All for All

(Cast Adrift III)

Christopher G. Nuttall

Book One: Cast Adrift
Book Two: Standing Alone
Book Three: All for All

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Cover By Tan Ho Sim
https://www.artstation.com/alientan

All Comments Welcome!

Contents
Cover Blurb
Prologue I
Prologue II
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four

Cover Blurb

Humanity has won a great victory, liberating their homeworld from the alien Pashtali and convincing many of the alien Great Powers that Earth is much more than a vassal state of a decaying empire, easy meat for the first invader who comes along.  But the war is far from over.  The Pashtali are gathering their forces, closing down their border wars with smaller powers while the greater ones sit on the sidelines, readying their navy for a final confrontation with Earth.  The end cannot be long delayed.

There is one hope left.  Allying themselves with the other smaller powers, the Solar Navy sets off on a final desperate campaign to break the aliens once and for all, or lose everything on the final throw of the dice.

Prologue I

From: A Short History of Galactic Civilisation V.XXVI.  Alphan History University (Terran Campus).  505PI.

Earth’s isolation from galactic affairs, as far as anyone knew, came to an end when the Alphans, the de facto masters of the known universe, invaded, occupied and subjugated the planet.  The human race did its best to fight back, and there were three major and over a hundred minor revolts during the first two hundred years, but against an enemy with massive technological superiority and the willingness to use it ruthlessly the revolts were futile.  The Alphan Viceroyalty had plenty of carrots and sticks at its disposal, as the humans noted, and had few qualms about using them.  There was no reason to think that humanity would ever see independence, let alone become a great power.

Indeed, by the time of the First and Second Lupine Wars, humanity had become one of the most useful client species in known space.  Humans served Alphans as soldiers, spacers and industrial workers, as well as hundreds of roles the Alphans were unwilling or unable to perform themselves.  Human starship designers lacked the first-rate tech of their alien masters – some advanced weapons and drive systems were kept solely in Alphan hands – but they put together modular freighters that revolutionized interstellar shipping and, it was later discovered, could be rapidly converted into cheap and surprisingly effective warships.  Human traders, free and independent, wandered far from the Alphan Empire and brought back tales of wonders beyond the rim of explored space.  Human researchers, even, pushed the limits of the tech assigned to their species, sometimes working on ways to improve it and, at others, figuring out how to duplicate the tech forbidden to them (and not get caught).  

The Alphans did not notice.  They had other problems.  The First Lupine War was a brief set of skirmishes, just another border clash with an up-and-coming junior race that thought it could take on the masters of the known universe; the Second Lupine War was a determined attempt to destroy the Alphan Empire that came alarmingly close to success.  The Lupines were technologically inferior, but they had the numbers and a willingness to take horrendous losses in order to wear down their enemies.  If humanity had not fought beside its masters, adapting tactics and technology to meet their foes on an equal basis, the war might have ended in complete disaster.  As it was, the Alphan Empire emerged victorious ... but broken, bleeding, and with a whole string of new problems.  The worst, they came to realise, was simple.  What were they to do with the human race?

There was no way to avoid the problem.  The humans had fought well and no longer saw themselves as subordinates.  The demand for a greater share of power within the empire was becoming irresistible.  Even loyalists thought human service deserved a great reward.  The Alphans found themselves caught between two fires.  If they accepted humans as equals, their empire would very rapidly become a human empire.  The economic dislocation alone would be utterly disastrous.  But if they refused, they would face another – and perhaps final – rebellion.  The days when the human race was confined to a single planet were long gone.  Now, humans had starships, modern weapons and a powerful presence right across the empire.  The Alphans decided, reluctantly, to cut their losses and grant the human race its independence.

It was a shock.  The economic dislocation of being cast adrift on a sea of interstellar troubles was quite bad enough, but the perception of weakness was worse.  The Vulteks – a client race of the spider-like Pashtali – invaded human space, intent on crushing the newborn star nation before it could rise any further.  But the humans had learnt their lessons well and, in a stunning military campaign, turned the tables on their attackers and defeated them.  The Pashtali saved their clients from total defeat, but humanity had clearly won the war.  The Galactics ceded control of a sizable chunk of territory to Earth.

This region – known as the Occupied Zone – rapidly turned into a millstone around humanity’s collective neck.  The countless settlements within the zone had rarely, if ever, bent the knee to the Vulteks.  They had no intention of letting the human race take control without a fight, even though humanity had made it clear they had no intention of imposing total control.  Worse, it provided an excellent opportunity for the Pashtali to bleed the Solar Navy, and damage humanity’s reputation in front of the other powers, without ever quite showing their hand.

And then, the unexpected happened.

Multispace storms are far from uncommon, but the storm that blew up along the threadlines between Earth and the Alphan Empire was unprecedented.  This storm made it difficult, if not impossible, for ships to move between the two powers, largely isolating the human race from its former patrons.  (Indeed, there were suggestions – then and later – that the storm wasn’t natural.)  The Pashtali saw their chance and moved, feinting at the Occupied Zone to draw a chunk of the Solar Navy into a trap and then striking directly at Earth itself.  The war seemed on the verge of being lost.

But the human race struck back, adapting its tactics and accepting massive losses to destroy the enemy ships or force them to surrender.  The Pashtali broke and ran, saving what they could, but – in the aftermath – it became clear they were far from defeated.  They were still a Great Power, they still badly outnumbered their enemies, their technology was still more advanced ...

Humanity had won a great victory.  But the war was very far from over.

Prologue II

There had been a time, Ambassador Yasuke had read in the history logs, when ambassadors lived so far from their governments that they had the power to sign binding agreements without having to ask permission first.  Those ambassadors had been trusted to understand what was going on and make the right decisions, before time ran out and their decisions no longer mattered.  It had been true, back in the glory days, that military commanders – too – had wide authority to react as they saw fit.  In hindsight, after the carnage of the last war, Yasuke suspected that deferring such decisions to the homeworld had been a mistake.  Too many commanders, in the opening days, had tried to call home for orders, orders that hadn’t arrived until it was far too late.  

The humans learnt from our experience, he reflected, as he waited for the secure communications link to be checked and rechecked by operators on both ends of the line.  If their commanders had waited for orders, the war would be over by now.

It was a chilling thought.  The Pashtali had come very close to victory.  They’d ignored most of humanity’s colonies, few of which had any real industrial base, and driven straight at Earth, using their new crossroads technology to take their enemies in the rear.  That had been a surprise.  The Alphans had known, only a few months ago, that they were the only ones who could enter and exit multispace without a crossroads.  They hadn’t imagined the Pashtali could do it too ... Yasuke muttered a human curse, savouring a word that had no direct equivalent in his tongue.  Every race that thought itself a great power – and even those who didn’t – had been working on the tech, ever since they’d discovered it was possible.  His people should have known that, sooner or later, someone else would crack the secret.  They had the great advantage of knowing it was possible.

The room darkened, the holographic projector displaying the chairman’s face.  A faint flicker of static crossed the image, a grim reminder that the conversation was heavily encrypted and yet vulnerable to interception.  The Pashtali would be doing everything in their power to hack into the network and there was no way to be sure, now, they weren’t listening to every word.  He would have sooner returned home and spoken to his government in person, but there just hadn’t been time.  Hopefully, the encryption would minimise the risk.

“Ambassador,” the chairman said.  He was alone.  That was generally a good sign.  “We have reviewed your proposal.”

Yasuke nodded, then waited.

“It is risky,” the chairman said.  “Do you really think we should take the risk?”

There was a time, Yasuke thought coldly, that we didn’t shy away from risk.

He kept that thought off his face.  The chairman – and the government – had too many problems.  The mighty fleet of warcruisers had been badly weakened – in the time it took the Alphans to produce a single ship, the Lupines had turned out hundreds – and the empire was in full retreat, granting clients independence and abandoning colony worlds.  The empire was still mighty, still capable of defending itself, but the days they could send an entire fleet thousands of light years from home were gone.  And they wouldn’t be coming back.

“I believe I argued my case quite clearly,” he said.  “The humans have won a major victory, true, but the war isn’t over.  The Pashtali will regroup, concentrate their forces and resume the offensive ... if they have time.  And they will win.  The balance of power is firmly in their favour.”

“Perhaps,” the chairman agreed.  “But what does this have to do with us?”

Yasuke wasn’t sure if the chairman hadn’t read his report, or if he was merely getting the matter on the official record, but he wasn’t inclined to waste time worrying about it.  If the chairman wanted to play games, that was fine as long as Yasuke got what he wanted out of the deal.

“The Pashtali are a Great Power,” he said, calmly.  “If they succeed in enslaving humanity, or even occupying their worlds and banning them from spaceflight, they will be on our borders, in a position to threaten us.  They have already cracked the secret of slipping in and out of multispace without a crossroads.  What else do they have?”

“I was informed their crossroads tech is inferior to ours,” the chairman said.

“Yes,” Yasuke agreed.  “But that doesn’t mean it can’t be effective.”

He leaned forward.  “But if we assist the humans now, we will have a friendly power on our border, the Pashtali will be weakened and we will have fewer problems in the future.”

“The humans cannot win,” the chairman said.

“The Pashtali have already poured out a vast amount of blood and treasure,” Yasuke countered.  “Sooner or later, even they will cut their losses.”

“They may,” the chairman agreed.  “But will that be in time to save our former clients?”

“Our allies,” Yasuke corrected.  “We aren’t their masters any longer, but we can be their allies.”

“And they will draw us back into the mainstream,” the chairman said.  “We need time to consolidate.”

“Which we can only gain by assisting the human race,” Yasuke insisted.  “The Pashtali will not rest on their laurels, once they have crushed humanity and occupied their worlds.  They will come for us.  They must.  They want to rule the known universe and the only way to do that is to defeat us, before we rebuild and return to the galactic mainstream.”

If we ever do, his thoughts added, silently.  We don’t want to admit it, even to ourselves, but we may have given up.

It was hard to keep his face impassive.  They’d ruled the known galaxy for centuries.  The thought that the Alphans could be defeated, that they could accept de facto decline, was unthinkable.  And yet, the idea haunted him.  The Pashtali wanted to build an empire.  They had a vigour Yasuke’s ancestors had shared, one their descendants had lost.  And they might never find it again.

“The humans must win,” he said.  “And they cannot do it without our help.”

“So you have said,” the chairman observed.  There was a long, chilling pause.  “We have debated the issue.  We will assist the humans.  But only to a point.”

He leaned forward.  “Remember that, Ambassador.  Only to a point.”

Yasuke bowed, hiding his relief.  “Yes, Mr. Chairman.  I will not forget.”

Chapter One

Trojan, Deep Space

“Sir?”

Captain Leo Patel looked up from his datapad, keeping his face under tight control.  The sensor operator looked too young to be a responsible adult and he kept thinking, at times, that the navy had raided the nurseries and junior schools for recruits.  It was going to hurt the Solar Navy badly, in the months and years to come, that far too many military recruits and training officers had been pulled out of the pipeline and sent to the front, but there was no choice.  Too many officers and crewmen had died in the Battle of Sol, too many ships destroyed or damaged beyond immediate repair.  The human race had never been so close to absolute defeat.

“Yes, Carola?”

The sensor operator glanced at him.  Leo signed inwardly.  Sensor operators were meant to keep their eyes on their consoles at all times, just in case something changed so quickly their original report was no longer accurate.  Leo had been in the navy long enough to know a situation could go from controlled to absolute chaos in the blink of an eye, then be made worse by an officer responding to the first reports and not realising things had already slipped out of control.  He made a mental note to discuss the situation with the academy officers, when they returned home.  They could reduce their focus on spit and polish and concentrate, instead, on honing the skills the recruits needed to survive.

“Captain,” Carola said.  “I picked up a brief flicker of sensor distortion, closing from the rear.”

Leo sucked in his breath.  They were on a well-travelled shipping line, running through the Occupied Zone – the former Occupied Zone, his mind whispered – and leading straight to Terminus.  There’d been surprisingly little traffic when they popped out of the last crossroads and set course for the next, something that bothered him.  There should have been a lot more starships ploughing the spacelanes.  And the fact everything was so quiet suggested ... what?

Everyone might be keeping their heads down and hoping to remain unnoticed, he thought, rather drolly.  The independent shippers tried to remain politically neutral, although – with a handful of wars burning through the galaxy – that wasn’t always possible.  Or someone might be deliberately suppressing unwanted trade.

He studied the display, refusing to allow his concerns to show on his face.  The Pashtali had kicked the human race out of the Occupied Zone, before driving on Earth in a desperate bid to win the war before humanity could rally and fight back.  They’d come far too close to succeeding before their fleet had been forced to surrender.  And now ... his eyes narrowed as the sensor flickers grew stronger.  The Pashtali had been ominously quiet for the last six months.  The intelligence crews hadn’t known what to make of it.  Leo suspected he knew, now, what the spider-like aliens had been doing.

“Captain?”  Carola looked up, again.  “Should I do a sensor focus?”

“No.”  Leo didn’t have to think about it.  Whoever was coming up behind them didn’t know – yet – that they’d been detected.  A regular merchantman wouldn’t have picked up even the slightest hint of their presence until they were well within firing range.  Trojan’s sensors were the finest money could buy and even they hadn’t noticed until it was too late to evade contact and pretend it was just a coincidence.  “Let them think we haven’t spotted them.”

His mind raced.  He knew better than to think there was no contact.  It wasn’t uncommon for random energy flickers to trigger alarms, but the contact was too solid – too artificial – to him to cling to the delusion.  Anyone creeping into attack position was almost definitely hostile ... hell, the rules of engagement laid down by the Alphans and enforced by the rest of the Galactics would be on his side if he opened fire first and asked questions later.  There was no obligation to let a hostile ship get into point-blank range, not when the first salvo might be the last.  Better to protect his own ship by opening fire on the enemy and swearing blind he’d never seen their ship.

Which might not be possible, he reminded himself.  The rules are for little powers.

He scowled.  He’d been forced to take a course in galactic law before he’d been granted his shipping licence and his instructor had made it clear the rules only applied to those without the power to stand up for themselves.  The Galactics – the Alphans, the Pashtali, the other races that commanded immense military power – could do whatever they liked, while the smaller powers had to follow the rules to the letter.  Even now, the Pashtali were mounting a savage public relations campaign against humanity, insisting the human race was cheating ... never mind the immense disparity between the two powers.  Leo clenched his teeth in frustration.  The Galactics weren’t stupid.  He doubted any of them really believed the Pashtali.  But the lies provided an excuse to sit back and do nothing while the galactic superpower ground Earth into the dust.

And now someone is coming up behind us, he thought, coldly.  It has to be an enemy.

They’d timed it well, he noted.  Trojan couldn’t reach the crossroads and escape before the vectors converged and the enemy ship opened fire, nor could she dart back to the previous crossroads or break contact.  If Trojan had been a proper freighter, if her IFF signal hadn’t been more than a set of artfully crafted lies, she might be in some trouble.  The freighter was huge, easily twice the size of the average cruiser, but she was as ungainly as a wallowing pig.  There was no hope of breaking contact, not unless the enemy ship chose to let them go.  Leo was fairly sure it wasn’t going to happen.

“Tactical,” he said.  “Run preliminary activation programs.”

“Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Walker said.  He was an older man recalled to the colours, half his body replaced by cyborg implants that made him look like a patchwork man.  The Solar Navy normally disapproved of such heavy augmentation, but the Solar Navy was too desperate for manpower to care.  Besides, Walker was on a modified freighter, not an actual warship.  “Activation program coming online ... now.”

The lights flickered.  Leo gritted his teeth.  The freighter’s design called for two fusion cores – she could operate with one, in a pinch – but the engineers who’d converted her into a Q-Ship had installed four more.  Powering up their main weapon still drained their power reserves, something he’d believed impossible until they’d put their ship through her paces a few, short months ago.  It was disconcerting ... hell, the risk of suffering a sudden power failure wasn’t the worst of it.  The groundhogs might write books where incoming ships had sensors so capable they could tell when their target was powering up its weapons, but it was impossible ... normally.  This time, there would be flickers of radiation when they brought their weapon online.  The radiation shielding should provide some cover – he’d tested the armour thoroughly, during the trials – but it was hard to be sure.  The Pashtali sensors were reputed to be good.  Better than Alphan sensors?  No one knew.

“Beginning charging procedure,” Walker said.  His voice was flat, betraying nothing of his inner turmoil.  They’d get one shot, just one.  If it worked, they’d be heroes; if it failed, they’d be dead.  “Countdown begins ... now.”

“Hold fire until they are well within range,” Leo reminded him, as if they hadn’t drilled endlessly for this moment.  “Wait for my command, unless they fire first.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Leo nodded stiffly, keeping his eye on the display.  The enemy ship was closer now, entering missile range.  Too close for his peace of mind, yet too far away for a guaranteed kill.  They had the edge, if they opened fire ... what did they want?  Who were they?  Pashtali?  Vulteks?  Pirates?  Or perhaps even scavengers, the last remnants of races who’d been driven from their homeworlds and forced to live on the edge of galactic society?  It was a chilling thought.  If the war was lost, the human race might be reduced to nothing more than a handful of survivors, roaming the galaxy in search of a new home.  And if they found one, their tormentors would be quick to snatch it ...

No, he told himself.  That isn’t going to happen.

His eyes never left the enemy ship.  She was still cloaked, her identity hidden behind a masking field, but the tactical computers were slowly putting together a picture of her true nature.  Carola was very good at her job.  The power curves suggested a light cruiser, perhaps an oversized destroyer ... Leo wondered, if their opponent was a cruiser, why they were sneaking around rather than simply charging up and opening fire?  It struck him as a little pointless.  Did they suspect Trojan’s true nature?  They might ... no, if they did, they’d have held the range open and blown his ship away well before he could retaliate.  His lips twitched with grim amusement.  In hindsight, calling his ship Trojan might have been a mistake.

But then, our naming conventions make no sense to the Galactics, he reminded himself, dryly.  Any more than their naming conventions make sense to us.

“Captain,” Carola said.  “The enemy ship will be in position in two minutes.”

“Three minutes to full charge, sir,” Walker added.  “She might see something ...”

Leo nodded, curtly.  His ship’s exterior was no different from the thousands of other human-designed freighters working the spacelanes.  The interior ... if they were boarded, they’d have a lot of questions to answer.  Not, he suspected, that they’d ever have the chance.  If a major power realised what they were carrying, they’d probably be disappeared; the ship going to the nearest military shipyard for analysis, while the crew vanished into a black interrogation chamber.  His heart twisted.  He was a brave man, but the thought of having his mind slowly dismantled by alien mind probes was terrifying.  It was never easy to calibrate the probe for different races and a single mistake, committed by aliens with little experience with human minds, would be enough to reduce him to a drooling wreck.  And ... he shook his head.  It wouldn’t happen.  He had strict orders to destroy his ship if there was even the slightest chance she’d fall into enemy hands.

And our mysterious friend does want us intact, he thought, grimly.  It wasn’t all bad – it gave him an edge, if the enemy was reluctant to destroy his ship – but it was worrying.  They’d have opened fire by now if they wanted us dead.

His heart thudded as the range continued to close.  The enemy ship was dangerously close.  They were too close for anyone, even the insanely snooty Galactics, to believe they hadn’t been spotted.  The Galactics might think the younger races didn’t know how to get the best out of their borrowed technology, and in some cases they were even right, yet ... they were so close that even a simple automated program, with no more adaptive intelligence than a pre-invasion computer, would be sounding the alarm.  And if they picked up a hint of the weapon being aimed at them ...

“Captain!”  Carola’s voice rose with alarm.  “They’re decloaking!”

“Calm,” Leo murmured.  “There’s no need for panic.”

He leaned forward, bracing himself, as the enemy ship took shape and form on the display.  A light cruiser ... Pashtali in design, although old enough she might have been handed down to the Vulteks or simply sold to a younger race.  The Pashtali could hardly be blamed if their outdated ships eventually wound up in pirate hands, after passing through so many owners they had no way to know where they would eventually land.  He scowled, even though he knew he should be relieved.  Earth was buying every ship it could, without asking too many questions, and toughening up the laws on starship transfers would actually make it harder to defend the homeworld.  But, at the same time, too many ships wound up in pirate hands.  They were a regular plague on the spacelanes ...

The console bleeped.  “Sir,” Carola said.  “They just ordered us to heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

Leo raised his eyebrows.  “Did they give us their IFF?”

“No, sir,” Carola said.  “The communication was in GalStandard Two.”

“Interesting,” Leo said.

He considered it for a moment.  The Pashtali used GalStandard Two, and the fact the mystery ship used it suggested she was a Pashtali vessel, but it wasn’t conclusive.  There were quite a few other races who relied on the same artificial language to communicate ... his lips twitched.  The Alphans might have made a mistake, when they’d designed languages to allow cross-racial communication.  There was no longer any ambiguity about insults that might, under normal circumstances, have been smoothed over.  And that meant ...

“Send them our IFF and manifest,” he ordered.  It was unlikely either would deter the mystery ship, but if they made themselves look a bigger prize the enemy would be reluctant to destroy them.  “And request they allow us to proceed without further ado.”

“Aye, sir,” Carola said.  There was a long pause.  “They’re repeating their earlier command and ... missile!  Incoming missile!”

“Aimed to miss,” Walker grunted.  “But close enough to prove they can put a warhead in our hull.”

“Of course.”  Leo watched the missile lance past the hull and dart into the distance, before detonating.  It was a clear warning there was no way the freighter could get out of range, even if she were given a head start.  “Carola, request guarantees our cargo will be unharmed.”

Carola grinned.  “What cargo?”

Leo smiled back.  The manifest was made up out of whole cloth, but he’d put it together with malice aforethought.  If someone accepted it at face value, they’d believe Trojan was carrying valuable goods from Alphan Prime to Terminus, goods already sold to powers capable of making one hell of a fuss if they were stolen or destroyed in transit.  The Pashtali – if the ship was Pashtali – might not dare blow his ship away.  Sure, it would reduce faith in humanity’s ability to ship supplies safely from one side of the galaxy to the other, but if someone worked out what they’d done it might widen the war.  The safest choice, for them, was to capture the ship, then deliver the supplies themselves.  And it would give them all the incentive they needed to keep closing the range.

“They’ve offered their guarantees,” Carola said.  “Sir?”

Leo keyed his console.  “Bring us to all stop, then power down the drive and transfer all power to the main gun,” he ordered.  The range would close rapidly once his ship was seemingly dead in space.  The enemy would reduce speed at once, just to keep from overshooting, but it would take several seconds for them to do it.  “Tactical, are we ready to fire?”

“One minute, Captain,” Walker said.  “The gun is nearly charged.”

“Prepare to open the gunport,” Leo said.  “And order all non-essential crew to the shuttle.”

“Aye, sir,” Carola said.  He could hear the sudden trepidation in her voice.  The shuttle might get away, if the gambit failed, but she would remain on the freighter to the bitter end.  “They’re on their way.”

“Good.”  Trojan’s crew was tiny, compared to a proper warship’s crew, but that had its advantages.  They’d have no difficulty evacuating the crew if the shit hit the fan.  “They are to disconnect as soon as the hatches are closed.”

“Aye, sir.”

The tactical console bleeped.  “Sir,” Walker said.  “The gun is ready to fire.”

“Angle us into firing position,” Leo ordered.  “And open the gunport.”

His heart raced.  The armour had kept them safe, for the moment, but that was about to change.  The radiation spike would be impossible to miss, once the gunport was open.  How quickly would the enemy react?  If they had their weapons dialled in on his hull, the best he could hope for would be a mutual kill.  If ...

“Energy spike,” Carola snapped.  “Captain, they’re preparing to fire!”

“Fire,” Leo snapped.

Walker tapped his console.  The light dimmed, again, as the burner unleashed a hellish storm of energy into the enemy hull.  The cruiser melted like snowflakes in hell, the ravaging fury stabbing through layers of armour and ripping through the vessel’s interior as though it were made of paper.  He sucked in his breath as the enemy drive field destabilised, an instant before the burner sliced through the fusion cores, depowering the ship.  He was mildly surprised the ship hadn’t exploded.  The sheer power he’d unleashed was terrifying.

No wonder the Alphans ruled the galaxy for so long, he thought, morbidly.  They had the biggest sticks in the known universe.

“Check for survivors,” he ordered.  There was no time to waste.  They’d just lit up the entire system.  If there was someone watching from a safe distance, they’d know what had happened.  “And then prepare to resume our course.”

“No survivors, as far as I can tell,” Carola said.  “What about their datacores?”

Leo shook his head.  Datacores were hardened, but not that hardened.  Besides, the enemy interior had been turned into a melted nightmare.  The odds of finding a datacore in good condition were roughly akin to his odds of winning the intergalactic lottery and living long enough to claim the money.  There might be something remaining, if they had time to go through the wreckage with a fine-toothed comb, but they didn’t.  The enemy ship was a dead hulk.  Better to leave her death a mystery, rather than reveal what he’d done.

“No point,” he said.  He was tempted to search for genetic samples, in hopes of determining who’d flown the ship, but it was pointless too.  The interior was too badly scorched.  There’d be nothing of the crew left, not even atoms.  “Helm, resume course.  We’ll report in when we reach the next relay station.”

His lips twitched.  It wasn’t much, not in the grand scheme of things, but it would hopefully convince the Pashtali they needed to either stop harassing humanity’s shipping or devote more ships and resources to prowling the spacelanes.  Hopefully ... he felt a sudden surge of hatred as his ship got underway, leaving the dead hulk behind.  The Pashtali had jumped on a weakened human race and come very close to winning.  Even now, the war remained in the balance ...

... And he feared, despite everything, the end could not be long delayed.

Chapter Two

Pournelle Shipyards, Sol Asteroid Belt

The Pashtali ship was very ... alien.

First Speaker Abraham Douglas felt a chill run down his spine as he surveyed the Pashtali ship, hanging in the midst of a network of struts and research modules.  He was a well-travelled man and prided himself on keeping his composure even when confronted by very outré aliens, but the Pashtali ship just looked wrong.  It like a brooding spider ... as if its designers had crafted a ship in their own image.  The ship was hardly the first alien starship he’d seen – the Alphans regarded their ships as works of art – but its mere appearance was a grim reminder its designers had worked from very different ideas of how the universe worked.  He sucked in his breath, taking a moment to gather himself.  The Pashtali might be alien – very much so – but they were bound by the same laws of nature as their human enemies.  Their tech wasn’t that different.

He took another breath, studying the design thoughtfully.  The Pashtali had clearly never intended to take Crossroads into battle.  The vessel was heavily outfitted with armour and defensive systems, but hardly anything in the way of offensive weapons.  Abraham wasn’t surprised.  The crossroads-generating ship had to be incredibly expensive, even by Galactic standards.  They’d no more send her into the line of battle than he’d purchase an asteroid mansion for the express purpose of steering it into the sun.  It had been sheer luck the human race had forced the Pashtali to surrender, when the Solar Navy had raised the siege of Earth, and hand over their ships.  It might prove the key to winning the war or, at least, buying time for the human race to make allies and deter their enemies from continuing the fight.  Who knew?  Maybe the horse would learn to sing?

“First Speaker?”

Abraham turned, slowly.  Commodore Roger Valentine stood by the hatch, hands clasped behind his back.  He was a tall dark-skinned man with a bland, almost unremarkable face, wearing a naval uniform that had clearly seen better days.  Abraham nodded, remembering the file he’d accessed during the flight to the shipyard.  Commodore Valentine was the navy’s leading expert in non-human technology, with a long career spent taking the best of Alphan – and other Galactic – tech and reverse-engineering it so humanity could put it into mass production.  The Solar Navy’s warships might be ugly – they’d never win any design awards – but they’d integrated ideas from right across the galaxy into a coherent whole.  And they were a lot easier to repair than their alien counterparts.  

“Commodore,” Abraham said.  “What progress have you made with the alien ships?”

Valentine smiled.  “They were careful to destroy the datacores before they surrendered their ships,” he said.  “Under normal circumstances, it would be quite enough to keep us from putting the ships into service.  However, we were able to jury-rig modified command networks which should, assuming everything works as planned, let us take the ships into combat anyway.  They’ll be difficult to control, but hardly inert hulks.”

“Good.”  Abraham let out a breath.  “We need more warships – and quickly.”

“We were also able to recover a handful of IFF signals from the local buffers,” Valentine added.  “They may not be current – and they may well know which ships fell into our hands – but we might be able to use them to sneak up on enemy positions.  Might.”

“No guarantees,” Abraham agreed.  Earth had worked hard to obscure just which enemy ships had been captured, but he was uncomfortably aware too many alien powers had probably watched the battle from a safe distance.  The Pashtali wouldn’t have any problems purchasing the sensor records, if they thought to ask.  “They will certainly suspect the worst.”

“They may assume the ships are either destroyed or effectively useless,” Valentine agreed.  “But it would be unwise to count on it.”

Abraham nodded.  The Galactics rarely, if ever, used starships captured from enemy races.  It was just too difficult to repair the ships, then operate them.  The smaller races – including humanity – had no choice.  Earth had learnt an awful lot about repairing and updating ships that had been in space longer than the entire human race, as well as controlling vessels designed for non-humanoid races.  He felt a twinge of sympathy for the crews.  The Alphans were humanoid, and they weren’t that different from their former subjects, but their starships still felt wrong.  It wasn’t something he could put into words.  And yet …

“We’ll hope for the best, but prepare for the worst,” he said, nodding to the porthole.  “What about Crossroads herself?”

Valentine looked thoughtful.  “The good news, sir, is that we understand how she does what she does,” he said.  “They use a brute-force approach to opening a makeshift crossroads into multispace, rather than the more elegant technology used by the Alphans, but it works.  Given time and resources, we can duplicate it.  We think they may have a degree more tactical mobility than the Alphans, but it’s hard to be sure.  The Alphans who spent the last month crawling over her refused to be drawn on the subject.”

“They paid through the nose for access to the ship,” Abraham said, curtly.  “What’s the bad news?”

“The design is very limited, sir,” Valentine said.  “The power requirements are off the scale.  They can open a crossroads, after charging their power cells, then they have to wait for the cells to recharge before they can do it again.  If our calculations are correct, they need at least an hour between crossroads.  They also put a hell of a lot of wear and tear on their equipment too.  Crossroads is easier to dismantle than their regular warships because they need to repair their systems, or even replace them, every few days.  They even had a hull crammed with spare parts.”

Abraham smiled, which boded ill for someone.  “I assume there’s no need to maintain the system when they’re just travelling from crossroads to crossroads, without trying to generate their own?”

“We’re not sure,” Valentine admitted.  “We think some of the systems need to be kept on standby at all times, even when the ship is deep within friendly space and doesn’t have to jump out at a moment’s notice.  They were actually within a maintenance cycle during the Battle of Earth, which may have made it impossible for them to jump out and run.”

“Lucky,” Abraham said.

“Yes, sir.”  Valentine nodded to the alien ship.  “We know how she does it, sir, and we think we can duplicate it.  We also think we may be able to counter it.”

Abraham leaned forward.  “Counter it?”

“Like I said, it’s a brute-force method,” Valentine reminded him.  “They basically generate a gravity field powerful enough to warp the fabric of space-time, eventually opening a crossroads into multispace.  Given the nature of multispace, it’s quite possible there are places they literally cannot open the crossroads, no matter how much power they redirect to their generators.  They must have been surveying the multispace topography around Earth and the Occupied Zone for years, prior to starting the war.”

“We know they were planning for quite some time,” Abraham agreed.  “We might not have time to match their work.”

“It may not matter, sir,” Valentine said.  “If we use focused gravity beams, we might be able to disrupt their crossroads generator and prevent the crossroads from opening.”

“Trapping their ships in realspace,” Abraham finished.  “Will it work?”

“Theoretically,” Valentine said.  “The concept was originally devised for use against the Alphans, sir, but their crossroads generators are so advanced they can literally integrate outside gravity pulses into their multispace portals and …”

Abraham held up a hand.  “English, please.”

“The Alphans can compensate for outside interference,” Valentine said.  He looked pensive.  “If our research is correct, the Pashtali cannot.”

“Which means we can lock them out of multispace,” Abraham said.  “Can we keep them from opening a crossroads and landing on top of us?”

“… Perhaps,” Valentine commented, reluctantly.  “It’s hard to be sure.  The math suggests it may be possible, but – again, given the nature of multispace – it might be nothing more than spitting into the wind.  There’d be a hell of a lot of pressure on the counter-generator and no certainty it would actually work.  Still, being able to lock them out of multispace will give us one hell of an advantage.”

“If we have them pinned down,” Abraham said.  “They’ll know it too, won’t they?”

“Yes, sir,” Valentine said.  “They must have spent years working out the theory, then building the tech to turn theory into workable hardware.  They’ll have a far better idea of what the tech can, and cannot, do.”

Abraham said nothing for a long moment.  “And if they already have a countermeasure?”

“There’s no way to be sure, sir, but we think that trying to open a crossroads under such circumstances will put a hell of a lot more wear and tear on their generators even if they succeed,” Valentine said.  “If nothing else, they’ll have to stop for repairs in a hurry if they want to use the generators again.”

“Which will certainly be expensive, for them,” Abraham said.  “Can you take the enemy warships into battle?”

“Yes, sir,” Valentine said.  “There will be shortages – again, they wiped the missile warheads before they surrendered – but we can overcome them.  However, we don’t have anything like enough spare parts and once we start taking damage, it will be difficult to repair the ships.”

“Noted,” Abraham said.  The Pashtali had never signed any interstellar treaties on interoperability.  It was hard to escape the feeling that had worked in the Pashtali’s favour.  “Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” Valentine said.  “Director Solomon is waiting for you.”

Abraham nodded, shortly.  He’d gone to some trouble to keep his visit to the shipyards as quiet as possible – the repair crews didn’t have the time to down tools and put on a dog-and-pony show– but there was no way to keep his arrival completely quiet.  He took one last look at the alien ships, then turned and stepped through the hatch.  The modular corridors hummed with life, engineers and their support staff scurrying as if there was no tomorrow.  Abraham gritted his teeth as he pressed himself against the bulkhead to let a pair of engineers push a trolley.  There might not be any tomorrow soon enough, if the Pashtali refused to see sense and come to terms.  They’d started the war, and gotten a bloody nose, and now couldn’t back off without looking weak.  It was frustrating as hell, not least because there was nothing Abraham could do to solve the problem.  What sort of concessions could he offer that would make the Pashtali back off?

We could surrender tomorrow, unconditionally, and they’d still look weak in front of their peers, he reflected, sourly.  They’d still need to beat hell out of us …

He shook his head as he stepped through the airlock and headed up towards the administrative modules.  There was no way he could offer any terms, certainly nothing the Pashtali could reasonably accept.  Public opinion would never stand for it.  Hell, he didn’t want to stand for it either.  The human race had fought a far more powerful and aggressive alien force to a standstill … surely, a rational race would want to concede defeat as quickly as possible.  It wasn’t as if humanity could demand vast concessions.  But the Pashtali had started the war and had made themselves look greedy and foolish as well as weak; now they needed a victory before someone jumped on them.  It just wasn’t fair.

The universe is not fair, he reminded himself.  And as long as there’s no one willing to enforce the rules, the strong will always take advantage of the weak.

Martin Solomon, Director and CEO of the Pournelle Shipyards Corporation as well as Minister for Industrial and Economic Development, rose to his feet as Abraham was shown into his office.  He looked tired and drawn, after years of working to develop new ships and weapons, then months of hiding from the enemy fleet while desperately trying to repair the navy’s remaining ships so they could resume the offensive.  Even now, there’d been no relief, no chance to catch his breath.  There was just too much to do before the hammer came down.  Again.

“First Speaker,” Solomon said.  “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to greet you earlier.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Abraham assured him.  “I enjoyed the chance to inspect the captured ships.”

“We’ve learnt quite a bit from them.”  Solomon smiled as he poured two glasses of wine.  “Mostly how not to do it, but quite a bit regardless.”

Abraham raised his eyebrows.  “How not to do it?”

“Their ships took more cues from the Alphans than they’d ever admit, I think,” Solomon said, passing Abraham a glass.  “They have their weaknesses, including a certain inability to carry out repairs while underway.  They need a shipyard for repairs we could handle in deep space.”

“Odd.”  Abraham sipped his wine.  It might make sense for commercial ships, but warships couldn’t always be withdrawn from the line of battle and sent home.  “Why?”

“It does have its advantages,” Solomon conceded.  “Their ships are generally tougher than ours.  Their hulls are solid shells, which can take more damage than our armour plating.  The downside, though, is that when something does get through the hull it does a hell of a lot of damage.  The hull traps the blast within the hull, leaving it bouncing around within the vessel rather than harmlessly burning away.”

“Ouch,” Abraham said.  “I assume their interior armour isn’t up to spec?”

“It’s nowhere near as tough as the outer hull,” Solomon agreed.  His lips twisted into a cold smile.  “The ships are tough, First Speaker, but nowhere near tough enough.  We can take them down.”

“And we have,” Abraham said.  He leaned forward.  “How do we stand, production-wise?”

Solomon looked worried, just for a second.  “Good news and bad.  We’ve been able to resume production of warships and weapons, as well as converting freighters into makeshift warships to give us more missile platforms.  The Alphans have also extended us a substantial line of credit, which has made it easier to purchase first-rate fabricators as well as warships from the other Galactics.  However, we’re reaching the limits of our capacities and I don’t think we can expand them in a hurry …”

Abraham frowned.  “I thought we were giving you all the resources we could muster,” he said.  “Is it not enough?”

“Sir, it takes one woman nine months to grow a baby,” Solomon said.  “That’s a simple law of nature.  Nine women cannot make a baby in one month.  Right now, my personnel are overworked, which means mistakes creep into the production lines and, worse, we don’t have the time or resources to train new personnel.  We have too many undertrained personnel as it is, which is causing other problems.  Ideally, I’d like to slow production a little and divert more experienced personnel to training duties, but that isn’t going to happen.”

“Shit,” Abraham said.  “I take it you can’t use automated training programs?”

“They work for teaching the basics, sir, but a great deal of the things they need to know can only come from experience, and an experienced mentor,” Solomon told him.  “The training modules don’t discuss how to take a component from one race and adapt it to work with another race’s gear.  Nor do they show where corners can be cut safely and where corners can never be cut.  We’re trying to rotate some of our newer personnel, the ones who passed the training course without ever putting their hands on actual hardware, through postings on freighters and industrial plants, but even that’s a strain.”

He shook his head.  “The bottom line, sir, is that we need the war over as quickly as possible.”

“So do we all,” Abraham said, tiredly.  “How long can you maintain your current tempo?”

“I’m not sure.”  Solomon leaned forward.  “The longer this goes on, the greater the chance of a disastrous accident.  We designed a system for replacing worn out components and personnel, prior to the war, but that’s gone by the wayside now.  We’re effectively eating our seed corn, sir, just to push our limits as far as they will go.  I don’t think there’s anything we can do about it, short of shutting down for a few weeks to rest and refit.”

“Which is impossible,” Abraham said.

“Until the end of the war, yes,” Solomon agreed.  “It’s impossible to say for sure, sir, but my read on the situation is that we’re going to have to slow down in six months, and that’s if we’re lucky.  We may suffer an accident earlier that will make it impossible to maintain our tempo.  I think” – his lips twisted – “we can pull some people off the production line to enhance our training program, but …”

He shook his head.  “We’re in trouble, sir.  No two ways about it.”

“I understand,” Abraham said.  “Is there no other way?”

“Not as far as we can tell,” Solomon said.  “There’s nothing we can offer our people to make up for the simple fact they’re tired and overworked.  Wages?  They don’t have time to spend them.  Perks?  Ditto.  Brothels?  They’re too tired …”

He shrugged.  “We’re still looking for alternatives, but realistically we’re going to have to slow down soon.  The equipment is running hot and so are the workers.”

“I got the message,” Abraham said, curtly.  “What about recruiting non-human labour?”

“Much of it wouldn’t be of any real use,” Solomon said.  “The minor races are reluctant to risk pissing off the Pashtali.  The major races are less inclined to worry about their opinion, but their techs aren’t trained to our standards.  They have little or no experience of working with alien tech and it shows.”

“Crap,” Abraham said.  “Do what you can.”

“I will.”  Solomon sighed.  “Just bear in mind that there will be an accident, sooner rather than later.  And when it happens, production will slow to a crawl.”

Chapter Three

Earth Defence Force One, Earth Orbit

It was not her office.

First Admiral Naomi Yagami felt like a fraud as she sat behind Admiral Glass’s desk and wore his uniform.  She’d always thought she’d rise to flag rank eventually – the Solar Navy was painfully short of experienced officers – but she’d never expected to be promoted to fill a dead man’s shoes.  Admiral Glass had been the de facto founder of the Solar Navy, the man who’d guided the transition from the old Earth Defence Force to a proud spacefaring navy, the man who’d ensured that the navy remained intact, instead of being ripped apart by political infighting.  And he’d died in battle …

She hated it.  Admiral Glass should have gone into retirement, instead of dying.  He’d done so much and yet … she wished, numbly, she’d been able to save him.  No one suggested she’d let him die deliberately – everyone knew she’d done all she could – but she still felt guilty.  She had no idea how to fill his shoes.  She’d commanded starships, and fleets, but running an entire navy?  It didn’t help that so many officers had died in the fighting, ensuring that she had no choice but to promote the young and inexperienced.  She suspected she wasn’t the only one struggling with imposter syndrome.

Be honest, she told herself.  You’d be more worried about a junior officer who wasn’t concerned about his ability to handle the job.

She ran her hand through her hair, battling a surge of exhaustion.  It was rare for an admiral to do her own clerical work, let alone wear more than two hats, but there was no choice.  Admiral Glass’s staff had largely been broken up and sent elsewhere.  The Solar Navy had never had the time to develop a major bureaucracy and now it probably never would.  She had too much to do, tasks that could normally be handled by her subordinates.  It felt, sometimes, as though the Pashtali had torn the guts out of the navy, leaving only a skeleton behind.  They’d be lucky if the navy was on an even kneel by the time she had to retire.

The intercom bleeped.  “Admiral,” Ensign Joe Tasman said.  “Admiral Morrígan and Captain Evensong are here for their appointment.”

“Send them in,” Naomi ordered, suppressing the urge to tell them to go away instead.  “And have coffee sent in too.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

Naomi looked up as the hatch opened, pasting a calm expression on her face.  Admiral Morrígan was a short dumpy woman who’d spent most of her career behind a desk, rather than commanding starships.  Her file suggested she’d rotated into desk work five years ago and, somehow, had never been reassigned to starship or fleet command.  Naomi wasn’t sure what to make of it, although she was fairly certain the older woman wasn’t incompetent.  Admiral Glass wouldn’t have stood for it.  She was probably too good at her job to be allowed to return to space.  Naomi hoped Admiral Morrígan didn’t resent it.  

“Admiral,” Admiral Morrígan said.  “I’m sorry we were delayed.”

“It’s ok, I worked on the paperwork,” Naomi said.  “As you can see, there’s a great deal of it.”

She sighed to herself.  She had no idea how Admiral Glass had coped, when he’d been in charge.  “Have you made any progress with fleet procurement?”

“We’ve obtained nearly a hundred starships of various classes from our sources, since last we spoke,” Admiral Morrígan said.  “However, the raw numbers tell a lie.  Most of the ships are third- or fourth-hand at best, and in pretty poor condition.  No one wants to sell top of the line warships these days, not to anyone.  They’ll make pretty good weapons platforms, with a little refitting, but not much else.  The Pashtali will have no problems scything them down if they risk an open engagement.”

“They may still have their uses,” Naomi commented.  Humans were good at refitting older ships and putting them back into service.  “And the rest of the fleet?”

“There are shortages everywhere,” Admiral Morrígan admitted.  “We can fill some of the holes, Admiral, but the shortages will continue for months if not years.  I’d prefer not to send the fleet into deep space, if it could be avoided …”

“If,” Naomi said.  “We may have to take the offensive.”

She keyed her console, activating the holographic starchart.  The former Occupied Zone glowed a warning orange, a grim reminder the Pashtali might have taken control of the zone, while – hundreds of light years away – Pashtali space glowed a baleful red.  It was hard to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the alien empire, the sheer power they could bring to bear against the human race.  She feared, sometimes, that all she and the Navy could do was kick and scratch on the way to the gallows.  If the Pashtali decided to throw caution to the winds and throw everything they had at Earth, the Solar Navy couldn’t hope to stop them.

But they’d be risking war with the Alphans, she reminded herself.  Would they really take the risk?

“I would advise against it,” Admiral Morrígan said, quietly.  “We are in no state to mount any sort of offensive.”

“And we’re also in no state to sit on our butts and wait to be hit,” Naomi growled.  “How long will it be until they resume the offensive themselves?”

“We don’t know, Admiral,” Commander Evensong observed.  “We know too little about them.”

“How many ships do they have in service?”  Naomi scowled at the chart.  “How many ships can they redeploy to attack us?  How many ships do they have in reserve and how long will it take for them to get the reserve ships into service?  How long can they continue the war before the cost becomes too high?”

“Unknown,” Evensong said.  “We have some intelligence from the Alphans, and some more from our contacts across the known galaxy, but we know very little for sure.  We can make educated guesses, yet …”

“We couldn’t rely on them,” Naomi finished.  She studied the baleful red stars, her mind churning.  The Pashtali had nearly two hundred stars under their control, which suggested they had one hell of a population and industrial base.  The mere fact they’d produced Crossroads – and at least two other ships just like her – suggested they had the resources to expend on projects that could easily turn into boondoggles.  “How long can they afford to wage war on us?”

“They do have other enemies,” Evensong pointed out.  “And they can’t afford to weaken their border defences too much, or their enemies will jump on them.”

Naomi nodded, sourly.  The Pashtali were in a mess.  They’d have gotten away with invading and annexing Earth and the rest of humanity’s comparatively tiny handful of planets, if they’d carried out the operation quickly enough to ensure the other powers had no chance to intervene.  Humanity just wasn’t important enough to be worth saving.  But instead, the Pashtali offensive had bogged down, making them look weak.  They needed a victory – and fast, before someone else decided to take advantage.  Naomi was mortally certain her counterparts were already planning how to win a decisive victory.  It was what she’d do in their place.  

“But they can still redirect enough ships towards us to cause real problems,” she said.  The Solar Navy had won the battle, but the cost had been terrifyingly high.  “And perhaps even grind us down.”

“Their best bet would be to launch a major offensive,” Admiral Morrígan said.  “They cannot afford to get bogged down.”

“Admiral, they are already bogged down,” Evensong said, quietly.  “And if they launch a major offensive, they risk widening the war.”

“They may be desperate,” Admiral Morrígan countered.  “Or they may even think the Alphans are bluffing.”

Naomi nodded.  The Alphans had dispatched nine warcruisers to protect Earth, but no one was sure what they’d do if push came to shove.  Naomi wanted to think the Alphans would keep their word – they had sent ships, after all – yet it was hard to be sure.  Humanity’s former masters had been withdrawing into themselves for years, abandoning colonies and granting independence to a dozen client races.  The only thing that had brought them out of their retirement was a chance to study Crossroads and even that wasn’t enough to keep them involved.  There was a very real chance the warcruisers had orders to withdraw if the Pashtali attacked in force.  Earth had once been the key to the Alphan Empire.  It wasn’t any longer.

She keyed her console, bringing up the fleet lists.  The raw numbers were impressive – she had nearly four thousand warships under her command – but the figures told a lie.  Two-thirds of her fleet were primitive vessels, barely able to do more than launch missiles at their targets before they got blown away.  A handful could do nothing more than draw enemy fire.  She had hopes of ramming them into enemy targets, but it was unlikely the enemy would let them get close enough to ram.  There weren’t many modern warships in her fleet and those that were, she knew, would draw fire the moment they showed themselves.  A smart enemy might discount the older ships completely, choosing to blow away the modern vessels.  It was what she would have done.

Her heart clenched.  They had enough combat power to hurt the Pashtali, if they came in fat and happy again, but not enough to win.  They were bullies and she knew, from grim experience, that the only way to stop a bully was to convince him that he’d be hurt if he kept bullying.  And yet, that wasn’t easy.  She doubted she could force the Pashtali to listen to reason.

They don’t see any reason to listen to us, she thought.  There had been peace talks, and they were still ongoing, but no one really expected them to get anywhere.  The Pashtali had started by demanding humanity’s complete surrender as a precondition, suggesting they weren’t taking the talks seriously.  We need to force them to listen.

She frowned, contemplating the problem.  There was no hope of defeating and overrunning the enemy.  Whatever victory they won would be limited in scope.  And yet, that didn’t mean victory was impossible.  It just meant … her eyes narrowed as a thought crossed her mind.  The enemy didn’t have to be defeated, just weakened.  At some point, the Pashtali would either sue for peace or get attacked by everyone else.  They’d know it, wouldn’t they?

They don’t look remotely like us, she reminded herself.  She was no xenophobe – the Solar Navy wouldn’t have tolerated it – but the Pashtali were very alien.  They might not think like us.

“If we decided to go on the offensive,” she said slowly, “how long would it take to prepare?”

“At least three weeks, assuming we didn’t take a fleet train with us,” Admiral Morrígan said thoughtfully.  “Realistically, six weeks would be a more accurate assessment.  But if we stab into enemy territory, we’ll be widening the war.”

“Admiral, they stabbed at our homeworld,” Evensong said.  “They can hardly complain if we stab at theirs.”

“The Galactics won’t see it that way,” Admiral Morrígan said.  Her lips twisted in disgust.  “One law for them, another for the rest of us.”

Naomi nodded.  The Galactics had organised the laws of war to suit themselves, without bothering to set up an impartial power capable of even-handed enforcement.  The powers that could get away with breaking the laws were allowed to break them, the powers that couldn’t got harassed by everyone else.  She rubbed her forehead in exasperation.  It was just like her old hometown.  The people in charge could do whatever they liked, but if someone fought back it was unfair.  

“I’ve had an idea,” Naomi said.  “If we can force them to react to us, for a change …”

She outlined her concept, piece by piece.  The planning teams would have to take a look at it, to sort out the details and determine if it was feasible, then she’d have to take the updated plan to her political superiors and convince them to put it into action.  If they refused … she rubbed her forehead.  The choice was theirs.  She might be the highest-ranking uniformed officer in the navy, but she was still under civilian command.

“Commander Evensong, work with the planning teams,” she ordered.  “Admiral Morrígan, have your staff prepare plans for a long-range fleet deployment.”

Admiral Morrígan looked unsure, but nodded.  Naomi nodded back in understanding.  She didn’t blame Admiral Morrígan for having doubts, not when the survival of humanity was in the balance.  They had too many enemies, from great powers eying colonies and workforce to scavenger races watching for new targets.  The Solar Navy was too weak to endure a long, drawn-out war.  They had to convince the enemy to back off now or lose everything.

Unless the plan to set up a very distant colony goes ahead, Naomi thought, as she dismissed her two officers.  We might just survive long enough to rebuild and return to take the offensive …

She shook her head.  It wouldn’t be hard to set up a colony – she’d heard whispers it had already been done, unofficially – but establishing one capable of rebuilding before galactic civilisation washed over it would be incredibly difficult.  The colonists would have to build everything from scratch, unless they encountered a race willing and able to help.  And that wasn’t too likely.  Anyone else they met would be more inclined to suck up to the Pashtali, rather than help a handful of runaway colonists.  

The intercom bleeped, again.  “Admiral, I have an updated intelligence report,” Ensign Tasman said.  “There was an encounter between one of our raiders and an enemy warship.”

Naomi wished, not for the first time, that she was back on her command deck a very long way from Earth.  It wasn’t going to happen.  She would never command another ship.  The best she could do was fleet command, which wasn’t quite the same.  She wouldn’t be in command of the ship … a good thing too, she reflected.  She’d had to wear both hats during the Battle of Earth and it had been a nightmare.  She had no intention of doing it again.

“Forward the report to me,” she said.  It was insane that they had no shortage of manpower and yet she couldn’t build herself a proper staff.  But then, they were very short on trained manpower.  She made a mental note to look into possible substitutes, then shook her head.  An experienced officer would know what was important and what could wait for later.  A civilian would be much less capable of drawing the line.  “And then send in more coffee.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

Naomi’s console bleeped.  She glanced at the report, skimming it quickly to hit the high points.  Trojan, a modified freighter, had spotted and killed an enemy warship … Naomi’s lips curved in dark amusement.  The Pashtali had seen human burners in action, but they hadn’t realised they could be mounted on freighters.  Not yet … the report waffled a little, towards the end, as if the writer was unwilling to commit themselves.  Naomi sighed inwardly.  She’d been a starship captain.  She knew how hard it was to be sure they were unobserved.  For all Trojan’s CO knew, there’d been an entire fleet of cloaked ships watching from a safe distance.

But at least she scored a kill, Naomi told herself, as her steward wheeled in a tray of coffee and sandwiches.  It hadn’t been easy to accept, at first, how the staff babied her; until she’d come to realise there weren’t anything like enough hours in a day.  She barely had time to jam a sandwich or two in her mouth, between meetings, briefings and more meetings.  We hurt the bastards.

The thought mocked her as she read the report for a second time, then a third to make sure she hit the high points.  The Pashtali had lost a light cruiser … big deal.  They might not even notice the missing ship, not for a few weeks or months.  When they did … she shook her head.  It was unlikely anyone would care.  One small cruiser wouldn’t change the balance of power, although … 

At least we know the overpowered burners can hurt their ships, she thought.  The reverse-engineered weapons lacked the sheer power of the originals, which suggested the target might survive long enough to return fire even if fatally damaged.  And they’ll have no way to know which freighters are Q-ships until it’s too late.

She switched the display back to the starchart and studied it thoughtfully.  The encounter had taken place in the Occupied Zone, suggesting the enemy hadn’t yet taken over every last inhabited star system.  She supposed that wasn’t really a surprise.  Most of the systems were worthless, at least in the short term.  The Pashtali wouldn’t want to fritter away their strength by trying to hold them, not until they won the war.  Besides, the Occupied Zone had been sliding into a full-scale civil war – several civil wars, between several different factions – when the real war had started.  The Pashtali might be waiting, letting the wars burn themselves out, before they took control.  Their enemies would be gravely weakened by the fighting.

Which is probably what they want, she reflected.  The Alphans had done the same, when they’d invaded Earth.  The more rebels who kill themselves off now, the fewer who’ll remain to fight when the real enemy arrives.

“Admiral,” Ensign Tasman said.  “The First Speaker requests your presence at a meeting tomorrow morning.  Should I clear your schedule?”

“Yes, please,” Naomi said.  She glared at the terminal – the paperwork was going to pile up while she was gone – then shrugged.  It could be worse.  Much worse.  “Inform his office I will be pleased to attend.”

“Aye, Admiral.”

Chapter Four

Solar City, Earth

“I have the latest set of polls, sir,” Rachel Grant said.  She sounded as calm and professional as always.  “Public opinion is still largely behind you, although there is a growing sense of concern about the ultimate outcome.  The emergency measures are rubbing people the wrong way, sir, and they’re probably alienating voters who will register their disgust at the election booths …”

She shook her head.  “Fortunately, emergency housing measures and suchlike for refugees haven’t provoked too many problems,” she added.  “Given time, that will change.”

“Yeah,” Abraham said.  “I wanted this job, didn’t I?”

He sighed.  He’d never understood how many problems the government faced until he’d become the head of the government.  He’d always wondered why the old government couldn’t do anything … he groaned inwardly, reflecting he and his supporters now comprised much of the government and they were the ones who couldn’t do anything.  The war made it hard to lay anything more than very short-term plans, but still … he shook his head.  He was starting to think his party would need a new leader, when the next election rolled around.  The emergency measures had never been popular and even though the war wasn’t over, too many people wanted them lifted.

“I couldn’t say, sir,” Rachel said, her expression artfully bland.  “Did you have a chance to review the notes prior to the meeting?”

“No.”  Abraham cursed under his breath.  It was petty and selfish – and he knew it – to think Nancy Middleton had had it easy, when she’d been the elected head of government, but he still thought it.  “And it’s time to begin, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Rachel said.  “Ambassador Middleton is already in the meeting room.”

“I’ll review the notes later,” Abraham said, although he doubted he’d have time.  Seven years ago, he’d lambasted the government for hiring too many flunkies.  Now, he wished he could go back in time and kick his past self in the rear.  His staff was too small for the sheer scale of the tasks they faced.  “Coming?”

He composed himself, as best as he could, as they made their way down to the underground complex.  It had never been exposed and destroyed by the Pashtali, during their brief invasion and occupation, although no one was quite sure why.  Abraham suspected they’d intended to base their puppet government there once they crushed resistance and took formal control of Earth.  He doubted they’d never guessed it was there.  Earth had taken too many cues from the Alphans and one of them was a collection of underground bunkers, to ensure the government survived if the planet came under heavy attack.  The Pashtali had to have guessed the bunker was there.

But I wasn’t, he reflected.  Perhaps they just wanted to play a waiting game.

He stepped into the meeting room and nodded to Ambassador Middleton.  The ambassador looked disgustingly fresh.  Abraham told himself not to take it too personally.  They were no longer rivals.  He couldn’t afford to feel resentment, let alone anything else.  If she’d stayed in office instead of him …

We might be in the same mess, he reflected.  Or an entirely different mess.

“Ambassador,” he said, as Rachel poured them coffee.  Abraham wanted something stronger, but he needed to keep his thoughts clear.  “Did you finish speaking to the remaining ambassadors?”

“Yes, Mr Speaker,” Nancy said.  “My staff and I have spoken to them, trying to hammer out agreements.  Not all of our possible allies are willing to talk too openly, even after we drove the Pashtali away from Earth, but …”

She shrugged.  “The bottom line is that we have seven minor powers willing to sign on with us, if the war continues, and five more that will provide limited logistics support as long as it doesn’t provoke the Pashtali.  They’re offering a considerable amount of firepower …”

“Yeah,” Abraham said, quietly.  Officially, he’d kept his distance from the negotiations.  He couldn’t afford to seem to be too interested if they blew up in humanity’s collective face.  Better to let the ambassador take the fall than risk the entire government.  Unofficially, he’d kept abreast of them from the start.  “And what do they want in exchange?”

“Long-term, they want us to win,” Nancy said, curtly.  “They want the Pashtali broken, Mr Speaker.  They want to ensure the Pashtali don’t pose a threat to them, or anyone, ever again.”

“That may take some doing,” Abraham commented.

“Short-term, they want us to do something about Terminus,” Nancy said.  She took a datachip out of her pocket and inserted it into an isolated projector.  “As you can see …”

Abraham leaned forward as the starchart materialised above him.  “Terminus is a major shipping hub,” Nancy explained.  “The system holds no less than seven crossroads, each one leading to a different set of shipping lanes.  The planets have no intelligent life forms, so they’ve been settled by a multitude of different races and … well, they were allowed to remain reasonably independent as long as they didn’t interfere with interstellar shipping.  It’s an entire system of free ports, sir, or at least it was.  The Pashtali have placed the system under siege.”

“I see,” Abraham said.  “And why do they want us to do something about it?”

“The shipping lanes link our prospective allies together,” Nancy said.  “As long as they have free access to Terminus, they can mass their forces and stand up to the Pashtali.  Or so they say.  If the Pashtali lay siege to the entire system, and block the crossroads, they can keep the other powers from massing.  They need us to give the Pashtali the boot.”

Abraham made a face.  “And if we refuse, or fail, they pretend they don’t even know us?”

“I think so.”  Nancy shook her head.  “We proved the Pashtali can be beaten, but they still have most of their fleet.  As long as they remain strong, and have unfettered access to Terminus, they can deter our prospective allies from doing anything to help us.  They’ll sell out for the best terms they can get, even if that means abandoning us.  They’ll have no choice.”

“And if they’re the ones holding Terminus, they can force the Pashtali to pay a high price for retaking the system,” Abraham mused.  He was no military man, but he knew the basics.  “What’s to stop them abandoning us the moment they get what they want?”

“The simple fact no one will ever trust them again,” Nancy said.  “None of our prospective allies are powerful enough to break their word on a whim, unlike the bigger powers.  They can’t afford to abandon us.”

Abraham wasn’t so sure.  In his experience, there were times when people felt they had no choice but to break their word, even if it came at a price.  What did honour and reputation matter, when the price of keeping the agreement was death and destruction?  The Pashtali might be an overwhelming threat – they were – but they were also too strong to challenge openly, not unless there was no choice.  He wondered, sourly, what he’d do if Earth had the option of staying out of the fighting.  Would he abandon his allies to save his homeworld?

“I hope you’re right,” he said, finally.  “Can they promise us anything now?”

“Not much,” Nancy said.  “They’re too worried about Terminus.”

“Don’t they know the bastards don’t need to use the crossroads any longer?”  Abraham leaned forward.  “They can generate their own now.”

“I believe that concentrated a few minds,” Nancy said.  For a moment, she smiled in grim amusement.  “I don’t know for sure, because they were reluctant to discuss their contingency planning with me, but I had the impression they were considering securing Terminus before the Pashtali moved into the system and took over.  It would have made a certain amount of sense.  If they held the system, it would have kept the Pashtali from scattering them …”

“And if they’d moved quicker, they might not need us at all,” Abraham said, slowly.  “Can we liberate the system?”

“The admiral will have to answer that question,” Nancy said.  “We don’t even know for sure what’s happening there.  All we know comes from their ambassadors here.”

“Who are presumably in contact with their homeworlds,” Abraham said.  He made a mental note to look for independent confirmation.  The Pashtali had more than enough firepower to convince an alien government to lie on their behalf.  They’d lured a fleet into a killing ground before, back when the war started.  Why wouldn’t they do it again?  “Can we trust them?”

“Can they trust us?”  Nancy studied her hands thoughtfully.  “We need allies.  We need a way out of this war before our economy implodes or the Alphans abandon us or the Pashtali manage to win.  This may be our one chance to put together an alliance that will threaten the Pashtali with actual defeat, not a draw.  Can we afford to let it pass?”

“And if they’re not trustworthy, we’ll be sending a chunk of our fleet into the meatgrinder,” Abraham pointed out.  “How long will the Alphans protect us?”

Nancy made a face.  “I don’t know.”

Abraham nodded, then raised his eyes to the chart.  The Pashtali were expanding in all directions, taking control of strategic points that would allow them to lock up the shipping lanes and keep their enemies apart without expending much of their military power.  It was galling to know that humanity was just one small target to them … his lips quirked as he realised they’d fucked up the timing.  The Pashtali had started the next set of wars before crushing the human race, which meant they might be a little overextended … but by how much?  No one knew.

“This is the one chance we have,” Nancy said.  “They’re not talking to us, not seriously.”

“No,” Abraham agreed.  The peace talks were a joke.  The Pashtali had made that clear on the very first day.  They presumably understood humanity as little as humans understood them, but it was impossible to believe that anyone who started the talks by demanding everything first and then haggling was taking them seriously.  “We don’t have the power to force them to take the talks seriously.”

“Not alone, no,” Nancy agreed.  “But as part of a greater alliance …”

“If we can have the alliance,” Abraham said.  “We’ll be taking a huge risk just proving we are committed.”

“We’re committed anyway,” Nancy counted.  “The Pashtali aren’t going to go away, are they?”

Abraham laughed, humourlessly.  “They attack us and somehow we’re the ones who have to help them save face?”

“It’s an old galactic custom,” Nancy said.  “And the only other option is fighting to the death.”

“True.”  Abraham studied the chart.  The human race was committed.  There was nothing, up to and including outright surrender, that would convince the Pashtali to spare Earth.  They’d been too badly battered by the fighting to accept surrender.  They needed to make an example of the human race.  “Damn it!”

“Quite,” Nancy agreed.  “If this works …”

“Start drawing up the paperwork, nail down the terms,” Abraham said.  “Speak to the ambassadors again, tell them what we want in exchange for doing their dirty work.  And when we get independent confirmation of the situation, we’ll decide if we want to take the offensive.”

“We need allies,” Nancy said.  “We have to take the risk or … we’ll be alone and then defeated.”

“I know.”  Abraham scowled at the starchart.  “But we need more than just allies.  We need to knock the bastards out of the war before they knock us out.”

He sipped his coffee.  “And do you trust the Alphans to keep their word?”

“They have a long history of keeping their word,” Nancy said, thoughtfully.  “But none of us ever expected they’d just abandon much of their empire …”

Abraham nodded, curtly.  He’d always imagined the road to independence would be slow and steady, long and perhaps bumpy.  He’d thought he’d spend years developing independent facilities on Earth, claiming more and more autonomy within the empire … he’d even dared to wonder, at times, if humanity would have to fight for its freedom.  Instead … the Alphans had just grown tired of their empire and let the human race go.  It felt almost like a cheat, as if they’d been deprived of the chance to prove they could stand on their own two feet.  He’d never really understood how much of the planet’s economy depended on the Alphans, not until it was too late.  And now …

“We never expected it,” he said.  “And how long will they keep their ships here?”

“I don’t know,” Nancy said.  She looked oddly pensive.  “I think they don’t know either.”

“No,” Abraham said.  He hated having to rely on something he couldn’t control.  It would have been better, in a way, if the Alphans had set a strict timetable.  “What happens if we lose most of the fleet and then they decide to withdraw their ships?”

His mind churned.  He’d never really thought of the Alphans as benevolent – they’d been imperialists first and foremost, who’d benefited hugely from all the benevolent things they’d done – but he knew there were worst masters out there.  Humanity had been lucky.  They could have been invaded and ruled by the Pashtali or … he frowned as a thought struck him.  Was it a plan to weaken the human race all along, to force them to call their former masters back to rule?  Or was he just being paranoid?  The Alphans could have won a civil war, if they’d decided to keep Earth for themselves …

Although the system would have been incredibly banged up, he thought.  And it might not have been worth the effort.

He studied Nancy for a long moment.  She’d been a loyalist, back in the day.  He had no reason to doubt her loyalties now, but … he shook his head.  He was definitely being paranoid.  He was tired and cranky and paranoid and …

“We’re due to meet with the admiral shortly,” he said.  He checked his watch.  The admiral should be on her way by now, unless a new crisis or three had exploded in the last few moments.  “Hopefully, by then, we’ll have the bare bones of a treaty or two.”

“Nothing will be signed until Terminus is cleared of enemy ships,” Nancy cautioned, warningly.  “There’s no way to change that, not in a hurry.  They’re not going to go out on a limb for us unless they’re sure we’re committed.”

“And that there’s a reasonable chance of victory,” Abraham added.  His lips twisted.  They needed allies to win, but they could only get allies by winning …  “We’ll do our best, but …”

He shrugged, wordlessly.

***

Ambassador Yasuke kept his face under tight control as he finished reviewing the notes from the peace talks.  He was no stranger to entitled arrogant ambassadors demanding everything they could get before talks got started – the humans joked about asses in ambassadors, which was often uncomfortably true – but the Pashtali were being absurd.  They seemed to think the human race was going to give them everything, on a platter, and then hold peace talks?  It made no sense.  No one would agree to such terms and, if they did, there was no point in holding talks anyway.  It was an insane mess.

He keyed his console, encrypting his private files.  His superiors had hoped the talks would get somewhere, but it was clear they were going to be disappointed.  The Pashtali just weren’t taking them seriously.  And yet, surely peace was their best choice?  They’d attacked a dozen races, expanded their control too far too fast … why had they bitten off more than they could chew?  Yasuke didn’t like the implications.  Did they think they could copy everything the Alphans had done, when they’d ruled the known galaxy?  Or were they following a plan no one else could understand?  Perhaps they thought they could smash everyone within reach, then take over before their targets could recover and fight back?

Which is as good a theory as any other, he thought, as he stood.  The Pashtali might think they can win by knocking everyone else down.

He frowned as he made his way to the door.  It was astonishing how his position had shifted in the last five years.  He’d been a viceroy, then a powerless ambassador, then a powerful ambassador …  it was confusing, something his people didn’t handle very well.  He’d wondered, at times, why he hadn’t been replaced long ago.  Perhaps he was considered the perfect representative, or … maybe his masters thought he’d gone native.  Or they couldn’t find a replacement.  A person of his rank had a lot of say in his assignments.  Earth hadn’t been seen as an important posting until the Pashtali War had broken out.

No, he corrected himself.  It was one of the most important places in the empire, until we let it go.  And then it became important again.

“My Lord,” his aide said, as he stepped into the antechamber.  The human looked nervous.  No one enjoyed being the bearer of bad news.  “The Minister for Industrial Production sends his regrets, but he’s running late.  He should be here in twenty minutes.”

Yasuke nodded and made his way to the window.  The humans understood the value of being punctual.  It was unlikely the minister intended to be insulting.  He put the thought aside as he looked down on the city.  The Pashtali had done a lot of damage, shooting up buildings and bombing troop concentrations, but the humans were already making repairs.  They had an energy, he reflected ruefully, that his own people had lost long ago.  He wondered, sometimes, if they’d replace his people as masters of the known universe.  But it wouldn’t be easy.  There were too many threats lurking at the rim of civilised space.

If they survive the war, they’ll go far, he told himself.  If.

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