Dauntless

(Version ONE)

Christopher Nuttall

These probably require some explanation.

I intend to rewrite this series under the working title of Angel in the Whirlwind, in the hopes of taking advantage of a chance to show it to a mainstream publisher.  The revised version will follow the basic plot of The Oncoming Storm/Dauntless, but it will be (I hope) much more polished and improved.  Any comments would be welcome, but please don’t send spelling errors and suchlike.

These books are free, but if you want to tip me, please use the cookie jar on my site.

Chris

Blurb

Captain Philip Larson had a promising career in the Royal Avalon Navy – until a vindictive superior arranged for him to be dismissed from the service.  Cut adrift from the Navy he had served for all of his adult life, Philip accepts a position as commander of a small squadron belonging to a planet on the edge of known space.  Asher Dales is primitive, under-populated and very far from civilisation, but at least it’s a chance to serve in space.

But the Theocracy, the power threatening the Commonwealth of Avalon, has plans of its own for Asher Dales, plans that will force Philip to fight for his adopted home or see it enslaved by the darkest religion of all.  

Chapter One

“Captain Larson,” Admiral Bainbridge said.  “Please, be seated.”

“Thank you, sir,” Philip Larson said.  “I would prefer to stand.”

“As you wish,” Bainbridge said.  He folded a copy of a report – a paper copy, in a world where almost everything was done electronically – in front of him, and then looked up.  His grey eyes met Philip’s blue eyes, a mocking reminder that Bainbridge had spent nearly seventy years in the Royal Avalon Navy.  He’d commanded starships back before the Commonwealth had grown to encompass over twenty stars and planets.  “The Board of Inquiry has returned its verdict on your conduct.”

He waited.  Philip said nothing.  In truth, he felt nothing.  He’d known what would happen before he’d walked into the Admiral’s office.  Rumour flew through the RAN far faster than travel in hyperspace.  And Admiral Morrison was a dangerous enemy.  His political friends and supporters wouldn't allow his career to be blighted by a mere Captain, no matter that the mere Captain had saved lives and quite possibly Morrison’s reputation.  There was no point in railing at the universe for being unfair – the universe was not fair; it simply was – but if there was any justice, he would have an opportunity to challenge Morrison to a duel.

“The Board finds you guilty of disobeying orders while under fire,” Bainbridge said.  His every word rang through Philip’s head.  He’d wanted to believe that it would never come to this, his career going down in flames.  But Morrison would never have accepted that a mere Captain had saved his gold-braided ass.  “Your defence, while respectable, did not satisfy them that you were justified in your actions.  They did find you not guilty of predetermined mutiny, which would have put you in front of a firing squad.”

Philip’s lips twitched.  Outside wartime, military justice was subject to civilian courts.  The RAN could hardly afford to explain why they were court-martialling someone for saving a ship and its crew, not when the Assembly was already looking askance at the RAN’s budget for the next five years.  In exchange for his life, Philip would be expected to leave the RAN quietly, without causing a fuss that would splatter muck on the Navy’s good name.  It had already been put to him, privately.  Leave quietly and we won’t be forced to put you on trial before the entire Commonwealth.

Bainbridge looked down, almost as if the elderly Admiral was ashamed to meet his gaze.  “However, the Board found enough evidence to dismiss you from the service,” he said, quietly.  “You will be dismissed from the Royal Avalon Navy today, unless you wish to appeal.  The Board will hear your further defence if...”

Philip held up a hand.  “I understand, sir,” he said.  “I will not contest the dismissal.”

Was it relief, or shame, in the Admiral’s eyes?  “You will be escorted out of the station and into civilian sections, then,” the Admiral said.  “Under the circumstances, your travel and lodging will be handled by the RAN.  It’s the least we can do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Philip said.  The hell of it was that he was grateful.  He’d had his food and lodging supplied by the Navy for so long that he felt adrift at even the promise of a return to civilian life.  “I’m sure I will make something of my life.”

Admiral Bainbridge stood up and held out a hand.  “I’ll be sorry to see you go, Philip,” he said.  He sounded sincere; Philip was past caring.  “You deserved better from the Navy...”

Philip felt a tidal wave of anger and resentment building up inside him.  “The Navy is content to allow a well-connected imbecile to maintain a position that will ensure that he will get a lot of people killed because it would be politically inconvenient to plant his ass in front of a firing squad,” he said, sharply.  “Exactly how do you expect to maintain the loyalty of your officers and men when everyone knows that advancement in the Navy is determined by birth, not by ability?”

“War is coming,” Admiral Bainbridge said, calmly.  “You know that as well as I do; war is coming and the Navy has to be ready for it.  We cannot allow a political dogfight, not now.  I’m sorry about what happened and I will do what I can to make up for it, but I cannot change it.”

Philip stared at him for a long moment, balling his fists together as if he was on the verge of throwing a punch at the Admiral, and then turned and marched out of his office without saluting.  Outside, a pair of Marines were waiting for him, his escort back into civilian life.  Philip glared at them and then walked past, forcing the Marines to move sharply to keep up with him.  It was easy to imagine that everyone he passed knew about his shame, that they were either commiserating with him or silently mocking him for not standing up to himself.  

Twenty minutes after leaving the Admiral’s office, he was a civilian again.  

***
“Captain Larson?”

Philip opened one eye and glared at the speaker.  It was a feminine voice, one that seemed out of place in the Spacer’s Hive.  But then, the Hive was the lowest of bars in the lowest part of the orbital station, haven to those who sought to drink away their sorrows.  He rubbed his head as he slowly stood upright, cursing the growing headache.  Just how much had he drunk over the past few hours?

“Yeah,” he grunted, finally.  “Who wants to know?”

“You can call me Tanya,” the woman said.  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last couple of hours.”

“I’m sorry to be so hard to find,” Philip said.  He looked around the empty bar.  “How long have I been here?”

“You got here forty minutes after you left the Navy Section,” Tanya said, with icy precision.  “You ordered several bottles of Algerian Whiskey and proceeded to drink them, one after the other.  A pair of half-drunken Marines objected to your rather tuneless singing and you proceeded to wipe the floor with them, while bellowing your outrage at how they could presume to dislike your version of a popular song.  The bartender decided to leave you here to sleep it off.  You’re lucky the Shore Patrol doesn’t come in here or you’d be spending the night in the brig.”

Philip shrugged.  The Shore Patrol was made up of men who wanted to keep breathing and avoid violence, something that would have left them inclined not to go anywhere near the lower class of drinking establishments.  The Spacer’s Hive had a fight almost every night; it was one of the reasons he’d picked for his drinking session.  He didn’t normally drink, but it was a special occasion.  He’d be lucky if he ever saw space again.

“Too bad,” he said, finally.  Now he was awake, he was beginning to be aware of his body’s aches and pains.  The two Marines had obviously handed out quite a beating.  “What can I do for you?”

Tanya smiled.  “I’d like to offer you a job,” she said.  Philip stared at her.  “What would you say to command of a pair of destroyers on anti-piracy patrol?”

For the first time, Philip took a good look at his companion.  She was tall, with a youthful face and long white hair that ran down almost to her rear.  It struck him that she had to be older than she looked, with the use of rejuvenation treatments to keep her figure and appearance, yet she seemed to have an air of naivety.  She was quite attractive, he decided, but that could be part of her presentation.  If she was serious about offering him a job, she would do everything she could to attract him.  It hardly mattered.  He liked her on sight.

“I’d say I need a sober-up,” Philip said.  Tanya passed him an injector tab without comment.  Philip checked it, pressed it against his neck and pushed the button, wincing as he felt the drug being injected into his bloodstream.  Sober-ups were renowned for acting quickly, but they tended to have unpleasant side effects.  Rumour had it that the manufacturers put them in deliberately in the hopes of convincing heavy drinkers to avoid using the tabs to keep themselves sober after a night on the town.  “And probably a shower as well.”

Tanya smiled for the first time.  “That may have to wait,” she said.  “I took the precaution of bribing the bartender to leave us alone, but I don’t think the gratuity will run to a shower.”

“Probably not,” Philip agreed.  He felt his hands shiver as the effects of the drug took hold, but ignored it.  It was one of the milder side effects.  “You mentioned something about a job?”

“I represent Asher Dale,” Tanya said.  “You probably won’t have heard of it.”

Philip shook his head.  He knew every planet in the Commonwealth – even Cadiz, which was technically not part of the Commonwealth – and a handful of outside worlds, but he’d never even heard of Asher Dale.  It couldn’t be very important, certainly not important enough to attract the RAN’s attention.   But if it was buying or building starships, it had to be important to someone…

“Asher Dales has only been settled for forty years,” Tanya explained.  “It was discovered fifty years ago along the Rim by a survey flight and settlement rights were purchased by the Dale Foundation.  In life, Asher Dale was a great believer in the independent farmer and his foundation was intended to settle a world where farmers could be farmers, without the ill effects of civilisation.  What little industry the system would develop would be owned by the state, rather than corporations, ensuring that business entities couldn’t develop the power they had back on Old Earth.”

“Or here,” Philip guessed.  Avalon’s interstellar corporations controlled a reasonable percentage of the planet’s economy.  Their controlling families were the system’s aristocracy.  “It all sounds reasonable, but…”

“It may not work out in practice,” Tanya agreed.  Philip nodded.  Years ago, a group of Communists had founded a planet run according to the strict rules of Communism, which they’d called Marx.  The experiment had ended in civil war, before they’d finally worked out a formula for stability, if not for progress.  “We’re hoping to find out if it can work, but others are…impeding our development.”

Philip lifted an eyebrow.  “Pirates?”

“Or people hired by outside powers,” Tanya said.  “There were some legal shenanigans over settlement rights, ones that threatened to draw in other interstellar powers.  They may be backing the pirate attacks.”

“I see,” Philip said.  Back when the UN had been the only authority that operated on an interstellar scale, it had been easy to prove claim-jumping and to enforce the decision of the interstellar courts.  But the Breakaway Wars had shattered the power of the UN and there was now a power vacuum, without any single authority capable of imposing its will on the rest.  An outright attempt at claim-jumping might draw the wrath of the other powers, but it would be perfectly possible for someone to weasel their way into settlement rights by forcing other interested parties to withdraw.  “And you can’t ask the Commonwealth for protection?”

“The Commonwealth wasn't interested in assisting us unless we applied for membership,” Tanya admitted.  “And our…government is reluctant to place control of our external relationships in other hands.  Besides, the RAN is somewhat overstretched at the moment.”

Philip nodded, thoughtfully.  Everyone knew that war with the Theocracy was looming; everyone, it seemed, apart from a few politicians in and out of uniform.  The frontier was being ravaged by pirate attacks that were almost certainly being encouraged by the Theocracy, even if they weren’t being carried out by Theocracy warships.  And the RAN, which was responsible for defending the Commonwealth’s shipping, needed to deploy more light units into the region, cutting down the forces that could be spared for other duties.

“So you want a Navy of your own,” Philip said, thoughtfully.  “Do you have any idea of how much that would cost?”

“We’re looking to purchase two destroyers from the Commonwealth,” Tanya said.  “The Falcone Corporation is prepared to sell us two ships and a limited number of supporting components, but we’re short of experienced personnel capable of manning and commanding a starship or two.   My brief is to hire experienced personnel who would be interested in working for us, rather than remaining with the RAN.”

Philip quirked an eyebrow at her.  “You do realise that I’ve just been dishonourably discharged from the Navy?”

“I do,” Tanya said.  She hesitated, as if she was wondering just how much she could tell him.  “I managed to get access to your service record.  You were a good officer; you earned command as soon as you reached the necessary grade.  And you spent two years in command of a destroyer similar to the ships we intend to purchase.  You’re very likely the best we could hope to get.”

“True,” Philip agreed.  He grinned at her expression.  Unless he was very much mistaken – and he intended to check before he signed anything – Tanya’s space-faring experience was limited to civilian vessels, rather than warships.  It was quite possible that Asher Dales was biting off much more than they could chew, but he knew that settler-types tended to be tough and reluctant to surrender to anyone.  They would do whatever it took to crew and operate the ships.  “And do you intend to hire me to help you choose the vessels as well?”

“If you accept the position,” Tanya said.  Philip smiled.  The vessels would be under his command, giving him a certain incentive to ensure that he chose carefully.  He had no illusions about the state of the destroyers, even if they had been used by the Falcone Corporation; they wouldn’t have been allowed out of the Commonwealth if they were top-of-the-line models with the latest technology installed.  On the other hand, many of the earlier types could be upgraded at a reasonable cost.  “My…ah, my superiors have placed the matter into my hands.”

Philip studied her for a long moment.  If she was telling the truth, it would be his only opportunity to return to command of a vessel in space.  The RAN would be unlikely to permit him to reapply, at least until the war began.  He could look for work in the commercial sector, but his experience would only be valuable if he joined a mercenary group and he had the dedicated military officer’s contempt for mercenaries.  The thought made him smile.  If he accepted the position, what else would he be, but a mercenary?  At least he would be fighting for a better cause than the biggest wallet in the system.

“It sounds like fun,” he said, finally.  “What do I do to accept the position?”

“Well, for a start we get out of this dingy bar,” Tanya said.  “You have a shower, get changed and examine my documents.  If you are willing to sign on, we can go see the ships this afternoon and then you can advise me on recruiting a crew and supplies…”

Philip nodded as he pulled himself to his feet.  “Very well,” he said.  He’d been booked into temporary accommodation along the station’s ring.  It wasn't much, but at least it had a shower.  “Let’s get out of this dingy bar.”

***
Half an hour later, after a shower, a shave and a change of clothes, Philip felt a great deal more human.  His apartment wasn't really much more than a single room with attached washroom, but Tanya had already taken over the table and spread out her documents for him to inspect.  He tried to ignore her presence as he skimmed through them, noting that they seemed to have been written by someone with little patience for legal niceties.  If he accepted the position, he was obliged to help chose the starships and command them for at least five years, barring serious injury or breech of contract.  The pay wasn't equal to a RAN Commodore – which would be the closest counterpart to his position – but there was a promise of fifty square miles of land on Asher Dale.  If he wanted to retire, or sell the land to other developers, he would be assured of a nest egg for life.

He studied the final document, thinking hard.  It had been fairly easy to look up the RAN’s database on Asher Dale – his access still worked, surprisingly – and there had been little to attract the kind of development the planet needed, even though they didn’t want it.  Pirate attacks in the sector had been going up, forcing insurance rates to rise ever higher, while there was no incentive for any of the galactic powers to mount regular patrols of the region.  No wonder that they were looking into finding a handful of ships of their own.

On the other hand, there was something odd about the whole deal.  Asher Dales might have more money than the average onlooker would realise, but paying for ships and regular maintenance – and crews – would be hideously expensive.  It made him wonder if Naval Intelligence or one of the other intelligence agencies had a hand in it somewhere, clearing permission to export warships out of the Commonwealth.  Who knew what good it might do to have influence with Asher Dale in the future?  The projected rate of human expansion might make the planet very important in the next few hundred years.  

But it was his only chance to return to space.  And he had to admit that he was excited about it, almost as excited as he’d been the day he first set foot on his first command.  It would be one hell of a challenge; buying the ships, finding the right crewmen and heading out to safeguard a planet against outside attack.  It was a good cause.  

“Very well,” he said.  “Where do I sign?”

“Here,” Tanya said, passing him one of the sheets of paper.  “And now can we go inspect the ships?”

“In a minute,” Philip said.  “I have to make a call first.”

Chapter Two

“It’s good to see you again, Philip,” Cassandra Anderson said.  “I wasn't sure if I should call or not.”

Philip shrugged as he settled down into his chair.  “I guess they haven’t blacklisted me, then,” he said.  “I was wondering if you would make it.”

He leaned back and studied Cassandra thoughtfully.  She looked around nineteen, with long blonde hair and a face that promised everything to a man’s eye.  Philip knew that she was at least forty years old and she’d spent around twenty of them working for the Commonwealth Intelligence Service as an intelligence analyst.  They’d met during his posting to a Marine Assault Carrier five years ago, where they’d become lovers.  Their different careers had separated them, but they’d stayed in touch.  Friendship was often more rewarding than romance, he’d told himself at the time.  And he’d been right.

“No one has burned you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Cassandra said, thoughtfully.  The waiter appeared, placed their glasses on the table, and wandered off to serve his other customers.  He’d picked a more up-market bar than the dive he’d wrecked only a few short hours ago, if only because Cass had once told him that she would rather spend a year in the Theocracy than visit one of his favourite bars.  The bar fights, he’d tried to explain, were part of the experience, but she hadn't been impressed.  “Your file appears to be curiously empty.”

She leaned forward and placed a Silencer on the table.  Philip nodded approvingly.  In theory, Silencers were capable of blocking all forms of surveillance, creating a bubble in which nothing could be picked up by curious watchers.  They were rarely licensed for commercial use, although there was a thriving black market in  bootleg devices.  Philip happened to know that there was an ongoing contest between the spies and counter-spies to develop new ways to observe someone without being detected – and blocking any such attempt.  So far, the counter-spies seemed to be winning, but he knew better than to take it for granted.

“In fact, I’d go so far as to say that it is suspiciously empty,” she added.  She took a sip of her drink and lifted one elegant eyebrow.  “How much did you have to bribe the Admiral to get your antics on Hellhole removed from the system?”

Philip flushed, and then shook his head.  “I didn’t bribe him at all,” he said.  “Is someone playing games, or am I caught up inside one of Intelligence’s famous webs of deception and misunderstandings?”

“I confess that I am not entirely sure,” Cassandra admitted.  “I did search the database for anything you might find useful and no one attempted to stop me...”

“Which could all be part of their plan,” Philip said.  He rolled his eyes, dramatically.  “Why does Intelligence never bother to simply ask people to do things for them out loud?”

“Plausible deniability,” Cassandra said.  “But I’m just a sissy.  What do I know about cloak and dagger theatrics?”

Philip nodded.  The Commonwealth Intelligence Service had only one mission; the collection and analysis of information from all over the Human Sphere.  It had originally been part of an  overarching intelligence service, but they’d been separated when covert operations had accidentally caused problems for the intelligence gatherers.  Cassandra’s employers had an unquenchable thirst for data and even if they were mainly focused on the Theocracy, they would definitely have looked into Asher Dales as part of their work.  She owed him a favour or two, although that only went so far.  If there was highly classified data in the CIS’s datafiles on Asher Dales, she wasn't going to share it with him.

“Asher Dales isn't really a target for our intelligence work,” Cassandra said, after a moment, “but it is close enough to the Commonwealth to warrant us taking an interest.”  She grinned, mischievously.  “The girl who’s trying to recruit you – do you know where she fits into Asher Dales?”

Philip shook his head.  “She’s the daughter of their Head of State,” Cassandra said.  “Her public file notes that she was born on Asher Dales, but came to the Commonwealth to study law and interstellar treaties five years ago.  That’s not particularly uncommon for bright students from newly-settled colony worlds; we certainly don’t try to discourage it.  You never know if some backwards world out along the Rim might become suddenly very important...

“In any case, she’s here and she has a surprisingly large amount of money to draw on to obtain some ships for their planned defence force,” she added.  “They didn't actually apply to the Commonwealth for a loan, let alone a defence treaty, but they did get a loan from the Falcone Corporation.  There may have been some underhand dealing in certain places...on the other hand, the Falcone Corporation does own a modest amount of shares in the Asher Dales Development Corporation, so they may be merely protecting their investment.”

“Sounds like it,” Philip agreed.  “Why didn't they seek a treaty with the Commonwealth instead?  Or the Frogs...?”

“Shades of Cadiz return to haunt us,” Cassandra said.  Philip nodded, slowly.  “I think they’re reluctant to allow us or anyone else a chance to annexe their planet.  They want to stand on their own two feet.”

Philip scowled.  The Commonwealth had annexed twenty-four planets, all of whom had had home-grown political parties that had wanted to tie themselves to Avalon.  Apart from a handful of minor incidents, there had never been any unrest and even that had tapered away as the benefits of Commonwealth membership had caused a small economic boom.  The Commonwealth, flushed with success and fearing the advance of the Theocracy, had allowed itself to be pushed into annexing Cadiz, a world right on the border between the Commonwealth and its most likely enemy.  It hadn't been the brightest idea; Cadiz’s warring factions had barely hesitated before engaging the Commonwealth’s occupation force, with the net result that the Commonwealth was permanently engaged in trying to put down an insurgency and pacify the planet.  

He’d served there as a young officer and he’d seen the results.  Cadiz was unlikely to ever develop into an economic powerhouse until the different factions stopped fighting each other and the Commonwealth – and outsiders were reluctant to invest without heavy guarantees of protection for their investments.  Cadiz might or might not be part of the Commonwealth, but it had the lowest living standards of any world outside the Theocracy.  In hindsight, there were times when he suspected that the kindest course of action would have been to drop a tailored bioweapon on Cadiz and swear blind that it had been a terrible accident.  

“Unfortunately, they may not get that chance,” Cassandra said, after a moment.  “There is considerable intelligence suggesting that the Theocracy is interested in that sector.”

“Right,” Philip said, sourly.  All of a sudden, everything made a great deal more sense.  If the CIS or Naval Intelligence believed that the Theocracy was involved, it might explain why Tanya had been able to purchase starships without attracting attention.  Even so, the Theocracy was some distance from Asher Dales – and they would have to traverse much of the Commonwealth to reach the newly-settled world.  It was fairly easy to slip through the border, but shipping an entire assault fleet to the defenceless world would be tricky.  “Maybe they want to encircle us.”

The Theocracy’s expansion had brought its border up to the Commonwealth – and very few people expected the border to remain quiet.  Certainly, the RAN’s high command – and the King himself – were frantically preparing for war.  The best case projection Philip had heard was that the war would start in five years, but the upspring in pirate activity – forcing the RAN to divert light units to serve as convoy escorts – suggested that the shit would hit the fan a great deal sooner than that.  And then there was the rumours that the Theocracy was actively arming the insurgents on Cadiz...

Hundreds of thousands of refugees had managed to flee the Theocracy, many of them making their way to the Commonwealth.  Their stories had been horrifying, warning of the dangers of Theocratic occupation, and they’d been spread wildly across the entire sector.  But the insurgents on Cadiz wouldn't care that they were dealing with a power that would do far more damage to them than the Commonwealth had ever done – and, by working with their operatives, were ensuring that the Theocracy knew precisely who to target to destroy the insurgency.

And if the Commonwealth fell, Asher Dales and the other worlds in that sector wouldn't have a prayer.

“It’s possible,” Cassandra agreed.  “There’s a world in that sector – Jordon – which is playing host to a number of refugees from the Theocracy.  Would you care to guess how many of those refugees are young men of military age?”

Philip’s eyes narrowed.  “You think that they’re an invading army?”

“It’s a possibility,” Cassandra said.  “We’re not even sure how they managed to reach Jordon in the first place.  The official story says that they were smuggled out by one of the more notorious pirates in the sector, but that still doesn't explain why they didn't go somewhere closer to the Theocracy, at least at first.  And, unlike all of the other groups of refugees, they didn’t split up.  They arrived on Jordon as a group and have, so far, been keeping their heads down.”

“Just waiting for their moment,” Philip said, thoughtfully.  “And no one has been even remotely concerned about the possibility of the Theocracy gaining ground in our rear?”

“There isn't much we can do, overtly,” Cassandra pointed out.  “Jordon isn't a Commonwealth world – nor is Asher Dales.  Even if we were at war, we would still have shaky legal grounds to intervene.  We’d upset far too many of the other powers if we stamped on this before it became a serious problem...”

Philip rolled his eyes.  The Breakaway Wars had wrecked the single authority that had had both the will and means to enforce a single code of conduct on humanity’s interstellar settlements.  There were a number of agreements between the various successor states to the United Nations governing the rules of war, interstellar settlement and communication, but enforcing them was difficult – and the Theocracy had never signed any of the treaties.  Even so, if the Theocracy managed to establish a colony world near Asher Dales, the Commonwealth would be legally obliged to allow the Theocracy to route its starships through Commonwealth space.  And that would create a whole new string of potential problems.

“I need a straight answer,” he said, slowly.  “What sort of operation is the Commonwealth running?”

Cassandra met his eyes.  “To the best of my knowledge, the Commonwealth has no operation running on Asher Dales or in any of the surrounding star systems,” she said.  “On the other hand, the Commonwealth would be delighted if the Theocracy was barred from entering the sector by a united power, defended by a formidable military force.”

“So if I succeed it’s a great victory for covert operations and if I fail it’s all my fault,” Philip said.  It sounded like the sort of concept the various covert operations services would enjoy, all the more so because they wouldn't be directly involved.  Failure wouldn't reflect badly on them.  “You do realise that Asher Dales won’t be able to build battleships for at least forty years, perhaps longer?  The Theocracy could take the sector any time they decide to divert a squadron of battlecruisers to annexe the settled worlds.”

“That might well alarm some of the other powers,” Cassandra said.  “They’re happy enough to see us facing the Theocracy – it saves them having to build up their own military forces and get ready for a fight – but if the Theocracy seems utterly fixated on expansion...”

“I wouldn't care to count on it,” Philip muttered.  “Thank you for your time and help.”

Cassandra favoured him with a brilliant smile.  “You’re always very welcome,” she said.  “I always knew Admiral Morrison was an asshole anyway.  If he didn't have so many powerful friends, he'd be out on his ass so fast that he’d probably slam into the door before it opened.”

“One can always hope,” Philip said.  He looked up at her, suddenly.  “What’s the best guess as to how long it will be before we go to war?”

Cassandra hesitated, taking another sip of her drink.  “It depends on who you talk to,” she admitted, finally.  “We’ve always had problems getting assets inside the Theocracy – and most of the people who make the important decisions are completely beyond our reach.  Our ability to guess at their intentions is rather limited – and intentions are what drives military operations.”

She shrugged.  “On the other hand, there is a great deal of indirect evidence,” she added.  “There has been a colossal upswing in pirate activity along the border, suggesting that someone is backing the pirates.  The general consensus among intelligence analysts is that we will be at war within two years, perhaps less – perhaps much less.  Admiral Morrison’s stint at Cadiz is due to end in three years, so it’s possible that they will strike before he’s gone – they could hardly hope for a more incompetent officer in command of Cadiz and the 6th Fleet.”

“There’s no way to be certain, of course,” Philip said.  He looked down at his untouched drink, and then took a sip.  Flavoured water might have been fashionable, but it had never been his favourite.  On the other hand, he didn't want to get drunk again.  Building up a defence force for a colony world would be a remarkable challenge – and he’d be able to set the ground rules that would shape its personnel.  He could ensure that no one got promoted without actual competence, rather than family connections.  “Is there any reason why I shouldn't take up this opportunity?”

“None that I know about,” Cassandra said.  She batted her eyelashes at him, beguilingly.  “I’d miss you, of course.”

“That looks terribly unnatural on you,” Philip said.  Cassandra giggled.  “I may need to run a handful of names past you for vetting.  Tanya might have managed to get a line on a few starships, but I bet she hasn't bothered to think about the crews.”

“Civilians,” Cassandra agreed.  “Go have fun – you never know; it might even make you happy.  And if war does break out, you’ll probably be recalled to active service.”

“I can hope,” Philip agreed.  He stood up and kissed her on the cheek.  “Thank you for your time and effort.”

“Best of luck,” Cassandra said.  “And don’t forget to write.  The sissies will be very interested in hearing about what happens to be going on in your new sector.”

***
Tanya had booked herself a hotel suite in the upper levels of the station, not entirely to Philip’s surprise.  When he pressed the buzzer, the door hissed open without checking his identity, allowing him to walk inside.  Puzzled, he looked around until he saw Tanya seated in one corner of the room, going through lists of starships for hire or outright purchase.  She looked up as he walked over to her and smiled, tiredly.  Wading through starship files was never an easy task at the best of times, even with military training and experience.  A newcomer would rapidly find herself swamped in the data.

“Welcome back,” she said, ironically.  “Did you make up your mind?”

Philip nodded.  “I’d be happy to take on the job,” he assured her.  It was very definitely the truth.  A chance to do what he’d trained to do – serve in a military force – and even build up a whole new navy from scratch.  “Do you have a contract, or would you just accept my word?”

“I’ll need you to help with the starship purchases,” Tanya admitted.  For the daughter of a planetary leader – he’d have to look up Asher Dales in the galactic datafiles and see how its government was organised – she seemed to have no servants or bodyguards escorting her.  The Commonwealth was far safer than many other star systems, but even so...the daughter of a planetary leader would make an attractive target for kidnap.  “I can’t make head or tail of this...”

She scowled, openly.  “I’ve purchased three destroyers for the fleet, but...”

“I hope you inspected them first,” Philip said.  He scowled.  It wouldn't have mattered, anyway.  Someone without naval experience could be given a completely sanitized tour and they’d never realise just how much they’d missed.  “I’ll have to confirm that they’re suitable before hiring crews – they’ll need to be convinced that the ships won’t blow up in hyperspace or lose their vortex generators when they try to return to normal space.”

Tanya frowned, concerned.  “Does that happen often?”

“Commercial starships – even ex-military ones – aren’t always cared for as much as they should be,” Philip said.  He picked up the datapad and ran his eye down the details.  There simply wasn't enough to help him to make up his mind.  “We’re definitely going to have to go inspect them.”

He keyed the console embedded in the desk and found a shuttle flight heading out to the Quincy Starship Refurbishment Yards.  It wouldn't be a long flight, just long enough for him to go through the files more carefully and see what needed inspection.  If nothing else, the absence of certain pieces of information should tell him what the dealers didn't want anyone to see.  And there were too many pieces of information missing...

“Come on,” he said.  Tanya nodded and stood up.  For the daughter of a Head of State, she didn't seem to insist on protocol – but then, Asher Dales was hardly Avalon, or even Mars.  Tanya was probably smart enough to know that her father’s position hardly counted in the Commonwealth.  Asher Dales would vanish without trace on any of the more populated worlds.  “We’ll go inspect the ships and then we can start hunting for crews.” 

Chapter Three

The Quincy Starship Refurbishment Yards were based around an asteroid habitat in a free orbit around Avalon’s star.  Philip had never had occasion to visit them before, but there was nothing particularly new or exciting about the small shipyard.  Tanya, on the other hand, was staring out of the shuttle as if she’d never seen anything like it before, which was quite possible.  Asher Dales had no shipyard and most of the Commonwealth’s shipyards were positioned away from the planet.  It had been centuries since an orbital station had fallen out of orbit and crashed down on the planet below, but no one felt like taking chances.  Besides, having the shipyards in orbit just made it easier for any aggressor to wreck havoc.

They transferred to a small inspection bug and cruised towards the first of the three destroyers.  The three ships - Dasher, Dancer and Joe Buckley – had been withdrawn from service in the RAN five years ago, according to the file Quincy had transmitted to Tanya when she purchased the ships, and passed to the Refurbishment Yards for downgrading into civilian craft.  They might have been outdated, but they should have sold to commercial interests sooner rather than later; Philip suspected that that was a bad sign.  The RAN files on the three ships hadn't suggested that anything was seriously wrong with them, yet the files might not have been updated after they’d been decommissioned.

Dasher came into view slowly and Philip switched the autopilot on, looking up at the starship’s gleaming white hull.  The Oslo-class destroyers were compressed arrowheads, built for heavy firepower rather than speed; they bristled with weapons pods and missile tubes.  They weren't the most advanced design in known space – the RAN had developed two successive classes of destroyers since the Oslo-class ships had been launched – but they were definitely solid workhorses.  The ship’s name, illuminated by floodlights positioned within the frame surrounding the starship, could be read easier.  It added a certain layer of enchantment to the entire scene.

“She’s beautiful,” Tanya whispered.  “How do we get onboard?”

“We dock,” Philip said.  The bug drifted up to the hull and placed itself against one of the smaller airlocks.  On impulse, Philip picked up a pair of facemasks and tossed one of them to Tanya, before pressing the other against his mouth.  There was a hiss as it fixed itself to his skin.  Tanya looked a question at him, just before the airlock hissed open, revealing a second airlock within the destroyer.  He beckoned for her to follow him into the ship, leaving the bug behind.  The airlock hissed closed behind them, a second before the inner door opened.  “Come on...”

There was always something eerie about a ship that had been almost completely powered down.  The atmosphere smelt musty even though the facemask; a quick check revealed that the drives, weapons and life support systems had been stood down completely.  He led the way to the bridge and peered inside, feeling a tingle running down his spine.  It was easy to imagine a ghostly crew carrying out their duties, utterly unaware of the presence of unwanted intruders.  The captain’s chair, positioned in the centre of the cramped bridge, was dusty.  Philip ran one finger over the seat, smiling inwardly.  If any active-duty CO had seen his seat in such a condition, he knew, the CO would have been furious.  He hated to think what the IG would have said about it.  They’d have seen it as a sign the Captain wasn't doing his job properly.

He stood up and peered around at the various consoles.  They seemed to be in fairly good condition, although there were a handful of places where classified components had been removed before the ship had been decommissioned.  Tapping one of the two active consoles, he brought up a ship monitoring subsystem and examined its findings.  Dasher was in a rough condition, mainly through lack of maintenance.  The two fusion reactors positioned towards the rear of the ship were in acceptable condition, but the wear and tear on the power distribution grid was horrifying.  It would take at least a week to replace the power conduits to ensure that they didn't burn out the moment he demanded full military power – and it would definitely take longer if there were any other problems.

“So,” Tanya said, into the silence, “what do you make of it?”

“Her,” Philip corrected, absently.  “A starship is always a her.”

He tapped the console again and checked the weapons systems.  Unsurprisingly, a number of components had been removed to make it impossible to fire the weapons, although they could be replaced fairly easily.  In theory, a decommissioned warship couldn't be reactivated once it had been sold to a civilian shipping line, but in practice it was simple enough to outfit the ships with newer weapons and turn it into a light military craft.  Pirates had been doing it ever since the Breakaway Wars, when a great many UN starships – no one knew how many had vanished somewhere in the interstellar gulf – had become pirate craft.  The RAN had destroyed a number of them during antipiracy missions.

“We’re going to have to spend some time refitting the ship,” he said, absently.  He attached his datapad to the console and downloaded a complete report from the starship’s monitoring systems.  It looked as if they would be spending at least two weeks working on Dasher before she was fit for service.  If the other ships were in worse conditions...

Tanya frowned.  “Do you know how long?”

“Not yet,” Philip said.  He straightened up and switched off the console.  “I think we'd better take a look at the other two ships.”

An hour passed slowly as they inspected Dancer and Joe Buckley.  Dancer wasn't in any particularly worse condition than Dasher, although her weapons systems would need to be switched out with new components before her targeting computers could be rated as fit for active service.  On the face of it, Joe Buckley was in excellent shape, except for one minor detail.  The vortex generator was missing, completely.  Philip suspected that someone must have cannibalised the ship once she’d been decommissioned; a military-grade vortex generator – the key to entering hyperspace without needing to use a vortex gate – would be worth thousands of pounds on the black market.  Asher Dales didn't have a vortex gate, unsurprisingly; Joe Buckley would be utterly dependent upon her consorts to travel faster-than-light.  A pirate ship could evade her simply by jumping into hyperspace.

“Shit,” Tanya said, when he had finished detailing the problems.  “I thought...”

Philip shrugged.  “Let me see the documents again,” he said.  He skimmed through them rapidly, looking for something he was sure wouldn't be there.  Tanya might have been a good choice for recruiting personnel, but she knew nothing about starships.  She wouldn't even have noticed its exclusion.  “Ah.”

“I paid for these ships,” Tanya said, ignoring him.  “And I got taken for a ride.  My dad’s going to kill me.”

“I don’t think so,” Philip said.  He glanced over Joe Buckley’s specs one final time, making sure of his ground.  “Let's go have a few words with Mr. Quincy.”

***
Richard Quincy, the owner and CEO of Quincy Starship Refurbishment, clearly didn't know the meaning of the words charm, elegance and good taste.  His offices were decorated with expensive paintings, artefacts from a dozen worlds and signed photographs of him with a number of celebrities.  Philip had a private suspicion, as they marched into the office and up to the receptionist’s desk, that most of the artefacts weren't worth anything like as much as they seemed.  The whole office was decorated to impress his visitors.  Philip, who had been in combat against pirates, was unimpressed.  The medals that decorated one part of the wall were clearly faked.  

The receptionist looked up in surprise as he stormed up to her desk.  She appeared young, wearing a low-cut dress that hid nothing, although that could be an illusion.  There was no reason why Quincy couldn’t have had his secretary undergo cosmetic surgery to improve her charms.  She was certainly a distraction to anyone who came into the office demanding recompense, or worse.

“Yes?”  She enquired.  “Can I help you, sir?”

“I want an immediate meeting with Quincy,” Philip said, firmly.  He glared at the receptionist, never allowing his gaze to drop from her eyes.  “You will inform him that I am here to see him, now.”

The receptionist hesitated.  “I’m afraid that Mr. Quincy has an urgent meeting...”

“Indeed he does, with me,” Philip said.  “You will inform him that...”

“I cannot intrude upon his meeting,” the receptionist said, with great dignity.  The effect was somewhat spoiled by her youthful appearance.  “I must ask you to arrange an appointment...”

Philip leaned down until his nose was almost brushing against hers.  “I fear that you have misunderstood me,” he said, sweetly.  “You will go inform him that we are here to see him, or we will go at once to the police and file a complaint against Mr. Quincy and his corporation.  I dare say that your position here will not survive...”

The change was remarkable.  “Please wait two minutes,” the secretary said.  Philip waited, never taking his eyes from her, as she picked up a small communicator and spoke into it, rapidly.  If his other experiences with salesmen were anything to go by, Mr. Quincy would do anything to avoid drawing the attention of the police.  And if the police happened to be given a copy of the documents Tanya had been sent, nothing would save him from a hefty jail term.  “Mr. Qunicy will see you now.”

Tanya caught his arm as they passed through the door.  “Are you sure you know what you are doing?”

Philip nodded  “Yes,” he muttered back.  “Let me handle this.”

Mr. Quincy was a short man, with an expensively-tailored suit that couldn't quite hide the fact that he was uncomfortably overweight.  His dark eyes flickered around the room, never quite meeting Philip’s eyes; his hands were twisting in front of him, suggesting that he was nervous.  But then, the mention of the police would be enough to make him more than a little worried about the future.  No one reached the heights of his profession without making any number of questionable deals.  If a pirate ship happened to be traced back to him, he’d be spending the rest of his life on a penal colony.

Philip pulled a datachip out of his pocket and dropped it on the table.  “This is a copy” – he stressed the word copy to make Mr. Quincy nervous – “of the contract you sent to Miss Barrington, covering the sale of three Oslo-class destroyers from your business to Asher Dales.  Your contract specifically states that all three ships are in acceptable condition and have been certified as such.”

Mr. Quincy didn't pick up the datachip, almost as if he feared that it would burn him.  “I must protest this intrusion into my office,” he said, quickly.  “All such matters are handled by my company’s lawyers.”

Philip ignored him.  “I have inspected the documents,” he said, darkly.  “The ships do not match the specifications you supplied.  Furthermore, none of them have CAB-issued certifications.  You are no doubt aware that failure to provide a CAB certification is grounds for nullification of contract – and a lengthy jail term.”

He rarely had anything good to say about bureaucrats, but he blessed them now.  The CAB – Commonwealth Assessment Bureau – had been created to regulate the sale of starships to third parties, providing an impartial evaluation service that allowed buyers to be sure that sellers were not trying to deceive them.  It also made it harder for pirates to use shell corporations to purchase ex-military craft that could be turned into pirate ships.  By not obtaining a CAB certificate, Quincy had opened himself to legal action.  The CAB would be leading the charge.  Hell hath no fury like a bureaucrat who felt himself taken in vain.

“I’m sure that my lawyers simply failed to include the certificate,” Quincy said, quickly.  “I can have it forwarded to you...”

“I was sure that that was the case,” Philip pretended to agree, “so I contacted the CAB directly and asked for a copy of the certificate’s registry number.  You will be aware, no doubt, that a certificate’s existence cannot be hidden, even if the certificate itself is restricted?  Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there was no certificate.”  He grinned.  “Would you care to explain that little discrepancy?”

Quincy hesitated, no doubt sensing the abyss opening up in front of him.  “There is no requirement for a CAB certificate when the sale is made to a foreign government,” he said, finally.  He was, as it happened, right – but only partly right.  Philip grinned, inwardly.  His superiors had thought that they were punishing him when they’d made him study Admiralty Case Law at Piker’s Peak.  “The CAB would only have assessed the starships if the outside government had requested an assessment.  And Asher Dales” – he’d opened up the file now – “made no such request.”

“There is some case law in your favour,” Philip agreed, amiably.  “Wrigley’s Planet vs. Consolidated Industries would seem to suggest that the CAB was not required to inspect the starships before they were transferred to an outside world.  However...”

His voice hardened.  “You are no doubt aware that Asher Dales was funded by a number of different corporations,” he added.  “In that case, the result of Thande vs. Ian Montgomery and Nova Candia vs. Consolidated Industries would seem to hold true.  Asher Dales would count as a commercial entity  until it managed to buy its shares back from the founding contributors.  The failure to provide a CAB certificate, in such cases, becomes a very serious offense.”

Quincy stared at him, and then scowled.  “If there has been an oversight, I assure you that I will deal with it,” he said, quickly.  Philip guessed that he was considering which of his employees he could throw to the lions when the CAB started pressing charges against him.  “And we can make certain amounts of recompense...”

“I’m afraid that Thande vs. Ian Montgomery definitely established the point that the corporation as a whole is responsible for such oversights,” Philip said.  There was no point in letting Quincy shovel the blame off onto some poor unsuspecting employee.  Besides, Quincy was a snake.  Nailing him would be a pleasure.  “The CAB would certainly support such an interpretation.  And so, I'm afraid, would the Falcone Corporation.”

Quincy’s eyes widened.  “What?”

Philip grinned, enjoying himself.  “The Falcone Corporation provided some of the money that was used to buy the starships,” he said.  “I dare say that their legal division will want a few words with you, don’t you think?  Even if the CAB merely settles for confiscating your assets and putting you in jail, the Falcone Corporation would want its own pound of flesh...”

He sat down and treated Quincy to a cheerful smile.  “But we really don’t have time to fuck around with legal tricks,” he added.  “Why don’t we make a deal?”

Quincy scowled.  “What are you offering?”

“I want those three ships refitted quickly,” Philip said.  “You will pay for that; ideally, I want the Joe Buckley to have a new vortex generator.”  He ignored Quincy’s snort.  Obtaining a new generator suitable for such an old starship wouldn't be easy.  It would certainly be very costly.  “I also want a large bulk freighter – but that shouldn't be a problem; you have plenty of them in stock.  Just make damn sure that it has a CAB certificate.  I’ll be sending you a list of spare parts I’ll want loaded into the freighter.  You’ll supply those as well, of course.”

“You can’t blackmail me,” Quincy protested.  “You’re just as...”

Philip allowed his smile to widen.  “Interesting point,” he said.  “I’m afraid that most case law would still put the burden of the blame on your shoulders.  Given that you actually sold the ships to use, you would certainly be expected to pay for their refitting and the rather large collection of spare parts we happen to need...”

He shrugged.  “I dare say that you could try to slow things down,” he added, after a moment.  “If the ships – all four of them – are not ready to depart in a month, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you more notorious than you are already.  I trust that we have a deal?”

“Very well,” Quincy said.  “You have a deal.”

***
Philip was still grinning as they boarded the shuttle for the trip back to Avalon.  Tanya seemed rather surprised, although Philip wasn’t sure why.  Or perhaps she was annoyed at herself.  The missing CAB certificates could have caused a great deal of trouble for Asher Dales in the future – and the starships had definitely not been up to spec.

“That was...odd,” she said, finally.  “Will he really keep his word?”

“Unless he wants to spend the rest of his life on a penal world, he will,” Philip said.  “I’ve met enough men like that to know how they think.  They turn into pussies when anyone actually stands up to them.  If you hadn't bought the ships, it would have been a different story...I guess they saw you coming.”

“I guess so,” Tanya admitted.  “I haven’t practiced much as a lawyer...”

“Everyone learns from experience,” Philip assured her.  Oddly, he was feeling great.  He hadn't felt so good since he’d learned that the RAN had promoted him to Captain – and he’d never expected to feel so good again.  “I’m sure that there will be much more experience in the future.”

He shrugged.  “We go back to the station, have an early night, and then start hunting for crewmen in the morning,” he added.  “How many crewmen do you want?”

“Enough,” Tanya said.  “I leave it in your hands.  Just remember that you're the one who will have to command them.”

Chapter Four

“Not a bad response, I feel,” Philip said, four days later.  “We’ve got most of the people we need signed up.”

He glanced down at the list of replies.  Avalon – like all major spacefaring planets – had a permanent pool of spacers looking for work on starships or the massive space stations orbiting the planet.  Many of them had experience in the RAN, or merchant shipping; some of them were constantly looking for a new challenge.  He’d gone through the communications networks, uploaded a few advertisements and waited for the responses to come back.  Most of the people on his first list had agreed to sign up.

Tanya frowned.  “Do we really need all of these people?”

Philip smiled.  Ever since buying three starships that were not really suited to purpose, Tanya had become a great deal more careful about approving expenses.  He couldn't really blame her, but it was irritating, not least because she didn't really have the experience to say what was necessary and what wasn’t.  She’d hired him to handle that part of her mission, after all.

“We won’t have a shipyard at Asher Dales,” Philip reminded her.  In theory, one could operate an Oslo-class destroyer with less than ten crewmen; in practice, it would be almost impossible to handle any major repairs with less than thirty officers and men.  Luckily, pirates had a slapdash attitude to maintenance; even a light cruiser in pirate hands would have problems taking on a naval destroyer.  Even so, he wasn't going to risk being caught hundreds of light years from anywhere that could repair his ships.  “We need the crew.”

He scowled as he ran his finger down the list of people who hadn't responded, or hadn't replaced with full details.  Some of them hadn't been interested in joining any kind of naval service; they’d been discharged from the RAN for insubordination or persistent misbehaviour.  Others didn't want to leave the Commonwealth, even with the promise of a land grant on a new colony world.  A handful of the ones who had accepted seemed to be having problems finding someone willing to give them a reference, which didn't bode well.  And three of the people with experience that Asher Dales desperately needed hadn't replied at all.

“And we need people with proper skills,” he added, after a moment.  He stood up and headed towards the door.  “I’ll have to speak to two of them in person.  Don’t wait up for me.”

Tanya blinked.  “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere I wouldn't take a civilian,” Philip admitted.  “Trust me; you don't want to follow me this time.”

***
He heard the noise echoing down the corridor for several minutes before he reached the Hungry Werewolf.  Someone had turned the music up loud, but it couldn't be loud enough to drown out the sound of shouting and fighting.  The Hungry Werewolf had a reputation as the worst place to drink in the entire system, one its patrons enthusiastically passed on to anyone who wanted to find somewhere to drown their sorrows.  No law enforcement service ever went anywhere near the bar; prostitutes were about the only safe people on the drinking and dancing floor.  And anyone, Philip knew, who tried any of the bar snacks, was taking their life in their hands.  It was part of the bar’s charm.

The door swung open as he approached and an oversized spacer was unceremoniously tossed out into the corridor.  He hit the bulkhead with a sickening thud, staggered to his feet, and stumbled away from the bar.  Philip was mildly impressed.  The last he’d heard, the Hungry Werewolf had been having trouble finding bouncers with the muscle and violent sociopath nature needed to live down to the bar’s reputation.  Two more revellers followed him out, one collapsing as soon as he was outside; the other running away at great speed.  Philip shrugged to himself and pushed open the door.  

Inside, the noise was far louder than outside.  Thirty to forty people were packed into a cramped space, some dancing on the floor, others sitting up at the bar and trying to drink themselves into a stupor.  Philip wondered, absently, if he would have eventually come to the Hungry Werewolf if Tanya hadn't found him.  It was the bar for people who had fallen through the cracks and been abandoned by the system.  The dark side of Avalon, some would have said, and perhaps they would have been right.  But then, many of the people in the bar could have found employment if they hadn't been addicted to stimulants or electronic pleasure boosting...he caught sight of a prostitute whose client had collapsed in a drunken heap.  Not inclined to waste her chances, the prostitute was going through his pockets and systematically removing his wallet, his ID and anything else that happened to be of interest.

Rolling his eyes, Philip made his way to the bar and ordered a beer, looking around for his first target.  He’d had to call in a favour from Cassandra to find Commander Saul Schifrin – he hadn't replied to the message Philip had sent, three days ago – and apparently it hadn't been easy.  Schifrin had been propping up the bar at the Hungry Werewolf for the last few months, drinking himself into an early grave.  His RAN file indicated that he’d been found drunk on duty at least four times, after which his superior officers had run out of patience and unceremoniously discharged him from the navy.  Philip sighed inwardly as he caught sight of his target.  At one point, Schifrin had been an expert tactician, known for his skills in hunting down pirate ships.

He was taller than Philip had expected, with a receding hairline and a slight paunch.  His hand was clutching a beer glass as if he expected to have it stolen from under his very eyes, while he was using his other hand to hold himself to the bar.  At least there was no sign of an electronic simulator jack plugged into his neck, Philip told himself; there was no way he would have taken an electronic addict into his crew, no matter how qualified or experienced he had once been.  The addicts lived in a state of permanent orgasm and simply considered themselves above the concerns of mundane life.  They couldn't be trusted with anything serious.

Shaking his head, he walked around the bar patrons – noting the bar fight that seemed to have broken out when one of the patrons objected to a prostitute’s terms – and sat down next to Schifrin.  The man’s white hair contrasted oddly with his bright red jumper, but it seemed that dress sense was one of the things Schifrin had forgotten since he’d been discharged from the RAN.  Cassandra had been able to slip Philip his file and it had made very depressing reading.  Schifrin, like so many others, had seen the horrors the pirates had left in their wake and it had broken him.  The RAN couldn't be everywhere at once.  Even the Theocracy, to give the devil its due, didn't allow piracy within its territory.  It preferred to point the pirates into the Commonwealth instead.

“Commander Schifrin?”  He asked.  The former Commander looked up at him, and then returned to his drink.  “I have a job for you.”

“Shut up,” Schifrin growled.  “Sit down, have a drink, and then go away.”

Philip shrugged, reached into his pocket, and produced a sober-up tab.  Before Schifrin could even register its presence, he pressed it against his neck and injected it right into his bloodstream.  Schifrin yelped in shock as the fast-acting drug burned through his system, driving the effects of the alcohol out of his mind.  He gasped, swallowed hard as if he was on the verge of being violently sick, and then stared up at Philip angrily.

“What the hell did you do that for?”  He demanded, loudly.  “Marie!  Throw this jerk out before I go to town on him!”

“I have a job offer for you,” Philip said, evenly.  “It involves command of a destroyer.  Are you interested, or should I go to the next person on the list?”

“Command of a destroyer?”  Schifrin repeated.  “There isn’t anyone who would give me a destroyer to command.  Fat fucking chance after my dishonourable...  They’d have to be insane.”

Philip shrugged.  “Then maybe I’m crazy,” he said.  Part of him wondered if Schifrin was really up to the task, yet there simply weren't many people in Avalon with the experience and the desire to serve in a foreign navy.  The RAN might have loaned a few officers if Asher Dales had been willing to sign an alliance, but Tanya had been clear; her father wouldn't agree to any permanent alliance with anyone.  It would compromise his planet’s independence.  “I have an Oslo-class destroyer, in reasonable shape, that needs a commanding officer...”

He felt a presence behind him.  “I also need a Marine CO,” he added, without looking back.  “Can I interest you in the job?”

“Don’t throw the bum out,” Schifrin said, quickly.  “He’s offering us money.”

“Is it enough money,” a female voice said, “to make it worth our while?”

Philip shrugged.  “How much money could tempt you to leave a job in a nice place like this?”

The bouncer sat down, facing him.  She appeared to be young, with short blonde hair and a persistent smile, but her face was badly scarred and a handful of tattoos covered her exposed arms.  Marine Lieutenant Marie Martinez had been discharged from the RAMC for extreme violence, which had made Philip laugh when he’d first read her file.  He’d always thought that that was how one got into the Marines, at least according to rumour back when he’d been a junior officer.  Marines and spacers worked together, but that didn't mean they had to like one another and the Marines mostly kept to Marine Country.

“It depends on what you’re offering,” she said.  A pair of patrons were listening to the conversation and she glared at them until they shuffled away.  “I’m not interested in mercenary work.”

“It isn’t really mercenary work,” Philip said, and explained about Asher Dales in a few short sentences.  “I need a CO for one of the other ships and I need a Marine to train the locals in space boarding tactics.”

“You intend to take a few pirate ships,” Marie said.  “And what will you do with the pirates?”

“Strip them naked and put them out the airlock,” Philip said, flatly.  The Commonwealth – and almost every other interstellar state – had precisely one punishment for piracy.  There were people who argued that there should be some room for leniency – the pirates committed hundreds of atrocities, knowing that they would be executed when the law caught up with them – but it wasn't an attitude that found favour with many spacers.  The pirates looted, raped and murdered their way across space until they were caught and executed.  And no matter how many of them the RAN killed, there were always more out there.

Philip hadn’t just studied interstellar case law during his year with the JAG.  One of his superiors had written a book on the economics of interstellar piracy and his conclusions had made interesting reading, once they’d been mentally translated into plain English.  There were hundreds of colony worlds out along the Rim – or even beyond it, settled by people who had believed that the Breakaway Wars would result in the destruction of every known colony world – that simply couldn't afford machines and material they desperately needed.  The pirates were quite happy to sell the material they’d captured to the colonists, secure in the knowledge that the colonists would never betray them to the authorities.  And then there were the perishable goods from a dozen worlds, foodstuffs that couldn't be produced on other inhabited planets.  They commanded high prices and, with a little care, pirates could earn enough to keep their starships running.

Even so, pirates tended to live hand to mouth.  There was an entire network of support bases, fences and other criminal activity that helped them to raid commercial shipping, but the various military powers worked hard to shut it down.  The Theocracy’s quiet support for pirates raiding the Commonwealth’s shipping actually made life easier for the pirates, if only because Commonwealth warships were prohibited from crossing the border into the Theocracy.  If the Commonwealth ever discovered proof that the pirates were using a star system on the other side of the border as a base, the shit would really hit the fan.  It would almost certainly lead to war.

“Sounds ideal,” Marie said.  “Excuse me a minute.”

She stood up, marched over to two patrons who were arguing violently with one another, and banged their heads together hard.  They dropped to the ground, groaning, as she turned and marched back to her seat.  Philip smiled, impressed.  It took a person with considerable nerve to serve as a bouncer in the Hungry Werewolf; he had a suspicion that most of them simply didn't last very long.  But then, few people who knew her reputation would mess with Marie – and no one would do it twice.

“It definitely sounds ideal,” Schifrin agreed.  The bartender had placed a jug of water in front of him and he was drinking it greedily.  Sober-up taps tended to produce massive dehydration very quickly.  “What’s the pay like...?”

“Forget the pay,” Marie snapped.  “This is your chance to get back in the command seat of a starship!  You ought to be paying him to take you.”

Philip laughed and reached into his tunic, producing a pair of datachips.  “These are the contracts,” he said.  “Assuming you last five years, there’s a land grant which you can keep and develop for yourself, or sell to other developers.  Pay is on a reasonable scale in local money; less so if you want it in pounds, dollars, or interstellar credit notes...”

“Smart,” Marie said.  “You want people spending money on the planet if possible...I wonder what the exchange rate is like?”

“It’s backed by a Planetary Development Fund,” Philip said.  Interstellar economics were tricky, all the more so since the UN’s unified currency had gone the way of the dinosaur.  It hadn't worked very well even when the UN had been a going concern, if only because most colony worlds hadn't had much to sell to their inhabitants.  Inflation had helped to fuel the Breakaway Wars.  “You’ll have a nice nest egg if you serve for five or more years – food and suchlike is provided free...”

“We might even get good food if we’re near a planet,” Schifrin commented, cheerfully.  It was an article of faith among RAN crewmen that the food was universally awful, even though that wasn't entirely true.  On the other hand, the RAN’s cookery course was universally acknowledged to be the hardest in the known universe – it had to be; no one had ever passed it.  “I think I’d be happy with such an arrangement – where do I sign?”

“One word of warning,” Philip said, “I don't have time for a drunkard on my ships.  If I catch you drinking while you’re meant to be on duty, or reporting for duty with a hangover, I’ll personally beat the crap out of you.”

“I’m sure there are regulations against laying hands on your subordinates,” Schifrin said.

“There are?”  Marie asked, in a tone of artful surprise.  “Tell that to my Drill Instructors.”

“I get to make the regulations,” Philip said.  No one on Asher Dales had any experience writing Naval Regulations.  Philip intended to copy the RAN’s regulations, with a few minor modifications to suit himself.  “I’m not kidding about beating the crap out of you.  And if I have to beach you, it won't be on Avalon.”

“Don't worry about it,” Marie said.  “I’ll ride herd on him for you.  He won’t touch a single drop while I’m taking care of him.”

“Thank you,” Philip said.  “We’re refurbishing the three ships out at Quincy Starship Refurbishment Yards.  The bastard tried to cheat us so we put the fear of the CAB into him; still, I want someone there overseeing the work as soon as possible.”  He dropped a set of coins onto the table.  “Get yourselves there and make yourself known to Quincy, and then start inspecting the ships.  I want them in perfect working order by the time we leave.”

“Understood,” Schifrin said.  “Which ship do I command?”

“I’ll decide that once we have the remainder of the crews lined up,” Philip said.  “If you have a particular favourite, let me know.”

He looked over at Marie.  “I want you to find ten or so retired Marines or people with military experience who would be prepared to serve as cadre for my little force,” he said.  “Get people with real military experience – ideally, people with training experience.  I’ll drop you a note of pay scales and suchlike once we get set up at the Yards.  Let me know if there are any problems...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Marie said.  Retired Marines – there was no such thing as an ex-Marine, they claimed – kept in touch, even the ones who had had to leave the corps under a cloud.  Marine would know dozens of people who met the bill.  “I’ll find you plenty of possible recruits.”

Philip smiled.  “Then I’ll see you both at the Yards,” he said.  “Good day.”

He didn't start chuckling to himself until he was well away from the Hungry Wolf.  They both wanted to return to space; he could see it written all over their faces.  And they had the experience his little command desperately needed.  All he’d have to do is watch Schifrin to make sure he didn't return to the bottle...but he probably wouldn’t.  He was desperate to return to command of a starship, just as Philip himself had been.  

Checking his wristcom, he headed off down the corridor.  There were a handful of other possibilities he had to see.

Chapter Five

“I trust you are pleased with my work?”

Philip shrugged.  Quincy or one of his people had been hanging around for the two weeks of refurbishment to get the three destroyers ready for space.  The Quincy Starship Refurbishment Yards had provided two hundred trained workers to do most of the labour, although Philip had insisted that his crewmen had to work beside their counterparts to ensure that they knew how the ships went together.  Every starship was different, even those that had been produced for the military, and they all had their own idiosyncrasies.  The last thing he wanted was a nasty surprise while they were a hundred light years from the nearest shipyard.

“It has been much better,” he said, after a moment.  Part of him wanted to keep extorting money and spare parts from the dealer; the rest of him thought that once he’d obtained all he needed, he might as well stop twisting his arm.  “We should be ready to depart in a few more days.”

He studied the bridge of Dasher thoughtfully.  It looked a mess, with half of the consoles removed and a number of hatches in the deck opened up to allow old components to be pulled out and replaced.  Workmen were everywhere, working frantically to get the ship ready to depart before the scheduled deadline.  The rest of the small destroyer wasn't much better, he knew, but thankfully the original designers had built her to last.  They hadn’t realised just how far naval technology would advance once the galactic powers had started pressing against one another, leaving them struggling to develop newer and better defences for their starships.  Dasher might have no place in a local wall of battle, or providing escort to the massive battleships that provided the RAN’s heavy firepower, but she still had her uses.  It seemed almost a pity that she’d been retired – and a relief that there was still useful work for her to do.

“I trust you have moved all of the supplies to the Nancy?”  He asked, dryly.  The Nancy – a heavy bulk freighter – had been designed for work in the Commonwealth, not out along the Rim.  Asher Dales certainly didn't have an orbital station that could unload her and transport her cargo down to the planet’s surface.  Philip, however, had had other ideas and switched out most of her cargo holds for living space and spare parts.  The freighter would provide a mobile support base for his fleet, as well as holding prisoners and repair crews, once the latter were trained.  There was no way it could match the utility of one of the mobile support ships used by the RAN, but it would suffice for his little squadron.  “I really would hate to have to come back here to file a complaint in person.”

“They have all been loaded, as you requested,” Quincy said, quickly.  Philip made a mental note to have it checked, carefully.  He could trust Quincy to do everything necessary to avoid having to explain himself to the CAB inspectors, but he wouldn't put it past the dealer to try to cheat him somehow.  Revenge would be a more than suitable motive for the man.  “I think that you will be satisfied.”

Philip nodded.  “Thank you for your time,” he said.  “You can go bother someone else now.”

He ignored the fuming Quincy as he walked over to the captain’s chair and smiled to himself.  Someone had brushed off the dust while replacing the twin consoles that allowed the commander to assume control of the ship’s drives or weapons if necessary.  All of the equipment had been carefully checked and while the military-grade material had survived its treatment better than he had expected, it was still a relief to have most of it replaced.  Military-grade equipment was popular with commercial shippers; it was often far tougher and more reliable than anything produced by the commercial sector.  Even so, a few years of neglect and disuse could wear away almost anything.  And Quincy was paying for the refurbishment.

His wristcom buzzed.  “Captain” – they hadn't decided if he should be a Captain or a Commodore, although he would definitely be wearing two hats – “this is Bartley, in Engineering.  We’ve plugged the second fusion plant into the ship and she seems to be running fine.  Once we’ve finished closing up all the hatches and access points we should be ready to move.”

“Understood,” Philip said.  Bartley had been a real find; an engineer who should have been serving in the RAN, rather than the commercial sector.  Indeed, he honestly wasn't sure why Bartley hadn't applied to the RAN.  He should have been accepted without demur.  “Let me know when we’re ready to take her out.”

He’d given Dancer to Schifrin – not without a few misgivings, even with Marie watching over him – and Joe Buckley to Captain Thomas Nonagon, another former RAN officer who’d left the service ten years ago to work in the commercial sector.  He’d clearly repented of it since then, not entirely to Philip’s surprise, and had eagerly accepted the position when Philip had contacted him.  Unlike Philip or Schifrin, Nonagon actually did have experience commanding Oslo-class destroyers, which he claimed would give him an advantage over the other two.  Philip wasn't so sure – the older Captain wouldn't have remained current on the latest military technology – but it wasn't really a competition.  Besides, there would be plenty of time for him to catch up.

An hour passed slowly as the engineering crew checked and rechecked the ship’s systems.  Philip waited patiently, refusing to hurry them even though part of him wanted to demand that they cleared the ship for action at once.  He’d heard stories of how ships had suffered catastrophic drive failures through someone having left a multitool in the wrong place and he had no intention of putting the departure date back because he’d been too impatient to wait until everything was ready to go.  Slightly to his annoyance, Dancer was ready to depart before Dasher, although it would be a few days before Joe Buckley was ready to join them.  Replacing a vortex generator took longer than pulling out and replacing a fusion reactor, even though – on the face of it – it was a simpler task.  A mistake with the vortex generator could mean being stranded in hyperspace, unable to return to normal space.  There were stories about starships that had become trapped in hyperspace, drifting onwards in a desperate search for a vortex gate, their crews long since dead at their stations...

He shook his head in some irritation.  There was little truth to such stories, but they never lost their power to chill spacers.  He’d heard dozens of different stories, from strange starships sighted briefly in hyperspace to encounters with godlike alien beings.  None of the stories had ever been verified, leaving them all as nothing more than rumours.  They were still told to new recruits, just to remind them that humanity didn't know everything about the universe...

His wristcom chimed.  “Captain, we should be ready for departure,” Bartley said.  The remaining crew on the bridge had closed all the access points, allowing the bridge crew to take up their stations and prepare for departure.  “Permission to power up the drives?”

Philip sat down in the command chair, feeling the old excitement welling up inside him.  It was no wonder that so few people, once they’d been promoted to command a starship, ever wanted to leave.  The ship’s captain was the sole authority onboard his ship, with the right to command her crew – and the responsibility to bring her and her crew safely back home.  He felt the responsibility settling around him like a shroud, a mocking reminder that the Captain could never relax completely.  Captains had been court-martialled for losing their ships to errors the Board of Inquiry deemed avoidable, even if it hadn't been their fault.  The Captain bore the ultimate responsibility...

He keyed his wristcom.  “Begin power-up sequence,” he ordered.  The RAN’s shipyards normally carried out the first sequence before clearing the ship to depart the construction yard and handing her over to her first commander.  He would have to supervise as Dasher came to life for the first time in several years.  “Monitor the power curves carefully.  I don’t want any more surprises than we can avoid.”

There was a long pause, just long enough for him to wonder if something had gone wrong, and then a dull thrumming started to echo through the ship.  It felt wrong, somehow, as if the drives weren't properly aligned together.  He gritted his teeth as it grew louder, throbbing away at the back of his teeth, and then it slowly faded into the subtle harmony he recalled from his naval service.  The crew would stop noticing it after the first few days, he knew, and would react with blank looks whenever the newcomers asked them about the noise.  It still felt a little off, but it shouldn’t be a problem.  A serious problem would have meant instant and catastrophic drive failure.

“Report,” he ordered, as Dasher came to life around him.  The consoles lit up with bright lights, flashing through the power-up sequence before they settled back down into standby mode; the overhead lights grew brighter, and then faded back to normality.  He glanced at his console and smiled when he saw that his starship was truly at his command.  The power leads connecting to the shipyard were no longer required.  They could disengage at any moment.

“We appear to have a working starship,” Bartley said.  Philip smiled, realising why Bartley had never joined the RAN.  The young man had no sense of proper protocol, or even respect for his superiors.  He would never have been able to endure a spit-and-polish naval service.  The RAN did what it could to accommodate crewmen with special talents – there was a tactical officer with a talent for tactical operations matched only by her complete unawareness of social protocol – but there were limits.  “I’m just running through the standard checks now...all components seem to check out, thankfully.”

“Thank God,” Philip agreed, seriously.  The thought of losing time removing and replacing any of the new components had been preying at his mind.  Tanya hadn't said anything out loud, but it was clear that she wanted to be off as soon as possible.  The latest reports from the Rim hadn't been good.  “Start secondary power-up sequences...now.”

The reports came in from all over the ship, each one confirming that Dasher was ready to fly and fight.  Philip allowed himself a moment of relief as the weapons systems checked out – they’d had to pull out the outdated systems and replace them, which risked creating incompatibilities when the old and new systems tried to work together – followed rapidly by the sensors.  Pirates didn't normally worry about their sensors – they preferred to worry about packing as many weapons as they could into their hulls – but most naval officers knew better.  A good sensor system, and a good tactical operations officer, was worth its weight in gold.  Being able to spot someone trying to creep up on you was very useful, as was having the capability to engage targets at extreme range.  

Another hour passed slowly before Philip felt ready to take Dasher out into open space.  At his command, the final links to the shipyard were severed and Dasher started to make her way out into space.  She moved slowly, but very gracefully, certainly when compared to a freighter.  The thought made him smile.  Freighters, no matter what some officers thought about the value of Q-Ships, weren't really warships.  Even the best of them lumbered like wallowing pigs compared to a military ship.

“We are clearing the shipyard approaches, sir,” Raphael Kuntz reported.  The helmsman had been a mercenary before Philip had approached him with an offer and he’d transferred instantly, preferring the chance to join a genuine naval service to remaining as a worker for the highest bidder.  “All systems report condition green-one; I say again, condition green-one.”

“Good,” Philip said.  He allowed himself a tight smile.  Some Captains preferred to experiment with their new commands gingerly at first, as if they were afraid they would break them, but Philip had never shared that particular faith.  It was better to know if something was going to fail near a shipyard, rather than somewhere a few dozen light years from any repair yard.  “Bring us to condition red-one.”

He keyed a switch on his console.  “This is the Captain,” he said.  “All stations, red alert; I say again, all stations, red alert.”

Sirens howled through Dasher as the crew scrambled to battle stations.  The lights dimmed and flickering red lights came on, warning the crew to prepare to engage the enemy.  Philip silently counted off the seconds as station after station confirmed the red alert, noting that they were already behind the RAN’s standard response time for battlestations.  He wasn't too surprised, or upset; the crew had only had a few days to get used to their new ship, let alone time to run some proper drills.  The flight to Asher Dales should give them plenty of opportunity to practice, unless pirates decided to show up and try to attack.  If someone happened to have told them what the Nancy was carrying, it would certainly tempt any pirates who happened to be prowling around the Avalon System to try to intercept the bulk freighter.

“All stations report ready, sir,” the tactical officer – Garry Harmon - growled.  He didn't sound happy; five minutes, seventeen seconds wasn't a good response time.  Philip had known Captains who would chew out their subordinates for such a poor display.  On the other hand, most of those Captains would have been in command of their ships for longer than  few hours.  “Tactical sensors are functioning at full capacity.  Main display online.”

Philip nodded.  A cruiser or a battleship would have a holographic display on the bridge, displaying everything within sensor range, but the tiny Dasher had to rely on a much smaller display on the Captain’s console.  It would take some time for him to get used to it; his last command had had a full tactical display.  There was little choice; even if they’d been able to get a holographic display system, they wouldn't have been able to fit it on the bridge.  The display by his side was useful enough, but complicated.  He’d have to work on it while carrying out drills.  Given a few days, they could probably get ready for action.  Who knew?  Maybe the pirates would be tempted to go after Nancy...

“Take us towards Dancer, intercept course,” he ordered.  It was time for exercises and war games; in fact, he might be able to convince Home Fleet to spare a squadron of destroyers for advanced manoeuvres.  The bean-counters hated live-fire exercises, but there was a limit to how much simulations could replace such expensive drills.  “Let’s see how good we are, shall we?”

***
“You’ve done a wonderful job,” Tanya said, four days later.  “My father will be very pleased.”

Philip smiled, tiredly.  He hadn't really had a proper night’s sleep since he’d moved his quarters to Dasher, along with his flag.  At least Home Fleet had been willing to assist his tiny force, allowing them a chance to drill as a unit.  Dasher and Dancer were improving rapidly, with Joe Buckley’s crew catching up now that their ship was ready for action.  The small crew of technicians and repair crew he’d amassed on Nancy were training hard, as well as rotating through the three destroyers.  Ideally, he wanted them all to be familiar with all three ships.  The absence of any serious repair facility at Asher Dales was going to be a major problem.

On the other hand, it might also be an opportunity.  If they were lucky, they might be able to start setting up one of their own – and charging merchant skippers to use it.  Asher Dales was already a destination for the merchants, thanks to the presence of a cloudscoop; a repair yard would definitely boost the system’s economy.  And, best of all, it didn't really require anything they didn't already have.  Quincy had given Philip everything he’d asked for without public grumbling.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Philip said.  “We’ll depart tomorrow – and then the real work begins.”

Tanya smiled, tiredly.  “I never realised that there was so much to do on a warship,” she admitted.  “I only ever travelled on commercial ships.”

“There’s just as much work to do on a commercial ship,” Philip assured her, with a slight hint of amusement.  “The crews are just better about keeping it out of the passengers’ sight.”

He shrugged.  “But the military insists on far higher levels of readiness than a commercial liner,” he added.  “You never quite know what might be waiting for you when you arrive at your destination.  The enemy might have taken the system, or there might have been an ambush, or...the possibilities are endless.  We have to prepare for them all.”

“I leave it in your capable hands,” Tanya said.  “Maybe I should have studied starships rather than law...”

“I have always felt that starships were more important,” Philip agreed gravely, and they shared a laugh.  “Make sure you get plenty of sleep tonight though; the first night in hyperspace can be thoroughly weird if you’re not used to serving on a military ship.”

“I will,” Tanya said.  “Don’t worry about me.”

She gave him an odd, almost impulsive hug, before heading out of the door to her own cabin.  Philip watched her go, wondering what that was all about.  He hadn't made a pass at her, if only because he was working for her and the military frowned upon fraternisation between people of different ranks.  Maybe she was interested in him.

“And maybe you’re just deceiving yourself,” he told himself, firmly.  “Get some sleep, old man.  You’re going to need it.”

Chapter Six

“All stations report ready, sir,” Harmon reported.  The tactical officer was also serving as the default XO, if only because Dasher didn't have a full crew.  Philip suspected that such improvised solutions would be the order of the day until Asher Dales created its own training establishment.  “Home Fleet has cleared us for departure.”

Philip settled back into the command chair.  “Activate the vortex generator,” he ordered.  It wouldn't be the first time he’d left Avalon, but it was very different to leaving the planet while serving on a RAN starship.  He’d still been part of the Commonwealth then; now, he and his crew were effectively on their own.  There would be no support from the RAN if they ran into something they couldn't handle.  “Open the vortex.”

He looked up at the main display as the vortex, a shimmering funnel of light, flared into existence in front of the four starships.  The eerie lights of hyperspace beckoned his ships, welcoming them into the realm where FTL travel was possible – and ships could become lost without a trace, if their navigation systems failed.  Philip knew that hyperspace travel was as safe as human ingenuity could make it, yet a handful of starships vanished every year and were never seen again.  Their losses couldn't always be blamed on pirates.  Hyperspace had a strange effect on anyone who had to spend most of their lives within the alternate dimension.

“Take us in,” he ordered, quietly.  Nancy would follow Dasher, then Dancer and Joe Buckley would bring up the rear.  All four ships would fly in close formation within hyperspace, if only to provide mutual protection if pirate ships attempted to attack the small convoy.  Three destroyers should be more than enough firepower to beat off any pirate attack, but hyperspace was known for confusing sensors and creating false readings.  A pirate ship might be within a few hundred thousand kilometres of the squadron and only see the big freighter.

The vortex loomed up in front of his ship, and then he felt the odd twist in his chest that marked the entry into hyperspace.  He swallowed hard as his mind seemed to swim, before settling back down to normal.  Hyperspace affected a handful of humans quite badly, forcing them to remain in stasis during flights from one star system to another; it was a disability that could be quite inconvenient.  The RAN had an Admiral who was an absolute terror in normal space, but became violently sick as soon as his ship entered hyperspace.  He’d been assigned to command planetary defences, where he wouldn’t have to enter hyperspace very often. 

Philip relaxed as the other three ships entered hyperspace, the vortex closing behind them as soon as Joe Buckley had made transit.  No one had ever been able to come up with a coherent explanation for hyperspace’s mere existence, but for spacers it hardly mattered.  All that really mattered was that it was a way to travel faster than light.  In theory, it should be possible to tap energy from hyperspace and use it to power installations in normal space, but all such experiments had ended badly.  There were ongoing research projects all across the Human Sphere.  If anyone succeeded in tapping hyperspace, the development would be as revolutionary as counter-gravity drives or hyperspace vortex generators.

Hyperspace was a dangerously high-energy dimension.  Where normal space had few natural threats to modern starships, hyperspace had thousands of them.  Great energy storms flared through hyperspace, seemingly randomly, forcing starships to make a hasty return to normal space or attempt to dodge the storm, adding days or weeks to their journey times.  Stars and planets cast shadows into hyperspace, creating tight knots of energy that destroyed any starship foolish enough to try to venture into them.  The eerie flickering lights that flared up in the distance might be the precursor of another storm, or they might be nothing more than mild energy discharges.  Hyperspace was treacherous; spacers knew better than to take chances within the dimension.

“Scan for threats,” he ordered, as the small squadron started to move.  The space around Avalon would be crawling with starships, including a number on picket duty, watching for threats from the Theocracy.  In theory, it was impossible to penetrate the outer patrollers without being detected, but in practice hyperspace made it hard – almost impossible – to detect unwanted guests.  The Theocracy had never signed any of the treaties that defined territorial space, which didn't stop it from complaining loudly whenever a commercial freighter accidentally strayed across the border.  “I want to run a rotating patrol pattern around Nancy, checking and rechecking our sensor readings.”

“Understood,” Harmon said.  Hyperspace did odd things, often without rhyme or reason.  One ship might pick up a threat the other two had missed completely, or it might detect one of the sensor ghosts thrown up by hyperspace, convincing the sensors that a ship millions of kilometres away was right on top of them.  “Should we maintain a combat datalink?”

“Assuming we can, then yes,” Philip agreed.  He grinned to himself.  “All stations can stand down from vortex alert, but I want them to remain manned at all times.  And we have a multitude of drills to cover.”

He keyed his console and brought up a display of hyperspace surrounding Avalon, running through the latest charts provided by Home Fleet.  The RAN ran constant surveys to update navigational data throughout the Commonwealth – and data was shared with many other powers, apart from the Theocracy – but no one had been running major surveys of the Einstein Sector.  Asher Dales and the other settled worlds in that sector didn't have access to the StarCom Network and they certainly didn't have the resources to survey the sector themselves.  Philip made a mental note to ensure that his little squadron spent some time surveying and established links with local commercial shippers to share information, even though commercial sensors weren’t up to military standards.  Knowing the precise texture of hyperspace surrounding Asher Dales might make the difference between success or failure.

There were no serious threats, according to what little data there was, but that meant nothing.  Planets and stars didn't move randomly, but energy storms sometimes flared into existence without any visible cause.  They’d just have to keep their eyes open for threats and then navigate around them if necessary.  At least all three destroyers now had vortex generators of their own.  They could split up, or one of them could bring the rest of the squadron out of hyperspace.  He took one final look at the chart and then closed it down.  Smart spacers knew not to trust the charts too far.  They could often be misleading.

He picked up a datapad and started to tap instructions for the next series of drills.  The squadron had been showing a marked improvement over the last few days, ever since Joe Buckley had joined them, but they still weren't quite up to scratch.  It was a pity that he hadn't been able to fill all of his billets with RAN veterans; they, at least, would have understood the importance of regular exercises.  The men he’d drawn from commercial shipping didn't have the same appreciation, although they did understand the value of checking and rechecking every single component on the ship.  A single oversight could have disastrous effects.

“Contact,” Harmon announced, suddenly.  “One starship, two hundred thousand kilometres off the port bow and closing...”

Philip tapped his console.  In hyperspace, it was only really possible to engage a target at very close range.  If the unknown ship was a pirate, it was being remarkably coy about it, instead of trying to close in fast enough to prevent its target from altering course and trying to lose itself in hyperspace.  His hand hovered over the alert button, ready to flash an alert throughout the ship, and then the unknown target backed off.

“Dasher and Buckley concur,” Harmon said.  He sounded as puzzled as Philip felt.  “The unknown target retreated.”

“Maybe they saw the three warships and decided not to risk it,” Philip said.  He wouldn't have admitted it on a RAN ship, but he was actually relieved.  He’d been working his crews hard, but he wasn't sure that they were ready for combat with a starship of unknown firepower and defences.  The range had been too great for the sensors to pick up anything useful.  “Make a note in the log and we’ll drop it off when we have a chance.”

He stood up.  “You have the bridge,” he added.  “Call me if there are any more unknown contacts.”

A battleship was threaded with transit tubes that allowed its crew to race from one part of the ship to another at terrifying speed.  Dasher was simply too small for any such luxuries, forcing Philip to walk from section to section, when he wasn't climbing through the tubes that allowed the crew to maintain parts of the ship without having to open the bulkheads.  The destroyer seemed to be in good shape – they’d built ships to last, ever since the Breakaway Wars – but he reminded himself never to become complacent.  A malfunction that would have been nothing more than a nuisance at Avalon or even Cadiz would be a disaster at Asher Dales, where there was no shipyard or repair station.  And if something happened to Nancy, they’d be forced to fall back on the space parts they’d loaded on the destroyers, and they really hadn't been able to fit many of them into their hulls.  Dasher’s designers had wanted to create fighting machines, rather than cargo ships; indeed, one of the reasons why the Oslo-class ships had been withdrawn from service was that they carried surprisingly few missiles.  A long missile duel with any target would be disastrous.

The thought made him scowl.  Avalon was a reputed producer of weapons, but the navy reserved the most advanced missiles for itself and refused to grant licences for their sale, pointing out that access to one of the latest missiles would give the Theocracy an insight into how the missiles could be spoofed, or tricked into expending themselves upon an ECM drone rather than an actual warship.  Philip couldn't deny the logic, but if they encountered pirates with up-to-date missiles – a very real threat, as several powers sold modern missiles to all comers – they would find themselves in trouble.  On the other hand, pirates did tend to ignore the support systems and they might well be unable to use their ill-gotten weapons to best advantage.  It wasn't something, he reminded himself firmly, that he could take for granted.

He roamed the ship’s five decks for the next hour, dropping into each of the different sections and inspecting them minutely.  It was a relief to see that his crew seemed to be keeping up with naval requirements, although they lacked the spit and polish of a proper naval crew and probably would never master it.  He told himself that it didn't really matter as long as they understood and respected the limits, but it did bother him.  They’d just have to keep working away at it during the cruise.

Marie greeted him as he entered the makeshift Marine Country.  Dasher and the other ships of her class hadn't been designed with Marines in mind, forcing the RAN to reconfigure one of the ship’s exercise compartments into a section for their use.  Marie had done most of the recruiting for the squadron’s Marines, but Philip had read their files quickly and had to admit that she’d done a good job.  Most of them were veterans who had left the RAMC for one reason or another, with a handful of veterans from the Army to balance it out.  Philip inspected their compartment quickly, nodded to Marie, and then left.  By long tradition, Marine Country was almost a separate part of the ship in its own right.  What happened in Marine Country stayed in Marine Country.  It wasn't uncommon for a battleship crew never to see the Marines, unless the shit really hit the fan.  Dasher wasn't anything like large enough to enforce such segregation.  At least he didn't have too many people who would pick a fight at the mere suggestion that a Marine should leave Marine Country and visit the naval compartments of the ship.

Every starship built for the RAN had an observation blister located at the prow of the ship.  It was a tradition that had existed almost as long as the Royal Avalon Navy itself; indeed, it was shared by many other navies.  The observation blister allowed crewmen to see out into hyperspace, or to find some privacy onboard a cramped starship.  He checked the telltales out of habit – observation blisters were sometimes used for physical intimacy – and then stepped inside the blister.  It was a surprise to realise that he wasn't alone.  Tanya had found her way to the blister ahead of him.

“I thought you were meant to be in your cabin,” Philip said, without heat.  A military starship was no place for a civilian, but Tanya had insisted on travelling on Dasher, rather than Nancy.  He couldn't really blame her for wanting to explore the ship.  The cabins, even the one intended for the XO, were little more than cubicles.  Claustrophobic personnel never joined the RAN, or served in Fortress Command rather than any of the warships.  “It’s going to be a long flight if you want to stay here.”

Tanya didn't look away from hyperspace.  “It’s beautiful,” she said, seriously.  “I never saw it on the liner that brought me to Avalon.  Why didn't they show me this...”

She waved a hand at the transparent blister, and the flickering lights of hyperspace outside the hull.  “They should show everyone this,” she added.  “They’d love to see it.”

“Around one person in a million or so suffers badly when they gaze out into hyperspace,” Philip said, gravely.  “They can become very ill, or go insane...all of which tends to make a great deal of money for lawyers.  Commercial shipping lines don’t want to take the risk of being sued, so they refuse to establish observation blisters and keep the passengers away from the portholes.  They’ve never come up with a test for the condition that actually works.”

“But they’d know when someone did, wouldn’t they?”  Tanya asked.  “It’s not a condition you develop suddenly, is it?”

“No one’s quite sure,” Philip said.  “They used to believe that early exposure to hyperspace inoculated humans against Hyperspace Revulsion Syndrome, but in truth older passengers have the same problems as younger passengers.  And then the Syndrome only appears when the passengers actually see hyperspace, rather than being in hyperspace.  There was a theory going around that hyperspace had multiple dimensions and some humans were able to perceive them, but...”

He shrugged.  “I don’t believe that anyone has ever solved the mystery,” he said.  “All we really know is that some people react very badly when they look out at hyperspace.”

Tanya snorted.  “I take it there’s no chance of gaining superpowers from watching hyperspace then?”  She asked.  “What a terrible disappointment.”

Philip chuckled, surprising himself.  The Quantum Children, a very popular series of holographic dramas, had featured a small army of children who had been exposed to hyperspace and somehow gained superpowers.  With great power had come tight uniforms and muscles on their muscles.  The show’s star, a charming young woman with the power to turn invisible, was admired mainly for her chest – and the fact that her uniform tended to become transparent just before the rest of her body.

“Probably not, no,” he said.  “On the other hand, you could try going out into hyperspace in a spacesuit.  Some of the people who have done that have reported seeing very strange things...”

“I think I’ll pass,” Tanya said, firmly,  “Philip...”

Philip looked up.  “Yes?”

“Thank you for everything,” Tanya said.  “I can’t say how much it means to me, or my father, to have someone who actually knows what he’s doing.  We honestly didn't understand just how much needed to be done to build a small squadron of starships...”

“It isn’t a problem,” Philip assured her.  “I ought to be thanking you.”

Tanya frowned.  “Answer me a different question,” she said.  “If war did break out between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy, which side would you be on?”

Philip frowned, puzzled.  “I was a serving officer in the RAN,” he reminded her.  “During that time, I was posted to the border between the Commonwealth and the Theocracy.  I recovered ships containing refugees who’d fled the Theocracy...if there’s a force for evil in the galaxy today, the Theocracy is it.   Conquest by the Theocracy means the end of the world.”

Tanya nodded.  “But not everyone in the Einstein Sector would believe that,” she said, seriously.  “They’d want to stay out of the war.”

“So do the Frogs, with much less reason,” Philip said.  Marseilles was lucky enough to be on the other side of the Commonwealth to the Theocracy, allowing it to rely on the Commonwealth for its own defence.  It’s powerful navy would have been very welcome if it had chosen to join the Commonwealth in a defensive alliance, but instead it had chosen to remain aloof.  The RAN’s officers often speculated on what they’d do if the Theocracy won the upcoming war.  “It takes two to make a peace, but only one to actually have a war.”

He checked his wristcom and scowled.  “I have some exercises to supervise,” he said.  “I’ll see you at the mess tonight?”

“Of course,” Tanya said.  There were no private dining compartments on Dasher.  The officers and crew ate together in a single compartment that could only really house half the crew at one seating.  “I’ll have more questions for you by then.”

Philip grinned.  Tanya was worried – and it didn't take a genius to realise why.  In a month, she would arrive at Asher Dales – and her father, the planetary leader, would pass judgement on her work.  And if he was displeased with her...?

“I look forward to it,” he said.  “See you this evening.”

Chapter Seven

After the first five days in hyperspace, Dasher and her crew settled into a routine, broken only by frequent drills and exercises.  Each of the destroyers had a chance to play pirate, while internal drills concentrated on emergencies ranging from power coolant leaks to enemy boarders trying to storm the ship.  Philip monitored the results of each of the drills and allowed himself to feel a little satisfaction at how the crew was improving.  They would soon be up to RAN standards, he told himself.  

No pirates attempted to block their path as they raced on towards the Einstein Sector.  After the first week had passed, Philip found himself oddly disappointed by their refusal to challenge the squadron.  It was possible, of course, that the pirates had simply missed them in hyperspace, or that they had realised that the squadron consisted of three destroyers and decided not to risk engaging the small fleet.  There was no way to know for sure, but as they crossed the borders of the Commonwealth and headed out towards the Rim, the handful of contacts they did pick up seemed to fade away.

He kept a close eye on the long-range navigational sensors monitoring hyperspace as they ventured further into the Rim.  Hyperspace seemed surprisingly quiet, although he ordered a brief detour to evade a hyperspace storm that might have posed a threat to his ships if he’d flown too close to the medusa.  There were theories that suggested that human starships travelling through hyperspace caused the energy storms, although Philip suspected that if that was the case, no one was going to be interested in shutting down FTL travel, at least until some other way to move between star systems was discovered.  Even so, it would be interesting to see if the squadron attracted energy storms while it was patrolling the sector.  It might add additional evidence to those who believed that humanity was creating the storms.

The thought made him smile.  A hundred years ago, a religious collective that had believed that technology was evil and hard labour was the only path to salvation had set up a colony on a world only a couple of hundred light years from the Commonwealth.  Quite how they’d reconciled their belief that technology was evil with their own use of starships to reach their new paradise escaped him, but the Theocracy hardly had a monopoly on religious hypocrisy.  Besides, they’d probably spent most of the journey in stasis to escape being contaminated by the presence of labour-saving technology that might have made them repent of their doctrines.  And thirty years ago, the Theocracy had invaded their world.  They hadn't been able to put up any kind of defence.  Who would give up technology when the costs were so high?

He put the thought aside as another alarm rang through the ship.  Moments later, two of the bridge crew came bursting in through the hatch, followed rapidly by a Marine who took up station in front of the bridge, blocking all unauthorised access.  Harmon snapped to attention and started tapping away at his console, bringing up short- and long-ranged sensors, displaying their readings on the main display.  Three unknown contacts appeared in front of Philip, underlined by a single word that – in his opinion – spoilt the effect.  SIMULATION.

“Engineering, this is the Captain,” Philip said.  Dasher was far too small to have a secondary bridge, but during simulations the starship could be commanded from Engineering.  Bartley would have made a great helmsman if he hadn't had such a remarkable talent for engineering.  “Confirm simulation; I say again, confirm simulation.”

“Simulation confirmed,” Bartley said.  “You all have fun now.”

Philip rolled his eyes as he cut the connection.  “Tactical,” he barked, “report!”

“Three unknown starships approaching on attack vector,” Harmon reported.  “They will enter attack range in seven minutes, thirty seconds.  No IFF transmissions detected.”

“Unsurprisingly,” Philip noted.  Hyperspace did odd things to radio transmissions.  Sometimes they vanished within hyperspace’s energy fields and sometimes they were boosted over hundreds of light years.  It didn't seem to be related to the method used by StarCom units to transmit across the interstellar void, but researchers had been studying it for decades and were apparently still no nearer a solution.  An FTL communications system small enough to fit into a starship was pretty much the holy grail of defence researchers.  It would revolutionise the face of warfare.  “Link Dancer and Joe Buckley into our datalink; tell them to prepare to engage.”

He studied the developing tactical situation as the minutes ticked away.  The enemy ships appeared to be intent on overhauling the squadron, something that gave them considerable latitude for breaking free if it appeared they’d bitten off more than they could chew.  He could move his ships to shield Nancy, but that might allow a fourth enemy ship ahead of them a chance to take a shot at the freighter before he could realise his mistake and shield her.  If there was a fourth enemy ship, of course.  Pirates didn't often operate in squadrons – too much mistrust and arguments over who should claim the booty – but raiders from the Theocracy would have no problems operating as a team.  They would be less concerned about taking the freighter intact too, adding another wrinkle to the tactical problem.  A single direct hit from a modern missile and Nancy would come apart at the seams.  She had never been designed for combat.

“Joe Buckley is to move into lead position,” he ordered, finally.  If they were pirates, two destroyers would be sufficient to deal with them.  “Dancer is to follow Dasher into rear position.”

The seconds ticked down towards zero.  “Missile separation,” Harmon snapped, suddenly.  A new icon, glowing bright red, appeared on the display.  “One missile, fired from outside maximum range.  Probably a warning shot.”

Philip nodded.  Pirates would certainly want to intimidate their targets and expending a single missile was an easy way to cow opposition.  And the Theocracy normally wouldn’t bother with a warning shot.  Unless the war had started while they were in hyperspace, they’d be careful to ensure that there were no survivors.  They wouldn't have wanted to alert the Commonwealth ahead of time.  His lips twisted into a dark smile.  In some ways, that made it easier to handle the tactical situation.  There was no point in trying to surrender.

“Ignore it,” he ordered.  “Bring Dancer into a rotating pattern with us; we may as well try to confuse them.  Let them think we have a whole fleet of destroyers out here.”

He scowled as he watched the results.  Hyperspace’s odd nature could be used in their favour – if they were lucky.  The enemy would have real problems keeping a lock on the two destroyers at such an extreme range, allowing his ships a chance to break that lock and leave their tactical officers confused as to just how many ships there were.  If they were really lucky, the enemy would start thinking that their locks were settling onto different ships every time.  If...no one could rely on such a tactic working, at least not for very long.

“They’re coming into weapons range,” Harmon reported.  “Should we open fire?”

“Negative,” Philip said.  At such extreme ranges, the chances of a hit were low.  They would be worse for the enemy, of course, but he simply didn’t have the missiles to waste.  There would certainly be no time to resupply from Nancy.  “Hold your fire...”

“Missile separation,” Harmon said.  He rapped out his report as the display flared with bright red icons.  “Incoming missiles; roughly forty-two Mark VII missiles.  Enemy craft almost certainly heavy destroyers or light cruisers; class and source unknown.  No sign of external racks.”

“Unless they’re light destroyers and they flushed their racks at us,” Philip said.  Pirates rarely used external racks, but it wasn't something one could take for granted.  “Bring the point defence online and engage as soon as the missiles enter firing range.”

“Understood,” Harmon said.  There was a pause.  “Missiles appear to be targeted on us and Dancer; I say again, missiles appear to be targeted on us and Dancer.”

“Good,” Philip said.  The helmsman threw him a surprised look.  “We can take some damage, but Nancy would be destroyed if one or more missiles struck her hull.”

The destroyer hummed as counter-missiles started to launch from her rear tubes.  Hyperspace made it harder for point defence weapons to work properly, but the firing solutions were relatively simple in a stern chase.  The enemy simply wouldn't be able to throw any surprises while he was trying to slam his missiles into the small squadron, or so Philip hoped.  One of the problems when facing pirates was that their ships tended to be non-standard and they sometimes packed nasty surprises for an overconfident naval commander.  He’d heard of a pirate ship that had mounted a planetary defence cannon and fired it at a cruiser at point-blank range.  If the cruiser had been alone, the pirates might even have escaped in the confusion.

Missile after missile vanished from the display as the point defence picked them off, but a handful survived to throw themselves upon their targets.  Dasher and Dancer altered course rapidly and randomly, throwing off the missile locks just before most of the remaining missiles had a chance to strike home, but two of them managed to hit their targets.  Red lights flashed up on the ship’s status board, before fading away as the onboard damage monitoring systems reported that it wasn't as serious as they’d first thought.  Whatever else could be said about the Oslo-class destroyers, they'd been built tough.

“Minor damage,” the engineering officer reported.

“Return fire,” Philip ordered.  He’d held his fire too long, he realised, and cursed the oversight.  “Target the lead enemy ship with the first salvo, then move to the second and third ships.”

Dasher shuddered as she unleashed a spread of missiles, followed rapidly by a second spread.  The enemy ships were still closing, which meant that it would be harder for them to dodge the incoming missiles than it had been for Philip’s small squadron.  Even so, if the missiles lost their locks, they’d probably shoot past the enemy ships before they had a chance to retarget themselves.  Standard missile control systems didn't quite work in hyperspace.  Most naval tacticians dreaded the thought of fighting in hyperspace; indeed, many tactics were designed to avoid fighting within such an unpredictable dimension.  As far as anyone knew, the Theocracy’s tacticians agreed with the Commonwealth on that score.  It still wasn't something to take for granted.

“Direct hits,” Harmon reported.  The lead enemy craft had staggered out of formation and was falling back rapidly.  They’d lost their drives, Philip realised, and smiled to himself.  He was mildly surprised that the ship hadn't been destroyed, but it hardly mattered.  They’d be stranded in hyperspace forever, unless one of their comrades abandoned the chase and came to the rescue.  Pirates wouldn't lift a finger to help their comrades, not when they’d have to share the booty; the Theocracy might well abandon its men for tactical reasons.  “The remaining two enemy craft are still in pursuit.”

Philip gritted his teeth as all of the starships went to rapid fire.  They would shoot through their entire load of missiles in minutes and now that they’d been blooded, the enemy were being alarmingly careful.  Their point defence was definitely inferior to Dasher’s, but they seemed to have a great deal more of it.  Someone had definitely been outfitting those ships with non-standard weaponry.  If they shot themselves dry, they’d have no choice, but to run and hope that they could keep their distance until the pirates gave up on the chase.  

“The Joe Buckley is to drop back,” he ordered.  “As soon as she enters missile range, I want massed fire on the nearest enemy target.  Fire at will.”

“Understood,” Harmon said.  There was a long pause as the Joe Buckley fell back, leaving the Nancy to plough onwards on her own.  If there was a fourth enemy ship waiting for a crack at the freighter, Philip had just given the pirates a golden opportunity.  But there was no other choice.  “Massed fire engaging...now!”

Dasher shuddered again as a wave of missiles launched from her stern.  They were joined by salvos from the other two ships, which converged rapidly on the lead pirate ship.  The pirates tried desperately to avoid it, but it was far too late.  There was a series of explosions as the missiles struck home, followed by a single massive explosion wiping the entire starship out of existence.  The third pirate vessel hesitated, and then fired a single final salvo of missiles before backing off.  Her commander had clearly decided not to push her luck any further.  

Philip considered, very briefly, detailing the Dancer to double back and destroy the stranded pirate ship, before dismissing the thought.  He had no love for pirates – no one who had to comb through the wreckage they left in their wake had any love for them – and leaving them to suffocate all alone in hyperspace was a more than just punishment.  Besides, he simply didn't have the time to waste.  They had to reach Asher Dales and start replacing the expended missiles.  A second encounter with pirates would be disastrous.

“Stand down from simulation mode,” he ordered.  The consoles instantly rebooted themselves, wiping all traces of the simulated damage from the displays.  “Pass a message to all hands; well done.”

He smiled as he settled back in his chair.  The simulation had been largely random, leaving the crew without any idea of what they would be confronting, but they'd overcome the simulated danger.  There were limits to simulations, of course, including many that would be largely impossible to overcome without having actual damage to practice on, yet it was definitely a good result.

Philip keyed a switch on his console and opened a specific channel.  “All section heads; report to the mess hall for debriefing at 1534,” he ordered.  “And then we can start devising an even tougher simulation.”

***
“We did about as well as could be expected,” he said, an hour later.  Most of his senior crew were occupying the mess hall, with Captains Nonagon and Schifrin attending via holographic projection.  Their images had a tendency to fuzz slightly as hyperspace took its toll on the signal.  The RAN’s standard procedure for dealing with conferences in hyperspace was to have minutes of each meeting relayed to the other ships, a procedure Philip had borrowed for his own squadron.  It would reduce confusion, he hoped.  “Overall, the crews performed very well.”

“We’d have been screwed if a bigger ship had turned up with a bad attitude,” Schifrin pointed out, crossly.  Philip’s spies on Dancer had reported that he hadn't gone back to drinking, but he didn't seem to be in a good mood – ever.  “As it was, we fired through nearly 80% of our stored missiles.  If we’d had to fight the enemy for longer...”

“Not something we can do much about,” Nonagon countered.  “You know as well as I do that you have to fire off ten missiles in hyperspace to guarantee at least one hit and...”

“We’re still running very short of missiles,” Schifrin insisted.  “We can deter pirates; hell, they wouldn't be pirates if they had the balls to take on someone who was actually willing to fight.  But we can't deter the Theocrats or anyone else who might have bad ambitions for this sector.  We’d have to kill the bastards.”

Philip nodded, sourly.  Unlike the Avalon Sector, where most of the worlds that had later formed the Commonwealth had had common backers, the Einstein Sector seemed to have a multitude of different founding corporations.  Asher Dales had links to a dozen different corporations from the Sol System – Mars’s banking laws made it very difficult to trace the money back to its source – and several others actually had more links.  Only one of the colony worlds – New Copenhagen – could really be termed a truly solid investment.  It was just a surprise that it hadn't been more developed by the time Asher Dales had started to attempt to establish a navy.  But then, the effective destruction of Earth had wrecked a great many plans for new colony worlds.

“We can probably fit in more missiles if we throw out some of the other sections,” he said, thoughtfully, “but what can we afford to lose?”

There was an uneasy pause.  The destroyers were already crammed with as much spare parts as could be fitted in, at least without removing the supporting structure that held the starship together.  They’d even removed half of the cabins and forced the crew to double up in bunkrooms, something that hadn’t found favour with the crew.  Not that Philip could really blame them for that; once they reached Asher Dales, he intended to ensure that they all had a week or two of shore leave.  

“We’ll study the problem and work on it over the next couple of weeks,” he said, firmly.  “Maybe we can find a smaller freighter and refit it as an ammunition ship...or maybe we can take a pirate ship intact.  Overall, though, we’re doing well.  All we have to do now is not lose our edge.”

On that note, the meeting broke up.  Philip found his way to the observation blister and sat down on the bench, staring out into hyperspace.  The simulation had brought it home to him; he and his crew were truly on their own.  No one would come riding to the rescue if they fucked up, or ran into something they couldn't handle.  The thought was not a cheerful one, even though it was one hell of a challenge.  And besides, he didn't want to let Tanya down, not after everything they’d already done.  He liked her more than he wanted to admit to himself.

Five days later, they arrived at Asher Dales.

Chapter Eight

“The system isn't deserted, sir.”

Philip snorted.  They'd arrived at the edge of the Asher Dales System, if only to prevent whatever local monitors there were from panicking when they saw his small squadron.  Besides, it allowed him and his men a chance to scan the system for themselves and update the navigational charts, such as they were.  The RAN had possessed no navigational data for the Asher Dales System at all, something that had surprised him.  They were normally much better at collecting data that might be needed in the future.

“I’m not surprised,” he said.  Long-range sensors were far from perfect – and limited by the speed of light time delay – but they could provide a rough picture of commercial activity all over the system.  “What do you have?”

Harmon tapped his display thoughtfully.  “I've got what looks like three to four freighters in orbit around Asher Dales itself – or at least they were nine hours ago, two more freighters near the gas giant and several radio beacons within the asteroid cluster,” he said.  “I thought this system was supposed to be a stage-one colony.”

“But someone decided to invest in a cloudscoop.” Philip said, slowly.  Cassandra’s files hadn't been able to suggest a reason why anyone would establish a cloudscoop in a stage-one colony, unless someone had a great deal of money or a complete lack of scruples over who bought the processed fuel.  HE3 powered fusion reactors over the entire Human Sphere; it was the key to spaceflight everywhere.  But Asher Dales would have only a small demand for HE3 for at least another twenty-thirty years.  “Maybe they have plans to become a centre for commercial activity in this sector.”

“Or maybe they’re supplying the pirates with cheap fuel,” Harmon countered.  “If they don’t have a local market, perhaps they’re trying to export it elsewhere.”

Philip shrugged.  “Something to wonder about later,” he said.  Cassandra’s attempts to trace back the money that had founded the colony had floundered after running into Mars’s banking laws.  Mars – the sole terraformed world in the entire Human Sphere – had very liberal banking laws and rarely shared data with anyone else, even if they were trying to track down terrorists and wreckers.  Some people believed that the Redskins – as Mars-modified people were called, not particularly politely – were angry at how their colony had been treated after the Breakaway Wars, but Philip suspected otherwise.  Money talked – and the bankers made millions of the local currency merely protecting it from hungry lawyers and law enforcement agents.  “Can you pick up anything from Asher Dales itself?”

Harmon keyed his console, running through a complete sweep.  “Nothing,” he said, after a moment.  “But she’s a stage-one colony, sir.  I’d be surprised if they were putting out anything more interesting than weather forecasts and other such crap.  They might even prefer to keep all transmissions running through hardened landlines than risk open transmissions.  It depends on how paranoid they’re feeling.”

“True,” Philip agreed.  Most inhabited worlds were easy to identify, if only because they were broadcasting heavy radio transmissions into the surrounding volume of space.  Even the worlds founded by paranoids who had believed that the Breakaway Wars would result in mass slaughter had an electromagnetic presence.  Avalon put out almost as much radio noise as Old Earth before the Breakaway Wars; hell, even the Theocracy’s homeworld was supposed to be quite noisy.  “Transmit a standard greeting and then take us towards Asher Dales, nice and easy.  We don’t want to panic folks.”

He settled back into his command chair and studied the main display.  In theory, claim-jumping was illegal and almost impossible; in practice, there had been hundreds of nasty incidents along the Rim, incidents that dated all the way back to the days of the UN.  At least there’d been a single authority then to impose order and at least attempt to settle such issues without the need for violence, but right now there was no such power.  It would be fairly easy for one group of settlers from one of the human powers to land on a world claimed by another, and then resist with lethal force when the authorised settlers arrived.  Philip had read a number of intelligence reports back when he’d been a serving officer in the RAN, reports that suggested that – if anything – the level of violence along the Rim was increasing.  It might eventually serve as the trigger for a galactic war.

Philip had little use for intelligence’s predictions, but even he had to admit that they had a point.  In pre-spaceflight days, the only ways to deal with uppity and unwanted minorities had been to either segregate them or commit genocide.  Now, any state that had a group it didn’t want found it far cheaper to buy a colony starship and transport them all to another planet, one hundreds of light years from their former homeworld.  And, in doing so, groups of colonists often found that they’d moved from the frying pan into the fire.  Colonists were often hardier stock than those they’d left behind and few of them were prepared to wait for the interstellar courts to rule in their favour.  Besides, since the UN had collapsed and died, there simply weren't any interstellar courts with the power to have their rulings enforced.  

In some ways, it actually suggested reasons why Asher Dales wanted to establish its own naval service.  There were nearly thirty inhabited worlds within the Einstein Sector, but none of them had any significant defence force.  They might find themselves the unwilling recipients of colony groups that believed – rightly or wrongly – that they had permission to settle on one of the newly-settled worlds.  Or, for that matter, they would be unable to stop another outside power from extending its protection to them – even if they didn't actually want to be protected.  Having a stick and the ability to use it counted for a great deal along the Rim, where there was no other form of order.  The Commonwealth certainly wasn’t going to help the Rim, at least not without a request for incorporation.  There was too much danger of a nasty skirmish with one of the other powers.  And with the Theocracy clearly preparing for war, there was little stomach for provoking a confrontation with someone else.

“I’m picking up radio beacons on several of the asteroids,” Harmon said, breaking into Philip’s thoughts.  “They’re marking claimed rocks, I believe.  I think they’ve got their very own RockRats here.  Maybe not much of a seller’s market yet, but they’re ready when the time comes...”

Philip glanced down at the display and frowned.  The RockRats weren't exactly an interstellar power, if only because they pervaded the Human Sphere.  They’d originally been independent settlers in Sol’s asteroid belt, who’d declared independence from the UN and eventually started spreading out throughout the explored galaxy.  The RockRats were politically neutral, willing to sell processed ore to anyone who was prepared to pay up front, and generally ignored the rest of the human race as much as possible.  There was a very good chance, he reminded himself, that the RockRats had actually reached Asher Dales before the official survey ship had arrived, although they wouldn't have bothered claiming an Earth-like world.  The RockRats prided themselves on living without the benefits of an Earth-like world and regarded the colonists who swarmed over such worlds as...imbeciles.  True immortality – or at least survivability – could only be found in space.  There were people who wondered if the RockRats hadn't already spread well beyond the Rim, but there was no way to know for sure.  They never shared navigational data with anyone, even those who were prepared to pay in kind.  No one knew what they did with the money they were paid either.  Self-sufficiency was a point of pride among the RockRats.

“Send them a standard greeting too,” Philip ordered finally.  There probably wouldn't be any response, but at least he would have made the gesture.  Besides, RockRats disliked pirates and might be convinced to assist Philip when he started hunting them down.  “Has there been any reply from Asher Dales?”

“No, sir,” Harmon said.  “But they’ve only had the signal for” – he checked his console – “two minutes.  They may have had to wake their traffic control officer up.”

Philip smiled.  Avalon – and every developed world in the Human Sphere – maintained a System Command that was responsible for monitoring and authorising space activity close to the life-bearing worlds.  Even the Theocracy accepted that every developed system had the right to authorise – or not – activity near their worlds.  But Asher Dales had very little space activity to speak of and they might not have a proper traffic control officer.  Their ability to monitor what was going on outside their atmosphere might be very limited.  And their ability to control it might be non-existent.

“Maybe,” he said.  He glanced up at the timer.  Unless they slipped back into hyperspace, they would be at Asher Dales in just under four hours.  “Or maybe they’re in trouble.”

The thought wasn't a reassuring one.  A colony world without any space-based defence network was effectively helpless when the pirates came calling.  It didn't take much effort to modify a freighter to drop KEWs onto a helpless planet, which would force the planet’s inhabitants to surrender or die.  Pirates had been known to raid entire worlds along the Rim, often demanding food, luxuries and women – and sometimes destroying entire colonies afterwards, just to hide their tracks.  The RAN executed such pirates immediately after capture, not something that inspired them to be merciful.  They had literally nothing to lose.

Philip had run through hundreds of exercises in the last week of their voyage to Asher Dales.  One had revolved around finding an enemy force – either from the Theocracy or merely common pirates – in control of the planet when they arrived.  The results hadn't been particularly reassuring; they could drive away a small pirate craft, but a Theocratic warship was unlikely to be deterred by three destroyers and a bulk freighter.  And if they found a Theocratic warship...in truth, Philip had no idea how they should handle the situation.  Return to Avalon and warn the Commonwealth that the Theocracy had managed to secure at least one world within the Einstein Sector?

He scowled down at his display as he clicked into the sector map.  The Theocracy wouldn't have any difficulty overrunning any of the colony worlds, but if – when – they went to war against the Commonwealth, their new conquests would be cut off from the rest of the Theocracy.  Logically, there was no reason for them to push the offensive before defeating the Commonwealth, yet there was no reason to believe that the Theocracy was inclined to be logical.  They were a religious society, refugees from the chaos of the breakdown on Old Earth, who intended to export their religion to the rest of the Human Sphere.  A chance to capture thirty effectively defenceless worlds might have seemed ideal to them.

But it might just alarm the rest of the Human Sphere...

His thoughts were interrupted by a bleeping from one of the unmanned consoles.  “We’ve picked up a signal from Asher Dales, Captain,” Harmon reported, switching the message from the communications console to the tactical systems.  “They’re welcoming us to their world and inviting us to take up a parking orbit.  There’s also a compressed message encrypted for our noble benefactor.”

Philip scowled at him.  Noble benefactor had been a slang term for the funders of any operation from Old Earth that had survived the expansion out into space.  It didn't really apply to Tanya; she might have been their backer, but she wasn't meddling in his command decisions.  Someone smart enough to know their limits was a rarity among government personnel, at least in his experience; even the Commonwealth had government officials who thought that they were qualified – as they manifestly were not – to issue tactical orders to their military officers.  Some of the worst military disasters in human history had occurred because the person in charge didn't really understand what they were doing.

“Send back a signal thanking them for their welcome and updating our ETA,” he ordered, standing up.  A quick tap on his datapad downloaded the message into its secure storage.  The RAN had, unfortunately, taken out the classified secure communications equipment when they decommissioned the ship.   He didn't really want to read Tanya’s mail, but he did have a feeling that he would be happier if he knew what her father was saying to her.  Or maybe he was just being paranoid.  Cassandra’s warnings kept echoing through his head.  “You have the bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” Harmon said, formally.  “I have the bridge.”

Tanya had been allocated the XO’s cabin, the second-largest on the destroyer.  It was still cramped and uncomfortable, even for a career military officer.  One bunk, a handful of storage compartments, a washroom and a personal computer system, but little else.  Tanya hadn't complained, but Philip would have been mildly surprised if she hadn't found it a little claustrophobic.  Conditions on corvettes were even worse, he knew, yet their crews were never expected to serve onboard for more than a week or two at a time.  Besides, they also had smaller crews and didn't rate a full Captain to command them.

“We picked up a message for you,” Philip said, passing over the datapad.  He had no idea what Tanya did during her day, outside meals and their conversations in the observation blister he saw very little of her.  But then, he had little time to spend with her.  He needed to know his ship inside out before he took her into battle.  “You’ll have to decipher it yourself.”

Tanya nodded and produced a smaller datachip from her picket, pressing it against the contact strip on the datapad.  Philip watched as she activated the program and ran the message through the decrypting system.  The CIS – and every other intelligence service in the Human Sphere – worked frantically to break codes, but Philip knew that their success rate was mixed, at best.  Every major power had access to computers that could create effectively unbreakable codes, or codes that could only be broken after several years of computer time.  Commercial institutions were not supposed to produce or use unbreakable codes, but it was a law that was wildly flouted.  Their competitors were fond of trying to crack codes too.  Philip had even heard rumours that the Commonwealth was trying to slip unbreakable coding algorithms into the Theocracy to help the dissidents – if there were any dissidents – but he’d never heard anything for sure.  But then, if there was such an operation, no one would want to alert the Theocracy’s internal security services until it was too late.

“He’s glad to see us,” Tanya said, once the message had finished decrypting.  “And you’re invited to a dinner this afternoon to welcome you to Asher Dales.  I have instructions to make sure you come, even if I have to crack you on the head and drag you into a shuttle myself.”

Philip frowned.  “What about the rest of my crew?”  He asked.  “I can’t be seen enjoying myself while everyone else is still stuck on our tin-cans.”

“Everyone’s invited to Landing City,” Tanya said.  She smiled at his expression.  “We keep planning to rename it, but no one has yet managed to get enough votes to have it changed.”

“Better get on with it,” Philip said, as he straightened up.  The cabin was barely large enough to allow him to stand upright.  There were some Marines who would have real problems walking through such cramped compartments.  “There's only three hundred or so cities with that name in the Human Sphere.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tanya assured him.  She smiled.  “Are we in orbit now?”

Philip checked his wristcom.  “We’ll be in orbit in thirty minutes, unless we discover a reason to hurry,” he said.  “If you want to watch from the observation blister, you might enjoy it.  It is always spectacular to watch an unspoiled world coming into view.”

He was still smiling when he returned to the bridge.  The main display had been adjusted to show Asher Dales, shining out against the darkness of space.  Philip glanced down at the sensor readings running beside his chair and nodded to himself.  Asher Dales had water covering two-thirds of the land, with two large continents and a handful of smaller islands providing enough living room for millions of human beings.  According to the survey report, which had been filed by the scout crew, the vast majority of animal and plant life on Asher Dales was compatible with humanity, although some animals apparently tasted terrible.  Philip made a mental note to ensure that his crewmen were thoroughly briefed before they landed on Asher Dales and went exploring, just in case they ran into any surprises.  New worlds always had surprises in store – and many of those surprises were unpleasant.  So far, no one had ever encountered non-human intelligent life forms, but the potential was always there.

“We are entering orbit, sir,” the helmsman said.

“Good,” Philip said.  “Signal the other two ships; I want us spread out to allow for maximum sensor penetration.  This region of space is to be permanently monitored at all times.  Alert me if any newcomers decide to come visiting.”

“Yes, sir,” Harmon said.  

Philip nodded.  One of the three destroyers would have to remain at Asher Dales, if only to provide protection for Nancy.  That wouldn't be a problem, he told himself.  They’d just have to keep rotating the three destroyers through the position, at least until they found some extra ships.  Maybe they could take a pirate ship or two intact.

“And have my shuttle prepared,” he added.  “I’m going to the surface.  You have command.”

“Yes, sir,” Harmon said.  He grinned, suddenly.  “Should we try and have the decks swabbed while you’re gone?”

Philip grinned back.  “Surprise me,” he said.  “And inform Captain Schifrin that he has squadron command.  I shouldn't be long, but...”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Harmon said.  “We’ll take care of the ship for you.”

Chapter Nine

“Do you have to fly like this?”

Philip laughed.  It had been months since he’d flown a shuttle with his own hands, but he’d forgotten nothing.  The RAN insisted on all command personnel being checked out on the standard ground-to-orbit shuttles, as well as Marine Assault Shuttles, and Philip had recertified himself during the frantic scramble to prepare the squadron for launch.  Besides, the shuttles were easy to fly.  They weren't like commercial designs that were intended to impress the groundhogs with how skilful their pilots were, when they were allowed to see into the cockpits.  Philip pulled at the stick and yanked the shuttle into a loop-the-loop, watching Tanya’s face pale before she burst into giggles.  The shuttle’s flight path straightened out as they headed onwards towards Landing City.

“It’s fun,” he pointed out.  Flying in space was surprisingly easy, but flying in a planetary atmosphere was a real challenge.  There were jet aircraft designed to perform the most remarkable stunts back on Avalon, stunts that sometimes cost lives.  The performers disdained safety equipment – even parachutes or counter-gravity packs – in their desperate quest for speed and manoeuvrability.  “And besides, I don’t get many chances to play.”

“You ought to go Fax hunting if you feel like playing,” Tanya said.  She scowled, clutching at the side of her seat.  “There's some real fun; lots of men riding horses, chasing the Fax – and the Fax is cunning, it knows to hide and sneak up on the hunters...”

“I hunt men in starships,” Philip pointed out.  Chasing a defenceless animal, no matter how dangerous, had never stuck him as a particularly decent thing to do.  Besides, pirates hunted their victims; it was possible to feel good about himself while killing pirates.  “I don’t need to hunt a small animal to prove how manly I am.”

Tanya giggled.  “The Fax is about the size of a large man, with sharp claws, sharper teeth and a very nasty disposition,” she said.  “The original survey team managed to miss them when they surveyed the planet; we still don't know how or why.  We only discovered them when farmsteads started to lose men, twenty years ago.  They sent out a posse and they discovered the first Fax – and it killed four of them before they shot it to pieces.  After that, we hunted them down whenever we even suspected their presence.”

Her voice sobered, slightly.  “The wretched creatures have developed a taste for eating human flesh,” she added.  “And children are just the right side for their jaws...”

Philip glanced at her, sharply.  If Tanya had been warned about the dangerous animals that lurked on the borders of civilisation from a very early age, it would have made an impression on her.  He’d wondered why she’d gone to Avalon to study; perhaps she’d had reasons for wanting to get away from Asher Dales.  Or perhaps he was merely reading too much into the situation.  Tanya was bright – her university record proved that – and Asher Dales would need at least one qualified lawyer in interstellar law.  Someone might just try to prosecute them for claim-jumping if they weren't careful.  It wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to claim that they discovered a given system ahead of its lawful owners.

He shrugged and returned to the controls.  Landing City was coming up on the horizon, a small collection of prefabricated buildings mixed in with wooden and stone buildings made from local materials.  If he recalled the original colony plans correctly, Asher Dales had been colonised in a fairly standard manner; the prefabricated buildings had been dropped onto the planet from orbit, providing a home for the first settlers while they built their own and started to set out the first set of farms.  Almost every colony world concentrated on producing its own food first, if only because shipping food across interstellar distances was vastly uneconomic.  After that, it would start developing light industry – unless it was settled by a low-tech religious group – and eventually its own space-based industry.  The Commonwealth had helped some of its member worlds to progress faster than average by providing interest-free loans, but most colony worlds took at least one hundred years before they were producing their own starships.  It was possible that the RockRats would help out, but they rarely bothered to help planetary colonists.  There was nothing in it for them.

And yet, maybe they had.  Asher Dales had one natural moon and one artificial one, an asteroid that had been gently nudged into a stable orbit.  It was a natural mine of metals that any industrial world desperately needed, but Asher Dales was generations away from being able to exploit it properly.  There was nothing in the files that suggested why anyone would bother shifting the asteroid, which puzzled him.  Unless it was all a tax dodge, which wasn't entirely impossible.  Inspectors from the Core Worlds weren't likely to come all the way to Asher Dales just to see what their money was being spent on, were they?

“There’s no formal spaceport,” Tanya explained, as Philip banked the shuttle over the city.  “We do have a landing ground on the outskirts of the city.  There should be a beacon...”

“Found it,” Philip grunted.  Someone on the surface had just turned it on, which suggested that Asher Dales didn't see many shuttles.  On the other hand, there was at least one shuttle on the field, a heavy-lift design that dated back seventy years.  Perhaps they’d bought it cheap after the Breakaway Wars, probably from one of the successor states.  “They’re not going to talk me down, so I’ll just have to land her at the opposite end of the field.”

He brought the shuttle to a hover, shaking his head at the sheer crudeness of the landing field, and then lowered her slowly to the ground.  There was nothing so crude on Avalon, or anywhere else in the Commonwealth.  The only people who generally landed shuttles outside properly-designed landing fields were Marines, who were trained for forced landings in enemy territory.  There could have been someone under the shuttle as he lowered her down...he shook his head, angrily.  They’d have to do something about the field if his men were going to be using it regularly.  One little incident and the locals would start hating them.

The shuttle touched down with a bump and he unstrapped himself as it powered down.  Motioning for Tanya to remain in her seat, he checked the environment readings before he cracked open the hatch, breathing in his first taste of Asher Dales.  It was a warm day, with the scent of pollen in the air, and a hint of the sea beyond Landing City.  The planners had intended Landing City to become a port for sailors over the next few decades, according to Tanya, and he suspected that they were probably going to be very happy with the end result.  In the distance, he could see mountains half-hidden in the haze, with birds flying through the air; there was no sign of any aircraft, even a flying ambulance service.  Asher Dales simply couldn't afford to import such equipment, at least unless it was prepared to mortgage its future still further.

Curious, he thought, sardonically.  They can afford three destroyers and a bulk freighter, crammed to the gunnels with supplies, but they can't afford some basic aircraft?

Tanya joined him at the hatch and stepped out into the grassy knoll.  She was smiling as she walked several paces away from the shuttle, and then turned to wave to him.  It struck him that she’d missed her homeworld and he felt a sudden pang of longing for Avalon.  But Asher Dales was his homeworld now, no matter what his heart said.  He’d joined their naval service while it was still nothing more than a paper concept.

“Come on,” she called.  “We’re expected in town.”

Philip closed the shuttle’s hatch and followed her over the grass towards a small wooden building that seemed to be the sole sign of life on the landing field.  Someone had been cunning and sown grass onto the building’s roof, making it very hard to see from high overhead.  Philip couldn't decide if it was a security precaution, or if someone was merely using the grass to help bind the building together.  It could be either.  He started as a grey head appeared around the side of the building, and then relaxed – laughing at himself – as he realised that it was nothing more dangerous than a donkey.  Tanya giggled at him and reached out to stroke the donkey’s fur.  It looked up at her with wise old eyes, and then returned to cropping the grass.

“Hey, you two,” a voice called.  A young man – no, a boy; he couldn't be any more than eleven – was running towards them from the direction of town.  “They want you in the Town Hall...”

He was breathing heavily as he ran up to them and skidded to a halt.  “Your father wants you in the Town Hall,” he said, once he’d stopped gasping.  “And this is Admiral Philip?”

“Captain Larson,” Philip corrected, evenly.  There were plenty of tiny navies along the Rim that made up for their small size by giving their officers grand titles, but it wasn't a tradition he intended to embrace.  “Don't you want to check our papers?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” the boy assured him.  “Come on, Dobbin; don’t try to bite the man’s uniform.”

He pulled himself up onto the donkey’s back and encouraged the beast to start moving towards another building, half-hidden under the grassy knoll.  “You’d better get on with it,” he called, as he receded into the distance.  “They’ve got all the big names waiting for you.”

Tanya laughed as she led the way towards a half-laid road.  “There’s no immigration formalities here, I’m afraid,” she said.  “If you land and you behave yourself, you’re always welcome.  Landing City isn't really meant to be very big at all, but it just grew and grew...”

Philip shook his head.  Landing City was tiny; it would have vanished without a trace in Camelot, the capital city of Avalon.  Old Earth had been reputed to have even larger cities before the Breakaway Wars, cities so large that law enforcement was almost impossible, save by the most savage methods.  Those cities were nothing more than necropolises now, with the few surviving humans on Earth desperately struggling to survive with help from Mars and the other colonies in the Sol System.  It was still an economic powerhouse, even without Earth, but it was also politically fragmented.  The outside powers, Cassandra had once commented, worked to keep the Sol System from forming any kind of unified political body.  None of them wanted to see the Sol System trying to assert power outside its borders again.

The walk took little more than twenty minutes, which gave him a chance to inspect the city for himself.  It looked a nice place to live, if a little quiet for his tastes.  Most of the population seemed to be middle-class, although there were a handful of men who were clearly wealthy – recognisable in any society – and a few who looked to be lower-class labourers.  The transport seemed to be based on horses and donkeys, with a handful of electric vehicles for emergency services.  As far as he could tell, it appeared peaceful; many of the buildings seemed to be covered with flower gardens, just like the building back in the landing field.  He felt an odd spurt of interest as he saw a woman wearing a tight shirt passing him on the other side of the road, followed by a string of children.  

“The local schoolmarm,” Tanya identified her.  “We don’t want any slip into mass illiteracy here, so she’s responsible for teaching basic lessons six months out of every year.  Most kids go on to work their family’s farm or take up apprenticeships; a handful, like myself, manage to get scholarships to other worlds.  I think you’ll probably get more recruits than you were expecting.  There’s always a number of people who just want out of a boring life.”

Philip glanced at her, surprised.  “Do you find it boring?”

Tanya shrugged.  “I’m the most highly qualified lawyer for a hundred light years,” she said.  “I won't ever be able to use most of what I’ve learned here, so...sometimes I do find it boring.  My mother passed away and...I’m expected to take her place, but I don’t want to really do that either.  Maybe...if my father hadn't wanted me to round up a few ships and their crews, I would have just slipped away into the Commonwealth.  A farmer’s life isn’t a life for everyone.”

There was a sad note in her voice, something Philip decided not to press any further.  He could understand how she felt, even though his life had had many more opportunities than hers had ever had.  The Commonwealth had been good to him; it’s navy had trained him and turned him into a reasonably competent commanding officer...and then he’d angered the wrong superior officer.  He’d been tempted to crawl into a bottle and stay there, but Tanya had offered him a new chance at life.  Who knew if he’d be happy on Asher Dales?

But then, he'd be doing what he loved.  Tanya...would be bored stiff by whatever legal work Asher Dales provided for her.  He wouldn't have blamed her for wanting to leave.

The centre of town wasn't part of the prefabricated section, something he considered rather impressive for such a new colony.  A handful of buildings had been carefully built out of bricks and mortar, each one almost a work of art.  One blocky building was identified as the main hospital, a second was clearly the home of what little civil service Asher Dales had and the third was the Town Hall.  A small group of men stood outside it, led by a man wearing dark robes and a gold chain around his neck.  Philip didn't have to ask to know that he was Tanya’s father.  Their faces were remarkably similar.

“Welcome to Asher Dales,” Tanya’s father said.  They shook hands firmly.  “I'm Rupert Barrington, First Speaker of this open-air loony bin.  This is my council of fellow lunatics...”

Philip had to smile.  Rupert Barrington didn't seem to take himself too seriously, not like so many other planetary officials Philip had had to deal with, but perhaps that wasn't too surprising.  Asher Dales was hardly populated enough to allow a separation between the rulers and the ruled, the same separation that led to political corruption and eventually tyranny.  He had no idea how people were elected to government office on Asher Dales, but it would be very difficult for a man to rule like a tyrant.

“I’m pleased to be here,” he said, seriously.  “My ships and men have come a long way to work for you.”

“And believe me, we’re glad to see you,” Barrington assured him.  “If you’d like to come inside...”

The interior of the Town Hall was surprisingly large.  Philip had known that human societies had produced remarkable buildings without the help of counter-gravity systems, or low orbit industrial nodes, but it was still remarkable to see a building that had been produced by little more than sweat and blood.  Barrington was happy to explain how his government had offered loans to companies that produced bricks and other building materials and then purchased their first products to start building the Town Hall and the other essential buildings.  They did have an entire database of Old Earth’s long-forgotten building methods and many colonists had started trying to reproduce them.

“We did have some embarrassing failures,” he admitted, openly enough.  “You’ll have to see the building that doesn't have any plumbing, or the one that fell down while they were trying to build it because of high winds racing through the canyon.  And I could hardly fail to mention how one of my sons managed to build a boat that promptly sank as soon as they took her out onto open water.”

“Of course not,” one of the other councillors put in, “but at least they managed to master it after the first couple of disasters.”

“We’ve seeded the oceans with fish from Earth,” Barrington explained.  Philip wasn’t too surprised.  Mars might be the only world to have been terraformed completely, but humans had brought their crops and animals to almost every world they’d settled.  They'd also brought less-welcome guests.  Plagues of rabbits and cockroaches had spread across countless worlds, often doing serious damage to the local ecosystem.  No one had ever managed to prevent it; even the RAN, despite endless studies, had failed to prevent rats from breeding in starships.  Philip had been a lieutenant when a crewman had been court-martialled for feeding a number of rats on a heavy cruiser.  “You’d be welcome to hire a boat or even buy your own, if you feel like fishing.”

“Or you could go Fax-hunting,” one of the younger councillors said.  “If you feel like long hours of boredom, followed by moments of screaming terror...”

“That’s precisely like military service,” Philip said.  There was something in the councillor’s gaze...he didn't like Philip, which was odd.  They’d certainly never met before Philip had come to Asher Dales.  The first few generations of colonists tended towards hard common sense.  They didn't start feeling a disdain for the military, and fighting in general, until all threats had been removed.  Avalon was an older colony and the RAN still had more recruits than it could handle.  “Maybe I’d enjoy it...”

“But we’d love to invite your crews for a dance this evening,” Barrington continued, ignoring the younger councillor.  “I trust that you will allow them to attend?”

Philip nodded, still puzzled.  “I can allow half the crew to come down at a time,” he said, firmly.  Everyone would need shore leave after the voyage.  “A dance would be just what they would need.”

He frowned, still aware of the sense of dislike from the young councillor.  “But shouldn't we get the basic rules settled first?”

“Of course,” Barrington agreed.  “If you will come right this way?”

Chapter Ten

The Council’s meeting room was instantly recognisable, although it lacked many of the luxuries that would be found in a RAN conference room on a starship, or on one of the many orbiting fortresses that defending the Commonwealth’s worlds.  A single large table dominated most of the room, with a map hung on the far wall that displayed the main settlements on the first continent.  It would have been an electronic display on Avalon, Philip knew, but here it was a physical map.  He couldn't decide if it was a work of art or merely the best map they could produce with local technology.  It certainly wouldn't update automatically.

Human servants were a sign of wealth and power on Avalon.  It wasn't too much of a stretch to assume that the same was true of Asher Dales, although the planet’s technological base was hardly advanced enough to produce automated servants.  One of them poured Philip a glass of something that smelled rather like brandy and motioned him to a chair on one side of the table.  The councillors took the other chairs, facing him.  It was alarmingly like facing a RAN Board of Inquiry, although the navy didn't provide anything stronger than water for its personnel.  

Barrington tapped the table once, calling the room to attention.  “Thank you all for coming,” he said, formally.  “The first meeting of the Naval Oversight Committee is in session.”

Philip smiled, inwardly.  Asher Dales had precisely three warships; four if one counted Nancy.  Claiming that they had a full-sized navy was a little disingenuous.  On the other hand, it would certainly make them more intimidating to pirates, if not the Theocracy.  A single heavy cruiser from the Theocracy could destroy his entire squadron in a missile duel, or even vaporise them if they closed to energy range.

“The purpose of this meeting is to set the regulations for our ships and crews,” he continued.  “I would ask Captain Larson to set out what he considers appropriate.”

“Thank you,” Philip said, carefully.  It was hard to resist the temptation to laugh, for it was clear that Barrington and his fellow councillors were out of their depth.  They knew very little about commanding a navy, even to the point of being unable to propose regulations.  “For the navy’s internal structure, I have taken the liberty of copying most of the Royal Avalon Navy regulations, as most of my crewmen would be familiar with them.  I can give you a copy for perusal at your leisure and you would be free to suggest changes if you feel them necessary.”

He paused and took a sip of his drink.  It tasted like brandy, although there was a hint of something new and exotic in the flavour.  If it was local produce – and very few people would have the wealth to ship in drinks from across the Human Sphere – it could probably be exported to Avalon, perhaps through cutting a deal with one of the shipping lines.  Or maybe they’d be reluctant to risk opening trade deals with the Commonwealth.  It would run the risk of dragging the Commonwealth into their sector.

“It is standard practice for crews on liberty to be bound by planetary laws while on Shore Leave,” he continued.  Legally, the crewmen he’d hired worked for Asher Dales, but they weren’t – yet – citizens of the planet.  “You will need to arrange for a briefing for the crews before they land on the planet for the first time.  I’m afraid crewmen on liberty tend to get into more trouble than the average citizen, a reflection of how tightly controlled their lives are while on their ships.”

“Hold on a moment,” the young councillor said.  “Why do they have to go down to the surface at all?”

“Because, Tam, they will need a chance to get out of their ships from time to time,” Barrington said.  Philip nodded, wondering why Tam seemed to dislike him.  Perhaps it was the thought of cultural contamination, or maybe it was just fear of what might happen when crews on liberty came down to Landing City.  “You can't ask a man to remain cooped up inside a tin-can for the rest of his life.”

“We’re paying them to defend the planet and our freighters,” Tam objected.  “We’re not paying them to...”

“That will be enough, Tam,” one of the older men said, flatly.  Tam flushed.  “We need to let them know what they’re defending – and citizenship for any or all of them was included in the contract.  The last thing we need is to alienate them from us.”

“They will also need a chance to recuperate,” Philip said, flatly.  “A crew, no matter how well-trained, will start losing its edge almost at once.  After a few weeks on convoy duty, they will need a chance to unwind or discipline will start to suffer.  Believe me, the last thing any commander needs is a restless crew that isn’t paying attention to its duties.”

“We can arrange a briefing,” Barrington said, cutting off further debate.  “There really aren't that many laws here, I’m afraid.  They can do what they like as long as they don’t harm other people.”

Philip smiled, dryly.  Avalon operated on the same principle, although there was a wide body of precedent over what constituted ‘harm.’  He could just imagine a crew of spacers, released from their metal confines, pushing the limits as far as they would go.  Spacers came to spaceports for Intercourse and Intoxication rather than the more traditional Rest and Relaxation,  They might well push the limits so hard that they broke.  Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but Asher Dales seemed too small to have a proper spaceport nightlife, with cheap beer and cheaper women.

“The important issue you need to settle,” he said, “is just what you want the navy to do.  If you want us to merely patrol Asher Dales and the surrounding system, we can do that; escorting freighters throughout the sector will be a little more complicated.  We can also go hunting pirates, but again – that requires careful planning ahead of time.”

There was a pause.  “We have been in discussions with several of the other planets in the sector, if I may be frank with you,” Barrington said, finally.  “They have agreed to pick up part of the tab for your services in exchange for you running patrols through their star systems and escorting freighters.  Much of the freight does come through Asher Dales” – because of the cloudscoop, Philip guessed – “and we believed that we would make an ideal location for the navy’s HQ.”

Philip considered it, briefly.  Unless he was very much mistaken, the sector’s inhabited worlds intended to set up their own defence union – perhaps even a loose political union.  It wasn't a particularly bad idea, except for the minor matter that they didn't have the resources or industrial base to build up a full-sized navy to defend their interests.  They would be outgunned by all of their possible competitors for a very long time to come.  The only solution he could think of was a defensive alliance with another galactic power, but they’d want something in exchange.  Trade concessions, perhaps, or settlement rights.

He didn't say that out loud.  “The principle problem,” he said, carefully, “is that we have only three small destroyers to carry out our missions.  One destroyer will have to remain at Asher Dales at all times; Nancy, the bulk freighter, is a very tempting target to any pirates who happen to be sniffing around the system.  That leaves two craft to escort freighters and deter pirates.  We can provide escorts if we have an operating schedule, but we will have major problems providing assistance to another world with so few ships.”

There was a pause.  “Are you saying that you cannot protect us?”

“One starship can only be in one place at one time,” Philip said.  “The closest inhabited world to Asher Dales is four days away at maximum speed.  A message summoning us would take four days to reach us after the crisis, and then we’d take another four days to get anyone back into the system.  That’s eight days – and that assumes that we have a ship on station here that we can send.  If you want total protection, you’re really going to have to buy more ships.”

“This is outrageous,” Tam protested.  “We’re paying you to protect us.”

“You’re also paying me to be honest about the problems we will face,” Philip pointed out.  Whatever was bothering Tam, he was growing more and more irritating with every breath.  “I cannot change the laws governing space travel purely because you find them inconvenient.  You have to set priorities, which we will then follow to the best of our ability.”

He looked up at Barrington, who seemed to understand.  “We have very limited resources in this sector,” he reminded him.  “We can provide an escort for freighters, but in doing so we put one of our ships out of contact for several weeks.  And if we happen to need that ship somewhere else...”

“I take your point,” Barrington said.  “I guess that’s something we will have to consider, Captain...coming to think of it, what should we call you?”

Philip hesitated.  “There’s only ever one Captain onboard a ship,” he said.  “I’m currently wearing two hats; Captain of Dasher and Commodore of the Asher Dales Naval Service.”

“So we change the title depending upon the circumstances,” Barrington said.  He seemed more amused than irritated by the concept.  “I hope you’ll excuse us if we make mistakes.  None of us have any experience operating a navy.”

Philip nodded. “Which does lead to the next point,” he said.  “I understand that politicians...”

“A very dirty word,” one of the older men growled.

“We are the elected representatives of the people,” another one pointed out.  “I think that makes us politicians by definition.”

Barrington scowled at them and they fell silent.  “You’ll have to excuse them,” he said, to Philip.  “They came from worlds overrun by professional political leaders.”

“It’s no problem,” Philip assured him, making a mental note to discuss the local political situation with Tanya as soon as possible.  “This council – politicians or not – has overall authority to set priorities for the navy.  That is understood.  However, the council does not have the...experience or knowledge required to issue detailed instructions.  If you want something done by my people, tell us what you want done and then let us figure out how to do it.  We’ll tell you if it can’t be done.”

“So if we tell you to take a particular planet, we have to tell you that and let you decide how to do it,” Barrington said.  He grinned at Philip’s expression.  “Don’t worry; we don’t have ambitions for galactic conquest.  Far too much like hard work.”

Philip chuckled, politely.  It had been a very weak joke.  “Far too many military operations have been ruined because of interference from political leaders who thought that being elected automatically made them qualified to run a military campaign,” he said.  “It’s been a problem throughout all of recorded history.  I would prefer to avoid it from the start.”

“We’ll do our best to avoid it,” Barrington said.  “Now, about rules of engagement...”

“You’ll have to study the issue in some detail,” Philip said.  “I can provide you with copies of the RAN’s doctrines on the subject; generally, we’re allowed to engage targets when we believe that there is a clear and present danger to the ship.  You’ll have to decide for yourselves what constitutes a threat to Asher Dales...”

“We can't have you starting a war because you feel threatened,” Tam said.  “What happens if you fire on a Theocracy warship?”

Philip frowned, inwardly.  Tam knew about the Theocracy...but then, anyone with any access to the galactic communications network would know about the Theocracy.  Asher Dales wasn't one of those worlds that chose to shut the outside world out in the hopes that the outside world would respect their privacy,  They certainly saw enough freighters to have a fairly good idea of what was going on in the Commonwealth.

“I would try to avoid having to fire on any kind of warship,” Philip said.  The Theocracy wasn't a signatory to the Albion Conventions, which provided a common basis for recognising territorial space.  In theory, no power controlled the interstellar gulfs between stars; in practice, the Theocracy patrolled heavily to prevent pirates and smugglers – and spies – from slipping into their territory.  The Commonwealth did the same, fearing that the Theocracy had its own long-term plans for conquest.  “However, if a warship did arrive and was making threatening noises, would you rather that I tried to drive it off or let it take the world without a fight?”

“It’s clearly something that we will have to consider,” Barrington said.  He tapped the table, meaningfully.  “The Council will discuss this at some later time.  Until then...I trust that you and some of your senior crew would like to join us for a dance this evening?  We’ve laid on quite a spread to welcome you to your new home.”

Philip grinned.  “Real food?”  He asked.  “I’d have a mutiny if I refused on their behalf.  I’ll just have to organise it so the ships have crews, just in case someone decided to attack while we were on the ground.”

“I leave that matter in your capable hands,” Barrington said.  He stood up, bringing the meeting to an end.  “My daughter will show you around Landing City, or back to your shuttle if you would prefer.  Meeting adjourned.”

***
“That was a very short meeting,” Philip said, when they were back outside.  The temperature had risen, or maybe it had merely been cooler inside the Town Hall.  “Your father seems to run a tight ship.”

“They have a law saying that no meeting can last longer than half an hour,” Tanya said.  “Dad always said that it was to stop windbags from going on and on while wasting everyone else’s time.  I always thought it was a brilliant rule myself...”

Philip laughed.  One aspect of a Captain’s career that was never shown on the document-dramas about life in the Royal Avalon Navy was how much time was wasted at various meetings.  It was worse for the REMFs back on Avalon, but they seemed to enjoy pointless meetings – or perhaps that was just a vile slander.  He definitely preferred being out on independent command; there was still plenty of paperwork, but at least he wasn't forced to hold meetings to decide what to do.  The Navy’s time was better spent on fighting than paperwork, or fornication.

“Your father seems to understand what he’s doing,” he said.  He considered asking about Tam, before deciding that he might be being paranoid.  “Tell me something; how does your government actually work?”

Tanya considered.  “Most of our population is comprised of freeholders; men and women who own clear title to their lands,” she said.  “The government assigns land to newcomers, who have to use it – either to farm or for something else – for a period of five years before they gain clear title to it themselves.  Their title can then be passed down to their children or sold, as they see fit.  Each freeholder gets one vote, which he casts on issues placed before him by the government.  The council’s decisions have to be ratified by the population before they become law.”

She shrugged.  “Not everyone wants to farm or own land,” she added.  “Those who are in businesses, such as one of the many building companies, have to pay a small tax to the government in return for the vote.  They have the same rights as freeholders, although they don’t really own land...”

“Sounds like a recipe for trouble,” Philip pointed out.

“Not really,” Tanya assured him.  “There’s quite a number of freeholders who have relatives in various trades, so they talk and work together on a number of projects.  Younger sons often choose to set up their own freeholds rather than work on their elder brother’s farm – the elder is expected to help the younger ones set up their new farm if necessary.  It isn't exactly a perfect system, but it does work fairly well.”

She grinned.  “And besides, it does keep the council honest,” she added.  “A councillor has to be an active freeholder or businessman before he can be elected.  They have to know what life is like as a normal person – the government is really a part-time thing for us.”  She shook her head.  “Leader of this open-air loony bin indeed.  Dad got the largest majority of votes in the current council, so he’s the First Speaker – little more than Chairman, really.  He doesn't get any special rights beyond that...”

“It sounds simple enough,” Philip conceded.  “You do realise that there’s no room for democracy on a starship?”

“I worked that out,” Tanya said, dryly.  “I think that my father will ensure that you have independence, at least when it comes to internal naval decisions.  The council will probably want to watch you carefully at first, if only to understand how you intend to proceed.  I don’t think that they liked you being candid about the problems you face in space combat.”

“A planet is a small place,” Philip pointed out, mildly.  “The interstellar gulfs are vast.  Any ship between planets is utterly out of communication until it reaches its destination, even in the Commonwealth.  And there’s no StarCom network here to allow instant communication between stars.  Anything could be happening on the next star over and we wouldn't know until word reached us, if it ever did.”

He shook his head.  “We’ll go back to the shuttle and make arrangements for some of my crews to join the dance,” he said.  One of the Captains would have to remain behind, along with a third of each crew.  They’d have to have their own chance the following day.  “And then you can show me the city.”

Chapter Eleven

“Awfully loud, this!”

Tanya laughed as she pulled Philip onto the dance floor.  The building was nothing more than a single vast hall, with a handful of doors leading out into the town.  It was crammed with people, seventy-five crewmen from Philip’s tiny squadron and over a hundred townspeople.  They seemed to be getting along fine, as far as he could tell; some of the men seemed to have found girlfriends already.  Or maybe the townspeople were just pleased to see them.

“The people who founded this planet and drew up the founding charter believed that social events like this were a good and safe way to meet people,” she said.  The dance steps weren’t very complicated, but Philip still found that he had to spend time concentrating on what he was doing.  Apparently, like naval routine, it was something that had to be practiced until it became habit.  “They even offered bonuses to settlers who could play the instruments or call out instructions to the dancers.”

Philip frowned.  “A safe way to meet people?”

“Yep,” Tanya said.  “Look over into the corner.”

He followed her finger and saw a small gathering of middle-aged women.  They seemed to be chattering to themselves, but also to be watching some of the dancers, mainly teenage girls and boys.  Chaperones, he realised, there to ensure that relationships between boys and girls didn’t go too far.  It was a surprise to see them, but it made some sense on a world without a modern medical infrastructure – or, for that matter, the basic ethos that had built Avalon.  His homeworld’s founders had believed sincerely in the right of the individual to do what he or she pleased, provided that non-consenting people didn't get hurt.  But then, teenage sex on Avalon produced nothing, at least nothing physical.  Asher Dales might lack even basic contraception implants, implants that were standard issue on Avalon.

It was still freer than the Theocracy, if the reports from the refugees were to believed.  Girls had no say in their choice of husbands at all – and often the husbands themselves had little choice either.  They were married off as soon as they became physically mature, often knowing little about sex beyond the basics; the Theocracy’s staggeringly high birth-rate was a reflection of its peoples’ ignorance.  The Theocracy should have been as rich as the Commonwealth, but instead most of its population lived in squalor and it sought expansion wherever possible.  If it ever reached Asher Dales, it would merely deposit a few hundred thousand colonists onto the surface and absorb the original colonists through weight of numbers.  They’d done it before and, given half the chance, they’d do it again.

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Tanya said, dryly.  “What are you thinking about?”

Philip hesitated.  “Different societies,” he said, finally.  “You seem to have a lot of middle-aged spoilsports out here.”

Tanya laughed.  “They are a pain, aren't they?  But here marriage isn’t just mating a man and a woman and calling them husband and wife.  Often, there’s property rights involved as well – and often political patronage and suchlike.  And if someone does happen to get pregnant, they have to get married or the kid gets nothing.  We’re taught to be careful and watched to make sure that we don’t do anything we shouldn’t, at least until the papers have been signed.”

She shook her head.  “You have no idea just how big a shock it was to me when I went to Avalon,” she added.  “I never realised that it was possible to separate sex from marriage, or...do you know what they call girls who have sex before marriage?”

“No,” Philip said, “although I can guess.”

“Sluts,” Tanya said.  “And yet they think highly of boys who have sex before marriage.  I never understood why they permitted the double-standard, the bastards.  And after my mother died, I never went to Church.”

There was a wealth of pain in her voice.  Philip felt guilty at what he’d made her remember, before pushing the thought aside.  He needed to learn more about Asher Dales, if only because such stringent rules on sex were likely to get his crewmen into trouble.  Glancing around the hall, he could see a handful of men who were pushing their luck with the local girls, unaware of their watching mothers.  It might just lead to a confrontation between the spacers and the people they were meant to defend – and if the spacers were left with bad feelings, they might not be inclined to risk their lives to defend the settlers.  The last thing he needed was a breakdown in discipline on his ships.

“Ah,” he said, suddenly.  “Excuse me a moment.”

The planners had set out seven tables alongside the walls, each one laden with food – which was going down rapidly, as it tasted far better than pre-packaged rations – and drink.  Schifrin was standing next to one of the drinks tables, studying the bottles with measured care.  Some of them were clearly produced on Asher Dales itself, others looked to be of more uncertain parentage.  Asher Dales probably couldn't afford the finest wines from across the galaxy, but spacers were known to transport sealed bottles across space and use them to barter with the locals.  Anything could have reached Asher Dales through space.

“One drink only,” Philip said, firmly.  Schifrin looked up at him, his face a mixture of annoyed and relieved.  The bottles had been very tempting, no doubt, but he wouldn't have wanted to crawl back into the booze when he had a ship to command.  “Don’t drink any more while you’re here.”

“Aye, sir,” Schifrin said, finally.  

Marie came up from behind and fixed her hand onto his elbow.  “Come back onto the dance floor,” she said, firmly.  “You have to set an example for your crewmen – and some of them are reluctant to dance.”

Philip shook his head in wry amusement.  “Tell me something,” Tanya said.  “Are those two...dating?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Philip said, pushing the issue to the back of his mind.  The thought of Marie and Schifrin dating...well, stranger things had happened.  But as far as he knew, neither of them wanted to lose the second chance to serve that they’d been given.  And he had asked her to make sure that Schifrin didn't fall back into a drunken haze.  “Who knows?”

He smiled, inwardly.  There were no rules on fraternization in the Asher Dales Naval Service, if only because he hadn't had a chance to write them.  But then, they were both trusted and capable officers and would know not to let their personal feelings interfere with their duties.

Tanya picked up one of the bottles and eyed it dubiously.  “Cider, from the Asimov Plantation,” she said.  “Old Man Asimov was known for producing the strongest cider when I was a girl; he used to ship it all over the planet and get people drunk every week.  We had some of it at my going-away party and half of us had to be carried home.”

She smiled, almost sadly.  “And now this place doesn't feel like home,” she added.  “Where do I belong?”

Philip nodded, slowly.  It was natural for a person who had been away to come home and discover that it seemed smaller than it had been, before they'd known that there was anything else.  Tanya probably hadn't fitted in very well even before she’d left for Avalon – and God alone knew what she would do now she was back on Asher Dales.  She was hugely overqualified to serve as the town lawyer, assuming that they allowed women to serve as lawyers on Asher Dales.  Like most low-tech worlds, it seemed to have very firm ideas on what was and what wasn't an acceptable role for women in public life.  So did the Theocracy, but then the Theocracy was designed for expansion, conquest and settlement – and the merciless crushing of all other religions.  Having politically-active women would only have thrown a stone into the gears.  They might have objected to serving as little more than walking wombs.

He opened his mouth to speak, just as someone walked into his back.  There was a crash and he felt a wet patch spreading over his dress uniform.  He spun around and saw Tam Farnham standing there.  The young man looked apologetic, but he didn't fool Philip for one second.  He had deliberately intended to soak Philip with red wine.

“Tam,” Tanya snapped, before Philip could say anything.  The temptation to just knock Tam down was almost overpowering, but he was meant to be setting a good example.  “What do you think you are doing?”

Tam stared back at her, clearly fighting to keep his feelings off his face.  “Whatever do you mean?”  He asked, with definite amusement.  “I was just walking past when the Captain stepped backwards and crash!”

“Excuse me a moment,” Tanya said.  She caught Tam’s hand and dragged him towards one of the doors.  The mob of elderly chaperones parted like the waters of the Red Sea when they met her gaze.  Philip watched her go, and then pulled off his uniform jacket.  It was marked badly by the wine; luckily, it should be fairly easy to wash.  The RAN’s officer corps was universally convinced that the uniforms had been designed by a bitter or twisted sadist – they were never easy or comfortable to wear – but they had been designed to be easy to clean.  

“That asshole did that deliberately,” Marie muttered.  Philip hadn't even heard her coming up behind him.  “Want me to trip him up outside?”

Philip shook his head, although he was tempted.  “Not yet,” he said, “but if he ever wants to visit one of the ships, refuse him permission.”

Tanya came back into the hall seven minutes later, carrying a black civilian jacket which she passed to Philip.  “I'm sorry about that,” she said, tightly.  The bitterness in her voice was shockingly clear, even to Philip.  “Just Tam being his usual stupid self.”

“Are you all right, dear?”  Marie asked.  The Marine seemed surprisingly concerned.  “A suitor down on his luck?”

“Something like that,” Tanya said.  She caught Philip’s hand and pulled him towards one of the doors.  Outside, it was cooling rapidly, although it was still surprisingly warm.  He looked up and saw the twinkling stars high overhead.  Asher Dales didn't have anything like the colossal infrastructure that orbited Avalon and its night sky seemed somehow deserted, as if they were right on the edge of the galactic rim.  It was an illusion, but the knowledge didn't stop a shiver running down the back of his spine.  He barely heard Tanya’s next words.  “I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

Philip looked over at her.  In the semi-darkness, her hair seemed to illuminate her face.  “I dare say I will survive,” he said, so dryly that Tanya almost giggled before she remembered herself.  He’d been in combat with pirates and raiders, and he’d been shot at during a brief visit to Cadiz.  Tam might have thought of himself as a tough guy, but any of the Marines on Philip’s ship would have broken him if he’d picked a fight with them.  “What does that...person have against me, anyway?”

Tanya blushed furiously, so furiously that Philip could almost see her face lighting up in the darkness.  “Tam...Tam’s father and my father are the largest land owners on Asher Dales,” she said, finally.  “The Council holds more, but that has to be passed out to newcomers who want to set up their own farms or businesses; my father’s lands are solidly in his name.  And Tam’s father used to encourage him to court me because that would link the two families together forever – or at least a very long time.”

She shook her head.  Philip could guess the rest.  “And Tam, being an enlightened soul, believed that merely the mention of his interest would cause you to fall into his arms?”

“Something like that,” Tanya said.  “I knew him as a child and...well, he never really grew up and when he asked me if I would marry him, I said no.  And then he started making suit to my mother, asking for her to intercede with me...and my mother, of course, thought that it was a great idea.  She never listened to me when I tried to explain that I would sooner marry a convict from the resettlement programs than Tam, who had left at least two girls deflowered and alone...”

Philip blinked.  “And your father went along with it?”

“Tam’s father isn't the kind of person you reject easily,” Tanya said, bitterly.  She shook her head.  “Mother died and I took advantage of the chance to go to Avalon on a Scholarship, only to discover that while I was gone Tam has been telling everyone that we’re engaged and that he allowed me to go out of the goodness of his heart...”

“I see,” Philip said evenly.  Perhaps he’d made the wrong decision.  Marie could hurt him, or kill him, and it would look like an accident.  He’d met far too many entitled young fools who’d been born into Avalon’s corporate families, but most of them learned discipline fast or found that they lost votes of confidence that determined their position within the families.  It wasn't a perfect system, yet it was fairly good at separating idiots from the reins of power.  “Why don't you just tell him to get bent?”

Tanya shook her head.  “He’s been telling everyone that we’re engaged,” she said.  “If he seems to change his mind, it would mean swallowing a lot of pride...”

“That’s his problem,” Philip pointed out.  Maybe an accident was the right way to deal with Tam.  There were plenty of ways an ignorant guest could kill himself on a RAN starship and all of them were detailed in the ship’s databases.  “Why didn't you leave Asher Dales forever?”

“My father needed someone to buy the ships and hire the crews,” Tanya said.  “If they hadn't needed me, perhaps I would have stayed...”

She caught his arm.  “And now you’ve met the council,” she added, “what do you think of them?”

“I think that if they want us to provide effective protection to a dozen worlds in a largely undeveloped sector, they’re going to need to get me more ships,” Philip said, flatly.  Civilians who thought they could micromanage military operations were always irritating, if only because it was always clear that they couldn't hope to run an operation at long distance.  The smart ones merely defined what they wanted to happen and allowed the military the freedom to decide how it was going to carry out its mission.  “Three ships – two, effectively, because one has to stay here – can’t cover an entire sector.”

Tanya nodded, slowly.  “I meant to ask you something,” she said.  “If there was political trouble on Asher Dales, what side would the military take?”

Philip blinked, surprised.  “Are you expecting trouble on Asher Dales?”

“Greg Farnham – that’s Tam’s father – has been pushing for a set of restrictions in the franchise for a long time,” Tanya said.  “He feels that newer settlers aren’t really inclined to kowtow to the older settlers once they get set up with a plot of land of their own.  And he’s one of the greatest supporters of the convict transfer program.  If he was to gain control over the council, there will be trouble.”

Philip had the odd sense that he’d just missed something important.  “The convict transfer program?”

“There are hundreds of worlds nearer Mars where they have more convicts – criminals – than they know what to do with,” Tanya admitted.  “The original Asher Dales Development Corporation of Mars signed an agreement with several of those worlds; they sent us the convicts in exchange for assistance in paying the settlement costs.  We put the convicts to work on Asher Dales and either assimilated them into the mainstream or worked them to death.  Either way, they would never get to go home.”

“Ah,” Philip said.  The UN had started such a program, but then Earth had been massively overpopulated before the Breakaway Wars and they’d been expelling convicts for almost any offense, no matter how minor.  Avalon had been lucky enough to receive only one shipload of convicts, but they’d certainly caused their fair share of trouble before they’d been rounded up and banished to the unsettled continent.  “What sort of convicts?”

“Minor criminals only,” Tanya assured him.  Philip wasn't so sure.  If a planetary government wasn't prepared to execute serious criminals, sending them to an unsuspecting colony was certainly one way to get rid of them.  Some of the convicts sent to Avalon had been guilty of shockingly horrific crimes.  “But Farnham and his followers like the idea of having workers they can literally work to death.  They’ve created a number of plantations where convicts work like slaves – and that’s something that hasn't gone down well with a lot of the smallholders.  They think that Greg wants to eventually turn them all into slaves.”

She looked up at him, suddenly.  “So if there was a confrontation,” she asked, “what side would the military take?”

Philip hesitated.  In truth, the question made him uncomfortable.  The RAN had been clear on just how much military officers could attempt to influence political affairs and any officer who sought to meddle with politics could expect to face a Captain’s Board.  It had always been made clear to him that the military had no place meddling with politics, but then...Avalon’s system had included enough checks and balances to protect the losers in any political struggle.  Asher Dales hadn't really evolved anything of the sort.

“The military is responsible to the elected government of the planet,” he said, finally.  “I would hate to try to predict what would happen if there was a fracture in the government, splitting it into two.  Civil war would be a very definite possibility.”

Tanya frowned.  “That is not a reassuring answer,” she said, severely.

“I wish I had one to give,” Philip admitted.  “But if the political process has broken that badly, you’re very close to civil war.  And if that happens, the odds are that the military will fracture along sectarian lines.”

Chapter Twelve

“All present and correct, sir!”

“Glad to hear it,” Philip said, dryly.  There was no hope of holding an ordinary conference onboard Dasher, if only because the destroyer was too small to support a proper briefing compartment.  Instead, his subordinates were largely attending electronically, their holographic images floating in the air in front of him.  “There have been some developments on the surface.”

He ran through everything that Tanya had told him, leaving out only the details about Tam’s plan to marry her and unite their inheritances into one super-holding.  “I hope that we won’t have to deal with political unrest on the surface any time soon,” he concluded, “but I must remind you all not to make any promises or commitments to anyone down below without clearing it with me first.  We need to remain a united force if we are going to accomplish any of our mission.”

“Bit of a bummer,” Schifrin commented.  “We work for them, Commodore.”

“I know, Commodore,” Philip agreed, shaking his head at the oddities of naval protocol.  He was the Commodore of the entire squadron and should therefore be addressed as Commodore while acting as the Commodore, but in line with the custom that stated that a vessel could only have one Captain Schifrin was also entitled to be addressed as Commodore.  “But we do not want to be drawn into a power struggle on the ground.”

“Particularly when the power struggle might be a front for someone else moving in from space,” Marie added.  “The Theocracy isn’t the only interstellar power that might want to set up shop in this sector.”

“It’s hard to see why anyone would bother being legalistic about it,” Schifrin pointed out, crossly.  “Asher Dales – even with our entire squadron – couldn't stand off a single heavy cruiser from any of the major powers.  A light cruiser would still tear hell out of us before we got her – if we did get her.  They could simply take the system and claim afterwards that they were invited in by the legitimate government.”

“The Theocracy does have an odd regard for legalities,” Philip pointed out, “all which is beside the point at the moment.  We have three priorities; we have to make our presence felt in the sector, we have to obtain more ships and we have to start training the locals.”

“Which will be tricky if we’re not entirely able to trust them,” Captain Thomas Nonagon pointed out.  He was the only one with any genuine training experience, having been a mustang – an officer who had risen from the ranks rather than going through Piker’s Peak, the RAN’s naval academy – and then serving a team at OCS.  “How many spacers are likely to come from Asher Dales anyway?”

Philip produced a datapad and held it up in front of him.  The data had already been distributed through the squadron’s secure datanet, using whisker-thin laser communications to ensure security.  Some people would say that he was being paranoid, but even paranoids had enemies – and besides, security was a good habit to develop.  Tanya had gathered it for him at his request, noting that most of the computer networks on the planet below were primitive, even by the standards of early spaceflight.  The development corporation hadn't been particularly interested in funding modern computer networks.  Philip had yet to puzzle out why anyone would consider that a good idea.

“There are apparently seventy-nine people with space-faring experience and four hundred and seven people without who – I quote – want to get their bums off this rock,” Philip said.  “The spacers can be tested first; we don’t seem to have anyone with modern military experience, sadly.  After that, we can begin testing the newcomers and training them on basic tasks; Thomas, I’m leaving that in your hands, unless you have any objection.”

“Wonderful,” Nonagon said, dryly.  “Yet another tempting opportunity to discover how many ways completely ignorant idiots can get me killed.”

Philip nodded in understanding.  Piker’s Peak had been operating for over a hundred years, and yet it was a rare year where they didn't lose a cadet to an accident that wouldn't have befallen a more experienced officer.  The Marine Training Camps were even worse, often losing a number of recruits to the training course before they could even graduate and be appointed Commonwealth Marines.  It would be even more dangerous on the Joe Buckley, if only because they didn't have any of the safety precautions that were used at Piker’s Peak.

“I give you complete authority to select and deselect candidates,” he said.  “Their lives are in your hands.  Draw supplies from Nancy as you need them, but keep the records updated.  We won’t be able to get resupplied for quite some time.”

He looked over at Marie.  “And on the Marine side of things?”

“There are a handful of people with regular army experience on Asher Dales, but no one with anything reassembling Marine experience,” Marie said, easily.  “That’s a good thing in many ways – there’s less to unlearn – but we lack the sophisticated training technology we would use back home.”

Nonagon snorted.  “I thought it was a point of pride that Marine training camps were primitive hellholes,” he said, lightly.  “Why do you suddenly want advanced technology?”

“We can set up basic training easily enough,” Marie said.  “Practicing anything outside the planet’s atmosphere, however, will be a little harder.  I’d almost sooner work with the experienced spacers on Asher Dales, even though they don’t have any Marine experience.  At least they’d understand things that can’t really be conveyed through lectures.”

“Put a request in for any gear you and your men need from Nancy,” Philip said.  “You’ll be staying behind this time, I’m afraid.  Gunny Sanderson will be senior Marine on Dancer.”

“And Top Hat Kratman on Dasher,” Marie said.  She hesitated.  “I should remind you that we only really have forty Marines in total – and I will need some of them assigned permanently to the surface.  It may be months, at least, before we have any replacements from the planet’s volunteers.”

“We may start trying to recruit more people from the Commonwealth, if necessary,” Philip said.  It wasn't a good solution, if only because the Commonwealth – gearing up for war with the Theocracy – wouldn't be keen to allow good men with unblemished records to leave for Asher Dales.  Finding the two hundred officers and crew for his ships had been hard enough; he’d had to reject a number of possible candidates because they had been dismissed for extremely sound reasons.  “But we are going to need some form of training facility out here.”

He cleared his throat.  “Joe Buckley will be remaining here on patrol,” he said, firmly.  “If there’s an emergency at the cloudscoop, you are cleared to respond to it, but take care to hide Nancy in hyperspace first.  She’s going to be the prime target for every pirate in this sector once they realise what she’s carrying.  Thomas; you have overall command, but don’t allow the local council to dictate to you.”

“I’ll be very diplomatic,” Nonagon assured him.

“Wonderful,” Schifrin said, mischievously.  “We’ll come home to find that we’re at war with Asher Dales.”

“As you were,” Philip said, before an argument could break out.  Schifrin and Nonagon were opposites in every way that mattered, one calm and controlled; the other alarmingly prone to bursts of emotion and impulse.  And a drinking problem, of course.  “I want you to check in with every freighter that visits this system and try to convince them to share intelligence with us.  We may not be able to establish a proper hyperspace monitoring service out here, but if we can pull data from navigational computers we should be able to start establishing a baseline for predicting energy storms.

“A second thing we will need is intelligence,” he added.  “Again, try to convince the freighter commanders to share what they know about the sector.  Chances are that they will have their fingers more firmly on the sector’s pulse than anyone else, including us.  We can probably see about offering cheap rates for fuel to participating freighters, if necessary.”

“Some of them may be reluctant to share,” Marie pointed out.  “If the pirates were to identify freighters who are cooperating with us, they may attempt to retaliate against those ships.”

“And we can't cover the whole sector,” Nonagon said.  “We may face an uphill struggle before we can convince people that we’re here to stay.”

“We have to start somewhere,” Philip reminded them.

He keyed a switch and a star chart appeared in front of them.  “Dancer will be escorting a freighter to Hsu, four days from here,” he said.  “According to the latest open intelligence brief from Avalon” – and classified data he’d been given by Cassandra – “the Manchu Dynasty runs a regular convoying service from Hsu to New Beijing, so we can leave that freighter in orbit there until the convoy ship arrives.  If we’re lucky, there should be a chance to pick up a freighter coming back out here before heading further towards the rim – if so, I expect you to escort her back here.”

“Naturally,” Schifrin said.  He frowned.  “Should we be concerned about the Manchu Dynasty operating out here, so far from its normal sphere of interest?”

Philip shrugged.  The Manchu Dynasty comprised a set of nine colony worlds, all settled directly from China in the days of the UN.  They’d been one of the first out-system colonies to rebel against the UN and had fought hard when the UN attempted to crush their insurrection from orbit.  Avalon hadn't been too interested in tracking political developments in their sphere since the Breakaway Wars – the Manchu homeworlds were located on the other side of Old Earth – but what data Philip had been able to access suggested that they’d been pulling themselves slowly back together and claiming hegemony over all Chinese-ethnic colony worlds.  As there was a great deal of debate over precisely what constituted a Chinese-ethnic world, it was a stance that hadn’t found great favour outside their original homeworlds.  Hsu, on the other hand, was simply too poor to defend itself.  Help from the Manchu Dynasty might be the only thing protecting them from the pirates – or the Theocracy, for that matter.  The Buddhism practiced by the Hsu settlers would be treated just as roughly as any other religion that failed to conform to what the Theocrats considered acceptable.

“Probably not,” he said, finally.  “While you’re at Hsu, I’d like you to try and make contact with the local shipping factors – and the representative the Manchu Navy will have established somewhere on the surface.  They would probably want to share information in any case, but we could always make a clear invitation.  Don’t promise anything, though – we may not be able to keep any promises.”

“And they have long memories,” Schifrin said.  Philip nodded.  The Manchu Dynasty had warned that it intended to reclaim Old China, on Old Earth, even though Earth itself was largely a ruin and the other powers in the Sol System would hardly be keen on allowing a newcomer into their sphere of influence.  “We don’t want to make enemies of them if we can help it.”

“Dasher will escort another freighter to Prospect,” Philip continued.  Prospect was even further away from Avalon – towards the Rim – than Asher Dales, a smaller colony world that was drawing on the resources of her closest neighbours to remain a going concern.  The pirates had clearly figured out that Prospect wasn't worth raiding – there was nothing on the planet worth taking, apart from women and they were too spread out to make capture easy – but the freighters that travelled to Prospect were tempting targets.  And the one currently refuelling at Asher Dales was carrying a shipment of farming and asteroid mining equipment.  Philip could name a dozen groups that would be interested in obtaining the material and wouldn't really care where it came from, or how many people would be ruined by their decision.  “I doubt that there’s much worth seeing at Prospect, but we do need to run a survey of the system and start monitoring the local hyperspace conditions.”

“And have time to start devising the next series of exercises,” Schifrin put in.

“True,” Philip agreed.  He was worried about splitting his force, but in truth there really wasn't any better option.  They had to start making an impact as soon as possible.  “I’ve cleared additional bonuses with the council – if anyone takes a pirate ship in usable condition, there will be rewards for the entire crew.  We can start putting them into service as patrol craft...”

“Once we've checked them carefully,” Marie said, quickly.  “Pirates don’t normally bother to carry out even basic maintenance.  If the ships weren't so hardy, they’d have killed themselves off by now.”

Phillip nodded, remembering one pirate ship that had been captured while he was still a newly-minted Lieutenant.  The crew had been the sloppiest crew in known space; they hadn't bothered with any maintenance, they’d kept slaves – mainly pleasure women – on the lower decks and they’d defecated everywhere.  He hadn't been able to believe the stench when he’d cracked open his helmet; in the end, they’d had to blow the airlocks and vent the entire ship before handing her over for reprocessing into something more useful.  The worst crew in the entire RAN could not possibly have kept their ship in such a condition.  They’d have been court-martialled and drummed out of the service in disgrace.

“And vented the entire ship,” he added.  “Still, beggars can't be choosers.  Every ship we take off the bastards is one that won’t be raiding any more shipping in this sector, or anywhere else.”

He frowned.  “There is a distant possibility that we might encounter unfriendly vessels,” he added, finally.  The only unfriendly vessels, apart from pirate ships, that they were likely to encounter were Theocracy warships.  “We need intelligence – hell, we need warning.  If you sight such a vessel, haul ass out of there and get word back to Asher Dales.  Don’t try to take on the entire Theocracy by yourself.  The Commonwealth needs to know if they’re operating in this sector.”

His gaze moved from holographic image to holographic image.  “We’re pretty much on our own out here,” he warned.  “I want no heroics, no needless risks.  Don’t fuck up.”

“We won't, sir,” Schifrin assured him.

“Good,” Philip said.  “Is there any other business?”

“Just one,” Marie said.  “Two of our crewmen got into a little spot of trouble at the party last night.”

Philip scowled, remembering the cold sensation of wine spilling out over his dress uniform.  “What kind of trouble?”

“They seem to have pushed matters too far too fast with a couple of the local women,” Marie informed him.  Philip scowled.  He should have been contacted at once.  “The local men decided to show their feelings by beating them, but they’d both been through the unarmed combat course and managed to inflict considerable damage before they were subdued.”

Philip scowled at her.  “Why was I not informed?”

“As no one was seriously hurt, I took the liberty of agreeing with George Foster, the Sheriff of Asher Dales, that they only really deserved a whipping rather than anything more formal,” Marie said.  “They were whipped early this morning and released – both of them seem to be in good shape, considering.  I have also taken the liberty of warning them that further misbehaviour would result in having their heads kicked in by me personally.”

“I see,” Philip said.  It was a neat solution – and if the locals had no trouble accepting it, he saw no reason why he should take it any further.  “I’d appreciate knowing about any such crisis before it explodes in my face.”

“I will inform you if we have a repeat,” Marie agreed.  “However, I felt that the sooner it was handled, the sooner it would all be over.”

Philip nodded.  “As there is no other business,” he said, “Dasher will light out for the cloudscoop in two hours.  Dancer can depart” – he shared a look with Schifrin – “once the crew of the freighter are ready to depart.  Joe Buckley will assume primary responsibility for the system upon our departure.”

He tapped a key.  “Meeting adjourned,” he concluded.  “Good luck to us all.”

The faces vanished, leaving him with the illusion of being alone.  He stood up, shaking his head, and started towards the hatch.  It hissed open before he arrived, revealing Tanya.  She was holding a small bag in one hand and a datapad in the other.

“Captain,” she said.  “I was just looking for you.”

Philip blinked.  “You could have had me paged,” he pointed out.  He wasn't even aware that Tanya was onboard, although there were still several shuttles due to come up from the surface.  Tanya could easily have hitched a ride on one of them.  “How can I help you?”

Tanya hesitated.  “I was wondering if I could accompany you to Prospect,” she said.  She sounded almost as if she wasn't quite serious, or being completely honest.  “There are some trade treaties that need to be discussed with Prospect’s council.”

Philip frowned.  He would have bet good money that discussing anything with Prospect’s governors wasn't her first priority.  But she was a friend, and she was their civilian liaison, and if she wanted to ride along with them she had every right to do so.  And besides, he wanted to keep her away from Tam.  God alone knew what the conceited ass was doing down below.

“I’d be delighted,” he said, honestly.  He would like having her along, if only because she was someone he could talk to openly.  A Captain was always the most isolated person on his ship.  “Your cabin is still open for you.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Tanya said.  She looked up at him for a long moment, her dark eyes worried.  “I can't tell you how much I appreciate it.” 

Chapter Thirteen

“It’s beautiful.”

Philip couldn’t disagree.  Skinner, the fourth planet in the Asher Dales System, was a large blue-green gas giant, two-thirds the size of Jupiter.  It was orbited by a series of rings, each one composed of watery ice and asteroids, not unlike Saturn.  Earth’s nearest gas giant neighbours were still renowned after over three hundred years of space exploration; Jupiter had been the largest gas giant recorded until only a few years ago.  There were scientists who speculated that Jupiter’s size had played a subtle role in the development of intelligent life on Earth.  Philip wasn't convinced, but it did make a neat theory.  No intelligent races had been discovered ever since the human race had started expanding into space.  Who knew – maybe there was something to the theory after all.

Orbiting above Skinner in a stable orbit was a single structure attached to a long tube.  The structure was both massive and fragile, consisting mainly of large inflatable tanks to store the HE3 extracted from the gas giant.  A small handful of living modules had been attached to the tanks, allowing the station’s small crew to live and work in reasonable comfort.  Philip had seen enough gas giant mining stations to know that it wasn't a hard life, but a deeply boring and isolated position.  The RAN’s standard punishment for officers who screwed up was to exile them to gas giant mining stations.  It saved the cost of a court-martial.  

His gaze followed the tube as it dropped down into the gas giant’s atmosphere.  Like the rest of the station, it was fragile; a single missile could cut it open with ease.  It wasn't as if they could repair it at Asher Dales either.  They’d have to send to New Copenhagen or the Commonwealth for replacement components, and probably a repair crew as well.  Philip was astonished that someone in the development corporation had thought that building a cloudscoop was a good idea, although it seemed to have worked out well for the station’s crew.  They might have been effectively stranded in the Asher Dales System, but they could supply any passing freighter – and the RockRats – with fuel and undercut the nearest official fuelling station in the sector.  Given another few decades, it might even become the most useful component in the system’s economy.  

His wristcom buzzed.  “Captain,” Harmon said, “we’ve picked up a message from the station's manager.  He’d be delighted to see you in his office, if you would care to take a shuttle over from the ship.”

Philip exchanged a glance with Tanya.  It was questionable just how much authority Asher Dales had over the gas giant mining station.  There hadn't been any way to enforce the council’s authority until Philip and his small squadron had arrived.  Even so, the cloudscoop had a crew that hadn't been drawn from the settlers, or even appointed by the original development corporation.  The precise lines of responsibility and power were rather murky, but Philip didn't mind too much.  It would allow him a chance to draw them as he saw fit.

“Understood,” he said.  “I’ll fly the shuttle myself.  Keep monitoring nearby space for uninvited guests.”

“Aye, Captain,” Harmon said.  “No encroachments detected within sensor range.”

Early space operas – still watched on Avalon, mainly for their comedic value – had featured a device that could teleport men and equipment over vast distances.  The Commonwealth had been experimenting with such a device, based on the theory of quantum transmission, but had never come close to developing a viable model, any more than it had developed a handheld device that could send signals over interstellar distances faster than the speed of light.  It would have been straightforward to dock Dasher with the station – there were two freighters already docked to the station – but destroyer commanders preferred to keep their ships floating freely out in space.  Even paranoids had enemies, after all, and a docked ship was a vulnerable ship.

Up close, the station was larger than Philip had expected.  Someone – probably the RockRats – had supplied additional modules to the station’s crew, allowing them to expand the facility into a reasonably large living space.  It wouldn't be as bad as a standard gas giant mining station, which was lucky enough; the crew would very likely be living on that station for several months, if not years.  There seemed to be no weapons or defences, although that wasn't much of a surprise.  The gas giant mining station was the only thing keeping interstellar commerce going through the sector and taking it out would have cost the pirates most of their targets.  He oriented the shuttle on the station and started the docking procedure, reluctant to allow the autopilot to take over.  It was unwise to trust an outdated station’s command and control network too much.  A single incompatibility and disaster might result.

The airlock hissed open, allowing him and Tanya to depart the shuttle and enter the station’s docking module.  It was basic, with bare bulkheads and connecting tubes lying open rather than sealed closed, but it was easy enough to find their way through the network of airlocks and into the second module.  This one was clearly designed for a family, with paintings drawn by children scattered everywhere and a handful of children’s toys on the floor.  A man was standing in front of the airlock, waiting for them.  He didn't look happy.

“You would be Commodore Larson, I assume,” he said.  He didn't sound happy either.  “I must say that I find this visit most objectionable.”

Philip studied him, thoughtfully.  He was a short man, bristling with an air of impatience mixed with concern – and not a little worry.  The station manager – or so he assumed – was balding, showing signs of stress and age that suggested that he had never undergone rejuvenation or prolonging treatments at a more developed world.  His brown hair was thinning out alarmingly, while he had a growing paunch that pushed out against a uniform that was clearly at least one size too small for him.

“Manager John Milton, I assume,” Philip said.  He held out his hand for the manager to shake.  “May I enquire as to why you find this visit so objectionable?”

Milton scowled at him.  “I was informed when I bought this station – at a much reduced price, I might add – that I would have complete authority over operations,” he said, crossly.  “I have already had to endure a bombardment of messages from the so-called council on Asher Dales, who appear to believe that they have the ability and authority to dictate orders to me – orders that are so impractical it is clear that they have given no thought at all to how the universe really works.  And now they have sent you along and expect me to kowtow in front of you.”

Philip shrugged.  “I’m not here to do anything more than work with you,” he said, seriously.  Milton snorted, loudly.  “I don’t care who you have been supplying with fuel or on whatever rates.  All I want to do is gather intelligence on pirate activity within the sector and work with the freighters that draw fuel from this station to create an expanded intelligence network.”

“I was told that this would be a great opportunity,” Milton said, flatly.  He indicated the paintings with one wave of his hand.  “I came out here with my husbands and wives and our children to set up a new home, somewhere we could own for ourselves.  Instead, we have been forced to sell fuel at a reduced rate to keep ourselves floating in orbit around this gas giant.  I am not going to do anything that might threaten their lives.”

Philip nodded to himself.  Group marriages weren't uncommon among the RockRats; indeed, there was no legal reason why Avalon’s citizens couldn’t organise a group marriage for themselves if that was what they wanted.  It provided the children with extra security and emotional support during their crucial early years of development.  Having a family be as isolated as Milton’s family was a little more unusual, but he could see no reason why it wouldn’t be possible.

“I’m not going to do anything that would threaten their lives either,” Philip said.  “All I want from you...”

“Is information on my customers,” Milton said, sharply.  His paunch wobbled alarmingly as he spoke.  “Do you really think that I would serve the scrum of the universe if I had a choice?”

Tanya looked puzzled, but Philip understood.  The gas giant mining station was completely defenceless.  It wouldn't be too difficult for the pirates to threaten Milton into supplying them with fuel for their ships, knowing that no one would cover his ass if they decided to blow the station into fragments.  Hell, they could burn holes in the modules, vent the entire station, and then seal the breaches and man the station with their own men.  Milton would have absolutely no choice, but to do as they said.  

But most interstellar courts wouldn't see it that way.  Pirates were the scourge of the interstellar trade routes and Milton was aiding and abetting them, even if it was against his will.  The courts would probably order the arrest of Milton and the adults in his extended family, and then sentence them to life on a penal world – if they were lucky.  It would be far more likely for them to be sentenced to death.  Oh, he could understand Milton’s position, all right.  He was caught between the devil and the empty darkness of interstellar space.

“I think that it is fairly clear that Asher Dales is the primary authority in this system,” Philip said, slowly.  Milton would probably consider that arguable, but much of the interstellar case law would tend to support such a view, particularly now that Asher Dales could patrol its system and hunt down pirates who might be using it as a base.  “We could probably come to some legal arrangement...”

“And could you protect my family if the pirates came to call?”  Milton demanded.  “Your ships wouldn't even know they’d arrived for hours – and then where would you be?  Useless!  You’d be simply fucking useless!”

“We will be obtaining more ships soon,” Philip said, firmly.  He held out one hand.  “Let’s be blunt for a moment.  The pirates are blackmailing you into supplying them with fuel and perhaps intelligence on what freighters are going where, right?”  Milton nodded, ignoring Tanya’s gasp.  “I understand your position and, for what it’s worth, you have my word of honour that neither you and your family will be put through any legal hell by a self-righteous bastard who has never been out on the Rim.  Things are going to change out here.”

He leaned forward.  “But I need you to help us,” he added.  “We don’t need much, apart from fuel and intelligence.  And when we obtain a fourth ship, we’ll place her out here on permanent patrol.  They won’t be able to come and threaten your family...”

“Nothing written down, ever,” Milton said, firmly.  “I don’t want anything that they could see and draw a line between you and me.  And I don’t want you sharing anything with the council on Asher Dales.”

Tanya spoke for the first time.  “The council,” she said, frostily, “is not in the habit of sharing information with the pirates.”

“The council members are the ones buying stolen goods,” Milton said, flatly.  “Do you think that the pirates don’t try to fence their ill-gotten gains to anyone they can find?  Your councillors are probably raking in the proceeds while the legitimate owners suffer, unable to recover what’s been stolen from them.  And there are plenty of worlds that will buy almost anything, without bothering to ask awkward questions.  Grow the fuck up.”

“That will do,” Philip said, before Tanya could frame a suitably unpleasant reply.  It would be nice to find proof that Greg and Tam Farnham were in bed with the pirates, but he doubted that it would be that easy.  The pirates would hardly keep bills of sale, let alone records of who had brought what...and the buyers would have even less incentive to keep records.  If the Asher Dales Naval Service became a going concern, or one of the other interstellar powers became involved in the sector, the buyers would start feeling the heat very quickly.  “I’ll give you a transmitted with an encryption system that should be impossible to break quickly.  All you have to do is relay intelligence to my ships and...”

“Come and collect it in person,” Milton said.  “Those bastards will probably start picking up the transmissions even if they can't decrypt them.  And then...dear god – do you know what they do to young women?”

Philip, who had walked through the wrecks of vessels destroyed by the pirates, nodded silently.  The pirates had nothing to lose, literally.  They knew what would happen if they were captured by almost any naval service; they’d be executed on sight.  And so they had no reason to hold back, or to treat their captives with any mercy.  The women would be raped, often brutally, before they were executed; the men would often be tortured to death.  There were some people who felt that perhaps pirates should be offered life on a penal world instead of death, in the hopes that it would prevent atrocities, but it would never get through the Commonwealth’s Assembly, let alone any other interstellar legislature.  The revulsion felt for the pirates was too strong.

“We will,” he said.  “Before we leave, perhaps you could show us the rest of your station?”

It took nearly an hour to go through the entire station, but it was time well spent.  Milton’s family had been designing their own home for years, often welding on new modules or even pieces of expended rock they’d bought from the RockRats, creating a nice environment for their children.  The gravity seemed to fluctuate oddly from time to time – artificial gravity fields liked it when the starship or orbiting station didn't change its internal structure on a regular basis – but the kids seemed to enjoy it.  They all looked surprisingly happy and well-adjusted, despite living almost alone with no one, apart from their parents, for company.

The station actually grew much of its food in one of the modules, which had been filled with an algae compound the UN had developed long before hyperspace had been opened to human expansion and later settlement.  In its basic form, it produced a tasteless mush that provided everything humans needed to live, something that had been used to solve Earth’s food crisis – and set off a population explosion that had continued until Earth had been rendered almost uninhabitable.  The RockRats had improved upon the compound until it could be made quite tasty, particularly with the addition of a handful of exotic spices.  Philip suspected that some of the extended family would be quite happy to open up new trade links with Asher Dales, if only they could be convinced that they would be safe from the pirates.  It would take some time to gain their trust.

“Thank you for your time,” he said, finally.  Milton nodded, crossly.  He still looked worried, even though they’d agreed that the official story would be that Philip had forced him to welcome them at gunpoint.  “Please keep in touch.”

“You come here and we will,” Milton growled.  “Best of luck, Captain.  I just hope you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew.”

Philip allowed Tanya to precede him into the shuttle and then closed the airlock, separating the shuttle from the gas giant mining station.,  It only took a few seconds to put some distance between themselves and the station, before he orientated the shuttle on Dasher and started to head back towards his ship.  He’d be relieved when they linked up with the Foolish Genius and headed out to Prospect.  A chance to take a shot or two at a pirate ship would be very welcome...

“They’re supplying information to the pirates,” Tanya said, shocked.  “Shouldn't we arrest them?”

“They don’t have much choice in the matter,” Philip pointed out, mildly.  “Once we get more patrols running through this part of the system, we can cut off the source of information – or manipulate it to lure the pirates into a trap.  They’re right, sadly; if the pirates do think that they were betrayed, they will destroy the station after torturing and murdering Milton’s family.”

“But...”  She shook her head, angrily.  “Who on the council would have been taking goods from the pirates?”

“It could be anyone,” Philip said.  “There’s no way to know, at least not now.  We’ll set up a network of stealthed recon satellites in the next few months and start using them to track activity on the other side of the world from our position, but that’s going to take some time.  It isn't as easy as it seems to cut off a world from space, at least without a much larger squadron...”

Tanya’s eyes narrowed.  “I wonder if it will turn out to be Greg,” she said, savagely.  “I’d love a chance to nail him for something...”

Philip smiled.  “It would be nice, wouldn't it?”

Inwardly, he wasn't so sure.  Greg Farnham was one of the most powerful people on Asher Dales, with hundreds of clients at his beck and call.  An attempt to arrest him might undo the delicate social fabric binding Asher Dales together – almost as much as an attempt to arrest Lucas Falcone would shatter the Commonwealth.  But then, the Falcone Corporation would know better than to risk allowing its CEO to expose himself so blatantly.  The Board would remove him at once if they had even the slightest hint that he was benefiting from criminal acts.

“Let’s hope we find proof one way or the other soon,” he said.  A witch-hunt might be even worse for the budding colony.  “And then at least we will know.”

Chapter Fourteen

“I’m very glad to see you, Philip,” Captain Elizabeth Tyler said.  “I can call you Philip, can't I?”

“You certainly can’t call me Captain,” Philip agreed, with a grin.  “You can call me Philip if you please.”

He leaned back in his chair and relaxed.  Captain Elizabeth Tyler – Mistress of the Foolish Genius – and her crew had been delighted to see Dasher; she’d invited him and Tanya to join her for dinner once they’d entered hyperspace.  It was an old custom from the days of the Breakaway Wars, but he hadn't expected anyone to remember it in the Einstein Sector.  The Foolish Genius, a family-owned ship rather like Milton’s gas giant mining station, was a lumbering medium freighter with a regular contract with Prospect’s development corporation.  So far, they’d been lucky and escaped from pirates who might try to harm them, but Elizabeth had known that their luck would run out one day.

The meal hadn't been very complex, but it had been produced with fresh meats and vegetables from Asher Dales and that made all the difference.  Elizabeth had kept them all entertained with stories of how her grandfather had originally purchased the Foolish Genius and then passed it down to her father, and then finally to his eldest child.  Most of the nineteen-strong crew were relatives of her, apart from a pair of younger crewmen who had joined the ship through marriage alliances with Elizabeth’s children.  Philip had grown up on Avalon and spent his entire spacefaring career in naval service, but there were people – outside the RockRats – who spent their entire lives in space.  They had a freedom that was often denied to those born on a planetary surface, or even those who were born to the RockRats.  On the other hand, they were almost completely defenceless if the pirates came knocking.  

“I’m glad that someone is finally starting to take an interest in this sector,” Elizabeth said, as she took a sip of her port.  Philip had little interest in wine – he had never had the patience to become a wine snob – but he hadn't been able to identify the liquid at all.  It might have come from the other side of the galaxy as far as he was concerned.  “We’ve had too many ships disappearing recently for us to remain unconcerned.”

“So I have heard,” Philip said.  He’d broached the idea of sharing information, only to be surprised by how rapidly Elizabeth embraced the idea.  The chances were that she’d actually had a network set up among her fellow spacers long before Asher Dales had decided that it needed a naval service.  As long as they could use it, Philip wouldn't have minded who got credit for the idea.  “Do you have any idea where the pirates might be basing themselves?”

“I’m afraid not,” Elizabeth said, regretfully.  “There are quite a few colonies out past Prospect that don’t appear on any official charts, but I don’t think that any of the ones I know are helping the pirates.  One of them is determined to remain low-tech; the others want to just remain isolated and allow the galaxy to go to hell on its own.  There are a couple that might be interested in developing relations with Asher Dales and the rest of the sector, now that the founders are dead and their replacements less inclined to remain isolated from the greater galaxy; you may wish to pay them a visit once you have a moment.”

“I’ll certainly try to do so,” Philip assured her.  “Have you heard anything about Theocracy ships being sighted in this sector?”

“Very little,” Elizabeth said, after a long moment.  “I did encounter a Theocracy cruiser at Hsu once, three years ago.  I don’t know what it was doing there, but the ship’s Captain was very rude.  He seemed to think that I should be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen, cooking for my man-master.  What a disgusting little tyke.”

She shook her head.  “I can't say that they’d be very welcome out here,” she added.  “Quite a lot of the people who live on these worlds came out here to get away from the Theocracy.  I’d be surprised if they even gave the bastards the time of day.  Besides, they don’t let independents trade within their space, even if we don’t undercut their shipping combines.  Anyone would think that they had something to hide.”

Philip nodded.  Every year, distinguished economists on Avalon would produce papers that proved that the Theocracy was on the verge of collapse.  Everyone knew what happened to a society that refused to allow commercial competition; it stagnated and then collapsed into anarchy.  But the Theocracy, so far, had refused to collapse and space the rest of the galaxy the prospect of having to fight a war to contain its expansion.  It was impossible to say for sure what was happening inside the Theocracy – the Theocratic Navy was extremely good at keeping out unwanted guests, while their social system made it difficult to insert long-term agents onto their worlds – but it certainly didn't lack for confidence.  Even the UN at the height of its power couldn't match the Theocracy for sheer bare-faced arrogance.

“But we’d be happy to let you know if we saw any of them,” she said.  “What do you think you’d do if you did know?”

“I’m not sure,” Philip admitted.  Tanya’s question about the proper relationship between the military and civil governments had raised another question in his mind.  What should he do if he did find evidence that the Theocracy was interfering in the Einstein Sector?  Hell, what should he do if the Commonwealth went to war against the Theocracy?  There might be entire legions of social scientists who believed that war could be averted with sufficient understanding and concessions, but Philip knew that there was no way anyone could make enough concessions to the Theocracy to change its behaviour.  Enough understanding sometimes led to more disgust, rather than acceptance.  “I’d have to think of something.”

“Let me know when you do,” Elizabeth said, cheerfully.  “I’d love to stick a finger in their eye.  They’re nothing more than pigs...”

Philip’s wristcom buzzed before he could respond.  “Go ahead,” he ordered.  He’d given orders not to be disturbed, unless trouble was bearing down on their position.  “Report.”

“Captain, we’re picking up at least one vessel on an intercept vector,” Harmon said.  “It’s hard to be sure at this range, but it should be in firing range within forty minutes.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, sharply.  “They’re taking their time,” she commented.  “Do you think they have bad intentions?”

“I’m sure of it,” Philip said.  He stood up and Tanya followed him.  “I hate to cut the evening short, but I’m needed on my bridge.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said.  “Good hunting.”

***
“Report,” Philip barked, as he strode onto Dasher’s bridge and took the command chair.  “Time to intercept?”

“Thirty minutes, perhaps slightly more,” Harmon reported.  The tactical officer keyed his display and the contact, a small vessel, appeared as a glowing red icon.  “They seem to be rather hesitant about engaging us, sir.”

Philip frowned.  “They might be civilian, hoping to join a convoy,” he said, finally.  “Did you transmit a standard greeting?”

“No, sir,” Harmon reported.  “They may not have picked us up, sir; we’d be hidden within Foolish Genius’s emissions.  If we ping them, they’d know we’re here.”

“Unless they saw us leave Skinner and decided to follow,” Philip said.  He shook his head a moment later.  Pirates wouldn't want to tangle with Dasher even if they were flying a light cruiser, rather than one of the sometimes ramshackle ships that pirate commanders were forced to purchase from dodgy dealers.  There was too much chance of taking damage they wouldn't be able to fix.  “No; that doesn't seem likely, does it?”

He smiled to himself as he settled back in his command chair.  “Keep us close to Foolish Genius, helm,” he ordered.  “When they enter a range that Foolish Genius could reasonably be expected to detect them, they can send the standard greeting.  We’ll see how they respond to that...”

The minutes ticked by slowly as the unidentified craft came closer, forcing Philip to order Dasher to alter course slightly in the hopes of preventing early detection.  Sensors were somewhat untrustworthy in interstellar space, but the pirates – if they were pirates – might get lucky, or they might pick up a sensor ghost and decide to back off rather than engage the freighter.  Foolish Genius sent a standard greeting as the unknown ship closed to within five minutes of firing range, but there was no reply.  Philip’s eyes narrowed as he studied the display, calculating attack vectors in his head.  Refusing to reply to a standard greeting wasn't just rude, it was almost always taken as a sign of hostile intent.  The rules might have been a bit looser outside a system’s territorial limits, but the odds against two ships meeting by accident in hyperspace were staggeringly high.

“Still no response,” Harmon confirmed.  “Foolish Genius is requesting permission to alter course.”

Philip shook his head.  “Negative,” he said.  “The hostiles don’t know about us yet, or they’d never come in so fat and happy.  We don’t want them to know about us until we’re ready to give them a bloody nose.”

“Aye, sir,” Harmon said.  “Unknown vessel now altering course slightly...she’s trying to run our charge down.”

“Smart of them,” Philip observed, sardonically.  The freighter couldn't hope to outrun the raider, but if she was a very lucky freighter, she might just be able to prolong the encounter until a warship turned up, or until the pirates gave up and slipped away in search of easier prey.   It wasn't likely to happen, yet Elizabeth and her crew would have ample motive to try.  Seven of her crew were young women, after all.

The final seconds ticked away, and then...

“Missile separation,” Harmon snapped.  A new red icon flared to life on the display, a bright red line projecting the missile’s course.  “It reads out as a warning shot...”

There was a pause, and then the missile detonated, only a few thousand kilometres from Foolish Genius’s hull.  “That was a standard nuke, sir,” Harmon added.  “They’re hailing Foolish Genius.”

Philip smiled to himself as the pirate hail echoed out from the speakers, slightly blurred by hyperspace’s high-energy fields.  “...Under the guns of a warship,” a voice said.  It was harsh and cold and utterly pitiless.  “You will cut your drives at once and surrender.  Resistance will result in the destruction of your vessel.”

“I think it’s time that we introduced ourselves to our new friend,” Philip said.  He felt his lips pull back into a snarl.  “Mr. Harmon; take us away from Foolish Genius and fire at will.”

Dasher jerked as she launched four missiles right towards the pirate ship.  The pirate had been utterly surprised, but even if he had been prepared there was little he could do about the incoming missiles.  Any warship would mount enough point defence to force the attacker to fire a heavy salvo of missiles in hopes of swarming the point defence by weight of numbers, yet the pirates didn't seem to have bothered with any specialised point defence weapons.  They did mount a pair of heavy energy weapons, but they only managed to hit one missile before the other three slammed into the pirate ship’s armour.  A warship could have taken that blow and survived, but Philip half-expected the pirate ship to simply vaporise.  Instead, it lost its drives and started to spin helplessly in space.  Air venting from one of the breaches in its hull left him wondering if they hadn't bothered with internal safety precautions as well.  Dasher might have been an old ship, but it still mounted internal airlocks to prevent the entire ship from venting if there was a hull breach...

He keyed his console.  “This is Captain Larson of the Dasher,” he said.  “You are ordered to surrender now or your ship will be destroyed.  I say again; you are ordered to surrender now or your ship will be destroyed.”

There was a long pause.  He wouldn't have risked boarding a damaged Theocracy vessel, not when the Theocracy commanders were reputed to be fanatics who would overload their own drives to take their enemies to hell with them.  But the pirates had been badly shaken by the sudden reverse in their fortunes and might just surrender without a fight.  Who knew?  They might all be dead already, if their ship had vented completely.  The next set of pirates wearing protective suits he met would be the first.

“Picking up a response, sir,” Harmon said.  “It’s very weak.  I think we tore up their communications system pretty good.”

The voice sounded shaky, without a trace of the arrogance from the earlier communication.  “Please...we surrender,” it said.  Philip couldn’t tell if it was male or female.  Probably male; he’d never encountered any female pirates, although they were supposed to exist.  “Don’t kill us...we surrender.”

Philip keyed his console.  “Keith, you’re up,” he said.  “Take as many of the sorry bastards alive as possible, but don’t risk yourselves.  We can blow up the ship from a distance if we have to.”

“Understood, sir,” Sergeant Kratman said.  “We’re punching free...now.”

Philip settled back in his command chair, forcing himself to breath evenly.  The combat had been the shortest of his career, even if one included the long wait between detecting the oncoming vessel and finally engaging her.  Hurry up and wait had been an attribute of military life long before the human race had ever invented a starship.  The legions of Caesar or Alexander the Great had probably felt the same, even though they’d been tougher than any men of the spacefaring age.  Or so he’d been told.

The temptation to listen in to the Marine channels, even to attempt to micromanage, was overpowering, but he resisted.  He had to trust his people to do their job, even though he was worried about allowing them onto the pirate vessel.  The pirates had to know their fate, unless they knew anything worth using as a bargaining tool, unless...he frowned, wondering if he should offer to cut them a deal.  They could easily be transported back to Asher Dales and put to work on the land, instead of merely putting them out the nearest airlock.  It might even make it easier to take prisoners in the future.  He put the question aside as the minutes ticked away.  What was happening over on the pirate ship?

“We’ve secured the ship,” Kratman reported, finally.  “No resistance; most of the sorry bastards were killed when their ship was hit.  It seems they armoured the drives quite nicely, but forgot about the connecting tubes until it was far too late.  We’ve got about twenty-one prisoners here...”

Philip scowled.  “What about their command crew?”

“Gone,” Kratman admitted.  “The bastards had suicide implants.  My guess is that they died the instant the ship was so badly damaged that capture became a likely possibility.  I’m rather surprised that their deaths didn't trigger a self-destruct system...”

“Have the prisoners shipped back to Dasher and then inspect the pirate ship,” Philip ordered.  “I’m guessing that their main computer got smashed too...?”

“Apparently not,” Kratman said, “although god alone knows why not.  What’s the point of preparing your command staff to avoid capture when you don’t safeguard the navigational computers?”

“No idea,” Philip said.  It was an irrational decision.  “Once you’ve inspected the ship, let me know if it’s worth the effort of salvaging her.  We’re going to need a few ships for the trainees, even if they are absolute junk.”

He closed the channel and looked back at his bridge crew.  “And good work, all of you,” he added, softly.  “A few more encounters like that and the pirates will start running the moment they see a seemingly-unescorted freighter.”

***
“You’re going to love this,” Bartley said, two hours later.  Dasher had taken the pirate ship in tow and the small convoy had resumed its course towards Prospect.  “The missiles cut one of the command interlinks between the bridge and the main computer on the pirate ship.  They didn't manage to purge it in time before they lost main power completely.  The data we need should still be inside, once we hook it up to a portable power supply and start probing through the databank.”

He smiled.  “I’m afraid that the pirate ship won’t be able to enter or leave hyperspace on her own power,” he added.  “We really smashed their main power cores and burned out the vortex generator.  Shoddy fucking maintenance as well, sir.  They should have at least installed a cut-out to protect against power surges...ye gods, Captain; the idiots could have stranded themselves seventy thousand fucking light years from anywhere.”

“That’s par for the course with pirate ships,” Philip reminded him, patiently.  “What about the rest of the ship?”

“Well...we’re going to have to replace the main power core, but we can pull one of the spares from Nancy,” Bartley said, slowly.  “No hyperspace; maybe a speed limit in normal space...apart from that, we could probably get her to work better than they did.  The weapons are junk, though.  We probably need to replace them before we could take her into battle.”

“I’m not planning to take her into battle,” Philip said.  “I merely want a training ship for the trainees.”

“They’d probably get themselves killed,” Bartley said.  “It’ll take me another few hours to be sure that I’ve removed all the death-traps the idiots set up for themselves by accident.  I’d strongly suggest taking this ship to a shipyard and having her broken up for scrap.”

“We don’t have the luxury of throwing ships away,” Philip reminded him.  “Keep working on her – I’ll even let you name her.”

“The Death By Stupidity sounds about right,” Bartley muttered.  “What the hell were they thinking?”

Philip shrugged.  “I’m not sure that they were thinking at all,” he said.  “But we’ll sure as hell find out.”

Chapter Fifteen

“They’re all in the hold, Captain,” Kratman said.  “I don't think that any of them are particularly important.”

Philip nodded.  Dasher wasn't actually designed to hold prisoners, certainly not more than a handful of pirates.  Normally, the survivors would have been quickly interrogated and then escorted to the nearest airlock, or – if there was some reason to keep them alive – transferred to a larger ship or a merchant vessel with an empty hold.  No pirates could have burned through solid metal to escape or hijack the ship, even onboard an unarmed merchantman.

“Three of them, however, claim to have been merchant crewmen before they were pressed into service on the pirate ship,” Kratman continued.  “The remainder all seem to be junior crewmen.  I took the liberty of splitting the three merchant crewmen from their fellows and placing them in one of the empty cabins.”

“Unsurprising,” Philip said, more to himself than to Kratman.  Pirates were known to press merchant crewmen into service on their ships, if only because most pirates wanted to make their fortunes and then retire before their luck ran out.  It was a legal issue that had never been fully settled; were they involuntary pirates and therefore not deserving of hard punishment, or were they effectively collaborators, and therefore should be put to death alongside the hardened pirates?  “Do you believe them?”

“I had their DNA checked against our records,” Kratman said.  The burly Marine passed Philip a datapad.  “One is from the Commonwealth; he was reported missing, presumed dead, on a freighter a year ago.  The freighter went missing on a voyage to Heinlein and was never seen again, so it was assumed that pirates had captured or destroyed her.  I haven’t been able to verify the other claims, I’m afraid.  My gut feeling is that they're telling the truth, but...”

“They may have become pirates over the years since they were captured,” Philip said.  Pirate crews loved breaking newcomers, forcing them to loot, rape and grow to love their new career.  It was a trick as old as humanity itself; once the newcomers had blood on their hands, there was no way to escape.  And if they were captured by one of the naval forces patrolling space, they could expect nothing more than their certain execution.  “Which leaves us with the interesting question of precisely what do we do with them?”

He frowned, considering.  “Tell them that they will be  debriefed, thoroughly,” he said.  “Once they’ve been pumped of everything they know, we will try and find them a place to work off their debts to society on Asher Dales or one of the other colonies.”

“Some of them may have skills we could use in the navy,” Kratman pointed out.  “I’d think they’d be delighted for a chance to strike back at their tormentors.”

“I don’t think I trust them that much,” Philip said, shortly.  “And the others?”

“Guilty as sin,” Kratman said, with a certain amount of relish.  “They’re just awaiting your attention.”

Philip keyed the console and the screen lit up, displaying an image of the prisoners in the hold.  They looked a bedraggled lot; the Marines had stripped them, removed anything that could be used as a weapon, and cuffed their hands behind their backs before throwing them into the hold.  The raiders, who had intended to ransack a ship and murder its crew, now looked utterly shattered.  Philip would have felt sorry for them if he hadn’t known what they’d had in mind.  Like all bullies, they’d broken when they’d been confronted with a superior force.

“And none of them know anything important,” he said, slowly.  Pirate commanders normally kept their subordinates in the dark, if only to make it harder for their subordinates to mutiny against them and take command for themselves.  Little details like the location of pirate bases, the names and identities of fences who would take the loot and sell it on the black market – even a complete roster of ships lost to the pirates – would not come from their minds.  The senior officers, the ones who had committed suicide, would have kept such details to themselves.  “None of them are playing dumb, are they?”

“They don’t have anything to bargain with,” Kratman assured him.  “They’re just scum, basically.  And I’m afraid it gets worse.”

He tapped a switch and displayed the recorded images from the helmet cameras mounted in the Marine combat suits.  “We vented part of the ship when we fired on her,” he noted, grimly.  “One of the places we vented was the rear hold.  I’m afraid we killed a number of their prisoners.”

Philip cursed as he saw the bodies.  They were all young women, naked as the day they were born, their pale skins carrying the marks of countless beatings and rapes.  It wasn't the first time he’d seen pirate victims, but this was worse.  He’d killed them the moment he’d issued the order to fire on the pirate ship.  The only consolation was that their deaths had probably been quick, if not painless.  

“We couldn't identify any of them, I’m afraid,” Kratman admitted.  “We ran their DNA against the records we have, but we didn't even have any relatives on file.  My guess is that they were taken from one of the worlds in this sector and never expected to return alive.  The crewmen we interrogated don't know anything for sure.”

“We do know one thing for sure,” one of the Marines said.  He had trained as a medical corpsman and was the closest Dasher had to a proper doctor.  “Some of them were raped by the pieces of filth we have in our hold.  You need to dispose of them right now.”

Philip nodded, slowly.  “I think there’s little point in interrogating the bastards,” he agreed.  Based on prior experience, any of the pirates who knew anything worth trading would already have started trying to use it as a bargaining chip.  “It’s a pity we don’t have a handy penal colony nearby...”

“We could take them with us to Prospect,” Kratman suggested.  “I'm sure they could find a way to work them to death, if necessary.”

“Maybe not,” Philip said.  “Besides, they’d be eating up supplies and consuming oxygen.”  He shook his head.  “Have them convoyed to the airlock and eject them out into hyperspace, unless you feel you can extract useful organs from them...?”

“They’re drugged up little shits,” the corpsman said.  “It would be safer to force-grow organs for transplant if necessary.”

Philip nodded and left the Marines to attend to the executions.  Striding back through his ship, he entered the small machine shop near engineering and saw a handful of computer nodes from the pirate ship scattered over the workbench.  Bartley had been busy; he’d spliced in cables from portable computer testing kits and started to download the contents of the computer cores into a secure store.  A handful of decryption programs were whirring away, trying to hack into the pirate databanks and unlock their data, while Bartley himself was tinkering with a piece of the fused vortex generator.

“Captain,” Bartley said, in some surprise.  “I wasn't expecting you for another hour or two.”

“The pirates know nothing,” Philip said, shortly.  “Please tell me that you have something better for me.”

“I may have,” Bartley said.  “Someone scrubbed this system at least twice in the recent past, long before I think they installed it into the Death By Stupidity.  That may explain why the self-destruct system failed so badly, sir; the computer system wasn't actually meant for the ship.  It’s actually a very outdated machine, so I’m damned if I know where they got it.”

He shook his head.  “They were also pretty cautious with the data they entered into the system, but the navigational subroutines worked perfectly – and I think they didn't even realise that they were working perfectly.  I compared the data with our charts of the sector and I think I have a rough idea of their hunting patterns.  They probably saw us leave Skinner and decided that we would make a suitable target.”

“Curious,” Philip observed.  “They didn't see Dasher?”

“I don’t think so, although with these computers mashed into a sensor network they took off another ship...”  He shook his head again, in disgust.  “I really don’t know how they managed to last as long as they did, sir.  Whoever was in charge of building the pirate ship seemed to have stripped out all of the valuable components and then replaced them with cheap scrap or older systems that weren’t designed to link into more modern devices.  We probably did them a favour killing them as quickly as we did.  They might have lost their atmosphere at any given moment, or worse...”

“They would have had a base,” Philip said.  “Do you have a rough location for it?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Bartley admitted.  “As you can see” – he tapped a control and a holographic star chart appeared in front of them – “their first cruise after they last purged the system started at Ashfall and went through Prospect, Greenhill and Jack’s World, before they headed to Asher Dales.  I’m inclined to think that their base is actually on Ashfall, unless they ran into computer troubles there and were forced to purge the system.”

Philip tapped his console and brought up what little the CIS had supplied about Ashfall.  It was a new colony, barely twenty years old, settled directly from the Core Worlds.  Politically independent, it was one of the worlds that had sent funds to establish a naval service based at Asher Dales, but it hadn't made a major contribution.  There was no way to tell if it had merely contributed in hopes of buying some protection, or if they’d paid as much as they could and expected no return.  Tanya might know more about the colony – he made a mental note to ask her – but it was out of their patrol route.  They’d have to go visit the colony after returning to Asher Dales.

“But you don't know for sure,” he concluded.

“I’m afraid not,” Bartley said, flatly.  “They may not have intended to have good operational security, but the effect has been excellent from their point of view.  A hacking expert on Avalon might be able to pull more data out of these pieces of crap machines...”

“You’ve done very well,” Philip assured him.  “All we have to do now is keep the ship in tow and use her as a training ship once we get back to Asher Dales.”

“She’ll kill half of our cadets, if we’re lucky,” Bartley growled.  “It would be fun to try to rebuild her, but it would probably be cheaper to produce a whole new starship.  She would need a stay in a proper shipyard.”

Philip frowned.  There wasn't a proper shipyard at Asher Dales and there wouldn’t be one for years, unless they could convince the Commonwealth or some other interstellar power to fund one being built in-system.  Asher Dales simply lacked the funding and infrastructure to produce one for itself.  And he suspected that the council would refuse to make a formal request to any power, knowing that the shipyard might come with strings attached.  Unless...

He smiled, darkly.  Quincy, the owner of the commercial shipyard  that had held the three destroyers before trying to sell them on to Tanya, had attempted to cheat her.  Philip had wondered what had possessed him to take such an insane risk, knowing that his business wouldn't survive a full investigation by the CAB.  But there was one very good reason to take the risk; Quincy might have intended to sell the three destroyers to pirates, or rebel factions along the Rim.  It wasn't as if pirates could file suit in a court of law and demand recompense; Quincy must have assumed that Tanya was working for a pirate band, or one of its backers.  

If he’d had time before they departed, he would have dropped a note to the local law enforcement office to have them investigate Quincy and perhaps some of the other independent shipyard owners, but he hadn't had time.  Instead...he could send someone back to Avalon and push Quincy into moving his operation to the Rim.  There were plenty of people on Avalon who would demand his head if word got out that he’d sold decommissioned warships to pirates – and besides, his crews were probably infiltrated by pirate moles.  His equipment could make an excellent start on producing a local shipyard at Asher Dales; once mated with the gas giant mining station and the RockRats, perhaps they could even start producing starships of their own.  

His wristcom buzzed.  “Captain,” Kratman said, “we have put the bastards out of the airlock and have resealed the hatch.”

Philip nodded.  “Confirm their deaths in the log and then we can be on our way,” he ordered., calmly.  “Keep the three former merchantmen under guard until we reach Prospect, just in case.  I don't want them in any position where they can harm the ship, even theoretically.”

“Understood, sir,” Kratman said.  “They seem pretty beaten up, but we’ll keep an eye on them anyway.”

***
“You killed them all?”

“Apart from the three who claim to have been forced into service,” Philip said.  He was surprised by Tanya’s reaction, although maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise.  Civilians never really understood the nature of pirate attacks until they saw them with their own eyes.  Besides, there were so many legal questions about who had the right to patrol interstellar space – and what laws should be enforced by what navy – that it was easier to grant the ship commanders the right to enforce their own laws against piracy.  “They may be telling the truth, so we’ll drop them off on Prospect and let them try and make new lives for themselves.”

“I wasn't complaining,” Tanya said.  “I was just surprised that you didn't want to put them to work at one of the penal camps.”

“I would prefer to make the point clear that raiding shipping in this sector will eventually lead to inevitable death,” Philip said, grimly.  “Every twisted sick bastard who becomes a pirate commander believes that he will never be held to account for his crimes.  Some of their crews may think better if they learn that we are killing pirates and preventing them from profiting by their crimes.  They would be less willing to serve if they know that we will kill them.”

“I hope you’re right,” Tanya said, slowly.  “And what if you’re wrong?”

Philip shrugged.  The interrogation of the three pressed merchantmen hadn't yielded much information, beyond details of just what the pirates had done to force them into service.  Their tale had been horrifying, but it had also been banal.  They’d been locked up when they hadn't been needed on duty and forbidden to leave the ship under any circumstances.  That wasn't too much of a surprise, really.  The pirates would not have trusted their unwilling crewmen any further than strictly necessary.

“Then there are a few less pirates charging around the sector in creaky warships,” Philip said.  It was a shame that most interstellar powers were reluctant to arm merchant shipping, but there were limits to how heavily armed a freighter could be.  They weren't warships and cramming weapons into their hulls wouldn’t change the fact that they wallowed like elephants in mud, making them sitting targets for a genuine warship.  It was possible to build a Q-Ship up from a civilian hull, but the expense was astronomical and the end result not really useful for anything other than stealth missions behind enemy lines.  “I don't think that any of their victims would object to their executions.”

“I don’t think that they would object,” Tanya said.  She shifted, uncomfortably.  Even the Captain’s cabin on Dasher was a very small compartment, almost claustrophobic compared to cabins on heavy cruisers or battleships.  “I was just surprised that you made the decision so quickly, so casually...”

Philip shrugged, absently.  “We caught them in the act,” he said.  “And there was no doubt about their crimes, none at all.  So we punished them by throwing them out into hyperspace, where their bodies will drift forever until they are consumed by an energy storm.  And good riddance to bad rubbish.”

He smiled.  “Anyway, I had an idea,” he said, and outlined the plan to blackmail Quincy into moving his operation to the Rim.  “Do you think its workable?”

“It sounds possible,” Tanya agreed.  “Do you want me to go back to Avalon and start the ball rolling?”

“I was thinking more of sending one of the Marines,” Philip said.  It would be nice to get an update from Avalon about the situation along the border with the Theocracy, but whatever news they got from the Commonwealth would be nearly a month out of date.  The thought bothered him.  They might find themselves under attack without any warning at all.  “And maybe a couple of the more hard-boiled crewmen, the ones who will know just how to pressure him for maximum advantage.”

Tanya frowned.  “Shouldn't you tip off the Commonwealth’s authorities?”

“I’d like to see what we can get out of Quincy first,” Philip said.  He grinned, nastily.  “He might even know the location of a pirate base or two.  We might just be lucky...”

It was unlikely, but they could hope, he told himself.  Besides, sooner or later, they would take a pirate ship with an intact computer core, or cut a deal with a pirate that would allow them to track down and destroy the base.  Or perhaps it could be captured and pressed into naval service.  It would certainly save them the trouble of building additional bases for their own deployments.

“We will have to check out Ashfall as soon as possible,” he added, thoughtfully.  “If they are supporting the pirates, we’re going to have to stop them before they make a bad situation far worse.”

Chapter Sixteen

“I’m very glad to see you and your boys, Captain,” Governor Howell assured him.  “I was feeling rather exposed out here.”

Philip nodded, unsurprised.  Prospect was younger, smaller and generally less well-positioned than Asher Dales – and there was almost no investment out beyond the planet itself.  In fact, no one he’d been able to speak to had even admitted to carrying out a basic survey of the other planets in the system for possible economic exploitation, let alone settlement.  The sole source of security in the system was a single orbiting satellite in geostationary orbit over Sherlock, the colony’s main – indeed, only – city of any note.  Philip hadn't needed the governor to tell him that a single burst from a laser cannon would be enough to put the satellite out of commission for good.

Not that they need to be so obvious, he thought to himself, with a hint of sour amusement.  Years of dealing with the sensor networks the Commonwealth established even in secondary star systems had left him a little spoiled.  A cunning pirate ship could, if he was careful, actually dock with the satellite and splice a remote control system into its computer cores, ordering it to ignore the presence of his starships in orbit around Prospect.  Or they didn't even need to go to so much trouble.  Simply entering and maintaining an orbit on the other side of the planet would leave them nicely shielded against detection – assuming that they had any reason to fear detection.

“I was a big proponent of the idea of a unified defence and patrol force for the sector,” the Governor continued, cheerfully.  “I had to argue quite hard with the Board, of course – blasted penny-pinchers couldn't see a good idea unless it had a nice fat profit margin – but they finally agreed that we could use some of our discretionary funds to help support your little force.  Indeed, given just how many problems you people have caused us over the last year by cutting back your light units, helping us out here is the least you could do.”

It took Philip a moment to parse out and understand the remark.  The Governor was talking about the Commonwealth, of course.  With war looming on the Cadiz border, the Commonwealth had been forced to concentrate its light units in a desperate attempt to ensure that the battleships had enough escorts when they were finally deployed forward on a war footing.  Historically, the Commonwealth had provided light units to interstellar escort formations based towards the Core Worlds, but those contributions had grown more and more limited.  The new construction was being worked up at frantic speed and deployed forward to escort the Commonwealth’s Navy.

“I’m not a representative of the Commonwealth,” he said, firmly.  The Commonwealth might have an interest in his success – it was just the sort of covert operation, perfectly deniable because it had never really happened at all, that appealed to the Monarchy – but he wasn't working directly for the Commonwealth Government.  “I might add, however, if I were a representative of the Commonwealth Government, that we have been forced to redeploy to deal with a looming threat that has – so far – been ignored by most of the galaxy because the Commonwealth blocks the Theocracy’s advance into the Core Worlds.”

He’d wondered how the Governor would take that statement.  The question was answered when the Governor threw back his head and burst out laughing, bellowing like an amused bull.  “Good point, young man,” Howell said.  “I would say, speaking for the United Stars, that we do have some interest in seeing the Theocracy...diverted.  But political opinion back home won’t allow us to join any...pre-emptive alliance.”

“An interesting stance,” Philip said, with equal cheer, “given that a case could be made that the United Stars – if they had joined the Colonial Alliance – could have prevented the Breakaway Wars from destroying Earth and slaughtering billions of innocent victims.”

“True enough,” Howell said.  He smiled as he took a sip of his drink.  “I’ll be frank with you, Commodore.  The United Stars has no official interest out here; it’s over seven hundred light years from the United Stars themselves, which is at least partly why the Prospect Development Corporation pressed so hard for the appointment of a United Stars Governor like myself.  While there is some commercial interest out here, we cannot be seen to take an overt hand in events...”

“Even though your citizens are doing the dying out here?”  Philip asked, dryly.  “A single pair of destroyers – or even long-endurance frigates – would safeguard your colony world...”

“And draw us into the sector on a permanent basis,” Howell warned.  “Given the...circumstances behind the founding of the United Stars – and the role some of our citizens played in the UN’s greater misdeeds – there is no political appetite for creating a permanent naval station out here.  Indeed, most of the settlers of Prospect are people who believe that the United Stars has already exceeded the bonds laid down in the Constitution.”

He shrugged.  “If Prospect was a colony that was sending money back to the United Stars, I dare say that the President would take the risk of...establishing at least a limited naval station out here,” he concluded.  “But as it is, it would look too much like imperialism – and the Senate, still less the public, would never allow it.”

“But they’re prepared to contribute funds towards a united defence force,” Philip said.

“Of course,” Howell agreed.  “Such a force will not be an overt tool of government policy.  We will, of course, expect a say in your deployments and operations...”

“No,” Philip said, flatly.  “I’m afraid that that question is not open to debate.”

Howell seemed surprised.  Philip couldn't tell if it was real, or if the man was merely a good actor.  “But he who pays the piper...and we have contributed a considerable percentage of our discretionary funds...”

Philip shook his head.  “I took this job on the understanding that while overall goals would be those agreed by the parties funding the defence force, the day-to-day operations would be decided by myself and – eventually – a Board of Admiralty,” he said.  He didn't intend to budge on that issue, not now or ever.  “I will not share tactical data or intentions with you or anyone else, not when such information might be easily leaked to the pirates or others with hostile intentions out here.  Furthermore, I will not allow the navy to become a political football out here.”

He grinned, suddenly.  “And if you have influence depending upon what you contribute, you’re badly outvoted,” he added.  “There are no less than ten other planets or development corporations that have provided more funds than yourself.  I would be surprised if you wanted to create a precedent that would cause protection to be withdrawn from your planet.”

The Governor laughed.  “Well put,” he said, dryly.  “But what about the people who are serving with your little navy?”

“They will all take an oath of loyalty to the navy and the cluster,” Philip said.  “We cannot afford to become torn apart by planetary loyalties, or we will be completely ineffective – just like the Aztecan Union Navy.  I’m afraid that that will be a requirement of service within the cluster defence force.”

“I see,” the Governor said.  “Are you aware that it is technically illegal for a citizen of the United Stars to pledge allegiance to any non-United Stars military force?”

“An interesting technicality,” Philip pointed out.  “If you’re helping to fund the force, how is it not related to the United Stars?”

“Clever,” the Governor said.  He cleared his throat.  “As it happens, we have about two dozen men willing to sign up with you, if you would care to fly them back to Asher Dales.  They’ll be in a gray area of our law, but as you so rightly pointed out – we are helping to fund this united defence effort.”

He smiled.  “And now that we've got that settled, what would you and your crew like to do on our poor and humble planet?”

“Two days of shore leave,” Philip said, “should give us time to rotate all our crew through at least a few hours on the planetary surface.  I’m afraid that spacers...”

“...Can be a little rowdy when on leave?”  The Governor said.  “We’re quite used to it, I’m afraid.  They could go hunting if you feel that that would be permissible.  We managed to miss a particularly nasty predator on Prospect until after we’d established the first settlements.”

Philip lifted an eyebrow.  “Is it just me, or are such little oversights more common these days?”

“Interstellar survey work isn’t what it used to be,” the Governor agreed, blandly.  “In this case, they managed to miss a particularly nasty cross between a spider, a crab and a tiger.  The blasted creature can move at sixty kilometres an hour, has very sharp fangs and a very nasty disposition.  I’m told that the reason there’s such a small population is because they would rapidly eat themselves into starvation if there were more of them on the continent.”

“Sounds lovely,” Philip said.  “I think I’ll pass.”

“Good idea,” the Governor said.  “The last few hunting missions managed to lose one or two people before they killed the Webster.  Even with modern weapons and sensors, they’re extremely hard to find or kill from a safe distance.”

He shook his head.  “I’ll make certain to show any more prisoners you happen to bring over here the footage,” he added.  “That should convince them not to run out of the settled areas after dark.”

Philip shrugged.  “With your permission, I intend to spend a couple of days surveying the system and then head back to Asher Dales,” he said.  “Captain Tyler informs me that she will have finished dumping your pods down to the surface by then, so we will be escorting her back to Asher Dales and handing her over to one of our other ships.  Do you have anything or anyone you wish to send back with us?”

“Merely copies of my dispatches for Head Office,” the Governor said.  “I trust that you will honour the standard diplomatic protocols?”

“Of course,” Philip said.  “I’m not sure when they will actually reach the United Stars.  The closest StarCom is in the Commonwealth, but none of my ships are returning there unless something goes badly wrong.”

“I quite understand,” the Governor said.  “Just don’t let anyone have a look at my classified documents.”

They shared a chuckle.  Without a StarCom, the only way to send messages from one star system to another was via starship – and so most interstellar powers allowed their messages to be transported on whatever starship happened to be available, even if it wasn't a friendly ship.  The documents were heavily encrypted, although very few governments would send anything that was highly secret on an unfriendly – or even a neutral – starship.  It added a touch of farce to secure government communications that Philip found faintly ridiculous.

But then, even StarCom units weren't fully secure.  They also tended to be big obvious targets floating in orbit around important and wealthy worlds.  If someone happened to take out a StarCom, that world would be isolated from the network until the StarCom was replaced – and who knew what could happen in the months it would take to produce a new unit and ship it out to the targeted world?  StarCom units were expensive, even by the standards of the major interstellar powers.  The Commonwealth had a small number of reserve units – the exact number was highly classified – but if the Theocracy happened to take out much of the network, any hope of coordinating a concentrated response to an invasion of Commonwealth space would be right out the airlock.

“I’ll keep them as secure as my mother’s secret recipe book,” Philip said.  Despite himself, he rather liked Governor Howell, even if he did laugh a little too loudly to be fully convincing.  Besides, the Governor was walking a political tightrope between satisfying his political masters and the Prospect Development Corporation, which had been a big backer of the unified defence force concept.  “Thank you for your time, Governor.”

“And thank you for yours,” Governor Howell said.  “I hope you and Miss Barrington have a lovely time exploring Sherlock City.  We add more buildings every six months to cope with the transients.”

“I meant to ask,” Philip said.  “Why Sherlock City?”

“The original planner of the first settlements was a Sherlock Holmes fan,” the Governor said.  “He had to be prevented from naming the entire planet after him, but he managed to get his way on the capital city.”

“I see,” Philip said.  “At least it’s not another blasted Landing City.”

***
Sherlock City was easily the smallest city Philip had ever seen; indeed, it would vanish without trace on any of the largish towns on Avalon, or on any of the more developed worlds closer to Earth.  The once-great megacities of Earth might be abandoned ruins now, but they’d once played host to billions of humans.  No one, not even the UN at the height of its power, had been able to ship out a significant fraction of Earth’s population, nor start a birth control program that might cut the birth rate sharply enough to allow Earth to recover.  Centuries of human mistreatment had been pushing the planet towards total ecological collapse long before the Breakaway Wars had resulted in the planet being targeted for destruction.  There was a shocking warning for humanity there, if they cared to heed it; a full-scale interstellar war could easily exterminate trillions of human lives.

There were fewer homebuilt buildings in evidence, most of them clearly prefabricated buildings that had been dropped from orbit and converted into living and office space for the colony’s governors.  Unlike Asher Dales, the Governor was appointed by the United Stars Government, although his political powers were circumscribed by the Prospect Development Corporation and the United Stars Constitution.  Eventually, if all went to plan, political power would eventually be handed over to an elected planetary government, but that was still at least fifty years off.  The United Stars, having a medical infrastructure that could support prolong, rejuvenation and longevity genetic treatments, had ensured that many of the original colonists would still be alive to take control of their world.

“It seems smaller, somehow,” Tanya observed.  “Do you think that they’re hiding their population?”

“Every successful colony world starts by establishing a farming infrastructure,” Philip pointed out.  Tanya’s own homeworld had done the same, even though it had been largely based around farmers and farming.  “Once they can feed themselves, there’s generally a boost in secondary development – orbital and planet-side industrial bases – and expanded medical facilities.  I guess that the Prospect Development Corporation isn't fully backed by its government, or they would have made a much higher investment at first...”

He shook his head.  It made sense; with so many light years between the United Stars and Prospect, the government wouldn't want to risk such an investment.  Far better to allow private industry to handle the job.  If nothing else, taxpayers money wouldn't be wasted if the colony failed – although Philip couldn't actually remember a colonising program actually failing.  The UN had effectively lost control of three colonies before the Breakaway Wars, and one newly-settled world had turned out to host a virus that loved feasting on human flesh, but most colonies on habitable worlds succeeded according to projections.  Colonies on asteroids or Mars-like worlds did sometimes fail, yet most settlement programs tended to avoid such worlds.  They were just too expensive to make habitable.

“The Governor seemed to think he could give you orders,” Tanya said.  “I’m sure that the council back home is going to have issues with that.”

“They all are going to have issues with it,” Philip said, flatly.  “The last thing we need are a few dozen politicians who think they can give the navy orders.  That’s something we’re going to have to watch, at least until we have enough ships to cover all of the sector’s inhabited worlds.  It would be easy for one world to demand protection at the expense of another.”

He shook his head.  In two days, they would re-enter hyperspace and return to Asher Dales.  Despite himself, he worried over what might have happened while they were gone.  It was a five-day trip back home...he caught himself and smiled.  When had he started to think of Asher Dales as home?  It wasn’t home, not really.  Avalon was home, but Avalon had rejected him.  His dismissal from the RAN wouldn't be reversed unless Admiral Morrison managed to destroy his career as effectively as Philip had managed to destroy his own...

And yet, if Admiral Morrison did managed to torpedo his own career, it would be extremely bad for the Commonwealth.  What idiot had thought that assigning Admiral Morrison to Cadiz was a good idea?  There were times when he felt that the Commonwealth deserved to suffer in the coming war, if only to remind its leaders that complacency had no place in the modern galaxy.  Their complacency in the face of a growing threat from the Theocracy had left an idiot barely capable of tying his shoelaces together in command – right where the Theocracy’s first offensive was almost bound to strike.  Did they actually want to lose Cadiz?

He snorted.  After all the grief Cadiz had given the Commonwealth since it had been annexed, there were probably thousands of soldiers and spacers who’d be quite happy to see the insurrection-torn planet surrendered to the Theocracy.  Maybe the Theocracy would choke on them...

...Or maybe they’d bombard the planet from orbit and exterminate the local population.  Anything was permissible as long as it was in the service of God...

“Come on,” he said, pushing the dark thoughts aside.  “Let’s see if we can find somewhere to drink in this town.  And then we’d better get back to orbit before something else decides to go wrong.”

Chapter Seventeen

“What a stink!”

Philip nodded in agreement.  The Death by Stupidity – the name had stuck – stank to high heaven, even though they’d vented the ship completely once they’d removed the bodies and consigned them to rest in hyperspace.  God alone knew what the pirate crew had been thinking – some of the ship’s less important components had been literally rotting away – but their own ship would have killed them sooner or later, if Philip and his crew hadn't killed them first.  He was starting to wonder if it was worth the effort of taking the Death by Stupidity back to Asher Dales, if only because the ship was a danger to even a trained and experienced crew.  On the other hand, a darker part of his mind pointed out, if the trainees could survive the Death by Stupidity, they could survive anything.

They’d towed the Death by Stupidity back into hyperspace before using its own drives to propel it forward, in a loose formation with Dasher.  The long hours in hyperspace, Philip had decided, would allow them a chance to start repairs on the pirate ship, even though they might have to drop everything in a hurry and return to the destroyer if another pirate ship showed up.  Harmon had argued that they could repair the Death by Stupidity’s weapons first and use her against another pirate ship, but Philip had overruled him.  The Death by Stupidity was a death-trap and he wasn't going to allow her to be flown in combat until she had been completely repaired and her more unsafe components replaced from the stockpile they’d brought with them to Asher Dales.

The pirate ship’s bridge was a cramped, uneven affair.  Someone – perhaps someone like Quincy – had put the bridge together from a number of different components, leaving it a curious mishmash of consoles that belonged to different makes and models of starships.  The helm console looked to have been pulled from an outdated UN-built light cruiser, while the tactical console seemed to have come from the Manchu Dynasty and the commander chair’s consoles seemed to have been put together from scratch.  One of the sets of controls on the commander’s armrest had made no sense until Bartley had traced them back to electrodes fitted into the other positions on the bridge.  At a flick of a switch, the pirate commander could send hundreds of thousands of volts flowing through one of his men, if the man had displeased him.  The belts affixed to their consoles – Philip had assumed that they were there to keep them in place if the artificial gravity failed – seemed designed to ensure that whoever was seated there couldn't leave without the commander’s permission.  Philip had heard of navies that practiced corporal punishment, but the pirates seemed to take it to a whole new extreme.  Life onboard a pirate ship would be nasty, brutish and short.  A single hint of disloyalty and the pirate commander would slaughter his men in job lots.  

He bent down and studied the tactical console thoughtfully.  Like the Commonwealth’s own designs, it offered a wide range of options for the authorised user – and presumably computer lock-outs to prevent unauthorised users from accessing and deploying the ship’s weapons.  The Commonwealth’s designers had often had nightmares over the prospect of someone activating the formidable missile batteries on Commonwealth starships and bombarding Avalon or another planet and insisted on creating proper security measures.  At a glance, it was clear that the pirates didn't have such careful controls on their weapons, although they did seem to have built a biometric reader into the tactical console.  Or maybe they didn’t bother to use it.  There was no way to know.

“They only had a handful of missiles left in their magazines,” Bartley said, when Philip remarked on it.  “They were all standard nukes, and all quite outdated.  No way to tell where they actually came from, of course.  It’s quite possible that they’re dealing with some black colony out along the Rim, trading weapons for supplies from the Human Sphere.  Or they might well have come from the Theocracy.  The design is primitive, but workable.”

“And probably not top-of-the-line for the Theocracy,” Philip said, ruefully.  The missile they’d taken apart hadn't been particularly sophisticated, which was something of a relief.  Standard missile warheads included penetration aids as a matter of course, aids that helped it to hit its target while avoiding point defence or being suckered onto a remote drone and expending itself uselessly.  But the pirates had never intended to get into a fight with a warship and only a handful of commercial starships would carry point defence.  “Pity, that.”

Bartley nodded.  No one was entirely sure just how advanced the Theocracy’s standard missile design actually was, which meant that there would be a great many dangers in confronting them when the war finally began.  The Commonwealth had built a formidable array of defences into its modern starships, but there was always the danger that the Theocracy – or someone else – had made a genuine breakthrough into counter-ECM techniques that would neglect all of the defences so painstakingly built into the starships.  And if that happened, the opening battles of the war were likely to go very badly wrong for the Commonwealth.

It seemed impossible that a heavily-controlled – even oppressed – society could produce anything that was a match for a democracy, but Philip had studied the True Faith – the society that had given birth to the Theocracy after it had been exiled from Earth.  They had been obsessed with finding better ways to do things, even things that had been settled for hundreds of years.  Indeed, they’d even worked on the early generations of the vortex generator that had opened the gateway to the stars for humanity.  There were no current reports of conditions on the surface of Abdullah – apart from reports from defectors – but if they had managed to harness their population’s creative power as thoroughly as their forbearers, they were likely to be far more advanced than their enemies would prefer.

“They mucked up the missile launch tube as well,” Bartley said, as they headed through the hatch – taken from a outdated Marine Landing Craft – and down into the ship’s bowels.  The stink was growing stronger and stronger, despite the facemasks they’d drawn from the ship’s supplies.  “Can you believe that they could only fire one missile at a time?  They couldn't possibly fight a standard missile duel with anyone!”

Philip laughed.  Missile salvos broke through enemy defences by weight of numbers and penetration aids.  A single missile, no matter how sophisticated, would have real problems flying through even outdated point defence systems to strike its target.  And there would probably be no time to fire a second missile before the target’s retaliation blew the pirate craft into flaming debris.

“Lucky for us they were so incompetent,” he agreed.  “Can you fix the problem?”

“Not with what we have on hand,” Bartley admitted.  “Their missile launch system is largely buggered – I think it was pretty crap even before we mashed it up when we took the ship.  I’d be surprised if we even managed to fire one missile before the system failed on us – ideally, I’d like to pull the entire missile launcher unit out and replace it with a more advanced unit.  Or I could pull one together from spare parts if you would like, but that would take longer...”

“Maybe a machine shop on Asher Dales would be able to do it,” Philip said.  He didn't want to use one of the handful of spare launchers they had to rearm the ex-pirate ship, but he also didn't want to assign Bartley to a long term project that would limit his time on Dasher.  “Do you think you could put together a list of specifications and we can see if anyone on the planet can do it?”

“Easily,” Bartley assured him.  He led the way into one of the lower holds.  “I think this might interest you, sir.”

The hold was dark, illuminated only by a torch Bartley produced from his belt.  Philip winced when he saw the rear bulkhead, clearly badly damaged when the Death by Stupidity had been knocked out by his missiles.  One of Bartley’s assistants had welded in some sheet metal to keep the ship’s atmosphere within the hull, but it still looked worryingly unsafe.  Philip intended to have Bartley and his assistants go over the whole ship in cynical detail before they allowed any untrained recruits loose on her.  The last thing they needed was a training accident that made others reluctant to join the navy.  

Bartley played the torch over a pile of boxes.  The Marines would have broken into a handful of them, just to check that they weren’t carrying anything dangerous, before they allowed the engineers into the hulk.  Philip’s eyes followed the light, frowning as he recognised a handful of power cells and other spare parts within the boxes.  Bartley stepped closer and pointed the torch at one particular component.  It looked like nothing more than a long silver tube, but Philip recognised it at once.  Any plasma cannon required a containment coil to hold the charge within the cannon and, unless he missed his guess, he was looking at part of a coil.  It wouldn't have many other uses, unless the pirates had gone all the way back to fission-powered ships like the ones that had delivered human settlers to Mars and the outer planets.

“That’s a plasma coil, all right,” Bartley said.  “They were in pieces, which is perhaps why the Marines didn't raise the alarm, but it’s a complete set.  A good mechanic could put it together within thirty minutes, attach a bottle of charged plasma to the coil, and then it would be ready for use.  And there’s no less than twenty of them within the hold.”

Philip shook his head, slowly.  Plasma cannons were generally deployed on the ground, against enemy armoured vehicles and aircraft.  They tended to be used sparingly, even by the Royal Avalon Marine Corps and its counterparts, if only because the plasma coils could overheat and explode.  Philip had once heard of a training accident with a plasma cannon – one later traced back to a piece of faulty equipment – that had wiped out an entire Marine platoon of ten men.  An enemy sniper who managed to hit a plasma cannon might well inflict disproportionate casualties upon his target.  

But twenty of them would give a light infantry force terrifying punch, as long as the cannons held out.  And there was no logical reason for the pirate ship to be carrying them.  They could have bolted them to their hull and used them to intimidate merchantmen – even though it was unlikely that they could produce bursts capable of even scorching a warship’s hull – but why store them in their hold?  Unless...

He scowled.  “Do you know where they were taking them?”

“No way to know,” Bartley said.  “I removed a pair of control chips from the cannons and accessed them, but they were completely blank.  They’d control the cannon, all right – not much else.  And as far as they are concerned, the cannon’s next shot will be its first.  They don’t have records that will allow us to determine where they were last used, if at all.”

Philip bent down and examined the coil.  It seemed surprisingly delicate for something so dangerous, but it was an illusion.  The coil had been designed to control and direct superheated plasma bursts.  Plasma cannons weren't known for accuracy, yet a skilled gunner could use one to dominate the battlefield.  It could withstand anything he could do to it, probably.

“Take one of the cannons out and see if you can find anything that might tell us where it came from,” he said, although in truth he had little hope of success.  Any interstellar power could have manufactured the plasma cannon – and if they wanted to prevent anyone from knowing who had produced it, it would be easy to use a standard design and remove all identifying marks.  “And then check them all, when you have a moment, and see if they are in good condition.”

“I’d like to bring a couple of the Marines in on this,” Bartley said.  “They can help check the weapons and prepare them for service.  I assume you’d want to gift them to Asher Dales?”

“Most of them,” Philip said.  The Asher Dales militia, according to Tanya, didn't have anything much heavier than assault rifles.  It wasn’t too surprising for an outfit drawn mostly from farmers, but they wouldn't be able to stand up to even a scratch force wearing powered combat armour.  Philip knew from reports he’d drawn before leaving Avalon that there were far too many weapons, including combat armour, heading towards renegade forces along the Rim.  The pirates probably had access to more firepower than legitimate defence forces.  “We can keep three of them for the ships, just in case.  A plasma cannon might come in very handy.”

He straightened up.  “Is there anything else you’d like to show me?”

“I think you’d better see this,” Bartley said.  He led the way through the darkened corridors until they reached another military-grade airlock.  It had been burned open by the Marines and left hanging open, the jagged edges of the hatch daring anyone to touch it.  “One of my assistants found it only an hour ago.”

The pirate commander’s cabin – or so Philip assumed it to be – was surprisingly mundane.  A handful of compartments for clothes, a small selection of weaponry – all missing their charge packs, he noted – and a single computer system mounted against one bulkhead.  He could almost sense the presence of the pirate commander, using the room as a place to withdraw from the universe and relax after looting and pillaging a helpless merchantman.  Philip shook his head angrily at the odd burst of sentiment.  The pirate commanders he’d seen led their crews by being the most bloody-minded vicious sons-of-bitches on their ships, ruling with an iron hand and a perfect readiness to torture or kill any bastard who dared displease them.

“The computer is a modified Sigma-Epsilon-Xavier from the United Stars,” Bartley explained, as he picked up one of its processors.  “It wasn't actually connected to the starship’s main computer, probably for security reasons, so we didn't actually look at it until we were making a complete survey of the starship.  Take a look at this.”

Philip took the processor and examined it, thoughtfully.  It wasn't much larger than his hand, but it could store an entire universe of data, perhaps everything the human race had ever committed to computer storage.  One side of the cube seemed to be oddly married, as if it had been exposed to intensive heat.  A closer look revealed that there had been a datachip inserted into the processor, a datachip that had self-destructed, presumably at the same time as the suicide implants inside the senior crew’s heads had been triggered, killing them before they could be forced to talk.

“The internal structure has been pretty much wrecked,” Bartley said, “but we did managed to carry out some limited investigations.  That’s top-of-the-line military or intelligence gear, sir.”

Philip scowled.  He’d suspected as much as soon as he’d seen the plasma cannons.  Someone had provided them to the pirates, probably paying them a considerable sum of money to transport them to their destination.  Who would have risked using pirates to ship weapons when anyone who could produce the weapons could have shipped them without relying on pirates of dubious integrity?  The Theocracy could certainly have used a stealthed destroyer to ship the weapons to Prospect or even Hsu.  Why use pirates unless...

He shook his head, angrily.  There was no way to know for sure, at least not until they captured a senior pirate alive or found something on the Death by Stupidity that would lead them to the pirate base.  They’d have to go through the ship with a fine-toothed comb once they returned to Asher Dales, which might make it useless as a training ship...but then, it would give the recruits practical experience that they couldn't have found elsewhere.

“Inform me if you find anything else like this,” he said, passing the processor back to Bartley.  It had to have been supplied by the mysterious person or nation that had provided the weapons – and probably the implants as well.  Had the pirates even known that there was no chance of surviving a close encounter with a warship?  There had been states that had implanted people, not only against their will, but without their knowledge.  “I’m going to return to Dasher.”

“Understood, sir,” Bartley said.  “I don’t think we’ll find another one of these on the ship, but we can try.”

***
“Someone was definitely trying to use pirates to hide their hand,” Philip said, later.  They were seated in his cramped cabin, looking at the final inventory from the pirate ship.  “Those weapons could have been used to knock over almost any government out here.”

“So they give them to someone who is...displeased with the current state of affairs,” Tanya said, slowly.  “Maybe someone like Greg Farnham?”

“Let’s hope not,” Philip said.  It was tempting to believe that there had only ever been one shipment – and it had been intercepted – but that was too much to hope for.  There had probably been many shipments, each one to a group that felt rebellious.  He couldn't be sure that the Theocracy was behind it, yet how many other suspects were there?  “Those weapons could go through the militia like a knife through butter.”

He settled back and sighed.  “We’ll be back at Asher Dales in a couple of days,” he said.  “Once we’re there, we can decide what to do next...”

Tanya smiled.  “I have a better idea,” she said.  “Why don’t you come camping with me for a day or two.  I promise that you’ll love it.”

Philip considered, and then nodded.  “Why not?”

Chapter Eighteen

“It sounds like you had an eventful voyage.”

“I’m afraid so,” Philip agreed.  Tanya’s father had agreed to host the pair of them for dinner, along with George Foster, who was both the elected Sheriff of Asher Dales and CO of its small militia.  Philip rather liked him, although he seemed unimpressed with Philip’s exact legal status as commander of the small navy.  “Still, any voyage where you dispose of a number of pirates is a good voyage.”

“I can see why you would feel that way,” Foster said.  He shook his head.  “The worst case I have ever had to deal with was Jim Hendricks, a couple of years ago.  He beat his wife until I stepped in and beat the crap out of him.  You seem to deal with a worse class of criminal.”

“Pirates are long past any hope of redemption,” Philip said.  “I’d be quite happy to trade them for your wife-beater if you’d like.”

Foster chuckled, and then sobered.  “I’m a little more worried about the weapons you captured,” he said.  “Do you think that the pirate ship dropped weapons off here?”

“I don’t think they did on this particular trip,” Philip said, slowly.  “What little navigational data we removed suggested that they didn't spend very long at Asher Dales before they tracked us into hyperspace.  They would probably have seen all three destroyers in orbit and kept their distance, at least until we were safely gone.”

“But they could have come earlier,” Foster said, grimly.  “We wouldn't have had a prayer of spotting them if they landed in the outback.”

“No,” Philip agreed.  “How many groups do you have that might want to overthrow the government?”

“Quite a few people who would prefer that they were in charge,” Barrington commented, flatly.  “Apart from that...I don’t see anyone who would be prepared to resort to armed insurrection.  They’d never be able to govern properly.”

“I don’t think they’d worry about governing properly,” Philip pointed out.  “Give a few dozen men modern armoured combat suits and weapons and they’d be able to dominate the entire planet.  You’d have the choice between doing as they said and having your heads kicked in – it's happened before and it will probably happen again.”

They exchanged nods.  Humanity’s early years of interstellar expansion had been chaotic, despite the UN trying to keep the whole process under control.  Claim-jumpers had settled worlds before the official colonists arrived and refused to move, small colonies had been taken over by invaders from other colonies and some colony efforts had been sabotaged by their enemies on Earth.  And on Asher Dales, hundreds of light years from the nearest major interstellar power, there was no one who would intervene in their favour.  They might feel that a coup on Asher Dales was an internal affair, or they might demand a stiff price that would end the planet’s independence.  

Perhaps that was what the Theocracy had in mind, Philip wondered.  Trigger off a series of coups by outcast groups, secure in the knowledge that the new rulers would prove to be incredibly unpopular very quickly – and then move in under the guise of restoring order.  Or perhaps they merely wanted compliant local authorities to provide a fig-leaf for stationing a Theocracy naval station in the system.  Or...there were just too many possibilities.  

“We’ll consider the issue and practice with the new weapons you brought us,” Barrington said, finally.  “What do you intend to do in the next few weeks?”

Philip smiled to himself.  “The records we did capture from the pirate ship suggested that it set out from Ashfall,” he said.  Ashfall wasn't actually far from Asher Dales as the starship flew; indeed, he’d even considered dog-legging through Ashfall on their return journey from Prospect.  Only the presence of the Foolish Genius had deterred him from altering course.  “I think we’d better check out the system, just in case.”

Barrington frowned.  “Ashfall didn't contribute to the defence force,” he said, slowly, “but I can't see them supporting pirates.  They’re in enough trouble with their planet’s...unique climate to risk embroiling themselves with us.”

“Or maybe they think they have no choice, but to work with the pirates,” Tanya said.  She had been oddly subdued during the dinner.  “Ashfall isn't exactly the most habitable world in the galaxy.”

“Then they should pack up and move here,” Foster growled.  “We could do with an extra twenty thousand settlers – and we don’t have any goddamned ash falling from the skies.”

“They’re stubborn,” Barrington pointed out, mildly.  “They may have gotten into trouble and found themselves unable to call for help.”

“Farnham is going to ask why we are helping them when they have paid nothing to us,” Tanya said, shortly.  “What are we going to tell him?”

“That we’re good neighbours,” Barrington said, flatly.  “I won’t have it said that we refused to help our neighbours when they needed us.”

Philip nodded in agreement.  Barrington was right; there might have been no legal obligation to go to Ashfall’s aid – assuming that Ashfall was in danger – but it was the right thing to do.  Who knew – maybe Ashfall would be able to return the favour one day.

“I hope that you enjoy your hike,” Barrington said, changing the subject.  “Just...try to stay out of sight, why don’t you?”

“And remember to go armed,” Foster added.  “There are some nasty creatures out there.”

Yeah, Philip thought, in the privacy of his own head, and some of them walk on two legs.

***
They set out the following morning, taking a groundcar from Landing City and heading north, along a road that had been created by burning a path along the ground and then paving it with tarmac.  Philip studied it with a certain amount of distaste.  The foliage along the road provided far too many places for ambushes, a legacy of his time on Cadiz.  It was quite possible to ambush someone in interstellar space, of course, but it was less likely to cause collateral damage.  Tanya seemed to take it in her stride, however, and Philip forced himself to relax.  They weren't in the middle of a danger zone.

The road turned to grass as they kept driving north, leaving the main network of roads on the planetary surface behind.  From what Tanya said as the driving grew rougher, the original colonists had intended to construct the roads out of perfectly natural materials, but there just hadn't been the money for such an expensive project.  Avalon could and did produce roads made of genetically-engineered grass, yet Avalon was the heart of the wealthiest interstellar society for light years.  And besides, Avalon’s citizens often flew aircars rather than anything that skimmed along the ground.  They could afford to be flashy.  Colonists on newly-colonised worlds had to settle for reliability.

He stopped thinking about it as Tanya drove them up towards the mountains, and then stopped at the bottom of a rocky path leading upwards.  The view was astonishing, even to a person who had watched gas giants spinning in the inky darkness of space, a reminder that planetary surfaces provided more displays of the wonders of the natural world.  It was easy to see the contrast between the natural ecology and the plants transplanted from Earth as part of the settlement program.  Earth’s plants and animals tended to be far tougher than the local biology and often took it over within a surprisingly short period.  But then, evolution was the survival of the fittest – and Earth had produced the galaxy’s only known sentient race.

“Take your rucksack, rifle and pistol,” Tanya said, as she pulled on her own bag.  She hadn't trained like a Marine – or one of the commandos who were reputed to be even tougher than Marines – but she knew how to pack.  “And be careful where you put your feet.  Many of the beasties up here seem to think that humans are just another species of prey.”

Philip nodded, checking the rifle out of habit.  It was a basic model, mass-produced for settler worlds – and worlds that didn't have restrictions on civilian possession of weapons.  He’d checked it before they left, confirming that it was a familiar, rugged and very reliable design, rather than one of the glittering weapons produced for idiots with too much money in their wallets.  A wise man, he’d commented at the time, would sooner have reliability than a flashy design, although there were times when he wondered if the Naval Design Board was entirely composed of fools.

“What about the car?”  He asked.  “Should we leave it here?”

“There’s no one around for at least forty miles,” Tanya said.  She paused.  “Unless one of the bushmen came this way, of course.  Don’t worry about it.  It’ll be here when we get back.”

She turned and led the way up the hill.  Philip found it harder going than he expected, although he was damned if he was going to admit defeat first.  It wasn't as steep as it had looked, but the rocks were often slippery and he had to be very careful where he put his feet.  One small tuft of native grass – or so he’d thought – had started to scuttle away as soon as he stopped near it, running on a hundred tiny legs.  He’d felt a shiver running down his spine as soon as he saw the creature, just before it vanished into the undergrowth.

“We don’t really have a record of that creature yet,” Tanya said.  There was an odd note in her voice, almost wistful.  “Back when I was a kid, there were a number of older men who considered themselves naturalists; they wandered the fields and hills, looking for new kinds of creature to catalogue.  We used to refuse to help them because we wanted the mystery to last as long as possible...”

She shook her head.  “We were just dumb children then,” she added.  “The thought that a list of what we might encounter in the forests meant nothing to us.  Even some of the horrific tales told about humanoid creatures in the mountains were more thrilling than serious – we used to tell them around the campfires.  My old scout leader swore until his dying day that he’d seen a humanoid creature during a solo climb up Mount Bastard, although I don’t think anyone actually believed him.”

“I’m not surprised,” Philip said.  He’d stopped, just behind her, and turned to look back the way they’d came.  The mist was floating in from the north, leaving the mountains poking out of a sea of purple fog.  He could feel the wind changing rapidly, almost as if it was daring them to proceed any further.  “A humanoid creature...I don’t think there are any, outside the zoos and gardens in the Human Sphere.”

“There are plenty of tales,” Tanya agreed, slowly.  “Our children are going to grow up believing in them, until the time comes to put aside childish dreams and become an adult.  And isn't that something tragic about humanity?”

Philip said nothing.  There were worlds that had been founded on political, economic or religious tenets, each one convinced that they knew the only path to true happiness.  And most of them had failed, either by being forced to adapt to new circumstances or through bloody upheavals as the new generations rebelled against their parents rejection of higher technology.  It was far harder to remain steeled against modern medicine when the lack of it killed almost as brutally as interstellar accidents.  Even the Theocracy, despite its prevailing religious belief, was capable of adapting and reaction to new circumstances.

He shook his head sadly as Tanya resumed the climb, heading upwards into the mist.  The Theocracy hadn’t always been bent on galactic conquest; hell, it’s original devotees had been good people, precisely the sort of people who should have enriched their host society beyond the dreams of avarice.  But they’d been persecuted and hounded until they’d set themselves the task of crushing all other religions, to spread their faith across the galaxy.  And if the Commonwealth fell, the Theocracy would be able to storm towards the Core Worlds and even Earth itself.

“And there was the story of ET, the lonely alien being,” Tanya said, as he caught up with her.  The path was growing steeper now; one slip might send them plunging down towards the rushing stream below.  “And of how he looked up at the stars and realised that they were all humanity’s, that his race would never be able to complete.  And so he died of despair.”

Philip nodded.  The story was a familiar one; indeed, it might well have predated humanity’s rise into interstellar space.  But back then, everyone had believed that intelligent life would be common and it would probably find Earth before Earth found them.  Some of the old video entertainments from that era had survived, mainly for comedic value.  Philip had watched many of them during his training at Piker’s Peak, even though he hadn't been able to understand why any intelligent race would fly giant flying saucers into Earth’s atmosphere when they could simply drop rocks from orbit.

“Here,” Tanya said, changing the subject.  “This is what I wanted you to see.”

Philip followed her gaze.  Ahead of them, the path ran down into a hollow within the mountain, a small valley filled with trees and shrubs.  The air felt heavier somehow as he followed her down into the valley, realising that humanity had rarely touched the hidden valley – if at all.  Giant birds flew overhead, cawing in alarm as they spied the human intruders, before vanishing back to their nests within the trees.  A handful of rabbits – the curse of interstellar colonisation efforts – hopped neatly away, even though they didn't seem to be scared.  But then, they would never have seen humanity within the valley.

“I climbed up here once after a row I had with my father,” Tanya admitted.  “I just took the truck and drove at random, heedless of where I went.  I was so angry at the universe that I had the idea I could just walk up the hill and vanish into the mists, but...I stumbled into this place instead.  Don’t you think it’s remarkable?”

Philip nodded, shaking his head in awe.  The valley was almost a self-contained ecosystem of its own, largely isolated from the rest of the region.  Indeed, he suspected that even its weather was separate from the rest of the mountains.  A whole army could hide up here, living off the land, and no one down below would ever suspect a thing.  If they had lost settlers – maybe indebted convicts who didn't want to help build a colony world they couldn't really share – they could be living up here, isolated from the rest of Asher Dales.

Tanya walked around briskly, setting up the tent in a series of easy steps, while Philip started to open the containers of food.  They could have hunted for their meals, but he was starting to understand why Tanya didn't want to disturb the tranquillity of their surroundings.  There was something about the valley that was completely relaxing, allowing him to forget his woes and just relax completely.  Even the processed food – Tanya had brought a handful of self-heating containers - tasted nice.  The tea they made with water from a nearby stream was even better.

“I tried to fix this in my memory before I departed for Avalon,” Tanya said.  “I knew that there was nowhere like this in the Commonwealth, or at least nowhere I’d be allowed to visit.”

Philip reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.  She nestled against him, relaxing slightly.  “Thank you for coming,” she said, slowly.  “Tam...Tam has been sending me flowers and pressing me to set the date.”

“I see,” Philip said, tightly.  “Why don't you just tell him to forget the whole idea?  You don’t have to marry him...”

“But far too many people think that it would be a great idea,” Tanya admitted.  “Even my father thinks it would ensure that his descendents maintain control of Asher Dales.”

She looked up at him, suddenly.  “Do you think that I could enlist in your navy?”  She asked, mock-seriously.  “Maybe that would discourage Tam from chasing me.”

Philip laughed.  “You could always get married to someone else instead,” he pointed out.  “Or do you need your father’s permission to get married?”

“Not legally, no,” Tanya said.  “But if the parents really disapproved, they could just cut the happy couple out of their wills.  It could be disastrous for a young farming couple out here.”

“But you’re not a farmer,” Philip said.  “You won’t be unable to practice as a lawyer if your father disinherits you.”

“But they’d certainly take my liaison position,” Tanya said, “unless...”

She looked up at him.  “Father...wants me to make my own choice,” she said.  “Perhaps I could convince him to disinherit me violently enough that no one could claim that he hadn't cut me out of his life.”

“I think that would tear him apart inside,” Philip said, after a moment.  Who’d want to be an aristocrat when it meant having to use your children as game pieces?  “And I think you should just tell him that you’re not interested and that if he tries to harass you again, you’ll swear out a complaint against him.”

He shook his head.  “I don’t think you should let him drag it out,” he added.  “There has to be someone else willing to marry him.”

“He’s an ass,” Tanya said.  “I really wish you were right.”

She leaned over to him and it was suddenly the easiest thing in the world to kiss her.  He pulled her over and onto him, suddenly kissing with a passion he hadn't felt since he’d been a teenager.  It was a bad idea, part of his mind warned him, but the rest of him didn't care.  The universe could wait for a while, while they found what happiness they could.

Chapter Nineteen

“I’m sure there must have been a riskier way to train cadets,” Captain Thomas Nonagon said, as he studied the Death By Stupidity, “but I don't think I can think of anything more qualified.”

Philip smiled.  “As long as the ship remains pressurised, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he said.  It would be a few weeks before they allowed cadets loose on the former pirate ship, no matter how experienced they’d been before they signed up with the tiny navy.  The engineers would go over the ship in cynical detail beforehand, gaining all sorts of experience that might come in handy for the future.  “How are the cadets looking, by the way?”

Nonagon dropped a datachip in front of him, smiling thinly.  “We have about fifty cadets now, all trying to train from scratch,” he said.  “The ones who do have space experience have been pressed into service training their less fortunate companions.  A handful have already washed out, I’m afraid, but the remainder should have the right stuff.  Of course, many would have been rejected for Piker’s Peak back home…”

Philip glanced down at the datachip.  Well begun was half done, he’d been taught, and they’d started keeping files on the cadets from the beginning.  He didn’t have much use for bureaucracy – and intended to cut as much of it as possible out of the newly-formed navy – but there were some details that had to be recorded carefully.  Medical histories, training, prior experience…they would all have to be taken into account when the time came to hand out positions on the training ship.  And perhaps a handful of Marines to support the cadets when they started to panic on the captured ship.  Philip had been far better trained than any of the Asher Dale cadets when he’d first served on a training ship and the experience was one he still regarded with a mixture of horror, relief and excitement.

“We’ll give them all a chance,” he said.  It seemed to be a rule that military forces developed tighter rules on personnel selection when they had a surfeit of recruits, but Asher Dales wouldn’t be producing more than a few hundred at most – at least as long as there was free land for new homesteaders.  “Is there anyone we should watch carefully?”

“Only one guy who suffers from manic depression,” Nonagon admitted.  “He seems to know what needs to be done, at least in theory, but he verges between being delighted to serve as a cadet to grumbling.  But then, he could be putting on an act, of course.”

“Go with your gut,” Philip said, flatly.  “If he’s a problem, get rid of him.”

He tapped a control and the star chart of the sector appeared in front of them.  “I’m taking Dasher to Ashfall,” he said, shortly.  “We need to know what’s going on there – if they’re under the control of a pirate force, directly supporting a pirate force, or even if they’re completely innocent.  I want you to remain here; when Dancer returns, you can escort the Foolish Genius to Haven with my small band of thugs onboard.  Keep a sharp eye out for enemy action…”

“Of course, sir,” Nonagon said.  His voice didn’t betray any resentment at having to remain at Asher Dales for another week, maybe longer.  “I do wish that there was a better way to get the shipyard we need than blackmail.”

Philip shrugged.  Quincy had to have been up to something shady, or he would never have risked his business – to say nothing of his freedom.  The only motive Philip could believe was that he’d been supplying ships to pirates, perhaps even to Theocracy raiders.  He’d wrestled with his conscience long enough to convince himself that taking Quincy and his shipyard to Asher Dales would remove all chance of the pirates continuing to use the establishment.  And if Quincy refused, he’d drop a tip to the Commonwealth’s authorities and let them handle the used-starship dealer.

“We’re too broke to have principles,” he said, lightly.  “Besides, he did try to cheat us.”

He shook his head before Nonagon could say anything else.  “He may run for it instead,” he added.  “I don’t think that we are going to be squeezing him too hard.”

“Maybe,” Nonagon said.  He still sounded doubtful.  “And while you’re gone, I’ll try to keep the cadets from killing themselves and their instructors.”

“Best of luck,” Philip said, dryly.  “Remember – we need as many of them as we can get.”

They discussed a few other minor matters, and then parted.  Philip headed for the shuttle back to his ship, taking the time to inspect Nonagon’s ship along the way.  The next meeting was going to be far harder than merely checking in with a very capable subordinate.  In fact, it looked to be rather awkward.

***
Tanya was perfectly restrained until they reached Philip’s cabin, whereupon she pushed him inside and kissed him as hard as she could.  Philip found himself kissing her back with alarming passion, silently cursing the sadists who had designed the ship’s cabins.  The small bunk beds in the compartments assigned to the ship’s junior officers would be even more of a deterrent, even though young officers and men still found time for relationships while they were off-duty.  It happened, and as long as they didn’t break any serious regulations or render themselves unfit for duty, senior staff tended to turn a blind eye.

Their relationship had shocked him, even though part of him had dared to hope that she’d wanted him to go climbing with her so they would be alone together.  She’d surprised him that afternoon, and on the following two days before they’d scrambled down from the mountain, recovered their vehicle and driven back to Landing City.  There had been a quiet desperation in her love-making that had torn at his heart, even as his body had been reminding him of how long it had been since he had had a woman.  The longevity treatments that had been spliced into his genetic code made him as energetic as a man half his age – and were a grim reminder that he would almost certainly outlive her.  Tanya might have had some rejuvenation treatments while she’d been on Avalon, but Asher Dales couldn’t afford the kind of medical establishment that allowed long-term life prolonging treatments.

Afterwards, he found himself lying on his back, staring up at her.  Her bare breasts seemed to bobble provokingly in front of him, drawing his attention inwards and sending signals down to her groin.  A faint red mark showed where he’d bitten her in passion, but it was fading away into the paleness of her skin.  She didn’t have any marks where she’d worn her comfortable, rather than flashy, underwear, he noted absently.  Tanya seemed to be more practical-minded than some young midshipwomen he’d known while he’d been on his first deployment.  They generally learned better by the end of their first cruise.

And yet…part of him was astonished at how far he’d allowed it to go.  He was fucking the daughter of the planet’s leader, for crying out loud!  And said daughter was semi-engaged to one of the more powerful young men on the planet, who would no doubt make a terrible fuss if he found out that his young bride wasn't a virgin.  There were some backward planets that placed a high premium on female virginity, which had always struck him as odd; after all, they also thought highly of young men who had lost their virginity outside marriage.  It was utterly absurd, and modern technology should have liberated the human race from such outdated conceits, but it was very real.  Humans never seemed to become more intelligent, no matter how many worlds they claimed.

Perhaps I should challenge Tam to a duel, he thought, absently.  He was needed on the bridge – it was a scant few hours before departure – but part of him wanted to remain on his bed.  One finger rose, almost of its own accord, until it was touching her breast and gently circling her rose-tipped nipple.  It hardened and he had to hold himself back from pulling her to his mouth.  There really wasn't time for another round – and they had to have a talk.  And that wasn't going to go down well at all.

Did he love her?  He was honest enough with himself to admit that he didn’t know.  Tanya was attractive, and fun, but was that the recipe for lifelong happiness together?  She had been brought up in a culture that was just close enough to Avalon’s to make the differences rather more unsettling than they would be in a more distant culture.  No one on Avalon would have batted an eyelid at anything done between consenting adults in private – it certainly couldn’t be considered a legal crime unless minors or non-consenting adults were involved – but he had a feelings that the rules were different on Asher Dales.  And yet even the Theocracy, which had strict rules on preventing male-female interaction outside marriage, had problems keeping horny boys and girls apart.  Asher Dales probably ignored it unless it was too blatant to ignore.  After all, Barrington hadn’t raised any objection to them climbing a mountain on their own.

And it doesn’t really matter about her if you were offered a chance at reinstatement, does it?  Part of his mind mocked.  He did want to return to the RAN in triumph – and, knowing Admiral Morrison as he did, it would only be a matter of time before he screwed up so badly that even his political patrons would throw him to the wolves.  Philip doubted that they’d be able to turn him into a scapegoat fast enough to avoid blame for whatever the Admiral had fucked up, but they did have vast amounts of political power.  Not that it really mattered, did it?  And what would you say to her if you left her and Asher Dales forever?

Tanya gasped as he pressed her nipple, and then tried to sit up.  It wasn't easy in the bunk, which had only really been designed for one occupant.  But he did have to try.  He cleared his throat and instantly regretted it, feeling weak and indecisive.  He’d faced pirates without a qualm, but having a serious talk with a girl seemed impossible.  Women thought that they owned you the moment you went to bed with them…

“We need to talk,” he said, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on her face.  It was tempting to drop his gaze to her hardening nipples, but he didn’t want to be distracted.  “We can’t share a cabin while we’re away from Asher Dales.”

Tanya looked back at him, evenly.  Was that a hint of hurt in her eyes?  Or was she merely enjoying herself with no regard for the future?  It was quite possible that she’d seduced him in the hope that word would get back to Tam and he’d do something stupid, so stupid that even his father couldn’t save him from the hangman.  

“Right,” she said, finally.  She caught his hand with hers and pushed it away from her breast.  “And why can’t we live together on your ship?”

Philip wanted to sigh, but somehow he restrained himself.  “There are…issues with commanding officers having relationships onboard their ships,” he said, which was true enough.  It wasn't technically against regulations for Captains to sail with their families, but he’d never heard of a single example in the RAN’s long history.  Admirals did tend to move their families to the worlds where their fleets were based, but that wasn't quite the same.  Besides, far too many wives of senior officers thought that their husband’s rank also belonged to them.  “I cannot have a relationship while my crew are unable to have relationships themselves.”

“At least seven of your crewmen have already formed attachments to girls on the surface,” Tanya said, frostily.  “And your regulations against fraternisation only apply to officers and crewmen onboard your ships.  I checked.  I’m still a civilian.”

“Yes, but…”  Tanya squeezed her hips and he gasped, distracted for a long moment.  “It’s setting a bad example, love, and I can’t risk it, not now.  Even in the RAN, it would be considered bad form – and out here there isn’t the same support structure that I would enjoy back home…”

“And so you want us to be formal while we’re flying through space,” Tanya said, flatly.  “And there I was thinking we could enjoy ourselves in the long hours in hyperspace.”

Philip flushed.  He had too many things to do while in hyperspace, but Tanya – who had no duties onboard Dasher – would have become bored very quickly.  There was always the vast library of books and entertainment videos stored on the ship’s mainframe, yet there were people who just couldn’t concentrate on them for long.  Speaking for himself, he couldn’t understand it.  He’d loved the chance to relax while they’d been climbing up the mountain.

“It isn’t your fault,” Philip assured her, quickly.  Too quickly; she pulled herself off him and slid her legs over the side of the bunk.  She picked up her bra and panties and pulled them on in quick, sudden motions.  “I can’t…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tanya said, savagely.  “I know exactly what you mean.  Men are all the same.”

She finished pulling on her clothes and stormed out of the cabin.  Philip watched her go, and then shook his head to himself.  It always felt bad when a girl left him, even if she came back later; he’d never been able to attract anyone permanently.  But then, if he had, would he have left Avalon and gone to Asher Dales?

That’s enough fucking self-pity, he thought to himself, as he headed over to the tiny fresher.  There was enough fresh water, at least; capturing a comet had been a day’s work for a single freighter, which had melted down the ice and transferred it to the destroyers.  Dasher’s onboard recycling plant would ensure that the crew could take as many watery showers as they liked, even though a small percentage of water was lost on every cycle.  He washed himself down quickly, switched to sonic pulses to dry himself thoroughly, and then pulled on his uniform.  Departure was in only three hours, after all, and there were a great many things he had to do before then.

He tried to tell himself not to worry about Tanya, but his mind refused to listen.  Whatever he really felt about her, he did care for her – and he didn’t want to see her hurt.

***
“Take us out,” he ordered, quietly.  “Open the vortex as soon as we are away from the planet.”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman said.  

Dasher hummed quietly as she slid out of orbit, all of her components working at maximum efficiency.  Philip was pleased; Bartley’s last report had made it clear that the small destroyer was almost as good as new.  But then, there was no such thing as planned obsolescence when it came to starships, not when hull metal was so expensive.  They could be swapping out older components for the next five hundred years if necessary.

“Vortex generator online,” the helmsman said, seven minutes later.  “Opening the vortex…now!”

Space twisted in front of Dasher, opening up into a single funnel that seemed to rend and tear at the boundaries of normal space.  The eerie lights of hyperspace seemed to reach out for them, just as his stomach twisted with the odd sensation caused by entry into the higher dimension.  Dasher seemed to shiver as she passed through the vortex and into hyperspace, her sensors already searching frantically for prowling pirates or raiders.  There had only ever been a handful of interceptions upon entire into hyperspace, in all of humanity’s long history, but taking precautions always paid off in the long run.  Besides, a starship – even a battleship – was frighteningly vulnerable in the first few minutes after entering hyperspace.

“Course laid in, sir,” the helmsman said.  He paused, just for a moment.  “There are signs of a major energy storm, barely several million kilometres from us,” he added.  “Request permission to alter course to evade the storm?”

“Permission granted,” Philip said.  Only a fool would take a starship through an energy storm.  Every spaceport seemed to have at least one grizzled old sot who claimed to have been the sole survivor of a voyage through an energy storm, but it was far more likely that the starship would be utterly destroyed, lost without hands.  “Take us well around its position.”

He watched dispassionately as the display updated, revealing the storm’s presence in hyperspace.  It actually seemed to be drifting towards Asher Dales, which would make life interesting for anyone who tried to reach the system while the storm was still raging.  No one knew for sure what happened when a starship tried to open a vortex into the teeth of an energy storm, if only because there had been a slight shortage of volunteers willing to fly the ships.  Dancer might end up returning to normal space outside the system and waiting for the storm to blow over, or head onwards before it fell back into hyperspace.

“Course laid in, sir,” the helmsman said, again.  “Main drives functioning at full capacity.  Hyperspace turbulence minimal, but higher energy discharges from the presence of the storm. Estimated time of arrival at Ashfall: three days, seven hours.”

“Good,” Philip said.  The storm was likely to be a bother, but they would be able to evade the worst of it – he hoped.  Very few stories about close encounters with storms suggested that the starship had a hope in hell of surviving.  “Take us out, and then prepare for a series of drills.  I want to be ready for anything by the time we reach Ashfall.”

“Of course, sir,” Harmon said.  “Let’s just hope that they’re not ready for us.”

Chapter Twenty

Ashfall had looked a promising world for settlement when it had first been discovered, according to the files that Tanya had downloaded into Dasher’s databanks before they left.  It had had a remarkably similar appearance to Earth, save only for the fact that unfrozen water covered barely a tenth of the world.  There was no reason why the planet’s settlers couldn’t create a road that ran all of the way around their planet, or even march entire armies from place to place without needing to rely on water transport.  It hadn’t been until the first settlers had arrived that they’d realised that the remarkably pretty world had a very nasty sting in the tail.

The world was orbited by a moon over two-thirds the size of the planet, far larger than the moon that had dominated Earth’s night sky and lured humanity onwards, out into space.  It created monstrous tidal forces between the planet and its moon, forces that had literally pulled mountains up out of the ground – and a large number of those mountains were volcanoes.  Unluckily for the settlers, each planetary month saw at least a quarter of those volcanoes erupting into the sky, blasting ash into the upper atmosphere.  The ash then fell on the ground, where it was broken down by the planet’s unique ecology; indeed, one of the later researchers had even wondered if the planet’s ecology was truly natural.  Evolution had produced some remarkable surprises, he’d noted in his log, but surely it had had a helping hand on Ashfall.

It hadn’t really helped the original settlers, who’d come out of stasis tubes to discover that their livestock found it incredibly difficult to survive on their new homeworld.  They’d brought plants, of course, but unlike most other worlds in the Human Sphere, plants from Earth simply couldn’t survive very long on Ashfall.  Luckily, they’d been able to eat some of the local vegetation, yet it hadn’t been enough to ensure a balanced diet.  The development corporation had given it up as a bad job and abandoned the few thousand settlers to their own devices.  Philip wasn't too surprised at their callous attitude.  The investors were hundreds of light years away in nice safe systems, only really concerned about making a profit on their investments.

“Reaching pre-selected coordinates,” the helmsman reported.  “Vortex generator is online and ready to take us out of hyperspace.”

Philip smiled, tartly.  After the four-day trip, with uncomfortable silences between him and Tanya, any form of action was welcome.  And a quick look at the planet’s file had convinced him that the settlers probably weren't helping the pirates of their own free will.  Their world was a tough place to live and it had bred an equally tough group of citizens.  The pirates either had a base elsewhere in the system, or they were forcing the locals to cooperate by force.

Or they have some way of holding the population in check, he reminded himself.  Ashfall would hardly be the first colony to be extensively dependent on technology to survive.  The pirates might be their only source of technology.  He pushed the thought aside as the vortex generator started to open the gateway to normal space.  His chest lurched again as Dasher returned to normality and drifted out into empty space.

“Stealth systems online, sir,” Harmon reported.  “There’s no sign that we have been detected, or that there’s anything to do the detecting.”

“Keep alert,” Philip ordered.  In the Commonwealth, with remote passive sensor platforms scattered everywhere, it would be impossible to open up a vortex without being detected in short order.  Ashfall didn't have anything like the technological base required to produce such sensitive detectors, which meant that – in theory – their arrival should have been unobserved.  “We don’t want any nasty surprises.”

No one had bothered to survey the remainder of the Ashfall System after the planetary colonising effort had ended so disastrously for the investors.  Dasher drifted within an asteroid field, every sensor straining to pick out the presence of planets and spacecraft within the system.  Even time-delayed information could be useful, but there was almost nothing manmade at all.  A single navigational beacon chiming away in orbit around the gas giant seemed oddly isolated against the barrenness of the system.  It had little to recommend it for formal colonisation, apart from Ashfall itself.  The Commonwealth probably wouldn't be interested in mining the gas giant if there was no planet-based economy to provide a ready market for processed food.

“The beacon reads out as a fairly standard claim marker,” Harmon said, after a long moment.  “I could query the beacon and see who placed it there, but that would risk exposing us to detection.”

“Leave it,” Philip said.  It was a safe guess that the pirates – if there were pirates in the system – would have ignored the legitimate claim on the gas giant; hell, it was quite possible that claim-jumpers would also have arrived within the system.  “Take us towards Ashfall, slowly and calmly.  We want to remain undetected as long as possible.”

He scowled as he settled back in his command chair.  The RAN took a fairly mild view of selling armed starships – and the supplies of weapons to go with them – to anyone outside the Theocracy and a handful of other unfriendly states, but they drew the line at modern cloaking technology.  They had been offered some systems that would provide limited protection against the most complex and advanced sensor systems the pirates were likely to possess, yet they’d still been too expensive for Tanya’s budget.  In hindsight, Philip suspected that they should have purchased at least one set of cloaking equipment, but that wouldn't help them now.  They’d have to rely on the destroyer’s stealth systems – and they were formidable.

Active sensors had one great weakness as far as the defenders were concerned; they could be picked out by an encroaching enemy, long before the radar pulses returned to the defender’s sensor arrays.  Passive sensors were far less likely to be detected at long range, because they emitted no betraying radiation, but they did depend on the attacker emitting some betraying radiation of his own.  A heavily-defended world like Avalon would have been incredibly difficult for Dasher to approach under stealth, yet Ashfall had almost no sensor arrays at all.  Slowly, her passive sensors watching carefully for a single enemy contact, she slid closer to the planet.

Philip forced himself to remain calm, knowing that the crew would take their cue from their commander.  As a young lieutenant, he had taken temporary command of a stealthed ship and waited in a far more dangerous system until the enemy fleet had finally come into view.  It had been an exercise, but it had still been risky; in space, it was customary to assume that a stealthed ship was up to no good and open fire without warning.  Ashfall was showing no signs of hostile intent, yet there was no way to know for sure.  He could feel the tension on the bridge rising; his men spoke in hushed voices, even though there was no chance of their voices being heard across the vacuum of space.  The sense of being hunted was overwhelming...

“Contact,” Harmon sang out.  A red icon flared to life on the display.  “One unknown vessel in orbit around Ashfall.  It’s running a basic sensor sweep, but they don’t seem to have locked onto us.  I think that they’re probably unaware of our presence.”

“Let's hope so,” Philip said, studying the enemy craft.  “Launch the two remote platforms and nudge them as close as you dare to the pirate ship.”

Dasher shivered as the two remote platforms were launched from her forward missile launchers.  The platforms were masterpieces of improvisation, built from a handful of scavenged kits and placed within decoy missile units.  They weren't as stealthy or as capable as the top-of-the-line equipment produced for the RAN, but he would bet his life that they were better than anything the pirates were likely to produce for themselves.  Hell. the pirates were probably even unaware of their existence.  Nothing he’d seen in years of pirate-chasing had convinced him that any of them realised that there was a more subtle approach to warfare than simply sneaking up on one’s intended prey and opening fire from point-blank range.

The hours ticked by slowly as the two platforms drifted into orbit, alarmingly close to the pirate ship.  Philip was almost disappointed with the ease with which their control units nudged them closer, relaying their findings back to their mothership via undetectable laser communications beams.  He would have expected a harder task in sneaking up on the pirate ships, but it seemed that the pirates weren't paying much attention to their operational security.

“Interesting,” Harmon mused.  “I have an ID on the ship’s class; she’s a modified Moscow-class light cruiser from the Breakaway Wars.  UN-built; designed more for heavy firepower than for speed or stealth.  The sensor waves I’m picking up from here, however, appear to be from a standard commercial kit – they didn't come from a military unit, or their senior chiefs are bloody idiots and don’t know how to use it properly.”

Philip chuckled.  “It hardly matters,” he said.  “Just how tough is our newfound friend?”

“Uncertain,” Harmon said.  “If she has UN-designed missiles from that era, we could take her easily, but...they’ll probably have stuffed her full of the best missiles they could buy from one of the smaller states or black colonies.  And if her crew is actually bright enough to put their pants on before their trousers...”

“They might be able to last long enough to blow us out of space.” Philip concluded.  With warships, there was a general rule; the larger the ship, the more damage it could absorb before it exploded or staggered to a halt.  Dasher had an experienced crew, but she couldn’t survive a missile duel with the pirate ship.  It didn't leave them many options for engaging the ship.  “Can you pull any of her transmissions from within her hull?”

“No, sir,” Harmon said, after a moment.  “They’re at least bright enough to shield their internal transmissions, if nothing else.”

A new icon flared up in front of the display.  “Ah,” he said.  “Second contact...hellfire!”

Philip leaned forward.  “Report,” he snapped.  “What is it?”

“A Mark-III Orbital Bombardment System,” Harmon said.  “She’s not precisely stealthed, but she was out of detection range until she cleared the planet.  The UN built her to keep rebellious colonials under control, sir; give her a few moments and she could wipe out the settlers once and for all.”

Philip swallowed a curse.  He’d been halfway through developing a plan to take out the light cruiser, one he was fairly sure would succeed without Dasher taking serious damage, but the OBS added a nasty wrinkle to the whole tactical picture.  If he’d been a ruthless motherfucker of a pirate, he would have keyed a dead man’s hand program into the OBS, ordering it to bombard the planet if anything happened to the light cruiser.  They’d have to take the OBS out first, before turning on the pirate ship – and that would tip off the pirates that Dasher was present in the system.  Even the most incompetent crew in the galaxy wouldn't miss the explosion as their planetary blackmail threat went up in a flash of exploding plasma.

Unless...

An idea was flickering through his mind.  It might work, and yet...it didn’t offer good odds of survival for the person he picked to deal with the OBS system.  He’d sent people to their deaths before, but it never got easier – and he’d never sent anyone into a situation where he expected him to die.  He hesitated, on the brink of deciding to carry out the risky part of his mission himself, before reminding himself sharply that his place was on the bridge.  Someone else would have to go in his place.

He keyed his console and opened a channel to Marine Country.  “Top,” he said, without preamble, “I need a volunteer for a very dangerous mission.”

“Hell, sir, I'm offended that you even feel that you need to ask,” Kratman said.  Philip rolled his eyes.  Marines seemed to enjoy trying to outdo one another at gung-ho, or charging an enemy position in the certain knowledge that it was suicide.  “I volunteer and so does my entire platoon.  What do you want me to do?”

“I’m going to tell you how to do your job,” Philip said, not without a hint of irritation at himself.  It was an unwritten law in the RAN that senior officers set objectives; junior officers, the people on the front line, got to decide how to carry out the mission to achieve their objectives.  Marines, existing in a different sphere to most of the spacers they shared ships with, were not supposed to be under the direct command of a spacer.  “One volunteer helps us to target the OBS; the remainder head down into the planet’s atmosphere and try to link up with the settlers.”

“I see,” Kratman said.  He sounded...irked.  The mission to take out the OBS would have been a fitting challenge for a man who’d claimed to have left the RAMC because he was board, but he had to stay with his men.  “Medley is the best damned pilot in the corps, so I’m putting his name forward for the volunteer mission.  The rest of us will armour up and get ready for an injection into the shit-storm on the ground.”

Philip cut the connection and studied the map produced by the two remotes.  Ashfall, according to the records, had one main city, a largely-underground construction at the north pole.  The geographic records claimed that the poles were the places where the least ash fell from the skies, although there was enough to make eking out an existence a difficult and dangerous task.   If there was anywhere where the pirates would have set up a headquarters on the ground, Bravo City was it.  The Marines would have to get down on the ground, link up with whatever planet-side resistance there was, and then take the pirates out.

He scowled, hesitating before issuing the final orders, committing himself to his plan.  There was still time to back off and return to Asher Dales – and do what?  Three destroyers would be able to take out the OBS system and the pirate cruiser, but it would take weeks to concentrate his forces.  And then they would be royally fucked if something else happened that needed a destroyer.  And the council would object to using all three of their warships...

Philip shook his head, gathered himself, and began to issue the orders.  The Marines were already donning their armour; once they were ready, they would board their shuttles and float off into space.  Their shuttles wouldn't bring up their drives and go driving into the atmosphere until Philip and Dasher had engaged the light cruiser.  A ship crewed by a RAN crew would probably be able to take a shot or two at the shuttles, even while they were fighting for their lives, but he doubted that the pirates would have the discipline – or the time – to take the offensive.  The Marines wouldn't take chances, just in case.  Murphy would stick his snout in as soon as he saw an opportunity – and then the shit would really hit the fan.

Another dull clunk echoed through his ship as the two Marine shuttles disengaged.  Jets of compressed gas would direct them away from his ship, jets that would be almost impossible to detect except at very close range.  The third craft – a modified orbital manoeuvring bug – was far quieter.  It should be impossible for the pirates to detect, but...

He scowled, pushing the thought out of his mind.  Oddly, now he was committed, he found it easier to focus.  There was no time for anything, but action.

“All right,” he said, calmly.  He had to project calm at his crew.  “Take us towards the pirate, slowly.”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman said.  “Moving...now.”

Philip tensed as the pirate ship’s icon grew larger on the display.  How close could they get before they triggered an alarm?  The pirates had to be paying at least some attention to their sensors, surely.  How close could they get?  He’d played around with the computer simulations before deciding on an ideal range, knowing that he didn't dare get too close to the ship’s energy weapons.  The UN hadn't thought highly of energy weapons back then, but they’d still been able to produce capable weapons – and the pirates might have upgraded in the years since their ship had left UN service.  An energy duel at point-blank range would be utterly disastrous for Dasher.  She just didn't have the armour to stand up to such fire.

He tapped his console, silently blessing the RAN archivists who had insisted on uploading and storing statistics for all models of starships, even the ones that would be hopelessly outdated in a modern battle.  There were hundreds of notes on the Moscow-class, enough that he had to remind himself not to be overconfident.  The pirates had almost certainly pulled out her old compensators and replaced them with newer models, or they’d never be able to use her drives at max power.  Their crew would wind up getting smashed to jelly against the bulkheads.  It was a mystery why the UN had built such an overpowered starship, but things had been simpler in those days...

His lips curled into a smile.  Every generation since Adam and Eve had probably thought the same thing.

“Weapons locked on target,” Harmon reported.  There was a pause.  “Medley has pinged us, sir.  He’s in position.”

Philip felt the doubts rush away as he recommitted himself to action.  They wouldn't fail.  If they failed, Ashfall would likely suffer under the pirate jackboot as the pirates sought someone to take their rage out on.  They could not fail.  They would not fail.

“Fire,” he ordered.

Chapter Twenty-One

Dasher lurched violently as she launched a complete missile salvo at almost point-blank range.

“Missiles away,” Harmon snapped, as the tactical display lit up like a Christmas tree.  “Impact in seven, six, five...”

“Signal Medley,” Philip snapped.  “Tell him to go, now!”

The pirate ship was coming alive, far too late to avoid taking a beating.  Its commander would be sending orders to the OBS to open fire on the planet, Philip knew, and prayed that the whole plan would come off successfully.  A flare of light on the display marked the detonation of Medley’s warhead, right on top of the OBS.  It hadn’t been designed to survive when targeted directly, luckily; the entire unit vaporised before it could open fire on the planet.

“Pirate point defence ineffectual,” Harmon noted.  “They’re trying to return fire, but their missiles are uncoordinated…”

Philip watched as seven missiles slammed into the pirate ship.  Any halfway competent naval crew would have had their point defence and ECM on a hair-trigger, even if they were in orbit around a supposedly safe world.  The pirates didn’t seem to have authorised their computers to engage incoming targets without permission, allowing his entire first salvo to strike home.  He could imagine the carnage inside the pirate vessel as standard-nukes and bomb-pumped lasers burned into her hull.  She simply wasn't armoured enough to stand up to his fire, but she could ride it out – perhaps.

“They are returning fire,” Harmon reported, as the display sparkled with angry red hornets.  The pirate ship didn’t seem to have a proper targeting solution, but their missile warheads would certainly be able to lock onto the source of the incoming fire.  That, at least, might allow them a chance to hurt Dasher before it was too late.  “Nine missiles…correction; eight.  One of them exploded just after launch.”

Maintenance failure, Philip thought, with a certain wry amusement.  Missile warheads were supposed to be sealed units, but they could be opened and modified by a fully-trained crew.  The RAN built endless safeguards into their warheads to ensure that they couldn’t be detonated inside the ship’s hull – the detonation of a warhead inside the hull was every commander’s worst nightmare – yet the pirates didn’t seem to have bothered.  Or maybe they’d altered the safeguards and forgotten to put them back into place.  There was no way to know for sure.

“Engage with point defence as soon as they enter range,” he ordered.  They were fighting at effectively knife-range, trying hard to overwhelm their bigger and nastier opponent before they managed to find their balance and start hammering them back.  The pirates didn’t seem to have modern penetration aids, but even outdated missiles shouldn’t have had any problems tracking Dasher.  They weren't trying to hide any longer.  “Continue firing on the pirate ship…”

Dasher lurched violently as a missile detonated against her lower hull.  Red icons flashed up on the status display, only to fade to an angry yellow as the ship’s computers realised that the damage hadn’t been too serious.  It might still prove a disaster in the long run, but they’d survive.  The pirate ship was still taking a beating, her commander trying to power up her drives to get her to open the range between her and her tormentor, yet it was already far too late.  No tactical officer could have failed to keep targeting and hammering the light cruiser, even without computer support.

“I’m picking up a signal,” Harmon reported.  “They’re begging to surrender, Captain.”

Philip thought fast.  Taking the pirates alive might lead to more information they could use to hunt down the pirate base, but at the same time giving the pirates a chance to catch their breath might prove fatal.  Surrendering was always tricky, even when dealing with an opponent who respected the Albion Conventions.  Destroying the pirate ship might solve a great many problems, yet…he wasn't a butcher.

I don’t suppose it matters if we blow their ship into flaming debris or if we put them out the airlock, part of his mind commented.  Or are you going to claim that you spared their lives?

He pushed that thought aside.  “Order them to hold fire, deactivate their sensors and prepare to be boarded,” he ordered.  The Marines were already on their way down to the planet.  They couldn’t be recalled to take possession of the pirate ship, which left Medley as the only Marine rifleman in orbit.  He smiled, remembering some of the lectures he’d had at the academy about taking possession of enemy vessels.  At least they wouldn’t have to treat the pirates with respect.  “Slip a couple of our warheads up to them and hold position next to their hull.  Make sure they know that one hint of anything we don’t like and it will be game over.”

“Aye, sir,” Harmon said.  He tapped his controls, gently.  “I have two warheads near the ship now, sir.  They can maintain position for the next few hours.”

Philip nodded.  Given time, they would be able to disarm the warheads, recover the missiles and refurbish them for reuse.  The RAN tended not to risk recovering missiles – unlike the sensor drones used to simulate missile firings for live fire exercises – but his tiny force didn’t have the same level of resources as the RAN.  He’d shot through half of Dasher’s missile load in a bare two minutes.  The chronometer insisted that the entire engagement had lasted no less than one hundred and ninety-two seconds, but it had felt longer, much longer.  

“Damage report,” he snapped.  “How badly did we get hit?”

“I’m just inspecting the damage now,” Bartley said.  He should have been safe in Engineering, but ‘safe’ was something of an illusion if a destroyer had to face a much larger vessel.  “They dented our hull pretty badly, sir, and we have some internal damage in the compartments closest to the blast.  Lucky it wasn't a bomb-pumped laser or we would have taken savage damage…”

Philip allowed himself a moment of relief.  “Thank God,” he said.  “How long will it take to make repairs?”

“Roughly two days if we have to remain here,” Bartley said.  “No promises, mind.  Hull metal is tricky stuff to work with – it’s very difficult to actually melt it without weapons-grade lasers.  I’d like to pull off the entire section and replace it with fresh hull plating, but we can’t do that without a proper shipyard and some spare parts.”

“We might be able to pull something off the pirate ship,” Philip said.  He stood up.  “Mr Harmon; I intend to lead a boarding party to the pirate ship.  You will have command – I want you to monitor us through the sensors and through live channels from our suits.  If something happens to us, blow the pirate vessel, pick up the Marines from the planet and return to Asher Dale.  They will have to decide who’s in command of the squadron.”

“Aye, sir,” Harmon said.  “Shouldn’t I lead the boarding party and…?”

“Rank hath its privileges,” Philip said.  He grinned to conceal his growing apprehension.  “Besides, I do have experience in boarding unfriendly vessels.  And I won’t be leading a team of Marines.”

The small squad assembled in front of the shuttle’s hatch.  Philip had selected nine of his crewmen, all – apart from Medley – inexperienced in boarding unfriendly ships.  On the other hand, they had a string of disciplinary marks in their RAN files that stated that they were experienced at fighting – particularly when bored.  Pistols had been issued to the squadron’s crew – and, by orders, were worn at all times – and Medley handed out rifles to those who had qualified to use them.  Philip allowed himself a small moment of relief for Marie's paranoia.  She’d insisted that all of their personnel qualify on hand-weapons as soon as possible, just in case,

“I’ve downloaded the specs for a Moscow-class ship to your helmets,” he said, by way of preamble.  They’d all used specs to navigate during drills, but they were somewhat untrustworthy.  Crews often altered the interior layout of their ships and the changes didn’t always make it into the official record.  A surrendered warship was supposed to provide updated specifications for SAR purposes; the pirates, needless to say, hadn’t done anything of the sort.  Philip doubted that they would know how to do it even if they’d realised the need.  “Stay sharp; take prisoners if possible, but if they give you any trouble – shoot to kill.  Do not drop off the command net or Dasher will blow the enemy ship into atoms, with us included.”

He allowed his gaze to sweep over them, inspecting their gear.  “Let’s move,” he said, finally.  “They won’t stay waiting for us much longer.”

The flight to the pirate ship took minutes, but it felt like hours.  Philip inspected the ruined craft through the shuttle’s sensors and shook his head in disbelief.  The entire stern of the starship had been turned to wreckage, almost certainly beyond their ability to fix.  Its hull was warped and cracked by the bomb-pumped lasers that had burned through the sheer metal and into the fragile innards of the craft.  They seemed to have taken a few elementary precautions – their atmosphere wasn’t venting out into space any longer – but they had been taken completely by surprise.  He braced himself for the horrors he was about to see.  The interior of a wrecked starship was always unpleasant to the human eye.

“Don’t bother with the airlock,” he ordered, as the shuttle came to a halt relative to the pirate starship.  It was possible that the pirates might be planning an ambush, or even that they planned to blow the ship despite his promise to take surrenders.  Better not to give them an opportunity to cripple his small force.  “We’ll go in through the gash in the hull.”

Up close, the pirate ship seemed a darkened hulk, illuminated only by cooling fragments of hull metal and a handful of emergency lights.  Philip muttered a command and the shuttle’s main lights were focused on the gash, revealing ruined metal and a handful of bodies trapped in the hull.  Philip had to swallow hard as he made out the broken bodies, consoling himself that at least it had been quick.  They’d almost certainly been prisoners, rather than pirates.  Their nakedness alone proved that…

The trip into the hull was easier than it seemed.  Unsurprisingly, the pirates had lost their artificial gravity along with their power cores and the team managed to lock themselves to the deck using magnetic books.  Inside, there was barely any illumination apart from their lights, save only a handful of flashes as power discharged randomly through the hull.  Philip saw another couple of bodies and panned his light over them, noting the weapon in one of their hands.  They’d definitely been pirates, caught with their pants down when his ship had opened fire.  They had probably had a second to realise that the end had come before they died.  The nasty part of his mind hoped that it had been a painful death.

“There’s lights and power beyond this point,” Medley reported.  The Marine had taken point, followed by a trio of spacers whose files made them sound more murderous than a legion of Theocratic Janissaries armed to the teeth.  They could probably deal with any resistance from the pirates.  “Permission to open the airlock, sir?”

Philip checked his team’s telltales, and then nodded, once.  “Permission granted,” he said.  “Watch your step.”

The airlock clanked open, revealing a small pressure cabin beyond.  Medley and two of the spacers stepped inside and the airlock hissed closed.  A moment later, Philip heard Medley’s voice through the radio, warning the pirates to put down their weapons and surrender.  The airlock opened again five minutes later, allowing Philip and the rest of the team to enter the pressurised part of the ship.  A handful of pirates were squatting on the deck, covered by two spacers while Medley searched them and bound their hands.  Two girls who were probably captives – judging from the bruises on their bodies – were treated more gently, but they were still searched and bound.  They might have been taken against their wills, yet they could still be affected by Stockholm Syndrome.  It was quite possible that they might have come to have feelings for their captors.

He gave the pirates a quick once-over and then followed his team through the remainder of the ship.  The pirate bridge looked to have been utterly destroyed, suggesting that they hadn’t bothered to be careful when installing equipment.  Some of their crew had been killed at their stations when they exploded in front of their faces; others had been badly injured and left to die on the deck.  The pirates didn’t seem to have tried to take care of their wounded, although Philip suspected that there was little they could have done for the more serious cases.  Not even the best surgeon in the RAN could have helped the man whose entire body had been savagely burned.  Philip checked him, and then used his pistol to put a bullet through the man’s head.  It was a mercy killing, he told himself.  There was nothing else that they could do.

“Thirty-seven crewmen taken alive,” Medley reported.  Philip frowned.  According to the files, a Moscow-class cruiser required a seventy-strong crew, although that had been back before automated equipment had helped to reduce the number of crewmen each ship needed to operate at a minimal level of effectiveness.  “We’ve also located roughly forty bodies, although some of them are so badly damaged that we’ll need to run a DNA check to confirm just how many we killed.  There’s no way to tell how many of them were pirates before we opened fire.”

Philip nodded, slowly.  “Ask the prisoners how many there were on the ship when we opened fire,” he ordered.  What had the pirates been doing at Ashfall?  They might have turned the world into a raiding base, or…there were too many other possibilities.  And how compliant were the local authorities?  Were they in bed with the pirates, or were they forced to cooperate under duress?  The OBS certainly suggested the latter.  “And don’t hesitate to ask the question as forcefully as necessary.”

He keyed his communicator and linked back to Dasher.  “This is Larson,” he said.  “Has there been any word from the shuttles?”

“Sergeant Kratman reports that they have secured the main city,” Harmon reported.  “It seems that the locals had their own plan to take back their city and when we blew up the OBS, they rose up in revolt.  They had it pretty well timed too, sir.  I think they were hoping that someone might come along and help them.”

“Curious,” Philip commented, aloud.  He had had no qualms about attempting to aid Ashfall, but other commanders would have hesitated.  Ashfall hadn’t contributed anything to the defence force, after all.  And then there was the slight shortage of any major naval power in the sector, a power that might have been willing to intervene.  It was something he was going to have to raise with the planetary leaders.  “How stable is the situation on the ground?”

“Apparently a great many pirates have been lynched,” Harmon reported.  “The legitimate authorities are back in control of their world.”

“Good,” Philip said.  “We’ll be back over within the hour.”

He linked back to Medley.  “According to the pirates, there were ninety men onboard the ship and forty…pleasure captives,” the Marine reported.  He sounded utterly disgusted.  The poor girls had been taken from the planet and thrust into a nightmare.  “Most of the prisoners were held in the rear of the ship.”

Philip winced.  They’d been trapped there when Dasher had opened fire and had been killed during the brief, savage battle.  There had been no way to know in advance – and even if there had been, how could they have prevented their deaths?  The only alternate outcome would have been the destruction of his ship and much of Ashfall by vengeful pirates.  He couldn’t have risked holding anything back.

“Understood,” he said, harshly.  “Have the captives interrogated until we learn the location of their base – if they knew about any other base.  After that, we can hand them over to the local authorities or take them with us back to Asher Dales.”

“Aye, sir,” Medley said.  His voice didn’t express any doubts.  “It will be done.”
***
“I don’t think we can salvage the ship,” Bartley said, two hours after the battle.  The engineer had made the trip over to the pirate cruiser as soon as the pirates had been removed and the bodies pushed into a holding orbit.  “The entire stern assembly is gone, Captain.  Repairing her would cost more than buying a whole new cruiser – and it would require a great many custom components that would have to be ordered specially.  She’s only really fit for spare parts.”

Philip nodded, unsurprised.  It would have been useful to have another ship, but not at that price.  “Start stripping her down for spare parts,” he ordered.  “If you find that their shuttles are usable, we’ll ship them down to Ashfall.  I’m sure the planetary government will find a use for them.  Once the ship is barren, we can push her into the local star.  We can’t leave her in orbit or the pirates will see her if they return here after we’re gone.”

Bartley looked up in surprise.  “Sir,” he protested, “we could use the hull metal…”

“We don’t have the facilities to store it,” Philip reminded him.  “We could tow the hulk to Asher Dales, but…”

He shook his head, remembering one of his long-term plans.  “We’ll tow her back home,” he said, after a moment.  If Quincy surrendered to blackmail, they would have a commercial-grade shipyard at Asher Dales.  They could use the hull metal.  “You’re right.  We could probably make some good use out of her.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“That is remarkable,” Tanya said, in awe.  She’d been frosty on the shuttle, but she’d seemed to forget about it the moment she saw the sky over Ashfall.  “It’s beautiful.”

Philip couldn’t disagree with her.  Ashfall looked to be permanently under a cloud, but the light of the sun passed through the ash and cast an eerie, constantly shifting blend of colours over the fields.  He’d seen the Northern Lights on Avalon, yet Ashfall’s colourful atmosphere put them all to shame.  A flickering line of red light passed through the air, almost as if the planet was being bombarded from orbit.  In the distance, he was sure he could hear a thrumming noise.  The ground seemed to be constantly alive.

The city ahead of them was built under the rocks, despite the dangers of sudden earthquakes or volcano bombardments.  What little could be seen from the surface was a handful of blocky dark buildings, illuminated by a multitude of burning torches, and almost nothing else. The ash kept falling from the sky, only to be picked up by the wind and hurled back into the atmosphere.  It was a minor miracle, Philip told himself as they started to walk towards the buildings, that mankind could live on such a world.  The breath masks they’d brought with them didn’t seem to provide complete protection against microscopic flecks of ice floating in the air.  

Up close, the building was barely five metres high, even though it had been dug firmly into the surrounding rock.  A pair of men wearing complete overalls that covered their entire bodies were waving to them, beckoning Philip and Tanya into the light.  It might have been a trick of the planet’s atmosphere, but they seemed to be shorter than the average human being.  They followed them into the light and the door closed behind them with an audible thud.  A moment later, the floor began to descend down into the ground.

“You can take off your masks in here,” one of the two figures said.  He removed his overall, revealing a body too short and stocky to be natural.  Philip blinked in surprise, even though hindsight told him he shouldn’t have been surprised at all.  Ashfall was too tough a prospect for baseline humans, but genies from Mars would have found it a welcome change from their homeworld’s overpopulated biosphere.  “The lower levels are safe to all who come here.”

The elevator came to a halt and a door slid open, revealing a small welcoming party.  Philip was introduced to the Planetary President – he’d been the Vice President, but his predecessor had been murdered by the pirates when they’d arrived – and a handful of other elected politicians, as well as the planet’s Head of Security.  Ashfall, as the Head of Security admitted ruefully, hadn’t really had any security when the pirates had arrived.  They hadn’t even realised that they were being invaded until it had been far too late.  Like the President, the Head of Security had stepped into a dead man’s position.  His predecessor had committed suicide shortly after the pirates had taken over.

It was astonishingly warm in the rocky chamber.  Philip could see several different types of genie scattered through the crowd, although most of them seemed to have been designed purely for Mars or heavy-world planets.  Genies were rare in the Commonwealth, partly because all of the Commonwealth’s core worlds fell within the same spectrum of habitability as Earth herself, at least before the Breakaway Wars.  It was easy enough to add improved resistance to disease to the human baseline, but more overt changes tended to be frowned upon.  The genies were often alienated from the society that had birthed them.  It was amazing how often human prejudice had little to do with reality.

“We never had any warning,” the President explained, as they were served drinks and invited to join the party.  “They were right on top of us before we knew that they were there and…they beat hell out of those who tried to put up a fight.”

“Luckily they weren't bred for this environment,” the Head of Security growled.  He was the tallest person Philip had yet seen on Ashfall, although he was still shorter than Philip himself.  “Those living out on the farms were fairly safe as long as they kept out of sight.  Sensors work about as well as a broken fusion core out here, so we hammered a couple of their attempts to spread out beyond the city and then settled down into a stalemate.  They threatened to kill us all if we ever pushed them out of the city itself…”

“Until you came along,” the President said.  “We’re not ungrateful, you understand, but we would like to know why you intervened.”

What we might want in return, Philip filled in, silently.  He couldn’t really blame them for being careful.  There had been odd reports about how the Theocracy had wriggled its way into possession of a couple of star systems along the Rim.  But really, he didn't want anything in return.

“We intend to make it impossible for pirates to operate in the sector,” he said, simply.  “All we really need from you is a commitment to share intelligence – you pass on to us anything you pick up concerning pirate activity.  We’re certainly not interested in your...beautiful planet.”

The President laughed out loud.  “All you purebloods are softies,” he said, cheerfully.  “What’s wrong with our lovely world?”

He sobered, remarkably quickly.  “They designed us originally for a polluted landscape,” he said, seriously.  “I think they had ambitions that we could actually repopulate the Earth, as we would be able to live there, but...well, we had other ideas and decided to come out here instead.  We had to use a little blackmail to convince the corporation to back us...”

“Quite understandable,” Philip agreed, dryly.  He wasn't in the best position to complain about blackmail.  “I take it that there are a few things in the official planetary file that aren’t entirely true?”

“Only a few,” the President agreed, gravely.  “We don’t really want visitors out here, you see.  They designed us while we were in a test tube and that makes some folks uncomfortable.  But we...well, we just want to live our lives out here, on this wonderful world everyone considers worthless.”

“Except the sadistic hiking fraternity,” Philip said.  Actually, he could see the RAMC wanting to hire land on Ashfall to use as a training ground.  It was a challenge merely remaining alive on the surface.  “I shouldn't think you need to worry about that.”

Tanya had a different question.  “What did they want from you?”

The Head of Security’s face twisted into an ugly scowl.  “Women,” he said.  “We’re sexually compatible with baseline humanity, but our traits are dominant.  The bastards took women from the city and abused them on their ships...”

“So there was an entire nest of pirates here,” Philip said, grimly.  It didn't quite make sense, at least to him.  Why set up shop on a world that offered nothing in the way of repair facilities?  There was certainly no cloudscoop orbiting the system’s gas giant.  It was possible for a starship to run a scooping mission itself – if designed to survive a pass through a gas giant’s atmosphere – but he doubted that the pirates could carry out such a mission.  Their standards of maintenance were really dreadfully shoddy.  “But why?  What do you have to attract them?”

“Women,” the Head of Security said, again.  “We will be wanting the bastards you captured for trial and execution, of course.”

“I’m sure you would,” Philip said, flatly.  “We are going to interrogate them and see if they know anything we might be able to use.  After that...well, if you have a labour camp here, I’m sure they’d be grateful if we didn't shoot them out of hand.”

“The population would prefer a more permanent solution,” the President said.  He held up an oddly inhuman hand before the Head of Security could say a word.  “But we recognise that it was your people who took the bastards alive.  I don’t know if they can tell you anything through – the ones we had to deal with on the ground were ignorant sons of bitches.  They didn't even have the proper gear for running around on our lovely world.”

He shook his head in disbelief.  Philip didn't believe it either, even though he had no reason to doubt the President’s statement.  Pirates were raiders, normally; they weren’t interested in setting up vest-pocket kingdoms out along the Rim.  Had Ashfall merely been unlucky enough to be discovered by a pirate who did have longer-term plans than looting, raping and murdering?  Or was there a piece of the puzzle still undiscovered?

But if the pirate commander had been interested in setting up a kingdom of his own, why choose somewhere that demanded a high degree of genetic tinkering or technology to allow a permanent colony to survive?  It made no sense.  The bastards didn't have to make sense, yet how to combine the reasonable mastery they’d shown of their cruiser and the incompetence they’d displayed in picking a base of operations?  As far as he could tell, the only reason anyone would want Ashfall – women could be had anywhere, after all – was its very isolation from the rest of the sector.  But was that enough to cancel out its obvious disadvantages?

“You’ll have to ask your prisoners, lad,” the President said, when Philip outlined his reasoning.  At least he didn't seem to be as self-important as some of the other politicians Philip had had to deal with in the sector.  “Maybe one of them can tell you something actually useful.”

***
Ashfall hadn't had a prisoner holding camp before the pirates had arrived and taken over, at least according to the Head of Security.  The pirates had corrected that oversight at once and converted a vast underground chamber into a detention centre, after placing shaped charges at certain locations that would bring down the roof if someone attempted to liberate the prisoners.  It had been sheer luck that the pirates had been willing to surrender; they could have wrecked half the city if they’d detonated all of their charges.  A handful of smaller rooms had been converted into isolation chambers, each one now holding one of the captured pirates.  Medley, in effective command of the captured cruiser, had carried out preliminary interrogations, isolating five prisoners who had been part of the command crew.  Their implants had been inspected by the Marine Medical Corpsman, who had proclaimed them beyond all hope of removal.  The real mystery was why they hadn't forced the prisoners to commit suicide.

The pirate in the room looked up hopelessly as they entered the chamber.  He’d been injured in the brief, but very destructive battle; there had been little time to spare to give medical treatment to the prisoners.  Philip disapproved of such laxity, yet it might work in their favour.  The prisoners might be more inclined to talk if they were in pain.  After all they’d inflicted on the helpless planet’s population – the handful of surviving comfort girls had been brutally treated by their captors – he found it hard to feel sorry for them.

“I’m not going to waste time trying to break you,” Philip informed him, flatly.  “We have interrogated your former subordinates and they have confirmed that you were the ship’s helmsman, effectively the third in command of your ship.  Isn't it lucky for you that you were fucking one of the girls when we blew hell out of your ship?”

He allowed his eyes to narrow.  “But that girl had quite a lot to tell us about how you treated her and the others,” he continued.  “You have a very simple choice; you can tell us what you know, or I will hand you over to the planetary authorities.  How do you think they will treat you after everything you’ve done?”

The pirate looked up at him, bitterly.  “They told us that we would be kings,” he said, in a low, almost broken voice.  “They told us that we would have all the bitches and money that we could want for, once we completed their mission.”

“They lied to you,” Philip said, flatly.  “Look where they’ve led you.  A single cell and a very short walk to a hangman’s noose.  What do you owe them?”

“But they’ll kill me if I talk,” the pirate said.  Philip found it hard to care.  Maybe – almost certainly – the pirate was right; they would kill him if he talked.  On the other hand, the planetary government definitely would kill him if he didn’t talk.  “I...I want to make a deal.”

Philip smiled to himself, darkly.  “A deal,” he repeated.  “And what makes you think that we would be interested in doing a deal?”

“Look,” the pirate said.  “I know that Commies like you talk tough, but you do sometimes make deals with us.  I want protection and a new life somewhere where they will never find me, somewhere where I never have to worry about money again.  And if you give me that promise, I will give you something you need desperately.”

Philip studied him for a long moment.  Patience didn't come easily to him, even after years of training, but it would give the pirate time to get nervous.  What did he know that he thought was worth sparing his life?  Pirates generally didn't care for duty or honour or all the little concepts that meant so much to military personnel.  They’d sell out their own grandmothers if they were offered a suitable price.  And if he happened to know that one of the other captives happened to know the same piece of information, he’d be more desperate to close the deal.

“I know the location of a base,” the pirate said.  “Surely that’s worth something to you, isn't it?  A place where you can find hundreds of us, a place where our ships are repaired and sent out on...”

“Murderous raids,” Philip injected, flatly.  “Do you want to deal with us?”

The pirate nodded, frantically.  He couldn't hide his panic, not when his mind was consumed with thoughts of the hangman’s rope.  “I do,” he said.  His voice turned crafty.  “But you have to agree to deal...”

Philip reached forward and grabbed him by the throat.  “The problem with getting information out of bastards like you is that your commanders insist on you being injected with security implants,” he remarked, almost conversationally.  “These implants are magnificent proof of mankind’s inhumanity to man.  If they detect that their bearer is being interrogated – drugs or direct neural linkages or even old-fashioned torture – they self-destruct, killing the host instantly.  They do have some safeguards, which is why you’re not dead now despite the pain, but it’s very difficult to force information out of their bearers.”

He pressed his face against the pirate’s face.  “Understand this,” he said, flatly.  “If your information doesn't pan out, you won’t be going to a cell or the hangman’s noose.  We’ll start experimenting on you to see if we can beat your implants.  I'm told that we succeed once every ten pirates.”

There was a pause as the pirate realised that there was a good chance he’d die in interrogation.  In truth, the odds were very poor – and poorer still for top-of-the-line covert intelligence implants.  The CIS had been running a black program to develop ways to break into a person’s head despite suicide implants, but Philip hadn't heard of any successes.  Not that they’d want to advertise it if they had, of course.  It was possible that shipping the pirate to Cassandra and the CIS would result in useful data, yet it would be at least two months before the Commonwealth could send anything back.  The only real hope for getting information out of the pirate was through cutting a deal and having him disclose the information voluntarily.

“I...I will give you the information,” the pirate pleaded.  “Please...”

Philip looked him in the eye.  “If your information proves to be accurate,” he said, flatly, “we will grant you a safe place to live where your former friends will never find you.”  It wasn't as if Asher Dales didn't have hundreds of thousands of miles of empty countryside.  The pirate – and anyone else who cut a deal – could be held safely there, unable to even contact his former associates.  “If not, we’ll see if we can crack into your skull.”

The pirate started to babble, frantically.  Philip listened carefully, sorting out the useful pieces of data from the torrent of useless facts.  The important detail was that there was a pirate base alarmingly close to Asher Dales, orbiting a dying red star that went by the inspiring name of UNAS-99789.  It was located on an asteroid that had been converted into a colony by a long-gone colony mission that had apparently managed to get rather badly lost.  Philip wasn't sure how much of that he actually believed.  The colony’s original settlers might have been enslaved by the pirates, or they might have started to work with the pirates.  A quick check revealed that – unsurprisingly – there was no record of any colony at the red star.  The UN had taken a brief look at it, catalogued it without bothering to actually name it, and never gone back.  There was nothing there apart from a handful of asteroids and comets.

Philip allowed the Marines to handle the remaining interrogations, handing the useless pirates over to the Head of Security.  The useful prisoners would be shipped back to Asher Dales on Dasher, which would give the interrogation teams additional time to work away at them.  It was amazing how much a person could be forced to recall when they were being ruthlessly interrogated by the Marines.  

But an intact pirate base...!  He grinned as he considered their stroke of fortune.  If they were really lucky, they might be able to discourage hundreds of pirates with one fell swoop.  And if the base led to other bases, he wouldn't complain at all.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I think I owe you an apology.”

Philip didn't turn as Tanya entered the observation blister behind him.  They were coasting towards Asher Dales, the blue-green orb growing steadily larger in front of them.  The remains of the pirate cruiser were keeping formation with Dasher, at least for the moment.  A pair of shuttles would drag her into a stable orbit where she would be stripped for each and every useful component, after which the hull metal would be removed and stored for later use.

“I didn’t mean to…oh, I don’t know,” Tanya admitted.  “Everything is just so confused.  I’m a grown woman; why the hell can’t I control my own life?”

Philip smiled, without looking back at her.  “I think pretty much everyone goes through the same experience of learning that there are some things you can’t control,” he said, flatly.  “And that life is a mixture of holding your own and learning to compromise with others – and trying to learn when compromise is necessary and when it is a dreadful mistake.”

He turned, looking into her bright eyes.  She’d been crying, part of him noted; he wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her that it was going to be fine.  But it wasn't going to be fine, was it?  She had to either reject her suitor and face the consequences of her rejection, or accept a loveless marriage to a boor.  In a civilised society, no man would feel that he had the right to marry a woman – or vice versa – but Asher Dales was still developing.  God only knew what it would become if it allowed men like Tam Farnham to dictate its development.

Avalon’s development had been largely derailed by the belief that people had the right to determine their own path through life, provided only that non-consenting others were not harmed.  Its corporate masters had been wise enough to compromise before their opponents turned radical, creating either a nightmarish communist or fascist state when they came to blows.  He could see why Asher Dales would develop the society it had – land ownership was the key to independence and power – but that didn’t make it any easier for the people caught in the gears.  There was always a human price, one that was ignored unless it happened to impact upon a known face…

One death is a tragedy, he reminded himself, grimly.  Ten million is a statistic.

“I don’t know what to do,” Tanya said.  “Philip…”

Philip shrugged.  “You’re in what we in the military call an untenable situation,” he said.  “You can’t jump one way, you can’t jump the other way – and you die if you stay where you are.  Does that simplify the problem for you?”

Tanya glared at him.  “You’re making fun of me,” she snapped.  “This isn’t fucking funny!”

“I never said it was,” Philip said.  “Let me see; as long as you neither marry him nor set him straight, Tam Farnham is going to be claiming that you’re his intended bride.  Which, I’m sure, makes it very difficult for you if you happened to fall in love with someone else.  If you marry him, you wind up in bed with a bastard who is likely to cheat on you – and probably has vile personal habits like smoking in bed, or snoring.”

Despite herself, Tanya giggled.  “You store,” she accused, lightly.  “I couldn’t get any sleep.”

“Liar,” Philip said.  “I spent two years in a midshipman’s compartment.  Anyone who snored loudly would find himself being marched to sickbay for preventive treatment after the first night or two.”

He cleared his throat.  “And if you reject him, you may be disinherited by your father,” he concluded.  “On the plus side, you won’t have to jump into bed with Tam – and he can go find someone more suited to being his wife.  I’m sure there’s a tough farmwoman out there who’d be happy to marry him – and clobber him if he starts treating her like shit.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Tanya said.  She hesitated.  “I’ll have to tell him that the wedding is off – and that it was never even on.”

“I fear so,” Philip agreed, gravely.  He hoped she wouldn’t spend the next couple of hours analysing and overanalysing her decision.  His last girlfriend had never been able to make up her mind and it had driven him crazy; he certainly hadn’t really regretted it when he'd received a message informing him that she’d found a rich man on Avalon to share her bed.  “If you’ll listen to a word of advice…”

Tanya looked up at him, thoughtfully.  “Yes…?”

“Don’t have this conversation with him when you are alone,” Philip warned.  “Or at least without someone in shouting distance, someone who can help if you need help.  Men tend to go a little stupid when they think they own women and he might try to hit you…”

“I understand,” Tanya said.  “I won’t let him anywhere near me.”

The hatch hissed open and she exited back into the main body of the ship.  Philip watched her go, and then turned back to stare at Asher Dales, unable to escape a sense of foreboding that threatened to overwhelm him.  God alone knew how Tam Farnham – or Greg, his father – would react to the news.  An anticipated match could become the be-all and end-all of the male mind, particularly those wealthy and powerful enough that few dared say no to them.  He would be wise to anticipate an unpleasant reaction…

He lifted his wristcom to his mouth.  “Bridge, this is the Captain,” he said.  “Connect me with Lieutenant Martinez on Dancer.”

***
“So you took out an enemy warship and liberated an entire planet,” Barrington said, two hours later.  They had gathered in the town hall for a meeting of the oversight committee, with Greg Farnham sitting at one end of the table.  Tanya had left the shuttle as soon as they had landed and vanished to parts unknown.  God alone knew where she was, but Philip had ordered Marie to keep an eye on her if possible.  “I think we ought to be pretty impressed.”

“And yet the engagement will cost us heavily,” Farnham grated.  He didn’t sound happy, even though he couldn’t have heard anything from his son, who wasn't present in the chamber.  “How much will it cost us to replace those goddamned missiles you expended in the engagement?”

“More than I’d prefer,” Philip agreed, mildly.  “On the other hand, we do have a fairly-intact hulk to salvage, friendly relations with one of our nearest neighbours – and a pirate base to take out.  That should put a crimp into their operations in this sector and buy us time to get organised.”

“Your ship took damage when you engaged one pirate ship with the advantage of surprise,” Farnham growled.  “How badly will you be damaged when you attack a pirate base on your own?”

“I’m still working on the operations plan,” Philip admitted.  The Marines were still interrogating the pirates, but they had managed to produce a fairly detailed outline of the pirate base’s defences.  They’d hijacked a hidden colony and turned it into a base of operations, which wasn't entirely surprising.  The downside was that Philip and his men couldn’t simply launch a salvo of missiles from a safe distance – even a c-fractional assault.  They needed to take the base intact, or at least as intact as possible.  “It is quite possible that we won’t take any damage at all.”

Farnham snorted, loudly.  “You’ll take damage,” he predicted.  “And what will that cost us?”

Philip met his gaze, levelly.  “And just what has years of pirate activity cost you?”

He allowed his eyes to narrow.  “You’re in danger even without a pirate ship hanging over your head, demanding food and women on pain of orbital bombardment,” he added.  “You are dependent on shipments of high technology from more developed worlds.  What happens to you if those shipments are captured by pirates, or shipping lines cancel deliveries because the threat of pirate attack is too high?”

“And then we will make do without those shipments,” Farnham snapped.  “What do we want from your…developed worlds?”

George Foster leaned forward.  “Don’t be more of a fool than God made you, Greg,” he drawled.  “When your daughter was gored by that angry bull it wasn't prayers and bandages from your clients who saved her life.  It was a medical pack shipped in from Avalon.  How many of us would survive our first encounters with poison-weed if we didn’t have onsite analysis and antidote processors?  I don’t think there’s a one of us who doesn’t owe his life, in one way or another, to modern medicine.”

He smiled, darkly.  “And what would you do if a pirate ship turned up and demanded that you gave them your daughter?  Ask them nicely to go away?”

Farnham flushed angrily as laughter ran around the table.  “I supported the creation of a defence force because it was necessary,” he said, angrily.  “I dare any of you to question my patriotism.”

There was a long pause.  “But I am against engagements outside this system,” he continued, in a calmer tone.  “Most of us moved out here to get away from pettifogging politicians and grasping corrupt bureaucrats.  The more we become involved in out-system affairs, the greater the danger that we will lose out independence…”

“Right,” Barrington said.  “And what do you intend to say to the other worlds that helped fund the purchase of three destroyers?  Do you think we can afford to repay them?”

“Gentlemen,” Philip said quietly, “with all due respect, this is getting us nowhere.  You hired me and my men to protect you against pirate attacks.  I am telling you now that we have a window of opportunity to take the attack to the pirates before they realise that their cover has been blown and they abandon the base.  It is my very strong recommendation that we attack the pirate base as soon as possible.  I intend to leave in just under a day.”

He paused, considering.  The intelligence suggested that someone was planning something major in the system, but he had a nasty feeling that they’d only seen glimpses of the whole scheme.  Pirates running weapons to rebels, pirates setting themselves up as kings…what did it all mean?  They had to know that pirate kingdoms didn’t tend to last, didn’t they?  And where were the weapons coming from in the first place?  He knew that they were missing something, but what?

“If we can trap and destroy a number of pirate ships at once, we will be able to deter them from mounting any further attacks in this sector,” he continued.  “At the very least, we will buy time to expand our own forces, develop an intelligence network, and establish a proper convoy system.  We need to move now.”

Every naval officer learned the realities of interstellar communications, realities that weren't very understandable to civilian politicians.  It took about four days to go from Ashfall to the pirate base at UNAS-99789.  The pirates might have sent a ship to Ashfall that had arrived just after Dasher had departed with her prize in tow.  If so, they presumably already knew that Ashfall had been liberated and a number of pirates had been taken alive.  They’d be tempted to assume that the suicide implants had worked and that no information had been obtained by the liberation force, but would they take that chance?  In their shoes – and particularly if someone else was behind the pirates, pulling their strings – Philip would assume the worst and evacuate the base before unfriendly visitors arrived.  He had to assume that the pirates would do the same.

“I believe that we should move to a vote,” Foster said.  “All those in favour of attacking the pirate base, raise your hands.”

“I have one question,” Farnham said.  “Can you take out the pirate base with only one destroyer?”

“I’m going to be taking both Dasher and Dancer,” Philip said, flatly.  It wasn't a decision he intended to debate with the politicians, not after they’d agreed not to interfere in how he ran his navy.  “And Death by Stupidity; the pirate craft may come in handy.  The third destroyer will remain here, along with ECM drones that will simulate our presence to any watching onlookers.”

His lips twitched into a cold smile.  “If nothing else,” he added, “we might confuse them about just how many ships we have in the sector.”

“But we told everyone that we had three,” Farnham protested.

“They’d be fools to assume that we were telling the truth,” Philip said.  “I never believe anything I see in the media unless it is confirmed by multiple sources.  And even then I am sceptical.  They’ll expect us to lie about our forces and their dispositions.”

“So it seems that we are in agreement,” Barrington said.  “Commodore Larson; you have permission to take out the pirate base.  And please allow us to wish you the very best of luck…”

There was a crash as the door slammed open.  “You bastard,” Tam Farnham bellowed, striding into the room.  There was an ugly red mark on his face, suggesting that he’d been slapped by someone feminine.  Philip knew who’d struck him, if only because he was still walking around on his own two feet.  Marie would have crippled him and then dragged him to the nearest hospital for treatment.  “You fucking seduced my fiancée!”

Barrington stood up with surprising speed.  “What is the meaning of this, Tam?”  He said, in a voice that should have frozen Tam in his tracks.  There was enough warning in it to change anyone’s mind.  “You were not invited to this meeting…”

Tam was too angry to realise that Barrington had smoothly offered him an out.  “That…”  He waved a hand at Philip, his voice shaking with rage.  “That man has seduced your daughter, my fiancée!  I demand justice!”

Philip braced himself, expecting Tam to lunge forward and start swinging.  He carried himself like a brawler, rather than someone who had had the training to turn him into a deadly fighting machine, but there was no mistaking the solid muscles along his arms.  One good punch to the throat and Philip would be choking to death.  But then, Philip had been drilled in unarmed combat since the day he’d joined the navy and had been training ever since, often by picking bar fights with Marines.  It might have been setting a bad example for his men…

…Or maybe not.  No one would pick on a Marine if they only wanted to beat someone up for shits and giggles.  They’d be lucky to escape without having to be hospitalised.  He’d fought for the challenge – and the chance to blow off some steam.  The Marines had probably felt the same way too.  Quietly, he shifted his pose, preparing to fight.  Raw strength and stupidity wasn't a hard combination to beat.

“This is neither the time nor the place,” Greg Farnham snapped.  His father’s voice should have stopped Tam, even if he hadn’t been smart enough to pick up on all the other warnings.  “Tam…”

His son ignored him.  “You,” he said, pointing one finger at Philip’s face.  “You have defiled my fiancée and insulted my honour.  I challenge you to a duel!”

“Get out,” Barrington said, sharply.  Philip felt a moment of sympathy for him, although not as much as he might have expected.  Any man who was prepared to even consider pressuring his daughter into an unwanted marriage deserved all that happened to him.  And besides, if Barrington allowed the duel to happen, it would cause all kinds of problems for the future.  “I’ll…”

“I challenge you,” Tam thundered.  “Will you accept my challenge, or will you prove yourself a base and cowardly dog.”

Philip felt his temper fraying, despite himself.  “You appear to believe that you have the right to force your suit on Tanya against her will,” he said, coldly.  It was better, one of his tutors had taught him, to keep an iron grip on one’s temper – and if threatened with losing one’s temper, to pretend to lose it while one could still think straight.  “There is no moral difference between you and a common rapist from the sewers.  Do you really believe that she would want to marry a man such as you?”

Barrington started to say something.  Tam’s bellow of rage drowned it out.  “You fucking son of a bitch,” he bellowed, so loudly that the entire building was echoing.  “I fucking challenged you and…”

“I will meet you on the field of honour,” Philip said, keeping his voice cold.  Avalon hadn’t exactly forbidden duelling, but it wasn't considered socially acceptable – and the challenged party was always free to withdraw.  “You may choose your weapons.  I believe that single-shot pistols are traditional…?”

“No chance of that,” Tam thundered.  “I will face you unarmed and break you over my knee.”

His father caught hold of him and dragged him out of the room.  Philip watched him go, struggling to hold back a smile.  Tam might have been able to hurt him – or kill him – with a pistol, but bare-knuckled fighting?  The fight would be, at the very least, even.  And Philip had never been afraid to challenge equal or even superior forces.

Which is partly why you’re out here, he reminded himself, as the room slowly cleared.  No one seemed interested in talking any longer, which was something of a relief.  You were the one who embarrassed Admiral Morrison to his face, Philip my boy.  What happens when you finally pick on something you can’t beat?

“This won’t be easy,” Barrington said.  “Tam has been the planetary champion of wrestling and boxing for the past four years.  You may find that you have bitten off more than you can chew.  Or perhaps the other way around, I fear.”

He patted Philip on the shoulder.  “But good luck anyway,” he added.  “You might well win.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this?”

Philip shook his head as Captain Saul Schifrin escorted him towards the field.  It was a simple patch of grass, normally used by the town’s children for football and other games.  There was a certain simplicity about the whole environment that appealed to Philip, he realised as they headed towards the small crowd.  The thicket of trees at one end of the field and the long river running down to the sea would produce years of enjoyment for a child.  He rather wished that he’d had somewhere like it when he’d been growing up on Avalon.

The wind blew across the field, reminding him that all he wore was a pair of shorts and exercise shoes.  Tam’s second had contacted him two hours after Tam had issued his challenge – presumably after his father had tried to talk him out of actually fighting Philip man-to-man – and explained the rules.  Neither fighter was allowed anything that could be used as a weapon; their near-nakedness was a precaution against smuggling any weapons into the field.  It also added a certain homoerotism to the entire scene, Philip told himself in the privacy of his own mind.  Tam might find the thought of beating someone half to death arousing.  He’d met too many bullies like Tam before, while he’d been struggling through his teenage years.

“Perhaps he’ll be smart and back down,” Philip said, although he knew better.  Tam, like many other bullies who used their size and strength to intimidate people, wouldn’t be brave enough to back down.  Philip rolled his eyes at such an attitude, although – in honesty – he had to admit that he had something of it himself.  A smarter man might have backed away from Ashfall and whistled for something a little bit heavier than a destroyer…

But then you wouldn’t have been able to get a nice battlecruiser or two, he reminded himself, dryly.  All you could have done was summon another destroyer – and that wouldn’t have improved the odds too much.

“I very much doubt it,” Schifrin said.  There was a crowd of men on the other side of the field, surrounding Tam.  Many of them were slapping him on the back and wishing him luck, although there was a certain insincerity about it that made Philip shake his head in disgust.  It was tempting to wonder just what Tam and his friends did when they were sporting together, even though it would be nothing that was forbidden in the Commonwealth.  But what would his father think if his son liked other men?  The thought was almost amusing.  Tam’s anger and his firm belief that Tanya was his might have been nothing more than a cover for his true sexuality.  “I wish you’d let me put the Marines on standby with their armour.”

Philip shook his head.  He’d been tempted, but in truth it would have looked dreadfully unfair.  And besides, four of the spectators on his side of the field were Marines.  Their uniforms were designed to provide more protection than homespun cloth and, even unarmed, they were the deadliest men on the field.  Philip’s orders had been clear; they were to do nothing, unless Tam’s friends decided to join in on his side.  If that happened, they could hand out a beating that the bullies wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

He caught sight of Tanya, standing with her father some distance from the proceedings.  Her face seemed pale, yet almost unreadable.  What was she thinking?  Philip had no idea; did she fear for him, or did she blame herself for getting him into this mess?  Or was she secretly enjoying the spectacle of men fighting for her?  Or was she terrified of what would happen if Tam won?

What would Tam do if he won?  There was no way to know, but Philip could think of a number of appalling possibilities.  Maybe he’d just grab her and take her away to be ravished, or…but what would her father do?  Barrington had said nothing to Phillip, beyond wishing him good luck.  Which way would he jump once the shit hit the fan?

Tam strode onto the field, swinging his arms to show off his muscles.  The umpire blew a whistle and beckoned Philip onto the field, while moving the spectators back as quickly as possible.  Tam’s second, a wiry youth with a grim smile and bright blew eyes, had explained that there were no sissy rules that barred the combatants from running, or smashing into the spectators.  It was merely considered bad form.  The thought made Philip smile, despite the situation.  He met Tam’s leer with an unworried grin of his own.  The swaggering brute didn’t know it, but he was in for a shock.

“Tam Farnham,” the umpire said.  “You have the right to…”

“No,” Tam barked, before the umpire could finish.  The challenger, it seemed, did have the right to withdraw his challenge.  Philip was mildly surprised; on Avalon, the challenger had no right to withdraw.  A number of high-profile legal cases had determined that to the satisfaction of the civil authorities.  “I will fight and…”

“In that case,” the umpire said coldly, “let the best man win.”

He jumped backwards and blew his whistle.  Tam posed, just for a second, and then lunged at Philip, who stepped to one side.  He hadn’t expected Tam to start posturing, for crying out loud; if he’d known, he would have taken the opportunity to slip in a punch before Tam realised that his opponent was being unsporting.  Tam snarled and lashed out with his fist, telegraphing the move minutes in advance.  Philip had no trouble avoiding the blow, all the while weighing up his opponent.  His basic impression of Tam hadn’t changed.  The young man was strong, but he was still a basic brawler, used to leading with his fists.

Tam stepped back, his eyes never leaving Philip’s face.  Philip feinted, measuring Tam’s skill, and watched him move to cover himself a moment too late.  No one had taught him to avoid telegraphing his moves to his opponent, allowing Philip to deduce what he would do before he actually did it.  Unless…no, Tam didn’t seem capable enough to telegraph false moves.  Outside the Marines, Philip hadn’t met many people who could do that without distracting themselves.  It could be fatal if done badly…

He saw Tam’s plan a moment before he moved, jumping up and lashing out with his foot.  It looked good, Philip realised as he moved back himself, but it was right out of a bad martial arts movie than real life.  He nipped in as Tam landed and struck out twice at his chest.  Hitting Tam was like hitting a brick wall, but he had the satisfaction of hearing him grunt in pain and try to lunge at Philip again.  Philip stepped back and lashed out, slapping Tam’s arm.  Tam bellowed with rage, realising that he was being mocked, and threw himself at Philip, who stuck out a foot.  The bruiser tripped over and fell face-down on the grass.

Philip could have jumped on him and broken his back, or his neck, but instead he let Tam struggle to his feet.  Grass stains covered his chest and shorts, while his face had gone an angry purple colour.  He knew that his life had been spared.  A smarter man might have backed off, but a man as prideful as Tam wouldn't be able to endure knowing that someone hadn’t pressed his advantage to the bitter end.

“You...”  Tam choked out.  “You utter...”

He charged, angrily.  This time, Philip didn't quite move fast enough and Tam clipped him, hard enough to hurt.  Philip lashed back, wheeling around and delivering a haymaker into Tam’s shoulder.  If he’d hit Tam’s throat, the fight would have been over then, but Tam was moving too quickly.  Philip pushed the pain aside and kept moving, daring Tam to try to hit him again.  Tam seemed to have given up on the idea of a direct attack; instead, he was circling Philip carefully, looking for an opening.

Philip grinned and deliberately dropped his guard, daring Tam to launch another attack.  Tam ignored him, watching his face carefully.  Philip watched him back, remembering the last time he’d faced a Marine, back when he’d been trying to drink himself into a stupor.  Tanya had pulled him out of the bar and given him a new mission, a new reason to live.  And she was worth fighting for.

Tam lunged forward, fists clenched as if he intended to box.  Philip hopped back, lifted his own fists, and launched a quick jab at Tam’s defence.  Tam swung out at him, but he was too slow to catch Philip – and he’d committed himself.  Philip saw the opening and threw a punch at Tam’s nose.  He felt bones breaking under his fist and saw a splash of blood falling from his target.  His fist hurt, but it was clear that Tam was hurting worse.  Philip held back, waiting to see if Tam would back out after blood had been shed.  He didn't really want to kill him any longer, not after the entire city had seen him beaten bloody.  Tam would certainly no longer be able to press for Tanya’s hand...

Or would he?  Philip watched Tam carefully, considering what he might do.  Perhaps he’d ignore the result of the bout and keep pressing away at Tanya, or perhaps he might push for Barrington to disinherit his daughter after the demise of his dynastic plans.  It would be better, part of Philip’s mind insisted, for Tam to die here and now, on the field of battle.  But if he killed people because their survival was inconvenient, how was he any better than the pirates?

Tam roared and threw himself forward with sudden energy.  Philip dodged, only to see Tam coming right at him.  He’d guessed which way Philip would move, or he’d read Philip’s posture.  Either one was possible.  Tam almost caught Philip before Philip managed to dodge back, slamming a punch into Tam’s arm as he moved.  At least Tam had the sense to keep his groin and chest guarded.  A single punch there would end the fight.

“I have had enough of you,” Philip said, so quietly that no one apart from Tam would be able to hear him.  “Walk away now and I won’t have to press it any further.”

Tam ignored him and threw himself at Philip again.  This time, Philip stepped in under his guard and slammed two quick punches into his chest.  Tam stopped, almost as if he’d been shot in the head and his body hadn't quite realised that he was dead, and then he bellowed in pain.  Philip ignored him and slammed the flat of his palm into Tam’s jaw.  He felt something dislocate within Tam’s chin before he lashed out one final time, kicking Tam with all of his strength in the knee.  There was an audible crack as his leg shattered under the blow, before he fell to his knees, gasping in pain.  Philip was almost impressed; he’d seen people screaming and losing their heads completely with lesser injuries...or maybe Tam was just too stupid to know how badly he’d been injured.  

Philip walked forward and around Tam, watching carefully.  Tam looked too badly hurt to be considering an ambush, or trying to lure Philip into arm’s reach, but it was well to be careful.  Overconfidence was a poor servant and a worse master.  Up close, Tam reeked of sweat, mingled with urine and blood.  Philip realised that he’d never been so badly hurt, for all that he’d been a boxer.  Boxing had rules that Philip had never bothered to learn, let alone fight by.  What was the point in fighting fair when the idea was to disable or kill your opponent as quickly as possible?

He put his hands around Tam’s head and held it, firmly.  “Give up,” he said, sharply.  Tam’s skin felt sweaty and vile.  He was probably on the verge of shock.  “Give up or I break your fucking neck.”

Tam’s body shuddered.  “I give up,” he said.  It was barely more than a whisper.  He needed medical attention, fast.  “I...mercy!”

Philip didn't smile.  “You will not go anywhere near Tanya again,” he said, flatly.  “If you do, you die.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Tam said, between gasps.  “Please...”

Philip released him and stepped back, nodding to the umpire.  “Tam Farnham yields,” the umpire said, formally.  “Commodore Larson is the winner!”

The crowd didn't go wild, somewhat to Philip’s disappointment.  A surprisingly large number of people seemed to be concealing smiles, mainly among younger people who would have had to deal with Tam on a daily basis.  They wouldn’t be so scared of him after they’d seen him lose a fight so decisively.  Who know – maybe his father would find himself forced to disinherit his son.  Tam’s allies seemed to have decided to leave the field, rather than watch their leader take a fall.  Philip couldn't blame them.

“You need to go to sickbay,” the Marine corpsman said  It struck Philip suddenly that he didn't even know the man’s name.  “You might have been injured and...”

“Never mind me,” Philip said, shortly.  Now he was coming off the rush from the fight, he was painfully aware that his body was aching and felt sore.  “Worry about getting him to hospital and some proper treatment.”

“Damned if I’m wasting good nanites on that arsehole,” the corpsman said, crossly.  Two of the city’s doctors were already pouring over Tam, who was twitching unpleasantly, yelping.  Philip, who had seen men with far worse injuries remain stoic in the face of such unpleasantness, wasn't particularly impressed any longer.  The fight was over and Tam had lost.  “Do you think I should just introduce him to the joys of battlefield medicine?”

“Go do your job,” Philip said crossly, and looked around for Tanya.  She was still standing next to her father, a strange – almost vulnerable – expression on her face.  Or maybe she didn't quite believe her eyes.  Tam’s suit, pressed with all the boorishness that one could expect from a man born to believe that the world existed to serve him, had been a part of her life for so long that perhaps she couldn't quite grasp that it was over.  “Marie...?”

The Marine commander didn't look like a Marine; she was wearing a pair of white shorts and a shirt that was at least two sizes too small for her.  In fact, she looked surprisingly attractive, but the muscles rippling along her bare arms were a reminder that she was probably the deadliest person in the system.  Her eyes were oddly concerned, even though she had seriously suggested simply having Tam assassinated – and had even expressed a willingness to do the job herself.

“You could have ended that a great deal quicker,” she said, flatly.  Philip didn't bother to disagree with her.  She was right, but he’d felt that it was better to hand out a lesson rather than kill Tam – or cripple him beyond recovery.  Time would tell if he’d been right not to hand out a violent and utterly one-sided beating.  “And I think you should be more careful whom you invite into your bed.”

Philip looked up at her, sharply.  There had always been a divide between starship crews and Marines, but that was a little harsh – and unpleasant.  Marie was always free with her advice, and yet...

“I have the same problem with some of the cherries,” Marie said, when Philip said nothing.  “They graduate and become Marines – and then they hook up with girls who enjoy getting them into fights.  The bitches get some sort of pleasure from watching men fighting for them.  Would you like to know how many records I’ve had to smooth with the Shore Patrol because some sexy tart told her boyfriend that some thick-headed thug had insulted her?”

“You’d think Marines would know better,” Philip said, crossly.

“So would I,” Marie said.  “I’ve had to bust more than a dozen Marines for fighting when off-post and it’s always a pain in the ass.  And the worst of it is that they’re not actually bad Marines when on deployment; they’d just dumb fucks thinking with their dicks when they’re off-duty.  I have to bust their chops anyway.”

She leaned forward.  “I don’t pretend to know what’s going through that girl’s head, but you might want to watch your back,” she added.  “Maybe she just wanted you to fight for her, or maybe she likes to play with men, or...”

“...Or maybe she just wanted rid of him,” Philip snapped.

“And then she could have just left the planet,” Marie pointed out.  “Her degree is good anywhere in the Commonwealth.”  She shrugged, expressively.  “I cannot dictate your personal life to you, of course, but I’d suggest making it a great deal less complicated.  And you really should have snapped the bastard’s neck.”

***
“You don’t need to cheer,” Philip said, two hours later.  Back on Dasher, he’d had a shower and inspected his bruises.  Nothing looked particularly serious – besides, the other guy was still in hospital.  Marie’s corpsman had sent him a note saying that Tam would need several weeks to heal, at least with the medical technology on Asher Dales.  “I’d just like you to remember it when you are next late with your efficiency statements and flypaper reports.”

There were some chuckles at a joke that dated all the way back to pre-space Old Earth.  “We leave in twelve hours,” Philip continued.  “The Foolish Genius will carry most of our men; remember, some of the planetary militia have never been in space before, so go easy on them.  If all goes to plan, we should have an intact pirate base at our mercy.”

He smiled.  “And if all doesn't go to plan, the shit will hit the fan rather quickly,” he concluded.  “It's time to start working on contingency plans.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Are we all clear on the plan?”

There were nods from the handful of holographic representations.  The flight to the dying red star had taken two days, during which time the small force had drilled time and time again until they were nearly perfect.  Philip had thrown as much confusion into the drills as he dared, testing his people’s responses to surprises as well as their ability to follow the predetermined plan.   No matter what they’d pulled from the prisoners – and despite the confidence of the Marines that the prisoners had told the truth – Philip knew better than to assume they knew everything.  The pirate base might have defences its masters had never shared with their customers.

“Good,” Philip said.  He made a show of checking his wristcom.  “We jump out of hyperspace in two hours precisely, following the pirate-approved flight path.  Let’s hope that they’re not feeling paranoid.”

He grinned, projecting his confidence onto the entire command staff.  “Here we go,” he said.  “One way or another, the pirates will never be so confident ever again.”

The holograms vanished as the communication lasers were severed.  He was alone in the pirate commander’s cabin on the Death by Stupidity.  Philip would have preferred to command the entire operation from his destroyer, but in truth he wasn't going to send the Marines – and a hundred militia from Asher Dales – into the teeth of a possible ambush without going with them.  Besides, it wasn't as if he was commanding a major fleet operation, where he had to remain in the rear.  Four ships, one of them a helpless freighter and another a refitted pirate vessel, weren't a sizable force.  And he had absolute confidence in his men.

He stood up and glanced around.  The cadets had removed the signs that showed what entertainments the pirate commander had enjoyed in the privacy of his own cabin, but Philip fancied he could still sense their presence.  An inspection team had concluded that the commander had kept at least three women in his cabin, who had almost certainly been killed when the ship had been captured.  There had been enough blood and other signs of occupation scattered around to suggest exactly how the commander had forced himself to relax.  How could anyone, Philip remembered asking his superior when he’d been a green midshipman, be so morally depraved?

The answer, he remembered, had been simple, if unfulfilling.  A pirate commander was generally an outlaw, certain of death if he fell into the hands of a naval officer.  His crew, if anything, were the scum of the galaxy, never able to return home – some very definitely on the run from their homeworld’s authorities.  There was literally nothing holding them back from indulging the deepest, darkest impulses of the human mind.  For all Philip knew, the pirates he’d killed had been paragons of virtue among their fellow scum, resisting the temptation to take that final step into depravity.  It seemed unlikely, somehow.

Shaking his head, he opened the hatch – it was thoroughly outfitted with a manual lock and several bolts, a sign of paranoia – and stepped out into the corridor.  The stench, thankfully, had finally been removed; according to the cadet’s supervisors, they’d washed every deck, removed an alarming amount of human and animal waste, and then vented the entire ship twice.  Someone had thoughtfully replaced the air filters with systems that pumped a covering smell into the air, making it easier to breathe in some parts of the ship.  It was a minor miracle that the pirate crew hadn't drowned in their own waste.

“Another sign of moral corruption,” the Senior Chief had said.  Officially, he was subordinate to the midshipmen, but only a fool would have tried to assert authority over him without a good few years in the RAN.  “The pirate commanders don’t even force their men to clean up after themselves.  They’re too scared of provoking a mutiny.”

Philip had developed a habit of touring the Death by Stupidity every few hours since they’d departed Asher Dales.  It wasn’t just a sign of nerves, but an attempt to get a sense for the ship’s normal functioning - or what passed for normal function on a pirate ship.  An experienced spacer developed a sixth sense for his ship’s environment, often being able to sense an impending disaster before the shit hit the fan, but his sense had been honed for Dasher.  The pirate ship’s alarming level of creaking and groaning didn't make for a restful sleep.  Bartley had sworn blind that the ship was relatively safe – “as safe as we can make it,” he’d said, which wasn’t particularly reassuring – but Philip wasn't so sure.  A single fault in the wrong place could have catastrophic consequences.

He stopped outside the airlock leading to the bridge and smiled.  Someone had pulled a heavy-duty airlock out of an outdated colonist-carrier – built back in the days when the UN had been transporting hundreds of thousands of unwilling colonists from Earth every month – and inserted it into the hatch, giving the crew some protection from the rest of the pirates.  Apart from prisoner transports, Philip couldn't think of any RAN ship that had a comparable level of protection – but then, RAN commanders rarely had to worry about mutiny.  There hadn’t been a single mutiny, apart from an incident where cadets from Cadiz had attempted to take over their training ship twenty-five years ago.  The airlock hissed open, seemingly reluctantly, and allowed Philip into the bridge.  It had been a self-contained environment of its own, according to Bartley, before Dasher had blown hell out of the pirate hull.  Now, there were cables linking the bridge to the rest of the ship – and the replaced computer core, one drawn from the supplies on Nancy.  It was expensive, but only a fool would trust a computer core from a pirate ship.  There could be all kinds of nasty surprises waiting for the unwary user.

Inside, the bridge had been completely refurbished.  Nine new consoles had replaced the damaged ones, jury-rigged from spare parts they’d brought from Avalon.  It wasn't a perfect arrangement, but it had given the cadets a remarkable amount of experience in a very short time.  None of them had been allowed to accompany the small squadron on its mission, despite their protests.  It was simply too dangerous for inexperienced cadets.  He needed the militia, even though having them along gave him nightmares.  They hadn't been trained for fighting in an asteroid-based environment.

“Captain on the bridge,” Jasper Rawlings said.  He’d been on Dancer before volunteering to helm the Death by Stupidity.  A tall dark-skinned man with a mischievous smile, he’d openly admitted that he was ambitious – and promotion should be faster in a newly-created navy than in the RAN.  Philip suspected that a great many junior officers were going to be promoted into dead men’s shoes once the war began, but he hadn’t attempted to discourage Rawlings.  Besides, the man was technically still a RAN reservist.  He could go back once the war began.  “Is everyone ready, sir?”

Philip nodded, taking the tactical console for himself.  The pirate commander’s chair would have been a step too far.  “Everything is ready,” he said.  He glanced up at the time display, silently ticking down the seconds until they were due to return to normal space.  “Did the Foolish Genius check in?”

“Aye, sir,” Rawlings said.  “The commander called you lots of nasty names, but she says that she and her skeleton crew are ready to risk their lives in a glorious battle for the future of Asher Dales.”

“Good,” Philip said.  Captain Elizabeth Tyler had been understandably upset at the part of the plan which involved her freighter, but she’d agreed – reluctantly – to assist the mission.  Philip suspected that she’d only consented because she feared that he would have seized her ship if she’d refused, yet the reason why hardly mattered.  All that mattered, right now, was getting to the pirate base before the pirates evacuated and left a suicide charge behind for any unsurprising naval officers.  “I’m sure she’ll carry out her part to perfection.”

He glanced down at the macros uploaded into the console and scowled, inwardly.  The pirates would probably be surprised if they saw the Death by Stupidity again – he assumed that they knew that she was lost – so the ship’s transponder and hull signal had been rigged to claim it was a completely different ship.  They wouldn't bother to check the ship’s licence papers – the very thought was laughable – but if the codes they’d extracted from the pirates weren't accurate, the base’s defenders might wait until the Death by Stupidity was at point-blank range and open fire.  The manifest from the Furious Genius – currently posing as the Merry Prankster – claimed that she was carrying starship parts and other technological goodies to whet their greed, yet there was such a thing as over-acting.  If they thought that the captured freighter was too good to be true...

“It's time, sir,” Rawlings said.  “Two minutes to normal space.”

“Take us out when the timer reaches zero,” Philip ordered.  He pushed the tension into the back of his mind and left it there.  “Signal the other ships to emerge in our wake and go into stealth mode the minute they’d back in normal space.”

Hyperspace twisted into a spinning vortex in front of them and they lurched through into normal space.  The freighter followed them, close enough to suggest a slightly-uncertain prize crew that was alarmingly aware that it was under the guns of the Death by Stupidity.  That was standard practice for the pirates, Philip had been assured; their commander wouldn't leave his ship, but he wouldn't want his second to slip off with their ill-gotten gains and sell them for himself.  There was no trust at all in the pirate world.

His console lit up as the sensors started to scan the system.  The system’s primary star was colossal, a red giant that had puffed up as it approached the final few million years of its life, before collapsing down into a red dwarf.  If it had ever had any planets, they’d been lost within the star’s expansion or cast loose into interstellar space.  Astronomers had once believed that there were thousands of rogue planets floating through space, but humanity had only discovered a handful in all the centuries of expansion.  At least one of them still made headlines as crackpots argued over the claim that it had actually once housed an intelligent race.  The signs suggested otherwise.  

The only companions left in orbit around the primary were a handful of asteroids and comets.  It was a lonely little system, of very little use to anyone apart from pirates – or survivalists, people who’d fled the Breakaway Wars in the assumption that they would sterilise all the worlds of men.  A few years ago, the RAN had discovered a survivalist colony out along the Rim and reassured them that the Breakaway Wars were long over and only Earth had died in their final catastrophic years.  They hadn’t taken to the mainstream of galactic society very well; in fact, they’d sold settlement and mining rights in their system to the Falcone family and bought a starship which they’d then taken beyond the Rim.  Philip almost envied them.  They’d see sights that no other human eye would ever see.

“Transmit our identifying signal to the pirate base,” he ordered, pushing his slightly melancholy thoughts aside.  “And make sure you transmit the manifest with it.  We don’t want them getting wary before it’s too late.”

The RAN’s sociologists had found themselves appalled and baffled by the pirate communities discovered out along the Rim.  Pirates who had committed vast atrocities against helpless merchantmen seemed almost civil when back at their bases, keeping their destructive instincts firmly under control.  The headshrinkers had burned up hundreds of terabytes of data trying to explain it, often separating into a group that believed that order was maintained by force and a group that believed that the pirates were really a whole other culture, one that was misunderstood by the rest of humanity.  Philip had his own theory and it was nowhere near as complicated as either of the other theories; the pirates had a certain interest in maintaining order on their bases, if only to fence their stolen goods to the highest bidder.  They would even submit to rules intended to keep fences honest, the base reasonably intact and prevent bloodbaths when one pirate crew insulted another.  People could normally be trusted to act in what they thought was their own best interests.  It was when one person couldn't grasp that another person might have different ideas about their own best interests that the trouble started.

“Message sent,” Rawlings said.  The message had been carefully prepared.  Unsurprisingly, pirate commanders shared information with other commanders, once they’d been outfitted with suicide implants.  Those titbits of information often included details like the location of a base or two.  “I think I’ve located the pirate base, sir.”

“Show me,” Philip ordered.  He studied the display as the information came into view.  One large asteroid appeared to be holding station with a number of smaller asteroids, all of which were rotating in order to produce gravity.  It was such an outdated design that it was easy to realise that the pirates had to have captured the base off someone else.  Those people would now be hostages to the pirates, forced to provide food, women and whatever else the pirates wanted.  He ground his teeth silently, contemplating his options.  Their suffering would come to an end, one way or the other.

The rotating asteroids were surprisingly primitive.  Given access to solar power and water-ice, it was easy to mine out a cavern in the centre of an asteroid and pack it with water, and then use mirrors to focus the heat from the primary star onto the asteroid, melting the ore and causing the water to expand outwards.  Eventually, when the asteroid had expanded out far enough, the stops would be removed and the water would spill out into space, while the rest of the asteroid was allowed to cool.  It would then be spun into a rotation that would provide gravity, which would allow the interior to be colonised by the settlers.  

But modern-day technology had eliminated such troublesome methods.  It was easy to build a gravity generator and use it to produce whatever level of gravity might be required.  The only people who would use primitive methods would be those cut off from the rest of the galaxy, people who couldn't expect any help from outside.  Dear God, Philip asked himself as they drew closer to the asteroids, how long had these people been isolated from the mainstream?  Had they fled the Breakaway Wars, or had they left Earth when space travel had been in its infancy?  There was no way to know.

“We are receiving a signal from the pirate base,” Rawlings reported.  “They are ordering us to dock the freighter into the landing bay while we hold position outside the asteroid.”

Philip smiled.  He’d expected as much – and it was unacceptable.  “Inform them that we insist on being there to oversee the assessors when they inspect our goods,” he said.  One of the laws the pirates had reinvented for themselves was that all goods had to receive a honest valuation from a team of experts.  Those who tried to sell pirate commanders short tended to lead short and unpleasant lives.  Pirate commanders didn't like to be cheated.  “Or we will take our goods elsewhere.”

There was a long pause.  He knew what had to be going through their heads; one ship, an unknown commander, and a freighter packed to the gunnels with goods that would be worth millions – perhaps billions – along the Rim.  Would their greed be enough to overcome their suspicion?  If nothing else, they didn't look like an attacking force from the Commonwealth – or even Asher Dales.  A squadron from the Commonwealth would have come charging out of hyperspace, launching missiles and Marine transports before the pirates had time to react.

“They’ve updated their orders,” Rawlings said.  “They will allow us both to dock into the landing bay.”

Philip grinned.  They’d swallowed the bait, no doubt convinced that they could prevent him from leaving if necessary.  If he’d been a real pirate, they might even have been right.

He keyed his wristcom.  “We’re going in,” he said.  “I want everyone ready to move as soon as we land in the bay.”

The pirates had cut a cavernous landing bay out of solid rock and docked nearly forty starships within, hidden from a casual sensor sweep.  Philip was mildly impressed, even though it was a strange cross between a primitive facility and one built using modern technology.  The Commonwealth’s vast orbital dockyards could have taken more ships – and probably unloaded them quicker than the pirates could have hoped to achieve – but they belonged to one of the richest and most advanced societies in the Human Sphere.  It was clear that the pirates didn't have anything like the same level of technology – and the same lack of concern over detection.  Their base was built to evade their enemies.

He felt an odd shiver as the Death by Stupidity floated into the landing bay and glided down towards the rocky deck.  There was a terrifying thump as her underside hit the deck, leaving weird little tremors running through the hull.  Philip had never docked in an enclosed bay in his entire career; indeed, the only starships that might have been expected to do so were light freighters, which could land on a planetary surface if necessary.

“There’s no atmosphere in the bay,” Rawlings noticed.  “I bet you that’s a security precaution.”

He paused.  “And we have a welcoming party,” he added.  “Seven men, wearing pressure suits...”

Philip smiled.  “Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the fly,” he said.  “Open the hatch for our guests, if you please...”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The pirates were seized as soon as they entered the Death by Stupidity.

“This is a raid,” Philip informed them, after they’d been grabbed, stripped and searched by five Marines.  One of them was still twitching from where he’d been stabbed with a jangler while trying to resist his captors.  The other four were still staring at Philip in shock.  “I am prepared to make a one-time offer to you and your friends.  If you surrender, I’ll take you alive and you won’t be executed.  You won’t be allowed to continue to pillage helpless ships, but at least you will be alive.  How does that sound?”

The pirates stared at him in disbelief.  Behind them, four Marines were already donning their pressure suits.  Unwisely, the pirates had chosen heavy-duty suits that concealed their features, allowing the Marines to impersonate them and get into the other set of airlocks that led into the interior of the asteroid.  Once they were through, they would have to play it by ear.  The captured pirates hadn't been able to say much about the interior of the asteroid, outside the casinos, brothels and markets.  They certainly hadn't known where the control compartment was located.  

“We won't tell you anything,” one of the pirates said, finally.  “You’ll never get out of here alive.”

Philip drew a needle gun from his belt, pointed it at the pirate’s head, and pulled the trigger.  A stream of needles slot through flesh and bone, scattering gore over the compartment.  Philip disliked needle guns on principle, but they did have their uses.  He could use one to intimidate even a hardened pirate.  

“I guarantee you that you will not get out of this alive unless you help us,” he said, to the other pirates.  They seemed stunned, almost as if they’d expected him not to shoot.  Given the lives they’d led, surely they’d realised what would have happened to them once a navy – any navy – caught up with them.  Philip’s offer was better than they had any right to hope for and they had to know it.  “How many of you do I have to shoot before the rest of you finally get the idea?”

One of the pirates looked to be on the point of breaking completely.  Philip leaned closer to him, pointing the needle gun directly at his forehead.  “Well?”  He asked, coldly.  “What’s it to be?  A chance to live, or certain death...?”

“I’ll talk,” the pirate said.  His voice was high, almost squeaky.  It would have been comical if he and his friends hadn't made a living selling stolen goods.  And what had he done, Philip wondered, with any of the captured women?  “I’ll...you promise I’ll live?”

Philip allowed the Marine interrogators to take over.  Now that one of the pirates had broken, the others seemed to be vying to see how much they could tell in a few minutes.  Skilfully, the pirates brought ID signals, access codes and other useful pieces of data out of their minds, taking turns to cajole or slap the prisoners around a little.  Battlefield interrogations were rarely completely dependable, but they were running out of other choices.  And, perhaps, running out of time.  If he’d been running the pirate base, Philip would have made sure that he had someone counting down the seconds since the welcoming committee had boarded the ship.  How long would it be before someone smelled a rat?

“We got everything, sir,” Marie said, finally.  She was donning one of the pressure suits, pulling the helmet down to cover her face.  Her figure was masked utterly by the shapeless garment.  “I think we’d better take the airlock before someone decides to panic.”

Philip nodded.  As one, the five Marines walked through the airlock and out onto the rocky deck.  It was a neat security precaution, Philip had to admit, although it wouldn't have slowed Marines down for long.  Armoured combat suits weren't hampered by vacuum; indeed, there was no particular reason why they couldn't vent the pirate base and suffocate the entire population.  But that would kill guilty and innocent alive.

He followed their walk as they reached the airlock and keyed in the combination they’d been given by their captives.  Philip braced himself – if one of them had managed to lie, they were in big trouble – but the airlock hissed open without any fuss.  The seconds ticked away slowly, and then the radio buzzed.  He almost jumped with shock.

“Captain, we’ve got the airlocks,” Marie said.  “I'm glad to say that none of the bastards were expecting us.”

“Secure the area,” Philip ordered.  “I’m sending in the rest of the reinforcements now.”

He pulled on his own pressure suit quickly, and then stepped aside to allow the Marines to precede him through the airlock.  They’d be able to block the only escape route from the asteroid – unless the prisoners had lied about that – until the destroyers arrived in position to blast anything that tried to slip out.  Philip sent a quick microburst transmission back to his two ships and then joined the second group heading out of the airlock.  It was warm inside the suit, but somehow it always felt cold to him.  A single accident would expose him to the chill of interstellar space.  It was possible to survive exposure to vacuum, yet even modern medicine couldn't make the process any more comfortable.  

A number of pirate ships were scattered around the deck, some looking as if their crews had abandoned them for months, if not years.  Others looked alarmingly new, including a gunboat that had to have come from a first-line military, even though Philip didn't recognise the design.  They’d all be taken intact, he hoped, and added to his small navy.  A pirate ship would back off from even an outgunned naval ship, knowing that any damage he took might well prove fatal in the long run.  

The airlock hissed open in front of him and he stepped inside, waiting along with the others for the second hatch to hiss open.  Inside, there was a set of controls and a number of dead or stunned pirates.  They’d all been surprised and dealt with before they could raise the alarm.  Marie was bent over one of the consoles, examining it while cursing up a storm.  The entire section was disconnected from the rest of the asteroid – if indeed there was a single unified computer network.  It would be unthinkable not to have one on a normal asteroid habitat, but Philip could easily imagine why the pirates wouldn't want to include one on their captured base of operations.  Computer technology advanced fast and it would only take one Marine with the latest hack to slip in and take over their entire system.

“We have a route,” Marie said.  “The prisoners claim that the command complex is at the north pole, up from here.”

“Good,” Philip said.  “Take your squad there as quickly as possible.  Jangle anyone you meet; once they raise the alarm, start issuing the warning and demand that they surrender.”

Marie nodded and hurried off, leading a group of armoured Marines towards the main lift shafts.  Philip watched her go, and then started to mutter orders to the militia.  They’d be heading down towards the central cavern, where the pirates would be gathered, enjoying themselves.  They had to be stunned or otherwise dissuaded from resistance before they had a chance to realise that they were in deep trouble.  He doubted that they could force his Marines off the rock, but if they put up a fight it might give the controllers time to escape or detonate a suicide charge.  He couldn't afford to lose any of his trained manpower.

The interior of the asteroid didn't stink, much to his private surprise.  He pushed the thought aside as he led the way down the corridor, heedless of the risk.  The pirates had decorated it with some of their loot, including paintings that might have been valuable at one time, but weren't anything more than scrap at the moment.  Galactic fashion changed so rapidly that what was fashionable in one system might be nothing more than scrap at another.  A couple of pirates – and a half-naked girl – ran into them and stared, only to be stunned before they could react.  There was no time to separate the guilty and the innocent.  They’d just have to sort them all out later.

He swore as an alarm started to ring, building rapidly to a howling crescendo.  Marie called him a moment later to report that the Marines had missed a checkpoint, which had sounded the alert.  They were abandoning stealth and advancing on the command centre as quickly as possible.  Philip swore again and picked up the pace.  They had to take out as many of the pirates as possible before they got organised.  God alone knew how long it would be before they managed to start fighting back.

The corridor opened suddenly, revealing a large cavern packed with piles of clothing, farming equipment and even handheld weaponry.  A number of pirates were running around, only to stop dead as soon as they saw Philip’s men.  Philip sprayed them with jangler pulses before they had a chance to react, leading the way forward into the market.  The stunned pirates would be abandoned where they fell, left behind until the mopping up began.  They’d be stunned for several hours, completely out of it until it was far too late.

A door crashed open at the far end of the compartment, revealing a mob of panicking pirates.  They seemed intent on reaching their ships, unaware that Philip and his men were blocking their path.  Many of them were stunned, their falling bodies tripping their comrades and sending them crashing to the ground, before they had any time to do anything, but a handful managed to draw weapons of their own and fire back.  Philip saw one of the militiamen fall to a primitive slug-thrower seconds before his murderer was stunned and left to fall on the deck.  A handful of fires had started and were starting to spread into the piles of clothing.  Fire could be a deadly hazard on an asteroid, particularly if it reached explosives or chemicals...

He touched his wristcom, amplifying his voice.  “THIS IS THE ROYAL AVALON NAVY,” he lied.  The pirates might not even have heard of Asher Dales itself, let alone realised that it had a tiny navy.  “IF YOU THROW DOWN YOUR GUNS AND SURRENDER, WE WILL TAKE YOU ALIVE.  RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.  WE WILL NOT KILL YOU IF YOU SURRENDER!  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!”

Judging from the racket ahead of them, some of the pirates thought surrender was a good idea and others wanted to keep fighting.  Philip led his team to the door, climbing over the stunned or dead bodies, and glanced through the hatch.  It was a massive nightclub, he decided after a moment, complete with dancing strippers and nude waitresses.  The slaves had turned on their masters as soon as they had realised that the navy had arrived, trying to extract revenge for years of vile treatment.  Philip hated to stun them as well as their tormentors, but there was no other choice.  Surrendering pirates were stunned as well, just to ensure that they didn't have a change of heart.  He found himself forced to revise the estimates of how many people the asteroids had been able to support upwards.  It was really quite impressive, in a way.  He hoped the original builders were still around, if only so he could congratulate them.  They’d done something that impressed even a citizen of the Commonwealth.

“Sir, look out!”

Philip ducked sharply as a pirate hurled a chair at him, just before he was stunned into darkness by one of the militia.  The militiamen seemed to be holding up nicely, much to his relief.  He hadn't known how they’d cope on the asteroid, but they seemed to be coping just fine.  The pirates were certainly no match for them.  Having the freedom to fire jangler pulses with more enthusiasm than aim definitely helped.

His wristcom buzzed.  “Captain, we’re having problems with the command staff,” Marie said.  “They want you to verify the surrender offer in person.  It’s probably a trap.”

Philip nodded.  It probably was a trap, but the longer the pirates remained locked up in the control core, the greater the chance they could do something to destroy the asteroid – along with him and his men.  Losing the asteroid would be annoying, yet losing his men would be far worse.  They’d tear the guts out of Asher Dales’ defence force in a split second.  

“I’m on my way,” he said.  Behind him, he heard the sound of more projectile weapons being deployed.  Some of the pirates were still fighting.  Others were probably willing to surrender, but their former slaves weren't giving them the chance.  Philip had seen what happened when the tormented finally turned on their tormentors and it was never pretty.  “Detail a squad of Marines to escort the militia.  Some of the pirates are putting up a fight.”

Two hulking Marines met him as he pulled himself out of the fight.  “Major’s orders,” one of them said, which puzzled Philip for a moment before he remembered that Marie would get a courtesy promotion.  “We’re to get you up to the command centre without letting you get hurt.”

Philip sighed inwardly and allowed them to lead him up towards the access tubes.  Apart from the Marines at the airlocks – the cork in the bum, part of his mind thought with dark humour – he didn't have the forces to prevent pirates from rushing around his platoons and trying to escape.  Dozens lay where they’d been stunned, a handful mutilated in ways that suggested that their slaves were far from willing to let bygones be bygones.  How could he blame them?  The slaves would probably be outraged at the mere thought of not executing the pirates as soon as he’d secured the asteroid.  How could he blame them for that either?  It was tempting – horribly so – to simply go back on his word, but then no one would ever trust him again.  He needed a reputation for accepting surrenders.

The climb up the lift shafts seemed to take hours, even though his wristcom insisted that it was only a few minutes of struggling.  He forced himself through a half-open hatch that had been struck by a Marine rocket and into a small chamber.  A handful of Marines were waiting for him there, nodding towards the airlock.  Philip cursed when he saw it; it was the same paranoid mindset as the one that had created the Death by Stupidity’s bridge, only this time it was an entire subset of the asteroid.  And there was no way to burn into it with anything short of a ship-mounted energy weapon.

He picked up the mouthpiece Marie pointed out and held it to his lips.  “This is Commodore Larson,” he said, flatly.  “To whom am I speaking?”

The voice he heard in reply was cold, almost unemotional.  “My name is none of your concern,” it said.  “I believe that we have something of an impasse.  You control most of our base, but you don’t control the command centre; we control the command centre and the nuclear warhead buried within the asteroid.  We can blow it and kill your men.”

“So it would seem,” Philip agreed.  It wasn't the done thing to negotiate with pirates, certainly not from a position of weakness.  “But if you blow the asteroid, you will blow yourself as well.”

“That is certainly true,” the voice agreed, “but what reason do we have to assume that our lives will be spared?”

Philip smiled, sensing the weakness hidden behind the cold tones.  “You have a choice,” he said.  “You can blow the base, or you can accept my offer.  We won’t kill you; we’ll tranship you to a reasonably habitable world and allow you to settle there.  You won’t have the ability to menace shipping any longer, but at least you’ll be alive.”

“Life on a farming world,” the voice said.  “We insist on retaining our personal banking cards and datachips.  That is not negotiable.”

Philip bit his lip to keep himself from laughing.  Instead, he hesitated just long enough to make sure that the pirates knew that he was considering it.  “Very well,” he said, finally.  They’d never realise, at least until it was far too late, that the promise was meaningless.  Their money wouldn't be any good on Asher Dales.  Apart from Hsu, cards and datachips issued by the various interstellar banking syndicates would be useless anywhere within the sector.  And they thought that they were putting one over on him!  “You can keep your cards and datachips.  Open the airlock.”

“Very well,” the voice said.  The airlock cracked open and two Marines moved to cover it.  “We may have something else to bargain with, if you like...”

The asteroid’s command crew looked surprisingly ordinary.  Only their faces betrayed their fear as the Marines searched them, and then bundled them down the corridors into a holding cell.  Marie specifically ordered them to be kept on the asteroid, just in case there were any other surprises buried within its rocky surroundings.  The interior of the control room was almost as mundane, although it had the same blend of old and new technology.  It was apparent, almost at once, that the pirates hadn't armed their base.  They’d known they couldn’t stand off a naval force.

Philip allowed himself a sigh of relief as reports started to come in from all over the base.  The pirates were surrendering and being separated from their slaves.  An entire base – and at least thirty starships – had been captured, with only a handful of friendly casualties.  It wasn't a bad day’s work, he told himself firmly, even if it had seemed like they would lose everything.  And the pirates in the sector would never recover from the blow.

His wristcom buzzed.  “Captain, this is Jenkins,” a voice said.  “There’s something here you should see, sir.”

There was something in his tone that made Philip’s blood run cold.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Weapons,” Philip said.

Jenkins nodded.  The secure storage bay – guarded by a security system they’d had to convince the prisoners to unlock – contained enough weaponry to outfit a small army.  Hand weapons and rifles rubbed shoulders with mortars and plasma cannons, armoured combat suits – first-generation models, part of Philip’s mind noted – were stacked next to mobile air defence weapons and ELINT nodes.  A planetary rebellion armed and trained to use the small arsenal could overwhelm almost any planet in the Einstein Sector – and cause no end of trouble on Avalon or any of the other worlds in the Commonwealth.  They’d be hunted down and exterminated in the end, but the death toll would be immense.

“I’ve not been able to locate any common pattern,” Jenkins said, briskly.  “The hand weapons are from a whole selection of different sources; the plasma cannons appear to be makeshifts run together in a specialist factory – about as traceless as you can get.  But this…”

He passed Philip a small black book.  “I found this with the manuals,” he said.  “Someone went to all the trouble of printing out the manuals, rather than just supplying the datachips for their readers.  That’s curious for someone born in this era, isn’t it?”

Philip studied the book and swore quietly to himself.  He’d read it before, back at the Academy, even though there were some that claimed that even possessing the book was a sign of seditious beliefs.  The Truth had been written by the man who’d founded – and shaped – the True Faith, the combination of all previous faiths that had – eventually – given birth to the Theocracy.  Philip remembered thinking that it was a pity that his dream had been so badly corrupted, but between internal and external factors, his followers had never had a chance.  They’d given birth to a cancer that would swallow up the entire Human Sphere if it wasn't stopped in its tracks.

“And if this book was here, it suggests that the Theocracy supplied the weapons,” Philip said, slowly.  He couldn’t imagine any pirate reading the book, or any other religious text – unless it was one that legitimized their actions.  How many religions permitted looting, raping and murdering throughout all of known space?  But then, the Theocracy permitted quite a few otherwise forbidden acts when the victim was an infidel.  “Is there anything else that might have come from them?”

“None of the weapons appear to be Theocracy-designed and produced,” Jenkins said.  He was the closest thing to an expert they had – and he had access to an open-source database downloaded from the RAMC before they’d departed Avalon.  “But that’s meaningless, sir.  They could easily have purchased the weapons using untraceable funds and shipped them out here, if they wanted to disguise their involvement.  But the book…”

It felt almost warm to the touch as Philip turned it over and over in his hands.  The Theocracy’s founder had commanded that each and every one of his followers was to carry a copy of his book with them at all times, if only so they would be able to study his wisdom and decide how to apply it to new situations.  Much of the advice was actually good – judge once you have the facts, not before; God helps those who help themselves – but other pieces had been written by a skilled and somewhat immoral psychologist.  A person who fell into the True Faith would find it very hard to break the mental shackles and leave, assuming that they were allowed to leave.

But finding one here might be nothing more than a clumsy attempt to frame the Theocracy for someone else’s operation.  Philip knew that they had to bear that in mind, yet how many other powers would be in a position to impose direct control over the sector?  The Commonwealth could have overrun it within a week – assuming the Assembly would condone a second grab for territory after Cadiz – and the Theocracy could have done the same, but anyone else would be operating on the end of an alarmingly long supply line.  He had trouble imagining anyone who understood power projection dreaming up such a scheme, let alone putting it into action.

And yet…might it not be a government at all?  Avalon was hardly the only interstellar power that had corporate influence within its government.  Someone with enough money could certainly have obtained the weapons and set out to build themselves an empire, daring any of the interstellar powers to stop him.  Philip knew that they wouldn’t stand a chance if the Commonwealth decided to knock them down, but the Commonwealth couldn’t…not without giving the Theocracy a golden opportunity to take on a diverted Commonwealth.  And the same applied to the Theocracy.  The interstellar balance of power might mandate leaving the newly-born star nation alone, independent.

He shook his head, scowling.  “Have the pirates interrogated,” he ordered, bluntly.  “I want to know everything about this place and its operations.  And then prepare them for transfer to Asher Dales.”

“Aye, sir,” Jenkins said.  “I’ll start on it at once.”

***
An hour later, Philip was more confused than he’d been the moment he’d seen the weapons – and the telltale book.  The pirates had admitted to storing and distributing the weapons, but they hadn’t known who they were working for – and they’d been paid enough to silence their questions.  Not that it would have mattered to them just whose money they took, Philip suspected, yet there would have been a chance for blackmail…he shook his head, puzzled and irritated.  Anyone who had access to the resources the masterminds had shown wouldn’t have needed to hire pirates to do anything, unless they wanted to deny everything if the balloon went up too soon.

“It makes no sense,” he protested to Tanya, who – after they’d searched the entire asteroid for traps and other unpleasant surprises – had finally been allowed to board.  Most of the surviving pirates were being transferred under armed guard to the freighter, where they would be held until they could be deposited on Asher Dales.  They’d been warned that any trouble would result in the entire freighter being vented and they appeared to believe the warning.  “Why would the Theocracy set up the entire plot and then leave an item behind that proved their presence?”

He’d passed the book to a Marine intelligence officer, who’d noted that it was very definitely a personal volume, one that should have remained with a Theocracy believer until the day he died.  And that puzzled Philip too.  What he’d heard suggested that the Theocracy’s leadership wouldn’t leave one of those books behind - unless they weren't true believers…he rolled his eyes at the thought.  A person who believed in God – and the possibility of divine justice – wouldn’t create a place like the Theocracy, let alone plan to expand to swallow up the entire Human Sphere.

“Maybe it was an accident,” Tanya suggested, after a moment.  “They might just have left it there and forgotten about it.  Or maybe it’s there to convince us that the Theocracy is involved when it’s really the Manchu Dynasty or the Edo Imperial Empire or…”

“All of those states would have problems defending this sector,” Philip pointed out, as they entered the conference chamber.  A handful of people stood there, waiting for them.  “Tanya, please allow me to introduce the true owners of this asteroid.”

He stepped back to allow Tanya to handle the diplomacy, which was something he preferred to avoid where possible.  The asteroid’s builders had left Earth long before the Breakaway Wars, back when humanity hadn’t grasped the true relationship between hyperspace and normal space.  They’d gotten hopelessly lost and eventually staggered out of hyperspace near the unnamed red star, without a hope in hell of getting anywhere they might be able to set up a planet-based colony.  Instead of giving up and committing suicide – as some other explorers had done – they’d started to build asteroid habitats that had provided enough living space for their entire population.  They’d even been redeveloping the beginnings of an advanced technological base when they’d been discovered by the pirates.  The pirates had recognised their vulnerability and moved in, threatening to crack the habitats open to force the settlers to surrender, allowing them to take over peacefully.  Since then, the settlers had been a combination of labour force and chattel slaves for the pirates, along with a number of kidnapped crewmen press-ganged into pirate service.  Their asteroids – with their women and children – had been mined with nuclear weapons.  Resistance would have meant the mass slaughter of their entire population.

“I think we can be fairly safe in stating that no one will consider you responsible for their crimes,” Philip said, once they’d discussed the fate of the captured pirates.  A handful seemed to have formed relationships with settler women, but most of the others were utter scum.  Philip hated himself for refusing permission for the settlers to lynch them all, yet there was no real choice.  He’d made a bargain with the pirates, after all, and the information they were providing was useful.  “I would suggest, however, that you allow us to set up a permanent base out here.”

He smiled at their reaction.  They were defenceless against pirates – and knew it.  The asteroid wasn't a full-scale shipyard, but it was better than anything else in the sector – at least until Quincy managed to move his shipyard to Asher Dales.  Combined with the talents of press-ganged merchant crewmen who’d formed links with the settlers, it would make an excellent repair yard for the navy.  And the captured ships would allow them to start running proper patrols and escort every freighter in the sector.  The pirates wouldn’t know what had hit them until it was far too late to prevent their being chased out of the region.  Let them go ply their trade somewhere else.

“Any of you who want to move to Asher Dales would be welcome,” Tanya added.  “We’re always looking for new settlers and you would definitely fit in with the population.”

Philip wasn’t so sure about that, but he held his tongue.  His relationship with Tanya seemed to have been put on hold while he’d commanded the Death By Stupidity into the pirate base; he certainly hadn’t been willing to allow her to risk herself on that mission.  And then there was Marie’s warning, nagging at the back of his mind.  Why was it, he asked himself silently, that women were far harder to understand than a starship’s main drives?  He would sooner have tried to fly one of the first spacecraft to leave Earth’s atmosphere than comprehend a woman.

“Many of us would be grateful,” the first settler explained.  The pirates had tried to prevent their slaves from setting up their own networks, but they hadn’t been able to watch each and every corner of the asteroids.  It was lucky that they did have a government, of sorts.  They’d soon be on their way to modern civilisation with a little help from Philip and his navy.  “But I think that many of us would prefer to stay where we are.  Planets are dangerous places for young children.”

Philip had to smile at Tanya’s expression.  Some societies – the RockRats being the most numerous of them – believed that planetary biospheres were only the cradle of human civilisation, not where the human race should live out its entire existence.  They built massive space habitats, places where they could control the entire environment as they pleased – although they hadn’t been able to prevent the spread of rats, cockroaches and even rabbits.  Philip tended to agree with them, even though many habitats were more vulnerable than a planetary environment.  If anyone ever did manage to develop force fields, perhaps there would be a mass exodus into space.

“I’d like to keep the fact we took this base quiet, for the moment,” he said.  Interrogating the pirates had revealed that an alarmingly large number of pirate vessels were out hunting for targets.  They’d come back one by one – and hopefully be captured before they realised that the base was in new hands.  If the navy was lucky, they might be able to wipe out most of the pirate vessels in the sector before word spread that the base was no longer a safe harbour.  “We’ll move the vessels and the captured pirates elsewhere and see what else falls into our net.”

Tanya nodded.  The pirates would be interrogated until they disclosed everything they knew, and then transported to Asher Dales.  Those who decided to serve on work gangs would be given a chance to earn their freedom; the remainder would be deposited on a large uninhabited island, where they could build their own society – or starve.  The choice would be theirs.  It was a better offer than anyone else would have granted to pirate scrum.  

Several hours passed slowly as the pirates were checked, processed and then loaded into the captured vessels.  Philip was more worried about that than he cared to admit.  While he had every confidence in the Marines he’d recruited to keep control of the prisoners, he was rather more worried about the militiamen.  They had done well fighting in the asteroid, but a starship’s interior was a dangerous place for a fight.  If the prisoners managed to break free, either through hidden command codes or sheer luck, the entire starship might be lost forever in hyperspace.  There were ghost stories about ships that were lost and never seen again.  Very few of them ended well.

“There’s an astonishing amount of supplies here,” Bartley informed him.  The pirates had stripped many vessels of experience components and then dumped them in the asteroid, seemingly abandoning them to rot away.  A RAN warehouse would have had the components sealed to prevent them from decaying before they were put to use.  “I think we’ve made a vast profit on our expenditure.”

Philip couldn’t disagree.  There were enough supplies to keep the captured vessels going for a few years, even if they couldn’t draw additional supplies from the Commonwealth or another more developed star system.  It added a dangerous weak point to his plans, however; they would need to leave a destroyer on duty at the asteroid, watching to be sure that no pirates managed to return and retake the asteroid base.  With one destroyer already permanently assigned to Asher Dales, it would only leave him one destroyer to use to respond to any sudden new threats.  At least they’d be able to start working up the pirate ships for use as part of the navy.  A couple of weeks would give them a force they could use to cover Asher Dales.

“Get a list of what we need and start transporting it to Asher Dales,” he ordered, after scanning the inventory.  A pair of Marines and a dozen militiamen had gone through the colossal piles and, according to their report, had barely touched more than a quarter of it.  Some of the supplies were actively dangerous to their owners, they’d noted.  What kind of idiot left canisters of cooling fluid near breathable atmosphere?  They were damn lucky they hadn’t sprung a leak, or they’d have wiped out half the asteroid before the emergency systems realised that there was a problem.  “And then make sure you get some sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, sir,” Bartley said.  He held up what looked like a prosthetic arm.  “Do you know what I can do with this?”  Philip shook his head.  “Neither do I, sir, but I’ll have a lot of fun finding out.”

***
“This is the largest fleet I have ever commanded,” Philip said, four days later.  Forty starships hung in a rough formation around Dasher, bound together by communications lasers.  The former pirate ships seemed to be in reasonable shape for pirate vessels, although Philip suspected that they hadn’t even begun to root out all the traps and unpleasant surprises left in their computer cores.  “And I don’t have enough ships to patrol this entire sector.”

Tanya shrugged.  “I think you’d be able to capture more,” she said.  “How in the name of the universe am I going to explain all this to my father?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Philip said, dryly.  He glanced down at his wristcom, which was counting down the seconds to Asher Dales.  Harmon needed practice commanding a starship coming out of hyperspace, in preparation for his assignment to one of the captured light warships.  The Asher Dales Navy was suffering from an embarrassment of riches; instead of having too many crew and too few ships, they now had too many ships and too few crew.  Philip had spent two days grappling with the problem of stripping experienced men out of his original ships to crew the captured vessels before deciding that some of the ships would have to be held in reverse.  “Anyway…”

He indicated the eerie lights of hyperspace as they started to roll into a funnel of energy, directly ahead of their position.  A dark patch appeared, expanding into a vision of normal space, glowing with pinpricks of light that represented stars.  Dasher roared out of hyperspace and settled into normal space, followed by her consorts.  Philip allowed himself a sigh of relief that wasn't entirely feigned.  He had confidence in Harmon, but the Captain was always responsible for the safety of his ship.  It had taken hours of mental struggle before he’d convinced himself to watch from the observation blister rather than hover around the bridge.  

An alarm sounded; the red alert siren, calling the crew to battle stations.  Philip was on his way out the hatch before his wristcom chirped, calling him to the bridge at once.  He made it there in record time, nodding to the Marine who’d opened the hatch as soon as he’d heard his commanding officer running down the corridor.  Harmon was on his feet, staring at a single red icon dominating the main display.

“As you were,” Philip said.  Red alert was no time for salutes.  “Report!”

“Captain,” Harmon said, and then swallowed, hard.  “Captain, sensors are picking up one heavy cruiser in orbit around Asher Dales.”  There was a long, almost pregnant pause.  “Her IFF identifies her as a Theocracy ship, sir.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Philip swallowed an urge to curse out loud.

“Check the IFF,” he ordered, grimly.  A single heavy cruiser could tear his formation apart before he could order an immediate retreat.  They didn’t seem to be firing, but then they weren't in range – yet.  He hadn’t anticipated a threat upon their return to Asher Dales.  “Confirm that that’s a Theocracy ship and run it against the database – let me know what we have on the bastard.”

He settled back into his command chair and tried to project an image of calm.  Inside, he was nervous, grimly aware that the visitation might herald bad news – or the start of the war.  The Theocracy wouldn’t have cut loose a heavy cruiser unless they intended to avoid war…or would they?  One heavy cruiser wouldn’t make a difference to the titanic fleets that would clash on the Cadiz border.

“The database reports that she is a Type-XI heavy cruiser, indigenous class and designation unknown,” Harmon reported.  The specifications – or ONI’s best guess at her specifications – flickered up on Philip’s private display.  Very little was known about the Theocracy’s designs, but ONI had observed a number of their warships and believed that Type-XI ships were missile-heavy, designed for long-range duels than close-quarter combat with energy weapons.  The Commonwealth preferred more versatile ships; there was a note in the database that the class had first been observed ten years ago and could easily have been refitted since it had first been launched.  There was no way to know short of taking the ship intact, or watching what happened when she opened fire.  “She is running a standard active sensor scan, but she isn’t actively targeting us.”

Philip frowned, puzzled.  The time to contact was ticking down alarmingly fast; surely, if the Theocracy had come to take the planet, they would have opened fire by now.  There was nothing to be gained by allowing a small squadron armed with energy weapons into energy weapons range, not when the squadron could be devastated by missile fire before it could hope to do more than scratch the heavy cruiser’s paint.  If they weren't targeting his ships…did that mean they came in peace?  It seemed unlikely.  What deals the Theocracy made, judging by past experience, lasted as long as they found it convenient to keep them.  They would break their agreements the moment they found that they served no further useful purpose.

The tactical console chimed.  “They are hailing us,” Harmon said, in surprise.  “The message ID header names her as the Warrior of the Lord, commanded by Captain Rican.  There’s no mention of him in our databases.”

Philip wasn't surprised.  ONI had been trying to figure out who was who in the Theocracy, but outside the Sultan himself and a handful of senior officers it was an impossible task.  The Theocracy kept a lock on all information that might allow Commonwealth officers to understand the men behind the titles and positions.  This Captain Rican might be a fanatic, or a more thoughtful, careful personage – or someone who resented being exiled to the Einstein Sector when the shit was about to hit the fan at Cadiz.  Or he might be an unimaginative martinet.  There was no way to know for sure.

He straightened in his command chair.  “Put him through,” he ordered.  “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

Communications equipment was about the only equipment on starships that was almost interchangeable from one interstellar power to the next – not that Philip would have attached a communications module from the Theocracy to any of his ships, just in case there was an unpleasant surprise or two attached.  The display changed instantly, revealing a dark-skinned hawk-nosed face, smiling broadly.  It was focused in on the Theocracy Captain’s face, refusing to show any of the bridge behind him, a fairly simple security precaution.  Philip hadn’t bothered; the specifications for destroyers like Dasher were a matter of common knowledge.  Unless the Theocracy was truly alien, its intelligence services had probably copied a great deal of public data – and claimed that it was a really neat piece of espionage.   Spooks had more in common with each other than the societies they were supposed to support.

“Captain” – he corrected himself after a flicker of hesitation – “Commodore Larson,” the Theocracy Captain said.  He spoke Standard English with only a faint trace of an accent, rather than relying on any automated translation software.  That spoke well of him, Philip reminded himself.  Translation software sometimes produced howlers that could cause offence – which could in turn cause a war.  “I am Captain Rican, representing the Theocracy of the True Faith.”

“Commodore Larson, commanding the Asher Dales Naval Service,” Philip said, tightly.  Captain Rican appeared to be enjoying himself, which didn’t bode well – or maybe he was just enjoying the chance to show off his ship to a hopelessly-outmatched force.  “Might I ask you to state the purpose of your visit?”

“I merely wish to hold converse with the planet’s governors,” Captain Rican said, calmly.  “And I wished to see for myself the reputed force that has terrified pirates throughout the entire sector.”

Philip scowled inwardly, hearing a note of mockery running through the Theocrat’s tone.  Between the three destroyers, they’d accounted for seven pirate ships destroyed, along with a pirate base – and a number of captured starships.  Perhaps they’d made an impression on the pirates already, but he rather doubted it.  They didn’t tend to advertise their losses.  Unless, of course, the Theocracy was secretly backing them behind the scenes; they’d have heard about many of the losses.

But that doesn’t quite add up, he thought, grimly.  Captain Rican couldn’t have learned about the captured base when no one outside his squadron knew that it had been taken.  Unless there had been a cloaked ship hiding within the system, watching events ad reporting to Captain Rican and his crew.  But then…why would they give away its presence to Asher Dales…?

“Under the terms of the Albion Conventions, I am pleased to welcome you to Asher Dales,” he said.  It was a lie and he knew that Captain Rican knew that it was a lie, but there was no other choice.  The Albion Conventions granted certain rights to even small and relatively puny star systems, yet they didn’t include the right to refuse visits from more powerful interstellar powers.  They’d been drawn up in the wake of the anti-terrorist wars that had plagued the first centuries of expansion into space.  “I trust that you and your crew will behave themselves in line with the planet’s laws?”

“I am sure that they will,” Captain Rican said, with equal insincerity.  Philip kept his face expressionless.  The bastard was enjoying himself.  He’d almost sooner face a salvo of missiles; it might have been lethal, but it would also be honest.  “But as it happens, only a handful of my crewmen will visit the surface.  I do not wish to expose them to theological contamination.”

Philip nodded.  At least that was standard, although the reasons behind it were a great deal more mundane than Captain Rican suggested.  The Theocracy’s most populated worlds were literally bursting at the seams, the result of their ‘go forth and multiply’ philosophy combined with forbidden genetic modifications that made multiple births the norm among their women.  A Theocrat grew up amidst incredible deprivation, forced to struggle for food while being harangued by clerics into becoming a loyal and accepting follower of God – which meant an unquestioning obedience of the Theocracy’s leadership.  Who knew what would happen if they saw Asher Dales, or Avalon, or even Cadiz?  They’d start to question the lies they’d been told from birth.

“In which case, I look forward to hosting you at a reception in your honour,” Philip said, smoothly.  Alcohol was technically forbidden in the Theocracy – which didn’t stop its representatives drinking themselves senseless while visiting other worlds.  It would be interesting to see what Captain Rican had to say while drunk.  “And if you wish to discuss further patrols…”

Captain Rican held up a hand.  “I have been…requested to inform you that the planet Jordan has applied to join the Theocracy,” he said.  There was an odd expression, just for a second, on his face, one that Philip found hard to read.  Who could make a request of a starship commander…he swallowed a curse under his breath.  The Theocracy ensured that each starship carried a Cleric, who was – to all intents and purposes – the true commander of the ship.  “Once the formalities have been completed, we will insist on full participation within the sector’s defence force.”

He smiled, rather less pleasantly this time.  “Thank you for welcoming us to your planet, Commodore,” he concluded.  “I’m sure we will enjoy ourselves immensely.”

***
The Theocracy’s shuttle could be heard long before it came into view, although it was being tracked by Dasher and the handful of automated sensor platforms that had been emplaced into orbit around Asher Dales.  Philip straightened up, silently grateful that Asher Dales had yet to design a proper dress uniform for its officers and men, and looked over at Barrington.  The Chairman looked shocked by the sudden shift in events; he’d even wondered aloud if the Theocrats had been lying about Jordan’s sudden decision to join the Theocracy.  Philip wasn't so surprised.  Cassandra’s warnings about the Theocratic refugees on the planet’s surface had prepared him for the worst.

“You know, we don’t have to let him land,” Tanya pointed out, from where she was standing next to Philip.  “We could claim that…”

Philip shook his head.  “Old joke,” he said.  “Where does a five hundred pound gorilla sit?”

Tanya blinked in surprise.  “I don’t know,” she said.  “Where does a five hundred pound gorilla sit?”

“Anywhere he wants to,” Philip said.  He smiled at her expression.  “I doubt that the person the gorilla sat on found the punchline very funny either.”

He looked up at her.  She was beautiful, even wearing the shapeless smock he’d recommended.  God alone knew how Captain Rican would react to being greeted by a woman, but – in theory – the Albion Conventions would prevent him from taking overt insult.  Philip had less faith in the conventions than many others in the RAN; who, in the Einstein Sector, was going to enforce them?  It was tempting to hope that a nasty incident on Asher Dales would convince the rest of the civilised galaxy to unite against the Theocracy, but that was nothing more than wishful thinking.  The civilised galaxy might be quietly grateful that the Commonwealth barred the Theocracy’s path to their doors, yet they weren't going to get off their butts and do anything helpful.  As long as the wolf couldn’t get to them, they weren't going to lose sleep…

The thought was a bitter one, underlined by the growing howl as the shuttle finally came into view.  It was a huge boxy shape, clearly intended as something more than a mere personnel shuttle.  Philip suspected that it was actually the Theocracy’s version of a Marine Landing Craft, complete with bulkheads that could be ejected out into the atmosphere, allowing the Marines to dive out of their transport and fall towards the ground.  The handful of passive sensors he’d scattered around the spaceport revealed no active sensor emissions that might signal an incoming attack, but that proved nothing.  They wouldn’t have any difficulty targeting the city manually if they intended to launch a surprise attack.

He shook his head as the craft came to a halt and slowly lowered itself to the ground.  The Theocracy didn’t need to play games, not with a single heavy cruiser in orbit around Asher Dales.  It didn’t take a tactical genius to know that Philip’s squadron – both his destroyers and the captured pirate craft – were hopelessly outgunned, particularly if they didn’t have the chance to prepare the battlefield ahead of time.  They could simply have taken the planet if they wanted to take it, so why play games?

The craft grounded itself and the front hatch opened without fanfare, revealing Captain Rican, a man dressed in long black robes, and a handful of men who were clearly the Theocracy’s version of marines.  Captain Rican led the way down the gangplank, saluted the flag – as interstellar custom dictated – and then saluted the city council.  His eyes flickered over Tanya once – there was no hesitation, at least as far as Philip could see – and then he looked away from her.  The black-robed man – the Cleric, Philip guessed – looked more annoyed, but said nothing.

“Welcome to Asher Dales,” Barrington said, after the salutes had finished.  “It is my pleasure to invite you to share our food and drink.”

“I’m sure it is,” Captain Rican said, with the same hint of amusement he’d shown Philip, back while they were exchanging pleasantries on their respective bridges.  “I would be honoured to share your food and drink.”

Philip watched with a growing sense that the whole scene was surreal as the Theocrats were shown around the capital city.  Judging from the reports Philip had heard, the Theocracy had cities almost as large as the mega-cities of Earth had been, but they seemed to take Asher Dales in stride.  Perhaps Captain Rican and his Cleric had travelled to many other worlds, in line with their duties, or perhaps they’d just been trained not to reveal much of anything to the observers.  The Cleric even added a few questions of his own about the single wooden church in part of the city, expressing his admiration of the simple structure.

The city seemed quieter than normal, Philip noted, as they reached the Town Hall.  At his suggestion, many of the city’s population had retreated to their homes – particularly their young and attractive daughters.  It was starting to look like he’d panicked for nothing, but he refused to discount his paranoia.  The Theocracy had some underhand reason for being in the sector, one that required an entire heavy cruiser to back it up.  Yet…if they had that much firepower on call, why bother with the pirates at all?

“We are proud of our fresh food,” Barrington explained, waving towards the tables as the council and its unwanted guests sat down to dine.  They’d cooked beef, turkey and chicken for their guests, following a long debate over if it was permissible to serve pork to Theocrats.  In truth, the sources seemed to differ; the Theocracy had grown out of religions that forbade pork, but the first Theocrats had always seemed to be more practical than their ancestors.  “I trust that you will enjoy it as a change from shipboard rations.”

Philip barely touched his plate, watching carefully as the Theocrats declined wine and beer, choosing to drink fresh water instead.  Their conversation was confusing; at times, they seemed to be threatening and at other times they seemed to be merely making harmless conversation.  He did manage to pull out a few useful nuggets from the conversation; Jordan had held an election, a pro-Theocracy party had taken power, and then they’d invited the Theocracy in.  Philip knew that it had all been planned in advance.  It would have taken at least two months – perhaps longer – for the Theocracy to send any reinforcements to Jordan, even if one of their senior officials had acted without referring the question to the Sultan.  They had to have planned it in advance.

“I understand that not all of the planet’s population agreed with the new regime,” he said, smoothly.  “Can we provide transport for them to depart?”

“Of course,” Captain Rican said, with equal smoothness.  He knew what he was doing, all right.  Philip found himself wanting to challenge the bastard to a duel, perhaps pistols at dawn.  “The Theocracy has long held it to be true that an unwilling conversion is a sin – and to force people to convert is a sinful act.”

And that was a lie, Philip knew.  But it was an important detail, all the same.  Having the chance to pull refugees from Jordan would allow them a glimpse at what – if anything – the Theocracy was doing in that system.  If they’d detailed an entire heavy cruiser to Jordan, who knew what else they might have attached to the mission?  A handful of outdated starships would be useless on the main war front, but they’d be able to dominate the entire sector.

“But we do fear the Commonwealth’s involvement in this sector,” the Cleric added, roughly.  “A Commonwealth Navy starship kidnapped the Princess Jasmine, sister to the Sultan himself.  We have grounds to worry about the aims of a power that annexed Cadiz despite the will of its people.”

Philip bit down the response that came to mind.  The Theocracy wouldn’t have tried to help the people of Cadiz; they’d crush all resistance and start redesigning their society from the ground up.  They’d done it before and it was the fate they had in mind for Avalon if they won the war.  Philip knew that he would die before allowing it to happen.

“But the Commonwealth is not involved in this sector,” Barrington said, flatly.  “We merely bought starships and hired some of their former naval personnel to operate them.”

”But they have ambitions and designs on your planets,” Captain Rican said.  “You really ought to watch your backs.”

***
“Curious,” Philip said, two days later.  The Theocrats had been wandering around the planet, but they hadn’t caused any trouble.  It was almost too good to be true.  “What do they think they’re doing?”

“Hammering away at your reputation,” Tanya said.  “Greg Farnham has been asking about your loyalties; can we really trust a person we pay to fight for us?

Philip snorted.  He could see their point, but really…where else could he hope to command a navy of his own?  “I think he’d be better off authorising me to recruit more cadets,” he said.  “Ten years and…”

He broke off as his wristcom buzzed.  “Commodore,” Marie’s voice said, “we’ve got a problem.  The shit has just hit the fan.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The two girls lay on the bed, their bodies decently covered with sheets that didn’t – quite – hide the bloodstains.  They made a pitiful sight; one barely old enough to develop breasts, the other older, wiser and – apparently – engaged to a farmhand near the city.  Both of them had had their lives in front of them.

Philip looked away, cursing his weakness.  He’d seen death before – and he’d seen the residue left behind by pirate attacks – but this was different.  The girls had been raped and murdered on his watch, when they were supposed to be under his protection.  And he’d failed them.  They’d all failed them.

“We know who did it,” Marie said.  There was a bitter tone to her voice, a grim awareness that events could spiral out of control – that in fact they might already be out of control.  “Two of the Theocracy’s visitors were caught near the bodies by the locals – we’re damn lucky they weren’t lynched on the spot.  We checked their DNA against the remains and confirmed their guilt.”

Philip looked down at his hands, trying to think.  The Theocracy might have ordered its own people to carry out the atrocity, hoping that the locals would execute or lynch the two suspects and give them an excuse to invade Asher Dales.  Or it might have been against the express orders of the Theocracy…not that it would matter, in the end.  The Theocracy wouldn’t be too keen on allowing a piss-ante little planet any rights over its own people, whatever the Albion Conventions might say.  And the Albion Conventions forbade the use of truth drugs and lie detectors without permission from the suspects’ superior officers.  There was no way to know if it was a deliberate provocation or merely something the Theocracy could turn to their advantage?

“I’m afraid the word is already out,” Marie said, softly.  “The people who caught them will have been calling their friends, who will have been calling their friends…”

She didn’t have to spell it out for him.  Asher Dales might have had thousands of armed men on the grounds, but none of them could prevent a heavy cruiser from dropping Kinetic Energy Weapons on Asher Dales until whatever remained of the planet surrendered unconditionally.  Or the Theocracy might launch a number of armoured soldiers to crush opposition; there was nothing on Asher Dales, apart from the Marines that were part of Philip’s squadron, who could stand up to them.  And a heavy cruiser could carry hundreds of Marines.  Given how attractive the Theocracy was to its own people, Philip wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that half of the ship’s personnel were made up of Janissaries or other security troops.

“So the council will want them to be tried here and the Theocracy will refuse to allow them to be tried here,” Philip said, bitterly.  There was no way to avoid confronting the elephant in the room.  They couldn’t stand off the heavy cruiser long enough for help to arrive, even if anyone was interested in sending help.  “What the hell do we do?”

Marie beckoned to him and nodded towards a one-way window, looking into a prison cell.  Both Theocrats were sitting on the bench, looking as if they’d been badly beaten by the men who’d captured them.  Philip cursed again.  The Theocracy couldn’t have asked for a better excuse to carry out punitive strikes if they’d organised it personally.  Under the Albion Conventions, mistreatment of foreign nationals was strictly prohibited.  The Theocracy itself paid no attention to such rules, but Asher Dales was not in a strong position.  Philip was starting to think that it had been deliberate provocation after all.

He lifted his wristcom to his lips.  “Code Blue,” he said, shortly.  “I say again, Code Blue.”

The signal would be flashed to the remainder of the squadron within seconds, following a contingency plan Philip had hoped never to have to use.  Dasher, her two sister ships and the captured pirate ships would go to battle stations, without revealing any hint of their changed status to the Theocracy cruiser.  It probably wouldn’t matter – sitting in orbit as they were, they were alarmingly within missile range of the Theocracy ship – but at least it might allow some of his squadron the chance to land striking blows on the enemy vessel.  Indeed, if they were lucky, they might just cripple her…unless, of course, the Theocracy had a whole secret shipyard out in the Einstein Sector.  If they’d thought so far ahead, everything Philip could or would do would have been anticipated and countermeasures planned and prepared.  

“We could simply execute them now and dare the Theocracy to do anything about it,” Marie said, thoughtfully.  “Perhaps they wouldn’t make a fuss if we acted without consulting anyone else.”

Philip shook his head.  “They’d never allow the precedent to stand,” he said.  RAN commanders had wide latitude to safeguard their personnel from foreign law enforcement officers.  They even had permission to commit acts of war to recover or protect their own personnel, if they believed the person to be innocent.  Even if guilty, Commonwealth law was supposed to hold sway – and to hell with the Albion Conventions.  “They’d demand the council’s heads, at the very least – more likely, they’d want heavy concessions that would turn Asher Dales into one of their puppet states.  A few hundred thousand colonists from the Theocracy and they’d go the same way as Jordan.”

“Assuming that Jordan did go that way,” Marie reminded him.  “We only have their word for it, sir.”

“True,” Philip agreed.  He looked down at the broken bodies, shaking his head.  “Does it strike you that the weak must always feel ashamed of their own weakness?”

“I believe the last time a state believed it could push everyone else around ended in the Breakaway Wars,” Marie said, briskly.  “There has to be some way to deal with this without provoking further trouble…”

Philip scowled at her, and then started to smile as an idea occurred to him.  “I want you to invite Captain Rican down to the surface,” he said.  “Tell him I’ve something I’d like him to see.”

***
Somewhat to Philip’s surprise, Captain Rican had come with only one escort, the ever-present Cleric who ensured that he wasn't harbouring any blasphemous – or treasonous, as the two were intermingled according to the Theocracy – thoughts.  Philip had expected him to bring a bodyguard or two, particularly if he knew that the rapists had been caught and held for trial.  Captain Rican must have considered the possibility that Philip would take him hostage, although with the heavy cruiser in orbit, it would have been an immensely risky stunt.

“I want you to see this,” Philip said.  He pulled back the curtains, exposing the two broken bodies.  The Cleric started to splutter in the mixture of English, Arabic and Farsi that comprised the Theocracy’s official language, while Captain Rican looked unmoved.  His face was impassive – but then, being able to conceal one’s innermost thoughts would be a blessing in the Theocracy.  Someone with enough intelligence to command a starship would understand the atrocities the Theocracy tolerated in the name of God, to say nothing of how their duel command structure impeded military operations.  “We found them two hours ago.”

He’d used the time to make some other preparations.  One of the smaller pirate vessels had been given a new crew and directed to a position where it could slip into hyperspace and evade the Theocracy cruiser if necessary.  Tracking a small fast vessel though hyperspace wasn't particularly easy – even if the pursuing ship followed the target directly into hyperspace instead of being delayed by enemy action.  A few minutes between the two vortexes and hunting down the target would become impossible.  And the Theocracy would have seen his preparations.

“They were…raped and murdered by two of your personnel,” Philip continued, watching Captain Rican carefully.  There was no sign of an overt reaction, but he thought he detected a flicker of…disgust behind his dark eyes.  “We have those two in custody.”

“How dare you?”  The Cleric demanded, angrily.  His English was badly accented, his anger pushing his sophistication to the side.  “How dare you accuse noble warriors of the Theocracy of forcing themselves upon chaste young women?”  His eyes narrowed, sharply.  “I have no doubt that the sluts exposed themselves and lured the warriors into a state of sin…”

“…Whereupon they committed suicide using your men’s fists to beat themselves to death?”  Philip asked, dryly.  “While we have refrained from using any form of coercive interrogations, as laid down by the Albion Conventions, we have taken genetic samples from them and compared the samples against the wounds and…sperm residue on the bodies.  They are guilty, your holiness, and the wounds suggest that they forced themselves on the girls.”

“I refuse to believe it,” the Cleric snapped.  “I demand that you hand the two men over to us at once, so we can safeguard them from the mob gathering outside this building.”

Philip scowled.  Word had indeed spread – and they hadn’t been able to discourage the increasingly angry crowd from massing outside.  He’d deliberately not involved the council, giving them a fig leaf to disown him if necessary, but that meant that the councillors couldn’t try to convince the crowd to disperse.  Privately, Philip doubted that they could convince the crowd to go, not when it clearly wanted blood.  But was the blood of two guilty men worth more than the lives of their families?

“Under the Albion Conventions, we have the right to try those men for crimes against the civilian population,” Philip pointed out, evenly.  He was growing confused by the relationship between Captain Rican and his Cleric.  Surely the Cleric was in charge…and yet, Captain Rican seemed happy to allow him to embarrass himself, while watching from the sidelines.  “You have the right to supply observers, but…”

“The Commonwealth did not honour that requirement at Cadiz,” the Cleric said, coldly.  “We will not honour it here.  Show us these men, so that we may check that they are alive and well in your custody, so that we may pray for their safe return…”

Philip nodded slowly and led them over to the one-way window.  The Cleric let out a shriek of horror as soon as he saw their injuries, spluttering away again in the Theocracy’s language.  He wasn't to know that Philip had taken the precaution of recording everything that happened in the chamber and would have it translated later – if there was a later.  Captain Rican seemed more amused than annoyed, although it was hard to tell.  His superiors were even less forgiving than Admiral Morrison…

…Who, if there was any truth to the Theocracy’s claims, had kidnapped a Theocratic princess and taken her to the Commonwealth.  Philip privately didn’t believe a word of it; Admiral Morrison couldn’t have found his own cock without help from a navigation officer, let alone carry out a snatch-and-grab mission on Abdullah itself.  It was far more likely that the Theocracy was trying to create an excuse for war – and someone on Abdullah had dreamed up the whole story as part of a plan to ‘prove’ that the Commonwealth had started the fighting.  No one in their right mind would believe that such a story was true.

Philip took a breath and gambled, praying that his suspicions and instincts were correct.  “Let’s stop talking around the issue, shall we?”  He asked Captain Rican, who seemed inclined to agree.  “We have checked and re-checked the DNA residue and we are confident that we have the guilty men.  If you wish, you may send down one of your own doctors to confirm our results – which, you should know, the Albion Conventions permit.  However, because their crimes were against the civilians on this planet, we have a right to try them on this planet.”

“You have no rights over our men,” the Cleric thundered, angrily.  “You will hand them over or we will bombard your planet back into the Stone Age!”

“Except then the entire galaxy would know what you tried to pull,” Philip said.  He was still looking at Captain Rican.  “I believe that these two thugs were ordered to create an incident that could be used to justify annexing this world.  You haven’t sent down any other ‘ordinary crewmen’ so I suspect that they are really working for one of your secret services.  And the reports – everything from their capture to the DNA results, and everything that happens in this chamber – are being broadcast to a ship ready to slip into hyperspace and escape.”

He kept his eyes fixed on the Captain.  “That ship will go directly to Hsu, where it will download the reports to the courier ships based there, and then it will head onwards to the nearest StarCom unit,” he continued.  “Everyone who has an interest in this sector will know that you tried to create an incident on Asher Dales – and you know that there are at least four other major interstellar powers that have interests on their own in this sector.  Do you really wish to convince them to send more ships here, or to support the Commonwealth if war does break out?”

“They would not believe you,” the Cleric said, flatly.  “Do you really expect that your cowardly evasions would save you from just punishment for your crimes against true believers?”

Philip smiled back.  “Can you afford to take the chance of getting more interstellar powers alarmed about your intentions?”  He countered.  “Do you really want to win here and lose elsewhere?”

Captain Rican held up a hand before the Cleric could say another word.  “I take your point, Commodore,” he said, firmly.  “Perhaps I could have a few words with my…errant personnel?”

“Of course you may,” Philip said.  He opened the door.  Both men looked up, and then cringed away when they saw their commanding officer.  They’d failed – and the Theocracy tended to regard failure as punishment from God.  The converse of ‘God helps those who help themselves’ was ‘God doesn’t help those who expect Him to do all the work.’  “I’m sorry about their injuries, but…”

Captain Rican ignored him, striding up to the first captive and drawing a curved blade from his belt.  Philip watched, shocked, as he sliced the captive’s throat wide open and left him bleeding out on the table.  The second captive started to plead frantically with Captain Rican, but his former commanding officer ignored him too, executing him in the same manner.  There had to have been something on the blade, part of Philip’s mind noted dispassionately; the blood seemed to be flowing freely, without congealing at all.  The former captives gasped helplessly as they bled out and died, the Cleric murmuring something under his breath as they breathed their last.  Captain Rican studied the bloodstained blade for a long moment, and then wiped it slowly and painstakingly on a cloth he’d produced from a small pouch on his belt.  As soon as it was clean, he returned the blade to its concealed scabbard.

“The Theocracy does not permit such scrum to enlist within its ranks and remain sinners,” Captain Rican said.  His tone was almost conversational, but Philip had the odd impression that he was addressing the Cleric as much as he was Philip and Marie.  “It is the duty of their commanding officer to purify them and – should they fail to meet the high standards expected of them – to purge them from the Theocracy.  I trust that you will consider the guilty parties to have been punished for their crimes?”

Philip nodded, still shocked.  A Commonwealth Captain did – as a final resort – have the authority to order a member of his crew executed, but it was rarely used.  Philip had certainly never had to invoke that particular authority.  Captain Rican had cut the Gordian knot rather nicely, he had to admit.  The rapists had been punished and whatever they might have told their Commonwealth interrogators had been lost with them.  

“I will, for which I think you,” Philip said, finally.  Something had passed between Captain Rican and his Cleric, but what?  A power struggle or something much more serious, perhaps something that would impact on the oncoming war?  “Do you wish the bodies to be returned to you?”

“I think not,” Captain Rican said.  He didn’t sound concerned.  “As unbelievers, the proof of their apostasy found in their deeds, they have no place in the walls of honour, no hope of rising among the honoured dead.  Bury them here or burn their bodies or throw them into the primary star – we do not care.  We will be leaving your world shortly.”

With that, he swept out majestically, his Cleric following in his wake.  Philip watched him go, and then breathed a long sigh of relief.  They’d won – or had they?  He’d known that they couldn’t have won if Captain Rican had attacked Asher Dales, rather than talking – and killing two of his own crew.  It simply didn’t make sense; the rapists might have been part of a deliberate provocation, or they might have simply decided to have some fun.  And their own commanding officer had murdered – executed – them in cold blood.

He shook his head.  It simply didn’t make sense.

***
Three hours later, he stood on Dasher’s bridge as the Warrior of the Lord opened a vortex and vanished into hyperspace.  He’d expected something – an attack, demands of some kind – but instead they’d just left.  Thwarted, or…what?  There was no way to know for sure.

“They’re gone, sir,” Harmon reported.  He hesitated.  “We could send Dancer to shadow her…”

“Not a good idea,” Philip said, reluctantly.  It was a good idea – and, if he’d had more ships, he would have adopted it.  “General signal; I want all commanding officers to meet with me via holographic communications network, one hour from now.”

“Aye, sir,” Harmon said.

Philip nodded and returned to his own thoughts.

Chapter Thirty

“I think we all know why we are here,” Philip said.  The holographic conference was as secure as the latest (obtainable) security gear had been able to make it.  No one from Asher Dales had been invited to the conference.  “There is a very definite Theocracy presence in this sector.  If we didn’t know that before the heavy cruiser showed up, we sure as hell do now.  And that raises a question.”

His gaze swept from image to image.  “What the hell do we do now?”

He held up a hand before anyone could speak.  “As I see it, the Theocracy is backing pirates in this sector with two separate objectives; weaken the interest of the outside universe in this sector and running arms to dissident groups on various colony worlds.  God knows there’s always someone dissatisfied with the status quo, even on Avalon.  The Theocrats wouldn’t have any problems finding and supporting such a group.  We have to assume that that’s what they did on Jordan.”

“Jordan did have a large population of refugees from the Theocracy,” Captain Schifrin reminded him.  “Chances are that the version of events we heard from the Theocrat bastard is largely accurate.  They’ve certainly had a fair amount of practice at subverting political systems and then abolishing them.”

Philip nodded.  “I can’t disagree with that,” he agreed.  “Furthermore, we have this absurd claim that the Commonwealth kidnapped a Theocracy princess…”

“You’d think they could come up with something a bit more plausible if they’re laying the groundwork for a war,” Marie sneered.  “Even a person who knows almost nothing about the Holy Joes will know that they have a very limited idea of a woman’s place.  Barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen – not serving on starships, not like civilised planets.  They have to have come up with the most outrageous story possible.”

“Unless they counted on the very unlikelihood of the story as a way to convince people sitting on the fence,” Nonagon pointed out, mildly.  “It’s such an absurd story that it pretty much has to be true.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Philip said.  He frowned down at the display, which was showing transit times from Avalon to Asher Dales – and transit times between several other stars where they might pick up news from the Commonwealth.  “We have to assume that war is imminent – in fact, that it might already have been declared.  It will be at least three weeks before we hear anything from the Commonwealth, or any of the other independent colonies in the direction of the war front.  The war may have started already and we wouldn’t know anything about it.”

“They won’t know anything about it either,” Nonagon pointed out.  “They wouldn’t have risked setting up an FTL communications station out here, not where they couldn’t defend it without a major – and detectable – commitment.  Chances are that they’re just as much in the dark as we are.”

“Which may be why they backed down from pressing the issue of the two rapists,” Philip said, flatly.  “Does anyone have any reason for assuming that that wasn't a put-up job?”

“Just one,” Marie said.  “Why use two men in such an operation when they won’t be able to repeat it?  I was expecting them to press the issue and bully Asher Dales into granting them basing rights in exchange for not blasting the settlement back into orbit.  Why didn’t they push the issue?”

“The war may not have begun,” Philip said.  “They may have felt that if we proved resistant to their bullying, they might as well write the two men off and forget the issue, rather than risk involving other interstellar powers in this sector.”

“Charming way of dealing with it,” Nonagon commented, dryly.  “Do you think the two bastards knew that they were going to be executed by their own commander?”

“I think they might have suspected something,” Philip agreed.  “But then…they wouldn’t want them talking to us, would they?  Who knows what they might tell us?”

He cleared his throat.  “But we’re getting away from the issue at hand,” he continued.  “They have effectively invited us to visit Jordan; I intend to take them up on their offer.  We’ll take the heavy colonist-carrier we liberated from the pirate base and use it to transport anyone who wants to leave Jordan, rather than experience the joys of the Theocratic paradise.  And…we’re also going to be taking along one of the smaller scout ships.  I want someone watching the system that cannot be silenced in a hurry.”

Marie’s image leaned forward.  “I would like to address another issue,” she said, firmly.  “I was informed that this…whole outfit would be operating as an independent force, rather than part of the RAN.  Commodore – are we doing the Commonwealth’s dirty work out here?”

Philip shook his head.  “As far as I know, all of us are working directly for Asher Dales, first and foremost,” he said.  “I have no connection with any Commonwealth intelligence service – and, to the best of my knowledge, no one else within the squadron has any active connection either.  However, if the Theocracy is intent on annexing this sector, I do not intend to leave the Commonwealth uninformed of this danger.”

“But that assumes they can do anything about it,” Nonagon said, grimly.  “They’re not likely to spare a squadron of heavy cruisers with support ships – and that’s what we’ll need if we have to fight their big bastard.  Our three ships will be shot to pieces before they can get into energy weapons range of the brute.”

“True,” Philip agreed.  In fact, he had a series of ideas that might allow the squadron – once the pirate ships were refitted and crews trained from the captured merchant spacers – to at least hold its own.  But Nonagon was right.  They were going to get their asses soundly kicked even if they won.  “But we do have to warn them.  In the long term, a strong Theocratic presence in this sector means that the Commonwealth will be threatened from two different borders.  And that will be disastrous.”

“Not if they can’t hold their new territories,” Marie pointed out.  “We could certainly make life miserable for any would-be Theocratic settlers on Asher Dales.”

“They’d only need to drop a hundred thousand or so settlers and they’d have an unbeatable demographic advantage,” Philip countered.  “There simply isn’t a high average population within this sector.  A few million settlers all armed and trained according to Theocratic doctrine would be able to hold every planet in the sector – and that would give them a claim that would probably be accepted by the other powers.”

“Not if they’re invading entire star systems,” Nonagon disagreed.  “The rest of the Human Sphere wouldn’t stand for it.”

“Perhaps,” Philip said.  “But they’ve shown a certain reluctance to confront the Theocracy so far, haven’t they?”  He shook his head.  “I think we have to assume that we’re on our own – and in that case, we have to get ready for the day when the Theocracy takes off the gloves and moves in by force.”

He held up his fingers and started to count off points, one by one.  “Their plan appears to be to fund dissident groups on the various colony worlds to allow them to take over the government,” he said.  “Jordan might have just been a warm-up exercise to allow them to test the concept, or they might have been unable to control events from Abdullah as precisely as they hoped.  They probably have the same problems with Admirals who think they can micromanage events from hundreds of light years away as we do.”

“Let’s hope so,” Marie commented.  “They’re doing damn well so far.”

“Once they take over the governments, the dissidents invite the Theocracy in and allow them to establish bases within their systems,” Philip continued.  “The Theocracy moves in a few thousand new settlers, shoots the previous governments for gross stupidity and then takes over openly – all nice and legal.  That gives us two separate problems; their naval presence within the sector and their dissident groups.  We have to assume that one such group is active on Asher Dales.”

There was a long silence.  Philip wasn’t too surprised.  Spacers liked thinking of their home ports as friendly, even when events suggested otherwise.  Asher Dales didn’t have anything like the military or civil police forces on Avalon; a handful of well-armed dissidents could take the single large city, execute the council and declare itself the ruler of the planet before anyone could prevent it.  And the squadron’s ability to influence events on the ground was limited.  Philip suspected that launching armoured Marines down to the city wouldn’t be well-received, even if they did save the council from an illegal coup.

“But we don’t know that,” Nonagon protested.  “They might have chosen to leave Asher Dales alone.”

“Absence of proof is not proof of absence,” Marie countered, darkly.  “The Commodore’s right, sir; it’s precisely how the Theocracy has been known to operate in the past.”

“But I’ve been in orbit for most of three months,” Nonagon said.  “My sensor techs have been expanding our traffic control network ever since we pulled components out of captured vessels that could be turned into makeshift satellites.  We’ve picked up no trace of any shuttle landings outside the main city or communications between their ship and the ground…”

“They might have moved the weapons to Asher Dales before we arrived,” Philip pointed out.  Nonagon had a point, but he didn’t dare believe him.  Given a certain amount of luck, even a civilian-grade stealth system would allow the pirates to get close to Asher Dales wouldn’t being detected – and if they managed to drop their cargo into the atmosphere, it wouldn’t be classified as anything other than a random meteor shower.  “And if they used communications lasers, we wouldn’t be able to pick up any transmissions shared between their heavy cruiser and the ground.  We have to assume the worst.

“I want all of our boys and girls on the ground to go armed,” he continued.  “Remind them that Asher Dales is friendly, but it may become a great deal less so.  Marie – talk to the Sheriff and see if you can convince him to separate the spaceport from the rest of the city, as well as beefing up their internal protections.  Right now, a simple kinetic strike will wipe out their entire government.  We need to avoid giving them a chance to take over without a fight.

“In orbit, I want us to remain on alert.  No one gets onto the ships without permission – it’s a pity we can’t vet the former captives, so I want them escorted if they happen to board one of the destroyers.  Keep moving supplies from the Nancy and scattering them in hiding places all over the system.  The last thing we need is to lose our ability to rearm our ships when the shit hits the fan.  Keep an eye on the local recruits as well – take note of anyone who seems more curious about our security than anything else.”

“Most of them are curious about everything,” Nonagon admitted, grudgingly.  “They’re good kids, sir, but they sure do know how to get everywhere.  I’ve had to send shuttles after several Flying Dutchmen – it’s sheer blind luck that no one was killed.  Give them a proper run through Piker’s Peak or the Trade Centres and they’d make great spacers – as it is, we’re training them with more hands-on experience than I’d prefer.  Some of them have even started talking about signing on for apprentices if they wash out of the defence force.  They feel that they could trade their service on a merchant ship in exchange for experience and an adventure.”

“Kids,” Philip agreed.  He shook his head.  He’d never had or wanted kids, but there was something about such infectious enthusiasm that made him smile.  Perhaps Tanya wanted kids…they’d never talked about such things; hell, he didn’t even know how she felt about him.  Or he felt about her, for that matter.  The lust was there, but was he truly in love…he pushed the thought aside, angrily.  There was no time for such silliness.  “That leads neatly to the third point.  How many of the captured ships could you get online within three weeks?”

Nonagon paused, considering.  As the commander of recovery efforts, he’d supervised the liberated captives and helped them find niches within the defence force or down on the surface.  Many of them had experience that could come in useful, although too many of them wanted to forget that they’d ever been pirate captives.  Philip couldn’t blame them for that, but still…he needed those men.  Their experience might make the difference between victory or death for his squadron.

“Roughly fifteen,” Nonagon said, finally.  “It depends on how you define online; they’ll fly and they’ll fight, but God alone knows how well they’ll hold together once we take them to full military power.  Their weapons systems aren’t particularly modern either; one ship, a former UN-designed scout, can only fire one missile at a time.  I’ll have to give you a fuller report once we’ve actually started working them up.”

He paused, just for a moment.  “The people who inhabited the asteroids before the pirates arrived are wizards,” he added.  “They had a whole string of ideas for improving the ships; they just never handed them over to the pirates.  One of them involves bolting missile pods to the side of commercial hulls – a one-shot weapon, but one that would give their target a nasty surprise.  There are several ships that are fit only for the breakers, yet they’re insistent that they could give them some real punch.  I think that we should take the chance, sir.  We need every edge we can get, but we also need a real shipyard.”

“We may be getting one soon,” Philip said.  How long had it been since he’d dispatched a team to blackmail Quincy into moving himself and his operation out to Asher Dales?  They should be on their way back now, unless Quincy had decided to take the easy way out and put a bullet through his head.  His heirs would have to fight over the ownership of the yard, assuming it wasn’t simply confiscated by the law enforcement agencies as being funded by pirates or enemy agents.  “But for the moment we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.”

He smiled.  “Dasher will be proceeding alone to Jordan, which leaves Dancer escorting two freighters to Hsu,” he continued.  He looked over at Schifrin, who scowled.  “I know; you’ve been there once already, but they do have an embassy there that we can use to pass on a message to the Commonwealth.  Repatriating some of their spacers should win us some goodwill as well. Don’t wait around though; if there’s no one heading towards Asher Dales, come back alone.”

“Aye, sir,” Schifrin said.  “I can be ready to depart in one hour, once I recall some of my crew from leave.”

“Take your time,” Philip said.  “I’ll take Dasher out in five hours; you can escort us into hyperspace and then alter course once we’re outside the system.  We may as well try to confuse any watching eyes nearby.”

The thought made him scowl.  It was quite likely that the Warrior of the Lord had dropped stealthy sensor platforms – or even a small starship – somewhere within the Asher Dales System, where they could be accessed by incoming starships without arousing suspicions on the planet’s surface.  There was no way to find them, however, even with the latest sensor detection gear produced by the Commonwealth.  The systems they had been able to obtain wouldn’t be able to track first-rank Commonwealth or Theocratic stealth systems.  

“Apart from that,” he concluded, “is there any other business?”  He waited, but no one spoke.  “Just remember – we may be at war soon and if that happens, the Theocracy may regard Asher Dales as a legitimate target.  Watch your backs; don’t go anywhere unarmed and keep a sharp eye out for trouble.  Good luck to us all.”

He tapped a key, shutting down the secure communication links, and watched as the holographic images faded out of existence.  It was easy to feel alone again, hundreds of light years from the Commonwealth; hundreds of light years from the supporting safety net he’d known and trusted back when he’d been a serving officer in the Royal Avalon Navy.  Now…he was alone, with only a makeshift squadron and a large number of untrained or inexperienced crewmen…

“You wanted independent command,” he told himself savagely, as he stood up.  The display was indicating that someone – Tanya – had sent him a message.  “So stop bitching and get on with the job.”

***
“Take us out of here,” Philip ordered.

The vortex flared to life in front of Dasher, allowing the massive colonist-carrier to precede her escort into hyperspace.  It was a ship out of the early days of interstellar settlement, built by the UN to serve as a transport for hundreds of thousands of – sometimes unwilling – settlers.  Watching her gave Philip a chill, knowing just how bulky and slow she was compared to the average Commonwealth – or Theocratic – starship.  She would be an easy target if it came down to a fight.

He felt his stomach lurch as Dasher followed the colonist-carrier into hyperspace, followed rapidly by two freighters and Dancer.  Philip hoped – prayed – that she would reach Hsu and then return swiftly, before the war began.  He could feel it pressing down on him, the awareness that peace was fading away.  The Theocracy might have invaded Cadiz by now…

“Vortex closing,” Raphael Kuntz reported.  He’d been tapped for command of one of the captured pirate ships, but Philip had borrowed him for the flight to Jordan.  There was almost no data on hyperspace conditions between Asher Dales and Jordan, something that worried him – or was he just jumping at shadows.  “Sir?”

“Take us to Jordan,” Philip ordered.  At least they knew that the Theocracy had a starship within the sector.  But was the heavy cruiser the only starship at Jordan?  “And signal goodbye to Dancer.  We’ll see them again soon.”

And he hoped to God that he was right.

Chapter Thirty-One

“You may find this distressing,” Philip warned.  “I’m rather surprised that you wanted to come.”

Tanya shrugged.  “My father wants a report,” she said, “and besides, I wanted to be somewhere else for a while.”

Philip didn't blame her.  The arrival of the Theocracy had upset a great many people on Asher Dales – including people who had been already upset because of the duel between Philip and Tam Farnham.  Philip hadn't seen anything of Tam after he’d left the hospital, but it was clear that the whispering had only been growing louder.  Tanya had effectively moved her quarters to Nancy and started handling her business from the freighter, even through Philip had tried to talk her out of it.  And she’d insisted on accompanying him to Jordan.

The flight from Asher Dales to Jordan should have taken only two days, but Philip had chosen to follow a slightly skewed route that had added an extra day onto their flight time.  He’d hoped that it would give them a chance to scope out the level of Theocratic activity in hyperspace near Jordan, but it had been a long shot at best and they’d detected nothing.  Those who didn't understand the realities of travel through hyperspace would probably have questioned his decision, yet another reason to be grateful that he was – effectively – the CO for the entire squadron.  There would be few beancounters disturbing his men with pointless questions that only showed their ignorance.

He led her back to the bridge, resuming command of his ship.  Tanya had no formal training for service on a starship, but the Asher Dales Council had given her permission to serve as an Ambassador to the Theocracy and that granted her the right to remain on the bridge during the arrival at Jordan.  The RAN attempted to prevent most ambassadors from actually invoking those rights – ambassadors tended to expect bridge crew to jump at their merest whim – but Tanya would be sensible.  He’d warned her not to disturb his crew on the approach to Jordan.  Besides, having her there felt right.

“Vortex generator online,” Harmon reported.  Philip nodded and braced himself.  “Vortex opening...now.”

Hyperspace twisted into a funnel of light that faded into the darkness of normal space.  Philip had deliberately selected an exit point some distance from Jordan itself, close enough for him to deploy a handful of makeshift stealth sensor platforms of his own.  The Theocracy would have problems detecting them, he’d been assured, but he still wasn't going to deploy them any closer to Jordan than absolutely necessary.  There was too much at stake to risk causing an interstellar incident.

“Vortex closing,” Harmon reported, as the colonist-carrier followed Dasher out of hyperspace.  There was something ungainly about the massive – and largely automated – ship, something that reminded Philip that she was a sitting duck.  “I am picking up long-range sensor pulses from Jordan’s orbit, sir.  They’re not trying to hide.”

Philip nodded, slowly.  Jordan would have been a marginal system in the Commonwealth, although they could probably have been assured of a reasonable lifestyle if they’d worked to develop their new homeworld.  It lacked the gas giant that made many star systems profitable, suggesting that the settlers would have to import HE3 from other star systems to power their fusion reactors and space-based industry.  The absence of such a gas giant had probably pleased the settlers no end, once they’d worked out that it meant that their system would always be a backwater.  They wouldn't be forced to have any contact with the outside universe.

The files hadn't been too clear – even the CIS hadn't taken much interest in Jordan until it had become clear that the Theocratic refugees on the planet’s surface might constitute a majority – but they had suggested that most of the original settlers belonged to an obscure sect that believed that humanity had abused Earth and that the only true way to live was to abandon technology and return to the soil.  It wasn't an uncommon delusion – Philip knew several other planets that had started out with the same idea – yet Jordan had a particularly nasty sting in the tail.  When the settlers returned to technology, there would always be limits on their growth.  If they’d been within the Commonwealth, or any other high-tech society, they’d probably see a steady stream of youngsters leaving as the benefits of modern technology became apparent to those forced to scrabble in the soil to survive.  That too was not an uncommon pattern.  A number of such governments had been toppled because they’d tried to place barriers in the way of emigrants choosing to leave their homes.

He studied the display as the sensor readings came in, slowly and gradually.  Jordan had had no space presence at all – which rather surprised him when he remembered that they’d been one of the planets that had supported the squadron’s establishment – and the only orbiting starships were clearly from the Theocracy.  Two were bulk freighters of a design that had been in the public domain for centuries; the third was the heavy cruiser that had visited Asher Dales.  Philip scowled at the red icon as it pulsed in orbit around a planet that had closed its eyes and ears to the outside universe.  The outside universe hadn’t taken the hint.  

“They just swept us,” Harmon reported.  Philip shrugged.  The Theocracy would have detected their arrival, unless their sensor tech was several decades behind the Commonwealth’s civilian-grade gear.  He would have been astonished if they hadn't been detected the moment they’d returned to normal space.  “Formal challenge; they want to know who we are and what we’re doing here.”

“Transmit our IFF and inform them that we are coming to visit Jordan, as invited,” Philip said.  Despite himself, he was concerned; the invitation could have been a trap.  It was hard to see how the Theocracy benefited from isolating and destroying Dasher, but they might have a plan that called for crippling the squadron.  “And ask them if we could speak with a representative of the planetary government.”

That was a gamble, but there was no other choice.  Under the Albion Conventions, visiting warships were expected to obey orders from the planetary government – even if the government had no way of enforcing its position.  Jordan’s exact legal status would be in some dispute, Philip suspected, particularly if he was watching an endgame slowly unfolding.  Would the Theocracy choose to honour the conventions in a ploy to ensure that they gained the same advantages when they visited other systems, or would they insist on naked force?

He shook his head as the reply flickered up on the scenes.  All interstellar relationships were based on naked force.  The interstellar conventions existed merely to try to prevent the more powerful states from overawing their weaker neighbours.  They weren't successful, not in any case that actually mattered...

“They’ve given us a parking orbit,” Harmon said.  “Apparently – and I quote – the planetary government of Jordan has assigned responsibility for system command and control to the Theocracy’s warship.”

“That’s absurd,” Tanya said.  “I know – I knew – Elder Davis.  He would never have sold his beliefs out so...so blatantly.”

“Maybe the new Elders have different ideas,” Philip said, mildly.  “Why did Davis cooperate with funding the squadron?”

“Jordan got hit with a pirate raid three years ago,” Tanya said.  “The bastards abducted a couple of hundred girls from a school and took them into space – we may have liberated a few when we hit their base.  Elder Davis refused to provide any manpower or material support, but he did manage to give us access to some bank accounts the Elders had put in storage for a rainy day.”

“And then he lost his world to the Theocrats,” Philip said, shaking his head.  “Why did they agree to take them in the first place?”

“They have a tradition of taking everyone who was willing to worship Mother Nature,” Tanya explained.  “They don’t get many takers, so...when a few refugees signalled that they would be willing to worship, the Elders were delighted.  It wasn't until after the refugees landed that they realised that they might have made a mistake, but what could they do about it?  Commit genocide by slaughtering every refugee who ever escaped the Theocracy?”

“They might not have had any choice,” Philip said.  One thing that humanity should have learned from its own history was that putting different ethnic, national or religious groups in confined quarters – and then refusing to force them to blend into one group – was a very bad idea.  There were several planets which had developed nations shortly after the UN or the founding corporation withdrew from political life.  They tended to end up fighting old wars time and time again, rather than peacefully developing their prosperity.  “And now they’ve lost everything.”

He looked up at the helmsman.  “Take us into orbit,” he ordered.  “Let’s see what they have to show us that was so important they specifically invited us here to see it.”

***
The shuttle tore its way through the planetary atmosphere, heading down towards Happy Valley.  According to Tanya, the Elders had created a network of smaller villages and farms rather than attempting to develop larger communities, believing that larger communities led to social disintegration.  It reminded Philip of Asher Dales, but unlike Asher Dales the Elders had been intent on removing all technology from their world.  They only maintained the systems in Happy Valley with the help of off-planet technicians who served for one year before being replaced.  It didn’t sound like a good place to live.

Surprisingly, Happy Valley didn't look all that bad from above.  It had been made by old-fashioned methods, using human and animal labour rather than cranes and antigravity platforms, but most of the homes looked happy and contented.  The only glaring omission became clearer the lower the shuttle flew; there were only a handful of humans within view.  There were colossal herds of sheep, cattle and horses – enough that Philip suspected that the Elders had bought gene-modified animals, a staple on many newly-settled worlds – but very few actual humans.  The town looked deserted.

Tanya let out a cry as the shuttle came to a hover over the landing beacon.  “They blew up the statues,” she said.  “I loved those statues!”

Philip looked up at her, surprised.  “They used to have a statue of the Good God and Goddess – the Lord of the Sky and Mother of the Land – right there, right in the heart of their community,” Tanya said, bitterly.  “I used to admire them because they’d been carved with nothing more complex than hand tools and a great deal of sweat and blood – but they’re gone.”

“The Theocracy would probably have considered them blasphemous,” Philip said, as the shuttle touched down on the single landing pad.  “They have a habit of destroying religious infrastructure on planets they control – anything that isn’t part of the True Faith gets destroyed, if they can't incorporate it into their own structure.  Churches, temples and mosques get converted into places of worship...and to hell with the feelings of the locals.  They don’t count as long as they refuse to accept the true faith.”

The shuttle hatch opened, allowing the first breath of air to come drifting into the cabin.  It was warm and fresh, although there was a hint of something in the air that Philip didn't particularly like.  There had been a colony world, back in the days before the Breakaway Wars, that had hosted a form of life that had propagated by means of airborne pollen.  It had rapidly colonised the settlers bodies and killed them before new nanotechnology had been used to counter the threat, but eventually the world had been abandoned and quarantined.  There were even some people who believed that the pollen-based lifeform had been intelligent and possessing people was its way to communicate.  It was notable that those people had never visited the planet and never would.

He stepped outside into the open air.  On the ground, the buildings looked much more impressive than he had expected, although they were clearly primitive.  This was not a culture that placed much value on private property, he deduced; few of the buildings seemed to have any locks, or even complete doors.  A simple half-door seemed to define a line beyond which no one could cross, at least without permission.  He could imagine housewives sitting by the door, chatting to their neighbours – or young boys being separated from the girls by a partition that existed more in their minds than in reality.  It might have made a decent community if its inhabitants had chosen to live there freely, but Philip would have never been content in such a place.  He had been born to stand on the bridge of a starship, commanding the vessel as she moved between the stars.

“It’s really quite impressive, is it not?”  A voice asked.  Philip turned to see Captain Rican standing beside one of the abandoned houses.  There was another man beside him, a younger man whose face bore the scars of a lifetime’s fighting.  Philip guessed, from his homespun clothing, that he’d been one of the refugees who’d served as a Trojan Horse.  “Given the limitations on their technology, they were really quite determined to build as much as they did.”

Tanya stepped forward, her thin frame trembling with anger.  “What have you done to them?”  She demanded.  Philip put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, unwilling to back down to the Theocrats.  “Where are they?”

“Most of them refused to accept that their world had become a province of the True Faith through a honest election,” the younger man said.  His voice was gruff; he eyed Tanya as if he expected her to faint at any moment.  If he’d been raised among the Theocracy, he would probably have absorbed the idea of a woman’s proper place – at least according to the True Faith.  Any woman who didn't know her place would be considered a harlot, or someone who had to be beaten into her place until she learned her lesson.  “We were forced to remove them from their homes and confine them until you arrived to take them away from our world.  They seemed very reluctant to accept that the rules had changed...”

“You took their world,” Tanya snapped.  “How did you expect them to react to you?”

“The opinion of an infidel – or a state of infidels – is of no account to us,” the man said, flatly.  “They were not making good use of the planet God gave them, so we had the right to take it from them and redevelop it according to our lights.  We offered them a place among the elect and they refused to accept it; instead, they chose to leave rather than fight.  They have no fire to make their own place in the universe.”

The hell of it, Philip knew, was that the Theocracy had been sincere when it had offered Jordan’s settlers a place among them, provided that they accepted the True Faith.  They didn't seem to hold birth against any of the converts, often allowing a convert to rise as high as someone who had been born to the faith.  But they would have punished apostasy harshly and anyone who tried to fake a conversion would have been lucky only to be beaten to death.  They didn't stand for regression once someone had accepted the faith.

But then, the Theocracy wasn't a decent place to live.  The True Faith might provide a distraction for the masses, who might otherwise realise just how badly they were being screwed by their lords and masters.  Philip had seen classified intelligence documents that suggested that the previous Caliph had had tastes for little boys and girls – and that the current Caliph was a young man with a young man’s lust for glory.  Dangerous enough in any position, but utterly disastrous when the young man was the absolute master of an interstellar empire.  There was nothing fake about the Caliph’s position.  He was the ruler of all he surveyed.

“But we didn't come here to discuss that,” Captain Rican said, before the argument could grow any worse.  “We wish to discuss, perhaps over dinner, the status of the squadron based on Asher Dales.  As the new government of Jordan, we do have a stake in your squadron.”

Philip controlled his face with an effort.  “The squadron may operate according to a generalised directive,” he said, “but it has been established that operational control resides firmly with its officers and men.  We do not follow orders from hidebound planetary governments who do not understand the realities of operations in space.”

For a moment, he felt a sense of kinship with Captain Rican, who seemed to understand perfectly.  The younger man spluttered with rage, as if he hadn't even considered the possibility that Philip would reject their claim on the squadron.,  In truth, Philip wasn't sure if the Theocracy had seriously expected Philip to just hand over the squadron – only a very stupid Theocrat could believe anything of the sort – or if they were merely playing psychological warfare games with his mind.  The war, presumably, hadn't been declared – at least as far as they knew.

“We paid for your ships,” the younger man said, finally.  “You owe us...”

“Nothing,” Philip said.  “I can have my accountants run it up for you if you like, but Jordan’s contribution to the squadron came out of bank accounts that were created prior to the arrival of the Theocracy on Jordan.  If you wish to claim ownership of the bank accounts, I’m afraid that that will have to be sorted out with the Bank of Mars...”

Captain Rican held up a hand.  “Very good, Captain,” he said, seriously.  “Perhaps I could invite you to share dinner with us?  You welcomed us to Asher Dales and I would like to return the invitation.  And perhaps we can discuss politics over the food?”

“Of course,” Philip agreed.  “I’m sure that we have much to discuss.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Dinner was a depressingly surreal affair.

The Theocracy’s male servants had laid a small table with bowls and five flat plates.  Each of the bowls contained a different kind of meat, marinated in a different kind of sauce and surrounded by lettuce and cucumber.  The meal was eaten with bread and water, rather than rice or anything more common to the Commonwealth.  It was enjoyable, Philip reluctantly concluded, but only in small doses.  One particular sauce was so spicy that he could barely swallow more than a tiny spoonful of it, even with the meat.  The salad helped to cool the fires somewhat afterwards, thankfully.  They hadn’t bothered to provide yogurt or something else that might have quelled the spice, although he couldn’t decide if it was simple absent-mindedness or deliberate insult.

“Rather an odd selection of foods,” Tanya said, after the male servants had withdrawn.  She sounded brittle, as if she was trying to irritate the Theocrats.  “I would expect something more akin to Ramadan’s favourite foods.”

“The Theocracy prides itself on assimilating all manner of useful information from all over the Human Sphere,” Captain Rican said.  He seemed more amused than offended by her comment.  “We never considered ourselves to be restricted to one particular source of ideas – if all religions hold fragments of the truth, how can we refuse to admit the value of other ideas from the outside universe?  Food is merely a minor way of creating a harmonious union of humanity under the True Faith.”

He picked up a piece of meat with his fingers – no cutlery had been provided – and pressed it into a piece of bread.  “We may have originated in Old Earth’s Middle East – the home of all major religions – but we’re hardly bound by their rules.  The Founder saw himself charged with creating a religion that absorbed all of the fragments of truth into one single community.  We didn’t start the wars that forced us to fight for our very existence.”

“But the other religions found you a threat,” Philip pointed out, mildly.  “They united against you.”

“And we fought back,” Captain Rican agreed.  “Eventually, we realised that we couldn’t live in peace with religions and societies that regarded us as a threat.  We would have to teach them to submit to us and then join us…do you know why Islam spread so rapidly into Ancient India?”

Philip shook his head.  “The Indians had a caste system that ensured that no one could rise above their predetermined position in life,” Captain Rican said, dispassionately.  Philip was surprised.  The last he’d heard, the Theocracy had never encouraged the study of history – he made a mental note to look it up once he was back on his ship.  “The ones who happened to be born with darker skins found themselves permanently in thrall to their lighter-skinned counterparts.  Islam offered them a community that didn’t judge by skin colour – and so many of them chose to convert…”

“Sparking off a whole series of religious conflicts that continued until Old Earth was devastated,” Philip said.

“Quite,” Captain Rican agreed.  “But we drew our early converts from all human religions.  Former Christians, Muslims and Jews – or Hindus – could accept the True Faith and join a community that replaced their degraded communities.  We never sought to force ourselves on anyone until they tried to crush us – we would have united the Earth in the True Faith if the UN hadn’t exiled us to Abdullah.  And there is no reason why we cannot absorb good ideas from the Commonwealth, or the Sol System, or even the Freehold.”

Philip had to smile.  The Freehold was a single-star political system, neutral in all of the galactic power struggles that ebbed and flowed around it.  It was also a byword for loose living because there were no restraints on individual pleasures, as long as non-consenting adults and children didn’t get hurt.  Avalon had a similar moral bent – or lack thereof – but there were plenty of unspoken taboos.  The Freehold had no such obstacles to indulging one’s self with unspeakable pleasures.  It was commonly believed that the Theocracy would probably destroy the Freehold from orbit if it ever reached their star system.

“We believe that success is proof of God’s approval,” Captain Rican continued.  “If someone succeeds, even if that person lives outside the Theocracy, why should we not welcome him into our fold?  Why should we refuse to use ideas merely because they come from outside the purified worlds of the Theocracy?”

Philip gave the question serious consideration.  “I used to be on patrol near the border,” he said.  It was rather flattering to consider that the Theocracy might have kept a file on him and his activities, but it struck him as unlikely.  He’d been a mere starship commander back when he’d been in the RAN, always subordinate to higher authority.  “We were told that you banned the import of all kinds of material – that freighter crews who visited your planets never got permission to visit the surface, or were harassed by your customs and inspection crews.  You even took crewmen off their ships for possessing material that you found offensive.”

“Importing such material into the Theocracy does suggest a certain…lack of respect,” Captain Rican said, dryly.

“Respect is earned,” Philip countered.  “It isn’t given, certainly not to people who spend most of their time demanding respect.”

“We were deposited on Abdullah with little more than the clothes on our backs and a standard UN-issue colonisation package,” Captain Rican responded.  “Since then, we have returned to the stars, absorbed over twenty other inhabited star systems and built a formidable military machine.  What have we done that does not deserve respect?”

Philip smiled.  “Do you want a truly honest answer to that one?”

Captain Rican nodded.  “Why not?”

“You make choices for your own people,” Philip said.  “You assume unto yourselves the power to decide what people can and cannot do, even in the privacy of their homes.  What right do you have to make such decisions for your own people?”

“They embraced the True Faith,” Captain Rican said.

“They could never have left the Theocracy,” Philip said, flatly.  There had been hundreds of refugees leaving the more recently occupied star systems, but no one had ever left from Abdullah itself – unless there was some truth in the crazy story about the Princess Jasmine.  “You don’t even tell them that there are other choices they could make for themselves…”

He shrugged.  “You mentioned the Hindu caste system earlier,” he added.  “You have your own version of it.  Anyone unlucky enough to be born a woman within your society finds her choices restricted right from the start.”

“We have always protected women,” Captain Rican said.  “When we first sprang into existence, it was always the women who were the first converts, who accepted that we meant what we said about protecting them and treating them with respect.”

Tanya snorted.  “And what would you do if one of your women chose to leave?”

Captain Rican smiled back.  “And why would one of them choose to leave?”

He shrugged.  “We were born in hope and shaped by violence – the violence directed against us by religions that feared the hope we offered their followers.  What we are now is a result of being born into a hostile universe, one where we must destroy our competition or be crushed ourselves.  You have never understood how afraid we have become of the outside universe…”

“So you invaded other worlds and forced them under your banner,” Philip said, icily.  “I heard the recorded interviews with refugees – I know what you did to break their populations and force them under the yoke.”

“Anyone would think that they didn’t have a reason to lie,” Captain Rican said.  “We were invited into those systems, you know.”

Philip chuckled.  “I wonder how many of your dupes knew what Theocratic conquest meant for them and their society.”

“More that you might expect,” Captain Rican said.  “Some of them even chose to invite us rather than die struggling against a hostile world.  The UN’s final days weren’t exactly covered in glory – how many colony populations died out because they couldn’t master their worlds?  How many unrecorded tragedies have exterminated entire settlements?  We were often welcomed with open arms – we saved more lives that we took.  That too is part of the True Faith – serve God by helping those who need help.”

Philip nodded.  “But pressing against the Commonwealth isn’t helping those who need help.”

“I think the population of Cadiz might disagree,” Captain Rican countered.  He made a mock salute with one hand.  “You invaded their world and took it from them, without even a fig leaf of respectability.  How can you condemn us for doing the same thing you did yourselves?”

“Interstellar diplomacy has always been conducted with the maximum possible degree of hypocrisy,” Philip agreed.  Captain Rican had a point – but then, no one had expected that Cadiz would turn into a bloody mess that would be tying up hundreds of thousands of soldiers and marines for so long.  They’d genuinely come to help the locals.  “Let’s stop playing games, shall we?  What do you want in this sector?”

“To spread the True Faith,” Captain Rican said.  He smiled.  “I don’t think that we have ever lied about our intentions, have we?  We exist to spread the True Faith, to ensure its supremacy so that it can never be threatened again.  You know that as well as we do, Captain.”

Philip shrugged.  “And so you intend to take over this sector,” he said.  “What will you do to the local populations?”

“We were invited to Jordan,” Captain Rican said.  It might even have been true, although Philip knew that no one would buy it unless they wanted to deceive themselves.  “And those who wish to leave may do so, on the ship you brought.”  He must have made a signal through command implants, for the servants appeared and began removing the dishes.  “You may begin embarking them when you’re ready, but first…”

He leaned forward.  “I think that war is very likely to break out soon,” he said.  “The Commonwealth’s recent provocations…”

“As in kidnapping one of your princesses from Abdullah?”  Philip asked, sardonically.  “Do you seriously expect people to believe such a cock and bull story?”

Captain Rican smiled.  “Why would we tell such an absurd story when it would be easy to come up with a more believable tale?”  He countered.  “That’s the story direct from my government, Captain Larson.  I do not believe that they would be foolish enough to commit themselves to such an absurd lie.”

“Governments have been known to do stupid things,” Philip said, irritated.  “It’s normally some backroom idiot without a clue as to how the real universe functions.”

For a moment, they shared a look of silent understanding.  “Regardless of the truth behind the story,” Captain Rican said, “I want you to understand that I believe that war is very near.  And when the war is finally fought – fought, not declared – I will not allow a potentially hostile naval force to operate in my sector.  Consider this an official warning from us to your superiors – we will not tolerate any attempt to threaten us when war breaks out.”

“You have far more firepower than we do,” Philip said, biting down hard on his anger.  “Do you really believe that we pose a threat to you?”

“Asher Dales will have to choose which side she’s on,” Captain Rican said, ignoring the question.  “Tell your civilian superiors to choose wisely.  We will be expecting them to supply us with fuel, among other things.”

He stood up as the servants left the room again.  “And if you will come with me, I will take you to the locals,” he added.  “They all wish to leave the planet behind them.”

***
Once – several years ago – Philip had been on the surface of Cadiz during one of the nastier upswings in violence that swept through the planet’s population on a regular basis.  Local insurgents had occupied a small town, shot a number of people for collaborating, shot a larger number of innocent civilians merely for looking at them the wrong way and generally dared the occupation force to dig them out of the town.  Philip had found himself helping to organise the evacuation of the town, moving the local population to safer accommodation elsewhere.  There had been little in the way of actual organisation and he’d been forced to take over a number of fields and turn them into a refugee camp.  He’d even had to organise the digging of latrines and the distribution of pre-prepared meals for the refugees, who seemed to have been totally abandoned by what was left of their government.  It hadn’t been a pretty sight.

The memory that had always stuck with him had been the hopelessness on the faces of the helpless townspeople.  None of them had asked to be targeted by the insurgents; none of them wanted to leave their homes, knowing that their lives would be destroyed once the occupation force attacked the town.  Their faces had been twisted with helplessness and bitterness, directed at everyone from the insurgents to the occupation force.  And they’d been listless; Philip had had to resort to force to convince some of the younger men to help dig latrines for their families and friends.  

He remembered it now as he stared down at what remained of Jordan’s original population.  A few thousand – it couldn’t be more than five thousand at most, he calculated and hoped that he was wrong – people, sitting in a field, their faces wreathed by bleak hopelessness.  The Theocracy had had to apply whips to force them out of their homes, he could tell from the scars; it was clear that the locals hadn’t been able to put up a real fight.  Their Elders had denied their followers weapons…not that it would have made much difference.  Standard colonial rifles and even assault rifles wouldn’t have been any use against men in powered combat armour.  Some of the women – the women had been separated from the men – looked as if they’d been molested.  Somehow, Philip doubted that their tormentors had had their throats cut by their superior officers.

“My God,” he found himself saying.  He’d tried to help the refugees on Cadiz; it looked as if the Theocracy hadn’t done anything more than shove them out of the town and then ignore them.  Several of the children looked to be on the verge of starvation.  A number of people were almost certainly dead…dear God, hadn’t they even tried to bury or cremate the dead?  “What have you done to them?”

It was the Cleric who answered.  “There is no place on purified ground for those who refuse to accept the True Faith,” he said.  Tanya made a retching sound, as if she was going to be sick.  “They demanded that we leave this world.  We told them that they would have to move elsewhere.”

Philip stared at him.  It took all of his willpower not to punch the Cleric in the face.  How could a man of God be so blind to the tragedy in front of him?  Had he dehumanised the unbelievers to a point where he could justify treating them as nothing more than monsters – or animals?  How could the children be considered guilty of anything?  How…

“This isn’t my doing,” Captain Rican admitted, quietly.  Philip was the only one who could hear him.  “They insisted on resettling the locals as quickly as possible.”

“But you make it happen, you help it happen,” Philip hissed back, savagely.  “You’re just as guilty as the rest of your foul kind.”

The Cleric looked up sharply.  He must have heard at least part of Philip’s response.  “Don’t waste your time grieving for the infidels,” he said, sharply.  “They chose to leave rather than embrace the True Faith.  There is no place for the unclean in the kingdom of the pure…”

“My shuttles will start picking people up now,” Philip snapped.  “I don’t suppose you’d agree to help us transport these people to the ship?”

“We have no spare shuttles,” the Cleric blustered….

”There are four spare on the Warrior,” Captain Rican said, flatly.  “I will assign them to assist your crews.  We do God’s work.”

He strode off, leaving Philip staring down at the helpless mass of humanity.  How could anyone do such a thing to anyone?  He’d seen prisoners dropped onto penal worlds with more supplies than the locals of Jordan, the men and women who had come so far to escape their tormentors and build a better life for their families.  They’d just been abandoned to die.

Even with the help of the Theocracy’s shuttles, it still took nearly ten hours to load the refugees onto the colonist-carrier.  The original stasis pods had been replaced sometime during the ship’s long history, but the refitting crew hadn’t bothered to replace the fusion reactors, ensuring that only half of each personnel module could be operated at any one time.  Philip supervised as best as he could, grimly aware that some of the locals were likely to expire the moment the stasis pods were opened at Asher Dales.  They’d have to have medical support on hand to greet them…

Tanya returned to Dasher and hadn’t left her cabin since her arrival, Philip discovered when he returned to his ship.  He didn’t blame her for being upset, or for ensuring that she had recordings of what the Theocracy had done to Jordan.  Asher Dales would have to do some thinking about what side it was on when the war broke out…indeed, Philip had a nasty suspicion that the war had already broken out.  But there was no way to know for sure.

“Take us out of here,” he ordered, once the final shuttle had lifted from the surface and docked with Dasher.  “It’s time to go home.”

The thought shocked him.  When had Asher Dales become home?

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Dear God in Heaven!”

Philip couldn’t blame Barrington for his shock.  The modern galaxy had become inured to atrocity, but the pitiful remains of Jordan’s original settler population was horrifying.  Four thousand, nine hundred and seventy had survived the flight from Jordan to Asher Dales; seventy-nine had died almost as soon as they were removed from the stasis pods.  An extra thirty-two had been left frozen in the timeless fields until they could be moved to a proper hospital.  They would die if they were removed from the fields without careful preparation.

“I rather doubt it,” he said, slowly.  He’d never taken the concept of God too seriously – and whatever the Theocracy said in public, he rather doubted that they believed in a God.  The spectre of divine justice would surely have halted a god-fearing man before inflicting so much agony upon a helpless population.  “That’s what conquest by the Theocracy means, Councillor.”

Asher Dales had absorbed new immigrants before; former pirate crews, who had been moved to isolated islands and told to farm or starve, and former pirate captives, who had been warmly welcomed and invited to settle on the planet or join the growing space-based labour force.  And yet nearly five thousand new immigrants, some of them with dangerous health problems caused by a combination of poor diet and abuse, would test the planet to its limit.  Barrington had put out a general call for volunteers and Philip had been impressed by how many had stepped forward to help, but it was nowhere near enough.  Some of them had even been cherry-picking; farmers adopting strong young men or the prettiest women, leaving the elderly and infirm to the refugee camp.  It was far better than anything Philip had seen on Cadiz or Jordan, yet it was still a refugee camp, when all was said and done.

The only bright side was that most of the refugees were law-abiding folks, mostly still in a state of shock at how badly the universe had turned against them.  Philip could condemn their pacifist beliefs as much as he wanted – it was his experience that weakness invited attack – but that didn’t stop him feeling sorry for them.  The protection of innocent people was what navies and ground-based armies were for and losing so badly galled him.  Cold logic told him that he wouldn't have been able to do anything, even if he’d had all three ships at Jordan when the Theocracy arrived, yet that was no comfort.  He felt as if he had failed them.

Barrington shook his head, slowly.  “There should be more of them,” he said.  “There were thousands on Jordan, thousands...”

“They may have decided to convert rather than lose their homes,” Philip said.  He had no difficulty in believing that many would convert, if only because living in a low-tech society seemed a better idea if one had no experience of what living in a low-tech society actually meant.  The Theocracy certainly wouldn't put any barriers in the way of anyone who wanted to import some modern farming equipment.  Hell, they’d probably encourage it.  It would suit their long-term plans for the sector.  “Or they may have simply gone to ground and been abandoned.”

Barrington snorted.  “And there’s nothing we can do about it?”

Philip hesitated.  “Not without a great deal more firepower,” he admitted.  Yes, he told himself silently; the weak did often feel ashamed at their own weakness.  “As long as they have that heavy cruiser in the sector, they can take on the entire squadron and kick our ass all the way back to Avalon.”

“But that cruiser can’t be at Jordan all the time,” Barrington pointed out.  “You could wait until it leaves and then slip in and liberate the planet.”

Philip was mildly impressed.  Most planet-bound government ministers wouldn't have been able to come up with such a simple, yet effective plan.  But it would only be effective in the short term.  The cruiser would return and re-enslave the planet, taking the opportunity to crush any opposition from the converted locals.  They’d gain nothing apart from a few thousand dead on both sides.

“They’d regard that as a declaration of war,” he said.  He had been considering a scheme for shipping weapons to Jordan, but without accurate data on conditions on the ground it was hopeless.  Any rebels would be in hiding, reluctant to expose themselves to soldiers in armoured combat suits or kinetic bombardment from orbit.  And they would have very few weapons to turn against their oppressors.  Jordan had never imported or distributed large amounts of weapons.  “Do you want to declare war on the Theocracy?”

Barrington looked down at the ground.  “I would love to make them pay for this,” he admitted.  “And I want them to burn for what they did to those two poor girls.  Do you know that their families have been stirring up trouble?  They want a comprehensive ban on Theocratic personnel getting shore leave on our planet and...”

“Not going to happen,” Philip said.  “Our only defence – a very flimsy defence – are the Albion Conventions.  We’re not allowed to refuse a request for shore leave – we can ban individuals, but we have to show a good reason.  And chances are that the bastards are just looking for an excuse to get their hands on this system.”

“And why,” Barrington demanded, “are we so important?”

Philip smiled.  “You’ve got a fully-functional gas giant mining station here,” he reminded him, dryly.  “You and Hsu have the only mining stations in the entire sector – God knows, your station manager has been undercutting just about everyone else to keep the station turning a small profit.  The Theocracy...well, if they got their hands on the station, they’d have a powerful tool to economically strangle the rest of the sector if they refuse to fall into line.  It isn't particularly economical to ship HE3 outside a single star system...”

“So they’d have a near-monopoly,” Barrington agreed, drudgingly.  “But...they won’t go after Hsu, will they?”

“I rather hope they will,” Philip said, although he agreed that it was unlikely.  The Theocracy wouldn't want to draw the Manchu Dynasty into the war, the war that might already be being fought hundreds of light years away.  “That would add a formidable interstellar power to the Commonwealth’s side.  They certainly have the firepower to cope with the Theocracy’s presence in this sector.”

“But then we’d have to worry about their ambitions as well,” Barrington said, sadly.  “We came out here to get away from interstellar power politics.”

Philip shrugged, expressively.  “I think that they’ve come after you,” he said.  “The only real choice you can make is which side you embrace.  I don’t think that the Commonwealth has any ambitions on this sector – if you joined the Commonwealth as a full member system, you’d certainly have autonomy.  The Theocracy would insist on reshaping your society to suit themselves and God help anyone who gets in their way.”

“And you have an interest in convincing us to accept an alliance with the Commonwealth,” Barrington observed.  “Or so Greg Farnham has been muttering in the meetings.  I think that quite a few people are beginning to wonder if you’ll pulling strings to get us involved in outside wars.”

Philip barked a laugh.  “They need some sense of proportion,” he said.  “The entire naval force in this sector – us, the Theocracy, the Manchu, everyone else – is a drop in the bucket compared to the fleets gathering for the war.  This planet could be overwhelmed in an afternoon if any serious interstellar power decided they wanted to take it.  Asher Dales cannot contribute anything – willingly or otherwise – to the Commonwealth’s war effort that it couldn't get from elsewhere.  What do you have that the Commonwealth might want?”

He shrugged.  “The only thing you have is location,” he added, “but you’re not exactly a dagger pointed at the Theocracy’s heart.  This sector is likely to be marginalised for the remainder of the war even if you are formal members of the Commonwealth.  Even the Theocracy wouldn’t cut loose a few squadrons of battlecruisers to put the fear of God into you, not when it might cost them the war.

“Whatever interest the Commonwealth will have in this sector will be long term,” he concluded.  “You are in a good position to support colony ships settling out beyond the Rim.  Sooner or later, the interstellar powers near the Core Worlds are going to want to start sending their own colony ships through this sector – they’ve already started, really.  You could dictate your own terms then, perhaps, but not now.  Asher Dales doesn't have anything the Commonwealth would actually want when the Theocracy is breathing down our necks.”

Barrington chuckled.  “So we should stop worrying?”  He asked, dryly.  “Asher Dales looks mighty big to some folks out here.”

Philip couldn't blame them, not really.  They were hundreds of light years from the looming war front, after all.  And hundreds of light years was an unimaginable distance for most civilians in a universe where relatively few of them ever left their home systems.  They’d placed a mental barrier in their minds between their former homeworlds and Asher Dales, even though they knew intellectually that there was nothing stopping others from travelling to their new homeworld and invading their planet.  

But they would be wrong.  Asher Dales had nothing to attract the Commonwealth – nothing, except perhaps for a base to use against the Theocracy.  And yet...once Jordan was liberated and the Theocracy’s presence in this sector wiped out, they’d simply be abandoned.  What would it profit the Commonwealth to garrison the sector if they lost the older and more populated – and industrialised – Commonwealth planets?

“You might want to warn them to start thinking the unthinkable,” Philip said, finally.  “Commonwealth membership or...”

He waved a hand at the refugee camp.  “Those people can tell you what the Theocracy did to their world,” he warned.  “You could ask them to tell you what they went through before we took them away and landed them here.”

It was something he returned to later, with Tanya.  Tanya had set up a number of volunteer clinics, staffing them with girls from Asher Dales, where the refugees could be debriefed and their tales recorded for posterity.  Philip listened silently as refugee after refugee detailed what had happened to them, a string of stories that blurred together into a chilling sameness.  The Theocracy had taken over their world; the Theocracy had tufted them out of their houses; the Theocracy had roughed them up when they tried to complain.  A handful of men had been crippled – for life, on a world without high-tech medical equipment – and a number of women had been raped or molested.  Philip wasn't surprised, but Tanya and the other women seemed to be almost in tears.  Such things weren't supposed to happen in a civilised universe.

The issue became the core of a debate in the Town Hall and Philip made certain to attend with Tanya.  There was still no sign of Tam Farnham, but his father glared at the pair of them as they sat down among the throng of eager townspeople.  Asher Dales hadn't yet developed a political class, even though some settlers were clearly more equal than others, and political was a noisy – and largely democratic – affair.  The issue of what to do about the refugees was at stake, along with the question mark over what they could do about the Theocracy.  Philip listened carefully, said nothing, and took copious notes.  There were so many misunderstandings in so many speeches that part of him started to despair.  If the population couldn’t decide what to order for lunch, how could they be expected to stand up to the Theocracy?

“...These refugees are a blight on our lands,” one farmer was proclaiming, loudly.  He was greeted by a loud series of boos from the far side of the room.  The Jordan refugees might not be popular, but they clearly needed help – and Asher Dales had opened its arms wide to greet them.  “Should we tolerate their presence a moment longer, or should we return them to where they came from?”

“Shame,” an elderly woman bellowed, rising to her feet and waving her walking stick about, angrily.  “Have you not seen the plight of those poor people?  How dare you stand here and whinge about their presence?  Their presence is nothing compared to what they’ve gone through on Jordan itself!”

There was a mixture of cheers and boos.  By Philip’s rough estimate, about a third of the population seemed to worry about the presence of the refugees.  It was easy to see their point – Jordan hadn't been a very popular neighbour, and there was enough of them to make them an ethnic groups within Asher Dales rather than them blurring into mainstream society – but the refugees were hardly their first concern.  The real danger was the Theocracy.  Philip silently calculated, again, just how long it might have been since the war had started.  There was no way to know.

And if they find out first, he thought, silently, they’ll come after us with blood in their eyes.

“I know that,” the farmer bellowed.  His face had gone red, like a bull.  Philip was suddenly reminded of Admiral Morrison.  “I know that they’ve been through hell and I feel for them.  But what are we going to do with them?  I’m no having my farm turned into a slave labour camp without proper tools and equipment, understand?  Jordan could barely feed itself!”

“There isn't enough of them to tip the balance in an election,” another man thundered.  There was a loud roar of approval from his side of the room.  “Let them have some unclaimed land to slave on if they like.  We have an entire fucking planet and we’ve barely settled even a tenth of it!  Give them farmsteads and see how they grow.”

There was a second, much louder, roar of approval.  Philip had to smile, even though he was starting to wonder if he was going deaf.  The idea of direct democracy was strange to him, but he had to admit that it worked on Asher Dales.  Avalon’s population was too large for such direct representation, yet there were datanet forums and referendums on issues that affected the general population.  The Assembly disliked calling them, fearing that they would be pushed in one direction or another, but the King seemed to like them.  And he had the power to order one at will.

A series of bangs from the council table brought uneasy silence, with a faint undertone of mass rebellion.  “This is not particularly important at the moment,” one of the councillors said.  Niles was an elderly man who had spoken little, at least to Philip.  But he was respected throughout the planet as one of the original settlers.  “We have a far more pressing problem on our hands.”

He ran through the entire sequence of events from the coup on Jordan to the Theocracy’s threats against Asher Dales.  Philip saw a few faces go black with anger, remembering the murdered girls, and a few others go pale, as if they wanted to block out the whole unpleasant affair.

“Our choice is simple,” Niles said, at the end.  “When they come for us, do we fight or surrender?”

“Fight,” one young man yelled.  “I say we kill the bastards like varmints.”

Philip glanced at Tanya.  She looked worried; the war party was clearly gathering support.  But Asher Dales couldn't hope to fight off the Theocracy on its own.  Philip had a few plans, a few tricks he intended to unleash if – when – the Theocracy returned to Asher Dales, yet none of them promised a victory.  There was no way that anyone could guarantee the outcome, except that hundreds of people would be killed.

“But can we fight?”  Niles asked.  “I call our honourable Commodore to speak on the matter.”

Tanya nudged Philip, who stood up, hastily organising his thoughts.  No one had told him that he would be called upon to speak, something that he suspected was deliberate.  They wanted him to speak on the spur of the moment.  At least he’d spent days considering all the possibilities.

“There are several issues that need to be considered,” Philip said, without preamble.  “The Theocracy possesses significant firepower wrapped up in their cruiser.”  And it’s the only one we know about, he added, in the privacy of his own mind.  “They may well defeat the squadron if they decide to claim Asher Dales for their own.  And that would allow them to bombard the planet at leisure before landing their troops.  They could land anywhere, not just at the spaceport.  That will give them an advantage you cannot match.

“I will tell you that, to the best of my knowledge, no insurgency has ever managed to remove a Theocracy occupation force,” he added.  “The Theocracy takes control of the entire planet – you have some advantages, but nothing that offsets their control of space.  You need to face the possibility that you need help.”

He sat back down as the debate raged around him.  Farnham, unsurprisingly, was decrying all suggestions of inviting the Commonwealth – or the Manchu Dynasty – to station warships at Asher Dales.  He seemed to believe that a resolute insurgency could force the Theocracy to abandon Asher Dales.  Philip knew that he was dreaming.  And even if they succeeded, the Theocracy had plenty of nasty tricks to depopulate the entire planet before landing new settlers.  Rumour had it that they had exterminated at least two planetary populations, although no one knew for sure.

His wristcom buzzed and he stepped outside the meeting hall to answer it.  “Commodore, we just received word from the mining station,” Marie’s voice said.  She sounded grim, but at least she wouldn't be contacting him if the Theocracy had arrived in force.  “We have a bit of a situation on our hands.”

Philip was almost relieved.  “I understand,” he said.  “I’m on my way.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

The eerie lights of hyperspace gave way to the looming presence of the gas giant, with the mining station spinning sullenly in the foreground.  Joe Buckley hung within easy weapons range of the station, backed up by a couple of the former pirate craft and a single armed freighter.  An unexpected starship was linked to the fuelling station, its presence unwelcome, but impossible to avoid.  They’d simply docked with the fuelling station and taken over.

“I think we spooked them,” Captain Nonagon said, through the communications link.  “They were probably pirates coming for a quick refuel and they panicked when we arrived with our charges.  God alone knows what they’re thinking they can do now, except blow the station.”

Philip scowled.  Theocrats would probably be quite happy to use suicide tactics, but pirates tended to be more concerned with self-preservation.  They couldn’t spend their ill-gotten gains when they were dead.  If they blew the station, they’d die; there was no way to escape into hyperspace without being destroyed by his ships.  They might even have problems opening a vortex so close to the gas giant.  The pirate ship might not have a modern vortex generator.

“Stalemate,” he commented.  Marie nodded, grimly.  The Marines could get over to the station and board it, but the pirates would be able to see them coming and blow the station – or at the very least start murdering hostages.  There was an entire family over on the station, including some young girls.  The thought of what the pirates might do to them didn’t bear thinking about.  “Have they even tried to negotiate?”

“No, sir,” Marie said.  She was all business.  “They probably think that we’d never let them go anyway, so they might as well wait us out.  The horse might learn to sing, after all.”

Philip nodded, grimly.  Hostage situations were one thing he’d never trained for, not when most hostage-takers knew better than to try to pick on the Commonwealth.  The Marines and ground-based law enforcement agencies would be better trained, but there was no time to call for help.  Losing the fuelling station would cripple his long-term plans for developing the system – and the sector – into a working economy.  The commercial shipping that tended to the various new colonies would have to be withdrawn.  No commercial skipper wanted to be trapped in an undeveloped sector without fuel.

“Then we have to seize the initiative,” he said.  It was easy to say it out loud; harder to figure out a way to dislodge the pirates without getting anyone killed.  “Do they know I’m here?”

“I assume they can read our IFF,” Marie said.  “They probably know you’re here, although I have no idea what they would make of you.”

“They’d know I have the power to talk to them,” Philip said.  “Open a channel to the station.”

“Aye, sir,” Harmon said.  “Channel open…”

Philip cleared his throat.  “This is Commodore Larson of the Asher Dales Naval Service,” he said.  “I wish to talk to the people holding the mining station.”

There was a long pause.  “No answer, sir,” Harmon reported.  “I’m not even sure that they’re picking up the signal.  They’re not broadcasting anything I can detect.”

Philip nodded.  “Reopen the channel,” he ordered.  “Attention; if you do not open communications within five minutes, I will be forced to open fire.”

There was a second pause, broken by a screech of static as the pirates opened communications.  “You listen here, pig,” a voice snapped.  There was no visual signal to show Philip who was speaking to him.  “You get away from this fucking station or we start slitting the bitches’ throats, you hear me?”

“It doesn’t sound like there’s much room to negotiate,” Marie commented, very quietly.  “He sounds desperate enough to carry out his threats…”

Philip nodded.  “This is Commodore Larson,” he said, again.  “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“You know damn well who we are,” the voice thundered.  “Move back right now or we start killing people!”

“That isn’t an option at the moment,” Philip said.  He cursed his own short-sightedness.  He’d never had the chance to study hostage negotiations.  Was he supposed to be conciliatory or take a hard line?  “You have people and an installation we want back.  What do you want in return for them?”

“We want you off our backs,” the voice said.  “Pull your fucking ships back, now!”

Philip shook his head.  “I’m afraid we cannot do that,” he said.  “We need to confirm that the hostages are alive and well before we do anything else.”

There was a pause, long enough for Philip to wonder if he’d screwed up.  “Commodore,” a new voice said, finally.  Manager John Milton’s voice was weak and he was clearly terrified, but he managed to speak clearly.  “They’ve told me to confirm that we’re all alive, if not well.  No one has actually been killed.”

“I hope you’re telling the truth,” Philip said.  Unless the pirates were complete fools, they’d never allow the Manager to tell Philip how many pirates there were, or if they had the station rigged to blow.  “What do they want in exchange for you, your people, and your installation?”

“We want you to back off and allow us to leave in peace,” the first voice demanded.  “Do you understand me?  If you don’t let us go peacefully, we’ll kill the bastards and rape the bitches before we let you kill us!”

“Right,” Philip said, keeping his voice calm and even.  “How do you propose to handle your departure from this system?”

It was a long moment before the pirate replied.  “You back off and we take our ship with the bitches,” the pirate said.  “We slip into hyperspace and drop them off at the edge of the system.  You can pick them up and recover the station at will.”

Marie reached over and put a hand on Philip’s console, cutting the vocal link.  “Captain,” she hissed, “if they slip away, they can just keep going with the hostages.”

Philip nodded.  In truth, he’d already drawn the same conclusion.  The pirates would have hostages they could sell as slaves – or use for their own entertainment – and absolutely no incentive to return them.  They were trapped at the station; murdering the hostages would have allowed Philip to send his Marines to liberate the platform and execute the remaining pirates.  Letting them slip free would be disastrous.

He keyed his console, reopening the channel.  “I’m afraid that wouldn’t work out so well for us,” he said.  “We’d need some guarantees that you’d release the hostages once you reached the edge of the system.”

There was a loud, angry laugh.  “And why should we provide any guarantees when we don’t have anything to lose?”  The pirate demanded.  “You want this station, Mr Navy Man?  You bargain with us for it!”

Philip smiled.  A plan was slowly starting to come together in his mind.  “You want out of the system and we want you out of the system,” he said.  Actually, he wanted the pirates dead, but he was prepared to compromise that far.  “It seems to me that the sticking point is the fate of the hostages.  I’m not going to let you take them out of the system and you’re not likely to leave them behind while you’re under our guns.”

“Of course not,” the voice sneered.  There was a pause.  “We could just wait, you know?  There’s food, drink and women here.  What more do we need?  How long do you think we could make the little girl last if we decided to enjoy ourselves with her?”

Philip bit down the reaction that came to mind.  “First, we need to verify that the hostages are alive and well,” he continued, trying to keep his voice even.  “I have a proposal for you.”

He took a breath.  “You release your hostages now,” he said.  “In exchange, I will board the station personally – alone and unarmed.  You will have me as a hostage for your flight out of the system and if you decide to try to hang on to me…well, I won’t be much use to any of your buyers.”

Marie pressed the mute key again.  “Sir, with all due respect…”

“I’m not out of my mind,” Philip said.  He could respect Captain Rican, who had certainly seemed to be a little ashamed of the Theocracy’s excesses, but he had no respect for pirate commanders – certainly not ones who would threaten to rape little girls.  “I have a cunning plan.”

“That’s what Brigadier Stone said, the night before the air-drop on Basque,” Marie said, grimly.  “You don’t want to know how many good Marines lost their lives because some moron at headquarters couldn’t count the insurgents on the ground.”

Philip shrugged, releasing the key.  “I trust that I would be an acceptable hostage?”

There was a long pause.  He could almost imagine the panic sweeping through the pirate ranks.  They were unused to discipline, unused to the thought that they might die while hunting the helpless and vulnerable.  Their commander would be the toughest of them all, but if he showed any signs of weakness, his subordinates would jump on him.  And if he seemed to refuse a chance to escape the death trap they’d fallen into, they’d put a knife in his back before allowing him to make a valiant, but futile last stand.

“I don’t trust you,” the pirate commander sneered, finally.  “How do I know that this isn’t a trick?”

Philip shrugged.  “I’ll fly myself over in a shuttle, which you can search as soon as it docks,” he said.  “You can search me; I won’t have anything apart from my wristcom and uniform.  Once you are satisfied, you can release the hostages and they can take the shuttle back to my ship.  And then you can just abandon me at the edge of the system.”

He’d been careful not to specify how they’d be abandoning him.  If he was lucky, they’d remain focused on the prospect of throwing him out of their airlock, rather than thinking about anything else.  He didn’t expect them to keep their word, whatever they promised – but if his plan worked, he wouldn’t have to worry about trying to breathe vacuum.  Too much else could go badly wrong.

“We keep one of the bitches with us to ensure your good behaviour,” the pirate said, finally.  “The rest of the ugly ducklings and their family can go on the shuttle.”

Philip shook his head firmly, trying to project vigorous resolve into his voice.  “No,” he said.  “All of the hostages leave in the shuttle, or there’s no deal.  You can wait on the station until you rot, for all I care.  I can wait.”

He waited, fighting down the sensation that he might have overplayed his hand.  The pirates might have decided to kill their hostages and themselves, or maybe they’d started fighting each other…

“Very well,” the pirate commander said.  “Get your ass over here; the sooner you’re here, the sooner you can get the bitches onto your shuttle.”

The connection broke.  “You’re out of your mind,” Marie snapped, finally.  It was a Marine officer’s right to tell her superior officer from the Navy when he was going crazy, a right that had often been invoked in the RAN.  Marines were effectively a separate compartment onboard ship, with the only command link being between their commander and the starship’s commander.  “They won’t fucking release you – unless they release you without a suit.”

“Probably not,” Philip agreed.  He stood up and checked the holstered pistol at his belt.  He’d have to disarm himself before boarding the shuttle, knowing that it would make him vulnerable…but he was going to fly an unarmed cargo shuttle to the fuelling station.  He was going to be vulnerable anyway.  “What do you think the chances are that they’ll release the hostages once they have me over there?”

“Not very good,” Marie said.  “They’d just have someone else to bargain with, sir.  Commodore Nonagon would have to find a way to get you and the hostages out…”

“It’s not going to come down to that,” Philip assured her.  He’d been careful to give the pirates a chance to take him as another hostage – without having to free the other hostages first.  If they were thinking straight, they’d probably try to take advantage of his gullibility by using him as another hostage.  They’d make it impossible for Nonagon or anyone else to bargain with them, but he’d yet to see any pirates who had any genuine sense of the long term.  Piracy wasn't exactly the safest career path for anyone.  “I want you to find five volunteers from the Marines, men willing to risk everything on a single roll of the dice.”

Marie scowled at him.  “I’ll volunteer, of course,” she said.  She cocked her head to one side, using her communications implant to round up four more volunteers.  Marines rarely asked for volunteers; Philip suspected that she’d simply picked four men and volunteered them for duty.  “What exactly do you want us to do?”

Philip took a breath and told her.

***
The cargo shuttle was the largest in the system.  It had originally been designed by the UN during the later part of the era before the Breakaway Wars; although Philip had been assured that the shuttle was actually no older than fifty-odd years.  Judging from the removed black box and its careful refurbishment ten years ago, Philip had a suspicion that it had been produced somewhere nearer Earth and had been on its fifth owner by the time it reached Asher Dales.

It was a boxy cumbersome machine, utterly unable to fly within a planetary atmosphere without antigravity compensators.  Philip eyed its control panels suspiciously as he ran through the pre-flight checks, wondering just how reliable the shuttle was, even after the refit.  Asher Dales had never been able to renovate it properly until Philip had brought a small crew of technicians to the planetary surface and he was uneasily aware that a single small fault could easily prove lethal in space.  He’d taken the precaution of wearing a uniform with a hood and mask – and inbuilt oxygen supply – but the pirates might regard anything safer as a breach of their agreement.  The armoured combat suits Marines wore bore more than a passing resemblance to industrial spacesuits.  

He settled down in the pilot’s chair and ran his hand down the console, activating the shuttle’s onboard flight systems.  Normally, he would have controlled the shuttle personally right from the start, but he was less familiar with the centuries-old design and had reluctantly agreed to allow the automated systems to take control.  Besides, the automated systems could help compensate for his little surprise.  He checked everything thoroughly before he keyed in the final string of commands and felt the shuttle hum to life.

“This is Larson,” he said, keying his wristcom.  “I formally request permission to undock.”

“Granted, sir,” Harmon said.  Philip smiled, feeling his mind wandering, the way it always did before combat.  Why was it called undocking when the shuttle was nesting within Dasher’s main bay?  “Good luck.”

The shuttle lurched to life, shaking madly, and then started to crawl towards the opening hatch.  Philip knew that there were researchers on Avalon – and probably on Abdullah as well – who claimed that it would be possible to develop a force field that would keep the atmosphere within a starship even when the hatches were open, allowing the crew to work within the shuttle bay at the same time without spacesuits.  

He smiled as the shuttle slowly rotated in space and the gas giant came into view.  It was a sight few civilians – or spacers, for that matter – truly took time to comprehend.  Humanity was so small compared to the vastness of the universes; he was tiny even compared to the average asteroid.  Look at you, the gas giant seemed to say, as he stared up at the tiny station outlined by the orange glow.  You little thing, so puny and weak; you think yourself so significant.  I will be here long after you are dust and less than dust.

A shiver ran down his spine.  There were entire cults built around the idea that planets and even stars were intelligent, their vast thoughts moving so slowly that entire human civilisations rose and fell before the stars ever took notice.  An intelligence built on that scale wouldn’t be able to comprehend humanity.  The thought of what it might do if it ever noticed that humanity existed was chilling.  He twisted the shuttle, watching through the armoured cockpit as the fuelling station slowly came into view.  It looked tiny compared to the gas giant, the long tube falling down towards the HE3-rich atmosphere far below.  If every single human starship in existence used a single gas giant as a source of fuel, it would still be millions of years before the gas giant was mined out.  No one knew what would happen then, but Philip knew that it wouldn’t be an issue until long after he was dead and gone.

He pressed his hands on the controls as the fuelling station grew closer.  They hadn’t opened their main bay for him, unsurprisingly.  He’d counted on it.  Instead, they’d lit off a beacon, inviting him to dock with their lower module.  Philip wasn't too surprised.  They’d be able to control him right from the start, without introducing new factors.  He smiled as the shuttle started to move into docking position.  All his worries about the Theocracy were pushed aside; he’d either win, and defeat the pirates, or probably wind up dead.  And then he’d be remembered as the idiot who’d managed to get himself killed.  Tam Farnham would probably die laughing.

Bracing himself, he directed the shuttle to dock with the station.  There was a dull clunk as the two airlocks mated.  It wouldn’t be long now.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The airlock hissed open and two pirates pushed their way into the shuttle, both holding needle guns.  Philip held his hands in plain sight and waited patiently for the pirates to check the interior of the shuttle, looking for any smuggled surprises or weapons.  Their search wasn't very effective, he noted absently; they hadn't even bothered to check him for weapons.  They moved from compartment to compartment, one of them remaining within view at all times, pointing his weapon directly at Philip’s head.  One mistake would be the end of him.

“Stand up,” one of the pirates barked, finally.  Philip obeyed and endured it while the second pirate patted him down with a rough thoroughness that proved that he’d been right not to risk carrying a weapon.  He removed his wristcom and a small box of mints Philip had placed in his belt pouch, knowing that they would have to find something or they might start wondering what was really going on.  “Out the hatch, now!”

Philip obeyed, keeping his race carefully even.  The two pirates didn't look like fine specimens of humanity – which was probably why they were being treated as expendable decoys by their commander – but they were clearly armed and dangerous, capable of carrying out any atrocity to sate their greed.  They wore shabby uniforms that might, once, have been from an interstellar navy, although Philip doubted it.  Their faces were unshaven and their clothes stank.  It was clear, from the looks they were exchanging, that they felt trapped.  Philip could only hope that their commander felt the same way.

The interior of the mining station felt more humid than the last time Philip had visited, back when he’d assured the mining family that he would do all he could to protect them from their enemies.  He’d failed; the cold realisation tormented him, even as he allowed the pirates to push him through the cramped passageways.  They’d torn down the paintings the children had produced, he noted, shaking his head at the devastation.  Why had they wrecked havoc?  There had been no need to destroy harmless paintings.

He shook his head as they passed a half-open door.  It looked as if someone had forced it open using a laser weapon, melting through the metal and leaving it to run in streams down the length of the deck.  The room had probably been intended as a panic room for the children and the young women, but it couldn't have stood up to a weapons-grade laser.  God alone knew what the pirates might have done to the helpless children.  Philip knew too much about their habits to have any confidence that any of the station’s crew were safe.

“Move,” his captor snapped, shoving him forwards.  Philip obeyed, reminding himself that everything was going perfectly.  Of course, the plan had seemed much more workable back when he’d been on Dasher.  If Marie failed to pull off her part of the plan, Philip would be up a very unpleasant creek without a paddle.  “Move, you fucking...”

“Careful,” the second pirate said, quickly.  “Boss said not to kill him.”

“Boss says a lot of things,” the first pirate snarled back.  “Boss got us into this fucking mess, didn't he?  We’re going to be sucking vacuum if we don’t get out of this place before they kick us in the nuts!”

“He’ll cut off your balls if he hears you talking like that,” the second pirate countered.  “His way out is the only way out.”

“But you could surrender to me,” Philip injected, wondering if they would take his offer.  He wouldn't have trusted himself – but then, he hadn't decided to take up piracy as a full-time career.  “I can arrange for you both to avoid facing the executioner.”

The first pirate slammed a punch into his chest.  Philip saw it coming, but there was no way to avoid it without revealing that he was inclined to fight.  The punch was partly absorbed by the uniform, yet it hurt enough to send him staggering backwards, grunting in pain.  He played up the pain as much as possible.  They’d feel more confident if they believed he was broken, or unwilling to lift a finger to defend himself.

“No one sells out his mates, you hear me?”  The first pirate demanded.  “You’re going to keep your word with all of us or we’ll cut off your ears and send them back to your ship to show them that we mean business!”

He caught hold of Philip’s arm and dragged him through the corridor, into a set of compartments that had been devastated in a brief struggle, and finally into a large airlock.  The mining station’s original controlling node had been replaced and upgraded by the RockRats over the years, a requirement to keep the mine up and running even in the worst weather conditions on the planet below.  Philip’s lips twitched in sly amusement.  Very few groundhogs could have understood why the weather on a gas giant was important to spacers.  Jupiter’s Great Red Spot was little more than a pretty sight to them.

The compartment was crowded.  Two women, both teenage girls, had been tied to chairs by the pirates.  Their shirts had been removed, leaving only bras covering their bare breasts.  The marks Philip could see on their skin suggested that the pirates had been taking the chance to grope as much female flesh as possible, all the while holding themselves back from rape.  There was no way to tell if it was good discipline on their part – upheld by the threat of violence from their commander – or simply a reflection of their fear.  They had to know that escaping the mining station would prove difficult, even with their hostages.  Behind the girls, Manager John Milton was kneeling on the deck, his hands tied behind his back.  A pirate stood behind him, a pistol pointed at the back of his neck.  The pirates, clearly, suspected that he’d taken the opportunity to install Trojan Horse software in the station’s computers.  It was what they would have done.

Philip pulled himself up to his full height as he saw the pirate commander.  He was a short man, with a shirt that revealed an impressive display of muscles – and a scowl that dared any man to cross him.  There were those on planets who embraced the idea of the freebooters of space, men – and a few women – who lived as they pleased, but Philip had never been able to see any romance in the pirate lifestyle.  He’d spent too long clearing up the messes pirates left behind.  The pirate commander seemed desperate and trying to hide it – and he hoped to God that he was right.  A desperate man might be tempted to do something stupid, but he’d also want a way out and might not be inclined to question it too closely.

Up close, the pirate commander stank of sweat and fear.  “So you came, you fool,” he hissed.  Philip wanted to smile, but somehow managed to keep it off his face.  The pirate was posturing for the benefit of his men.  “And now you will call your ships and tell them to let us go.”

Philip faced him squarely, despite the strong arms gripping each of his arms.  “I think not,” he said, as pleasantly as he could.  “You will first release all of your hostages.”

He made a show of looking over at the hostages in the compartment.  None of them seemed to have been badly brutalised, although he could tell that both of the girls were terrified and their father was worried sick.  He’d been hit several times on the face, Philip decided, but he doubted it had been that hard.  The pirates wouldn't want to kill such an important hostage.

The pirate commander started to speak, but Philip cut him off.  “And I would like to see the remaining hostages,” he continued, sharply.  “I have to inform my ship that they are all alive and well, or else my ship will reduce this station to a number of interestingly-shaped pieces of debris.”

He smiled as the pirate commander started to splutter.  “You...you’re on this station too,” he protested, finally.  “You put your life in our hands!”

“And your lives are in the palm of my hands,” Philip said.  If he’d known that their search would be so inefficient, he would have made certain to bring an implanted weapon along to the party.  “The only way you have to leave this station alive is to honour the bargain we made.  Send the hostages back to my ship and then – and then – you can depart.  And you even have me as a hostage until you reach the edge of the system.”

There was a long moment as he watched the dark thoughts working their way through the pirate’s eyes, culminating in the realisation that Philip would be at his mercy once their ship entered hyperspace and sped away from any pursuit.  His men wouldn't get the girls, but at least they’d escape with their lives.  The last thing he needed was a mutiny on his hands, not when the navy was breathing down their necks.  Philip saw him come to the right conclusion and smiled to himself.  The bait had been well and truly taken.

“Show me the other hostages,” he said, mildly.  “And then we can send them away and you can leave.”

“Take him to see the bastards,” the pirate commander ordered, finally.  He nodded to one of his senior pirates, an oversized man who was clearly a heavy-world genie.  Philip eyed his muscles with some respect; heavy-worlders were rare in the Commonwealth, but there were a handful of worlds with significantly stronger gravity than Earth near the Sol Sector.  The chances were good that the pirate could break him in two with one hand tied behind his back.  “And then bring him straight back here.”

The thickset man caught Philip and frogmarched him out of another airlock, down a long tube that had probably been part of the original mining equipment.  A trio of pirates were waiting for them, one of them nursing a broken arm.  Philip could only marvel at the kind of mindset that would deny one of his own men medical care, and then he realised that the pirate had probably disobeyed orders.  By the time he was sent to a proper doctor, or even placed in an automated medical centre, the pain would have taught him a very harsh lesson.  No pirate commander could tolerate disobedience.  It would have made them look weak.

Ahead of him, a thick airlock hissed open, revealing the children’s playroom.  Inside, all of the kids seemed to have been gathered, along with the remaining adults.  They looked frightened, even though the pirates had locked them inside rather than force them to entertain some of the pirate crew, but Philip couldn't blame them.  It was a terrible thing for a child to realise that mummy and daddy couldn't save them from everything.  Life on the Rim caused children to grow up fast, if they were given the chance...

“You’ve seen them,” the heavy-world pirate grunted.  “Now come back to the boss.”

“I need to check them,” Philip said, eying the pirate.  He seemed to move like Tam Farnham, although Tam hadn't had anything like the same level of experience in dirty fighting.  The pirate could be taken down, given half a chance.  “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He spoke briefly to the adults and made a show of checking the children.  They looked unharmed, apart from their fear.  One young boy clung to his leg and had to be dislodged gently, but firmly.  They seemed a healthy bunch of young children otherwise, Philip realised, silently cursing the pirates under his breath.  The kids didn't deserve to suffer at the hands of the pirates.

“Good,” he said, finally.  “You may now lead me back to the pirate lair.”

The heavy-world pirate showed no response to his mild sally, merely opening the airlock and ordering Philip back up to the control compartment.  Philip watched the brief exchange of whispers between the two pirates, concentrating on meeting Milton’s eyes and winking at him.  The manager seemed reluctant to move, unsurprisingly.  His minder threw Philip a dirty look as the two pirates finished their conversation.  The two pirates who had met him at the shuttle were nowhere to be seen.

“You’ve seen them,” the pirate commander said.  “Now you can tell your ship that they’re all safe.”

“Of course,” Philip agreed.  “If you will kindly allow me to use your communications system...?”

The pirate waved a hand at one of the consoles, which Philip inspected before tapping two of the keys to open a channel to Dasher.  “This is the Captain,” he said.  “I can confirm that the hostages are alive; I say again, the hostages are alive.”

“Understood, sir,” Harmon said.  The tactical officer had been dubious about the wisdom of Philip’s plan, but none of that showed in his voice.  Philip would be sorry to lose him when he took command of one of the refurbished vessels.  “When will you be sending the shuttle back to the ship?”

“In five minutes,” Philip said.  He closed the channel and looked up at the pirate commander.  “Shall we go and start moving the hostages to the shuttle?”

“Now look here,” the pirate said.  “You cannot order us to...”

Philip allowed his eyes to narrow.  “You’re stuck,” he said.  “Do you want to get out of here with your skins intact or do you want to die when my ship blows this platform apart?  Your choice.”

“Fine,” the pirate snarled.  He nodded towards the armed man.  “You; follow that bastard” – he pointed at Philip – “and make damn sure he doesn't try anything funny.”

He was halfway towards the airlock when the lights in the compartment failed.  Philip moved at once, seeing a flash of light as the pirate fired – an instant too late.  The only light in the compartment was the glow from the consoles, but his enhanced retinas were able to compensate, allowing him to see the three pirates  clearly.  He snapped out a punch towards the armed pirate and felt his victim’s throat crack, just before he dropped the gun on the deck.  Philip scooped it up as the emergency lighting flared into life, bringing it up to target the heavy-world pirate.  His target let out a roar and lashed out with shocking speed, knocking the gun across the compartment, before drawing back a fist to knock Philip’s lights out.  Philip ducked the blow and slammed two fingers into the pirate’s eyes.  He howled as they squished, just before Philip brought his knee up and slammed it right into his ground.  The pirate hit the ground, screaming in pain, and Philip took the opportunity to kick him in the head.  It had probably come as something of a relief.

The pirate commander had fled, rather than try to join the fight – but it was already too late.  Philip heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh and a body hit the deck.  He scooped up the dropped weapon and held it at the ready, just before Marie came into view.  Sneaking them over clinging to the shuttle’s hull had been risky, but it had allowed them to get onto the station without being detected.  Five Marines could wipe out any number of pirates; the only danger had been in losing some of the hostages.

“Everyone’s alive – well, all of the good guys,” Marie said.  “Nine pirates dead; twelve more taken prisoner.  Your plan worked, Captain.”

Philip shook his head.  That had been far too close.

“Get them over to the ship so we can have them interrogated,” he ordered.  He looked at the two girls and sighed inwardly.  “And then they can be escorted to the airlock, unless they have something interesting to tell us.”

Marie didn't argue.  “Yes, sir,” she said.  “And by the way...”

Philip lifted an eyebrow.  “Yes?”

“Nice moves,” she added.  “A Marine couldn't have done better.”

“A Marine would have had implanted weapons,” Philip countered.  His fist hurt.  He’d killed men before while serving on starships, but killing with his bare hands felt...different, somehow.   “And maybe they wouldn't have invited him into their nest.”

***
“The good news, sir, is that Manager Milton is very grateful to you,” Marie said, two hours later.  Philip was back on Dasher, having transferred over, had a shower, and then returned to the bridge.  “The bad news is that they probably weren't connected to the Theocracy.”

“That’s not bad news,” Philip said.  If he’d been in command of the Theocracy’s operations within the sector, he would have sent a team of fanatics.  They would have blown the station and themselves without a second thought.  “I take it they knew nothing of great use?”

“They did know about another pirate base,” Marie admitted.  “This one is actually nearly a month away – well outside the Rim.  I don’t think we could deal with it so easily.”

“But we can send a scout around to check it out,” Philip said.  They had a handful of ships that could serve as scouts; coming to think of it, they could even have the ship’s crew visit the pirate base.  It was normally straightforward to land at a pirate base, provided one had the right codes.  “And then we can decide what to do about it.”

He pushed the matter aside.  “But we’re going to need new security at the gas giant mine,” he added.  “The next time we might be less lucky and...”

His wristcom interrupted him.  “Captain, this is the bridge,” Harmon’s voice said.  “Four starships have just arrived from Avalon – sir, the war has started.  The Theocracy attacked Cadiz over a month ago.”

Philip met Marie’s eyes, sharing the same thought.  They’d hoped to prepare Asher Dales for war, but now...

Their time had just run out.

Chapter Thirty-Six

“I’ve reviewed the messages from Avalon,” Philip said, three hours later.  The four starships that had arrived had brought a complete update, but he had to keep reminding himself that it was already out of date.  “The war has begun.”

There was no visible reaction from the holographic images, but he could sense the tension rising in the small compartment.  They’d all known it was coming – and that the countdown had started to the Theocracy’s attack on Asher Dales.  Philip rubbed his eyes, tiredly.  It was a hell of an irony that they’d finally gotten their hands on a working shipyard – Quincy, it seemed, had been more than happy to move his outfit out to the Rim – only to have it placed at risk when the Theocracy attacked.  Philip had ordered the crew to start setting up next to the gas giant mine anyway.  They didn’t have time to move it to another system and use it as a secret base.

“It seems that there actually was a Princess Jasmine,” he continued.  “The Commonwealth’s version of the story is that she defected – and attempted to warn the Commonwealth of the oncoming storm.  Thanks to Admiral Morrison” – and he thought cold thoughts about his former tormentor – “Cadiz was unprepared for the attack and fell quickly.  The last report we have states that the remains of 6th Fleet were preparing to mount a counter-attack.”

“They might be better off withdrawing and waiting for reinforcements,” Nonagon said, quietly.  “I knew men who served in the fleet and they said that its general condition of readiness was deplorable.”

“It will have been fought out by now,” Philip reminded him.  The war had begun almost a month and a half ago.  By now, 6th Fleet would have given the Theocracy a bloody nose – or had been destroyed by superior force.  “We have to remain focused on the problem at hand – defending Asher Dales.  The Theocracy isn’t going to leave us active in their rear.”

“We could always launch a strike on Jordan,” Schifrin pointed out.  “They may not know that the war has begun.”

Philip had been considering the possibility.  In truth, however, Jordan was unimportant to the war effort, at least as long as the Theocracy’s heavy cruiser – and however many other ships they had in the sector – remained intact.  Jordan offered them nothing, but paper-thin legitimacy for their presence in the sector; occupying the planet would accomplish nothing beyond annoying the Theocrats.  It was a worthwhile blow in itself, Philip had to admit, yet it would accomplish little else.  The Theocracy would attack Asher Dales soon afterwards – if their ships weren’t already on their way.

Governments, intelligence services and media organisations had spent years devising models for the transmission of information from star to star, right across the Human Sphere.  Assuming that the go order had been sent from Abdullah, just after the attack on Cadiz had succeeded, Captain Rican and his crew should be ignorant for at least two weeks – but he dared not assume that that was the truth.  They could have used an FTL transmission system to speed the message on its way, or they could have sent the order earlier – and that meant that the invasion force might be approaching Asher Dales right now.  Only a fool would try to micromanage events from hundreds of light years away; it was quite possible that the Theocracy had agents on Hsu, or one of the other colonies in the sector, and one of them would alert Captain Rican.  They had to assume the worst.

“I have to speak to the council,” Philip said, slowly.

“What can the council do?”  Marie asked, practically.  “They can declare war on the Theocracy and beg for Commonwealth assistance – and are they going to get any?”

Philip rather doubted it.  The war had just begun.  Anyone who had any combat power left was going to want to hang onto it until they knew where the pieces had begun to fall.  The RAN would be redeploying its units towards Cadiz and forming an interior line of defence; hell, now that Admiral Morrison had been relieved of command – assuming that he was still alive – someone competent might even start planning a counter-attack.  They wouldn’t want to deploy units towards Asher Dales, at least not any units that might be a viable part of an assault fleet.  The best they could hope for would be a handful of outdated starships – and most RAN ships had been thoroughly updated to remain in service.  It was possible that the Commonwealth might cut a deal with one of the other interstellar powers, but Philip suspected that they’d wait to see who came out ahead.  They wouldn’t want to ruin their chances of cutting a deal with the Theocracy.

“We could always take over Asher Dales and claim that we were taking control for the benefit of the Commonwealth,” Schifrin offered, with a wink.  “That would give the locals some political cover…”

“Which wouldn’t impress the Theocracy at all,” Philip said.  “They’d jump at the chance to ‘liberate’ Asher Dales from our corrupt government and – oh look – the people of Asher Dales have embraced the faith in gratitude for their salvation!  Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Point,” Marie agreed.  “I think we have to accept that they’re going to be coming for Asher Dales sooner or later anyway – probably sooner.  The only gas giant mine in the sector they can take without causing major political problems is here.”

“True,” Philip said.  He looked over at Nonagon.  “Assuming the worst, I want the remaining starships outfitted as soon as possible.  Load some of them with explosives and prepare to turn them into ramming ships on remote control; rig out the others with missile pods and laser clusters.  We can at least give them a bloody nose before they take the high orbitals.”

He looked around the chamber, meeting their eyes.  “They’re going to come here,” he said.  “None of us signed up to defend this planet against an overwhelming force, but I think we have a moral right to take a stand.  Spread the word; if anyone wants to back out, they can have a seat on the freighter we’re going to send to Hsu.  They can make their way back to the Commonwealth from there.  Anyone who wants to stay will be welcome.

“I don’t know if we have a chance at stopping them before they rip us apart, but I intend to try.  I expect that each and every one of you will give your utmost to our preparations – or I’ll personally turn into your worst fucking nightmare.  If we’re doomed to make a futile last stand, we can at least claw the bastards good and proper before we go down.  Make sure that your people understand that – one way or another, we will be remembered.”

He keyed the switch, closing the communications relays.  In the privacy of his own head, he had to admit that defeat seemed likely – certainly if he tried to fight a conventional defence.  But there were ways to even the odds, just a little; he’d been devising them ever since he’d realised that there was at least one Theocracy heavy cruiser in the sector.  They might just be able to take them by surprise.

Civilian ships weren’t warships, no matter how many missile pods or laser clusters were bolted onto their holds.  The average lifespan of most of his squadron would be measured in seconds once they flew into missile range of the enemy ship, yet…he had a vague idea or two.  It would make his stunt of offering himself as a hostage look positively sane by comparison, but…it should work.  Dasher had been built to stand an astonishing amount of pressure, after all.  

He stood up and headed towards the airlock.  The council, down below, had no idea that war had been declared.  They’d have to be informed before the Theocracy arrived and started issuing demands for their surrender.  Who knew which way the civilians would jump?

***
“Can you hold this planet?”

Philip paused to consider the question.  The council had been called almost as soon as he’d landed, allowing all of the councillors a chance to reach the town hall.  Philip would have preferred that some of them had decided to absent themselves, but there was no help for it.  Besides, any real question was likely to be put to a referendum.  The councillors wouldn’t be able to ram a decision down the throats of their fellows.  Everyone on Asher Dales had seen what remained of the refugees from Jordan and even the ones who wanted to send the refugees back into space knew what conquest by the Theocracy would mean for Asher Dales.

“Perhaps,” he said, finally.  He didn’t want to go into details.  The Theocracy might have subverted one or more of the councillors – and everything he said would get back to listening ears.  If he’d had proof…but there was none.  There was no point in pointing fingers at anyone, even Farnham, without proof.  His comrades would refuse to believe him.  “We certainly intend to try.”

“But some of your people are fleeing,” Greg Farnham said, sardonically.  “How do we know that you intend to stay?”

“I’m not leaving,” Philip said, patiently.  He thought about explaining the link between the military and civilians, that the strongest militaries had always been the ones with close ties between the military and civilian spheres, but Farnham wouldn’t have understood.  “Only thirteen of my men are leaving.  The remainder have agreed to stay and fight for you.”

He smiled.  “And besides, there are over three hundred volunteers from the former pirate base and two hundred trainees from Asher Dales itself,” he added.  “They all know what they’re fighting for, councillor.”

“Which leaves us with a single question,” Barrington said.  “Should we petition the Commonwealth for membership?”

There was a long pause, followed by a freewheeling debate.  Philip did his best to follow it, trying to understand who was on what side.  Farnham seemed to be against it, which wasn't too surprising, but several of the farmers seemed to be in favour – and Barrington himself hadn’t cast a proper vote.  The main issue seemed to be what they’d have to do to gain Commonwealth membership; none of them wanted to end up like Cadiz.  Philip couldn’t blame them for that fear.  Cadiz had been a dreadful mistake from Day One.

“There are some issues you need to consider,” Philip said, when they asked his opinion.  “In the short term, the Commonwealth is likely to be unable to send you any significant help.  Even if we send a request off now – and they agree at once – it will still be upwards of two months before any help arrives, even if they dispatch it the day after agreeing to send help.  We will have to make our stand without them.  Commonwealth membership wouldn’t make you less of a target; you still have the gas mine, you still have your location – and you still have the squadron.  In the short term, you have to stand on your own.”

“So we shouldn’t prostitute ourselves to the Commonwealth,” Farnham growled.  “They can’t do anything for us and we have nothing to interest them.”

Philip ignored him.  “In the long term, you have the gas mine, you have the makings of a shipyard – and you have a growing off-planet workforce, both orbital and deep space,” he said.  “The Commonwealth would certainly find you a good long-term investment; Asher Dales would develop until it matched Hsu within five years.  If the Commonwealth survives the early thrusts of the war, they’d find Asher Dales very useful and they’d probably be willing to agree to excellent terms for you.  They’d certainly want to keep the Theocracy out of this sector.”

He smiled.  “My advice is that you apply for membership,” he concluded, “but remember that there will be no help – and no reply – for quite some time.”

“I see,” one of the other councillors said.  “And if we plead neutrality?”

“The Theocracy would certainly not accept it,” Philip said, grimly.  “At the very least, they’d insist on you disarming – and then you’d be at their mercy.  Or they’d assume that you were trying to buy time and launch an attack at once.  I think you’d discover very quickly that you can’t trust them to keep a bargain.  They believe that promises made to infidels don’t count.”

“We need to debate the matter,” Barrington said.  Philip smiled inwardly.  He’d been under the impression that they were already debating the matter.  He felt an odd flash of impatience that he had to fight down.  The work in orbit wouldn’t go faster if he was pacing the bridge, or personally contacting the work crews to make them work harder.  He had to place his trust in her people and hope.  “Please would you wait outside?”

Philip nodded and left the room.  Outside, Tanya was seated on a bench, waiting for him.  She looked nervous, but determined.  Philip took a seat next to her and held out a hand.  A moment later, Tanya took it and squeezed hard.

“There’s a lot of fear on the streets,” she said, quietly.  “Plenty of people want to fight – but they don’t know if we can fight.  Others don’t want to leave their lands and escape back to civilised territory; they’ve invested too much in the system to want to leave it.”

She looked up at him, her eyes open wide.  “And to think that I just wanted to be a lawyer,” she said.  “Philip…can we win?”

Philip hesitated, and then nodded.  “I think so,” he said.  “I’m not going to go into details – walls have ears – but I think we can win.”

“I believe you,” Tanya said.  She looked down at the floor for a long moment.  “Nothing is ever going to be the same, is it?”

“No,” Philip said.  “You’re on the front lines of a war now.”

“We – my parents and their comrades – came out here because they wanted to escape the crowded Core Worlds,” Tanya said, slowly.  “They believed that there wasn't a hope in hell of a better life on Mars or any of the other worlds in the Sol System.  And the pressure to have genie genes spliced into their DNA was growing overwhelming – Mars may be habitable now, but it’s nowhere near as liveable as Earth.”

Philip shrugged.  Mars had been the human race’s only large-scale attempt at creating an Earth-like paradise from the ruins of a dead world.  Once they’d discovered how to open vortexes into hyperspace, there had been plenty of worlds that required only minor levels of modification before the settlers could land and start building their new lives.  The ones who’d remained on Mars had started transforming their descendents into genies to allow them to live on Mars without high-tech support.

“And now we’re involved in galactic events again,” Tanya added.  “We didn’t ask for this…”

“I don’t think that anyone back on Avalon asked for it either,” Philip pointed out, rather tartly.  “Even the King doesn’t want a war.  The real question is how much we’re prepared to surrender to the Theocracy before we finally admit that we have no choice, but to draw a line in the stars.  And they’ve chosen to jump across that line.”

He remembered the outdated information from Avalon.  Cadiz had been attacked and taken, with 6th Fleet in retreat - presumably taking heavy losses in the battle.  6th Fleet had represented an alarmingly large percentage of the Commonwealth’s active battleships; if they’d been destroyed, God alone knew what was likely to happen to the balance of power.  The Commonwealth was too large to be destroyed in a single hammer-blow right out of the blue, but it was quite possible that the destruction of 6th Fleet would give the Theocracy an unbeatable advantage.  They might be able to press the Commonwealth all the way back to Avalon before new battleships could be constructed.

“You cannot expect them to leave you alone,” he concluded.  “Your choice is between fighting now - or fighting later.”

“But it isn’t fair,” Tanya protested.

“The universe isn’t fair,” Philip reminded her.  “It isn’t unfair either.  It simply is.”

Tanya smiled, rather dryly.  “That sounds like a line from Galt Gulch’s founding mother,” she said.  “Do you know I once considered going there to study?”

Philip smiled.  “Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t be bothered reading the books,” Tanya admitted.  “And besides – I want children one day, and a life that isn’t endless pressure and competition.  I don’t just want to live for myself.”

“So you’re human,” Philip said.  “I think that makes you unique among lawyers.”

Tanya snorted, just before someone cleared his throat.  “Ah…Commodore, Miss Barrington,” one of the councillors said.  “If you would care to return to the chamber…?”

Philip pulled himself to his feet and held out a hand to Tanya, who took it gratefully.  They walked together into the council chamber, where the council was waiting for them.  Two of them cast disapproving glances at their hands before they sat down; the others didn’t seem to care.

“We’ve been considering the issue,” Barrington said.  “The debate was brutal and the vote was very close.  However, it is our intention to petition the Commonwealth for membership.  We will hold the vote in two weeks and confirm that there is support among our citizens.”

Philip nodded.  After Cadiz, the Commonwealth wouldn’t want another member world without making damn sure that there was substantial pro-Commonwealth support on the ground.  They’d probably want to send in observers to be sure that the voting was fair and open to all.

“And when they demand our surrender, we will tell them to come and take it,” Barrington added.  “We don’t want to fight, Commodore, but we will not surrender…”

A massive explosion shook the chamber.  A moment later, the sound of gunfire began to echo out in the distance.  Philip has his own pistol out and ready before he’d quite realised what was happening.  They were under attack.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Hit the deck,” Philip shouted, as he heard the sound of incoming mortar fire.  “Get down, you silly…”

Another explosion cut off his words.  Dear God – it sounded as if they were under assault by an entire infantry company, perhaps more.  How could anyone have sneaked such a force into the city without it being noticed?  The sound of gunfire was growing louder.  It was hard to pick out individual sounds, but it certainly sounded as though they were modern military weapons.  Asher Dales had played host to a concealed cache of weapons after all.

He keyed his wristcom as he motioned the councillors and Tanya to get under the tables.  They’d provide some limited protection if there was a direct hit on the building.  “This is Larson,” he said, hoping against hope that the enemy hadn’t brought along something that could jam channels.  “I am under attack in the Town Hall; I say again, I am under attack in the Town Hall.”

“Understood, sir,” Harmon said.  “The Marines are racing for their shuttle now.”

Philip ran through it in his head.  The single assault shuttle they had was outdated; it would probably take at least fifteen minutes before the Marines were in a position to drop.  By then, the enemy – whoever they were – could have wiped the council out and declared themselves the government of Asher Dales.  That wouldn't be a good outcome, he told himself, and smiled.  It seemed as if he still had a studied gift for understatement.

“Try and get me some updates on the local situation,” he ordered.  Asher Dales might have had an armed population, but it would take time to rally the troops.  The sophisticated communications infrastructure common on advanced worlds simply didn't exist here.  “Launch a drone if you can't get any live feed off the orbiting satellites.”

He cursed as the building shook again.  Assuming that the attackers wanted to capture the council rather than assassinate them all, they’d have to take the Town Hall by force.  The defenders seemed to be fighting back, but they’d clearly been caught by surprise and were probably outgunned – even with the weapons they’d captured at the pirate base and turned over to the local defence force.  It was quite possible, a more cynical part of his mind added, that the local defence force was doing the attacking.  Someone in the right position issuing the right orders could get a hell of a lot done before anyone thought to question him...God knew, it had almost happened once before on Avalon.

“Listen,” he shouted at the councillors.  Most of them were grasping small pistols, he noted with surprised amusement.  Firearms were banned at political meetings on Avalon.  Given the likelihood of political debates turning into shouting matches on Asher Dales, he was vaguely surprised that they hadn't passed a similar law.  But he wasn’t going to complain.  “They’re coming to kill us and we can’t stay here!”

On Avalon, there would have been secure blast doors, panic rooms and underground tunnels that would allow the politicians to hide and secure themselves while troops rushed to take out the terrorists.  Asher Dales had no such facilities, at least as far as Philip knew.  Judging from the sounds of fighting outside, they weren't likely to be able to fort up somewhere and wait for help.  The insurgents – or whatever they really were – would be able to blow through any barricades they might be able to put in place.

“We have to get out of here,” he added.  He was surprised to see that Farnham was looking ready to fight, unlike some of the other councillors.  “Follow me and keep your goddamned heads down!”

“We could stay here,” one of the older councillors protested.  He’d been speaking against the war and looked terrified.  Having one’s own life in danger did tend to concentrate the mind wonderfully – but it tended to concentrate the mind on the fact that it was in terrible danger.  One way or the other, Philip had lived with danger from the moment he’d entered Piker’s Peak as a naval cadet.  “They’re not going to be able to break in...”

Philip snorted.  “Hear that buzzing?”  He asked.  “That sounds like a magnetic-propelled assault cannon.  It could blast through the walls inside this building, tearing them like paper.  They’ve probably got plasma cannon and frying grenades as well – given time, they could bring the entire building down around our ears.  We have to get out of here right now.”

He led the way to the rear of the chamber and knelt down, pushing the door open carefully with one hand.  The sound of shooting grew louder; it sounded as if they were surrounded by fighting.  Philip silently cursed the enemy under his breath.  It wouldn't take a tactical genius to have all the exits from the Town Hall watched, with reserve forces lying in wait to trap anyone trying to escape.  Silently, he thanked his own paranoia; if they hadn't discovered that someone was sending weapons to underground groups, the Town Hall wouldn't have been so well protected.  It might have made the difference between life or death.

The corridor seemed empty, but he slipped along it carefully anyway, glancing down at his wristcom.  If the Marines had had a definite ETA...he pushed the thought aside as he knelt down again and peered around a corner.  There was still no sign of movement, friendly or unfriendly.  The rear of the Town Hall seemed to be almost deserted.  He looked back at the councillors and beckoned with one hand.  They looked timorous, but followed him down towards the kitchens at the rear of the building.  Philip had been told – by Tanya – that the kitchens were normally unattended, their only use being to cook for the population after Town Hall gatherings.  It was a charming idea, in his opinion; after an evening talking politics, everyone could relax together and enjoy some cooking.  He wondered if anyone would be enjoying their food on Asher Dales after the Theocracy took over.  The meal they’d eaten on Jordan was very atypical of what the average Theocrat ate.

He halted again and listened carefully.  The noise of shooting was growing louder, masking any other sounds.  He opened the door to the kitchen and peered across a small set of tables, covered with washed bowls and cooking utensils.  A single large oven, probably the most advanced in the entire system, dominated the rear of the room.  It was large enough to bake nearly a hundred small loaves of bread or roast several whole sheep at once.  He hesitated, considering; could they hide in the oven?  It only took him a moment to dismiss the idea.  A laser cutter would have them out within seconds, if the enemy didn't simply turn on the heat.

Farnham slipped forward to join him, weapon on hand.  “We could hide here,” he murmured.  “They’re not going to be able to dig us out of here quickly.”

Philip shook his head.  “They’ll just throw grenades at us until we’re dead,” he said.  At some point, the insurgents would want to save their own lives – after all, they wouldn't be able to control the remaining population unless they had the numbers as well as the weapons.  “We need to get out of the building quickly.”

He glanced down at the status update on his wristcom.  A number of buildings near the Town Hall seemed to have caught fire, probably – judging by the spectroscopic analysis – from plasma cannon bursts.  There was no way to know if the enemy had set the buildings on fire deliberately or if they’d overheated their cannons and caused their plasma canisters to explode in their faces.  Philip hoped it was the latter, but he had to assume that it was the former.  The enemy should be really putting the boot in right about now.  A handful of people were running around outside the Town Hall, yet he couldn't tell if they were friendly, hostile, or merely caught in the middle of the hellish uprising.  There was a limit to how much one could glean from orbital observation.

The entire building shook again; this time, the blast was far closer.  Philip held up a hand to halt the councillors and crept forward, carefully peering ahead of him into the storage chambers behind the kitchen.  The far wall had been completely disintegrated by the enemy, allowing a small mob of armed men to charge into the Town Hall.  They didn't look like professional military men, let alone Special Forces operatives – certainly nothing to match the elite Rangers or Blades from the Commonwealth.  Philip reminded himself not to get overconfident as he hefted his weapon, drawing a bead from cover on the lead soldier.  He didn't have specialised SF training either.  

Should have brought a dozen Marines as a bodyguard, he told himself, crossly.  He hated the thought of having bodyguards, even though regulations clearly stated that commanding officers were to be protected during times of conflict – or even threatened times of conflict.  Asher Dales didn't have a Marine Corps, let alone a Special Warfare tradition; they’d have to see to founding one, given time.  He pushed that thought aside as he watched his targets.  The enemy seemed to be pushing in more men from the rear.  That, he told himself, was grossly unwise.

Calmly, he shot the first man in the head and switched aim to the second before his first target had even hit the ground.  The enemy were still reacting when he pulled the trigger a second time, hitting his target in the throat.  A third one leapt forward and Philip shot him in the chest, sending him staggering over and collapsing onto the ground.  He hadn’t been wearing body armour, apparently.  It was a curious oversight, but not an unsurprising one with a force that basically consisted of civilians.  They wouldn't have had the training to realise that guns weren't all that made soldiers dangerous.

He hopped backwards and dived behind the wall as the enemy hit the deck and opened fire, savagely raking the entire corridor.  Philip wasn't sure what they were shooting at and he doubted they knew either; they seemed to be panicking.  Someone was bellowing orders loudly enough to be heard even over the shooting, ordering his men to hold fire.  Philip took the opportunity to creep backwards while waiting for the next target to show himself.  Perhaps the enemy commander would lead from the front.  It would be a particularly foolish or untrained commander who would, but he could hope...

Two men lunged forward, their assault rifles raised and ready.  Philip shot the first one and switched his aim to the second, but missed.  The second threw himself down to the ground and started to hose down the corridor again, aiming closer to Philip than he perhaps realised.  Philip slipped backwards again, shaking his head as he took in the damage to the stone walls.  The insurgents had had the sense not to try to fire plasma cannons or other heavy weapons inside the building, but how long would that last?  God alone knew how many casualties they were prepared to soak up to take the council alive.

He crawled backwards into the kitchen and started when he hit a table he hadn't realised was there.  A moment later, he realised that Farnham had been giving orders, having somehow assumed control.  The tables had been tipped over, their heavy metal plating being used to provide a limited amount of cover for the armed councillors.  Philip was almost impressed; the enemy had cut off their line of retreat, but they were going to find it difficult to take the council alive.  He glanced down again at his wristcom as he found cover of his own.  The Marines were on their way, moving as fast as they could.  God only knew if he’d be alive to greet them.

“Got everyone into position,” Farnham whispered.  If he was delighted that he’d had a chance to try out his plan, he didn't show it.  Philip would have preferred to be legging it through town too, rather than being trapped in a shooting gallery.  “They’re going to have a hard time taking us.”

Philip had to smile.  Two of the councillors were making piles of knives, cooking forks and other kitchen utensils; Tanya and another councillor were sorting out a handful of ingredients.  Philip wasn’t sure what they had in mind, but there was no time to worry about it.  Everything had gone ominously quiet outside.

“Barrington,” a voice bellowed, loudly.  One of the insurgents was trying to communicate.  Philip and Farnham exchanged glances, and then they shook their heads simultaneously.  There was no point in talking to the insurgents.  “Barrington; come out with your hands up and we will take you alive!  You and your daughter and the rest of the councillors will not be harmed if you surrender now!”

Farnham coughed.  “You want to bet,” he muttered to Philip, “that they’ll put a bullet in us as soon as we surrender the planet?”

“No bet,” Philip muttered back.  How could Tam’s father had turned out to be a real man?  Maybe it was the thrill of discovering that his life was in danger, rather than fighting bloodless battles for political power.  “Do you recognise the voice?”

“I don’t think so,” Farnham said.  “It sounds like an accent from Gnus though; he could have been one of the convicts...”

Philip nodded.  It sounded probable, all things considered.  The convicts had a grudge against Asher Dales and absolutely no faith in the civilian government.  It wouldn't be too hard for the Theocracy to turn them; if the worst happened, they’d reason that it could hardly be worse for them personally.  Philip would have told them that if he’d been playing their side.

Barrington crawled over to him.  “You reckon I should tell him to go to hell?”

“If you like,” Philip said.  There was a moment’s pause.  “But they have to know the Marines are coming.  We could try to stall them.”

Barrington nodded and raised his voice.  “We won’t surrender until we know who we’re surrendering to,” he bellowed.  “Who are you and why are you harming our world?”

“No bargaining,” the voice came back.  “Get out here now or we won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

“Fuck you,” Farnham bellowed.  “We would rather die than betray our people.”

The insurgents opened fire.  Bullets spangled off the metal plating and were sent ricocheting around the kitchen.  Philip heard a councillor yelp in pain as one of the bullets struck him in the leg.  He took aim, but held his fire.   There was no point in wasting their limited ammunition.  They’d keep shooting, he guessed, and then call on the councillors to surrender again.  Or maybe they’d try ordering their men into a shooting gallery...

There was another thump, much closer.  Philip’s wristcom started to bleep, followed rapidly by the sound of Commonwealth-issued weapons.  The Marines had finally arrived.  There was a brief burst of fire from the insurgents and then they were gone, running for their lives.  Philip keyed his wristcom to order the insurgents taken alive, if possible, although he knew that they probably wouldn't know anything about their superiors.  There would have been a Theocracy agent on the planet, but he would probably have fled into the untouched countryside as soon as he realised that the assault had failed.

“The outside is secure,” Marie’s voice said.  “We got a handful of prisoners, sir.  I think you’re going to need to take a look at one of them.”

Philip nodded as the Marines reached the kitchen, allowing the councillors to free themselves and head out of the tottering building.  A small number of prisoners were lying on the grounds, stunned with jangler pulses that would keep them out of commission for at least an hour.  Philip had been expecting to see someone from the Theocracy’s standard genotype, but instead he saw a very familiar face.  Tam Farnham’s stunned body was right in front of him.

“I...”

Philip shook his head sadly as Greg Farnham stumbled away.  He probably hadn't known that his boy was a traitor – absently, Philip wondered if Tam had become a traitor before or after Philip had beaten him to within an inch of his life.  It would destroy his political career when the truth came out – and God knew it wouldn’t be long before the entire planet knew.  

And he’d never expected that he would feel any sympathy for the older man.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, and meant it.

***
“He confessed, finally,” Marie said.  They were gathered in Barrington’s house, near the Town Hall.  It had been spared the worst of the fires, which had been started deliberately.  “They got to him about a year ago – told him that he’d be the master of the planet under them.  He used his own farmstead as a place to hide their little team of insurgents – I think we’ll find that most of them were reported dead.”

“We never bothered to take convict death reports seriously,” Abubakar Dakarai, the Penal Supervision Officer commented.  He wasn't native to the planet – and would be returning to Mars at the end of his hitch.  Philip suspected that he’d be leaving as soon as he could and to hell with his contract.  He hadn’t signed up for service in a war zone.  “It's something we’re going to have to change.”

“You may also want to give them a stake in their planet,” Philip added.  “Or this will happen again – and you may not get lucky next time.”

“True,” Barrington agreed, “but what can we do with them?  No one will want them close to settled lands.”

“They could join the pirates,” Philip suggested, mildly.  “There’s plenty of room on the uninhabited island...”

He would have said more, but his wristcom buzzed.  “Captain,” Harmon said, “we’re picking up a vortex opening, 5 light-minutes from the planet.  It’s the Theocracy ship, Captain – and she isn't alone.”

“Understood,” Philip said.  He’d have to take a shuttle, and then fly back to his ship.  If he was lucky, the Theocracy ship wouldn't attack until he was safely onboard – for a certain value of ‘safe,’ of course.  “Put the defences on full alert.  I’m on my way.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Report!”

Harmon stood up from the command chair as Philip strode onto the bridge.  Two red icons hung on the main display, their projected courses angling towards the planet.  Philip scowled, even though the Theocracy had kindly given them a chance to come to battle stations before opening fire.  Space battles were fought at point-blank range on cosmic terms and he was uneasily aware that in the absence of FTL sensors, the Theocracy’s ships might have altered course and he wouldn’t know about it for at least five minutes.  In theory, they shouldn’t have been able to spring a surprise on him, but commanders had spent years considering ways to use the time delay to their advantage.  Besides, the Theocracy had a reputation for being devious.

“Two starships detected,” Harmon said, as he took the tactical console.  “One is definitely the Warrior of the Lord, according to our sensor platforms; the other appears to be a light cruiser of unknown design.  Judging from its power curves, it’s probably roughly akin to the Thermopylae-class ships.”

Philip nodded, although he had to remind himself sharply that the Theocracy might have built a comparable ship, but there was no guarantee that it carried the same weapons load.  Light cruisers were built primarily for escorting and scouting duties; their weapons systems tended to be focused around dealing with pirates or evading the bigger starships.  It probably wouldn’t have mattered; one light cruiser carried as much firepower as all three of his destroyers.

“Get me a fleet update,” he ordered.  In the RAN, the shipboard datanet would have already started to update, informing him of the precise status of his entire squadron.  The makeshift piece of work they’d put together for the squadron was cumbersome and hardly up to the task.  Coordinating their point defence against a determined assault would be almost impossible.  He had no illusions about how long they’d be able to endure a missile duel.  “I want to know everyone’s status.”

They’d had twenty-seven starships crewed and working up – insofar as that term could be used – in orbit, and nine other starships which had been outfitted as ramming ships.  It wasn't actually easy to ram a moving starship, but Philip intended to try.  Some of his planned tactics depended upon it.  If he could get one ship crashed into the enemy heavy cruiser, it would be gone.  Not even a battleship could survive such an impact.  But it was such an obvious tactic that the Theocracy would be expecting him to play it.  His only real hope was to keep them off balance until the ramming ships could be got into position.

“Bring up the datanet and keep running testing cycles,” he said.  The RAN built all of its equipment to function together.  It seemed the pirates had been less canny, although that wasn't a surprise.  They rarely flew in formation, let alone hunted in squadrons.  Most of their equipment hadn’t been designed to be spliced together.  “Pass a warning message to the backup datanet ships.  I want the net to be re-established the moment it goes down.”

He settled back in his command chair and forced himself to wait, trying not to think of the defenceless planet behind him.  Barrington – and Farnham, he admitted with some minor amazement – might talk a good game, but Philip had no illusions.  Once the squadron was stripped away, the Theocracy would land a small army and that would be the end of Asher Dales’ independence.  They couldn’t hope to maintain an underground resistance until the Commonwealth liberated the planet, if they ever did.  If the war was lost…

But what were they waiting for?  The thought nagged at him, even as he tried to keep himself focused.  They could have come out of hyperspace much closer to the planet and shattered the squadron before his crews even realised that they were under attack.  He had to look this particular gift horse in the mouth; the Theocracy wasn’t stupid, so why were they playing stupid?

Because they expected the insurgency on the planet to succeed, he realised, suddenly.  So far from Asher Dales, they wouldn’t be able to see what was happening on the planet directly, but they’d certainly be able to pick up the take from the sensor platforms they’d undoubtedly emplaced in the system.  If Tam had succeeded, they would have been able to force the squadron to surrender – Tam’s force would be the government.  Philip wondered idly what his crews would have done without him.  Tam had planned his assault in the hopes of decapitating the squadron as well as the council.  A little more luck and he might just have succeeded.

“Captain,” Harmon said, “I am picking up a transmission from the enemy ships.”

Philip straightened his uniform jacket as he sat upright.  “Let’s hear it,” he said.  “Put it on the main speaker.”

There was a brief crackle of static.  “Attention, Asher Dales,” an unfamiliar voice said.  The analysis flickering up on Philip’s console suggested that it was computer-generated, even though it sounded human.  “The Theocracy and the Commonwealth of Avalon are at war.  In line with protecting Theocratic interests in this sector, we demand that Asher Dales formally declares neutrality in the conflict.  To ensure that this system’s neutrality is respected, we insist that the Asher Dales Naval Service stands down and surrenders its ships to the Theocracy.  We also demand that all Commonwealth and ex-Commonwealth naval personnel are interned, the gas giant mine and shipyard be secured by Theocratic troops and that a unit of Janissaries be stationed on Asher Dales to ensure that pro-Commonwealth elements on the planet do not attempt to take her into the war.

“Should these demands be rejected, we will move against your planet, destroy your space-based defence force and occupy the high orbitals.  Further resistance will be punished from orbit.  You have twenty minutes to signal your acceptance of these terms from receipt of this message, or we will move against your world.”

The signal cut out.  “It’s repeating on all frequencies,” Harmon remarked, after a moment.  “Everyone with a working transmitter will have heard it, sir.”

Philip nodded and keyed his console, activating the link to Barrington’s office.  “They just demanded your effective surrender,” he said.  The council would have heard the demand – a surrender demand in all, but name.  “If you comply with their demands, Asher Dales will be completely defenceless and unable to prevent them from renegotiating the agreement at will.”

“We’ve made up our mind,” Barrington said, flatly.  “We won’t surrender to them, Commodore.  Try and bluff them away if you can, but don’t concede anything.”

“Understood,” Philip said.  “Get yourselves and your families to shelter.  The city will be a prime target if they range in on the planet.”

He adjusted the console and gathered himself.  This wasn’t going to be easy, but it had to be tried.  “Theocratic vessel, this is the Asher Dales Naval Service,” he said.  “Asher Dales is a neutral star system and has no interest in supporting either the Commonwealth or yourselves.  Your unauthorised presence in our star system and your ultimatum are nothing more than an outright act of war, an assault against a star system that has neither the capability nor the desire to wage war on you.  If you do not withdraw from this system, we will be forced to regard your presence as hostile and open fire.”

The seconds ticked away.  A vortex could be detected instantly at quite some distance – the ripples it caused travelled at FTL speeds – but STL sensors were just so limited.  The display showed the message racing out at the speed of light, a sphere that eventually brushed over the projected positions of the Theocratic starships.  Philip wondered what was going through their minds.  They might assume that their bullying would succeed, or they might assume that they’d be fighting anyway.  In their place, he would have assumed the worst and headed towards Asher Dales anyway…or towards the gas giant.  The chances were good that the gas giant was their main target; it had the mine, their half-assembled shipyard, and most of their workforce.  Philip smiled, knowing that they’d be disappointed.  The crews had strict orders to board the colonist-carrier and bug out through hyperspace the moment the enemy arrived in-system.  Their enemies would not have a chance to slaughter irreplaceable trained workers.

“They’re moving towards Asher Dales, sir,” Harmon reported, finally.  The two red icons were falling into position now, heading right towards the planet.  Philip had to admit that it made sense; they’d picked a target that their enemies had to fight to defend, forcing them to come right to the Theocratic ships.  Newer icons appeared on the display as the enemy ships launched a series of long-ranged sensor probes, hunting for surprises like stealthy minefields or even starships lurking nearby with their weapons and sensors stepped down to the bare minimum.  “Their ETA is ninety-seven minutes.”

“Curious,” Philip commented.  They could have slipped into hyperspace – no, they wouldn’t have wanted to risk that, not with so many non-standard starships buzzing around.  Hyperspace’s effects on sensors would have crippled the Theocratic warships, allowing Philip a chance to get his fleet in close without taking savage losses.  No, they were playing it smart – and careful.  They didn’t have any requirement to take the planet quickly, before reinforcements could arrive.  “Deploy the fleet into formation gamma and warn them to prepare to trigger their vortex generators on command.”

There was no hope of fighting a conventional battle – at least, there was no hope of fighting and winning a conventional battle.  That alone decreed that he had to fight smart – and cheat – and they’d know that.  It looked as if they were watching him carefully, looking for the surprise before they ran right into it.  Philip had to admire the paranoia of his opponent – and his willingness to override his Cleric.  The intelligence reports suggested that the Clerics were kept deliberately uninformed of naval tactics and tended to urge their ships to close with the enemy, trusting in God to keep them safe.  It was something of a pity, Philip told himself silently.  An enemy who acted like a raging bull would have been easier for him to give a bloody nose.

The minutes crawled by slowly, the two ships closing in firmly on the defending force.  Philip watched the datanet, trusting in it to keep his crews together and focused – if only they’d had more time to run drills!  He pushed that thought aside, grimly.  There was no point in wishing for what he didn’t have, particularly as he wanted a whole squadron of battleships and perhaps a fleet carrier or two.  They would have tipped the balance firmly over to his side.

“On my command,” he ordered, sending the command to all of his ships, “begin rotating the vortex generators as planned.”

He waited for a minute to tick by, and then he keyed the command.  Space started to twist and boil with eerie energies as a dozen vortexes opened up in front of the squadron and then started to destabilise.  It wasn't safe to open too many vortexes in a confined space – and it risked overloading the generators – but they didn’t have to hold the vortexes open for long, just long enough to activate the ECM drones.  The vortexes faded away – and the Theocrats suddenly found themselves confronting a much larger fleet.  They’d almost certainly know that most of the fleet consisted of decoys, but they would find it hard to tell the difference.  Every missile that spent itself harmlessly on a decoy wouldn’t be blowing holes in his ships.

“Two minutes from my mark,” Philip ordered, knowing that the Theocratic warships would still be trying to pick out the decoys from the real starships, “we will start moving forwards into attack formation.”

“Understood, sir,” Harmon reported.  “All ships have checked in and report ready.”

“Good,” Philip ordered.  “All ships with special duties are to perform them as soon as we slip into attack formation.  All others ships are to fire as soon as they bear.”

The seconds ticked down to zero.  “Mark,” Philip ordered.  “All ships – attack.”

Dasher seemed to leap forward, followed by her two consorts and an entire stream of ex-pirate vessels.  The Theocratic warships didn’t seem to hesitate as their enemies roared towards them, even though they were accompanied by hundreds of decoy warships.  Given enough time, they’d certainly pick out the fakes from the real ships – hell, they’d know the moment the fake ships didn’t open fire when they entered missile range – but they shouldn’t be able to do it in time.  The range between the two squadrons closed alarmingly quickly; red sweeps of light flared into existence on the targeting displays as the Theocratic ships took aim, preparing to fire.  Philip watched for the first scatter-burst of missile icons, knowing that an improvement in enemy missile capabilities might ensure the destruction of his entire squadron.  There was no hard data on just how well Theocratic missiles compared to those produced by the Commonwealth.

“Entering firing range in twenty seconds,” Harmon reported.  “Enemy vessel is locking onto us.”

“Fire as soon as we enter firing range, then yank us back and take us out of range,” Philip ordered, sharply.  They couldn’t hope to win a missile duel – and it wasn't time to charge to point-blank range.  “The first pair of ramming ships are ordered to engage – charge straight at the enemy and hit them.”

Dasher shuddered as she unleashed a full salvo of missiles.  A moment later, the display sparked with red icons as the Theocratic warships opened fire.  Their fire seemed considerably more dangerous – certainly more numerous – than that of their enemies; an alarmingly large number of missiles seemed to be targeted on Dasher specifically.  Philip couldn’t tell if they believed that Dasher was coordinating the datanet, such as it was, or if they were just trying to decapitate the squadron.  A squadron of modern Commonwealth ships wouldn’t lose their datanet even if they lost their flagship, but all of Philip’s preparations had been very limited.  They might lose the datanet completely – and if that happened, he’d ordered his ships to fall back rather than risk a futile engagement.

“Enemy missiles on attack vector,” Harmon reported, coolly.  Philip suddenly remembered that he was meant to be on his own vessel – and was silently grateful that they hadn’t had time to complete the transfer.  “Enemy ships are switching their targeting to the ramming ships.”

Philip wasn’t too surprised.  The two tramp freighters seemed old enough to have been built by the UN; they were certainly too lumbering and slow to be any use in a fight, save as ramming ships.  It wouldn’t take a genius to deduce what they were doing – and any commander worth his salt would throw everything he had at them, just to prevent them from ramming his ships.  Even a near miss might be disastrous.  Philip had had the ships loaded with explosives.  One of the freighters went up in a staggering explosion; the second seemed to get tantalisingly close before a missile detonated inside her hull and she went up like a firecracker.

Dasher’s point defence went to rapid fire as the enemy missiles closed in on her hull.  Philip braced himself as the missile swarm was winnowed down, watching grimly as a handful of missiles somehow evaded the defences and arrowed down towards his ship.  One died just before it could slam home; the second hit Dasher’s rear armour and sent a powerful kick through the entire ship.  It was lucky that they’d built the ship so solidly, Philip reminded himself, silently thanking God for those paranoid early designers.  If they’d known that compensators would become much more capable in the years between her launch and her decommission, they might not have worked so much armour into the hull.

“Minor damage, sir,” Bartley reported.  He too should have been elsewhere, but he’d refused to leave Dasher when there was a prospect of her going into battle.  “Several laser clusters have been knocked out.  We’re going to have a gaping hole in our point defence.”

Philip had already seen that – and he prayed to God that the Theocracy hadn’t seen it.  No human mind could do more than oversee missile combat between starships; targeting was handled by super-powerful computers, capable of accepting and collating all the data from the datanet and using it to target the next salvo of missiles.  They’d probably see a gap in Dasher’s point defence and concentrate their fire on that position.  

The datanet continued to update itself as the squadron fell back.  Four ships had been destroyed; two more had been badly damaged – not counting the ramming ships.  The Theocratic starships were still advancing, their paint not even scratched by the salvo of missiles launched towards their hulls.  Philip wasn't too surprised.  They had modern point defence systems and a datanet that wasn't composed of seventeen different designs of computers, ones that had never been intended to link together.  And their fire was proving alarmingly accurate.  They’d range on Asher Dales soon enough and then Philip would have to fly back into their range, or abandon the planet completely.  He wasn't about to do that.

“They’re almost at Point Zeta,” Harmon reminded him.  If nothing else, the one mistake the Theocracy had made was that their course was perfectly predicable.  His first trick might just work.  “Captain?”

Philip nodded, watching as the two ships crawled towards an invisible line in space.  He wondered, absently, what was going through their minds – were they pleased that his attacks had seemed so ineffectual, or did they believe that there was another card to play?  There was no way to know.

He keyed his console, tapping in a code that unlocked a particular firing sequence.  They’d set it up carefully, knowing that if the Theocracy’s spies heard about it, the entire plan would be rendered useless.  The moment the enemy ships crossed the invisible line, he tapped in the final sequence and fired.

“Take that,” Harmon muttered, quietly enough that Philip realised that he didn’t know that he was speaking aloud.  “Got you, you bastards!”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The trick had been very simple, like all good ideas.

They’d captured hundreds of missiles of all kinds of models at the pirate base.  Philip had ordered most of them transported to Asher Dales, without a particularly clear idea of what he had in mind for them.  Most of them couldn’t be fired from his ships; he wasn’t even sure where half of the missiles had even been produced.  Instead, he’d had the idea of using them as a minefield – and then using the ships on special duties to deliberately lay the missiles in the enemy’s path.  Without any form of active sensor emissions, their presence masked by the ECM decoys still trying to confuse the enemy, the makeshift minefield had hidden right in plain sight, utterly undetectable.

Philip watched as the missiles roared towards their targets.  By its very nature, it was a trick that would only work once.  The closer the Theocratic ships had come to their targets, the greater the chance that they would realise that they’d been suckered – and start blowing the missiles out of space before their drives could come online.  Now, their point defence was retargeting itself with terrifying speed, too late.  They’d never be able to take them all down in time.  Some of them would at least slam right into their hulls.

“Bring the fleet about,” he ordered, sharply.  There was no time to waste enjoying his handiwork.  Their best chance to follow up the sucker punch was now, while every point defence weapon system the Theocracy had on its ships was trying to sweep them all out of space.  “Order the second ramming flotilla to follow us in.”

Dasher twisted in space and roared back towards the red sphere that marked missile range.  The remainder of the squadron followed her, although the damaged ships were limping badly – one seemed to be in worse shape than the datanet suggested.  A quick check revealed that her onboard data node had failed and she’d nearly dropped out of the makeshift net.  The only thing keeping her going was a patched computer system her engineers had installed, just in case.  

The swarm of missiles were closing in on the enemy ships.  Philip had ordered most of them to go after the heavy cruiser, but the light cruiser was surging forward, trying to cover her stronger consort.  For a moment, he almost forget that they were enemies; watching the cruiser struggle for her life left him feeling a curious kinship with the Theocratic crew.  He reminded himself of all the atrocities that had been committed in the Theocracy’s name and pushed the feeling aside.  Perhaps the ship’s crew hadn’t committed any atrocities personally, but they’d certainly helped to enable others who had committed atrocities.

He sucked in a breath as the end came swiftly.  A missile struck the light cruiser directly on her prow, digging into the armour and knocking out many of her point defence clusters.  They hadn’t had a chance to build command missiles to take advantage of sudden opportunities opening up, but it hardly mattered.  Four more missiles plunged through the gap and slammed into the ship’s hull.  For a moment, she seemed to hang in space – and then she billowed up into a fireball.  The remaining missiles, having lost their targets, roared onwards into deep space.

“We got her,” Harmon exulted.  The entire datanet seemed to be full of cheering.  “We killed the bastard!”

“One of the bastards,” Philip reminded him.  “Continue firing at will.”

The heavy cruiser was clearly made of sterner stuff.  Disregarding the incoming starships, Captain Rican concentrated his efforts on knocking down the missiles before they could damage his ship.  Philip watched with a sense of numb amazement as he fought for life, eventually catching all, but three missiles.  They slammed into his ship’s hull and nuclear fire billowed out in the darkness of space.  Brilliant trails of plasma shimmered out where his ship had been hit, yet it was clearly still active and able to fight.  Philip felt an odd flicker of sympathy.  It must be hellish inside her hull.

“They’re slowing,” Harmon reported.  “I think they’re trying to open the range on us.”

“Keep us closing in,” Philip ordered.  Given time to make repairs, the heavy cruiser could still win the battle.  It looked as if her fire control had been damaged – she seemed to be moving from target to target randomly – but a single hit would be enough to disable or destroy most of his fleet.  They’d taken out two of the smaller pirate craft almost without him noticing.  “Take down as much of their missile racks as you can.  I want the bastard crippled before he gets into firing range of Asher Dales...”

Dasher closed in on her target, firing madly towards the heavy cruiser.  The Theocracy ship shot back, two missiles coming alarmingly close to slamming right into the destroyer and blowing her to atoms.  Philip had to admit that the multiple target engaging tactic seemed to be working out for them; they’d picked off another gunboat and keeping the rest of his force off balance.  Their main tactical sensors seemed to have been crippled, but he reminded himself that they hardly needed them to aim.  His fleet wasn't trying to hide.

“Two direct hits to their rear, Captain,” Harmon reported, as Dasher pulled away like an oversized starfighter.  “I think we wounded them, but...”

Philip glanced at the live feed from Dasher’s sensors.  The Theocracy ship was putting out a great deal of ECM – and the battle was making it harder to keep track of her status – but she didn't seem to have slowed any further.  In his enemy’s place, Philip suspected, he would have dived back into hyperspace and fled the system, at least until he had time to make a few repairs.  Even if the enemy won the battle – and that was still possible – they’d be crippled and far from a useable shipyard.  The one Quincy had deeded to Asher Dales would be destroyed and Hsu would intern the Theocracy ship if she arrived, seeking sanctuary and assistance.

“Don't count on it,” he warned.  Four small patrol boats were closing in, volley-firing their missiles.  They weren’t shipkillers – the tiny patrol craft weren't intended to actually fight anyone capable of fighting back – but if they were skilfully aimed, they might take out a laser cluster or a missile hatch.  Warrior of the Lord targeted them as they closed in, her heavy laser and plasma cannons burning two of them out of space.  A third slammed right into the heavy cruiser, causing yet another explosion to speckle out on her hull.  It hadn't been enough to cripple the ship.  The fourth ship nearly managed to make it away before a single shipkiller swatted her out of existence.  Philip cursed under his breath, knowing that seventeen good men were dead.  And many more would die if they failed to stop Warrior before she reached Asher Dales.

“Order the remaining ramming ships to advance forward,” he ordered.  If they were lucky, their flight would be mistaken for another attack run.  “Aim them at the gaps in their sensor coverage...”

“Aye, sir,” Harmon said.  Dasher shook suddenly as a missile detonated, alarmingly close to her.  X-ray lasers slashed out at her armour, only to be deflected.  A nearer miss would still have damaged their ship.  “They’re rolling their ship.  Their sensor coverage may not be as degraded as we would like.”

Philip couldn't disagree.  Modern starships were studded with sensor blisters to allow their crews to monitor the outside universe.  They were vulnerable, however, to a determined attacker; hell, one of the roles of starfighters in modern warfare was to shoot off the exposed sensor blisters, blinding their enemy’s sight.  But the enemy commander was smart enough to roll his ship to ensure that there were no permanent blind spots.  They’d see the ramming ships coming.

He shook his head, tiredly.  After losing the light cruiser and having so much damage inflicted on his ship, Captain Rican had to provide the Theocracy with a victory.  If success in warfare was God’s sign of approval, failure in warfare was the opposite – and Captain Rican’s career would come to an abrupt halt.  He couldn't understand why any navy would seek to eliminate commanding officers who’d gained experience – even if the lessons came with a cost – but he was grateful for it.  The Theocracy’s Admirals would never have a chance to learn from their failures.  It was always easier to learn from failure than victory – assuming that one got the chance to learn.

“Order two attack flotillas in to distract attention from the ramming ships,” he ordered.  They’d have to keep pressing their advantages, such as they were.  Sooner or later, he was going to run out of ships and then there would be nothing stopping the wounded cruiser from bombarding Asher Dales into submission.  “And take us around and prepare to re-engage the enemy.”

Dasher twisted in space again, just as the enemy ship noticed the ramming ships.  The cruiser suddenly started to spew missiles towards the rammers, ignoring the other ships even as they closed to point-black range.  Philip cursed, unsurprised, as two of the ramming ships vanished in massive fireballs, followed swiftly by the third.  And then he stared as Joe Buckley zoomed through the haze and came right at the heavy cruiser.  Her commander held his fire until he was right on top of the ship, and then lashed out with everything he had.  Great gouts of fire blasted out into space as her enemy weapons swept the enemy ship’s hull, moments before her laser cannons targeted her small tormentor.  Joe Buckley twisted, trying to escape, but it was already too late.  Powerful lasers burned right through her hull, stabbing deep into her vitals.  

“Get out,” Philip whispered, knowing that it was already too late.  “Get to the lifepods...”

Joe Buckley vanished in a flash of brilliant light.  If anyone had realised that the ship was doomed, they hadn't had a chance to board lifepods and escape.  Philip focused his mind, just for a second, on the dead, and then pushed his feelings aside harshly.  He had to concentrate on the battle.  Dasher had been targeted almost as soon as she turned around, leaving his ship seconds to get back out of range before it was too late.

“Incoming fire,” Harmon warned.  Dasher twisted desperately in space, launching drones and decoys to sucker the enemy missiles away from incoming fire.  It was too late.  “They’re closing in...”

An X-Ray laser warhead detonated only bare kilometres from Dasher’s hull.  Philip felt his ship scream in agony as the laser stabbed deep into her superstructure.  If she hadn't been built so firmly...he held desperately on to his command chair as the artificial gravity shifted, faded, and then slowly returned to normal.  Red icons were blazing over the entire status display and when he paged Engineering, no one answered.  He hoped that that meant that only the communications systems had failed, but he suspected otherwise.  The single hit had taken out one of their reactors, leaving them operating at half-power.  Damage-control programs were already rerouting power from the other reactor, trying to compensate for what they’d lost, yet he knew that it wouldn't be good enough.  They’d been crippled.  

For a moment, he wondered if this was how he was going to die.  He’d come face-to-face with his own mortality at an early age, yet...never, in his worst nightmares, had he imagined fighting such a hopeless battle.  Philip felt his head spin as he pushed his control, trying to force the sluggish systems to respond.  Warrior of the Lord was closing in rapidly, clearly scenting the kill.  A single missile and his ship would be nothing more than atoms floating in space.

He stopped, staring down at the console.  They had power; they should be able to do something.  A crazy idea was running through his mind.  Perhaps, just perhaps...

“Reroute all power to drives and sensors; spare nothing for anything else, even life support,” he ordered.   Dasher’s sensor node had been battered, but the heavy cruiser wasn't trying to hide and – given her state – probably couldn't have hidden even if she’d been trying to hide.  “Take us right towards the enemy ship.”

Harmon looked up from his console, which he’d recoded to serve as the helm after the helmsman had been blown off his position by power surging through his station.  There was no time to check if he was alive or dead.  The entire ship was badly crippled, almost certainly a write-off.  They’d be safer on the Death by Stupidity than the damaged Dasher...

“Sir,” he said slowly, “we won’t have the power to ram the bastards properly...”

“We’re not going to ram them,” Philip said.  He checked his wristcom, which had automatically dropped out of the shattered onboard communications network and linked into a smaller network of dispersed communications systems.  “We’re going to board the bastards.”

He settled back down into his chair, hastily barking orders to the Marines.  “Take us to them,” he ordered.  “Now.”

Dasher felt sluggish as she moved forward, approaching the heavy cruiser as a minnow might approach a whale.  Philip silently prayed that Captain Rican wouldn't notice what they were doing until it was far too late.  They could move faster, but the drives had been so badly damaged that trying to work more speed out of them might cause them to fail catastrophically...the heavy cruiser came closer, and closer...and then a deafening crash shook the entire ship.  The computer network gave up the ghost, followed rapidly by the final reactor.  They were thrown back on battery power, and that would last maybe ten minutes, at best.

“Bond us to their hull,” Philip ordered.  He could imagine the chaos on the enemy ship.  Ramming was an understood part of naval combat, but using one ship to board another.  “And prepare to overload the vortex generator if possible...hell, get the Marines onto the hull and into the bastards before they have any bright ideas about blowing us both to kingdom come.”

The lights failed.  Dasher was dead.  He fancied that he could feel her soul – if a ship could be said to have a soul, which few spacers would dispute – slipping away.  His ship was no longer his own.  The sound of air leaks could be heard in the distance, suggesting that the hull was buckling under the strain.  He pulled his hood up and over his face, trusting in the shipsuit to provide protection against hard vacuum, and started to head for the hatch.  It was jammed, partway open.  They squeezed through and headed for the gash in the hull.

Outside, there was no time to admire the glowing stars around them.  Dasher seemed to have mashed herself into Warrior of the Lord, her Marines already advancing their way through a tear in the heavy cruiser’s hull and into her pressurised compartments.  Philip could hear Marie’s crisp instructions as they fought their way into the main body of the ship, discovering that most of the crew seemed to be unarmed and unwilling to fight.  He wasn’t too surprised.  The Commonwealth knew enough about what passed for naval discipline in the Theocracy to understand why the senior officers and the Clerics would want to keep their men unarmed.  God alone knew how many of their crews would turn on their commanders and defect to the Commonwealth, if they were given half a chance.

The interior of the heavy cruiser seemed to be designed upon similar principles to the Commonwealth’s designs, which suggested that the bridge would be at the centre of the ship, protected by heavy armour.  A hit that took out the bridge would probably take out the entire ship, although Commonwealth battleships and other capital warships had secondary bridges, allowing them to keep fighting if they were crippled by a lucky hit.  The Marines were chattering away, two of them trying to hack the computer core and shut it down before someone decided to blow the ship and call it a draw.  He saw a handful of men – all young and unarmed – gasping for breath as the air ran out of their ship.  Only a few of them had had the presence of mind to grab for spacesuits.

“There, sir,” Harmon said.  Ahead of them, the Marines were already burning their way into the enemy bridge.  It was a solid hatch, stronger than anything like it in the Commonwealth.  Philip suspected that the Theocracy commanders feared – with good reason – mutiny far more than any Commonwealth commander.  They could hold out for days, if necessary, behind that hatch.  But it couldn't stand up to the cutters the Marines had brought along.  “Sir...?”

The hatch crashed open and the Marines surged into the bridge, weapons ready.  Philip followed, watching in horror as the Cleric rose to his feet.  He was wearing a shipsuit that provided some protection against the leaking atmosphere and holding a switch in his hand.  Philip realised, with a sense that he’d failed after all, that the switch was keyed to destroy the ship.  The Cleric’s final orders would be to prevent the ship falling into enemy hands at all costs.  And if what they’d been told about the brainwashing Clerics underwent before they served on ships was true, he wouldn't hesitate to put his orders into effect.  Philip closed his eyes, silently grateful that Tanya was still on Asher Dales...

And then the Cleric stumbled forward, a hole appearing in the front of his head.  The switch fell to the deck and broke.  Philip stared, dazed, and then saw Captain Rican.  The Theocratic commander was holding a small laser pistol, which he’d used to kill his Cleric...and, as the Marines pointed their weapons at him, he allowed it to fall from his hands, just before he raised them into the air in surrender.

Philip met his eyes and saw...understanding, perhaps the desire not to get any more of his men killed, or – perhaps – a recognition that the Theocracy had to be stopped.  And perhaps a desire to live himself...

“Thank you,” Philip whispered, quietly.

The battle for Asher Dales was over.

Chapter Forty

“Well, Captain,” Admiral Bainbridge said.  “I must say that I am very pleased to see you.”

Philip smiled, remembering his last meeting with the Admiral, when he’d been told that he was going to be discharged from the navy he loved.  Nearly a month and a half had gone by since the Battle of Asher Dales, but he was still getting used to the adulation he was receiving from all segments of Commonwealth society.  The Commonwealth hadn't had much to applaud since Second Cadiz and he’d found himself branded a hero.

“I dare say that I am pleased to see you too, sir,” he said, dryly.  The Admiral shot him a sharp look.  Someone – and he had no idea who, although he suspected Cassandra – had slipped the recordings of his dismissal from the RAN to the media.  After Admiral Morrison had lost Cadiz and reprogrammed into becoming a parrot for the Theocracy, the RAN’s senior officers were looking for political cover.  He rather hoped that some of them were planning how to fight and win the war as well.  “It’s been quite some time.”

“Indeed, Captain,” the Admiral agreed.  “And Asher Dales was quite insistent that you be permitted to rejoin the RAN – one might almost say they seemed glad to have the chance to insist on it.  And the media is quite insistent that you are a hero.”

Philip grinned.  Asher Dales had turned out to have something to bargain with after all – the remains of the Theocracy cruiser and her surviving crew.  None of the Commonwealth intelligence agencies had had any idea that there were dissident organisations in the Theocracy, certainly none one that had managed to get a handful of its people promoted to high positions within the Theocracy’s navy.  The chance to take apart one of their ships and interrogate someone more than willing to talk was one that they wouldn't see again.  They’d agreed to strike all kinds of bargains, just to get a look at the ship.

Warrior of the Lord would never fly or fight again, any more than Dasher herself, but she had been transported to a secret shipyard on the other side of the Commonwealth, where techs were already starting to dissemble her piece by piece.  She might have been older than the current generation of Theocratic warships, but she’d been extensively refitted and possessed specimens of all kinds of first-rank technologies.  The next generation of Commonwealth ECM drones and other surprises would be based upon what they pulled out of the heavy cruiser, giving them an advantage against the Theocracy in the upcoming battles.  It was an advantage that they desperately needed.  The Theocracy hadn’t been deterred by Second Cadiz at all.

He allowed his gaze to shift to the strategic map, floating to one side of the Admiral’s desk.  Three Commonwealth stars glowed bright red, marking the enemy presence infecting Commonwealth space – and two of them were full members of the Commonwealth.  Millions of citizens were now living under Theocratic rule – and, judging from the reports signalled out to stealth platforms lurking within the system, they weren’t enjoying themselves very much.  The Theocracy had already started mass repressing of women, other religions and anyone with any military service.  They seemed to believe that they had already won the war.

But they were wrong, he told himself firmly, and hoped that he was right.  The media was already picking up on the transmissions from the three occupied worlds, making it very clear what occupation by the Theocracy actually meant.  What debate had continued after the attack on Cadiz had been quelled; the Commonwealth was gearing up for war.  Knowing that they might be on the front lines, billions of civilians were purchasing guns and ammunition, preparing for an occupation they all prayed would never come.  The Theocracy wasn't all-powerful; the Commonwealth had held its own in even battles.  But they clearly had a numerical advantage and a complete willingness to use suicidal tactics to inflict losses.  The rate of attrition was alarmingly high and the war stocks the Commonwealth had built up over the years were becoming depleted.  It could still go either way.

“We have had little choice, but to whitewash your discharge and assign you a command,” Admiral Bainbridge said, bringing Philip back to the here and now.  “There is a battlecruiser just coming off the slips that needs a commanding officer.  Captain Hawthorne was supposed to command her, but we had to rush him forward and assign him to Triumph after her commander and XO were murdered by the Theocracy’s agents.  You can have her and any of the misfits you took to Asher Dales, if you wish.”

“Thank you, sir,” Philip said, without a trace of irony.  Now that war had been declared, the local defence forces – including the Asher Dales Naval Service – had been brought under Commonwealth command.  Philip and the misfits he had assembled were therefore part of the RAN again, even though the RAN’s commanders would probably be happier without them.  “I’m sure that some of them will be willing to serve.”

But not all of them, he knew.  Captain Saul Schifrin, whose ship had survived the Battle of Asher Dales, would take Philip’s place as Commodore.  Marie, who had expressed no interest in going back to the Marines, would remain with him, hopefully keeping him out of the drink.  Having an important job and the authority to do it would help, Philip suspected.  Besides, he’d be too busy to drink.  The Commonwealth had agreed to assign a squadron of light cruisers to Asher Dales in exchange for the battered Theocracy heavy cruiser.  They’d be dependent upon the shipyard and gas mine established at Asher Dales.

“You were damn lucky,” the Admiral said, flatly.  “I want you to understand that, Captain.  You were very lucky.”

“Yes, sir,” Philip said.  He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn't have held back.  “It’s a shame that 6th Fleet wasn't so lucky, sir.”

Admiral Bainbridge met his eyes and, after a moment, looked away.  “You’re right,” he said, flatly.  “You got the shit; Admiral Morrison got the glory – until Cadiz was attacked.”

“Worse than that,” Philip said.  He’d had a chance to review the report of the Board of Inquiry into the Fall of Cadiz Naval Station.  It had made damning reading.  “His actions were nothing more than outright treason, sir.  Why was he permitted to command such an important naval station?”

“Politics,” Admiral Bainbridge said, flatly.  He looked down at his hands, and then up at the holographic star chart.  “If you think that you can run a government without politics, Captain, you’re welcome to try.  We need support in the Assembly for everything from new construction to maintaining the pressure on the occupied worlds.  Admiral Morrison remained at Cadiz because he had powerful backers, backers who have now disowned him and are the loudest voices condemning him.”

“Because they don't want people to remember that they were the ones who put him there in the first place,” Philip said.  Admiral Bainbridge didn't disagree.  “Hell of a way to run a navy, sir.”

“Our civilian lords and masters are our lords and masters,” Admiral Bainbridge said, tightly.  “Whatever we may think of them, Captain, they have overall control of defence policy.  The RAN exists to support them, not the other way around.”

“And yet they starve us of the resources we need to support their positions,” Philip said.

“It isn't something to discuss,” Admiral Bainbridge said.  He stood up.  “Welcome back to the Royal Avalon Navy, Captain Larson.  Your orders” – he picked up a datachip and passed it over to Philip – “are on the chip.  You’ll see that most of her crew has already been earmarked for her, but you’ll have some chance to pick officers you know – if we don’t rush them forward to the front lines.”

“Aye, sir,” Philip said.  He stood up and saluted.  “Thank you, sir.”

“Thank your friends on Asher Dales,” Admiral Bainbridge said.  “They’re the ones who insisted on a hard bargain.”

***
The Starlight Restaurant was located in the civilian part of the station, positioned neatly on the outside hull.  A massive transparency allowed the diners to look out at the glowing stars and, floating nearby, the mass of lights that was Avalon Naval Station.  Philip’s new command would be in one of the slips, according to the datachip, with the yard workers making the final alterations before formally handing her over to the navy.  Tradition dictated that the ship’s new commander had to wait until the handover before seeing her, leaving Philip at something of a loose end.

“I’m glad they honoured our request,” Tanya said, when she joined him.  God, she looked beautiful – and well above his pay grade.  The thought made him smile.  Tanya had been assigned as the official Ambassador to the Commonwealth Assembly while Asher Dales prepared for membership, making her the youngest and least experienced politician in town.  But she was tough – Camelot probably wasn't going to know what had hit it.  “You deserve a command.”

“Thank you,” Philip said, dryly.  In truth, he wasn't sure how he felt about it.  Asher Dales had allowed him to command his navy as he saw fit, but he knew that the RAN would expect him to follow orders.  Battlecruisers were often operated independently, rather than in squadrons, yet he would still have overall orders.  On the other hand, battlecruisers had traditionally been seen as a stepping stone to flag rank.  “What did you do to deserve being dropped in the snake pit?”

Tanya looked surprised for a moment, and then smiled.  “Someone had to represent our interests to the Commonwealth,” she said.  “My father...felt that I was still the best person for the role, despite everything.  And you being here didn't hurt at all.”

“I won’t be here for long,” Philip warned her.  Did she love him?  Did he love her?  “And you may find that gratitude has a way of running out in the Assembly.  Asher Dales will have the smallest population in the Commonwealth and it certainly won’t have any connection to all the political alliances built up over the years.”

“True,” Tanya said.  “Were we foolish to wish to maintain our independence?”

“Do you want a honest answer to that?”  Philip asked, dryly.  He smiled.  “You live in a universe where the Theocracy gobbled up worlds and entire populations for no reason other than it can – and no one can stop it.  Trying to maintain your independence in the face of such an overwhelming threat...well, it might have been very costly.  At least the Commonwealth will respect your internal autonomy.”

Tanya nodded.  “And what about you?”  She added.  “Will you be happy back here?”

Philip considered.  “I trained to be part of the navy since I was eighteen,” he said.  “I think battlecruiser command will suit me.  And besides, there’s a war on.  Incompetent superior officers are likely to be removed from command rather quickly.”

“Dead men’s shoes,” Tanya said.

“Admiral Morrison’s court martial made interesting reading,” Philip said.  “It’s just a shame that the Admiral is somewhere in the Theocracy.  He’s going to be in for an unpleasant surprise when he returns to Commonwealth space.”

He shook his head.  “I don’t know what the future holds,” he said, thinking darkly about politicians in uniforms.  “God knows if the Commonwealth will hold together under the strain of war, or if one of the other interstellar powers will take advantage of our distraction to cause trouble elsewhere.  I think all we can really do is take it as it comes.”

Tanya looked up at him, and then out at the stars.  “Can we win this war?”

Philip hesitated.  “I think we can win,” he said, finally.  “I think that we don’t dare lose.  When losing means the destruction of everything you love, it does tend to concentrate a few minds.”

He shrugged.  “If nothing else, we’ll claw the bastards good and proper before we go down,” he added.  “And if that inspires some of their own people to do for the Caliph’s throat and destroy the Theocracy from within – perhaps it will all be worth it.  And perhaps the horse will learn to sing.”

The End