Authors: Christopher Nuttall
“Take a guess,” she said, sharply. “What do they have in mind?”
“They want to establish themselves as an independent power,” Montgomery said. “One that is free of both aliens and Federation influence. The raiders highlight the need for unity against outsiders, but also provoke a political crisis that helps encourage independence-minded colonials to vote for complete independence. If the Federation refuses to help, they can use it as a political tool; if the Federation does offer assistance, they can claim that it's all part of a plot to bring the Federation into the cluster to stay.”
Chandra made a face. Her headache was making it hard to think, but she was sure that there were problems with that logic. “What about Xenophon?”
Montgomery’s lips twisted. “Xenophon was inclined to hedge its bets against both the Federation and the so-called Bottleneck Republic,” he reminded her. “But now their defences have been smashed and a Colonial Militia starship died bravely in defence of their world. Right now, if there was a vote, I’d bet that the planet would vote to secede from the Federation and join the Bottleneck Republic.”
“Madam Governor, we have to stop this now, whatever it takes. I propose the deployment of the Bottleneck Squadron.”
Chandra couldn't disagree. The whole scenario was making a disturbing amount of sense. She’d been stonewalled enough in the past to know when someone was hiding something – and, often, the mere act of ducking for cover was enough to let her know that someone had something to hide. If the raiders really were backed by the colonial government ...
“They’re mad,” she whispered.
“They have an idealistic dream of life out here, far from Earth,” Montgomery pointed out, softly. There was an earnestness in his voice that surprised her, even as she found his argument persuasive. “If thousands of their own people have to die to make it come true ... well, they would hardly be the first humans to regretfully make sacrifices. There’s no shortage of examples throughout history.”
“I’ll call Admiral Porter,” Chandra said. She stood up, feeling her head spinning. “I want you to put together a summary of all the data, something I can send to the Federation Senate to back up these claims. Then we’ll take action, even if I have to stand behind him and push.”
“Yes, Madam Governor,” Montgomery said. “I shall see to it personally.”
***
The raiders were being quiet, too quiet.
General Gustav Mannerheim disliked quiet. In his experience,
quiet
just meant that the enemy was slipping into attack position, right behind him. It was why he insisted that all Colonial Militia starships maintain a full sensor watch at all times, no matter how quiet and peaceful the universe was supposed to be. A situation could move from boring to deadly dangerous in split seconds and those who were unprepared for a sudden shock could find themselves in deep trouble before they had a chance to recover. Even in his office, he kept his sidearm with him at all times. One never knew when trouble might appear.
It was possible, he knew, that the raiders had already struck again. There were two hyperspace storms currently blasting their way through space, both blocking FTL transmissions. It was possible that the raiders had already hit another planet and slipped back into hyperspace, without word yet reaching Fairfax, but his instincts told him that they hadn't launched any such attack. Instead, they seemed to be waiting. But waiting for what?
An alarm shrilled and he sat upright, reaching for his sidearm before he caught himself. It was the near-orbit sensor alarm, not the base security alarm. He stood and walked towards the hatch, stepping out into the Situation Room. It was far too insecure for his tastes – it might have been deep underground, but it was a stationary target – yet there was little alternative. He couldn't command the planetary defences from a starship bridge or an orbital battlestation. Or so he had been told.
“General,” the sensor operator said. “Nineteen portals have opened ... make that twenty-five!”
The General blinked in surprise as he took in the main display. The portals were spinning open, larger than anything he'd seen since the end of the war. One by one, the starships started to emerge; superdreadnaughts led the way, followed by a handful of fleet carriers. A wing of starfighters launched from their decks as soon as they entered normal space, fanning out ahead of the capital ships. They looked ready for trouble.
“IFF codes confirmed,” the operator reported. “They’re Federation, sir. The fleet list places them as the Bottleneck Squadron.”
“Order our forces to hold position,” the General growled. The Colonial Militia gone to combat stations the moment they’d realised that this was no ordinary emergence from hyperspace. There hadn't been so many starships arriving within so short a space of time since the Battle of Fairfax, when the Dragons had brought everything they could against the colony world that had given them so much trouble. “And hail them, see if they’ll tell you what the fuck is going on.”
The seconds ticked away as the Federation starships spread out, falling into blockading formation. It was easy to admire their smooth professionalism, the General noted, although there was a rigidity about their performance that would have worried him, if he'd been their commanding officer. Had they forgotten the lessons of the war so quickly? But with vastly superior firepower, perhaps their CO felt it was worth taking some risks.
“I’m picking up a signal,” the operator said. “They’re broadcasting to everyone in the system, every channel.”
“ ... Is the Federation Navy, operating under the authority of the Federation,” a voice said. “By order of the Senate, the planet known as Fairfax is hereby blockaded; we say again, by order of the Senate ...”
“Blockaded?” The operator demanded. He sounded thoroughly outraged. “They can't do that!”
“Quiet,” the General snapped. He understood what the operator meant, but he also understood that force was nine tenths of the law. “I need to hear it.”
“ ... Until the person or persons responsible for the raiders are handed over to the Federation’s authorities,” the voice continued. “All passage to and from the Fairfax System is forbidden; resistance will be met with deadly force. I say again, resistance will be met by deadly force.”
“Get me the President,” the General snapped, as the message came to an end. He had no idea why the feds thought that the raiders could be produced on demand, but he knew that it wouldn't happen. The Bottleneck Republic was as ignorant of the raiders as the Federation itself. “And then send a signal to the rest of the militia. Contingency Plan One-Ultimo is now in effect.”
He looked up at the display and shuddered. They had known that the Federation might not prove willing to negotiate, they had known that they might have to fight ... but the colossal starships shown in the display proved that any fight would be bloody. And might well be lost. The Colonial Militia had a few tricks up its sleeves, yet the Federation Navy possessed overwhelming firepower. It would be a dark day for both sides.
“They have to be mad,” he muttered, in disbelief. It made no sense at all. How could the Federation believe that the colonials would target their own populations? “What sort of madmen would unleash butchers on their own people? Who in their right mind would do that?”
“She
blockaded
Fairfax?”
Glen stared down at the report in disbelief. The Governor had uncovered evidence that suggested senior figures within the Bottleneck Republic had actually bought the raider ships, then sent them out to pillage their own worlds ... and she’d responded by insisting that the Bottleneck Squadron blockade Fairfax! He’d read reports he hadn't entirely believed before, but this was the first one he’d read while wondering if the writer was insane. Or if the Governor had lost her mind.
“Yes, sir,” Cynthia said. “The Bottleneck Squadron has orders to prevent anyone from entering or leaving the planet’s orbital space. So far, the Colonial Militia has refrained from challenging the squadron.”
But that won’t last
, Glen thought, coldly. The General had impressed him, as had the attitude of the colonials. They wouldn't be impressed by mad claims that their own government had been behind the slaughter; they’d just want to shove the interfering federals as far from their homeworld as possible.
How long will it be before the Colonial Militia tries to lift the blockade
?
“That tears it,” Cooke growled. “What the hell do we do now?”
Glen privately made a mental note that Cooke needed more seasoning before being permanently promoted to Commander, then tapped the table.
“We will remain in orbit until the freighters have been unloaded, then consider our next move,” he said. Thanks to the Governor, there were few places
Dauntless
could go where she would be actually welcomed by the locals. “For the moment, we should probably consider redrawing our patrol schedule to take us right out on the edge – or even past the Rim.”
Cynthia lifted her eyebrows. “Captain,” she said, “that will make it harder to monitor colonial activity ...”
“I’m aware of that,” Glen said, coldly. “But in my considered judgement, the last thing this situation needs is more provocation. A few months spent surveying the situation along the Rim will hopefully give time for tempers to cool.”
“Unless we should be heading for Fairfax,” Cooke pointed out. “If it does come down to war ...”
“This isn't likely to lead to war,” Stocker snapped. The Chief Engineer glowered around the conference room. “They have to know that they are massively outgunned.”
Glen put rigid controls on his temper, then slapped the table. “I did not invite debate,” he said. He looked from face to face, watching them as they realised that they had stepped over the line. “Our principle concern is the safety of the alien refugees, then carrying out our original orders. If we are summoned to Fairfax, we will of course go. Until then ...”
The intercom buzzed. “Captain,” Helena said, “we have multiple portals opening near the planet.”
“Red alert,” Glen snapped. The timing was good, too good. He would have bet good money that the raiders had someone in the system, watching and waiting until the Colonial Militia starships pulled out. “All hands to battlestations.”
***
“One heavy cruiser, Federation Navy,” Dana reported. “Six freighters; seemingly helpless.”
Jason
allowed himself a tight smile. The heavy cruiser was a nasty customer, even though she was badly outnumbered. But he didn't really want to force the issue, merely bombard the planet. The freighters ... well, if they were picked off, the alien-lovers would have some real problems convincing other freighter commanders to rent their ships as transports.
“Advance to engagement range, then hold the range open,” he ordered. Getting in close to the cruiser’s energy weapons would be lethal. “Broadcast our message for all to hear. And then fire at will.”
He paused, then continued. “And ships with special assignments are to carry them out on my orders.”
***
Dauntless
, Sandy thought. There could be no mistake.
Dauntless
was the only Federation heavy cruiser in the Fairfax Cluster. Captain Knight had clearly not wasted his time while she’d been gone, part of her mind noted;
Dauntless
was coming to battlestations with a speed and efficiency that put the raider ships to shame. If the raiders hadn't come to battlestations in hyperspace ...
She keyed her console. It was just a matter of time until she could send her message, then wipe it from the network. And then the raiders would be in for a nasty shock.
***
“Captain, we’re picking up a message,” Danielle reported. “They’re broadcasting to the entire system.”
“There's no one else to hear it,” Cooke pointed out.
“Put it through,” Glen ordered. The enemy squadron had formed itself into a rough formation and was now bearing down on
Dauntless
. Glen would have been surprised if they risked a close-in engagement, unless they thought they could take
Dauntless
without being hurt themselves. “What are they saying?”