Spacers empire space, p.20
Spacers: Empire Space, page 20
His comm beeped, and he fished it from its holster. “Thatcher.”
“Sir.” It was Frampton, the Ops officer on-duty. “I have someone on the line waiting to speak with you.”
Thatcher’s heart skipped a beat. “Not the pirates, surely?” They couldn’t be within range for real-time communication. Not yet.
Unless a third force has emerged from Paraph, cutting us off before we get there….
“No, sir. This is an instant comm call. From someone whose name I don’t recognize—Mittelman, he called himself.”
Thatcher narrowed his eyes. What does he want? Then, another thought occurred to him: He gave his real name. That was why Frampton hadn’t recognized it. The Ops officer probably knew Mittelman as Mills, if at all.
“I’ll take it in my office.”
Five minutes later he sat at his desk, his coffee barely steaming now. Frampton rerouted the call to his holoscreen—though he could only hear Mittelman’s voice.
“Captain Thatcher. It’s been too long.”
“Has it? My understanding is that your spies aboard my ship keep you very well updated on my doings.”
A silence came over the line. Then: “I only have one spy on your ship.”
That confirms part of Candle’s story, anyway. “Who is it?”
“It’s bad form to reveal one’s sources. And a particularly bad idea for me. Who would want to pass information to someone liable to roll over on them? That said, I suspect you already know.”
“Billy Candle.”
“I’m not going to confirm it, Captain.”
“Fine. It’s something of a moot point anyway, given he already confessed. Tell me, though, why would you feel the need to spy on employees of the same company you work for? Where I come from, people only spied on those they considered adversaries.”
“Not adversaries, per se. More like mutually symbiotic parasites. Even friendly parasites sometimes withhold valuable information from each other. And you have to admit, Captain Thatcher, you’ve been a wild card ever since you arrived in the Dawn Cluster. My informants aboard the Jersey stopped working with me soon after you took command. They respected you too much, if you can believe it. It’s not the respect that surprises me, mind you—but how principled PMC employees were capable of being. Anyway, it took some time to find a replacement for them, and in the end, I had to resort to blackmail.”
“You used the fact that Candle was already spying for Moll. Do you have any information on why he was doing that?”
“I’m afraid not. In fact, I didn’t even know Moll was the recipient—just that Candle was passing information to someone, using a digital dead drop. Thank you for that extra intel.”
Thatcher grimaced, acutely aware that Rose never would have let such a thing slip. “Why are you contacting me?”
“It’s come to my attention that your situation is deteriorating rapidly. And I have some information that could help you alter your fortunes.”
Thatcher gave a dry chuckle. “Please remind me why I should trust a single word you utter, Mittelman.”
“Because you have no choice.”
Thatcher nodded, even though the man couldn’t see it. That’s a pretty good point. “All right. What’s your angle, then? What do you want in exchange for helping you?”
“Nothing.”
He blinked. “What game are you playing here?”
“No game. I don’t want anything in return. You won’t believe this, but hearing about…Frontier’s destruction has affected me more than I expected. It’s made me rethink some things.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe it.”
“Then take it at face value. I’m offering you something that can save your fleet, Captain.”
“What is it?”
“The very last thing Ms. Rose’s techs were able to dig out of the console she and your marines extracted from the Xanthic colony on Recept: how to operate an Entropy Drive.”
“What in God’s name is that?”
“I’m not totally clear on that myself, exactly. But I can tell you that whatever it is, it’s what’s been preventing Degenerate Empire from sailing the Xanthic ship they’ve been so desperate to operate. I can tell you a few things, based on my limited understanding, though for your sake I hope there are people in your fleet that can clarify things further. For one, every Xanthic vessel has an Entropy Drive. For another, the technology is unlike anything humanity has dreamed of, let alone deployed. The field the drive generates isn’t visible to any type of sensor we have, which is why we only know about it from the terminal. But unless you know how to use it, there’s no way to operate any ship of Xanthic make.
Something popped up on Thatcher’ holoscreen—an invitation to share data.
“I’ve just initiated the transfer of everything on Entropy Drives that Rose’s techs extracted. I’m afraid you’ll have to take it from there, Captain.”
Thatcher inhaled deeply, staring at the transfer invitation. Even if they could get the Xanthic ship up and running, there was still the matter of infiltrating it first—and defending it from the pirate fleets that would be homing in on them from every side.
But Mittelman had offered him a lifeline, however tenuous. He didn’t believe the man’s claim that he expected nothing in return—not for a second. Even so….
“Thank you, Mittelman.”
“You’re welcome. Oh…there’s one other thing I should mention. Something not exactly relevant to you now, but it will be if you manage to escape Lacuna.”
“What is it?”
“Simon Moll claimed that the UNC was investigating Sunder for using nanofab tech at the same time it launched its investigation into Frontier. But that was a lie. I have it from multiple sources that their Corporate Weapons Commission didn’t go anywhere near Sunder.”
“That’s…very interesting.”
“Isn’t it? Anyway, I should be going. I’m using Beatenberg Capital’s only instant comm unit, and while one of their portfolio managers does owe me a favor, such things can only be stretched so far.”
Thatcher furrowed his brow. He’s in Milne Region. Why would Mittelman tell him that? Unless…had the man meant that “extra intel” as an olive branch?
“Thanks again.”
“By all means. That transfer will complete independently of the unit I’m using, and afterward the data will self-corrupt, so that you have the only copy. I’ve already destroyed mine. So do take care with it, won’t you?”
Feeling truly baffled by Mittelman’s behavior, Thatcher only nodded. “I will.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Aboard the New Jersey
Nankeen System, Lacuna Region
Earth Year 2291
“All ships, set a course for the Nankeen-Quad jump gate.” Thatcher tapped the panel to take himself off the fleet-wide and switched his gaze to his CIC’s holotank, where the last Anvil ships had just transitioned in from Farrago.
As expected, Guerrero turned to him a few seconds later. “Sir, the Minotaur is hailing us. It’s Captain Duncombe, seeking to speak with you.”
“Rout the call to the holotank—but keep the tactical display up on one half.” He wanted the ability to monitor things as Duncombe berated him.
When she appeared, the Minotaur’s captain looked about as irate as he thought she would. “Captain Thatcher, surely you realize the force guarding the jump gate into Quad System is too large for us to break through without suffering devastating losses.”
Thatcher shifted his gaze to the tactical display, as if considering the idea for the first time. Then he met Duncombe’s eyes once more. “It appears you are right, Captain Duncombe.”
Her eyes widened, making her look slightly crazed as well as angry. “And yet you plan to sail directly into them even so? To be brutally outflanked by them and the warships chasing us?”
“Those are the orders I’ve given.”
“Are you suicidal, Captain Thatcher? Do you intend to attempt to bargain with the pirates? Or surrender to them? None of these seem like wise choices.”
“I agree.”
“Then can you please tell me what it is you plan to do?”
“I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Why not? And why did you refuse to call a meeting of the captains prior to entering Nankeen? Did you not think our input might prove valuable?”
“I value the input of any member of this fleet—enlisted crew and officers alike. Indeed, dozens have contacted me with suggestions for the coming engagement, through channels I set up for the purpose. I took them all into consideration, and tweaked my plans based on some of them. But as for the plans themselves…Commander Candle’s betrayal has reemphasized for all of us the importance of OPSEC. As much as I trust and value the spacers in this fleet, it would be foolish to assume it’s completely free of spies. And so I find it necessary to hold my cards close to my chest, for the time being. I hope you can understand that.”
“I understand the concept of OPSEC. But there’s a difference between withholding your battle plans from your subordinates and withholding them from this fleet’s ranking officer. By seniority, I should be in command of this fleet. I also command its most powerful ship. I’ve deferred to you until now, but I find this blatant display of distrust intolerable.”
“Veronica Rose put me in command of this fleet,” Thatcher said quietly. “And Emilio Garcia put his ships under my command because of my reputation—which stems in large part from the trust Ms. Rose showed for me. Tell me, Captain Duncombe. Would you risk throwing the fleet into chaos? Will you risk it now, with enemies closing in on all sides? Or will you trust me as Ms. Rose did?”
“Why should I answer mistrust with trust?”
“Do you seek to command this fleet, Captain Duncombe?”
A long, tense silence followed. “No,” she said at last, her lips white from pressure.
“Very good. As for trust, I do trust you. I trust your judgment, and I trust your experience. But I don’t know you, Captain Duncombe. Not well. I thought I knew Commander Candle well, and he turned out to be Simon Moll’s informant. So as distasteful as it is to me, I have to assume there’s at least some chance that anyone around me could be an enemy spy.”
“I see.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”
“Not at this time.”
“Very well. Please let me know if anything comes up.” Thatcher nodded at Guerrero, who cut the transmission.
He suppressed a sigh. I think I handled that about as well as I could have. But as certain as he’d sounded, he’d needed to resist the urge to fidget throughout the entire conversation.
The fact was, he hated admitting the need to hold anything but complete trust for the people under his command—especially in front of his officers. But it had been a necessary conversation, no matter how damaging it proved for morale.
He’d expected Duncombe to challenge his leadership for a while now, and he simply couldn’t tolerate it. Certainly not in the hours before engaging the enemy.
Morale will recover once we start winning again. The words sounded good in his head. He just wished he felt as confident as they sounded.
Even if he managed to capture the Xanthic super-ship without a hitch, he would still need to deal with the massive force Vega had sent after him, to pincer him from multiple directions.
Just how powerful could he expect the alien craft to be? As powerful as a dreadnought? He wasn’t completely confident that even the might of a UNC super-ship would make up for how outnumbered they were, barring some nigh-miraculous success in battle.
Which raised the question: could he really count on the Xanthic ship to save them?
I’ll just have to wait and see. Given it’s our only option. Currently, the Xanthic ship wasn’t visible, since it had entered the part of its cycle during which it was ‘phased out’ of existence. But Thatcher had studied that cycle well, and had carefully timed his actions around the vessel’s return.
“Sir, Emilio Garcia would like to speak with you.”
Thatcher considered that for a moment. The man had been unusually quiet, lately, having dialed back on his off-the-cuff, fleet-wide speeches. For better or worse, he’d left the task of maintaining fleet morale almost entirely to Thatcher.
That didn’t mean he was particularly eager to let his entire CIC hear their conversation. Besides, they had their own tasks to focus on, which he considered more important than hearing from someone who wasn’t even military.
“Put him through to my console, Lucy.”
Thatcher set the audio to rout through his eyepiece, for his ears alone. With that, he accepted the transmission request waiting on his holoscreen.
Garcia grinned up at him from the display. “You made the right call, keeping us in the dark about what’s coming. But I think I might have guessed. Let’s hope the pirates haven’t.”
Glancing at the tactical display shown by the holotank, where the first ships of their pursuers were appearing in the jump zone out of Farrago, Thatcher pursed his lips. “You think you’ve guessed, do you?”
“Indeed. Let’s just say I believe the pirates will come to regret choosing this system to corner you in.”
Thatcher looked back at Garcia sharply.
“Anyway, that’s all from me, Captain. I just called to tell you good luck. And that I trust you to get us out of this mess alive.”
A brief silence passed as Thatcher waited for the inevitable jab, or the inappropriate remark designed to make him feel uncomfortable. But nothing came.
Really? He’s actually giving me a break, today? “Thank you, Emilio.”
“By all means.” Garcia raised his right hand into view, which held a tumbler that contained what looked like a neat whiskey double—possibly a triple. “Here’s to a long partnership.” With that, he drained over half the glass’ contents.
Apparently I’m not the only one feeling stressed today. He hadn’t known Garcia was capable of experiencing stress. “I’ll have to drink to that later.”
“A sip of coffee, perhaps?” The man grinned, showing teeth.
“Maybe even a non-alcoholic beer.”
Garcia gave a hearty laugh. “God speed, Captain Thatcher.” With that, he disappeared from the console.
Two hours passed, as tense as they were uneventful. When Thatcher’s fleet stopped, the pirate force chasing them would reach them inside of sixty minutes.
He drew a deep breath. It was nearly time. The pirates guarding the Nankeen-Quad jump gate hadn’t budged…meaning they hadn’t guessed his true intentions. As for the pursuing force, they’d left several battle groups’ worth of warships guarding the jump gate into Farrago—the only other egress from the system. A sizable force still gave chase, no doubt meaning to pressure him. To keep him moving as his ships’ fuel and supplies slowly depleted. He expected the waiting fleet to dispatch a similar force soon.
They think they have me.
And they might be right.
“Lucy, get me Captain Wilson.”
“Aye, sir.”
Frederick Wilson soon appeared on Thatcher’s holoscreen, wearing a pressure suit. He held his helmet in the crook of his right arm, and behind him was the hatch where Attack Shuttle One was docked.
“Are you ready, Fred?”
“If I’m not now, then I never will be.” Behind Wilson’s words, Thatcher could hear the chatter of marines trading quips as they waited for the mission to come.
There was one person in the fleet who Thatcher trusted without qualification, and he was looking at him. Wilson had had full access to the data on Entropy Drives, within an hour of Mittelman sending it.
He would be the one to captain the Xanthic vessel. Provided he and his crew—all spacers from his old command, the Triumph—were able to get it up and running.
“You’re about to make history,” Thatcher said. “How many times is this for you now?”
“I’ve lost count. But if you want the truth, I have a feeling this will be the one I’m remembered for. Either for being a hero, or a colossal embarrassment.”
“If it’s the latter, then I’m not sure you’ll have much opportunity to be embarrassed.”
“Because the pirates will turn me into space bits? Maybe. On the other hand, I think I’d make a pretty valuable prisoner. Hopefully that’s not just my ego talking.”
“Either way…let’s go for the hero option. I think that would make things simpler for everyone.”
Wilson gave a sardonic smile. “You got it.”
Thatcher ended the call, and then turned to Guerrero, once again drawing a steadying breath. She was already looking at him.
“Change course for Nankeen’s fourth planet, Lucy. Forward the new course to the rest of the fleet, and instruct them to engage it at once.”
“Yes, sir.” Guerrero didn’t look surprised. In fact, Thatcher gave it even odds that she’d been expecting the order.
He sat back in the command chair as his fleet turned on its heel. With almost perfect timing, the Xanthic ship phased back into existence just as his force was completing its course change.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aboard Attack Shuttle One
Nankeen System, Lacuna Region
Earth Year 2291
Wilson’s nephew kept glancing down the row of seats at him, where he sat against the starboard bulkhead.
“How you doing, sir?”
Wilson inclined his head. “Fine, Jordan. Looking forward to having a starship to order around again.”
“We’ll have your back, when we go in there. You won’t have to use that.” He gestured toward Wilson’s Crossbow 790, which he cradled in his lap, with the muzzle pointed at the deck.
“That’s a pity. I’ve been practicing my aim in VR.”
His nephew’s hand jumped where it rested on his knee. It hovered for a second in the air before he replaced it.
