Authors: Kennedy Hudner
Bauer wondered just what had happened to the First Attack Fleet’s supply ships, but kept the thought to himself.
“And Captain,” Mello said. “Make sure the supply ships are adequately guarded. The Vickies have patrols out. We think we destroyed them, but take no chances.”
“As you command, Admiral.”
Mello fell back into his chair, chaffing at the delay. If the Vickies somehow managed to escape, he would shoot Admiral Kaeser himself.
• • • • •
Grant Skiffington sat glumly in the captain’s chair. So Lisa Stein was right after all, the space around Cornwall was crawling with Dominion ships. He had counted fifty before he gave up in disgust. The Dominion had come in and must have kicked the hell out of the Home Fleet. Dominion now ruled the Victorian Sector.
“Captain,” Livy Wexler said from the sensors console.
Grant looked at her.
“I’ve been going over the sensor logs. Three things stick out. First, somebody used nuclear weapons on the surface of Cornwall. The drone couldn’t pinpoint it, but it appears to be near the royal palace.” The bridge crew exchanged worried glances. Grant felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Too much was happening. Second Fleet destroyed, then the Dominion invasion of Victoria, and now an attack on Queen Beatrice’s palace?
“Second,” Livy continued, “the space stations are not there. Where Prometheus should be there is a very large debris field. It looks like there were a number of Dominion ships near the Prometheus and it blew up, taking the ships with it. From the radiation signature, somebody was using antimatter weapons.”
Grant frowned. “What about Atlas?”
Wexler shrugged. “It’s not there.”
“You mean it’s been destroyed?” he asked in confusion.
“No, there is no trace of debris. It’s gone.”
Now he was very confused. Gone? Atlas was
huge
. How did one of the largest man-made objects in history just get up and walk away? You’d need every tugboat in the Victorian fleet to- He closed his eyes.
No, that couldn’t be right, could it?
“Livy, check the logs from the drone. Did it detect any tugboats in the area around Cornwall?”
Livy typed in her search command, studied the results. “Well, that’s strange, there should be tug boats all around that area, but you’re right, the drone didn’t spot any.” She looked up, frowning. “Surely you’re not suggesting that-” She looked dumfounded. “Where would they go? Darwin?”
Grant shook his head. “To get to Darwin, they would have had to go in the general direction of the wormhole to the Dominion, but we know that the Dominion must have been pouring war ships through that wormhole into Victoria. First Fleet couldn’t take the chance they’d run into a superior force. No, if anything, they’d run
away
from the DUC wormhole. Cape Breton, perhaps? Sybil Head?” But even as he asked, he knew neither was correct. Both were too far away, and neither was particularly friendly towards Queen Beatrice’s Administration. Years of bitter trade disputes had taken their toll.
“If it was me, I’d run for Refuge,” one of the bridge crew offered. There were several nods of agreement. And once Grant thought about it, he saw that it was the obvious choice. Refuge was bound to Victoria. Not too long ago, Victoria had saved the people on Refuge from extinction.
One hundred years earlier a virus had destroyed all of the consumable crops Refuge had planted, and turned what was already in storage to rotten mush. Within the space of thirty days, Refuge lost virtually all of its wheat, corn, barely, rice and vegetables. As the threat of immediate starvation loomed, King Adolf, Beatrice’s grandfather, came to the rescue. He sent thousands of freighters carrying foodstuffs. When Victorian’s own supply of foodstuffs ran low, he dipped into the Victorian treasury to buy more from the other Sectors.
Then he sent Victorian’s best agricultural scientists and agronomists to Refuge to trace the cause of the blight and eradicate it. And then, over the next ten years, Victoria supplied Refuge with enough seed stocks to restart the beleaguered planet’s agriculture program. A very grateful Council of Elders from Refuge had asked what Refuge could do to repay Adolf and Victoria for their efforts. Adolf had famously replied:
“We are none of us alone. Today we have the honor of helping you, but the day will come when we in turn must ask your favor. We only ask that you remember us with kindness.”
The Council of Elders had replied by building a monument in the middle of a large park, with words carved a hundred feet high out of living rock:
“Refuge honors its debts.”
Grant nodded to himself. Then Livy Wexler caught his eye. “There is one more thing, Captain,” she said. “The last report from our recon drone showed the Dominion fleet around Cornwall is pulling out.”
“Let me guess,” Grant said. “They’re heading towards Refuge.”
Livy nodded.
“Okay, then,” Grant said briskly. “Contact the
Galway
and the
Kent
. Rig for full stealth and set a course for Refuge. Let’s see if we can find our misplaced space station.”
“And one more thing, Captain.” She leaned in closer and he thought she was going to whisper something about their night together. “After this meal, we’re out of food.”
“What?” Grant was bewildered. For the past several days he had worried about Tilleke commandoes, Dominion war ships and how to get back to Victoria, but he had never even considered something so prosaic as food. “How did that happen?”
Livy shrugged. “When we left Victoria for Tilleke, we only stocked a week’s worth of food. Everyone thought if we needed more we’d just get it from the supply ships. Then in some of the fighting part of the refrigeration system got knocked out and we lost most of what was left. Now we’ve got enough for one real meal, plus about another day or so of hard rations.
“Suffering Gods,” he said irritably. He ran a hand through his hair. Food? “Okay, check with
Galway
and
Kent
and see if they’ve got any to spare.” He shook his head. Food.
• • • • •
On the Space Station Atlas, Admiral Douthat was confronting a belligerent Captain Wicklow. Or rather, being confronted by him.
“What do you mean, mutineers?” Admiral Douthat looked incredulous.
“They disobeyed a direct order during combat, that’s what I mean,” roared Captain Wicklow. “I gave them a direct order to come back to Atlas and rejoin the Home Fleet and they disobeyed. They deserted, I tell you, deserted! And their ring leader is that wet-behind–the-ears lieutenant, Tuttle, who acts above her station and presumes authority she does not have! I want orders for their arrest.”
Douthat eyed him warily. Captain Wicklow was a personal friend of Queen Beatrice’s brother, Harold. He was a mediocre tactician with little sense of strategy, but he knew politics and played it well.
“Captain, I’m sure there is some misunderstanding here. We’ve received a report from the
New Zealand
that they were attacking the Dominion supply ships-”
“Oh, we attacked, all right!” Wicklow interrupted. “Did that report tell you that Captain Grey recklessly led us directly into an ambush? That because of her negligence we suffered severe damage and loss of life. She used poor judgment, Admiral, very poor judgment.”
Now Admiral Douthat eyed him skeptically. “Captain Grey successfully destroyed the first set of Dominion supply ships and then led the attack to destroy the second group. Are you-”
“Captain Grey was injured, killed or has been displaced by her subordinates,” Wicklow said flatly. “All I know is that she was not in charge at the time we encountered a Dominion force of at least forty ships.” He eyed her through hooded lids. How much did she know? How much could he push this?
“I suspect that her lieutenant, Tuttle, has something to do with this. When I gave her a direct order, she had the audacity to put targeting sensors on my ship and threatened to shoot!” Wicklow raged, while meanwhile a part of him coolly assessed the impact all of this was having on Admiral Douthat. “This is treason, treason in the face of the enemy! I want her arrested, Admiral. I want her arrested and punished!”
Douthat sighed. There was no time for this. Atlas was only a day away from the wormhole to Refuge. There was so much to do. But she ignored Wicklow at her peril.
“Captain Wicklow, I want your full written report on the matter on my desk in an hour. Meanwhile, provision your ship and prepare for orders. We expect to be attacked in force very soon and I will want you ready. Do you understand?”
“My ship will be ready, Admiral. You can count on us.”
You self-righteous little toad,
Douthat thought. “Do you have any idea where the rest of the Coldstream Guard was going?”
Wicklow hesitated, thinking it was probably not helpful to tell the Admiral that Tuttle intended to lead yet another attack on the Dominion supply ships. “I cannot say, Admiral. We had a superior force bearing down on us and I knew it was imperative to save as many of our fighting ships as possible. I gave the order to pull back so as to preserve our capacity to take the fight to the enemy on another day.”
Admiral Douthat raised one skeptical eyebrow. “We still have no word on the fate of the remaining Coldstream Guards. File your report, Captain. Attach the ship’s log to it. And make it quick, the Dominion will be here soon.”
Wicklow turned away, suppressing a flutter of concern. He’d forgotten about the ship’s logs. Well, he was sure that a little judicious editing would help them to fully support his story.
T
wice the Coldstream Guards saw distant DUC patrols on their sensors, but they were far off and posed no threat. Once they saw a formation of drones, but they couldn’t determine whether they were Victorian or Dominion, and so they coasted on under full stealth, except for the
New Zealand
. Emily had decided to use the
New Zealand
as the staked goat. If there were any DUC ships lurking about in stealth mode, she wanted them to see the
New Zealand
and focus on it, allowing the other ships in the Coldstream Guards a chance to pounce. It was a calculated risk…and it left her edgy and anxious, with sweaty palms and a sour stomach.
Space station Atlas was nowhere to be seen. They had been hunting now for twenty hours and had found not a trace.
“We’ve got to find it,” Chief Freidman said anxiously from the weapons console. “We’ve
got
to. We’re out of missiles and chaff. We’ve got wounded.” He wrung his hands nervously. “We’ve got to find her. We’ve got to,” he repeated plaintively.
Emily frowned. She had a decision to make, and she had already put it off too long. Chief Freidman was their chief weapons officer. If they bumped into a Dominion patrol now, she didn’t think he’d hold up very long. But who to replace him with? His assistant was killed in the initial fighting, when they’d stumbled into the ambush. Sighing, she glanced at Chief Gibson and shook her head very slightly. Grim faced, Gibson slipped out of his chair and went to his friend of twenty years.
“Hey, Tommy, it’s okay. We got it, Tommy, we got it. But, Tommy, I need you to go see Naama Denker. Okay? She’ll help you out, Tommy.”
Chief Freidman stood up abruptly, looking at the bridge crew with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. He rubbed his face and shook his head violently. “No, George, I can’t…not like this. George…”
Emily stood up and crossed the room. She would send her crew to their death if she had to, but it broke her heart to see one of them in disgrace. She took Chief Freidman by the arm and led him to the doorway, where one of the Marine sentries waited uncomfortably.
“Chief,” she said softly. “You are one of my best. Never forget that. I want you to see Naama. I want you to see her and get some rest and come back to us. We need you here, Chief.” Then she wheeled furiously on the Marine guard. “This man is Chief Warrant Officer Thomas Freidman. He was a Master Chief and the best damned weapon’s officer in the Fleet when you were still in diapers,” she snapped at the hapless guard. “You will treat him with the respect he has earned and deliver him safely to Sick Bay and Lieutenant Denker, is that clear?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the Marine sputtered, desperately trying to figure out what he had done to put himself in the dog house. He took Freidman gently by the arm. “This way, Chief, just follow me.”
Emily sat down and thumbed the com for Sick Bay. “Naama?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I’m sending one of my crew down to you with battle fatigue.”
“Gods of Our Mothers, another one?” Naama exclaimed.
“Help him as best you can, Naama,” Emily told her.
She turned to Chief Gibson. “I’m sorry about Mr. Freidman, Chief, I really am.”
Chief Gibson ran a rough hand over his mouth. “You did good, Captain, treated him with respect. Go back a long time, him and me, long time.” He shook his head. “God only knows, everybody’s got their limits.”
“Chief, suggestions for a replacement?”
Gibson nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. Why don’t I take Weapons and let Mr. Partridge take Sensors? I cross trained on Weapons and I’ve been working with Partridge on the Sensors consol.”
Emily glanced at Partridge, who was quivering with excitement.
How old is he, anyway?
she wondered. “Very well. Mr. Partridge, you are now the Assistant Sensors’ Officer. Please remember that Chief Friedman will be back.” They didn’t have enough crew to lose him permanently if Naama could fix him up. “And now,” she said with forced confidence, “we’ve got a space station to find.”
• • • • •
On board the Space Station Atlas, Hiram poured through the data on the Dominion attack force. No matter how many times he looked at it, the answer was always the same: The Dominions couldn’t have as many ships as they did. He rubbed his eyes wearily and slumped back in his chair. All the Victorian intelligence showed the Dominion as having about one hundred war ships. Those ships had been built at the Might of the People Space Works (known by the Victorian Intelligence as the “Mop Works”) in orbit around Timor, the DUC home planet. But Victorian spy ships carefully monitored the Mop Works, and the last war ship had been built just over a year ago. And anyway, Victorian stealth frigates tagged along behind the Dominion fleets when they were on maneuvers, so Victoria had hard data on where they were at all times. Admiral Teehan used to joke that he knew more about the whereabouts of the Duck fleet than he did that of his own teenaged children.