chief gave him a look.  “Do you need your hand held?”

“No, sir,” Thomas said, quickly.  “I’ll record the meeting for later analysis.”

He nodded to Siskin, then headed out of the hatch and down towards sickbay.  A note popped up in his implants, ordering him to report to the XO at 1900; he placed a reminder in his calendar and then swore, inwardly, as he realised he’d be going on duty directly after his interview with the XO.  Unless the XO had decided to tell him that there had been a terrible mistake and his assignment to Jackie Fisher had been revoked.  He’d sometimes wondered, when he’d been feeling terribly inadequate, if he truly deserved his rank.

Doctor Carr met him at the hatch, her stern gaze making him feel around ten centimetres tall as he came to a halt and saluted.  She wasn’t in the line of command, technically, but only a fool would treat the ship’s doctor lightly.  Thomas wasn't the only ensign who was scared of a woman who could relieve the captain of duty, let alone a junior officer on his first deployment.  And being relieved would look very bad on his service record.

“Ensign,” she said.  “Captain Ryman is currently awake and reasonably healthy, but if he gets tired or agitated I want you to stop the interview at once.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, doctor,” Thomas said.  The next question popped out before he could stop himself.  “I thought he would have implants to compensate ...”

“He’s pushed them to the limit,” the doctor said, cutting him off.  “Implants can give your system a boost, ensign, but they can't compensate for everything.  He really needs a long period of rest and relaxation, so don’t push him too hard.”

She stepped back and pointed to a hatch.  “He’s in there,” she said.  “He said he would talk to you, so ... good luck.”

Thomas swallowed as he walked up to the hatch and pushed the buzzer, unsure if he should just walk in or not.  Back home, entering a person’s private apartment without their permission was a gross breech of etiquette, but in sickbay?  The doctor could walk in and out at will, he was sure ... the hatch hissed open, cutting off that train of thought.  Bracing himself, Thomas stepped into the private compartment.  Captain Ryman was sitting on his bed, reading a datapad.  He looked up and smiled, then nodded to the hatch.  It hissed closed behind Thomas.

“The doctor said you wanted to ask me a few questions, young man,” Captain Ryman said, as Thomas saluted.  He certainly sounded better than he had on the bridge of his ship.  “I am at your disposal.”

“Thank you, sir,” Thomas said.  He pulled up a chair and sat down.  “I’ve been asked to gather as much information as I can about the Druavroks before we meet them in battle, Captain.  There’s frustratingly little in the files.”

“I had that problem too,” Captain Ryman said.

“But you’ve met them,” Thomas said, feeling a flicker of panic.  What if the whole interview turned out to be a waste of time?  The XO would have a few sharp things to say about it - and more, perhaps, if Captain Stuart found out.  “You must know something about them!”

“I do,” Captain Ryman said.  He leaned backwards, as if the subject was somehow distasteful.  “I just didn't learn about them in the files.”

He paused.  “I don’t suppose you managed to smuggle a box of cigarettes in here?”

“I’m afraid not,” Thomas said, wondering if he were being teased.  He had to consult his implants to find out what cigarettes were, leaving him wondering why people smoked when they could just use electronic brain simulation instead.  “I might be able to find a packet in ship’s stores, if you like.”

“No worries,” Captain Ryman said.  “The Druavroks.”

He leaned forward, resting his hands on his lap.  “I don’t know much about their history, certainly nothing more than you’ll have found in the files,” he said.  “What I do know is that they’re an immensely aggressive race - even-tempered, you might say; mad all the time.  The Druavroks picked the most fights with everyone else on Amstar long before the Tokomak pulled out and abandoned them to their own devices.  Look at a group of Druavroks funny and you’d be fighting for your life seconds later.  They even picked fights with each other when there was no one else to fight.

“I actually saw two of them fight in a mixed-race bar on Amstar,” he added, his face twisting in dismay.  “They just flew at each other, claws out; the peace force had to stun them to get them to stop.  They’re not the sort of people who’ll use the bureaucracy to screw you, to be fair, but they’ll hammer you into the ground if they think you’re not treating them with sufficient respect.  Most folks of all races tended to avoid them as much as possible, or only deal with them over telecommunications lines.  It was safer than perhaps winding up in an autodoc after being beaten half to death.”

He paused.  “And yet, it was rare for them to actually kill someone.”

Thomas frowned.  “Wouldn't killing someone have been a great deal more serious?”

“They were the local enforcers,” Captain Ryman pointed out.  “I dare say they could have gotten away with killing a few of their victims if they wanted.  Most of the deaths they did cause were misjudgements, I believe; they simply didn’t realise how badly they were injuring their enemies.  I wouldn’t have expected them to slip into committing genocide.”

“I see,” Thomas said.  “How do they fight?”

“Hammer and tongs,” Captain Ryman said.  Thomas frowned, puzzled.  “They’ll go all-out to beat you, if they want to fight.  The only way to stop them is to hammer the bastards so hard they back off, dazed.  It isn't easy for an unenhanced human to inflict enough damage to convince them to submit.  And yet, I've never heard of any of them directly defying the Tokomak.  I don’t know how the Tokomak managed to make them surrender.”

He sighed.  “Something has changed with them,” he added.  “Wanting to win at all costs is one thing, but committing genocide is quite another.  Maybe they’ve decided they simply cannot endure the presence of aliens any longer.  I honestly don't know.”

Thomas considered it for a long moment.  “A plague?  Or a meme-attack?”

“A plague could have been countered by an autodoc,” Captain Ryman said.  “A meme-attack ... maybe.  Their internal politics are something of a mystery.  A new religion, perhaps, preaching death to all other races.  There’s no way to know.”

“Do they have a religion?”

“If they do, I don’t know about it,” Captain Ryman said.  “They rarely talk about themselves, at least to outsiders.  The Tokomak may know more, Ensign, but they’re unlikely to respond to a request for information.”

“And their borders are over a year away now,” Thomas added.  “It would be quicker to get answers from Earth.”

“The one thing you have to bear in mind,” Captain Ryman warned, “is that they are a very aggressive race.  Show them a hint of weakness and they’ll attack.  You see this in their trade negotiations too, I’m afraid.  I always found it was easier just to set a price and stick to it, because any haggling is seen as either an admission or a charge of weakness.”

Thomas frowned.  “They don’t realise you’re setting your first demand too high?”

“They don’t understand the concept,” Captain Ryman said.  “To them, you ask for what the items are worth and stick to it.  Dropping your price is an admission you don’t have the nerve to hold it and they’ll jump on you.  And don’t play poker or any other game that requires bluffing with them.  They always end in naked violence.”

“Shit,” Thomas said.  “The XO is not going to be pleased.”

“Of course not,” Captain Ryman said.  “Nor is anyone else who is likely to encounter them.”

Chapter Seven

The Michigan Free State announced the death by firing squad of a number of criminals charged with crimes against the state, including former federal officials, liberals, radical feminists and a handful of former politicians.  It is believed the purge, spearheaded by refugees from federal tyranny, will continue until all remnants of federal authority have been removed.
-Solar News Network, Year 54

It was, Hoshiko had to admit, a common tactical problem - and one that had no satisfactory answer.

The Druavroks, unless they were complete idiots, would be watching for incoming starships and could hardly fail to miss nine heavy cruisers of unknown design.  It was just plausible that the Druavroks would assume the ships were freighters instead of military vessels, but that would rely on a level of incompetence unmatched since the day newly-minted cadets had been given command of a simulated starship to demonstrate just how little they actually knew.  No, they'd see her coming, which limited her options.  Dropping out of FTL on the edge of the system and sneaking in would take far too long, giving them all the time they needed to prepare for her arrival, while coming in too close ran the risk of running straight into an ambush.  

Pity we can’t use realspace sensors in FTL, she thought.  It was possible to track ships moving at FTL speeds, but a starship that dropped out of FTL might as well have vanished somewhere within a vast immensity of space.  There’s no way to know what’s waiting for us until we arrive.

She keyed her console thoughtfully, then glanced at the tactical officer.  “We’ll drop out here,” she said.  Unless the enemy had supernatural powers, they would find it impossible to guess her precise endpoint.  “Communicate my intentions to the rest of the squadron.  I want to hit maximum velocity and drive straight at the planet as soon as we drop out of FTL.”

“Aye, Captain,” Biscoe said.

“Prepare to transmit our warning message as soon as we arrive,” Hoshiko added, “but hold it until I give the order to send.”

Just in case they have a battle squadron we cannot defeat in orbit around Amstar, she thought, sourly.  She doubted it, but she didn't dare take the chance.  If that happened, they would have no choice; they’d have to leave with their tail between their legs.  Uncle Mongo should have given me some goddamned Hammerhead missiles.

She shook her head, reminding herself not to be an entitled Earther brat.  Hammerhead missiles were expensive, even for the Solar Union; she didn't blame Admiral Stuart for not assigning any to her command when they were required to protect Sol.  But they could smash through a Tokomak battleship as though she were made of paper.  One or two Hammerhead missiles might be enough to convince the Druavroks to withdraw without much of a fight.

“Ten minutes to the system line,” the helmsman reported.  “Twelve minutes to emergence point.”

“Red alert,” Hoshiko ordered.  “I say again, sound red alert.  Set condition one throughout the ship.  Bring combat datanet to ready position.”

“Aye, captain,” Biscoe said, as the sirens began to howl.  “Red alert; condition one.  Combat datanet ready and standing by.”

Hoshiko nodded at Wilde, who was watching the live feeds from all over the ship.  The XO hadn't complained once, since they’d departed, but she’d been very aware of his concerns about just what they were about to do.  Nothing either his officers or the intelligence staff had been able to dig up on the Druavroks sounded good.  Hoshiko had the uneasy feeling that nothing, not even the threat of overwhelming force, would be enough to make them submit without a major fight.  It rather made her wonder how the Tokomak had kept them under control.

Maybe they just offered the bastards a string of ready targets, she thought, sardonically.  Let them take their malice out on anyone but the masters of the cosmic all.

She pushed the thought aside as she heard the hatch opening behind her and turned, just in time to see the reporter step into the compartment.  Max Kratzok had requested permission to watch from the bridge, after all; Hoshiko nodded to him, then pointed to one of the chairs at the rear of the compartment.  She half-expected a fuss - reporters had a tendency to be prima donnas at the best of times - but Kratzok sat down at once.  Hoshiko turned back to her display and watched as the seconds slowly ticked down to zero.  If everything went according to plan, the Druavroks would expect them to appear much closer to the planet than the emergence point she’d dictated, yet ...

They’re not gods, she reminded herself.  They knew so little about their enemy, but she was sure of that.  The laws of mathematical averages work as well for us as for them.

“Twenty seconds, captain,” the helmsman said.  He sounded nervous, although Hoshiko knew he’d been a junior officer during the Battle of Earth.  “Realspace drives cycling now.”

“Take us out as planned,” Hoshiko ordered.

She gritted her teeth as the final few seconds counted down.  It was a shame that no one had managed to come up with a genuine long-range FTL communicator - it was hard enough sending messages from one ship to another when they were both in FTL, flying in a loose formation - but at least the enemy wouldn't be able to summon help.  They’d have to send a courier boat to their nearest base ... unless, of course, they already had enough firepower orbiting Amstar to beat off her squadron.  They’d have had to bring it in from another system, though, if Captain Ryman was to be believed.  Amstar hadn't had more fixed defences than it needed to fend off pirates.

“Emergence,” the helmsman snapped.  The ship shook, once, as she plunged out of FTL and lanced towards the planet.  “FTL drives recycling now.”

Hoshiko leaned forward as the display started to sparkle with red and yellow icons.  “Tactical report?”

“Seventeen warships in orbit, nothing larger than a heavy cruiser,” Biscoe reported.  “The manned fortifications are still present, Captain, but they’ve been augmented with a number of automated weapons platforms.  Assuming standard GalTech, we will enter engagement range within five minutes.”

“Stand by all weapons,” Hoshiko said.  “And send the pre-recorded message.”

She sucked in her breath as more icons flashed into existence, little symbols next to them listing known or deduced attributes.  At least the Druavroks didn't seem to have any battlecruisers or heavy cruisers ... unless they’d cloaked the ships.  She doubted anyone would bother, but the Druavroks might have a different view of the matter.  Some alien tactics seemed absurd from humanity’s perspective.  The Tokomak might have crushed the Solar Union if they’d struck at once, rather than waiting for fifty years as humanity made its way into space and started improving on Galactic technology.  But then, given how tiny Earth was on a galactic scale, they’d probably found it hard to imagine that any significant threat could come from a backwater of a backwater.

“Message sent,” Yeller said.  There was a long pause.  “No response.”

“Their starships are altering position,” Biscoe reported.  “They’re forming an attack formation and angling towards us.”

Wilde laughed, harshly.  “I think that’s the answer, Captain.”

“Stand by all weapons,” Hoshiko ordered.  If Captain Ryman was right, the Druavroks wouldn't hesitate to open fire ... which would make it easier to argue, afterwards, that they’d fired first.  But if they didn’t she’d have no choice but to fire the first shot.  “Bring up active sensors and lock weapons onto their hulls.”

“Firing range in two minutes, Captain,” Biscoe reported.  “Enemy formation is sweeping us with active sensors.”

“Deploy decoys,” Hoshiko ordered.  At point-blank range, at least as it applied to starship combat, it was unlikely the decoys would soak up many missiles before the Druavrok sensors burned through the jamming, but it was worth trying.  “Can you identify their flagship?”

“It will probably be the heavy cruiser,” Wilde commented.  “Their commanders won’t see any virtue in using a smaller ship.”

“Firing range in one minute, Captain,” Biscoe reported.  “Enemy fleet is advancing directly towards us.”

“Order all ships to take evasive action if necessary,” Hoshiko ordered.  The Druavroks might just be hoping for a chance to ram an ancient warship into one of her shiny new cruisers, even though the impact would destroy both ships.  They’d come out ahead if even one suicide attacker succeeded.  It wasn't as if she could summon more ships from Sol at the touch of a button.  “Concentrate fire on the heavier ships ...”

“Enemy vessels are opening fire,” Biscoe snapped.  “Missiles look to be standard GalTech, Captain, but there’s a lot of them.”

“Stand by point defence,” Wilde ordered.

“Fire at will,” Hoshiko said, calmly.

Jackie Fisher shuddered as she unleashed a full spread of missiles towards her targets, then opened fire with her phaser banks.  The other ships in the squadron opened fire a second later, their missile warheads automatically forming a tactical net that directed them towards their targets for maximum effect.  If the Druavroks were surprised at the speed of humanity’s missiles, easily a third faster than standard GalTech, she saw no sign of it.  Their point defence started spitting out fire as soon as the missiles came into range.

“Continue firing,” she ordered.  The Druavroks knew how to fight their ships better than the Hordesmen, she noted; they actually understood how to use their point defence.  It didn't look as though they’d invented anything new, but merely understanding their own capabilities made them more dangerous foes than the Horde.  “Concentrate fire on the heavy cruiser.”

“Aye, Captain,” Biscoe said.  The starship rocked violently as the enemy slammed a hail of phaser bolts into her shields.  “They’re getting the range on us too.”

“Switch missiles to sprint mode and keep firing,” Hoshiko ordered, feeling the blood pounding through her veins.  The enemy ships were turning slightly to bring more of their phaser banks to bear, although they were still advancing towards her ships.  One of their destroyers had dropped out of formation and two more had been destroyed outright, yet they kept fighting.  “Ensure they don’t come within ramming range of us.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.

Jackie Fisher twisted as one of the enemy destroyers made a run at her, the helmsman neatly evading the suicidal charge as the tactical officer blew the destroyer apart with a pair of missiles and a spray of phaser fire.  Hoshiko watched through her implants as the enemy heavy cruiser altered course again, only to find itself being hammered by three human starships in unison.  Its shields failed a moment later and a single antimatter missile, slammed into her drive section, blew her into a ball of fire.

“Harrington has taken damage,” Wilde reported, quietly.  “She’s still firing though - and regenerating her shields.”

“Tell Captain Faison to keep his distance from the enemy,” Hoshiko ordered.  The Druavroks were still fighting, damn them, even though there was no hope of victory.  “Prepare a spread of missiles ...”

She broke off as another enemy ship vanished into a glowing fireball.  “Cover Harrington if necessary,” she ordered.  “The Druavroks may regard a crippled ship as a sensible target.”

“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said.

“The automated weapons platforms are coming online,” Biscoe reported, sharply.  “Captain, they’re swinging around to target the planet!”

“Take them out,” Hoshiko ordered, sharply.  What was driving the Druavroks?  Turning starship-grade weapons on Amstar would wipe out their own settlements as well as every other race on the planet.  “Can you raise the manned platforms?”

“No, Captain,” Yeller reported.  “They’re still spitting missiles at us.”

Hoshiko nodded as something slammed into Fisher’s shields.  “Target them too,” she ordered, as the last enemy ship made a suicide run.  It didn't get into ramming range before her phasers burned through its shields and ripped it apart.  “Try to avoid targeting anything else unless it’s shooting at us.”

“Aye, Captain,” Yeller said.  “What about command and control satellites?”

“If they’re helping the Druavroks, take them out,” Hoshiko snapped.  “If you think they’re helping the Druavroks, take them out ...”

She broke off and watched as a spread of missiles obliterated a handful of platforms, one by one.  The platforms were vulnerable - a single burst of phaser fire would be enough to take them out - but there were too many of them to take them all out quickly.  She swore under her breath as a couple of platforms started firing towards the ground, then relaxed slightly as the platforms were blown apart.

“Good thing they don’t have true AI,” Wilde commented.  “They could have targeted us as well as the planet at the same time.”

“They must have bought the cheap versions,” Hoshiko agreed.  “Or drew them straight from the Tokomak.”

It made sense, she thought, although she’d have to check the records to be sure.  The Tokomak hadn't been too keen on the idea of allowing anyone to fire on a planet’s surface and had modified their technology to make it tricky for the platforms to engage both starships and the planet’s surface.  It did make a certain kind of sense, she knew; a single missile with an antimatter warhead, or even with a standard nuke, would do one hell of a lot of damage to the planet’s surface.  And the platforms were designed to defend the planet, rather than keep the population a prisoner.

“No active PDCs,” Biscoe reported.  “I’m picking up a number of military formations on the ground, but nothing that seems capable of posing a threat to anything in orbit.”

Hoshiko nodded and interfaced her mind with the computer datanet once again.  The final manned platform was spitting missiles in all directions, but it was old and outdated, ill-prepared for a full-scale attack.  She had to admit the Druavroks were stubborn; they knew they were going to lose and yet they were still fighting.  Maybe they thought there was no point in trying to surrender.  Wilde had been right.  The other races on Amstar wouldn't hesitate to take a brutal revenge for attempted genocide.

The ship shuddered one final time as the orbital battle came to an end.  Hoshiko checked the live feed from the other eight ships - three had taken minor damage, including Harrington - and then turned her attention to the planet itself.  It was definitely an odd world; it looked, very much, as though the Tokomak had been more interested in producing full-sized megacities, each one several times the size of the largest city on Earth, rather than settling the planet as a whole.  But there were still a large number of military formations on the surface ... and hundreds of scorch marks where alien settlements had once been.

“Target their formations from orbit and take them out,” she ordered.  They weren't too close to non-Druavrok settlements, as far as she could tell.  Besides, she had the feeling that giving the aliens a chance to find human shields would be disastrous.  Collateral damage was normally unavoidable, particularly when KEWs were dropped on targets from high overhead, but it should be kept as low as possible.  “And then try and make contact with the humans on the ground.”

She cursed under her breath as Yeller went to work.  Captain Ryman had supplied them with a whole list of contacts, humans and non-humans who were involved in fighting the Druavroks, but there was no way to know how valid his list was any longer.  It had been two weeks since he’d fled Amstar and the Druavroks were incredibly aggressive.  They might well have obliterated the resistance already.  She worked her way through the analysis from the tactical staff as the ship settled into orbit and allowed herself a sigh of relief.  There were definite signs that the battle was still underway.

“Picking up a response, Captain,” Yeller said.  “They’re demanding Captain Ryman’s codes.”

“Pass them on,” Hoshiko said.  “And then order the marines to be ready to drop.”

She wanted to go down to the planet herself, but she knew that was impossible.  The marines would have to take the lead, accompanied by Captain Ryman - and Max Kratzok, if the reporter still wanted to go.  Judging by the reports, the fighting was growing ever more intense, even as her KEWs wiped the visible formations out of existence.  The Druavroks simply didn't know how to quit.  

And they probably have more weapons than anyone else, she thought, numbly.  Pacifying the planet will take years.

“They’ve sent us landing coordinates,” Yeller reported.  “Captain?”

“Forward them to the marines,” Hoshiko ordered.  She’d discussed possible steps with her officers during the voyage.  Now, they'd find out just how good their planning had actually been.  “Mr. Kratzok?  Get to the marine boat bay if you wish to join them.”

“I do, Captain,” Kratzok said.  He rose and hurried to the hatch.  “Thank you.”

Hoshiko smiled.  She rather doubted Kratzok knew what was awaiting him.  He might have fooled around in simulations, or downloaded a full sensory recording from a marine making the jump into combat, but there was no substitute for the real thing.

“Good luck,” she said.

She turned her attention back to the main display.  “Do we have any other enemy positions in the system?”

“None as yet,” Biscoe reported.  “They don’t seem to have shown much interest in the industrial nodes.”

“Odd,” Hoshiko said.  Had the Druavroks been so interested in exterminating everyone else that they’d ignored the industrial platforms?  “We’ll deal with them as soon as we can spare the marines.”

“Aye, Captain,” Biscoe said.  “We’re also picking up signals from lunar settlements.  They’re asking if we’re planning to stay.”

“Tell them yes,” Hoshiko said.  The last thing she needed was people, humans or aliens, panicking while her marines dropped into hell.  “And ask them for a sit-rep, if possible.  I need to know what’s going on.” 

Chapter Eight

Chinese forces reoccupied Tibet after a bloody uprising.  The Chinese Government claims that the Tibetans came to greet their Chinese brothers after the extremists were defeated, but reports on the ground and orbital observations claim that the Chinese destroyed Lhasa and exterminated much of the population.  
-Solar News Network, Year 54

Max hadn't been quite sure what to expect when he'd run into the boat bay, but he definitely hadn't expected a grim-faced man shoving him into a large armoured suit.  He had no time to object before the suit sealed itself, his implants reporting that the control processors were attempting to connect to his neural link.  The moment he authorised the link, the suit seemed to fade away to a haze surrounding him, as if he was no longer wearing it.  But the icons flashing up in front of his eyes told a different story.

“I understand you’ve used combat suits before, Max,” a female voice said.  A stream of information from his implants identified the speaker as Lieutenant Hilde Bergstrom.  She was standing far too close to him, wrapped in another armoured suit.  “Have you stayed in practice?”

“I haven’t used one since my days in the Orbital Guard,” Max said.  He’d never taken enthusiastically to military service, although it was a requirement for any form of advancement on his asteroid.  “This suit’s a little more advanced than the suits we wore during the war.”

“Understood,” Hilde said.  “I’m slaving your suit to mine, for the moment.  I don’t want you trying to control your combat jump.  If something happens to me” - if I get blown into atoms, Max translated silently - “you’ll be passed to another marine.  You won’t have full control over the suit until we land on the ground.”

“I understand,” Max said.  “And once we’re down?”

“Follow my lead,” Hilde said.  “We’re not going to try slotting you into our order of battle, but we may need you to plug any holes.  If so, your suit will be slaved to us once again and you’ll be a helpless bystander until the battle comes to an end.”

Max swallowed.  In hindsight, he suspected he should have thought more carefully before agreeing to embed with the marines, even though he’d get some great footage of the Battle of Amstar, up close and personal.  The idea of being trapped inside the suit as it charged enemy fire on its own was terrifying ... but there was no point in trying to change his mind now, not when he’d already committed himself.  He hastily set his implants to calming mode as Hilde turned to lead him towards the hatch, then followed her down the corridor.  Twenty-two armoured forms were waiting for them.  If his suit hadn't automatically supplied names and faces, he wouldn't have been able to tell them apart.

“Slave mode ... active,” Hilde said.  “Sorry.”

The suit walked forward.  Max tried to send a query into its control processors, but there was no response.  He was a helpless passenger now.  Gritting his teeth, he braced himself as the hatch opened, revealing the inky darkness of space.  Panic flared at the back of his mind as a force field picked up the suit and shoved it hard towards the planet below.  More icons flashed up in front of him, warning of incoming fire from the ground, as the suit plunged into formation with the remainder of the marines.  Max squeezed his eyes shut as the planet grew larger and larger in front of him, convinced - at a very basic level - that he was going to slam into the ground.  He knew it was safe - there were thousands of people who jumped from orbit every year - but his mind refused to believe it.  How many of the orbital jumpers jumped straight into the teeth of enemy fire?

“This is fun,” Hilde said.  If she was trying to be reassuring, she wasn't doing a very good job of it.  “Just you wait until we hit the atmosphere!”

Max checked his implants.  Only a minute or two had gone by since they’d been launched from the ship, even though it felt like hours.  He opened his eyes, then closed them again as he saw the planet looming up in front of him.  It was so close he felt as if he could reach out and touch it ...

... The suit rocked, violently, as it struck the upper edge of the atmosphere.  Max was aware, dimly aware, of the suit reconfiguring itself for a faster descent, even though his mind was screaming for the suit to slow down.  He knew it made sense to descend as quickly as possible - the enemy only needed one hit to wipe him and his suit out of existence - and yet it was hard to convince himself that it was true.  The suit rocked again and again, striking patches of turbulence in the atmosphere ... or, perhaps, dodging bursts of fire from the ground.  Max kept his eyes tightly closed as the shaking grew worse.  He didn't want to know.

“They’re taking pot-shots at us,” Hilde commented.  “Don’t worry.  They’re not very good shots.”

Max hated her in that moment, hated her for her casual dismissal of danger.  But then, she would have gone though a thousand simulated combat drops before she’d ever been allowed to take a real suit down to the planet’s surface.  He’d only ever had a handful of lessons.  No one had seriously expected the Orbital Guard to have to make a combat drop, not when there were teleporters they could use to get down to Earth or Mars if necessary.  But any Galactic world knew to use jammers to prevent people beaming up or down at will.

The suit rocked again, spinning madly through the air.  Max opened his eyes and wished, immediately, that he hadn't.  There was a city below, wrapped in smoke and fire, coming towards him at terrifying speed.  Brilliant flashes of light - his implants identified them as plasma weapons - pulsed in all directions, some of them flashing up towards the marines.  It was impossible to tell just what was going on, but it looked like the worst of Stalingrad, of Fallujah, of Paris during the Intifada.  The suit’s sensors were drawing information from thousands of tactical support drones deployed by the marines, yet it was hard to tell who was on what side.  Was there even a united front against the Druavroks or were there hundreds of small groups, fighting as best as they could?

“Prepare for landing,” Hilde said, calmly.  “Your suit will go free the moment you touch down, Max.  Get down and stay down unless you have to fight.”

Max nodded wordlessly, then braced himself as the ground came up and hit him, the suit’s antigravity compensators coming online bare seconds before he slammed into the surface and died.  His head spun; he ducked down as quickly as he could, trying to gather himself as the marines snapped into action.  Bolts of plasma fire flashed over his head as the Druavroks tried to muster a counterattack; clearly, they hadn’t expected to face a new threat from high overhead.  But they had to know their ships and orbiting defences had been defeated, didn't they?  Unless their high command believed the groundpounders shouldn't know more than the bare minimum at all times ...

He looked up, careful to stay low.  The city was strange, a bizarre mixture of styles from a hundred different worlds.  A soaring skyscraper, pockmarked with bullet holes, co-existed with a building that looked like an anthill; a blocky building, looking like something built out of brightly-coloured children’s bricks, sat next to a black conical building that pointed towards the sky.  More and more icons flashed up in front of him as he looked from side to side, warning of everything from possible snipers to heavy weapons emplacements.  The drones were building up a picture of the surrounding city, but they were being targeted by enemy countermeasures.

“The enemy are redeploying troops to face us,” Hilde told him.  She sounded remarkably calm, even though marines were forbidden to use any form of calming software while they were on combat duty.  “They’re sweeping the sector with drone-killing tech.”

Max swallowed.  Drones - remote sensors so tiny the human eye couldn't hope to see them - had been the Solar Union’s ace in the hole since Steve Stuart had captured the very first Galactic starship.  No Earth-based nation could oppose the Solar Union when its leaders, the men who would normally be safe from harm, could be hunted down and targeted by the drones; no secret could be kept when the drones were everywhere, drawing in so much intelligence that the analysts were overloaded.  There was no such thing as the Fog of War when GalTech was involved.  But the Galactics knew how to counter the drones ... 

“The Fog of War is drawing in,” he mumbled.

“A nice turn of phrase,” Hilde said.  Her voice was so flat that it was impossible to tell if she was being sarcastic.  “I trust you’ll put that in the reports?”

“Something like that,” Max said.  More alerts flickered up in front of him as the enemy formed up, just out of visual range.  Smoke and fog was drifting across the battlefield, making it harder to see anything with the suit’s visual sensors.  Thankfully, the other sensors could peer through the smog as though it wasn't there.  “Do you want me to make you sound like Combat Marie or Combat Barbie?”

“That depends,” Hilde said.  For the first time, she sounded a little irked.  Baby-sitting duty wasn't what she'd signed up for.  “Would you rather have your testicles cut off with a rusty knife or be force-fed to the ravenous beasts of Scott?”

“I’ll just make you sound like a marine,” Max said.  He wondered, absently, what Hilde had done to be lumbered with the task of riding herd on him.  “Will that be safe?”

“As long as you don’t make me look like Combat Barbie,” Hilde said.  “Do you know how many idiots we had trying to pick fights with us after that movie came out?”

Max smirked in genuine amusement.  Marie and Barbie had been a recruiting movie produced twenty years ago, following the adventures of two female marines: Marie and Barbie.  Every marine he’d met had insisted, loudly, that it was either an unfunny comedy or a particularly obnoxious piece of enemy propaganda, intended to damage the reputation of the Solar Marines.  They’d certainly made it clear that the movie bore as much resemblance to reality as statements from the governments on Earth.  And yet, it still enjoyed a cult following.  

Probably because both of them were genuine achievers, he thought.  No one cared about beauty in the Solar Union - cosmetic surgery could turn an ugly man into a handsome stud or a fat girl into a goddess - but competence?  That was a genuine turn-on.  And they didn't take their roles too seriously either.

He paused as new alerts flashed through the implants, then looked up.  The wind was picking up, blowing away the smoke ... and revealing a line of enemy soldiers on the far side of the square.  They looked like miniature dinosaurs, he thought; their clawed hands gripped weapons as their dark insect-like eyes peered at the human soldiers.  Most of them were green, but a handful were yellow or purple.  It didn't look as though the colouring served any natural purpose, he thought; it certainly wouldn't be very effective camouflage.

Humans aren't naturally camouflaged either, he thought, morbidly.  We had to invent our own camouflage.

“Stand at the ready,” a marine said.  “Let them make the first move.”

Max crept forward, bringing the suit’s weapons online.  It had been years since he’d worn a suit during exercises - he’d never gone to war - but he couldn't just do nothing.  Hilde said nothing as he slipped up beside her; Max swallowed nervously as he stared at the aliens, watching the humans with expressionless scaly faces.  But then, they were alien.  For all he knew, they were working themselves up into a frenzy.  His implants, for once, had no answers.  There was almost nothing on the Druavroks within their files.

And there’s no way you can generalise with aliens, he reminded himself.  Aliens were not human, something he’d been told time and time again.  One race may fart in public as a sign of welcome, but another might take it as a declaration of war.

The aliens moved, suddenly; they lunged forward, firing as they came.  It didn't look as though they were bothering to target the humans, but they were firing so many bursts of plasma fire in the right general direction that they were bound to hit something.  The Major barked a command and the marines opened fire in return, their plasma cannons tearing great gouts out of the alien formation.  Max watched in horror as the alien line staggered, then kept charging forward even as dozens died to a single plasma bolt.  How could anyone keep coming under such weight of fire?  He recoiled, then lifted his own weapons and opened fire himself.  And yet the aliens kept coming ...

A red icon flared up in front of him.  “Horace is down,” Hilde said.  “Mike is dead.”

Max shuddered.  The aliens couldn’t win, could they?  He had no idea how many Druavroks were already dead, but it looked as though thousands had impaled themselves on the human position.  More icons flashed up in front of him, warning of incoming fire; his suit snapped off bursts of point defence automatically, even as KEWs slammed down from orbit, obliterating the heavy weapons before they could be repositioned.  The Druavroks were piling up their bodies in front of the human position, some smouldering as if they were on the verge of catching fire.  And yet they were still coming.  How many of them were there?

He started as a Druavrok hurled himself over the pile of bodies and came right at him.  The suit’s tactical programs switched to primary mode and lashed out with staggering power, hitting the alien so hard he literally disintegrated.  Max felt sick as the marines began to fall back, launching tiny spreads of antipersonnel missiles and mines as they moved.  And still the enemy kept coming.  They were losing hundreds of lives to the minefield alone - they projected forcefields that cut through the enemy like monofilament knives - but they refused to stop.

“Stay low,” Hilde warned.  “Incoming KEWs.”

The ground shook, as though it had been struck with the hammer of God.  Max looked up, just in time to see the skyscraper topple and fall to the ground.  He stared in horror - how many people had been in the building when it had fallen?  A skyscraper could hold thousands of souls.  Shockwaves ran through the city - he couldn't help thinking of earthquakes from the disaster movies he’d watched as a child, movies that had taught him how unpredictable life on Earth could be - and, for the first time, the alien charge seemed to falter.  The marines held their line, shot down the final set of aliens and waited, grimly, as the fighting came to an end.

“They seem to have lost their momentum,” Hilde commented.  “Follow me.”

Max nodded, not trusting himself to speak, as Hilde dropped to her hands and knees and crawled over to where one of the marines was lying, a nasty scorch-mark covering his chest.  Another was lying nearby, his suit so badly damaged that survival seemed impossible; the plasma blast that had stuck him would have burned through the armour and turned the marine into charcoal before he had a chance to bail out.  Max shuddered, feeling sick again, then turned to look as Hilde carefully opened the first marine’s suit and looked inside.  The marine’s chest was a blackened ruin ...

“The nanites will keep it under control, I think,” Hilde said.  Her voice was very composed, although she had to know it could have been her who’d taken the hit.  “They’ve placed his brain in suspension, but he’ll need to have most of his body regrown.  I think, for him, the war is over.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said, unsure what he should say.  The marine had done his duty, jumping down into the maelstrom surrounding Amstar, and died doing it.  His name would be remembered, but for what?  “I’ll make sure he’s mentioned ...”

“See that you do,” Hilde said.  She closed the suit and stood.  “There’s a shuttle flight being readied now, Max.  The reinforcements will set up a base camp here until we know who we can trust.  You’ll stay here as we secure the perimeter.”

“I understand,” Max said.  The marines wouldn't want a half-trained reporter accompanying them as they poked further out from the LZ.  There was too great a danger of accidentally shooting someone on the same side.  “What ... is this always what it’s like?”

“No,” Hilde admitted.  “Normally, we’re boarding starships or carrying out defence duty on Earth.  This” - she waved her hand at the piles of alien bodies - “is something new.  The old sweats talked about drug-addled fanatics, but ... I never really believed them.  What sort of idiot would do that to themselves?”

Max nodded.  There was no shortage of drugs that could boost a person’s combat ability, but they tended to come with nasty downsides.  They were addictive and, in the long run, degraded the user’s natural reactions.  Eventually, they even caused brain damage.

“Maybe they were just desperate,” he said, after a moment.  The Druavroks had been trying to commit genocide.  They’d have to wonder if their former victims would try to return the favour.  “They lost control of the high orbitals.  Their commanders had to know they’d lose the war.”

“Maybe,” Hilde agreed.  “Or maybe they’re just nasty bastards.”

Chapter Nine

Independent reports from Kurdistan confirm that the Kurdish People’s Militia has seized Sunni territory and has been carrying out a program of ethnic cleansing and genocide.  All Sunni Muslims have been ordered to leave, taking only what they can carry on their backs, or face death.  The KPM stated, in the wake of the engagement, that the Kurds would no longer allow the Sunnis to threaten their existence ...
-Solar News Network, Year 54

“They must be mad,” Griffin said.

“Not mad,” Doctor Carr said.  “But very angry.”

Griffin looked down at the body on the examination table.  Perhaps it was latent xenophobia, but he couldn't help feeling that the Druavrok didn't look very nice.  It was impossible to believe they didn't eat meat - they had the sharp teeth of predators - and their claws suggested they were used to fighting hand-to-hand.  Humanity hadn't evolved such natural weapons; indeed, even spears and clubs hadn’t always been enough to even the odds against tigers or lions.  It had been the ability to think, and plan, and cooperate that had made humanity the dominant race on Earth.

The Druavrok was a head shorter than him, his mouth crammed with sharp teeth and his skin hard as leather.  The dark insect-like eyes looked unpleasant, even in death; it was impossible to read the creature’s expression, but he had a feeling it regarded them all as prey.  There were faint reddish markings, like tattoos, on its green skin.  He had a nasty feeling the creature had used the blood of his victims to paint his scales.

“I’ve only done a basic scan, but several things are clear,” Shari said.  “First, on average, the Druavroks are stronger and faster than the average unenhanced human - deadlier too, given that they have those claws.  I’m not sure if they’re naturally as sharp as our friend’s claws” - she nodded to the body - “but they can slice though human skin as if it were made of paper, while their scales are tougher than human skin.  However, like many other races with tough outer coatings, their ability to heal after their skin is cut seems limited.  A small cut may mean a long period of healing.”

“Or they might bleed to death,” Griffin said.

“Maybe,” Shari said.  “I think they’d understand the value of bandages, though.”

She shrugged.  “Second, based on my scans, they do have a strong reaction when they’re frightened or angry,” she added.  “Their brain releases a chemical into their bloodstream which supercharges their reactions, at - I suspect - the cost of some of their rationality.  Human wave charges may be the only way they can function when their blood is up, although it’s impossible to be sure without studying a live one.  My best guess is that the genocide is fuelled, at least in part, by an emotional reaction against other races.  They may also be testing their freedom now the Tokomak are gone.”

“You make them sound like naughty children,” Griffin said.

“The principle is the same,” Shari said.  “Children grow up under rules set by their parents, not ones they accepted for themselves.  They tend to rebel against their parents, as they reach adulthood, or settle into an unhealthy dependency even into their middle-aged years.  The Tokomak were the parents, everyone else were the children ...”

She shrugged.  “The pattern has been seen on Earth, time and time again, long before we knew about non-human life.  Giving a state independence without the state having major teething problems afterwards was never easy.”

Griffin nodded.  “Are they a rational race?”

“I would have said they are fairly compatible to us, on the intelligence scale,” Shari said, tapping the Druavrok’s head.  “But then, most races reach a certain level and just stop.  They don’t have any pressing need for more brainpower when they have tools they can use to boost their abilities.  I can't tell you anything for certain about their social structure, but I would guess, based on what I’ve seen here, that they spend a lot of time struggling for dominance over one another.  And then perhaps over everyone else.”

“Brilliant,” Griffin said, sardonically.

“Quite,” Shari agreed.  “There’s a strong possibility that rational negotiations with them will be impossible, Commander.  They may not be able to grasp the idea of peaceful co-existence or submission to another power.  I have no idea how the Tokomak managed to keep them in line.  They must have known the squadron outgunned them and still they fought.”

Griffin nodded, curtly.  It was a worrying sign.  On one hand, destroying a chunk of the Druavrok Navy - whatever they called it - without serious losses was not to be dismissed, particularly as he was sure there would be further encounters, but on the other hand it indicated a fanaticism that chilled him to the bone.  And then, the brief reports from the marines - he hadn't had the time to access a full sensory - had stated that the Druavroks had launched mass human wave-style attacks against the marines, clearly trying to drown the marines in dead bodies.  They'd come too close to overrunning the marines and grinding them into the dust.

He looked back at the body and shivered.  “What else can you tell me about this guy?”

“He’s definitely a male, I believe,” Shari said.  “The penis is retractable, sir; it fits between his legs and only emerges when mating begins.  I did wonder if they might be functional hermaphrodites, but there’s no sign of anything other than a penis and organs that serve the same purpose as our testicles.  I’m planning to go through the other bodies that were brought up to the ship in the hopes of finding a female; hopefully, I’ll know more about their mating cycle afterwards.”

Griffin frowned.  “How do they mate?”

“It’s hard to be sure without a female to compare against the male,” Shari said.  “My best guess is that they can mate in several different ways, like humans, but I could be wrong.  There’s just too much sexual variation among the Galactics ...”

“Yeah,” Griffin said.  

The Academy had covered the hundreds of different variations in some detail, the tutors pointing out that sex was one of the easiest ways to get in trouble on an alien world.  There were races that mated constantly, races that had mating seasons; races that had intelligent males and unintelligent females or vice versa; races that had elaborate codes that covered every last aspect of the mating rituals, races that thought nothing of doing it wherever and whenever they pleased ... like humans, in some ways.  The Solar Union didn't give a damn what its citizens did, as long as it was done between consenting adults in private.  Adapting the laws to suit aliens with entirely different biological systems had been a major headache when the first immigrants arrived from outside the Sol System.

He shook his head.  About the only real taboo among the Galactics was interracial sex, although he’d been told there was an underground subculture where different races met and mated in secrecy.  He’d never understood why - it wasn't as if a human and a Druavrok could produce a child - but the Tokomak had set the rule.  Maybe they’d looked upon the prospect - the impossible prospect - of hybrids and shuddered in horror.  Or maybe they’d just been jerks.  A race that could deny others the prospect of immortality wouldn’t have qualms about banning interracial sex, if only to prevent their subjects from realising they had something in common ...

“Let me know what you find, when you find something,” he said.  “What if their females are unintelligent?”

“I’d argue it was the males who were unintelligent, based on this sample,” Shari said, mischievously.  “But I can't say anything for sure yet, sir.”

“I understand,” Griffin said.  “Do they pose a biological threat to us?”

“I doubt it,” Shari said.  “Their biochemistry isn’t that different from ours, Commander, but I haven't found anything to suggest their diseases can make the jump into our bodies or vice versa.  A couple of the known pan-species diseases may pose a threat, but our nanites can handle those before they turn deadly.  I’d be surprised if Amstar wasn't already used to handling such threats.”

Griffin nodded.  Very few diseases could make the jump from humanity to an alien race or vice versa, but those that could were incredibly dangerous.  The Tokomak, however, had crafted the first set of medical nanites to prevent cross-species disease outbreaks.  Hell, disease was rarely a problem in the Solar Union.  Most children had genetic modifications spliced into them from birth that kicked their immune systems into overdrive.  The only real danger was a genetically-modified disease configured to defeat an adjusted immune system and spread through the body and nanites could handle that.

“They might try for a genetically-modified disease,” Shari added, “but they’d be asking for retaliation in kind.”

“They’re already practicing genocide,” Griffin pointed out.  “Doesn't that ask for retaliation in kind?”

He nodded politely to the doctor, then turned and made his way back to the captain’s office, checking his implant’s inbox on the way.  Jackie Fisher had taken very little damage in the conflict, thankfully; the handful of burned-out shield generators had been replaced already, while boarding parties had been dispatched to the industrial nodes before the Druavroks could try to destroy them.  The crews, surprisingly, weren't Druavroks.  They’d been taken prisoner when the Druavroks occupied the system, their families dumped into POW camps and promised safety, as long as the skilled workmen served their new masters.  It was odd - the Druavroks seemed to combine a cold-blooded mindset with a hot-blooded desire to exterminate everyone - but that hardly mattered.  What did matter was that Captain Stuart had committed them to an endless war with a savage lizard-like race bent on exterminating everyone else.

The Captain’s hatch opened as he approached, revealing Captain Ryman and Ensign Howard, who saluted hastily.  Griffin returned the salute - the young officer had a long way to go, but at least he was on the right path - and stepped past him, into the office.  Captain Stuart was sitting on her sofa, looking up at the holographic chart of the sector.  The boarding parties, thankfully, had been able to recover enough data to fill in the blanks.  But almost none of it painted an encouraging picture.

“Captain,” he said, as the hatch hissed closed behind him.  “The doctor finished her examination of the first alien corpse.”

“Very good,” Hoshiko said.  She sounded as though she was distracted by some greater thought.  “I’ve just appointed Captain Ryman as ambassador-at-large to Amstar, with orders to make connections with as many alien groups as possible.”

Griffin blinked in surprise.  “Is that legal?”

“It depends how you read the passages in my authorisation,” Hoshiko said.  She smiled with genuine amusement.  “I’m authorised to appoint deputies who can serve in my place, if necessary, although I have to countersign everything they do before it becomes legal.  He has the contacts we need to start making connections, so I gave him the authority and a broad range of instructions.”

“I think those passages refer to your military subordinates,” Griffin sighed.  He'd have to go through the authorisations himself, just to see if her interpretation held water.  It would probably depend on her success - or lack of it.  “Not to a random civilian we just happened to encounter.”

“He isn’t exactly a random civilian,” Hoshiko pointed out.  She leaned back in her sofa, then indicated the chair facing her.  “He does have a roving commission from intelligence as well as a position in the naval reserve.”

Griffin sat down.  “Do you think he’ll make progress?”

“I hope do,” Hoshiko said.  She cocked her head, sending a command to the room’s processor.  The holographic star chart vanished, to be replaced by an image of the industrial stations orbiting Amstar or scattered throughout the system.  “There’s a considerable amount of industrial potential here.  The civilian fabbers could start turning out war material within hours, if we crack their limiter codes.  That shouldn't be too hard.”

“No,” Griffin agreed.  Cracking Tokomak codes was tricky, but humanity had fifty years of experience in outsmarting an unimaginative alien race.  “Do you plan to give them human-level missile tech?”

“Among other things,” Hoshiko said.  She paused.  “Not Hammerheads, of course, but everything else.”

Griffin stared at her.  “I should remind you, Captain, that General Order Number Four clearly states ...”

“Which can be overridden by the demands of war,” Hoshiko pointed out.  “Besides, with the exception of Hammerheads, everything we have can be duplicated relatively easily, now the Galactics have seen them in action.  And even Hammerheads are unlikely to remain exclusive for long.  The Tokomak invented gravity-manipulation technology.”

“It won’t stop the Druavroks from copying what we pass to Amstar,” Griffin objected.

“They’ll still need time to duplicate our work,” Hoshiko said.  “We need to give our prospective allies something to prove we’re sincere.  Weapons technology may serve as a suitable incentive for them to join up.”

“Assuming we do find allies,” Griffin said.  A number of ships had taken off from the ground as soon as the blockade had broken, but no one knew who’d been flying them.  Druavroks, going to report on the disaster, or other races intent on returning to their homeworlds?  “Can we count on anyone here?”

“The industrial workers are willing to assist us, in exchange for protection,” Hoshiko said, seriously.  “We help them remove the limiters on their fabbers and they can start churning out defences, even if it never goes anywhere else.  Give them a few weeks and the Druavroks will find it hard to retake Amstar.”

“They’ll try,” Griffin said.  He outlined, briefly, what Shari had told him.  “They’re a very aggressive race, Captain.”

“I saw the recordings,” Hoshiko agreed.  “At least we managed to bombard most of their formations from orbit.”

Griffin shuddered.  A rational race might have sought terms, but the Druavroks clearly still had no intention of surrendering.  They’d dug into their enclaves, far too close to the other settlements to allow orbital bombardment, and started preparing for the final fight.  The various resistance groups on the surface, had surrounded them, but they were reluctant to actually launch an offensive.  Griffin found it hard to blame them.  A month of occupation had killed over a billion people, from hundreds of different races.  Amstar would never be the same, even if the Druavroks surrendered tomorrow.  The entire planet had been traumatised.

They were even eating the dead, he thought.  And they were keeping prisoners alive just so they were fresh when they were butchered.

He understood the captain’s desire to intervene, to take a stand against genocide ... against a horror that defied description.  But, at the same time, he worried about the future.  One of their ships had already been damaged, even though her crews had it firmly under control; what would happen, he asked himself, when another ship was destroyed?  It would happen, sooner or later ... the Druavroks had already shown themselves willing to throw their own lives away, as long as it gave them a chance to close with the foe.  The squadron simply didn't have the resources for a long and bloody war.

“Tell me, captain,” he said.  “Tell me how this ends?”

“With us finding new allies and defeating the threat,” Hoshiko said, bluntly.  “Do you want these monsters getting anywhere near Earth?”

“They’re six months away, Captain,” Griffin insisted.  “Even sending a handful of ships to Sol would be difficult, if they are at war in this sector.”

“The Tokomak ruled a much larger empire,” Hoshiko reminded him.  “They put together a staggeringly powerful force to hit Sol, even though they must have believed they were going well over what would have been required for overkill.  The Druavroks might keep going until they run into us.”

Griffin had his doubts.  He’d studied the Tokomak extensively - it was a required course at the Academy - and their empire had always been more flimsy than they’d realised, dependent on both the FTL drive and their command of high technology.  Keeping their subjects ignorant had helped, but there had been plenty of cracks in the system before the Horde had stumbled across Earth.  He doubted the Druavroks had the skill to set up other races as bully-boys and enforcers, not when they wanted to purge everyone else ...

And they’d unite everyone against them, he thought.  Even races that fear and hate one another will combine their might against an overwhelmingly powerful foe.

“More to the point, we can make a difference,” Hoshiko added.  “If we can win more allies among the other races, humanity benefits, but merely stopping an attempt at genocide will be enough.”

“But it won’t,” Griffin said.  He leaned forward, trying to make her understand.  “We may have knocked them off one world, Captain, but they have others.  Many others.  We have to stop them completely before we’re withdrawn from the sector or they’ll just resume the genocide as soon as we look away.”

“We won’t look away,” Hoshiko said.

Griffin frowned.  Hoshiko’s family was powerful, but it was nowhere near powerful enough to keep the Solar Union involved in the Martina Sector if the public wanted to pull out and abandon Amstar.  The ITA would probably do what it could, yet ... it still wouldn't tip the balance.  Hoshiko was writing cheques the Solar Union might be unable or unwilling to cash. 

“I hope you’re right, Captain,” he said.  Hoshiko was treading a very fine line.  Giving human tech to aliens, even allies, was a direct violation of standing orders, tempered only by her interpretation of other standing orders.  “Because, if you’re wrong, we may only be creating more trouble for ourselves.”

“I understand the risks, Commander,” Hoshiko said.  “But some risks just have to be borne.”