Final Conflict

(The Vendetta Universe)

Dear Readers

I hoped to develop Vendetta into a whole series, but the book wasn't as good as I had hoped.  Therefore, I am providing it for free – although comments, feedback and tips are always welcome.  One day, there will be an improved version of this book.

Christopher Nuttall

Chapter One

New Marseilles
23rd March 2435

“From up here,” Lieutenant Commander Sally Mínervudóttir said, as they sat together in the observation blister, “one could almost pretend that the planet is beautiful.”

Commander Janine Herald had to smile.  Sally was a RockRat from one of the older habitat clusters orbiting a dying red sun.  Like all RockRats, she regarded planets as wild territory and – at worst – enemy targets that could neither run nor hide.  RockRats were used to absolute control over their environment and found planets rather intimidating, even if they were safer than asteroid settlements in the middle of a war.  But then, the RockRats weren’t competing with the UN to settle as many worlds as possible.  Even the largest RockRat settlements outside the Sol System were tiny compared to planet-side populations.  There were just so many of them.

The two women were very different.  Where Janine followed the standard human genotype, with black hair cut short to meet the demands of interstellar service and her body augmented by mechanical implants, Sally had been literally designed for life in space.  She was so thin and slight that it seemed a mere hug would break her bones, giving her body a disturbingly young appearance, almost as if she had yet to hit puberty.  But adapting themselves to space was the core of the RockRat creed and where they parted company with the United Nations of Sol.  Sally wouldn't even have been onboard Rubicon if the General Assembly hadn't pushed for officers who could help prevent friction between the UN and the RockRats.

“You should see it down below,” Janine said.  She’d taken two days shore leave after Task Force 9.4 had arrived at New Marseilles, showing the flag to the local settlers and surveying the remainder of the planetary system for pirates, hidden settlements and alien artefacts.  “I spent a day on the beach, relaxing as the sun poured its rays down on me.  You should try it next time.”

Sally shuddered.  “None of us understand why you wish to live in such...uncontrolled environments,” she said, seriously.  “An untamed wilderness where you can pick up disease, or be attacked by wild animals...how can that be safe?  It’s much safer to live on an asteroid habitat where you control your own environment.”

“Apart from the rats and roaches,” Janine said, ruefully.  Rats, cockroaches and rabbits had accompanied humanity out to the stars, settling on more virgin worlds than human settlers.  A number of worlds had even lost their native biology to the more vigorous plants and animals from Earth.  The RockRats had problems with unwanted guests on their older habitats too.  “And you’re still vulnerable to someone with a nuke and bad intentions.”

They fell into a companionable silence as the planet turned below them.  Captain Yu was down on the planet’s surface, attending yet another formal dinner with the planet’s governor and his council.  New Marseilles hadn't been settled long enough to build space-based industries, let alone an orbital defence network and its own starships, leaving it vulnerable to pirates, black colonists and hostile aliens.  The 9th Fleet was supposed to provide cover for the planet, but with the fleet so thinly spread it was rare for New Marseilles to see more than one starship per month.  Task Force 9.4 wouldn't have visited at all if someone hadn't convinced the First Admiral to order a heavier patrol than usual along the boundaries of inhabited space.

Janine had wondered – and knew that many of her fellows had wondered the same thing – just why anyone would want an assault carrier and its task force, including UNS Rubicon, patrolling along the edge of human-settled space.  This wasn't the Triangle, the point where the Sutra Empire and the Polis Society intersected with human space; as far as anyone knew, there were no other intelligent races from here to the galactic rim.  Human expansion had been concentrated in this sector for the last hundred years and, so far, no one had discovered anything more interesting than a handful of planet-bound life forms that might have developed intelligence, if they’d been left alone for a few million years.  But the French bloc in the General Assembly had links to New Marseilles and they’d undoubtedly provided the political muscle to convince the First Admiral to show the flag along the edge of explored space.  Not that it really mattered that much, Janine considered.  The fleets were regularly rotated throughout human-settled space and their next destination might be along the Triangle.

Her wristcom buzzed, warningly.  “Commander Herald to the bridge,” the watch officer’s voice said.  “I say again, Commander Herald to the bridge.”

Janine tapped her wristcom as she stood up.  “On my way,” she said.  The settlers hadn't really had a chance to carry out a full survey of their star system, resulting in a handful of false alarms as the Navy’s explorers stumbled across RockRat installations in the system’s asteroid field.  “Coming?”

Sally followed her as she walked through the corridors, past the Marine guard and into Rubicon’s bridge.  As always, it was dominated by a glowing holographic display of local space, showing the planet, the other starships in the task force and a handful of unidentified red blips heading towards the planet at an alarmingly high speed.  Janine had been reading displays ever since she’d entered the Luna Academy, but she’d never seen anything, apart from a missile, that moved with such speed and grace.  But they were well outside missile range...

“Report,” she said, as she took the command chair.  With the Captain down on the planet, it was her station.  “What do we have?”

“Perimeter drones picked up five starships of unknown configuration,” Lieutenant Commander John McLaughlin said.  The tactical officer was young; Rubicon was his first combat assignment.  But he showed definite promise, Janine had seen, and she’d taken it on herself to mentor the young man.  “Admiral Hanson ordered Condition Two as a precautionary measure.”

Janine nodded, gazing up at the incoming red icons.  By definition, First Contact was always hazardous – and some had been traumatic.  Even the relatively friendly contact with the Polis had nearly been derailed when the contact team had laid eyes upon the giant spider-like creatures for the first time.  And if there was an alien race out in unexplored space, it already had one advantage; it knew where there was a human colony, while humanity knew nothing about its planets or starships.  The standard set of First Contact directives – including the one about ensuring that no newcomer learned anything about the UN until the contact team were satisfied that the aliens weren't hostile – had already been jarred.  

“Set Condition Two throughout the ship,” she ordered.  A moment later, the drumbeat echoed through the bridge as the crew raced to their combat stations.  Condition Two would prepare the ship for battle without actually looking hostile to an outside observer.  “Do we have a visual on the alien ships yet?”

“They’re vectoring a drone in towards the aliens,” the tactical officer said.  “There should be a visual in a few more seconds.”

“Impressive drive system,” Sally murmured, in Janine’s ear.  “I don’t know anything in human space that can move like that, apart from a starfighter – and those things are too large to be starfighters.”

Janine couldn't disagree.  The larger the ship, the more ungainly it was – with fleet and assault carriers being the largest and most ungainly of all.  Even Rubicon, a mere two hundred meters long, wasn't remotely as manoeuvrable as a starfighter.  But the aliens seemed to be moving in a pattern that suggested that their drives were far more advanced than anything the human race had developed – or stolen.

“Visual,” McLaughlin announced.

“Put it on the main display,” Janine ordered.

The United Nations had never really escaped the early designs pioneered after the Traders had sold Earth the technology to establish a permanent foothold in outer space.  UN starships were blocky, almost ugly, even though they were solid enough to stand up and exchange blows with their enemies in the field of battle.  The aliens, on the other hand, seemed to have turned their starships into works of art.  They were giant teardrop-shaped vessels, barely visible in the darkness of space, their hulls surrounded by a shimmer that made tracking them difficult, even for the most advanced sensor systems in the entire United Nations.  Janine had been a tactical and sensor officer herself, on her climb up the ladder to command rank, and read the stream of data with a practiced eye.  It was difficult to provide exact details on the alien ships because they were somehow shielded against sensor probes.

“Beautiful,” Sally whispered.

“The Admiral has started to transmit the First Contact package,” the tactical officer reported.  “How long do you think it would take them to decipher the first section?”

Janine shrugged.  The Traders had provided humanity with the basic package – but they’d spent months studying Earth from a safe distance before introducing themselves.  Apart from the WE WHO ARE, the enigmatic machine race that had been discovered in 2150, all of the other races humanity had encountered had had to work hard to decipher the package, although once they cracked the first section building a common language and shared understanding had been easy.  The newcomers might crack it within minutes – assuming that their computer technology was as advanced as their starships – or it might take days or weeks, while the two squadrons stared at each other in orbit around a defenceless world.  

Minutes ticked by as the alien craft flew closer, entering missile range.  “They’re not slowing down,” the tactical officer said.  Janine heard the alarm in his voice and shared it.  Showing off was one thing, but charging right at a group of UN starships was dangerous.  Without any communications, it was easy to assume that the enemy was intent on attacking the squadron, prompting the Admiral to open fire first.  “The Admiral has ordered Condition One.”

Janine tapped her console.  “Condition One,” she said.  Condition One brought Rubicon and the rest of the squadron to battle stations.  “I say again, set Condition One throughout the ship.”

“Curious attack pattern,” Sally observed.  “They’re already within missile range; you’d think they’d want to stand off until they knew how capable our systems were, if they wanted to attack.”

“True,” Janine agreed.  UN starships used missiles as their primary armament, allowing them to engage enemies further away than the mysterious dark ships.  Firing from point-blank range would make it harder for the point defences to lock on, but the UN squadron would tear them apart if they opened fire within sprint mode range.  “Tactical – do we have a threat analysis yet?”

“Nothing definite,” McLaughlin reported.  The Admiral had a full tactical staff on Invincible, trained analysts who would be picking at every scrap of data pulled off the unknown starships and trying to build up a picture of their capabilities.  “We assume that their weapon systems are comparable to ours, but if they can operate their ships like that it’s quite possible that they have extended sprint mode missiles...”

He broke off in alarm.  “Energy surge,” he snapped.  “It’s coming from the lead alien ship...”

Janine watched in horror as the alien ship fired a beam of brilliant light directly towards the StarCom installation in orbit around New Marseilles.  Energy weapons were rare, almost unknown, within the explored universe; building ones suitable for space combat had been beyond the UN’s researchers in a dozen hidden research installations.  But the alien weapon, whatever it was, cut through the StarCom like a knife through butter, destroying the containment fields that kept the artificial micro-singularity in existence.  A moment later, the entire installation vanished in a blinding flash of light.  They’d be seeing it on the planet’s surface.

“Put us back to cover Invincible,” Janine snapped.  No wonder the aliens had come in so close before opening fire.  Their weapons were configured to allow them to hammer the task force from close range, but not close enough for sprint-mode missiles to overwhelm their defences.  “Activate missile tubes...”

“Invincible is under attack,” McLaughlin snapped.  “Jesus!”

Janine would have reprimanded him if she hadn't felt the same way.  The impossible alien beams had targeted the assault carrier’s two flight decks, hanging down from the main body of the starship, and were slowly and efficiently tearing them apart.  Invincible was armoured to withstand multiple nuclear strikes – she was a veteran of the final bloody days of the Magana War – but no one had even considered the danger of such powerful energy weapons.  A chain of explosions ran through her flight deck, obliterating her complement of Hawk fighters and Eagle torpedo-bombers, the only craft the task force had had that could have matched the alien speed and agility.

“The datanet is flickering,” McLaughlin reported.  “The Admiral is ordering all ships to open fire.”

“Open fire,” Janine ordered.  Rubicon shuddered as she unleashed her full broadside towards the enemy vessels, joined by the remaining ships in the task force.  Invincible fired too, just before another alien energy beam – a death ray, her mind whispered – sliced into her forward hull and burned through her armour.  The mighty assault carrier staggered under the blow, just before the remaining alien ships opened fire themselves.  All five of them targeted their fire on the assault carrier and sliced her apart.  Invincible exploded in a sheet of white-hot tearing fury, taking all hands with her into death.  “Reroute the datanet through Hamlin and continue firing.”

“The aliens are targeting our missiles,” McLaughlin said, grimly.  Janine watched and cursed as alien energy weapons swept through space, blotting the missiles out of existence before they could home in on the alien hulls.  Judging from the problems the seeker warheads had had in locking onto their targets, it was possible that the missiles would have missed even without the alien point defence.  Between them, the ships of the task force had fired over a hundred nuclear-tipped missiles at five enemy ships.  No missile reached its target.  “Captain Slade is ordering a switch to tactical pattern beta nine.”

“Make it so,” Janine ordered, tightly.  The aliens had switched back to the UN starships, burning through the heavy cruisers Admiral Geary and Admiral Hipper with ease.  This time, the cruisers managed to launch a handful of lifepods before their fusion plants blew, vaporising both starships.  An instant later, the alien beams wiped the lifepods from existence.  Janine couldn't tell if the unknowns had meant to vaporise helpless survivors or if they’d simply fired on radio beacons without realising that they were nothing more dangerous than lifepods, but it suggested that the aliens didn't intend to offer quarter.  Even the Magana had been happy to take prisoners!  “Pull us back from the alien ships; continue firing...”

Something smashed right into Rubicon’s hull.  The entire starship shuddered so violently that consoles exploded and the gravity field failed, leaving the crew drifting through the air until they strapped themselves down.  Red icons flickered up on Janine’s display as the scale of the damage became clear; the aliens had blasted a hole right through the lower deck, crippling her starship.  A few inches higher and they would probably have destroyed Rubicon with a single shot.  

“Pennsylvania is gone,” McLaughlin said, as he fought to recover the datalink to the rest of the squadron.  “Vampire has taken heavy damage and is drifting towards the planet; Jude and Ruth have both lost their drive sections and are launching lifepods...correction, Jude has been destroyed.  They’re wiping out the lifepods deliberately!”

Janine saw blood droplets drifting through the air from where the sensor officer had been injured by her exploding console.  “Engineering,” she snapped, slapping her console.  “Can we use the flux drive?”

There was a pause, long enough to leave her wondering if the internal communications net had been destroyed as well.  On the display, the alien craft were advancing forward, finishing the task of destroying the human squadron.  Vampire, powerless and helpless, was vaporised before she could fall into the planet’s atmosphere and strike the surface with all the force of a major asteroid impact.  Moments later, the alien craft vaporised the lifepods as well, picking off the survivors.  McLaughlin had been right.  The aliens intended to completely obliterate the remains of the human force, maybe the settlers down on the planet as well.

“I think so,” Chief Engineer George Phyllis said, finally.  “The main core of the flux drive remains undamaged, but in our current state making an accurate jump might be tricky...”

“It doesn't matter,” Janine said.  Five minutes.  That had all it had been since the alien craft had opened fire.  Five minutes to obliterate a task force that would have given any other known race pause.  “Prepare to jump us out on a random vector – don’t bother to pick a destination.”

“Commander...”

“Do it,” Janine snapped at him.  A random jump might put them in a star, or too close to a planet’s gravity well to escape before it was too late, but focusing the jump might allow the unknowns to detect them.  On the display, the alien starships were closing in, firing brief bursts at lifepods and pieces of wreckage large enough to harbour survivors.  Two alien ships had broken off from the main squadron and were heading towards the planet itself.  “Power up the drive, now!”

“Drive online,” Sally said.  The helmsman had been badly injured; Sally had taken over his console.  “All systems report ready, but there are major power fluctuations in...”

The alien ships obliterated the remains of Ruth and targeted Rubicon.  “Jump now,” Janine ordered, and braced herself.  Using the flux drive was an uncomfortable experience at the best of times.  With so much damage, it was likely that it would be a great deal worse.  “Now!”

Sally pushed down on the jump key.  A moment later, Rubicon, the last survivor of a once-powerful squadron, jumped and vanished from the New Marseilles system.  

Chapter Two

New Marseilles
23rd March 2435

“I see them, Tomcat.”

“Keep your mouth shut,” Master Sergeant Thomas Mandell – Tomcat - muttered back.  “Subvocal only.  The last thing we need is them hearing us.”

“Fat chance of that,” Marine Rifleman Andrew Bergstresser subvocalised.  “Those twits wouldn't notice if we danced naked in front of them – and they call themselves a militia.”

Thomas scowled at him, but he had to admit that the Rifleman had a point.  The New Marseilles militia had entered the killing zone without spotting the ambush up ahead, even though the Marines had deliberately refrained from using some of their more advanced equipment.  With an entire platoon scattered over the valley, all in position to unleash a hail of fire upon their targets as soon as Thomas gave the order, the locals would be in deep shit, if any of them survived long enough to realise their mistake.  

New Marseilles wasn't old enough to have a proper army, let alone produce units to serve alongside the United Nations Marines on alien worlds.  Instead, she had a militia, a semi-volunteer unit responsible for keeping order, hunting renegades and beating off pirate attacks, if New Marseilles had anything worth stealing.  Militia units were sometimes commanded by veterans from more established military forces, sometimes making them more formidable than their limited equipment would suggest, but New Marseilles didn't seem to have anyone with true experience in command.  He’d deliberately not looked in the records to ensure that he didn't underestimate his foe. 

He watched through his augmented eyes as the militia came closer, twenty-two men who were really too bunched up for safety.  They knew that the Marines were somewhere in the wildness to the north of Paris, yet apart from glancing around nervously they didn't seem to be taking any precautions.  It was possible that there was a second unit shadowing the first, intending to use their comrades to spring any ambush before the main body found itself stuck in a vice, but it didn't seem likely.  There was certainly no evidence that anyone in the attacking force was cunning and ruthless enough to consider the plan and consider his subordinates expendable.

“We could just fire when we see the whites of their eyes,” Rifleman John Stewart suggested.  The platoon’s sniper was positioned some distance from the rest of the platoon, where he could eyeball both the oncoming enemy troops and watch for surprises from the rest of the militia.  “Or maybe we could just film them in action and then withdraw.”

“But that would count as a loss,” Thomas reminded him, dryly.  He took a final look at the enemy, who had neatly trapped themselves.  The moment he gave the order, they would practically find themselves surrounded by enemies who held the high ground, pouring fire into their position.  There was nothing they could use for cover that would stand up to the weight of fire pouring into the trap.  “Mark your men...”

He took aim himself, quick microburst transmissions between the Marines confirming that they were aiming at different targets.  “And fire!”

Pulses of laser light, almost invisible in the bright sunlight, flashed towards their targets.  The training armour the militia wore automatically locked up the moment it sensed a laser pulse, rendering the militia soldier effectively dead.  Twelve locals dropped to the ground at once, the remainder staring around in horror before remembering their training and bringing up their own weapons to return fire, their eyes frantically searching for cover.  It was already far too late.  One by one, they were quickly zapped with the laser beams and sent falling to the ground.

“Yes,” Andrew Bergstresser said, out loud.

“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” his brother Aiden said, more soberly.  The exercise would be more informative for the militia than for the Marines; indeed, Thomas had already planned a series of intensive exercises for the next few days, once they returned to Rubicon.  They couldn't pick up bad habits or the next competent enemy they encountered would clean their clocks.  “They never stood a chance.”

“They walked right into the trap,” John Stewart put in.  “Hopefully, they’ll learn something from this before they have to fight real rebels.”

Thomas nodded as he stood up, cancelling his armour’s camouflage field.  To the locals, it would look as if he had appeared from nowhere.  Thomas had a professional’s distrust of all technology – it had a habit of failing when it was most needed – but the locals hadn’t even bothered to run a sweep looking for oddities in the local environment.  A good sensor tech might have noticed that half the Marines were right in the open, pretending to be empty air.  

“Let’s hope so,” he said, as he walked over to the locals.  Their CO was glowering at him, although Thomas couldn't tell if he was angry about being trapped so easily or if he was angry at being humiliated in front of his men.  “Exercise terminates...now.”

The militia slowly climbed to their feet as their armour unlocked, many of them red-faced or otherwise embarrassed.  A couple looked to have hurt themselves when they hit the ground, but neither of them were hurt badly enough to need a medic.  Thomas had been shot in action several times and wouldn't have called a medic even if they’d felt they’d needed one.  The worst that colonial militia had to face, normally, was debtors who didn't want to face failure or indentured colonists who had decided to rebel.  They rarely had to face anyone with modern equipment and the training to use it.  It tended to breed complacency among militiamen.

“Congratulations, I suppose,” the colonial CO said.  He’d led his men from the front, not something that Thomas could condemn, but he had been one of the first to be gunned down when the ambush had been sprung.  “You got us.”

“You got careless,” Thomas said.  Diplomacy had never been his strong suit.  “You should never have walked into the valley in the first place.  You knew we were out here somewhere, so you should have climbed up to the high ground and then tried to flush us out.”

“Save that for the self-criticism session,” the colonial CO said.  He stuck out a hand.  “Jean Perrine at your service, Marine.”

“Thomas Mandell,” Thomas replied.  Behind him, the other Marines were coming out of hiding and exchanging notes with their colonial counterparts.  The process wouldn't be very comfortable for the locals, but at least they’d learn something from the experience.  “We’ll be hunting you tomorrow so learn from what we did and adapt...”

He glanced up sharply as his implants picked up an emergency signal from the orbiting squadron, followed by a blinding flash from high overhead.  His augmented eyes compensated automatically, but several of the colonial militiamen started screaming in horror as they found themselves blinded.  Perrine went to help his men as Thomas activated the Marine link to the squadron’s datanet, only to lose it a second later.  It was impossible to be sure, but the only thing that could have produced that flash was the orbiting StarCom – and only then if the station had been destroyed.  If someone had shut it down, the singularity would have been starved of energy and allowed to fall back into the quantum foam...

...And that meant that the planet was under attack.

“Get a link to your local HQ,” he said, grabbing Perrine by the shoulder.  “They should have a direct feed from the orbiting satellites.  We need to know what’s going on before we move.”

“They can’t be pirates,” Perrine protested.  He sounded dazed, badly shaken.  “We don’t have anything worth stealing.”

Thomas agreed with him, but not for the same reason.  Pirates were always cowards; they wanted to steal valuable cargoes, rape the women onboard the captured ships and then live to enjoy their ill-gotten gains.  There was an entire squadron of UN starships in orbit, all with standing orders to eradicate pirate activity wherever they found it.  The pirates would have to be insane to believe that their jury-rigged ships could stand up to an assault carrier and eight escorts.  Even with half of the command team on the planet, enjoying dinner at the governor’s mansion, they’d be able to destroy the pirate ships with ease.  That meant a Rogue World – and Rogues would have to be insane to provoke the UN in such a manner – or unknown aliens.  The latter was somewhat more likely.

“Worse than pirates,” he snapped.  Aliens...just how aliens treated civilian populations varied from race to race.  The Magana had regarded humans – and everyone else – as potential slaves, a direct result of their warrior society.  At least that had left human populations to liberate when the tide turned.  But the Sutra rebels had devastated a couple of human colonies in the hopes of deterring humanity from supporting their enemies.  “Get onto the link and...”

There was another blinding flash to the south, followed by a colossal mushroom cloud rising up into the atmosphere.  It seemed to glare evilly at the puny humans below, a mocking reminder that weapons designed for starships could inflict vast amounts of damage on helpless planetary populations.  Thomas didn't need to access any of his stored datafiles to know that the nuke had been dropped on Paris, the largest city on the planet’s surface.  Two million humans had just been killed, or blown straight into a hellish nightmare of trying to survive in the rubble left by the nuke.  There was no way to tell if the weapon had been designed, like most modern warheads, to avoid producing radioactive contamination – or if the enemy had deliberately made the warhead as dirty as possible to ensure that its human targets died.  Their implants would be able to warn them if they got nearer to the city, or if the wind changed enough to blow radioactive dust towards their position.  

Perrine was staring at the cloud, tears forming in his eyes.  “My wife is in there,” he said, numbly.  Thomas winced; the Marines normally had the advantage of not having to fight in their backyard.  Colonial militias knew that their families were on the firing line as well as themselves if war ever swept over their world.  “I...”

Thomas slapped him.  “Pull yourself together,” he snapped.  High overhead, he could see streaks of light as debris fell into the planet’s atmosphere.  It could be the remains of the planet’s satellite network, but he knew that that was wishful thinking.  If the unknown enemy had managed to nuke the planet’s surface, the UN squadron had almost certainly been destroyed.  Bare minutes had passed since the emergency signal and the destruction of the StarCom.  He couldn't remember any modern battle that had been decided so quickly.  “Does your planet have emergency procedures for outside attack?”

“Just...just a secondary HQ,” Perrine gasped, finally.  Thomas scowled in dismay; of course, so far from any of the dangerous borders, the locals wouldn't have bothered to establish any emergency procedures.  Too expensive, they’d say, and too pointless.  It wasn't as if New Marseilles was close to any of the known alien races.  “It’s in the hill near the city and...”

He hesitated.  “I could call in on the emergency transmitter...”

“Bad idea,” Thomas said, sharply.  The enemy almost certainly had command of the orbitals surrounding the planet.  An undirected radio transmission would be detected and then the aliens would drop a KEW on their heads.  It was standard procedure for invading a planet and he dared not assume that alien doctrine would be any less vigorous.  If they were bent on settlement rather than conquest, they would definitely seek to obliterate all traces of human life.  “Leave the transmitter here.”

He called up the maps stored in his implants and ran through possible routes, seeking one that would keep them as far from the farms and small villages surrounding Paris as possible.  It wouldn't be more than ten kilometres before they reached the hill, assuming that the aliens didn't start landing ground troops on the planet, forcing him to choose between engaging them and breaking off and hiding.  The Marines had all walked much further than ten kilometres to complete their training.  If the locals couldn’t keep up, they would just have to be left behind.

“This way,” he said, finally.  “Andrew and Aiden; take point.  John, Rupert; stay where you are and watch for incoming enemy landing craft.  Ping us if you see anything and then shift position.”

A standard Marine platoon consisted of eleven men; leaving two behind weakened his force, even though there was little choice.  They’d picked the ambush site with malice aforethought; Stewart was positioned on the highest hilltop in the area, with a sniper’s scope to back up his augmented eyes.  A tiny insect couldn't move without John Stewart tracking it, targeting it and – if necessary – shooting it.  Even Thomas couldn't match the ability of a trained sniper, with the most advanced sniper rifle the UN Marines had been able to design.  

He brought his environmental sensors into primary mode as they started to walk, doglegging down into the valleys they’d explored earlier to keep them out of sight as much as possible.  If the aliens had intended to spread radioactivity everywhere, the sensors would give them some warning before they walked into a cloud radioactive enough to overwhelm their augmented bodies and kill them, or so he hoped.  All of the Marines had basic genotype improvements spliced into their genes, but outside the RockRat Clans humans simply weren't very resistant to radiation.  It was why some human factions had created weapons intended to use radiation as a weapon, killing vehicle crews while leaving the vehicles themselves intact.  There were treaties banning their use on civilised planets, but the unknown aliens – and they had to be aliens – hadn't signed the treaties.  And there were other weapons they could use; it would be relatively easy to create something that would be instantly lethal to humanity, at least on a small – already battered – planet.  The UN’s medical nanites and other precautions should prevent a biological attack from wiping out much of the human population.

Andrew Bergstresser buzzed him through the Marine-only communications network.  “I think the locals are taking it hard,” he said.  “Maybe we should leave them here.”

“No point,” Thomas said.  The Marines might have been better-trained and far more experienced than the locals, but they didn't know the area around Paris as well as anyone who had actually been born on the colony.  Besides, unless they linked up with what remained of the militia, they would run out of supplies quickly.  His augments were automatically scanning the wavelengths for alien broadcasts, but there was nothing.  They hadn’t even bothered to demand the planet’s surrender.  That was a worrying sign.  “We need them with us.”

The Marines could have completed the walk in less than an hour, but with the locals slowing them down it was nearly two hours before they started to climb the hillside towards the hidden command base.  Silence had fallen as they'd concentrated on the climb, or staring at the plumes of smoke rising up from the other side of the hill, where Paris had once been.  The planners who had established the command base on the hill, at least, had known what they were doing; given the right weapons and equipment, someone on the hill could dominate Paris and the surrounding area for miles around.  Thomas didn't find the thought very reassuring as they walked around the hill, following a path that didn't seem very well hidden, and finally saw what had become of Paris.  It was like staring into hell.

Paris’s leaders had made a deliberate decision to escape the standard appearance of a world that hadn’t even seen its first century.  They’d built their buildings out of stone and dismantled the conical landing pods they’d turned into housing as soon as possible, creating a city that had looked as though it belonged on Old Earth.  And they’d even built a massive harbour for sailing ships and the hundreds of fishing boats that set out to catch fish to feed the population.  New Marseilles might have been poor – certainly compared to the older worlds – but it had had an excellent trade balance through selling its unique fish to the rest of the United Nations.  Now, it’s capital city was a burning wreck, half-hidden beneath a smoky cloud, and its government had been destroyed.

“There are survivors,” Aiden said, grimly.  Thomas followed his gaze and nodded.  People – civilians – were trying to make their way south, heading towards the farms that supplied the city with food and crops.  Standard procedures called for the farms to keep a surplus of food, in case of emergency, but Thomas suspected that the procedures had been neglected.  It was quite possible that the exodus from the city would overwhelm what remained of the planet’s society.

“No radiation that I can detect,” Andrew added.  They’d all studied the effects of Weapons of Mass Destruction.  “If there was, we’d surely have picked something up by now.”

Thomas nodded, gazing down into the burning hell that had once been a human city.  The nuke would have ignited anything that could burn, transforming the city’s handful of vehicles into death traps and creating a series of fires that would sweep through everything.  Anyone caught in the open would have been blinded, and burned, and then picked up by the shockwave and thrown across the city.  The aliens who had did this, who had obliterated a human population as if it was nothing more than a minor nuisance, would have to pay.

“We’re going to find the command base, then we’re going to prepare,” he said, savagely.  “I don’t know what these aliens want, or why they’re so willing to open the war with genocide, but we are going to destroy them.  We are going to teach them that human lives don’t come cheap!”

Chapter Three

Luna, Sol System
23rd March 2435

“Admiral,” Captain Shelia Morrison’s voice said, “Lady Maria sends her apologies, but she is going to be late for her scheduled meeting with you.”

Grand Admiral Anton Ivanovo fought – unsuccessfully – to avoid rolling his eyes.  Lady Maria was the de facto leader of the Latin American bloc in the General Assembly, one that protested what it saw as the permanent domination of the United Nations by the richer countries and planets.  They were right, in a sense; the richer countries and planets paid for most of the United Nations, so they had the right to dominate the United Nations.  Indeed, back when the Traders had first given humanity the keys to the stars, Latin America had demanded a share in the wealth without contributing to the early expansion into space.  It had resulted in the first Latin American colonies being placed on Mars-like worlds that had required a major terraforming investment before they became habitable.  Some of them were still largely uninhabitable because of political corruption, leaving the populace squatting in massive domes, growing increasingly angry at the universe.  Lady Maria and her fellow upper-class families were sitting on a time bomb.

It would have been nice if he’d been able to tell her where to go, but the annual funding debates in the General Assembly were coming up and the Latin American bloc could tip the balance against providing the funding the United Nations Naval Service needed to patrol the borders and guarantee humanity’s safety in a hostile universe.  Humanity’s golden age had resulted in a massive expansion of colony worlds, which meant that the UNNS had to expand to provide security – but the politicians didn't see it that way.  At best, they saw their votes as something to use as bargaining counters; at worst, they feared that the UNNS would be used against one of the major worlds.  It wasn't likely – ninety percent of the senior officers in the UNNS came from the major worlds – but logic and reason had no place in the world of politics.  

Lady Maria thought that the Latin American bloc was underrepresented in the UNNS.  She was right; they were underrepresented, for the same reason they didn't have the clout enjoyed by the richer and more powerful worlds.  They didn't pay, so they couldn't play – and the only way that they’d manage to get their own people into more prestigious positions was by actually contributing to the budget.  If he put her candidates forward, assuming that there were any who were qualified for high office, he would run into an instant veto from the major powers.  None of them would give up their clout for a bloc that contributed almost nothing.  

“Thank you,” he said, finally.  He had four other meetings scheduled in the next two hours; there were times when he thought that all he ever did was sit in meetings.  At least he took most of the political flack himself, allowing the junior officers to handle their fleets and squadrons without political interference.  How long had it been, he asked himself dryly, since he’d commanded a starship?  Had it really been nineteen years since he’d enjoyed squadron command?  “Inform her that I will endeavour to accommodate her, but as my next meeting is with the Russian delegates from New Moscow it may be impossible.”

He allowed himself a smile at the thought.  The Latin American bloc had allies among the Russian bloc, but that wouldn't last if the Latin Americans managed to alienate some of the Russian representatives.  He doubted that the Russians would give up a prospective alliance just because one of their people felt slighted, yet Lady Marie wouldn't want to take the chance that they would.  Losing one of their few ties to the great powers would cost her everything.  

Shaking his head, he turned back to his personal computer and started to read through the next report.  Paperwork was the bane of his existence; there were times when he felt that the entire Admiralty existed to generate paperwork and nothing else.  And everything had to be read by the senior uniformed official in the UNNS, the Grand Admiral himself.  It wouldn't do to be caught unawares by some new problem that had been glossed over in the files.  He was halfway through a report on missile production in the orbital facilities orbiting Nova Scotia when his intercom buzzed.

“Admiral, this is Commander Weaver, down in Communications,” a voice said.  It had to be important if a mere Commander was disturbing him.  Anton had tried to keep an open door policy, but it hadn't worked out in the long run.  “We may have a Code Black-Red.”

Anton sat upright, pushing the paperwork aside.  Code Black referred to first contact with a new spacefaring race, a contact that couldn't be delayed while the UN’s researchers studied the newcomers carefully to determine how they would react when the UN contacted them formally.  A Code Red meant that there had been a clash between the UNNS and an alien race.  And a Code Black-Red meant that first contact had turned hostile right from the start; for whatever reason, the aliens had started shooting.

“I’m on my way,” he said, picking up his jacket.  Even if it was a misunderstanding, the UNNS would have to be alerted.  “Dispatch a FLASH message to all fleet commands; warn them that we may have a war on our hands.”

He walked quickly through the massive installation into the Communications section, the linchpin of the StarCom network binding the United Nations into a single entity, all the while mulling over humanity’s past first contacts.  First Contact with the Sutra had been...rocky right from the start; the race had been in the middle of a civil war that had spilled over into human space.  Eventually, the UNNS had intervened and helped one side to win the war, but it hadn't made the other side very fond of humanity.  There were even reports that some elements within the Sutra Government had their own problems with the United Nations.  

Commander Weaver was a young officer, so young that Anton wondered if he had even started to shave, but there was no doubting his competence, not if he had been assigned to the StarCom network.  Maintaining the FTL links, as imperfect as they were, was too important to use as a political battlefield.  It didn't stop planets, corporations and even individuals from complaining that they didn't get all the bandwidth they needed.  Maybe one day the system could be made less cumbersome, but for the moment they were stuck.

“Admiral Hanson transmitted a standard Code Black message two hours ago,” Weaver said, as Anton studied the console.  Admiral Hanson was one of Admiral Davidson’s subordinates, Anton recalled, his task force part of the 9th Fleet.  “Apparently, his sensors detected unidentified alien craft in the New Marseilles system” – he brought up a stellar display and pointed to the system – “here.  The alien craft closed in on the system and then...”

Anton scowled at him.  “And then?”

“We lost the StarCom,” Weaver said.  “There was a report of an energy surge on one of the alien ships, and then the StarCom vanishes completely.  Even the standard zero-info channel, the one that maintains the system, is gone.  I believe that the StarCom installation was destroyed.”

Anton nodded.  StarCom units were expensive, even by the standards of the rich and powerful planets that provided most of the UN’s funding.  Getting the network extended out that far from Earth had been a political nightmare, one that had ensured that many newly-settled worlds were burdened with a debt that would take them years to pay off, but there had been no choice.  It took upwards of three months to get a starship from New Marseilles to Earth, far too slowly for any proper fleet coordination.  By the time Earth received its first warning of trouble, the unknowns would have had three months to make the situation far worse.  

And Admiral Hanson wouldn't have simply shut down the installation either.  Quite apart from the fact that he would have known to keep Earth informed on the progress of a new contact with a spacefaring race – one that posed a potential threat to humanity – he couldn't have shut down the StarCom without triggering an automatic message to Earth, informing them that he had shut down the system.  No, Weaver was almost certainly correct; the StarCom had been destroyed...and that didn't bode well for the United Nations squadron in orbit around New Marseilles.

A nasty thought struck him and he cursed under his breath.  “Show me the timescale,” he ordered.  Weaver tapped his console – the thought had probably occurred to him too – and brought up the event sequence.  Time from first contact to the aliens opening fire, if they had opened fire, had been less than seven minutes.  “What happened?  Did they think they were being attacked?”

“Unknown,” Weaver said, seriously.  A post-battle analysis team would go through everything with a fine-toothed comb, trying to understand why First Contact had gone so horrifically wrong.  “The only thing the squadron did was transmit the First Contact package to the alien ships.  As far as I can tell, they simply ignored it.”

He hesitated.  “Sir...there wasn't any update on alien weapons, either,” he added.  “If they took out the StarCom...”

Anton followed his logic.  The fastest weapon known to the United Nations was sprint-mode missiles, missiles configured to throw themselves at enemy ships quickly enough to overwhelm any point defence system.  But they were short-ranged weapons – their drives burned out within minutes – and even if the aliens had fired such missiles at the StarCom, there should have been enough time to warn Earth that the aliens possessed longer-range sprint-mode missiles.  The fact that there hadn't been any data on alien weapons was more than a little worrying.  

“Check with the other planets in the sector,” Anton ordered.  If the aliens had hit New Marseilles, they might well have hit other worlds in the same general area.   “Admiral Davidson should have started recalling the 9th Fleet’s units by now; inform him that I have authorised deployment under standard protocols.  ROE are Alpha-Three.”

Weaver was too junior an officer to argue that point, even though Anton could tell that the young man did want to object.  Alpha-Three ROE allowed the commander on the spot to open fire if he believed that his squadron was about to be attacked, but they specifically forbade him to open fire unless the aliens looked hostile.  Whatever had happened at New Marseilles might be a horrific mistake, after all, and in that case the diplomats would find it easier to sort out the mess if there was only one clash between humanity and the unknown aliens.

“Aye, Admiral,” Weaver said.  He hesitated.  “Assuming that some of Admiral Hanson’s units survived, they should make it to Capricorn in two to three days.”

Anton nodded.  The UN needed data – and even a single surviving starship should have picked up enough sensor readings to allow the analysts a chance to start picking apart the alien technology.  Who knew how advanced this new race actually was?  The UN had been the most advanced military force in the galaxy for the last century.  They’d gotten out of the habit of worrying about more advanced aliens.  

He keyed his wristcom.  “Shelia, contact the Security Council and tell them that I need to address them as soon as possible,” he ordered.  It would take several days for the Security Council to assemble on Luna, particularly if they needed to seek direction from their homeworlds before proceeding.  “And then pass on my apologies to Lady Maria and everyone else on my appointments list.  Something urgent has come up and it needs my personal attention.”

Clicking off the wristcom, he looked down at Weaver.  “Transmit everything we have to Alien Analysis and then consider yourself assigned to them,” he added.  Weaver had done well, for someone whose main position had been in Communications.  “Tell them I want a full breakdown on everything that happened from the moment the alien ships jumped in to the destruction of the StarCom.  If they can tease anything from the final pieces of data, I want to be informed immediately.”

He looked up at the final picture of the alien starships.  They were alien, all right; very alien.  Apart from the Traders, he couldn't think of any race that created starships that were also works of art in their own right, even the RockRats.  The technology to completely defy the laws of science simply wasn't there yet.  

But why had they opened fire?  Humanity had been careful with the handful of first contacts it had made, knowing that the dangers of interstellar war were too great.  First Contact with the Polis had been difficult, even though the aliens themselves had been surprisingly friendly; their hideous appearance touched the deepest phobias in the human soul.  Did these aliens find humanity too appalling to be allowed to exist?  Or did they feel that humanity had started the war?  Or were they simply another Magana Empire, a barbaric race that had stolen more advanced technology from a different race and set out to conquer the universe?  

Or were they completely incomprehensible?  So far, humanity had been able to talk to every race it had encountered and find common ground.  But an alien race might be truly alien, so alien that communications and compromise were impossible.  And if that was the case, the UN might have no choice, but to destroy its new enemy utterly.  Peace talks might be impossible.  

There was no way to know.  All he knew was that the golden age had just come to a screeching halt.

***
The Galactic News Network had thought ahead when it established its headquarters on Earth’s moon.  Luna served as the base for the General Assembly – and the Security Council, when it was summoned into existence – and ever since humanity had started meeting alien races, the aliens had established their own embassies on Luna.  Besides, Earth was growing increasingly irreverent these days as the power shifted to the major colony worlds, leaving behind the separate nations on Earth.  Even the nations that had seeded powerful colonies were falling behind their children.  No one expected them to peacefully accept irrelevance when they finally realised that their power had waned completely, although the four orbital towers and the constant exodus from Earth limited the power of national governments.  

At twenty-seven years old, Hind Valhi had already had a number of scoops to her name, giving her a growing reputation for ferreting out the truth and embarrassing government officials.  She had broken the story about the collaboration between certain governments on Earth with the less democratic planets in the United Nations to reshape the political boundaries, perhaps even use the UNNS as a tool against the colony worlds.  It might not have succeeded, but it had caused a political crisis and propelled Hind’s star into orbit.  But what could she do to beat it?  They saw her coming these days.

“I have a friend in the Admiralty,” her editor said.  Carl Jones was a RockRat, one of the handful who had left the asteroid-based society and come to live on Luna.  “He said that the Navy might have run into Newcomers.”

Hind lifted an eyebrow.  Newcomers was a slang expression for a newly-discovered alien race, one already capable of space travel.  Such contacts were always worrying; if the newcomers happened to be in a position to block further expansion and settlement, it would kick off a political crisis in the General Assembly.  And that assumed that the aliens weren’t hostile.  Hind’s grandfather had served in the Magana War, losing a leg during the storming of one of the alien orbital fortresses.  His stories hadn't made her feel any better about her brother entering the military.

Jones smiled, smoothly.  “And the Newcomers are apparently hostile,” he added.  “There’s little hard data yet, but I couldn't raise New Marseilles when I tried to send them a message.  We could be at war, Hind.”

Hind shivered.  “And what are we going to do with the news?”

“Well, we can’t publish it just yet, or they’ll know they have a leak,” Jones said.  “What we are going to do is position ourselves to take best advantage of the situation.  I understand that you completed your embedding course with the military?”

“Yes...”  Hind said, slowly.

“We’ll get a couple of others into the course; they’ll have an advantage over the other networks when the news finally breaks,” Jones said.  He rubbed his hands together as he spoke.  “We may even run a speculative article or two, something that will suggest that something is wrong in the direction of New Marseilles.  And then we will have the excuse to pressure them into revealing the truth.”

“That might get us into trouble,” Hind reminded him.  The early days of the Magana War had been bad for reporters, with a handful arrested for broadcasting military secrets to the enemy.  Even the discovery that the Magana had never tried spying on human civilian broadcasts hadn't saved the reputation of reporters from being savaged by military officials.  “I would prefer not to end my days in jail.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Jones assured her.  His face twisted into a mischievous smile.  He lived for outwitting government censors.  “There won’t be anything, but speculation in our reports.  The truth won’t come out unless they choose to let it out.  And they can't blame that on us.  How can they when they made it public themselves?”

Hind frowned.  “But what if the aliens hear the broadcasts?”

“I don’t think it will matter,” Jones said.  Aliens were rarely interested in human entertainment, let alone news reports.  “They already know that they hit New Marseilles, after all.  And besides, what can we have run into that the Navy can’t handle?”

Chapter Four

Deep Space
24th March 2435

“Commander?”

Janine opened her eyes, feeling the queasiness of floating in zero-gravity merging with the queasiness of an unplanned jump through Flux Space.  She fought down the urge to throw up, even when she realised that several of her crew had lost that battle and their vomit – and blood from the wounded – was floating through the air.  Doctor Martha Noble was floating next to her, having injected her with a stimulant that had shocked her out of the jump shock.  

“I'm fine,” she said, groggily.  Maybe she wasn't fine, but it was unlikely that they’d jumped into an inhabited system with starships ready and able to provide assistance.  An unplanned jump could have landed them anywhere within five light years of New Marseilles.  “How...”

She coughed and started again.  “How many did we lose?”

“Twenty-two crewmembers are reported dead,” the Doctor said.  “Thirty-seven are wounded, nine critically; I’ve drafted crewmen to get them into the stasis tubes.  The remainder are suffering from minor wounds or jump shock.”

There was no condemnation in her dark eyes, but Janine felt responsible for all of the deaths.  If she’d jumped out earlier...  Angrily, she pushed the thought aside.  There had been no reason to assume that the aliens were hostile, or that they would simply open fire without even an attempt to evaluate their opposition.  And no one in the United Nations had imagined death rays capable of slicing through an assault carrier as though it were made of paper, at least not outside a bad movie set in the far future.  The aliens had pulled off a surprise and ripped the squadron apart.  She had to assume that Rubicon and her crew were the last survivors.  

“Keep working on them,” she ordered, finally.  Her senses felt scrambled and she had to force herself to concentrate to regain her bearings.  It had been far too long since the zero-g exercises they’d carried out in the Luna Academy.  “Sally” – the RockRat was not, naturally, affected by the absence of gravity – “where the hell are we?”

“About two light years from where we were,” Sally said, slowly.  “I don’t think that the navigation system is badly scrambled, but some of the internal datanet has been hammered and it could have disrupted the navigation systems.  I could try to get a fix on our position manually.”

“Do it,” Janine ordered.  If they didn't know precisely where they were, calculating the next jump would be almost impossible.  A single star that hadn't been included in the calculations could cause them to jump light years off course.  “Any sign of the enemy?”

“Negative,” McLaughlin reported.  “If they tracked us through the jump, they didn't bother to give chase.”

“They probably thought that we wouldn’t survive the jump,” George Phyllis said.  The Chief Engineer looked rather battered as he pulled himself out of the Jeffries Tube.  “We were spraying out debris and some of it got caught up in the flux field.  If we’d been less lucky, the debris would have been slammed against an already weakened hull and probably torn us apart.  As it is, we’re surprisingly intact.”

“Surprisingly,” Janine repeated.  “Just how bad is it?”

The Chief Engineer glanced down at a datapad in his hand.  “The internal communications network has been shot to hell,” he said, flatly, “so we’ve had to press datapads into service as routers for internal messages.  Our forward lower hull has been breached; the section has currently been sealed off, thankfully.  The entire ship might have vented if the emergency systems hadn't come online.  Everyone in that compartment died, Commander.”

Janine nodded.  There would be time to mourn later.  “Apart from that, we’re in surprisingly good shape,” he added.  “The flux drive is still active, although I want to run a series of diagnostics before we risk another jump; the thrusters are still active, even though we lost Fusion Two.  I think the core overloaded and the emergency systems shut it down before it exploded, but there’s no way to be sure until we pull it out of the hull and get it inspected at a proper shipyard.”

“Tactical systems have taken a battering,” McLaughlin added.  “Right now, we have only rear weapons; our point defence system had been completely fried.”

“It doesn't matter,” Janine said.  The UNNS had designed its ships to deal with missiles, not death rays that cut through solid hulls like they were made of paper.  Their point defence systems would be useless against such weapons.  “We can't go into a fight like this until we’ve been in a shipyard and had some emergency repairs carried out.”

McLaughlin blinked.  “But the Captain...?”

“There's nothing we can do for him,” Janine said, harshly.  Jumping back to New Marseilles would just be another form of committing suicide.  “We have to assume that the pickets didn't make it to Capricorn before the aliens destroyed them.  The sensor records on this ship might make the difference between the next squadron managing to hurt the aliens or being wiped out as efficiently as Admiral Hanson and our comrades on the task force.”

Silence fell as they considered the implications.  The squadron had called upwards of twenty thousand officers, crewmen and support personnel.  Invincible alone had accounted for half of that number.  And the aliens had simply wiped them out without even bothering to demand surrender, without provocation or threat.  If the aliens had wiped out the pickets with the same cold efficiency they’d shown to the StarCom, it was quite possible that the 9th Fleet’s base at Capricorn, under Admiral Davidson, wouldn't know what had happened in more than vague detail.  Rubicon was the only ship they knew to have survived.  

Janine knew the standard procedure for hostile alien contact.  The 9th Fleet would secure its base, dispatch pickets to other threatened star systems and then prepare to advance on the aliens, sending diplomats ahead in the hopes that the conflict could be resolved.  But they wouldn’t know what they were facing – and that ignorance would doom them.  9th Fleet had trained to cope with aliens who fired missiles, just like the human ships, not aliens with powerful death rays.  And if 9th Fleet was destroyed, it would be months before the UNNS could assemble another fleet to hold the line...

...If holding the line was even possible...she pushed that thought aside too and looked around at her crew.  They had to get to Capricorn before it was too late.

“McLaughlin, you did a year at Tactical Analysis,” she said.  “I want you to concentrate on studying the sensor records, everything we took from the battle.  If these bastards have any weaknesses, I want you to spot them and prepare a preliminary report for the Admiral.”

“Commander...”  McLaughlin said, slowly.  “What about my tactical duties...?”

“I can handle a tactical console,” Janine said, dryly.  He flushed, embarrassed.  “Besides, if they do manage to track us down, we’re fucked anyway.  We’re in no state for a fight.”

She looked over at the Chief Engineer.  “Get the ship ready to jump as quickly as possible,” she ordered.  “Pull crewmen away from any other duties if necessary; just get us ready to jump.  Sally will verify the data on our current location, then work up a least-time course to Capricorn.  As long as we get there, we’re fine.

“Doctor, we will hold a remembrance ceremony at” – she glanced at her wristcom – “1930,” she continued.  “Have the bodies prepped and then moved to the shuttlebay; we’ll bury them in space before we leave.  If any of them wanted to be returned home, place them in a space stasis tube – if there are spare stasis tubes.”

“There aren’t,” the Doctor said, quietly.  “I’ve had to double people up just to get them to a proper medical base.”

Janine shook her head, grimly.  “Have all the bodies moved to the shuttlebay then, my authority,” she ordered.  There would be complaints from the next-of-kin that bodies hadn't been returned home, but there was little choice.  The stasis tubes had to be reserved for the living.  “We’ll bury them all in space.”

The Chief Engineer leaned forward.  “We could flash-freeze them in space and then keep them preserved that way,” he suggested.  “It wouldn't take more than a few minutes...”

“Make it so,” Janine ordered.  She looked around the small group.  “Any questions?”

There were none.  “Then I need to check the Captain’s Log,” she added.  “Report in if there are problems we need to tackle before we jump.”

Once the crew had dispersed, she pulled herself over to the Captain’s stateroom and pressed her hand against the sensor.  As XO, she had standing permission to go anywhere on the ship unless the Captain had specifically forbidden it – and Captain Yu had never denied her permission to enter his quarters.  Besides, with his absence – capture or death; there was no way to know – she would have to check his logbook to assume formal command.  

The stateroom was dark and silent, sending a chill through her bones as she unhooked a flashlight from the emergency compartment and turned it on, sweeping the light over the Captain’s desk, the golden model of his first command – the traditional gift from his crew when he moved on to a bigger ship – and the ‘I Love Me’ wall in the far corner.  Like all officers, Yu had collected his awards and displayed them for his guests to see.  Janine’s first CO had pointed out that someone could always be counted upon to produce an award, even if the recipient had been a lousy commander.  But Captain Yu had been a good officer and Janine had learned a great deal from him.

She winced as she caught sight of the photographs the Captain had placed on his desk, now floating through the air as the life support system stuttered back into life.  Yu had had a wife back on Chui Khan, she recalled, and three daughters.  There was no room for families on a military starship and so he only saw them once or twice a year, but he’d loved them and sent them gifts and seen them whenever he could.  Janine had even met his wife once, a slight woman with a deceptive inner strength that allowed her to bring up three children on her own.  And Janine would have to write the letter informing the Captain’s wife that her husband was probably dead.

The Captain’s Log was a completely separate computer system from the remainder of the ship, stored in one of the desk drawers.  Janine opened the drawer, found the case and pulled it out, opening it with her thumbprint.  By tradition, no one was allowed to enter the case and read the log unless the Captain was dead, or gave up his command, whereupon it became part of the public record.  The log clicked on and displayed the Captain’s last entry, a brief outline of the arrival at New Marseilles and his impressions of the Governor.  He hadn’t been very flattering.  It also included his notes on his crew, particularly the ones whose promotion depended upon a favourable report from the Captain himself.  Resisting the temptation to read her own file, Janine looked back at the Captain’s original orders from higher authority, searching for something – anything – that might have warned the Captain about an alien threat.

There was nothing.  The UN spent vast sums of money on maintaining survey ships, long-range probes and listening posts watching for signs of alien communications, but there hadn't even been a hint that something had been threatening New Marseilles.  For all that money, they had been caught flatfooted, blindsided by a powerful threat they never saw coming.  And what if the aliens were too powerful to stop?  They could be at Earth within months, tearing the Home Fleet apart.  It would be the beginning of the rout of civilisation, of the massacre of mankind.

Her wristcom buzzed.  “Commander, this is Sally,” Sally said.  “I’ve managed to triangulate our position.  The navigational computer isn't wrong.”

Janine let out a sigh of relief she hadn't realised she’d been holding.  “Good,” she said, bringing the log back up to the present day and making a note that she’d assumed command of the ship.  “How long will it take us to get to Capricorn?”

“Three days, probably four,” Sally said.  There was a pause.  The RockRats didn't have hierarchy as the UNNS understood the term, but Sally had spent enough time on the ship to know that the UNNS had its way of doing things, no matter how inefficient it was to the RockRat eye.  “We could jump to Casanova in a single jump, or Ramadan in two.”

“I thought of that,” Janine said.  It had been wishful thinking, she knew; one glance at the records had confirmed that her first decision had been correct.  “Neither of those worlds have any real defences protecting them.  The aliens could have overrun them within minutes of arriving there.  Hell, they may even be there now.  But if they’ve managed to overrun Capricorn...the war is already over.  The base there is armed to the teeth.”

Apart from the early encounters with the Sutra, the UN had always been on the offensive.  But if someone wanted to cripple the UN, with the patience to scout out weak points and prepare fleets to attack them, New Marseilles wouldn't be their only target.  Fleets of eerie teardrop-shaped ships might already be attacking Capricorn and other major bases within the human sphere.  And if the aliens were powerful enough to do that, the war was within shouting distance of being lost along with the bases and their defending fleets.

Shaking her head, she sealed the log and left the Captain’s stateroom.  There would be time to clear it up later, once they had reached Capricorn.  The shipyards there would be able to repair the ship, allowing her to rejoin the line of battle.  And then...the next time, at least humanity wouldn't be taken by surprise.

***
By tradition, every crewmember who wasn't in a vitally important post was expected to attend funeral ceremonies, even if they were forced to watch through the monitors as they couldn't all fit into the shuttlebay.  The doctor had sealed twenty bodies in coffins that would slowly drift through space, eventually intersecting with a star and burning to ash.  It was the favoured burial method for spacers, even the ones on loan from a planet’s self-defence force.  

Janine watched grimly as the honour guard – a handful of crewmen chosen by lot – walked to the first coffin and lifted it up.  The gravity generator was still balky, but at least they’d been able to ensure that the funeral would be carried out properly.  Doing it without gravity would have been a great deal harder.  Composing herself as best as she could, she read the words of the ceremony from memory.

“They left their worlds and walked into space, to join those who stand between humanity and its many enemies,” she said.  The words had been written by the UN’s first Grand Admiral, rather than drawing on a specific funeral tradition.  “They were our comrades in war and peace, our friends and allies; today, we gather to bid them farewell.  They died in the manner that they lived, working and fighting to ensure that humanity would survive.  Lieutenant Sandra Martinez, we bid you farewell.”

“We bid you farewell,” the crew echoed, as the first coffin was launched into interstellar space.

Janine felt her voice catch and swallowed hard as she read the names, one after the other.  Three of the bodies had been almost intact; the remainder had been shredded, some so badly torn apart that the only way to be sure that they were properly identified had been a DNA test.  And at least one crewwoman had been completely vaporised by the alien death rays.  Her body might have been blown out into space during the battle, but no one would ever know for sure.  The only way they’d known that she was missing was when they’d counted heads. 

“Our comrades died in a treacherous assault,” she said, gathering herself.  “They were the first victims of a new war, one mounted by a race that thought nothing of opening fire before even attempting to make contact with us.  We do not know what we are fighting, but we do know why we are fighting.  We are fighting to protect our homes and our families from an alien menace that may already have killed seven million humans on New Marseilles.

“This war is going to be different.  They fired on lifepods; they may have bombarded an entire planetary population on New Marseilles.  We already know that the aliens have more advanced weapons than our own.  They know where some of our worlds are located; we know nothing about theirs.  But I do know, I have faith, that humanity’s stubbornness and ingenuity will come to the fore and we will defeat this new foe.  There will be many dark days ahead, many dark moments when we will stare into the spectre of defeat, but we will find a way to overcome the aliens and strike back.  And if they wish to exterminate the human race, if they wish to eradicate us from the galaxy, I swear to you that they will not succeed.  We will fight, we will win and we will teach them that humans are not helpless targets.  They will know that they have been in a fight!”

She looked from face to face, willing them to understand.  “We will not give up,” she whispered.  “We will not go quietly into the night.  We will gather our full strength and fight like mad bastards to hold the line against these people.  And we will find ways to beat them and we will beat them.  We will not surrender.”

Two hours later, they made their first jump on the route to Capricorn.  

Chapter Five

Haven/New Texas System
24th March 2435

“I have a sensor lock on target now,” Flight Captain Connie Chung said, as the Dragon starfighter closed in on its target.  “One Magana dreadnaught and three light cruisers.”

“Copy that, Demon,” Flight Lieutenant Luke Falk said.  “Remember to leave some for the rest of us.”

Connie allowed herself a grin as her wingman pushed up behind her.  “You snooze, you lose,” she said.  “Go evasive...now.”

The enemy target opened fire with its point defence, attempting to target the starfighters with close-in railgun projectiles.  Connie led the starfighters into an evasive pattern that looked complete chaotic, and should have been completely unpredictable, and closed in on the massive dreadnaught.  She armed her torpedoes as they neared sprint-mode range, ready to fire the first set of missiles directly into the enemy hull at point-blank range.  Nothing in the known universe could intercept missiles fired from starfighters, even the point defence the UN had built to protect fleet carriers.

“On my mark,” she ordered, “fire at will; I say again, fire at will...”

“Attention,” a new voice said, cutting into the channel.  “Exercise terminated; I say again, exercise terminated.  All units, return to Triumphant.  This exercise is hereby terminated.”

Connie blinked in surprise.  Exercises were rarely terminated before they were completed, even if there had been an accident that cost lives.  Regular battles against enemy ships never ended just because someone wanted to call a halt.  The only thing that could convince Vice Admiral Howard to cancel the exercise ahead of schedule was an emergency somewhere in the sector.  Or maybe the New Texans had decided to rattle their sabres at the task force and Howard had decided to prepare for war.  

“You heard the man, children,” she said, reluctantly.  On the screen, the Magana dreadnaught had vanished, replaced with an old freighter they were using for target practice.  “Blue squadron, return to the barn; I say again, return to the barn.”

The Haven/New Texas system was unusual; it was politically divided between Haven, which was a member of the United Nations, and New Texas, which was not.  From the briefing, Connie had gathered that the New Texans had set out to escape the rest of the human race completely and set up a colony buried under New Texas’s surface, hiding so well that the United Nations Survey Command starship that had mapped the system had completely missed the fact that it was already colonised.  Haven had been settled before the New Texans had revealed themselves and demanded that the newcomers be removed.  As there were few precedents for abandoning a colony, particularly when the New Texans could have prevented the settlement simply by identifying themselves when the survey ship passed through their system, the General Assembly had been reluctant to force the Haven settlers to leave.  The result had been a minor cold war and threats of violence from both sides.

Connie pushed the thought out of her mind as Blue Squadron returned to their mothership, UNS Triumphant.  Triumphant was the latest fleet carrier to come out of the UN’s yards in the Sol System, five kilometres of starfighter bays, heavy weapons and the most advanced armour composites the UN had been able to produce.  In theory, a fleet carrier needed no escorts, although it would be a long time before the UN took the risk of sending such a ship out alone.  The six wings of starfighters they carried should be more than enough to provide protection.

The main hull of the carrier was a long cylinder, surrounded by six massive flight tubes for the carrier’s starfighters.  Connie carefully angled her starfighter towards the uppermost deck and braced herself as the carrier burst into visual range.  It was a point of honour among starfighter pilots never to let automated systems handle the landing, even though it was alarmingly easy to make a slight mistake that could prove disastrous in the flight tube.  The starfighter shuddered as gravity latched on and pulled it to the deck, skidding down towards the crash webbing at the end of the landing bay.  Connie allowed herself a sigh of relief as the automated system picked up the starfighter and transported it through the tube into the maintenance bay.  A pair of deck crewmen ran forward, placed a ladder beside her starfighter, and offered to help her out of the craft.  Connie shook her head and jumped down herself, feeling suddenly heavy as the carrier’s gravity field asserted itself properly.  There was no such thing as a gravity field generator on a starfighter.

She walked across the yellow line on the deck and removed her helmet, placing it and her outer flight suit in the compartment where they would be stored until her next flight – or QRA duty.  Half of Red Squadron would already be suited up, she knew, cursing their luck as Blue Squadron and the rest of the carrier’s wings carried out exercises all across the system, partly to keep their skills honed and partly to remind the New Texans that violence against Haven would not be tolerated.  The remainder of Blue Squadron came in behind her, removing their flight suits to reveal the shipsuits underneath.  They looked just as puzzled and annoyed as she felt.  

Her wristcom buzzed as she removed it from her locker and snapped it back around her wrist, linking back into the carrier’s communications network.  “All pilots, report to briefing compartments at 1630,” it said.  “I say again; 1630.”

Connie glanced at the time and shook her head.  There was barely time to freshen up before the briefing, let alone catch something to eat. She walked into the washroom, splashed water on her face and hands, and then glanced at herself in the mirror.  Her dark eyes looked tired, her dark skin carrying the signs of too much high acceleration at low compensator settings, just like any other starfighter pilot.  There were times when she envied the RockRats for all the modifications they were allowed to splice into their DNA. Improved resistance to high gravities would come in very handy for a starfighter pilot.  But New Kinshasa was a very conservative planet and the UN frowned on genetic modifications, whatever the reasoning.  It would have cost her everything – her career, at least - if she’d had it done illegally.

“You heard the man,” she said, as Blue Squadron lined up behind her.  “Briefing at 1630; try not to be late.”

She was still smiling at the thought when they walked into the briefing compartment assigned to Blue Squadron, one of many such compartments throughout the ship.  It made sense to have the pilots report to different rooms, she’d been told; besides, there wasn’t a compartment on the starship large enough to hold all of the pilots at once.  It seemed to be a law of military affairs that the larger the starship, the smaller the volume assigned to the junior crew and the starfighter pilots – and the Marines, of course.  Vice Admiral Howard’s face could be seen in the holographic representation of the main briefing compartment, in the main hull.  If the Admiral was briefing them personally, or even attending the briefing, it had to be serious.  Either war was about to break out somewhere – or the incident when they’d been on shore leave had finally worked its way through the military chain of command and the Admiral was about to chew them all new assholes personally.  But he wouldn't have needed to summon every starfighter pilot in the ship to that briefing, would he?  

“Attention on deck,” the CAG said.  Connie thought she detected a pained expression on his face at Blue Squadron’s appearance, but they’d just come from a major exercise and they hadn't been given time to shower, let alone get some rest.  “Admiral, if you would...?”

Vice Admiral Paul Howard was a brown-haired man with a reputation for not suffering fools gladly, an officer from the United Stars of America.  That political connection explained why he had been promoted so high at such a young age, but Connie had served under him long enough to know that he wasn't an incompetent officer promoted above his ability.  He’d seen active service during the pacification campaign on Coral Reef and anti-piracy operations in several sectors, as well as the Dispute with the RockRats.  That had been a pointless war if anything had been, but at least it had ensured that some officers were blooded.  It had also ensured that a number of others ended up dead.

“We have a Code Black-Red on our hands,” Howard said, shortly.  There was a pause while the starfighter pilots worked out that that meant hostile alien contact.  All the theorists had once claimed that there was no such thing as a hostile alien race, but humanity’s experience proved that the opposite, if anything, was true.  Any race that wanted to reach the stars had to be capable of defending itself – and rationalising away launching invasions of other worlds, if they were advanced enough to need rationalisms.  “Yesterday, the colony on New Marseilles was attacked by an unknown alien race.  Admiral Hanson’s squadron, on duty around the colony world, was attacked and presumably destroyed.  So far, no survivors have reached Capricorn or any other colony world.”

There was another pause as that sank in.  The starfighter pilots were absolutely confident in themselves and their equipment – and in their ability to hold the line against hostile alien forces.  If an entire task force had been destroyed, and the task force had to have been destroyed quickly enough to prevent Admiral Hanson from ordering an emergency jump out of the system, it suggested worrying things about alien firepower.  Or perhaps the aliens had simply gotten lucky.  They might have crippled the squadron’s flux drives before they could jump out of the firing line, then obliterated them at leisure.

“Worse, the colony worlds of Cartage and Ramadan have also gone silent.” Howard continued.  “There were no UN starships on duty at either world, but Ramadan possessed a small self-defence force consisting of seven destroyers and one patrol frigate, as well as a handful of merchant vessels.  None of those ships have reached Capricorn Base.  We must assume that our unknown enemy has entered both systems, destroyed their orbiting StarCom units and then occupied the worlds below.  And we must also assume that the self-defence forces were wiped out too.”

Connie accessed her implants and pulled out a star chart, studying it in her mind.  New Marseilles was the outermost world in the sector, but Cartage and Ramadan were only two light years further into the United Nations.  The Haven/New Texas system was on the other side of Capricorn Base, nineteen light years from New Marseilles, yet that didn't mean that it was out of danger.  It was quite possible that their unknown enemies had decided to destroy as much of 9th Fleet as they could before it could concentrate under Admiral Davidson.  If Connie had been planning a surprise attack against something the size of the United Nations, it was what she would have done.

“We will be jumping to Capricorn Base within the hour and linking up with Admiral Davidson and the remainder of the 9th Fleet,” Howard concluded.  “Assuming that Capricorn itself has not been attacked, I believe our immediate priority would be to prevent the aliens from hitting any other worlds in the sector.  Three attacks suggest quite strongly that the original attack was no accident.  The United Nations is at war.”

Connie couldn't disagree with any of his points.  One attack might have been an accident, three of them was a declaration of war.  And the aliens clearly understood human weaknesses; they’d targeted the StarCom installations first, preventing the colonies from sending out a call for help.  There was no way to know how the aliens would treat human civilians, but it was easy to imagine them simply being exterminated if the aliens wanted humanity’s worlds for themselves.  And yet there were plenty of habitable worlds in space, just waiting to be discovered.  Why did the aliens hate humanity enough to risk all-out war with the United Nations?

“From this moment, we are on full combat alert,” Howard said.  “The aliens caught Admiral Hanson by surprise.  We will not make the same mistake.”

He allowed his voice to darken.  “Blood has already been shred,” he reminded them.  “From this moment on, we are going to make them bleed.”

***
Vice Admiral Paul Howard braced himself as Triumphant jumped through Flux Space, materialising in the Capricorn System.  It was the largest and most populated world in the sector, a bulwark intended to provide shelter and support for the human colonists – and he’d been forced to assume that the aliens had already entered the system and engaged 9th Fleet.  But as the display lit up with green icons, it became reassuringly clear that 9th Fleet was still intact and the base was active.

“Transmit our IFF until they acknowledge,” he ordered.  The entire system was on alert, with clouds of starfighters patrolling the space around the planets – and the massive base the UNNS had established in a free-floating orbit around the primary star.  It was quite possible that someone would get jumpy and accidentally fire on a friendly starship.  “And then get me a direct link to Admiral Davidson.”

“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said.  The CIC’s display grew more crowded as dozens of additional starships were picked up.  Almost all of the 9th Fleet would be concentrated at Capricorn, apart from Admiral Hanson’s ill-fated squadron.  God alone knew what the aliens used for weapons, but if they’d wiped out a task force centred on an assault carrier they were clearly armed with something formidable.  The tactical staff on Capricorn would probably already have a working theory about what the aliens used and how it could best be countered.  “Link established.”

Paul put on his headphones as the face of Admiral Davidson appeared in front of him.  “Paul,” the Admiral said, “good to see you.”

“And you, Admiral,” Paul said.  Davidson might have been more of a bureaucrat than a warrior, but at least he had a backbone.  It was something he feared would be needed in the coming months before the UN managed to defeat their mysterious new enemy.  “Triumphant and her task force stand ready to join the line of battle.”

“You will have to jump out to Cadiz,” Admiral Davidson said.  The orders weren't exactly a surprise.  There were nearly a billion colonists on Cadiz, along with a RockRat colony and several industrial installations.  Losing the planet would be...irritating.  “I intended to direct Commodore Shane to cover that world, but Shane and his squadron are...overdue.”

They shared a look.  Commodore Shane had been assigned to cover Casanova, one of the weirder colony worlds based around an artificial social matrix.  And it was right in the path of the unknown enemy’s route into the United Nations.  The aliens were getting better, Paul thought sourly, and they didn't even know what the aliens looked like, let alone what they wanted.  If Shane had been obliterated along with his squadron, the aliens would have wiped out two squadrons – and no one knew how many losses, if any, the aliens had suffered.  

“I’m dispatching pickets to all the threatened systems, as well as flythrough deployments through the occupied systems,” Davidson added.  “We need intelligence on our foe, Paul, and we don’t have much of anything.”  There was a pause.  “In the event of them engaging you, you are ordered to fall back and withdraw rather than risk losses.  We cannot afford to lose more ships.”

Paul nodded.  There was another good reason for assigning a fleet carrier to defend Cadiz; Triumphant carried a StarCom, allowing her to send messages right across the United Nations if necessary.  Admiral Davidson would get to watch as Triumphant engaged the mystery foe and hopefully knocked them back, hard.  If they could just burn through a fleet carrier and her squadron as effectively as they’d taken out an assault carrier, the United Nations might be in some trouble.  

“I don’t need to warn you of just how vital it is to preserve our operating capability,” Davidson added, “so I want you to understand this.  If it is impossible to hold the system or inflict significant losses on the enemy, you are to jump out and abandon the colony worlds to their fate.  Do you understand me?”

Paul stared at him.  The United Nations Naval Service existed to protect the human race.  It’s officers and crew put aside their nationalist beliefs and worked together to safeguard the entire human race.  The Navy’s honour depended upon protecting as many worlds as possible, rather than unthinking service to the largest and most powerful worlds in the United Nations.  To be ordered to withdraw, to abandon citizens to the hands of an unknown enemy, went against the Navy’s entire ethos.  And yet there was no choice.  It took a year to build an assault carrier, thirteen months to produce a fleet carrier.  Davidson was right.  They didn't dare take additional losses.

“I understand, Admiral,” Paul said.  It left a bad taste in his mouth to accept those orders, without even logging a protest, but he understood.  “Has there been any word on reinforcements?”

“The Grand Admiral has promised us everything he can scrape up, but right now every planetary government is screaming for protection,” Davidson said, sourly.  “It’s going to be worse when the news breaks openly – people are already asking questions in the media.  You know how those vultures take something and blow it up out of all proportion.”

He shook his head.  “Good luck, Paul,” he concluded.  “And remember what I said.”

Paul nodded and closed the channel.  “Order the CAG and the Operations Officer to my stateroom,” he ordered, “and then order the squadron to prepare for a jump to Cadiz.  We have an operation to plan.”

Chapter Six

New Marseilles
24th March 2435

The refugee camp was about as well organised as a refugee camp could be, which wasn't very much at all.  Most of the refugees wanted to flee further from Paris, while the farmers – who made up much of the militia – were equally determined not to let them devastate their fields and crops in a desperate search for food.  The wounded were being treated, but the medical supplies had run out long ago, leaving the wounded to suffer and die – or heal – on their own.

Thomas watched from his position on the hilltop as the militia struggled to remain in control, shaking his head bitterly.  Such scenes weren't supposed to exist in the United Nations, not now that the UNNS provided peace and security to the human race.  Natural disasters could be avoided, or if necessary supplies and assistance could be flown in from other star systems – but as far as they could tell the aliens had taken out all of the other cities on New Marseilles as well.  If they had managed to wipe out the fishing boats as well, feeding the refugees would have become a great deal harder.  As it was, the only thing preventing a full-scale collapse was the food from the fishing boats, who were docking at a secluded cove down from the city.  Paris itself was still a burning wreck.  

He looked up into the darkening sky and wondered just what – if anything – the aliens were doing.  They’d seen pieces of debris falling into the planet’s atmosphere ever since the first attack, but try as he might he had been unable to convince himself that the aliens had taken heavy losses in the fighting.  Where were the aliens?  New Marseilles was a big planet and it was quite possible that they’d landed on the other side of the globe, yet Thomas was fairly sure that they would have to deal with the remainder of the human population sooner or later.  And if he’d been invading an alien world, he’d have moved as quickly as possible.  

They'd picked up nothing on their sensors and the planet’s communications network was completely down.  If the aliens were exchanging messages, they hadn't been able to pick them up, suggesting that they used laser communication exclusively.  Or maybe they had moved on, heading further into the United Nations.  His mind insisted on producing pictures of the aliens hammering Capricorn or Washington, Britannia or Edo...or even Earth herself.  Who knew just how powerful the aliens were?  Maybe they had enough ships to hit all of the major fleet bases at once.  And if they were that powerful, they wouldn’t even need to start mopping up the smaller colonies until they had finished with Earth and the older colonies.

He hissed suddenly as his audio processors picked up a faint noise in the distance, heading towards the refugee camp.  A faint hum, like the noise of a vehicle – and there were few vehicles left on New Marseilles.  Few human vehicles, at least...he shunted an audio-discrimination program into priority mode as he woke the other Marines, motioning for them to take up watch positions around the hilltop.  The alien craft was coming in over the ocean...

“There,” Stewart hissed.  Thomas followed the sniper’s finger and saw...something moving against the darkening sky.  It was hard to be sure, even with his enhanced eyesight, but it looked around the same size as a standard landing craft, like the ones the Marines used when they wanted to drop straight into hostile territory.  But every Marine landing was escorted by missiles, sensor jammers and countless other tricks to make detecting and destroying the actual landing craft a difficult task.  The aliens seemed to be coming in fat and happy, secure in the knowledge that there was little the human race could do to stop them.  They were probably right, he knew, and cursed them under his breath.

“There’s two of them,” Andrew muttered.  “Both of them are heading right for the refugee camp.”

Thomas looked down towards the colonial militia positions around the camp.  Perrine had insisted on helping his people and Thomas hadn't been able to convince him otherwise, even though a cold calculation suggested that most of the refugees would die within the week.  Some of the wounded were so badly hurt that the doctors had been forced to end their suffering by killing them, something that would have shocked Thomas if there had been any other choice.  No, the militia were unlikely to deter the aliens – and committing the Marines to the defence of the refugee camp would only cause their deaths too.  His duty to the UN was to remain alive and free, observing the alien activities on the planet until the Navy organised a relief force and liberated the planet.  The information they would pick up might just provide the key to defeating the aliens.  It was a thought that didn't provide any comfort at all.

The alien craft closed in rapidly, their antigravity fields clearly a generation or two more advanced than the best the UN could produce.  They were surprisingly beautiful, looking almost like silver fish hanging in the air rather than the blocky, functional appearance of UN landing craft.  Just for a moment, he cursed the fact that they had met humanity as enemies, rather than friends.  There was a great deal the human race could learn from these creatures.  

He looked back at the refugee camp as the refugees started to panic, scattering in all directions in the hopes of finding safety.  Most people were sheep in disasters, he reminded himself as he shook his head; they wouldn't think logically, but run around like headless chickens.  One of the RockRats he’d met had once pointed out that this produced useless bags of flesh, but almost all of the RockRats grew up in asteroid colonies, where a single mistake could mean instant death.  Their children learned responsibility right from birth and never stopped learning.  Space was utterly unforgiving to those who made mistakes.  So was the military life, at least for junior officers and their men.  

“They’re just hanging there,” Aiden said, puzzled.  “What on Earth do they want?”

The alien craft seemed to drift back slightly...and then a brilliant beam of light stabbed down from the lead craft, almost blinding Thomas before his augmented eyes adapted to the sudden light.  It struck the ground in the middle of the refugee camp and vaporised a dozen humans who had been wounded and waiting to see the doctors.  A moment later, the beam began to slice across the ground, ripping the camp and its inhabitants to shreds.  The other alien craft opened fire a second later, pummelling the militia positions on the outskirts of the camp.  Thomas watched as the militia opened fire on the craft, knowing that it wouldn't be enough to save their people.  Two minutes after the aliens had opened fire, the refugee camp was nothing more than ashes on the ground and the militia had been completely wiped out.  

“Those...murdering...bastards,” Andrew said.  He sounded shocked; they were all shocked.  Outside of the most unpleasant pirates and some of the Magana Warlords, no one had carried out such an atrocity for centuries.  Nearly five hundred humans had been wiped out by the aliens, who chose to remain unseen.  “Those fucking...”

“That will do,” Thomas said, sharply.  Right now, there was no way to know what the aliens were going to do next, but if total extermination was their goal he suspected that they would head towards the farms and obliterate them.  Even if the farmers had the sense to abandon their fields and hide in the countryside, the aliens wouldn't have much difficulty wiping out the crops and starving most of the remaining colonists.  “Keep recording the scene and let me know if they start advancing towards us.”

“We should stop them,” Aiden said, just loud enough to verge on insubordination.  “We have the HVMs...”

“And they have the orbiting starships,” Thomas snapped.  It was hard to blame Aiden and his brother for wanting to hit back at the aliens, but launching a single HVM would announce their presence for all to see.  They might as well don red shirts and invite the aliens to kill them all at once.  “We watch, we record – and we get revenge later.”

The first alien craft was drifting down towards the ground, finally landing on the burned remains of the refugee camp and hundreds of humans.  Thomas watched carefully as a piece of the hull seemed to melt open, revealing a stream of light spilling out onto the ground before the first alien trooper stepped out of the craft.  The Marines leaned forwards, their augmented eyes penetrating the darkness to get their first look at the aliens who had casually eliminated so many humans.  Four more aliens appeared and surrounded their craft, an obvious security precaution.  Thomas, who had carried out similar patrols himself, felt an odd moment of kinship with the aliens.  He banished it a moment later.  Whatever else could be said about the aliens, they were murderers who had killed millions of humans.

They were short, squat humanoids, carrying large weapons that looked larger than they were.  At first, Thomas wondered if they were naked, before realising that the pinkish matter he had mistaken for flesh was actually some form of biological armour.  Below it, he caught glimpses of darker skin and dark eyes that seemed to flicker from side to side, never stopping for a second.  The aliens were shorter than the average human, with stumpy  legs that suggested that they were slower than any human, but judging by their arms they were quite possibly stronger.  Thomas was hardly a weakling, yet those alien weapons looked too heavy for a single Marine to carry.

“They look like heavy-worlders,” Andrew said.  Thomas couldn't disagree.  A handful of human worlds had significantly heavier gravity fields, enough to require the population to genetically alter themselves so they could live there safely.  They’d undergone the modifications before the United Nations had banned large-scale genetic engineering, but that didn't stop them facing a considerable amount of discrimination on the lighter worlds.  “You think that their gravity field is higher than ours?”

“No way to know,” Thomas muttered back.  More and more aliens were emerging from the craft, falling into patterns that suggested that they operated in groups of nine.  It was difficult to tell which of them was in charge as they started to spread out, heading towards the remains of the militia positions, weapons at the ready.  And then he spotted the alien commander, the person who had to be the alien commander.  “I think that one there is the boss.”

The alien was indistinguishable from his fellows – Thomas would assume that the aliens were all males until proven differently – but he carried no weapon and was surrounded by a dozen other alien soldiers, all carrying weapons of their own.  Instead of a weapon, he had something that reassembled a computer terminal in one thuggish hand, tapping away at it to issue orders.  It suggested that the aliens didn't use implants, unlike the human race, but he reminded himself not to take it for granted.  The Sutra didn't use implants either, outside of their aristocratic bloodlines.  They put too much power into the hands of the common man.  

They watched grimly as the aliens swept through the remains of the refugee camp and then headed down towards the city.  Parts of Paris were still burning, but the aliens seemed to ignore the heat and just keep walking, poking their guns into every darkened corner.  From time to time, shots rang out as the aliens located human survivors and ruthlessly eradicated them, cleansing the planet of its human population.  Smaller groups walked along the coastline, supported by the hovering landing craft; every fishing boat they saw was simply wiped out by alien energy weapons.  Thomas had no doubts about what they would do once they’d swept the entire city.  They’d head inland to the farms and exterminate the farmers too.

“I think we have trouble,” Stewart snapped, suddenly.  “A group of bastards are trying to climb the hill.”

Thomas nodded.  The aliens didn't seem built for climbing the relatively easy hill that was sheltering the Marines, but they were advancing slowly with grim determination.  It was impossible to tell if they had caught a sniff of the Marines or if they were simply searching the entire area, yet it didn't matter.  The Marines could wipe out the alien patrol – they didn't seem anything like as capable as human forces on the ground – but the alien landing craft would simply wipe them out with its energy weapons, or call in a KEW strike from orbit.  There was no way the aliens wouldn't have that technology.  They were advanced enough to have been in space for hundreds of years.  

“We move down the far side of the hill and head north,” he ordered.  They hadn't wasted the day, unlike the militia forces; they’d walked over the hill and the surrounding area long enough to know the ground fairly well.  “And then we try and reach the farms to warn the population.”

“We could leave the aliens a surprise,” Andrew suggested.  “I could rig a grenade...”

Thomas had already considered that possibility.  “I think that that would betray our presence,” he said.  Once the aliens knew that there was a military team observing them, they would hunt that team down ruthlessly – or call in saturation bombardment from their ships overhead.  If they were detected, they’d make damn sure the aliens knew that they had been kissed, but it would be nothing more than kicking and scratching on the way to the gallows.  “Let’s move.”

One by one, the Marines slipped around the hill and down to a gully that had been carved out hundreds of years ago by rainfall.  It provided shelter as the Marines scrambled down, watching carefully for alien troopers as they hunted for stragglers, but as far as Thomas could tell the aliens simply weren’t as good as humans on the ground.  Or maybe they were just on a butcher and bolt mission, slaughtering as many humans as they could before leaving to the next world.  There was no way to know just what was going through their alien minds.

The territory beyond the hill was a swampy forest, one that Perrine had warned them was dangerous and normally off-limits.  Thomas had surveyed it carefully and discovered that there were paths through it, as long as they walked single-file and kept a careful eye on where they put their feet.  If the aliens followed them into the swamp, chances were that some of them would bog down and force their comrades to rescue them, rather than hunting human survivors.  He looked up as he heard the sound of another alien craft slicing through the air and wondered, grimly, if it was going to the farms.  There was nothing standing in their way.  

“I think they’ve reached the edges of their patrol pattern,” Stewart said, when they reached the far edge of the swamp.  Peering back towards the aliens, Thomas suspected that Stewart was right; the aliens didn't seem interested in advancing more than a handful of kilometres past the city.  Instead, they were merely setting up sensor nodes that would have to be disable or avoided if the Marines wanted to return to Paris.  “You want to grab one of those things?”

“Not yet,” Thomas said.  The team caught their breath, wiped off the rest of the mud, and then followed him up another hidden path.  There were roads between Paris and the farmland, but the aliens would probably be watching them – and using them for their own deployments.  Or maybe they intended to use their command of the air to land forces ahead of the Marines, coming down on the farmers like the hammer of God.  They might not be experienced now, but they’d learn.  Human forces learned quickly and they dared not assume that the aliens would be any slower.  “We’ll try to hack it later.”

An hour later, they reached the first of the farms – and discovered that it was in ruins.  The aliens had blasted the farmhouse and all five barns from the air, leaving the fields and crops untouched.  Perhaps that suggested that they could eat the human crops – it wasn't impossible that their biochemistry might be similar to humanity’s – or perhaps they were reluctant to wreck more damage on the world than strictly necessary.  Thomas slipped forward and studied the ruins, deciding that no one could have survived.  But maybe they’d been smart enough to escape...

He saw someone moving at the corner of his eye and spun around, lifting his rifle, only to see a young girl staring back at him.  She couldn't have been more than fifteen years old, staring at him as if she expected the worst.  Judging from her clothes, she was a farmer, probably the daughter of the man who had owned the wrecked farm.

“It’s all right,” Thomas hissed.  “I'm from the United Nations Marines.  Are your parents still alive?”

The girl pointed towards the orchards – and Thomas saw, with a smile, the concealed hatch hidden under the trees.  Inside, he saw an older man watching him nervously, carrying a shotgun in one hand that wasn’t – quite – pointed in Thomas’s direction.  Thomas shouldered his rifle and smiled tiredly at the man.

“They’re going to be coming for you,” he said, once he’d outlined everything they’d seen since the destruction of the StarCom.  The farmers had weapons, but he doubted that they could punch through the armour the aliens wore.  They needed heavier weapons, like the railgun rifles the Marines carried.  “You need to hide.”

“Let them come,” the farmer said.  “We hid under here when they attacked – but we won’t let them destroy the farm without a fight.”

Chapter Seven

Capricorn
27th March 2435

“Jump!”

Rubicon seemed to shudder wildly, before jumping through flux space and materialising on the outskirts of the Capricorn system.  Janine clung to the command chair as the secondary shudders ran through the ship, biting her lip to stop herself from throwing up.  The wear and tear on the flux drive had only grown worse in the three days they’d spent jumping to Capricorn, reaching the point where the Chief Engineer had strongly suggested simply removing and replacing the drive once they reached a shipyard.  Janine couldn't disagree with his suggestion, even though the beancounters at the Admiralty probably would.  Flux drives were expensive.

“Status report,” she snapped.  Her worst nightmare, the one that had haunted her sleep ever since escaping New Marseilles, was that the aliens would have beaten them to the Capricorn system.  With Rubicon in such poor condition, it was unlikely that they would escape a second time.  “Who holds this system?”

There was a pause as the tactical systems, such as they were, scanned for IFF codes.  “The UN is still in control here,” McLaughlin reported.  “I’m picking up automated challenges from observation platforms, demanding our ID codes.  They know they’re at war.”

“Send them our codes and request immediate assistance,” Janine ordered, flatly.  Standard operations procedures dictated that assistance was to be sent to any ship that declared an emergency, but this was wartime.  The UNNS ships in the system would be suspicious of any starship that purported to come from an occupied system.  “And then dump the tactical recordings to the analysts, along with your conclusions.  They need that data ASAP.”

“Aye, Commander,” McLaughlin said.  “I’m transmitting the data now.”

Janine nodded, forcing herself to relax.  Flux drives emitted a splash of flux particles, which travelled at FTL speeds; the planet and the orbiting fleet would have detected Rubicon’s arrival, even if they didn't know who was in command.  They should have dispatched starships to investigate at once, just to ensure that the newcomer wasn't an alien spy.  But this was wartime...

The tactical console sounded an alert.  “Five starships just jumped in, right on top of us,” McLaughlin reported.  “Their IFF codes mark their leader as Beagle.”

“Get me a private link to her Captain,” Janine said.  Captain Lafarge and her had been in the same class at the Luna Academy.  They might be suspicious of a single ship escaping an alien-held system, but she knew things that would prove that she wasn't in alien hands.  “Harvey – long time no see.”

“Janine,” Captain Lafarge said.  “What the hell happened to you?”

“Alien attack,” Janine said, shortly.  “Rubicon is falling apart at the seams; we need aid and assistance right this minute.”

“Right,” Lafarge said.  “And what happened on the last night of the proms?”

Janine had to smile.  “We fell asleep halfway through the performance because we were exhausted after our exams,” she said.  It hadn't been funny at the time, but in hindsight it had had its amusing side.  “And then we were woken up by one of the janitors, who made a dozen snide remarks about us making love in a private box.”

“Welcome home, Janine,” Lafarge said.  He sounded relieved.  If Rubicon had been a Trojan horse, his ships were well within engagement range.  “I believe that the Admiral will want to see you as soon as possible.”

“Send my ship the aid I need and then I can take one of the ships to the base,” Janine said.  Lafarge was right, but she wasn't going to abandon Rubicon until she was sure that her crew had the aid they needed.  “It was hellish back there, Captain.  Did the picket ships make it?”

“You’re the first survivor to reach Capricorn,” Lafarge admitted.  “And we know they took Cartage, Casanova and Ramadan too.  Your ship is the only known surviving ship.”

Janine blanched.  The aliens were advancing fast – and the UN had had no warning of what it was facing, at least until Rubicon had arrived.  “Take a look at our tactical records,” she said.  “That should tell you just what is in store for all of us.”

***
Janine had met Admiral Davidson twice, but there was no reason to expect that he would remember a mere Commander at the two annual dinners he’d held for his subordinates.  He was a short man, going bald despite access to longevity treatments that would prolong his life to around two hundred years old, with impressive political contacts.  Some rumours suggested that he would be rotated back to the Admiralty, perhaps to the Grand Admiralship itself, but no one knew for sure.  The political catfight over who would succeed Grand Admiral Ivanovo was sure to be intense.  

“Welcome home,” Davidson said, as soon as she was escorted into his office.  At least he seemed to be taking the alien attack seriously.  “I understand that it was bad...?”

“They opened fire,” Janine said.  Now she was at Capricorn, she felt almost weak at the knees, giddy with relief.  “Completely without provocation, they opened fire and tore our ships apart.”

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to concentrate.  “We were completely unprepared for their weapons, Admiral,” she added, grimly.  “My tactical officer did a basic analysis; he believes that the aliens will seek to close the range as much as possible, forcing us to face them where their energy weapons can burn through our hulls.  And if we fire missiles from long range, they can just burn them out of space.”

“My analysis team is running through the records now,” Davidson said.  He looked over at her, studying her thoughtfully.  “I’ve taken the liberty of putting you and your crew in for the Medal of Honour, a medal you thoroughly deserve after making it here.  We had no idea what we were facing until now.”

He smiled at her expression.  “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe that you had any choice, but to jump out and run,” he added.  “Some people will probably accuse you of lacking moral fibre in leaving the battle...just ignore them.  They weren't there and they probably didn't even bother to access the basic report.  The media will probably want to talk to you, but you can tell them where to go if you want.

“With the presumed death of Captain Yu, I am confirming your command of Rubicon and promoting you to Captain.  I know, Rubicon is in bad shape at the moment, but my yardmaster tells me that he thinks he can simply swap out most of the bad components and repair the damage to your ship.  One advantage of facing the alien weapons is that damage was limited outside the targeted zone.  Most of our ships are modular to allow such swapping out to actually work...”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Janine mumbled.  In truth, she had expected Rubicon to be scrapped – but if the yardmaster thought he could repair the cruiser, she would be glad to let him.  Rubicon had saved their lives and she didn't want to lose the cruiser so quickly.  “I...I don’t know what happened to the Captain.”

Davidson frowned.  “I dispatched picket ships to all of the targeted systems,” he said.  “It’s confirmed; they used nukes on Casanova, obliterating the settlements from orbit.  We must assume that they did the same to New Marseilles.  So far, they haven’t used anything beyond KEW weapons against Cartage and Ramadan, but that may change.”

Janine shook her head, puzzled.  “Why use nukes on one world – perhaps two – and not on all of them?”

“Unknown,” Davidson said.  “I don’t think it’s a population question.  Casanova’s population was greater than Cartage, but lesser than Ramadan.  The best guess is that they want to settle Casanova themselves and don’t really care about the other worlds, apart from making sure that they can't threaten their rear.”

“They must be confident of victory,” Janine said, bitterly.  Back on Earth, there had been another regime that had been so confident of victory that it had started to commit genocide without actually winning the ear first.  But they’d lost the war and now everyone knew their crimes.  “Or maybe they are just trying to provoke us.”

“It’s possible,” Davidson agreed.  He glanced down at a datapad.  “I have a tactical briefing in two hours for senior officers – you’re welcome to attend.  You’re also invited to dinner tonight – my officers will want to pick your brains.”

Janine nodded.  Any invitation from a senior officer was a command, however it was phrased.  Dinner seemed absurd after everything she’d been through, but it wasn't as if she could do anything else until Rubicon was repaired, ready to return to battle.  If the Admiral thought that his officers would benefit from hearing the news directly from her, who was she to disagree?

“Yes, sir,” she said, recognising the dismissal.  “Does Earth know about the crisis by now?”

“The Grand Admiral has put the entire Navy on alert,” Davidson confirmed.  “So far, the media has only picked up hints, but it won’t be long before those vultures know everything.  And then the feeding frenzy will really start.”

He shrugged.  “See to your ship and crew, Captain,” he added.  “It won’t be long before the aliens come for us.”

***
The tactical briefing compartment was large enough to hold nearly a thousand officers – and, the last time she’d visited Capricorn, it had been full to bursting.  Now, most of the officers were attending via hologram, unwilling to leave their ships in case the enemy – the unnamed enemy – decided to attack the Capricorn system.  It was only two jumps from Ramadan or Casanova to Capricorn; there was no reason why the enemy would delay their advance longer than a few days.  The longer they waited, the better-prepared the UN would be.

“Attention on deck,” Davidson snapped, and the chatter died down.  “Commander Parkinson of Tactical Analysis will present the results of her department’s studies.”

Commander Gillian Parkinson was a young girl, sidelined into Tactical Analysis – according to her file – because she might have been a genius, but she lacked the discipline to live on a starship as a line officer.  There was no questioning her genius, however, and she had a growing reputation as a superb analyst.  If anyone could study the files and parse out an alien weakness, it was her.

“Principle analysis noted that the alien weapons appear to be incredibly powerful energy beams, termed ‘death rays’ by Commander McLaughlin,” Gillian said.  That, at least, was obvious from the records.  “Studies of Rubicon’s hull suggest that the weapons burn through hull metal with terrifying speed, but don’t seem to induce fission or anything that causes the effect to spread.  The destruction of Invincible, at least in part, suggests that the beams detonated supplies of starfighter weapons and caused one of the fusion plants to blow.  These weapons are astonishingly powerful, but survivable.  

“Judging from the range they chose to engage Admiral Hanson and his task force, the weapons are also surprisingly short-ranged.  Our best guess is that the energy fields they use to generate the weapons fade fairly quickly, which indicates that the aliens have to close to mid-range missile range to engage our ships.  On the downside, they can use their weapons as a form of point defence, sweeping our missiles out of the sky with ease.  There are no indications that any of the alien ships were damaged during the engagement at New Marseilles.”

Janine felt the rustle that ran through the compartment.  They had all grown up in a universe where the United Nations Naval Service was the most powerful military force in the known galaxy, yet five alien craft of unknown origin had ripped apart an assault carrier and its escorts within minutes.  Invincible hadn't even had a chance to launch her fighters before the aliens took out the launch bays, which was interesting.  It suggested that they had some reason to fear fighters.

“What we have determined is that the alien craft appear to have a weak spot,” Gillian continued.  “They appear to be capable of firing from any point on their hull, apart from the very rear.  We don't know for sure, because they never needed to fire from the rear, but looking at their formation it suggests that they intended to cover each other in case we got into a position to take advantage of their weakness.  It seems likely that starfighters can slip into the blind spot and engage an enemy vessel from the rear.”

There was a long pause.  “To complicate matters, it appears that the aliens possess superior stealth technology and drive technology.  Their drive system is considerably more advanced than our own, suggesting that it may not be possible to prevent the aliens from closing into firing range, should they decide to press the issue.  We saw no sign of starfighters, but they should certainly possess the technology to produce them; we have to warn that it is quite likely that they will deploy them in later battles.”

“But the Polis can't have starfighters,” one of the Captains – a man Janine didn't know – pointed out.  The spider-like aliens were simply too large to fit into a standard starfighter cockpit; besides, they were intensely social beings and hated being alone.  “Maybe these aliens are the same.”

“There’s no way to know,” Gillian admitted.  “All we can really do is warn that they may have starfighters, ones more advanced than our own.  Given their technology, we cannot assume that we have seen all of their surprises.  Their flux drives may be more capable than ours, allowing them to break the five light year limit.  They may have weapons that work at longer ranges than we’ve seen.  There’s no way to know until we encounter them.”

And whoever encounters them may not last long enough to return home, Janine thought, coldly.  Admiral Davidson took the stand and looked around, grimly.

“You’ve all seen the records from New Marseilles,” he said, flatly.  “Admiral Hanson and his task force were caught by surprise – and almost wiped out.  But now we know what the aliens can do and we intend to take advantage of our starfighters – which may be our sole advantage – and other technology to convince the aliens that they have messed with the wrong race.  We will stop them.  We have to stop them.”

He tapped a control and the images from Casanova appeared in front of them.  “This was once a proud colony, home to five million humans,” he said.  “Now, the unknowns have targeted human cities and destroyed them.  They have almost completely wiped out the human population on Casanova – and there is nothing stopping them from doing the same to Cartage or Ramadan.  We do not know what conditions on the surface are like; we don't know if they have landed an occupation force, or if they have simply decided to ignore the humans until they have won the war.  We do know that they have murdered five million human civilians, people who could not hope to defend themselves.

“I don't know why this war started.  I don't know if they intend to conquer us, or if they have been given offense in some manner.  And I don’t care.  Whatever the origin of this war, they have made it clear that human populations are expendable, to be eradicated whenever they choose.  There is no way to surrender – and even if we did surrender, what guarantee would we have that the surrender would be honoured?

“It's been nearly forty-five years since we defeated the Magana and reduced their empire to a single world.  Since then, we have enjoyed the luxury of peace and power, the freedom to decide matters carefully, calmly – and morally.  That luxury ended when the aliens attacked New Marseilles; right now, we are in a war for survival.  We have no choice, but to assume the worst – and fight until we beat them or they beat us.  There are no signs that we can share the same universe with them.

“This is going to be bad.  Worse than the Dispute, worse than the Magana War, worse even than the Wrecker War before we made it out of our own star system.  But we are going to keep fighting, we are going to hold the line against these bastards and we are going to win.  Never doubt that we will win.”

The compartment erupted into cheers.  Janine was surprised; she wouldn't have expected such a speech from Admiral Davidson.  But he was right; this was going to be a bitter war, no matter the cause.  She’d admitted as much to her own crew.  

She watched as the Admiral briefly discussed command assignments.  Small units would be dispatched to cover the other systems in the sector, while the main body of the fleet would remain concentrated at Capricorn, ready to advance forward to meet the enemy or stand off an assault on Capricorn itself.  She had no illusions – and none of the other officers had them any longer – about how hard it would be to stop an alien offensive.  Those fearsome energy weapons would tear human ships apart like paper, if they got into range.  And remaining outside the alien range might be impossible.  

Shaking her head, she pulled her datapad out of her pocket and checked on the yardmaster’s report.  Rubicon would be in the yard for two weeks, but she could be repaired and put back on the front line.  The Admiral had apparently already authorised the work, either out of a sense that allowing Rubicon to be scrapped would be another alien victory, or out of a belief that he needed as many starships as possible.  

The Admiral strode out of the compartment, followed by the holograms flickering out of existence.  Janine watched them go, wondering – grimly – just how many of them would be alive by the end of the week.  Admiral Hanson’s force had been wiped out – and few task forces were more powerful.  Forewarned might not be forearmed when the aliens were so terrifyingly advanced.

Chapter Eight

Luna
28th March 2435

The United Nations Security Council met in an isolated chamber buried under the lunar soil, several kilometres from the General Assembly.  It’s precise location was classified, which was all that had stopped the peace protesters from gathering outside it – as they had outside the General Assembly, the Admiralty and a dozen other buildings.  Enough had leaked out over the past few days to convince the public that the United Nations was going to war, even though no one outside the military fully understood just how dire the situation was.  Nor, Ivanovo reflected, did they realise that the UNNS didn't want the war.  No one who had seen war wanted to see more of it.

He glanced around the chamber at the ambassadors from a dozen different worlds and political blocs; between them, they paid nearly eighty percent of the UN’s running costs.  The other sources of funds – the limited taxes on interstellar shipping and the StarCom network – simply didn't provide enough to keep the institution running, although they did provide a limited stability if one or more of the great powers chose to withhold funds for several months.  Between them, they effectively ran the United Nations, something that the smaller blocs and planets resented hugely.  But they wouldn't share power unless the costs were also shared.  Humanity had learned that bitter lesson before the Traders had arrived at Earth to offer humanity the keys to the stars.

“The chamber is sealed,” the Secretary-General announced.  Like all of the major posts, it rotated between the great powers, even though it was little more than a sinecure for a major Ambassador.  The Secretary-General chaired the meetings and little else.  He didn’t even get a vote.  “This meeting of the United Nations Security Council is hereby called to order.”

There was a pause.  Most of the representatives would have heard rumours as well as the terse official war warning from the UNNS, but they wouldn’t know everything.  The UNNS had refrained from broadcasting anything while the Ambassadors gathered in the chamber, a tradition that the Ambassadors resented, but refused to alter.  It would have given those who lived closer to Earth a major advantage in the political struggles to determine the course of the war – if they could determine the course of the war.  Very little from the analysts have been reassuring.  In fact, the reports had been downright terrifying.

“Grand Admiral Ivanovo has the stand,” the Secretary-General continued.  “Admiral, if you would...?”

Ivanovo stepped forward.  “As you were informed, there was a hostile alien contact five days ago at New Marseilles,” he said.  “The contact was only briefly reported before we lost contact, indicating that the StarCom in orbit around the planet was destroyed – along with the entire squadron.  Since then, three more worlds have been attacked – and one of the starships from the original squadron has returned to Capricorn.  We now know that the situation has become graver than the attack on Shepherd’s Folly or the Battle of New Tyson.”

He watched as the Ambassadors exchanged glances.  Shepherd’s Folly had been destroyed by the Communist faction in the Sutra Civil War, caught in the crossfire between the two forces.  It had convinced the UN to offer its support to the Royalists in the Sutra Empire.  And New Tyson had been a joint colony world with the Polis before the Magana had bombarded it from orbit before landing to exterminate the remaining colonists.  It had dragged the United Nations into the longest and bloodiest war in its history.

“The aliens posses technology significantly more advanced than our own,” he continued.  “They were able to destroy two squadrons before their commanders were able to withdraw or adapt to face the alien technology.  Only one ship survived to return to Capricorn.  I should not have to remind you that that indicates that the aliens are vastly more powerful and dangerous than our previous threats.  Observe.”

He used his implants to activate the room’s automated processor and the holographic image of the Battle of New Marseilles appeared in front of them.  The Ambassadors watched in horror as the alien ships arrived, destroyed the StarCom and then wiped out the entire UN squadron in orbit around the planet.  By the time UNS Rubicon jumped out, the remainder of the squadron had been destroyed.  The UNNS had lost smaller ships in the golden age between the Magana War and the present day, but no carrier had been lost in combat since the final battles around the Magana homeworld.  And the analysts had suggested that the aliens, even if they didn't deploy starfighters themselves, were well aware of what they could do.  They’d certainly acted quickly to prevent Invincible from deploying her birds.

“The time between firing the first shot and the destruction of the squadron was five minutes, seventeen seconds,” Ivanovo said.  The Ambassadors looked deeply shocked.  They’d all grown up in a universe where they were the lords and masters of creation.  No other race could match the UN’s weapons and fleets, not until now.  Even the WE WHO ARE would have thought twice about picking a fight with the human race.  But the newcomers hadn't even hesitated before engaging the UN squadron at New Marseilles.  “That battle was considerably shorter than any other engagement involving a comparable squadron.”

The Ambassador from Ego broke the silence.  “But why?”  He demanded.  “What do they want?”

“Unknown,” Ivanovo admitted.  The analysts hadn’t been able to offer any suggestions either, apart from the vague possibility that they’d found the First Contact package insulting somehow.  Ivanovo didn't find that too likely; logically, the aliens should share humanity’s understanding of mathematics and the surrounding physical laws, even if they were too alien to recognise humanity as an intelligent race.  “As far as we can tell, they simply jumped in, closed to engagement range and opened fire, without provocation.”

“It is possible that they were attacked by a Rogue World or a Sooner colony,” the Ambassador from New Paris suggested.  He looked deeply shocked; New Marseilles had been founded by the French bloc and would have eventually given them more influence in the General Assembly.  They’d been careful to ensure that even formal internal independence wouldn't cut the ties between New Marseilles and the older French-ethnic worlds.  “They might have believed the human race to be monsters if their first contact was with a bunch of pirates.”

“It’s possible,” Ivanovo agreed.  Personally, he would have thought that the aliens would at least have tried to make contact first, just to confirm that the entire United Nations was as evil as any pirate crew.  If they thought that something the size of the UN was governed by pirates, they might be justified in launching a preemptive strike.  But there was no way to know for sure.  “I believe that we will certainly attempt to establish communications, but we cannot count on coming to terms with them.”

He hesitated.  “Admiral Davidson ordered pickets to carry out fly-through missions,” he added.  “They confirm that both New Marseilles and Casanova were nuked from orbit by the aliens, exterminating most of their civilian population.  The pickets were unable to establish any links with the remainder of human forces on the surface.  We may have to assume that the populations of both worlds have been completely eradicated by the aliens.”

There was a long moment as that sunk in.  “Both Ramadan and Cartage haven’t been nuked, but at the last report the aliens were still holding positions in orbit and all planetary defence centres – along with spaceports and communicators – have been destroyed.  We must assume that those worlds are being preserved as hostages, although we don't understand why – if that is the case – the aliens struck either of the depopulated worlds.”

“Maybe they want the worlds themselves,” the Ambassador from New Moscow grated.  “Admiral, we need a honest opinion.  Can we beat these aliens?”

“Maybe,” Ivanovo admitted.  “Their death rays – as the analysts have started to call them – give them a considerable advantage against our capital ships.  In order to launch missiles at their hulls, we would have to close to ranges that would allow them to burn our ships out of the sky.  On the other hand, we have no idea how well they will be able to cope with starfighters – and now we know that they can do something, we can work on duplicating their technology for ourselves.  Knowing that something is possible is half the battle of duplicating it.

“I’ve ordered the Navy to concentrate on reinforcing Admiral Davidson and setting up fallback lines along the direct route to Earth.  In two weeks, an additional two thousand starships and hundreds of thousands of starfighters will be on their way to the border.  At the same time, Survey Command has been ordered to start probing the area of space we believe the aliens to originate.  Once we locate some of their worlds, we will be in a better position to take the fight to them.  Until then, we must stand on the defensive.

“The real problem is that the aliens may have captured copies of interstellar navigational charts from the occupied worlds,” he concluded.  “Standard procedure is to wipe and then destroy computer cores on military starships, but it is possible that the aliens have recovered interstellar charts from civilian facilities on the ground.  If that is the case, they know the location of our major worlds and military installations.  They can use that data to determine when and where to hit next.”

There was a long silence.  “But surely that wouldn't be enough to allow them to invade the core worlds,” the Ambassador from Britannia said.  “And the UN is huge.  They’d realise just how large a civilisation they were fighting.”

“They’d know where to start looking for our worlds,” Ivanovo said, grimly.  And if they thought about the underpinnings of the human economy, he added in the privacy of his own mind, they might realise where to hit to cause maximum pain.  “And we know nothing about the size of their empire.  We might be fighting an enemy race that spans half the galaxy.”

It wasn't too likely, he knew, but the thought had concentrated a few minds.  “I would like to declare a formal state of military emergency across the entire United Nations and start commandeering civilian shipping to evacuate threatened worlds,” he concluded.  “Right now, there are millions of humans on the front line who we cannot protect, not without exposing limited forces to superior alien ships.  I want to evacuate most of those worlds, allowing us to concentrate our forces on the more important systems.”

The debate raged for nearly an hour.  Ivanovo listened, without saying anything, as the politicians argued, trying to put together a compromise they could take to the General Assembly and stuff down its collective throat.  Some of them were worried that granting the UNNS blanket powers – as laid down in the procedures for a state of emergency – would come back to haunt them, others worried that pulling freighters off the interstellar trade routes would cause a major economic depression.  That was a more significant concern, Ivanovo had to admit, but once the United Nations realised that the first clashes between humanity and its newest foe had been utter defeats, there was likely to be an economic depression anyway.  The first rumblings could already be seen as rumours spread across the UN, rumours that were nowhere near as bad as the truth.

Eventually, they put together a compromise.  “You will have your state of emergency, Admiral,” the Ambassador from New Washington stated, “but you will only have limited powers to commandeer shipping, mainly in the threatened regions of space.  We cannot offer you anything else.”

“I understand,” Ivanovo said.  It was stupid, but politics took precedence over everything, even fighting a war against an alien race that seemed to be bent on genocide.  “It will have to be announced in the General Assembly, of course.”

“We have already summoned the General Assembly to meet in two hours,” the Ambassador said, grimly.  He wasn’t looking forward to the coming catfight either.  The Security Council might have the collective power to ride roughshod over the rest of the General Assembly, but it wouldn’t stop the weaker powers from complaining, filibustering and otherwise delaying matters for several hours.  “After that, the footage from New Marseilles can be formally released.”

“Of course,” Ivanovo agreed, dryly.  “You may also wish to notify your worlds that we might have to call up the self-defence forces.  This war is going to be long and nasty.”

He watched the politicians as they filed out of the chamber, heading to the interstellar communications node so they could pass on the information to their homeworlds before anything else.  Once, it would have bothered him to watch them taking political advantage of the most disastrous military encounter in the United Nation’s long history, but he was more cynical these days.  Besides, he needed to keep them all focused on the threat.  No matter what he’d said to them, and what the analysts had suggested, he knew that the next encounter between humanity and the unknowns was likely to be just as bad.  At some point, the disparity in technology would be so insurmountable that all the lesser race could do was die bravely.  He couldn't avoid wondering if humanity had finally encountered someone so much more advanced than themselves that the entire race was doomed.

Shaking his head, he stood up and headed to the fresher.  He’d be needed in the General Assembly, once the lesser politicians realised what had happened.   Maybe they’d take the threat more seriously.  Most of them only had one world to lose.

***
The media had been, technically, barred from the emergency session of the General Assembly, but Hind had managed to call in a couple of favours and accompany the Ambassador from Medina as he walked into the chamber.  Each of the Ambassadors was entitled to bring two assistants with him and none of the guards questioned why he’d chosen to bring a woman they hadn't seen before to the session.  Inside the vast chamber, she sat down behind the Ambassador and watched as it filled up with the representatives of humanity’s worlds and nations.  The thought had once thrilled her before she realised that the General Assembly was dominated by a set of power blocs that could force whatever they wanted through the Assembly, if they saw fit to exercise their power.  But even with their vast power, there were limits; there were times when she wondered if the General Assembly was little more than a rubber stamp for planetary politics.  

In the centre of the room, the Secretary-General gavelled for silence and activated the holographic display.  Hind watched in horror as alien starships – strikingly advanced alien starships, shaped like massive teardrops – systematically tore a UN squadron apart.  The Grand Admiral’s brief announcement that two worlds had been nuked, effectively depopulated, by the aliens fell on a terrified chamber.  Quite a few of the Ambassadors represented worlds that might be under threat.  

Pushed by the Security Council, the declaration of a state of emergency went through the chamber in record time, with only a handful of Ambassadors rising to declare their opposition to the declaration.  Hind rolled her eyes at some of their objections, wondering just how they hoped to get re-elected by their people.  The media’s rumours would turn to cold dispassionate facts once the footage from New Marseilles had been released, prompting panic all over the United Nations.  If the aliens could obliterate a UN task force in five minutes, how long would it take them to penetrate the inner colonies and reach Earth?  Logically, it would take them upwards of three months to reach the core worlds, but what if they had a better flux drive than humanity?

The only measure that showed promise was a suggestion from the Ambassador from Terra Nova to send a diplomatic mission to the aliens.  Perhaps the first contact had gone horrifically wrong, he suggested, somehow managing to imply that corporate interests had managed to deliberately trigger a war with the aliens.  He might have had a point, Hind suspected, except that the corporations would have to be insane.  Starting a fight with an alien race as an excuse to tighten control over the United Nations would only work if the aliens could actually be beaten by the United Nations.  Added to the outraged shock from Pacifica, whose delegate loudly proclaimed that all thinking beings must want peace, the motion passed through the General Assembly without major opposition.  Hint just hoped that the aliens would listen to the diplomats rather than simply blowing them out of space.

She thanked the Ambassador as the session ended and headed off to call her editor.  “They’re making the formal announcement now,” he confirmed.  Unsurprisingly; the General Assemblymen would probably have started talking to their tame reporters already, even if she had been the only reporter in the chamber.  “We’ll get in the request for you to be embedded right now.”

“Thanks,” Hind said, sardonically.  After watching the footage from New Marseilles, she was having second thoughts about the wisdom of embedding with the military.  But she couldn't back out now.  “Let me know when you want my report on the session.”

“And then go talk to the RockRats,” her editor suggested.  “If anyone has explored far enough into interstellar space to find the aliens, it’s them.  And you know that the General Assembly isn't likely to send them a formal request for information.”

Hind nodded.  The RockRats refused to be cowed by the General Assembly, which was part of the reason they had never been invited to send their own delegates.  That, and the fear that they were rich enough to become an instant superpower in the political field.

“I’ll do it,” she said.  “You just watch the screens.”

Chapter Nine

Cadiz System
13th April 2435

“Keep in line,” Sergeant Jackson King bellowed.  “Keep in line; leave everything behind unless it is essential!”

He scowled at the long line of refugees as they made their way to the light freighter and the shuttles on the ground.  Cadiz had over three million civilians on the ground and he doubted that the UNNS would succeed in lifting them all out of the system before the aliens attacked, even though the aliens hadn't shown themselves since the attack on Casanova.  But Cadiz was on a direct line from New Marseilles to Capricorn and everyone knew that it was just a matter of time before the aliens attacked, punched out the orbital industrial nodes and bombarded the planet into submission.

The long line of refugees were mainly women and children – and a number of elderly citizens.  After what had happened to Casanova and New Marseilles, the local government had declared martial law and conscripted every able-bodied man on the planet, sending them to makeshift training camps well away from the cities.  Children – and their mothers – were being prioritised for evacuation, splitting up families as they departed their former homeworld.  Jackson had already watched a number of agonising moments as parents said goodbye to their children, if they were unlucky and they hadn't been allocated shared space on a shuttle or one of the light freighters.  There was no way to know just what would happen once the freighters reached Capricorn; Jackson had an uneasy feeling that preparations to receive the refugees would be utterly shambolic.  

At least they had the authority to use stunners if necessary.  He didn't mind the women saying goodbye to their children, but some of the others were completely insane.  One woman had turned up with a massive pile bags she expected to be carried to orbit, as if the Marines could spare a couple of shuttles from the massive evacuation.  The woman had been the wife of one of the planet’s senior officials and she’d protested loudly, threatening the Marines with every punishment in the book, before she’d been stunned and dropped in the makeshift prison camp they’d had to establish for rioters.  No doubt it would return to haunt them, Jackson had thought at the time, but for the moment it would keep her away from the Marines.  Her bags had been abandoned with the other bags, added to the growing mountain of stuff people had tried to bring with them.  The stragglers who had refused to leave their world would probably end up looting it.  

A dull hum rose up as one of the shuttles lifted off the ground and headed for orbit, followed by another.  There were nearly seventy bulk freighters in orbit around Cadiz, their life support systems hastily jury-rigged to take as many passengers in their cargo holds as possible.  Once full, they would jump out to Capricorn and deposit the refugees there – and God alone knew what would happen to them next.  Rumour had it that a Marine team had had to be assigned to each of the freighters, just to ensure that the refugees didn't riot or that the freighter commanders didn't take them to a hidden pirate base and sell them into slavery.  The grapevine was notoriously inaccurate, but this was one rumour Jackson was prepared to believe.  Given the way some of the refugees had bitched and moaned to the Marines, it was quite likely that some freighter crews would be tempted to open their hulls and space the lot of them.  

“Got a prospective riot here,” Lieutenant Singh sent.  The Marines had established a defence line around the spaceport, trying to discourage the population from trying to board the shuttles until it was their turn to be taken off the planet.  But – naturally – most of the city’s population had started to camp outside the spaceport, hoping – praying – that there would be a chance to leave earlier.  “Platoons two and three; move to backup one.”

Jackson nodded as he jogged away from the shuttles, followed by the remainder of platoon two.  The planners hadn't assigned more than five Marine companies – five hundred Marines – to the evacuation team, leaving them thinly spread all over the planet.  Forty Marines could hold the spaceport against all threats, if they opened fire on civilians – and he knew that no one, from Major Vander on down, wanted to cause a massacre.  Like most frontier worlds, Cadiz had a very relaxed attitude to civilian weapons, which meant that the refugees were likely to be armed to the teeth.  The Marines had already confiscated vast amounts of weapons from refugees before allowing them to board the shuttles.  

He heard the sound as they approached the barrier the Marines had set up to keep people from swarming onto the landing field.  Thousands of women were pressing against the barrier, ignoring the electric shocks that were meant to discourage people from trying to knock it down by force.  Or, more likely, those touching the barrier were being pushed against it by their fellows.  The Marines didn't get much training in how to deal with riots on Mars, but their brief refresher course had given Jackson nightmares.  It only needed one scared PFC to open fire and slaughter dozens of helpless civilians.

Lieutenant Singh was a dark-skinned man wearing standard combat uniform and carrying knife at his belt.  Platoon one was deployed in front of him, trying to keep the civilians from rushing through the spaceport terminal and onto the landing field.  It didn't look as though they were going to be able to hold the line much longer, even though they held their weapons at the ready.  The crowd had started to panic and their panic would drive them onwards, even if some of them were smart enough to realise that charging armed Marines was not a good idea.  

“Get ready to deploy the riot form,” Singh ordered, as Jackson stopped in front of him.  “We’re going to need it – and the water.”

Jackson directed a pair of Marines to the hose and led the remainder over to where they’d stocked the riot form blasters.  Using them was technically illegal unless authorised by superior officers, because targets had been known to choke and suffocate to death during previous riots, but Singh didn’t seem to have much choice.  He picked up a blaster and its tank just as the barrier finally collapsed and the crowd surged forward, heading for the two shuttles that were just landing.  Jackson cursed as he saw that several of them were carrying weapons.  The last thing anyone needed was a gunfight in the spaceport.  It was all too possible that innocent people would be hurt.

He pointed the blaster at the crowd and opened fire, spraying their legs with riot form.  The foam hardened with astonishing speed, sticking the crowd to the ground and trapping their arms and legs.  A handful fell to the ground, their faces buried in the foam, and he cursed, directing the backup team to pull them out before they suffocated.  The remainder were either stuck or pushed back as the Marines with the water cannon turned them on the rioters.  

“Damn it,” he muttered, as the riot died away.  Now they would have to effectively arrest the entire crowd.  No doubt the ones who had started the riot would complain that they had been mistreated.  “Why didn’t they just listen to instructions?”

He glanced up as another flight of shuttles came in to land.  Maybe they could get everyone out in time, just maybe.  If the aliens held off long enough...

***
“There was a brief riot down at the main spaceport,” the liaison officer said.  “The Marines have it under control, but it’s delayed the evacuation schedule by at least forty minutes.”

“Tell them to expedite if possible,” Paul ordered.  They’d worked out a schedule for moving as many colonists as possible from Cadiz, along with the other threatened worlds, but the most optimistic estimate was that it would take two to three months to evacuate the entire planet.  And that rather assumed that the UN would have the shipping to move them out.  Triumphant and her task force had a vast amount of tonnage at their disposal, but it wasn't configured for moving people around the universe.  Besides, putting civilian refuges on the fleet carrier would make it harder for them to carry out their mission.  “And send out another set of recon fighters.  I don’t want anything sniffing around this system.”

He looked over at the main display and shook his head.  Triumphant had been reinforced, to the tune of three escort carriers and a handful of light cruisers, but after seeing the footage from New Marseilles he would have preferred the entire Home Fleet.  The task force was exercising heavily when it wasn't involved in supervising the evacuation, yet the footage suggested that if the starfighters couldn't hold the aliens, they would have no choice, but to abandon the planet and jump out to Capricorn.

“Director Carrere reports that the production of mines and missiles has been expanded,” the liaison officer added.  “He would like permission to start deploying mines into high orbit.”

“Granted,” Paul said, “but tell him to make damn sure that his mines have our IFF codes in their databanks.  I don’t want to accidentally lose a ship to our own mines.”

The thought made him snort.  Mines were rarely useful in interstellar combat, if only because covering all of the possible angles of approach would require millions of Marines.  But if they were deployed in orbit around Cadiz, it was just possible that the aliens would run into them as they entered orbit.  Just possible...but was it enough to justify the resources being poured into mine production?  Ideally, he would have preferred to dismantle the industrial nodes and move them away from Cadiz, yet that would have delayed the main evacuation effort.  Besides, as the director had pointed out, if everything went well they could leave the mines behind as a nasty surprise for the aliens.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the console that linked to the Marine team that had deployed with Cadiz’s militia.  Unsurprisingly, in light of the reports from Casanova and New Marseilles, the local government was trying to arm everyone and scatter them around the planet, enough to make it tricky for the enemy to destroy them all from orbit.  The Marine report stated that the makeshift military course was working out about as well as could be expected, but it would be a long time before the government made soldiers out of its conscripts.  Paul privately doubted that it would have any effect on the war – standard doctrine was to blast anything even remotely threatening from orbit – yet it was the only thing the government could do.  And besides, it might just tie up the aliens if invasion and settlement was their goal.

The puzzle kept nagging at him as he waited for something to happen.  If the aliens had used nukes on two planets, why hadn't they used them on four?  They couldn't be squeamish about wiping out vast numbers of humans, could they?  Or was there some particular reason why they’d singled out New Marseilles and Casanova for special attention?  Could it be that they’d assumed that the four worlds they’d invaded were all that humanity possessed?  But that didn't make sense either.  If they had counted the number of humans in the four star systems, they were unlikely to believe that one of them was humanity’s homeworld.  Earth’s population, despite everything the UN could do to discourage it, was over nine billion humans.  The entire population of all four worlds would vanish like a drop in a bucket compared to Earth.

But the enemy were aliens – and yet humanity had managed to understand the spider-like Polis, or even the machine race of WE WHO ARE.  Surely their thought processes couldn't be that alien, could they?

***
“Your mission is to maintain a CSP around the freighters as they reach safe distance from the planet for jumping out,” the CAG announced.  Flight Captain Connie Chung nodded impatiently as they endured the briefing, which was largely identical to the last five briefings they’d sat through.  “In the event of any trouble, you are to provide support to the evacuation coordinators as the situation dictates.”

There were some uncomfortable looks at that order.  So far, the evacuation had proceeded smoothly, but herding freighter pilots was like herding cats.  Some of them had balked at the thought of loading their freighters with refugees, even though the UNNS would be picking up the tab and bringing pressure to bear on insurers and banks.  It was hard to blame some of the freighter crews – if they didn't make their payments on schedule, they were likely to lose their ships to the bankers – but there was no time for it.  If worst came to worst, the starfighters would have to fire into a freighter to prevent it from jumping out, followed by the Marines boarding her.  And if that happened, the rest of the freighter crews were likely to panic and jump out themselves.

“Launch in ten minutes,” she ordered, once the CAG had finished his briefing.  At least flight duties would take them away from the rumour mill – and the speculation about what would happen when the mysterious aliens finally showed themselves.  They’d all seen the footage from New Marseilles, and endured the constant barrage of ill-informed speculation from the media.  No doubt their investors profited by the panic the media had caused on nearly a hundred threatened worlds.  “Try not to be late.”

She was still smiling at the thought as she led the way down to the launch tubes and climbed into her starfighter.  The flight crew had armed the Dragon with antishipping missiles, a reflection of the belief that the aliens didn't have starfighters themselves – but then, with their powerful weapons, did they need starfighters?  Connie and her squadron had run through a dozen simulations of battles with the aliens, yet there were so many unanswered questions that she knew that it would be impossible to know what it would be like until they fought the aliens for real.  And how many of her squadron mates would survive their first encounter?

“Decks clear,” the launch bay officer said.  “Launch in five, four, three...”

Connie braced herself as the Dragon rocketed out of the launch tube and into open space, angling away from the massive fleet carrier.  The remainder of the squadron followed her as they plunged into the endless darkness of space, before turning and heading down towards the planet.  She kept one eye on the live feed from the starships and orbital sensor probes in orbit around the planet, tracking the freighters and warships as they continued the evacuation.  A dozen shuttles were rising up towards a large freighter, one whose commander had already nearly jumped the gun twice.  There was a reason a pair of Marine gunboats were position nearby.

“Form up on me,” she ordered.  Two other freighters were heading away from the planet, out to a safe distance where they could jump without the planet’s gravity well screwing up the calculations.  The starfighters angled closer, then split up into three formations as they passed the freighters, before settling down into escort formation.  Both of the freighters seemed to be wallowing, their drives red-lined by the mass of so many additional passengers in hulls.   Connie could only hope that the life support would last long enough to get them to Capricorn or another habitable world.  The average freighter was always pushing the margins of life support, no matter what regulations said.  Replacing a life support unit was expensive and the cost had been known to ruin spacers.  “And...”

Her voice broke off as they received an emergency message.  “Attention, we are picking up unidentified contacts entering the system,” the CAG said.  “I say again, we are picking up unidentified contacts entering the system.”

Connie swallowed hard as she glanced down at her HUD.  Red icons were jumping into the system, several hundred thousand kilometres from Cadiz itself.  They could be freighters coming to aid the evacuation, but somehow she doubted it, not in that formation.  That formation suggested a group of spacecraft intent on invading the system.  

“Understood,” she said.  By now, the picket ships would be on their way to intercept the intruders.  They would get a visual of their hulls before they were forced to retreat.  “Blue squadron, prepare to alter course and engage the enemy.”

“This is the Admiral,” a new voice said.  “All freighters, jump out and scatter; I say again, jump out and scatter.”

Connie’s starfighter shook as the gravity waves from the freighters struck her hull, just as they jumped out to Capricorn.  Hopefully, they would be far enough from the planet not to wind up somewhere unexpected.  The other freighters in orbit were also abandoning Cadiz, even as the remaining shuttles altered course towards the fleet carrier.  Triumphant would be able to carry them out of the system, assuming that she wasn't ripped apart like Invincible.  The refuges might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire.

“I have a visual,” the picket ship commander snapped.  “I confirm alien contact; I say again, I confirm...”

His voice vanished; a moment later, the sensor network confirmed his craft’s destruction.  The remaining picket ships were pulling back as the starfighters formed up, ready to engage the aliens.  Connie winced as she studied the alien formation, realising just how fast they were in normal space.  Starfighters were faster, but the aliens could run down any capital ship they chose – and they were on a direct course for Triumphant.

“This system is under attack,” the Admiral said.  “All starfighters, break and attack; I say again, all starfighters break and attack.”

“Understood,” Connie said.  “Blue squadron, form up on me and prepare to kick some alien butt!”

Chapter Ten

Cadiz System
13th April 2435

“Pull the Marines off the planet,” Paul ordered, as the alien craft came into view on the main display.  The task force was already accelerating away from Cadiz, ready to engage the enemy in open space – and jump out if the aliens proved too much for them.  There were only five alien ships, compared to the seventeen he had under his command, but he couldn't assume that numbers alone would give him an advantage.  “Warn the local government to abandon the cities now.”

“The Marines are reporting a second round of riots,” the liaison officer said.  “The cities are collapsing into chaos.”

With everyone who remained now convinced that they made a deadly mistake, Paul thought, sourly.  Civilians!  “Order them to pull out,” he said, flatly.  “I don’t want to leave a single Marine on the planet if we cannot hold the orbitals.”

He looked back at the image of the alien ships – and the starfighters racing towards them.  Five ships...was that the size of a standard alien squadron, or was it all the aliens believed they needed to take out Cadiz?  Given what they’d done to Invincible and her squadron, they might well be right.  

“And then evacuate the orbital installations, setting the self-destruct systems as we go,” he added.  The aliens probably didn't need a look at humanity’s tech, but there was no point in taking the chance.  “I want all of those personnel pulled out of the system before we go.”

***
“I can't get a good lock on the bastards,” one of the starfighter pilots said, as they closed to engagement range.  “I think they’re scattering our sensors somehow.”

“Just aim for where they have to be,” Connie advised, dryly.  Standard starfighter doctrine involved closing to point-blank range before launching torpedoes, but the aliens possessed enough firepower to make that a dicey proposition.  God alone knew how their weapons would fare against the starfighters, yet everyone agreed that it was going to be bad.  “Besides...”

“This is Ivan,” the strike commander said.  “On my mark, break and enter chaotic formation; I say again, break and enter chaotic formation.  Mark!”

Connie threw the starfighter into a random spin as they entered the enemy’s engagement range.  A moment later, a streak of brilliant yellow light shot past her starfighter, missing by only a handful of metres.  The alien craft were firing rapidly, their beams swinging around to catch the starfighters as they ducked and weaved desperately – and every hit wiped a starfighter out of existence.  At least they didn't seem to be prepared for starfighters, or they might have obliterated the entire wing as the starfighters closed to engagement range.  But they’d already done enough damage to significantly weaken the starfighter attack.  Over two hundred pilots had been picked off before they could escape.  

“Entering engagement range now,” she reported.  “Fox two; I say again, fox two!”

There was an answering rumble from the other pilots as they fired their torpedoes towards the alien craft.  The alien craft desperately tried to wipe out the torpedoes, scything through them with their deadly energy weapons, but a handful of torpedoes survived to crash into their hull.  Connie whooped with delight as the alien craft staggered, clearly wounded, before a second set of torpedoes detonated inside their hull.  A series of explosions ran through the alien craft and blew it apart into space debris.

“We got one,” she yelled, in delight.  Another alien craft had been damaged, but the remaining craft were still advancing on the planet.  Now alive to the threat that the starfighters represented, the aliens were firing madly, blazing them out of the sky as they tried to close in for another attack run.  “Form up on me and prepare to engage the lead alien craft.”

The strike commander was dead, along with two other squadron commanders.  It struck her, suddenly, that she was the senior officer in command of what remained of three entire wings of starfighters, which had been so badly decimated that all of the pre-war formations had been destroyed.  Starfighter pilots were flying with whatever wingmen they could find, no matter which wing or squadron they belonged to.  All of their organisation had been effectively shattered.

“Group one, distract them from the front,” she ordered, using her HUD to designate starfighters.  It was a desperate strategy, barely enough to get a coherent attack out of what remained of the once-proud starfighters from Triumphant.  “Group two, attempt to slip into their blind spot and engage their rears.”

The Dragon seemed to shudder as they lanced ahead, trying to come up on the aliens from behind.  If she was reading the data right, Connie told herself, the aliens did have a blind spot to their rear.  Unfortunately, the aliens seemed to know it and had positioned themselves so that one craft could cover another’s blind spot.  At least their weapons didn't seem to be so precise against starfighters, thankfully, or perhaps the constant evasion was making it impossible for them to target the tiny craft.  The starfighters slid into the blind spot, locked their weapons on target and opened fire.  A second alien craft died in a brilliant fireball.

“Two down, one crippled,” a pilot cheered.  “We can do this!”

Connie shuddered at the thought.  There were barely forty starfighters left – and they had shot all of their torpedoes.  “Return to the barn,” she ordered, bluntly.  The railgun cannons they used for antifighter missions wouldn't even scratch the paint on the alien ships.  “We need to reload and get back out here.”

They’d drilled, time and time again, rearming the starfighters and getting back out into interplanetary space.  This time, at least there wouldn't be so many starfighters demanding instant rearming, she told herself.  It wasn't any consolation.  They’d taken out two alien ships and crippled a third, in exchange for losing almost four-fifths of their strength.  How long could anyone sustain such a loss rate?

***
“The aliens are approaching the cruisers,” the tactical officer reported.  “Captain Hobbes reports that he intends to open fire at medium range.”

“Tell him to keep his flux drives spun up,” Paul ordered, grimly.  Two alien craft had been destroyed, but the other three were still advancing – and his remaining starfighters were rearming.  At least they’d proved that the alien craft could be destroyed.  Some of the more alarmist media reports had claimed that they were invincible.  “He is not to attempt to seek a close-quarter engagement.”

He watched, as dispassionately as he could, as the cruisers opened fire.  Some of the missile seeker heads had been modified to make it easier for them to track the alien craft, but it proved not to matter.  Unsurprisingly, the missiles were scythed out of space before they could reached their targets.  A moment later, the aliens reached their own engagement range and opened fire on the cruisers.  Their death rays – no other name seemed to fit – tore through the cruisers at terrifying speed.  Only one cruiser survived to jump out into flux space and escape.

“The fighters have completed their rearming, sir,” the CAG informed him.  “They are ready to launch and reengage the enemy.”

“Order them to launch and target the two intact alien craft,” Paul ordered.  The third craft was definitely falling behind; in fact, he rather expected the aliens to jump that craft out of the system.  There was little point in having it remain where it could be destroyed.  “Analysis – do we have any analysis of the alien tactical stance?”

“Alarmingly good at dealing with starfighters,” the analyst said.  “Worse, they appear to be able to fire their weapons from any point on their hull.  We don't even have a working theory as to how they can do that.  It could be that everywhere apart from their drive system is a potential muzzle for their weapons.”

Paul nodded, sourly.  At this rate, they would have to expend all of their starfighters in beating off this attack, which would leave them effectively naked for when the aliens returned to assault the system for a second time.  The direct link to Capricorn was sending data to Admiral Davidson – humanity would learn that it could beat the aliens, if at a terrifying price – but he had orders not to lose his entire task force if it could be avoided.  

He watched, shaking his head grimly, as the starfighters made their second attack run on the alien craft.  This time, the aliens were ready, firing burst after burst of deadly light towards the starfighters, scattering them when they failed to destroy them.  But the starfighters pressed in, picking off another alien craft and damaging the final ship.  Paul looked at the battered teardrop hull and knew that he could win the battle...

“New contacts,” the tactical officer snapped.  “I make...seven...no, ten new alien craft.  They’re heading towards us on attack vector.”

Paul cursed, angrily.  “Pull the starfighters back,” he ordered, “and then prepare to jump.”

The two damaged alien craft jumped out, leaving the starfighters to return to the fleet carrier as she pulled away from the planet.  Behind them, the alien craft accelerated towards the human squadron, neatly skimming around the planet and avoiding the minefield the local industrial nodes had left in orbit around Cadiz.  Paul tapped a key on his console, sending the self-destruct command to the orbiting industries, praying that everyone had managed to get off the platforms before it was too late.  Below, the planet’s defenders would be left on their own; hopefully, whatever had stopped the aliens from nuking Ramadan or Cartage would save their planet from being wiped out from orbit.  

“All starfighters have returned to their carriers,” the CAG reported.  Just in time, Paul realised; the aliens were closing into engagement range and engaging the outermost UN starships.  A light cruiser was blown to vapour, followed rapidly by one of the escort carriers, but the aliens kept coming, ignoring the missiles launched from the other human craft.  Alien they might have been, yet their doctrine made perfect sense.  Pick off the carriers before they could launch more hornets to sting them to death.

“Jump us out,” Paul snapped.  The UNNS hadn’t had to run from the battlefield for over fifty years, even during the Dispute with the RockRats, but there was no choice.  Close-quarter engagements with the alien craft would be suicide.  “Jump; jump now!”

His stomach twisted as the fleet carrier jumped away, leaving the aliens in command of the system...

***
“The squares fled,” Damien Jonson said.  “They just fled.”

“Not that they had much choice,” Helen Jónsdóttir pointed out.  The two RockRats had volunteered to observe the Cadiz system after the RockRat habitats had either been evacuated or gone silent in the hopes of avoiding this strange new foe.  “What would have happened if they had faced the enemy at point-blank range?”

Damien shrugged, unwilling to admit that anything the UNNS did was smart.  His faction among the RockRats believed that the Dispute was only the beginning of a struggle between a society that embraced freedom in space and a far more restrictive society that claimed countless inhabited worlds for itself.  The prospect of a war that would sap the UN’s strength had been greeted with enthusiasm by his faction, although they had been more than a little concerned after the aliens had nuked two planets.  Anyone who was prepared to do that would have little compunction about blasting asteroid habitats into rubble.

The alien craft’s drive system made them harder to track than he would have preferred, but thankfully they still emitted faint gravity emissions when they travelled at high speed.  It was easy to watch them heading back to the planet, one ship running afoul of a nuclear-tipped mine and staggering out of formation while belching air.  Their amusement didn't last as the aliens simply blasted every piece of space junk out of the sky, vaporising anything that could be a deadly threat.  There was no fire from the planet below, Damien noted without surprise.  The planet-dwellers might have decided that revealing their weapons would get them targeted from orbit.  They were probably right.

Long moments passed...and then the aliens opened fire on the planet’s surface.  Beams of deadly power sliced down through the planet’s atmosphere, targeting the cities on the planet below.  Damian watched in growing horror as they kept firing, bombarding the planet’s surface with deadly precision.  A moment later, the alien craft launched what had to be landing craft, heading down to the planet with armoured soldiers.  The alien starships, completing their deadly bombardment, slid back into high orbit and waited.

“I think we have to take this to the Gathering,” Helen said, grimly.  The Gathering had been called to decide what, if anything, the RockRats would do about the new alien threat.  A day ago, Damien would have suggested leaving the aliens and the UN to fight it out.  Now...now he suspected that the two strands of humanity would have to make common cause against a threat that would destroy the RockRats as easily as the UNNS.  “Those filthy murdering bastards have to be stopped.”

Damian frowned.  Both of them were the product of genetic engineering – and neither of them would be particularly welcome on a UN member world.  Prejudice against genies was at an all-time high, even if most genies – particularly the ones that were created illegally – were largely impossible to pick out from the rest of the human population.  The thought of something that might convince the UN that they were wrong in dismissing genetic engineering...he doubted, somehow, that the war would be enough to convince them otherwise.

“True enough,” he agreed, finally.  He started keying the flex drive for an immediate jump.  There were no alien craft close enough to intercept them, but there was no point in taking risks when they could be avoided.  “Let’s just hope that the Gathering doesn't surrender everything to the UN.”

***
Connie found herself staring around the flight deck in horror as she realised just how many starfighter pilots had been killed in the battle.  Blue Squadron had been relatively lucky; only five pilots out of twelve had been killed, vaporised by the alien death rays.  Others had been wiped out completely, or only one or two pilots had survived the ill-fated battle.  God alone knew what would happen once the CAG had finished counting the losses.  Standard procedure was to slot new pilots into a pre-existing squadron, but most of the carrier’s squadrons had been destroyed.  They’d have to rebuild from scratch.

One of the other pilots threw his helmet across the compartment in anger, two others were muttering in frustration as they checked and rechecked the list of the dead.  They’d all had friends in the other squadrons – and anyone who hadn’t checked in by now was almost certainly dead.  Connie knew it was her duty to write the letters that would be mailed to the families of the dead, but she couldn't face the thought right now.  They’d trained to fight aliens flying starfighters comparable to the ones humanity flew, not nightmarish alien ships firing death rays with such abandon.  How many had died before Triumphant fled the system?

“Flight Captain Chung,” the CAG called.  He was the last person Connie wanted to see right now, but there was no choice.  “I’m folding Gold Squadron’s five remaining pilots into Blue Squadron, with you remaining as their commander.  We should be able to reconstitute two wings before we return to Cadiz and take on new pilots.”

If they have new pilots, Connie thought.  Anyone with starfighters under their command probably wouldn't want to let go of them, certainly not after once they heard what had happened at Cadiz.  Starfighters were the only weapon humanity had against the mysterious aliens, even if they did take horrendous losses just closing to attack range.  

“Understood,” she said, dully.  Once, the challenge would have excited her.  Folding the remains of one squadron into another was tricky, a task that would be made worse by the fact that some of the newcomers would have seniority over the old sweats.  “I’ll take care of it.”

The CAG had been a starfighter pilot himself before he’d been promoted into a desk job.  “It’s never easy to lose someone,” he said.  Connie scowled at him.  The last thing she wanted was a comforting lecture.  “But at least we gave them a bloody nose.”

“Yeah,” Connie heard herself snarl.  “We gave them a bloody nose – and they kicked our asses right out of the system.  What the fuck are they going to do for an encore?”

The thought was terrifying.  Capricorn Base was large enough to give the aliens pause, but then...they might bring a much larger fleet to bear against the base.  And then they would have to fall back on the inner worlds, and then the core worlds, and then Earth itself.  How long would it be before they were fighting a desperate struggle in the Sol System?

“Don’t worry about it right now,” the CAG said, firmly.  “I want you to concentrate on getting your new squadron back up to trim.  This isn't going to be the last battle we have to fight.”

Connie nodded, grimly.  “I know,” she said.  “But if we don’t find a counter to their weapons, sir, we’re going to lose damn near everything just holding the line.”

***
“I’ve endorsed your decision to retreat, Admiral,” Admiral Davidson said.  “I feel confident that Admiral Ivanovo will support you in front of the General Assembly.  At least they got hurt this time.”

“We hurt them, but not enough,” Paul said.  “I need as many extra starfighters as you can scrape up.  We need to take the war to their flanks.”

“I've already dispatched one task force to New Marseilles,” Admiral Davidson said.  “Maybe they can give the enemy a bloody nose too.”

“Maybe,” Paul agreed, “but if it costs us upwards of three hundred starfighters to give them a bloody nose...”

He left the rest of the sentence unspoken.  They both knew what he meant.

Chapter Eleven

New Marseilles
15th April 2435

“Jump completed, Captain,” Lieutenant Gayle Anderson said.

“There’s no sign that we have been detected,” McLaughlin added, a moment later.  “No enemy ships within sensor range.”

Janine nodded, tightly.  The UN could pick up jump signatures up to around five light hours from the starship’s arrival point, but she’d decided to assume that the enemy sensors were better and brought Rubicon into the New Marseilles system at ten light hours from the planet, where she believed that the enemy ships were based.  There wasn't anything else in the system worth guarding.

“Cloak us and then take us into the inner system,” she ordered, after the flux drive had powered up again.  Keeping the drive active would shorten the time before they had to replace it, but it would allow them to jump out the moment the enemy landed on top of them.  She had no illusions about Rubicon’s chances in a straight fight with the aliens, even if they had had a complete overhaul at Capricorn.  “And inform me as soon as you pick up any sign of the enemy’s presence.”

“Aye, Captain,” Gayle said.  The starship hummed slightly as the main drive came online, propelling her into the inner system.  “Time to New Marseilles; thirty-seven hours from now.”

Janine sat back in her chair and waited, studying the live feed from the starship’s passive sensors.  New Marseilles hadn't been a very developed star system by the time the aliens attacked, which meant that anything they picked up had to be from the alien fleet.  But nothing appeared on the display, even when they started launching passive sensor platforms into the inner system.  If the aliens had sensors right out of science-fantasy, they might still fail to detect the mothership, even if they did pick up on the platforms.

It was an alarming thought.  The UN couldn't pick up its own platforms unless they brought their active sensors online, emitting radar and radio pulses that would be picked up by other passive sensors.  In theory, it was easy for someone with hostile intentions to sneak platforms into a star system and assume that they would never be detected, allowing them to monitor activity around the target planet.  But no one knew just how capable the alien sensor systems actually were.  If they could pick up on something as stealthy as a sensor platform, the UN would be in serious trouble.  

As if we’re not already, she thought, grimly.  During Rubicon’s refit, she’d studied the tactical data from all of the encounters with the alien ships, encounters that had invariably been alien victories.  There was still no reason why the aliens had attacked the human ships on sight – more and more analysts were leaning towards the theory that the aliens had a repressive and acquisitive government, even through such a government had obvious flaws when it came to developing high technology – but it hardly mattered.  If humanity didn't manage to develop countermeasures for the alien technology, the UN was doomed.

The hours ticked away as the starship crept further and further into the occupied system.  Janine went for a rest in the Captain’s stateroom, leaving orders that she was to be woken the moment the sensors picked up any artificial signature.  The other crewmen rotated their positions too, ensuring that they all had a chance to rest.  They’d need to be fresh when they finally reached New Marseilles.  

It still felt odd to sleep in the Captain’s stateroom, even if she was the Captain now.  Janine hadn't shared a cabin with anyone since she’d been promoted to Lieutenant-Commander, but the Captain’s stateroom still felt lonely and cold.  Or perhaps it made perfect sense; even when she’d been the XO, it had been Captain Yu who had had the final responsibility for the ship’s safety.  Now she was the Captain and the responsibility fell on her shoulders.  She was responsible for all two hundred crew and officers on her ship – and if they died, it would be her who would bear the blame.  

Unable to sleep, she lay in the bunk, silently counting down the moments until they reached the planet.  The Admiral’s orders had been vague, simply because they had no idea what they were likely to find when they reached New Marseilles.  Humanity’s history of interstellar wars with other races suggested a great many possibilities, from a dead world to a planet being reconfigured to serve as an alien advance base for a drive into the United Nations.  The aliens had to have a logistics chain of their own, even if they did have death rays instead of missiles and close-in railgun point defence.  But their problems might be simplified if they didn't have to have missiles shipped in from their pre-war bases.  Logistics was one of the reasons why the UN had poured so many resources into Capricorn and the other fleet bases; losing one of them would make it harder to hold the line against the aliens without falling back into the inner worlds.  

Apart from their attack on Cadiz, the aliens had raided a dozen other star systems; jumping in, firing at everything within range and then jumping out again.  The most significant target had been Beta Nine, a major RockRat colony orbiting a dying red star, enough to bring the RockRats firmly into the war on the UN’s side.  But those targets weren't important in the long run, not as long as Capricorn remained intact.  The aliens couldn’t afford to bypass it; they would have no choice, but to hit the system as soon as possible.  The only question was how long it would take before they massed the forces necessary to take it.  

She must have dozed off, for the next thing she heard was her wristcom buzzing, waking her from a fitful sleep.  “Captain,” McLaughlin said, “we’re picking up limited radio transmissions from the planet.  Analysis says that they’re alien.”

“Understood,” Janine said, as she pulled herself off the bunk and splashed water on her face.  “I’m on my way.”

New Marseilles was a bare three light minutes away as she came out onto the bridge.  The handful of sensor platforms were creeping closer, flying on a ballistic course that would allow them to fly past the planet and relay what they saw to Rubicon via laser links that should be completely undetectable.  A set of tactical icons started to flicker into existence as the passive sensors picked up other radio sources, including seven in orbit around the planet itself.  She smiled as another icon blinked into existence; another alien craft jumping into the system.  At least the aliens didn't seem to be capable of baffling their drives to prevent their jump signatures from being detected.  

“The sensor platforms are being redirected towards the planet,” McLaughlin explained.  Janine took her seat and studied the live feed from the platforms.  “We should have visual contact within the next ten to fifteen minutes.”

“Good,” Janine said.  “Let’s see what they’ve done to the planet.”

The feed from one of the platforms altered as one of the alien ships came into view.  It was a fuzzy image, but there was no mistaking the familiar profile of a ship that had dealt so much death and destruction to the UNNS.  Janine felt her fists clench in hatred as the alien ship drifted around the planet, seemingly unconcerned with the possibility that prying eyes might be watching from the inky blackness of space.  It was emitting short bursts of radio transmissions that were probably aimed at the other ships in orbit, although if so Janine was surprised that they didn't use communications lasers.  They were practically giving their watching foes targeting data!  Or maybe they simply didn't care.  Or they thought that they were invincible.

“I’ve got three Alpha-class starships in orbit,” McLaughlin said.  The UN’s analysts had termed the teardrop-shaped alien starships the Alpha class, at least until they knew what the aliens actually called them.  “I’ve also got two other classes of starship, ones we have not encountered before.”

“Show me,” Janine said.  The UN built squadrons out of various different classes of starship, but the aliens – for reasons of their own – had only used the Alphas to attack human worlds.  It suggested that they saw little need for various different ship classes, until now.  “And then see if you can determine their function.”

The display altered as the first of the new classes came into view.  Janine caught her breath as she studied the whale-shaped ship, floating in orbit in a manner that reminded her of UN-designed freighters.  A handful of smaller craft were buzzing around the whale, convincing her that her first guess was right and that the alien design was a freighter.  It was also oddly beautiful – and deadly.  The alien hull was covered in the same material the Alphas used to focus their death rays.  UN freighters were rarely armed, outside wartime, but the aliens evidently had their own way of doing things.  Or maybe she was wrong and it wasn't the same kind of material at all.  There was no way to know without firing on the alien ship and seeing what the aliens did in response.

“Coming up on the second newcomer right now,” McLaughlin said, into the silence.  The entire crew had been speaking in hushed voices, as if their words could carry across the soundless vacuum of space to alien ears.  “This one is smaller, Captain; barely larger than the average light cruiser.”

Janine nodded.  This alien craft looked like a giant starfish, with five legs radiating out from a central core.  The aliens had definitely developed a more advanced drive system than humanity, if only because humanity’s drives would tear such a craft apart if it attempted to accelerate at a reasonable pace.  Studying the ship, Janine realised that the starfish wouldn't have any blind spot, unlike the Alpha cruisers.  Once they sent them into battle against humanity’s starfighters, they might tip the balance and prevent humanity from crippling or destroying other cruisers.  

It was odd that the aliens hadn't deployed them already, but perhaps they had underestimated the destructive power of a flight of starfighters.  That would make sense; they were evidently unfamiliar with the concept of starfighters, so they’d simply underestimated what the starfighters could do to them.  If so, they’d developed a counter in record time – or maybe they’d just realised that some of their smaller ships could provide cover to their cruisers.  It wouldn't be that unlike the UN’s own concept of using smaller ships to escort the giant fleet or assault carriers.  

“Hold us here,” she said.  Without any forward motion, Rubicon would be nothing more than a hole in space, without even a hint of turbulence that might betray a cloaked ship’s presence.  “And then start routing the platforms down into planetary orbit.  I want to attempt to establish communications with the Marines.”

It was a long shot, but the UN needed data on what the aliens did once they’d landed on a planet and New Marseilles had been playing host to a platoon of Marines from Rubicon before the aliens had invaded the planet and destroyed the Invincible task force.  The Marines, unlike Captain Yu and some of the Admiral’s officers, should definitely have been outside the city when the aliens nuked it.  They would presumably be careful about using their communicators with an alien fleet in orbit, but they should be scanning for hidden transmissions from cloaked recon ships.  

And besides, they didn't even know what the aliens looked like.  That was surprisingly galling; the aliens had torn human fleets apart with their death rays and no one knew what they looked like.  Presumably, anyone on the planets the aliens had occupied had died before being able to pass on the intelligence to anyone else.  But if the Marines were still alive – a big if, but Marines were survivors – they would have carried out their standing orders and worked to gather what intelligence they could on the new foe.  

She watched grimly as the platforms sank into low orbit, scanning for traces of human transmissions from the planet below.  It was clear that the aliens had wiped out all traces of Invincible and the remainder of her task force, probably by targeting the debris and blowing it into the planet’s atmosphere.  If the UN had captured an alien world, post-battle assessment teams would have been sifting through any alien wreckage, but the aliens didn't seem to want anything from human debris.  Their overconfidence would have been amusing if they didn't have so much to be overconfident about.  

Two more alien craft appeared from flux space, jumping into the space near the planet and heading down towards the Alphas in orbit.  The platforms recorded the brief messages they exchanged with the occupation force, relaying them to Rubicon for the analysis team to study and attempt to decipher.  Unlocking an alien language was a complicated task, even with the most advanced computers that humanity had been able to develop, but the more samples they had of alien conversations the easier it would be.  Or so she had been told.  The UN habitably encrypted its radio transmissions and she assumed that the aliens would do the same.  They wouldn’t want to give any watching spies a primer on their own language.  

And they have enough human prisoners to unlock our languages, she thought, sourly.  The aliens had access to libraries and databanks on the planet’s surface, enough to make it really easy for them to learn standard English.  They could presumably talk to the human race, assuming that they wanted to talk to the human race.  But surely they’d want to demand surrender, if nothing else.  What sort of hostile alien race wouldn't want to make it easier by convincing its target to surrender?  Humanity was ingenious – and had plenty of space to trade for time.  The UN might come up with something that would even the balance between the aliens and the UNNS.  

But even if they did, they knew nothing about where the aliens had come from – or why they had attacked.  Driving the aliens out of UN space would be the first step; the second would be locating the alien homeworlds and launching a counterattack – and that would be difficult.  Civilians had no idea just how vast space was, or how easy it was to hide an entire planetary population somewhere in the endless darkness of space.  Given enough time, the aliens could conceal much of their population from prying UN starships.  Survey Command would have to locate an alien world for the UNNS to attack, yet what if the aliens drove them so far back that direct attack was no longer possible?

She looked over at the alien ships, feeling cold hatred crystallising around her heart.  They’d attacked, without provocation, and obliterated the task force and its lifepods within seconds.  There was no way she could forgive the aliens for firing on helpless lifepods, slaughtering the last survivors of the fleet; even the Magana, barbarians through they had been, had hesitated to slaughter the last survivors of destroyed fleets.  They’d wanted prisoners for interrogation – and later transport to the slave camps – and most of those prisoners had been rescued in the final days of the war.  

We’re going to beat you, you bastards, she thought, coldly.  One day, you will be dead and gone and we will live on.

There was a chime from the sensor console.  “We're in position to start attempting to contact the Marines,” McLaughlin said.  “Captain?”

Janine nodded.  This would be the most dangerous part of the mission.  In theory, the microburst transmissions that would inform the Marines that someone was in orbit, ready to contact them, were undetectable.  Or, rather, they were very difficult to pick out from the background noise unless one knew to look for them.  There was no way to know if the aliens would realise that they were real signals and start to track down their source.  If they did, they would locate the sensor platform, deduce the presence of a mothership and start scanning for it with active sensors.  Janine would have no choice, but to jump out of the system, leaving the Marines behind for a second time.

“Start transmitting,” she ordered, “and keep an eye on those alien craft.  I want to know the moment one of them starts to move.”

The seconds ticked by as the remote platform started its transmission cycle.  If the Marines were still alive – if – they would be watching for the platform’s signature, but if they were dead or prisoners they wouldn't be doing either.  And if the aliens had captured the Marines alive, they would presumably have interrogated them and discovered all of the procedures for operations in hostile territory.  The Marines were trained to resist interrogation, but everyone knew that everyone broke eventually.  For all they knew, the aliens had technology that allowed them to look right into a suspect’s mind and pull information out of it.

“I’ve got a response,” McLaughlin snapped.  “Standard Marine-issue laser communicator; it's locked onto the platform.  IFF codes identify it as assigned to Master Sergeant Mandell.”

Janine allowed herself a sigh of relief.  “Tell them to upload their contact report and then that we have a mission for them,” she ordered.  The third part of the operation was going to be tricky, very tricky.  If the aliens were on their toes, it was almost certain that they wouldn't get away with it.  But the aliens were orbiting a dead world, confident in their vast firepower and bad intentions.  “And then prepare the picket for immediate launch.”

She settled back in her chair and started to skim through the report from the planet’s surface.  As expected, none of it was good.  The aliens had wiped out most of the human population, leaving the few survivors hiding in the mountains.  It was all too likely that the remainder would be wiped out by the end of the month.

Janine nodded, bitterly.  Now they could do nothing, but wait.

Chapter Twelve

New Marseilles
16th April 2435

“You see them?”

“I see them,” Thomas muttered back.  “Jesus; what a bunch of incompetent sacks.”

The Marines had spent the last three weeks watching the aliens as they expanded their area of control out from what remained of Paris – and the base they’d built near the waterfront.  It was impossible to escape the feeling that the aliens hadn't actually had to fight a ground campaign against another race before, or even that they hadn't had to fight each other as well.  That wasn't just odd; it was unthinkable.  Every known race had fought wars before making contact with other forms of intelligent life.  But the alien troopers were surprisingly incompetent.  

What remained of New Marseilles population had hidden in the mountains and scavenged whatever supplies they could to wage an insurgency against the aliens.  With some help from the Marines, they had planted IEDs and booby-traps along all the roads and farmland, deducing that the aliens would want to use the roads for transport and the farmland to grow their own crops.  They’d successfully killed a dozen or more aliens, but the aliens had just kept coming, almost as if they were willing to accept a limited number of casualties to stick to a pre-planned operation.  Thomas had heard of Generals who showed little regard for their men – as long as The Plan was followed, it was good in their eyes – but those Generals had been part of military organisations that had eventually decayed and vanished.  The aliens just seemed to keep coming, heedless of their own safety.

It was maddening.  Given a complete Marine division, and no starships overhead, he knew that he could have obliterated the alien landing force, no matter how large it was.  Yet every time they lured the aliens into a killing zone, the aliens called in fire from orbit and pressed onwards.  Sheer firepower allowed them to burst out of traps that should have stopped them in their tracks.  The aliens were clumsy, almost uncoordinated, and yet they kept coming.  No one had fought a war of attrition for centuries, but that was what they were doing.  And they were winning.

He peered through the scope at a fifteen-strong alien force as it advanced into the mountains.  It was impossible to escape the sense that the aliens were unused to walking in gravity, or even walking at all.  Thomas, like all other prospective Marines, had been exposed to neural shockers during training and had staggered around like a drunken idiot before collapsing and hitting the ground.  They’d effectively forgotten how to walk.  Looking at the aliens, he was convinced that they had never known how to walk – and that made absolutely no sense at all.  

“They’re on the verge of reaching the fire zone,” Aiden said.  “You want us to trigger the bomb as soon as they’re in the trap?”

“Yep,” Thomas said.  They’d used mortars they’d recovered from the militia in their first ambushes, only to discover that the aliens were quite capable of tracking the shells back to their launchers and firing on them from orbit.  Now, they had to rely on snipers and pre-positioned IEDs, which was yet another reason to be frustrated with the aliens.  There were times that they ignored lures that would have pulled a human squad to its doom and times when they just walked into the trap and kept going.  “And then hold on the second bomb.  We don’t want to wipe them out just yet.”

He smiled, rather grimly.  The aliens had shown their willingness to fire down at presumed insurgent strongholds, but they were reluctant to fire on their own people.  Danger close, the Marines called it, and the words never failed to worry them.  The prospect of being blown up by aliens was bad enough, but being blown up by friendly fire was much worse.  If Thomas was lucky, they could use the aliens as a shield to deter their orbital escorts from pouring fire down onto the Marine position.

At least they weren't alone any longer.  The message from Rubicon had relieved them all; the aliens weren't in the process of bombarding Earth or New Washington into submission.  And if they managed to carry out the first part of the plan, they might even manage to get off the planet before the aliens managed to exterminate them all.  The thought of leaving the planet’ resistance wasn't pleasant, but there was no choice.  Half of the platoon would remain behind to ensure that the resistance had some experienced men.  

“They’re in the trap,” Aiden said.  “Detonating...now!”

Thomas smiled as the IED exploded, catching the first set of aliens and blowing them into bloody chunks.  Their fellows were knocked backwards, falling over themselves in their determination to escape, before they recovered and started to push forward again.  Thomas sent a single command through his augments and watched as the snipers picked off the alien weapons, one by one.  At least the aliens had some survival instincts.  The moment the snipers had opened fire, they’d taken what cover they could and were frantically calling for help from the main alien base.  

“The spotters just called in,” Andrew said, through the microburst transmitters.  “The aliens are launching their ground-attack craft from the base.”

“Good thinking on their part,” Thomas muttered, grudgingly.  The aliens were learning, even if the learning process was thoroughly alien.  But even if the aliens looked humanoid, there was no guarantee that they thought like humans.  Maybe they were willing to kill their own people, yet unwilling to allow others to kill their own people.  Or maybe he was just missing the clue that would move the alien behaviour from incomprehensible to understandable.  “Order the HVM teams to activate their weapons and then start running.”

He motioned to the team beside him and they ran forward, while behind them the snipers poured a hail of fire onto the rocks the aliens were using for cover.  It should force them to keep their heads down long enough for the Marines to get over the rock and into position.  Normally, Thomas would have tossed a grenade into the alien position and eliminated them all, but this time he wanted prisoners.  At least the aliens didn't seem to be as confident in the mountains as humans, for some reason.  He would have thought that they’d find the mountains no real challenge at all.

“Don’t move,” he bellowed, as he came around the rock and pointed his weapons right at the alien mass.  The aliens seemed to freeze, just for a second, and then started to bring their weapons around with terrifying speed.  Thomas shot two of them before they could fire on him and the remainder dropped their weapons.  Three aliens were still alive, only one of them unwounded.  Bright purple blood was dripping from his fellows, staining the ground an unnatural shade.  “You!  Get over here!”

The alien didn't seem to understand him, unsurprisingly.  If what they’d seen of the alien tactics suggested how their leaders thought, they would hardly want their soldiers to understand the human language.  They might be talked into turning their guns on their former leaders instead.  He reached for the alien, yanked him out into the open, and removed anything that could be a weapon from the alien’s belt.  Up close, it was apparent that the armour the alien wore was actually part of his skin.  They would be tougher than an unaugmented human, he realised, and probably faster too.  Down where his butt would have been there was a mass of scar tissue, as if something had been cut off.  Instinctively, he wondered if the aliens had all been castrated before they’d been sent out to the wars.  Maybe that explained their willingness to follow suicidal orders.  They had nothing left to live for.

Aiden pulled out the bag and slammed it down over the alien’s head.  They had had no time to invent proper restraints for the aliens, so they’d been forced to improvise.  Thomas glanced back at the two wounded aliens, and then shook his head.  The plan had called for leaving no survivors, apart from their prisoner, but he refused to go through with it.  Besides, if he left them alive, perhaps the aliens would realise that humanity wasn't composed of mindless brutes.  

“Get him on his way,” he ordered.  They’d be walking up isolated paths that – he suspected – would have been difficult for the alien to walk, without humans guiding and supporting him.  “Contact the snipers and tell them...”

The streak of light from the HVM launchers lanced up in the distance, automatically firing on the alien ground-attack craft as they raced towards the mountains.  Both craft were taken by surprise and blown out of the air; their human enemies had never used such weapons before.  Thomas had recovered them from one of the militia arms dumps and saved them for when they would be most effective.  A moment later, streaks of light fell down from the sky, obliterating the launchers and the land around them.  Thomas allowed himself a quick prayer that the operators – two volunteers from the militia – had made it out before the aliens had dropped a hammer from orbit on their heads, and then concentrated on following the Marines up into the mountain.  The aliens would be after them with everything they had.  

His augments picked up two more microbursts from the spotters.  “Sir, they’re launching additional ground-attack craft,” one said.  “I think they're going to be coming after you.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Aiden said, dryly.  “We have a prisoner – they’re going to want him back.”

Thomas nodded, remembering how the Marines had fought desperately to recover captured Marines during the deployment to Eden, one of the more misnamed worlds in the outer sectors.  It struck him, suddenly, that Eden was likely to be under threat as well from the mysterious aliens; maybe, if the Marines hadn't done so good a job at beating and disarming the various rebel factions, they would be better prepared for the aliens.  But there hadn't been any other choice.  Maybe the revolt had begun as an uprising against a corrupt governor and several corporations intent on stripping the planet bare, but it had broken down into faction fighting and mass slaughter before the Marines arrived...

He pushed the thought aside angrily as they scrambled up the path, heading for the hidden shuttle.  God knew why the local militia had decided to conceal an assault shuttle in a hidden location – everyone they might have asked was dead now, as the aliens didn't seem to take prisoners – but it would work out in their favour, assuming that the rest of the plan worked.  If not, they would have to take their prisoner to one of the insurgency’s underground bases and pray that the aliens didn't have some way of tracking their own people.  The Marines had speculated endlessly about what kind of technology the aliens might deploy against humanity, few of their speculations had been very reassuring.  

The alien stumbled twice, almost falling down the mountainside to certain death in a rocky stream.  Aiden rammed his rifle barrel into the alien’s back, forcing him forward as the Marines climbed higher.  Their augments allowed them to cope with the thinning air, but the alien had no such protection.  In fact, he seemed to be more vulnerable to changes in air pressure than humanity, suggesting that the aliens lived on flatter land.  Perhaps the reason they were less sure of themselves in the mountains was that they were strictly lowland dwellers back home.  Once the researchers got their hands on a captured alien, they would probably be able to deduce just where the aliens had evolved and send the UNNS to blast their homeworld to rubble.  At least they’d be able to remove countless stars from the list of possible suspects.  

Thomas glanced upwards as a pair of alien ground-attack craft flew through the air, heading towards the Marines.  He hadn't seen any signs that the craft could hover, like the helicopters the Marines deployed in happier times, but it probably wouldn't matter.  The Marines bunched up around their prisoner, daring the aliens to open fire and take out their own comrade as well as the human Marines.  There was a long pause and then the aliens drew back, watching from a distance.  A human CO would probably have landed ground troops to engage the prisoner’s escorts directly, but the aliens seemed reluctant to risk deploying his men.  Humans had the advantage up high in the mountains and they knew it.

His augments buzzed.  “Sergeant, there are several alien shuttles landing on the far side of the mountain range,” one of the other spotters reported.  “I count upwards of three hundred enemy soldiers; I say again, three hundred enemy soldiers.”

“Understood,” Thomas said.  The aliens might have a point; if they couldn't face the humans on equal terms in the mountains, they would prevent the humans from coming down and engaging their bases.  If they were determined to turn New Marseilles into a colony world...

...He shivered, remembering watching as the aliens waded into the sea and swam under the waves.  Planets were big, with wide ranges of terrain, but some were more suitable for colonisation than others.  If they regarded New Marseilles as prime territory, they wouldn't give it up without a fight.  No doubt the aliens could eat fish from the sea, just as the human settlers had done in the first few years of settlement.  And then they could start seeding their own farms on the ruins of humanity’s settlements.

“We’re making the final climb now,” he added.  “I want you and your fellows to pull back, but stay under cover.  You don’t want to give them a clear shot at you.”

The uttermost layers of the mountain were honeycombed with caves, some large enough to conceal an entire Marine division.  Over the last two weeks, the Marines had explored the caves, suspecting that they would have to use them to store weapons and equipment.  More importantly, unless the aliens had technology that the Marines didn't expect, they couldn’t hope to track them once they got under a shield of rock.  He paused outside a gash in the rock that led into the cave network and stared up at the alien craft, watching as they orbited the Marine position.  They might not intend to move, but it no longer mattered.  As far as he was concerned, they could watch the gash in the rock for the rest of eternity.  

He smiled as they walked further into the caves, relying on their augmented eyes to see in the darkness.  The caves were host to all manner of strange creatures, including some that were deadly poisonous to humans, but they generally stayed out of humanity’s way.  He watched as the alien was bundled up a rock face that looked sheer, at least to the unknowing eye.  The hidden handholds would allow the Marines to climb up without delay and make their way along a series of barely-charted tunnels until they reached the hidden shuttle.  They’d already checked it and confirmed that it was still in working order.

“Send the signal,” he ordered.  They’d positioned their laser communicator outside, concealing it from all, but random chance detection.  But as long as the aliens were reluctant to start exploring the mountains on the ground, they were unlikely ever to detect its presence.  Unless they had something that could actually pick up on laser communications...he pushed the thought aside, angrily.  They didn't have time to worry.  All they could do was pray.  “Tell the Captain that we will be ready to move in twenty minutes.”

The assault shuttle was an older design than the Raptors the Marines used for landing on hostile planets, but like most UN-produced shuttles it was easy to fly if one already had some flight training.  Thomas nodded for Andrew and Aiden to take care of the alien as he walked forward into the cabin, bringing the shuttle’s systems online.  He rather doubted that the aliens would remain reluctant to open fire on the shuttle if they believed that there was a reasonable chance that the humans would actually get their captive off-planet.  There were Marines who would order one of their own killed to save him from interrogation and death; he dared not assume that the aliens would be any different.  He ran through the complete series of pre-flight checks, ensuring that the shuttle’s weapons were online and functioning.  Whoever had hidden the shuttle, and ensured that the secret was passed on to a handful of farmers who doubled as militiamen, had done the Marines a vast favour.  It was a shame that he had probably died along with Paris when the aliens nuked the city.

“We're ready,” he said, finally.  Now, all they could do was wait – and hope that the spacers managed to complete their part of the plan.  They’d had weeks to prepare while the Marines had had bare hours, but somehow that wasn't very reassuring. If the aliens had wiped out Invincible and her task force quickly enough to prevent most of the ships from escaping, the spacers would be in serious trouble.  “Are you all buttoned down back there?”

“Yes, father,” Andrew called.  He sounded stressed – and trying to joke around to conceal his stress.  Not that Thomas could blame him.  They might take the aliens on even terms on the planet, but flying up to orbit would expose them to the alien starships.  A single shot from the alien weapons was all it would take to vaporise the shuttle and its passengers.  “We’re all strapped in and ready to go.”

“Good,” Thomas said.  He brought the shuttle’s drives online and settled back to wait.  “Just keep one eye on our guest.  We don't want him dead before the researchers get their hands on him.”

Chapter Thirteen

New Marseilles
16th April 2435

“The Marines are signalling,” McLaughlin reported.  “They’re ready to go.”

Janine nodded.  Finding an intact shuttle on the planet below had been a lucky break, one that might make the difference between success and failure.  “Order the picket to jump,” she ordered.  “And then prepare to bring up our weapons and active sensors.”

Picket ships were the smallest jump-capable ships in existence, small enough to fit comfortably into Rubicon’s shuttlebay.  It was incredibly difficult to coordinate an offensive operation across light years, but using pickets to carry messages from one fleet to the other made it a little easier – not that any tactician worth her salt would try to coordinate a two-pronged offensive unless there was any other choice.  Too much could go wrong, leaving both halves of the offensive vulnerable to defeat in detail.  But this time there was only one prong of any significance.

“The picket has gone,” McLaughlin said.  His voice hardened suddenly.  “I’m getting active sensor sweeps off the two closest Alphas, Captain.  They must have detected the picket’s departure.”

“Unsurprisingly,” Janine said.  The aliens would probably have detected the pickets that Admiral Davidson had sent to fly through the system, even if they hadn't managed to intercept them.  Chances were that they would consider the pickets scouts for an attack force, even if one hadn't materialised before.  It was what the UNNS would have done in their position.  “Keep us here, but get ready to bring up the flux drive if they start advancing towards us.”

She watched the aliens as they slowly came alive, active sensors scanning for any threats within engagement ranges.  The surveillance platforms should have been undetectable, but there was no way of knowing just how capable the alien active sensor sweeps actually were – at least not until now.  If nothing else, this mission would provide valuable data on the alien sensor arrays.

“Two of the Alphas seem to be preparing to leave orbit, Captain,” McLaughlin said.  “I think they’re flash-waking their systems.”

“Keep an eye on them,” Janine ordered.  Down on the planet, the Marines were preparing to fly to orbit – but they wouldn't stand a chance unless the aliens were drawn out of position.  The data from Cadiz revealed that their planetary bombardment weapons actually had a longer range than their standard death rays.  “And...”

“Multiple new contacts,” McLaughlin snapped.  “I read eleven contacts, all friendly; I say again, eleven contacts, all friendly.”

Janine smiled as blue icons appeared on the screen, heading down towards the planet at considerable speed.  One assault carrier, three escort carriers and seven freighters, modified according to one of the tactical plans for evening the odds against alien death rays.  Down below, all of the alien craft were coming to life, bringing up their weapons and sensors, probing the oncoming fleet.  If they were lucky, the aliens would conclude that there was no other starships hiding in the system; the picket had merely slipped in, scanned the system and jumped out again to the waiting fleet.  One by one, the alien warships slipped out of orbit, concentrating their forces against the oncoming fleet.  The craft that Janine’s crew had provisionally classed as freighters remained in orbit, waiting.  

“Slip us down into orbit,” she ordered, calmly.  “And then send the signal to the Marines.  It's time to go.”

***
“That's the signal,” Stewart snapped.  “The alien craft are out of position.  It's time to go.”

Thomas tapped a command and pre-positioned explosives detonated, shattering the sheer rock face in front of the hidden hanger.  He had no idea how the militia had managed to get the shuttle up into the hanger, but right now it hardly mattered.  The shuttle came to life as the alien craft swooped upwards, coming to investigate the explosion they’d seen while they waited for the Marines to slip out of their holes.  Thomas gunned the shuttle’s drives and the craft leapt forward, out into the open air.  There was a heart-stopping moment when the shuttle dipped sharply as soon as it emerged from the hanger, just before it shuddered and started to climb upwards towards orbit – and the waiting starship.

“Get a lock on those two craft,” Thomas ordered.  At such close range, it would be almost impossible to miss.  “Fire!”

The shuttle launched two missiles directly towards the alien craft, blowing both of them into fiery debris.  Thomas whooped and pushed the shuttle further upwards, climbing towards orbit and watching carefully for other signs of alien aircraft.  Seeing none, he launched a pair of missiles on a trajectory that should bring them down on top of the alien troopers looking for their prisoner, before concentrating on getting to orbit.  New Marseilles didn't have any atmospheric tricks that would make it difficult, if not impossible, to reach orbit, but there were still those alien ships ready to intercept him.  If they could intercept him...

“I have a direct link to Rubicon,” Stewart said.  “Captain Herald is moving towards us on intercept vector, but so are the alien craft.”

Thomas winced.  In theory, a starship could jump out of high orbit – but in practice, it could end up almost anywhere.  If Rubicon didn’t have time to reach a safe distance from the planet, they would have to take the risk and pray that they survived.  After everything they’d done on the planet since the invasion, it seemed that they’d expended all of their luck.  

“And the main body of alien ships is engaging the oncoming fleet,” Stewart added.  “This doesn't look good, Sergeant.”

“No argument there,” Thomas agreed.  Outside, the blue sky was giving way to the inky blackness of space.  The display showed the two massive alien ships as they closed in for the kill, clearly expecting a clean shot at the shuttle’s hull.  They were probably right, Thomas realised, unless Rubicon could scare them off.  And if the aliens had shattered an entire task force, they might just manage to destroy Rubicon as well as the shuttle.  “Just pray...”

***
Janine watched grimly as the alien ships engaged the task force.  The freighters that had accompanied the warships had crammed their hulls with missies, offloading them into space as the task force slowed and began to retreat, drawing the aliens after them like flies to honey.  A moment later, the aliens got a nasty surprise as the missiles came to life, raging towards them in sprint-mode.  Their death rays wiped most of the missiles out of the sky, but the remainder survived to slam home into a trio of alien ships, all Alphas.  One of them was blown into flaming debris; the other two fell back, trailing plasma.  They jumped out before the remaining warships and starfighters could press their advantage and destroy them.

“Captain,” McLaughlin said, “the two enemy freighters are approaching the shuttle.”

“Drop the cloak,” Janine ordered.  There was no longer any point in trying to hide.  “Launch missiles towards the freighters, maximum spread.  Configure them for proximity detonation.”

Rubicon shuddered as she unleashed a spread of missiles, heading right towards the alien craft.  The aliens seemed to hesitate, then bring up their drives and jump out, leaving Rubicon to pick up the shuttle without attempting to stop them any longer,  Janine heard McLaughlin whoop with delight as the aliens fled, even though they were only freighters; for the first time, the UNNS had forced the aliens to retreat.  

“Pick up the shuttle,” she ordered, quickly.  The remainder of the alien ships in the system were warships.  “And then prepare to jump us out of here...”

“Shit,” McLaughlin said.  “They jumped...”

Janine watched the disaster unfold, unable to look away from the screen.  One of the alien craft had micro-jumped through space, appearing within point-blank range of the assault carrier.  Its death rays had rapidly burned into the assault carrier’s hull and torn it apart, before any of its escorts could open fire on the alien ship.  It was already too late; the assault carrier shuddered and exploded into flaming plasma, taking her entire crew into death with her.  The remainder of the task force scattered, attempting to recover the starfighters before jumping out of the system, while the aliens calmly wiped out every starfighter within range.  

I hope that a live alien is worth it, she thought.  Admiral Davidson hadn't expected the enemy to be capable of such accurate micro-jumps, proving that – once again – they’re underestimated their enemy.  But why were they their enemy?  What had happened to make humanity so loathed by the alien race?  

“The shuttle is preparing to dock,” McLaughlin informed her.

“Jump us out as soon as the shuttle is latched onto our hull securely,” Janine ordered.  The aliens would have a chance to intercept Rubicon as well, before she could escape with her prisoner.  On the screen, the last escort carrier had jumped out, leaving a handful of starfighters to their fate.  It was sickening, but her commander had had no choice.  “Don’t worry about calculating the jump, just get us out of here.”

There was a long pause, just before the shuttle docked.  “Jumping now,” Gayle reported.  Janine’s chest clenched savagely as Rubicon folded space around her hull, before they rematerialised somewhere else.  “Jump completed, Captain.  We are 2.7 light years from the planet.  The flux drive requires a complete shutdown and rebooting before we attempt to jump again.”

“Understood,” Janine said.  At least there hadn't been any alien ships within range to track their jump – unless, of course, the alien sensors were a lot better than humanity’s.  Why shouldn't they be?  Everything else they had seemed to be more advanced than the best the UN could offer.  “Put us on a course that will take us well away from the jump coordinate, then start rebooting the drive.  We’ll complete the trip back to Capricorn as soon as we can.”

***
“Something’s wrong!”

Thomas pulled himself out of the pilot’s chair and ran into the shuttle’s rear compartment as the airlock opened, revealing another Marine security team.  The alien was thrashing about madly, powerful legs tearing through the bag they had used to secure him; hands pushing at the side of the bag as it was torn apart.  Andrew and Aiden were trying to hold the alien still and not succeeding; the alien seemed utterly unconcerned about its own safety.  Thomas tore the rest of the back off to see the alien’s face – if it was the alien’s face – contorted in agony.  

“He can't have reacted badly to the jump,” Stewart said, grimly.  The security team grabbed the alien and tried to secure him to a stretcher.  He was thrashing around so hard that it was almost impossible, kicking one Marine in the jaw and sending him crumpling to the deck.  “He’s from a fucking spacefaring race, for crying out loud.”

Finally, the Marines managed to tie the alien down and carry him off the shuttle.  The alien started to howl in pain, finally straightening up...and then collapsing onto the stretcher.  A doctor with experience in alien medicine arrived and started to poke away at the corpse, but Thomas already knew the answer.  The alien they had risked so much to capture was dead.

***
“I’m not interested in placing blame,” Janine said, two hours later.  “I just want to know what went wrong.”

“As far as I can tell – and bear in mind that this is a completely new alien race – the alien’s cells were literally ripped apart by a concealed implant,” Doctor Li said.  The Sino-born doctor had been one of Capricorn’s experts on alien medicine before he’d been assigned to Rubicon to carry out the first examination of the alien prisoner.  “Essentially, the alien developed a supercharged version of cancer that not only killed him, but made it very difficult to create a model of the alien’s genetic code.  My best guess is that the implant was triggered when the starship jumped, preventing the alien from telling us anything after his capture.”

Janine nodded, slowly.  “Could you duplicate the effects?”

“Maybe,” Li said, thoughtfully.  “But these aliens clearly know much more about their own biology than we do.  We might be able to duplicate it in a human...”

The Marine Sergeant leaned forward.  “Could we trick their implants into thinking that they’ve made an unplanned jump and kill them that way?”

“Perhaps,” Li said.  “I'm a doctor, not an engineer.  I wouldn't know how to create a flux field that might appear to be an unscheduled jump.”

Janine held up a hand.  “Leave that for the moment,” she said.  Maybe it was possible; attached a picket to the hull of an alien craft and then trigger the picket’s flux drive.  But the picket would have to survive reaching the alien ship first and that wouldn't be easy.  “What can you tell us about this race?”

“A lot of things that don't seem to make sense,” Li said.  He keyed a switch and brought up an image of the alien in front of them.  “First, he appears to be male – I’ve found something that passes for testes and sperm.  The penis is between the legs, but unlike a human penis it appears to stab downwards, while the legs can move upwards to allow penetration.  I have not yet been able to come up with a model as to how they might mate – or, for that matter, just what one of their females would look like.  

“Second, he had something removed from here” – he tapped the image – “where a human would have his behind.  Given the way the aliens walk, I am half-inclined to believe that the aliens actually had three legs before one of them was removed.  There’s a great deal of hackwork in the alien body – in truth, I think this alien was actually produced from alien DNA, but heavily altered.  We could be looking at an expendable soldier drone rather than a real alien.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Janine said, thoughtfully.  “Are you suggesting that they grow their warriors in a tank and then send them out to die?”

“It's certainly within their technological level,” Li said.  “I’m afraid that the suicide implant caused too much damage to the cranial area for me to make any guesses about how smart this particular alien actually was.  It may have been nothing more than a drone, or it may have been a great deal smarter than us.”

He shook his head.  “I will tell you one interesting thing,” he added.  “Apart from the suicide implant, there were no traces of any other implants or augmentations in its body.  These aliens may not believe in implanting themselves...”

“Or they might have saved their implants for someone a little more important,” the Marine said.  “Can you at least tell us if we have encountered this race before?”

“No,” Li admitted.  “The DNA is completely scrambled.  However, I would say that it is unlikely that we have previously encountered this race.  There’s nothing on file that remotely reassembles it.

“However, I would say that they would probably find all of humanity’s world’s habitable, as long as they remained in the lowlands.  I think that this race remained in the sea longer than we did before we started crawling out onto the land.  They may have evolved from something reassembling lobsters – the natural armour they have certainly reassembles a lobsters shell.  But without a live specimen and an unaltered sample of their DNA, it is impossible to be sure.  I could be completely wrong.”

“They could live on our worlds,” Sergeant Mandell said.  He snorted, bitterly.  “There’s their motive for conquest right there.  Worlds we have spent years making habitable, just ripe for the plucking.”

“Or they could be fleeing a greater threat,” Li said.  “We’ve seen very little of them, Sergeant.  We may be missing the key to understanding their behaviour.”

“But then they would have done better to ask us for help,” Mandell pointed out.  Janine nodded.  The idea that the aliens might be fleeing from someone else made no sense.  “Why would they just open fire on us at first contact?  They’d wind up at war with two powers, one of which must be formidable enough to make them flee.”

He shook his head.  “Maybe they are completely alien after all.”

“Put the body in stasis and it can wait until we get back to Capricorn,” Janine ordered.  The operation had effectively failed, although she suspected that Admiral Davidson and the PR officers would attempt to portray it as a victory.  But an assault carrier had been lost with all hands, along with a pair of freighters, and all they had to show for it was one destroyed alien craft and an alien body that was effectively useless.  At least they’d proved that nuclear-tipped missiles could damage the alien ships.  “Sergeant, I’d suggest that you and your men get some downtime.  The spooks on Capricorn will want to hear every detail of your engagements with the aliens on the ground.”

“Aye, Captain,” Mandell said.  Unlike some people, he didn't bother to congratulate her on succeeding to command.  It had come at too high a price.  “And then we can return to the war?”

“I fear so,” Janine said.  Her face tightened as she remembered the holocaust that had overwhelmed Invincible and her task force.  And then a second assault carrier had been lost, in the same system.  “It won’t be long before they come after Capricorn and then...God knows what will happen then.”

There were hundreds of warships and thousands of starfighters in the Capricorn system, but would they be enough to stand off the aliens?  Janine found it hard to believe that anything could just punch its way through the fleet guarding the planet, yet the aliens had shown a remarkable capability for neutralising humanity’s best weapons.  Who knew what they would bring to bear against Capricorn?

“Get some rest, Sergeant,” she said, again.  “I don’t know how long it will be before any of us can rest again.”

Chapter Fourteen

Capricorn Base
21st April 2435

“I’m afraid the recordings from New Marseilles didn't do the peace party any good,” Grand Admiral Ivanovo’s image said.  He sounded wryly amused.  “The scenes of aliens slaughtering human refugees have convinced most of the swingers in the General Assembly that we have to fight to the death.”

“Which may be what we have to do,” Admiral Davidson said, tartly.  “Have the analysts produced anything actually useful?”

“Very little,” Ivanovo admitted.  “They don’t have any idea how the aliens manage to create their death rays – all of our experiments with energy weapons are several orders of magnitude less powerful than their weapons.  The best they have been able to suggest is coordinating starfighter and missile strikes to force them to deal with multiple targets at once, but they’re still better at that than we are.  They do have some ideas about mass drives and railgun systems being used to hit the alien craft...”

“But the aliens are very good at dodging,” Admiral Davidson said, in some irritation.  Human ships wallowed; it was possible to slam a ballistic projectile into a fleet carrier with a little luck.  But the alien craft were so much more manoeuvrable that the tactic seemed unlikely to work, at least not more than once.  At least it would give the aliens something else to worry about as they closed in on human fleets.  “What they did to Illustrious certainly suggests that they can recharge their jump engines faster than us too.”

“Maybe,” Ivanovo said.  he shook his head.  “The General Assembly is panicking – at least those who understand the realities of space combat are panicking.  Those who don’t are more worried about what we’re going to do with the refugees than anything else.  They are quite happy to evacuate dozens of worlds, but rather less happy about the prospect of having the refugees dumped on them.  But where is the safe territory in this war?”

Admiral Davidson nodded, sourly.  The aliens – the Trolls, as they were being called after visuals of their bodies had been recovered from New Marseilles – had raided several worlds near Capricorn; jumping in, blasting everything within range and then jumping out again.  Their attacks made little sense; three more planets had had their population centres nuked, while the remainder had only lost their space-based industry, spaceports and military bases.  But it wasn't helping the evacuation effort; one convoy had escaped Cadiz, only to be caught and wiped out when the Trolls raided Sandoval Junction.  Thousands of people had died when the Trolls pounded their ships into scrap.  

“Tell them that we may be forced to start evacuating inner worlds next,” he said, although he knew that it was likely to be impossible.  The UN simply didn't have enough ships to evacuate one of the major worlds, let alone have anywhere to put the refugees afterwards.  Earth had been encouraging people to leave for centuries, including deporting people for almost any crime, yet the population was still rising.  “Is there any chance of support from our allies?”

“The Polis claim to be occupied with watching the remains of the Magana,” Ivanovo said.  They shared a long glance; watching the Magana was hardly a task for anything larger than a light cruiser squadron.  The Magana were trapped on their homeworld, watched by a blockade force with standing orders to obliterate anything that might get them back up into space.  “The Sutra are...more open about being reluctant to assist.  They don’t want to pick a fight with an alien race that might be able to wipe them out.”

“We don’t want to pick a fight with them either,” Admiral Davidson nodded.  “I see that gratitude isn't one of their personality traits.”

“I’m not sure I would trust the Sutra to help, even if they were willing,” Ivanovo admitted.  “God knows they’d certainly extract a price for their assistance, perhaps us looking the other way when they start raiding the Triangle.  Their current Monarch is under a great deal of pressure to prove his independence from the United Nations; after all, it was us who propped up his great-grandfather.  And you know that their dissident factions have never loved us.”

It took Davidson a moment to put the pieces together.  “You think that they might join the Trolls in waging war on us?”

“It’s a possibility,” Ivanovo agreed.  “So far, of course, no one has managed to communicate with the Trolls, so they may not want to expend their strength in fighting humanity when they might have to fight the Trolls next.  As far as we can tell, they don’t know anything more about the Trolls than we do; they certainly don’t know how to duplicate their weapons and starship drives.  They may just want to take advantage of the situation to push their own agenda forward.”

“Taking advantage of our weakness,” Admiral Davidson said.  “With friends like those, who needs enemies?”

“That’s what the General Assembly said,” Ivanovo observed.  “Some of the worlds that are likely to be in the path of the Trolls as they advance towards Earth have called for a high-level peace mission to their leaders – as if we knew where to find their leaders.  The proposal seems to have stalled because there is a slight shortage of volunteers among the diplomatic corps to approach the Trolls.”

Admiral Davidson had to smile.  Ever since First Contact, the Trolls had demonstrated nothing more than unthinking hostility towards the human race.  It was quite likely that any peace mission would be rapidly destroyed by the Trolls, even if they came in an unarmed ship.  He wouldn't waste time feeling sorry for the politicians who refused to realise that the truth seemed to be that the Trolls weren't interested in communicating, but the starships would have crews who would be helpless if – when – the Trolls opened fire.

“I’m still trying to scrape up as many reinforcements as I can for you,” Ivanovo continued.  “The problem is that anyone who has any firepower is reluctant to let go of it right now.  Two self-defence forces have flatly refused to send units to support 9th Fleet and several others are stalling.  They’re also distributing weapons to civilian militias and doing what they can to evacuate their cities before the Trolls reach their territories...assuming that they do.”

Davidson scowled.  There were over a thousand warships in orbit around Capricorn, the largest and most powerful fleet the United Nations had assembled since the Magana War – and they were accompanied by nearly nine thousand starfighters.  If nothing else, sheer numbers would give them an advantage against the Trolls, but the Troll death rays would ensure that his fleet took staggering losses.  They might manage to beat off one attack only to be pushed out of the system by a second attack.  His men had managed to scrape up several hundred shuttles and other STL ships to serve as decoys, but he knew that the Trolls wouldn’t be fooled for very long, if at all.  Hundreds of thousands of lives would be lost when – if – the Trolls arrived to challenge his defences.  

“We have to assume the worst,” he said.  “Thank you for your support, Admiral.”

Ivanovo nodded, ruefully.  “You’ll have everything else I can forward to you,” he said.  “5th Fleet is on the way and we’re calling up the reserves right now.  The General Assembly is stalling over a general declaration of martial law and the shift of all production facilities to military hardware, but we have managed to push starfighter production forward at high speed.  We may end up with more starfighters than we have pilots to fly them.”

“We should be so lucky,” Admiral Davidson said.  It took six months to train a starfighter pilot, in one of the five training facilities scattered around the United Nations.  There was no shortage of volunteers to fly starfighters, allowing the UNNS to pick the best and direct the others into different positions in the military.  Now, standards might be allowed to slip as the UNNS grew more desperate for pilots, any pilots.  “What about military conscription?”

“They’re still stalling on that too,” Ivanovo said.  “I can see their point – conscription will cause one hell of an economic earthquake – but we need that manpower.”

He shook his head.  “Let me worry about that, Admiral,” he concluded.  “Take care of your ships and men.”

Admiral Davidson nodded as Ivanovo’s image vanished.  Projecting a real-time conversation through the StarCom network was always expensive, but the Grand Admiral had the authority to make a call if necessary.  And it did help if his subordinates heard his updates directly from his mouth...shaking his head, Davidson looked up at the chart showing alien attacks on humanity’s settled worlds.  It wouldn't be long before the Trolls came to Capricorn.

He tapped a switch.  “Send in Captain Herald,” he ordered.

***
Janine had been waiting outside the Admiral’s office, feeling unaccountably nervous at the unexpected summons to face Admiral Davidson in his own territory.  Normally, someone so high-ranking wouldn't want to meet a subordinate directly – but Janine had been under Admiral Hanson’s command and Admiral Hanson was dead.  She wasn't sure if she was in trouble, or if the Admiral wished to commend her in person.  The medals she and her crew had been given for their part in the rescue mission to New Marseilles didn't protect them from a chewing out if the Admiral felt that they had screwed up in some way.

She walked into the Admiral’s office and snapped to attention, saluting him properly.  His office was unsurprisingly large, with a big holographic display showing the fleet base and the thousands of starships surrounding the planets.  Unlike a starship, there was plenty of room on a command base – although the cynic in her suspected that the junior officers and enlisted crew had much smaller quarters.  Admiral Davidson returned her salute and then waved for her to take a seat.  Janine sat, still unsure of what was happening.  

“At ease, Captain,” the Admiral said.  “I trust that the media vultures weren't too much of a problem?”

Janine winced.  Capricorn Base was playing host to hundreds of reporters, including some who had been evacuated from threatened worlds and brought to the base, probably because nowhere else was willing to take them.  The Admiral’s PR staff had suggested that Janine and her crew should make time to speak with them, just to convince the reporters that the human race might be technologically inferior to this new foe, but they could still produce victories.  Calling their rescue mission to New Marseilles a victory was stretching the truth a little, Janine felt, but she understood the value of good media relations.  The last thing they needed was for the inner worlds to become defeatist.

“They sucked us dry,” Janine said, finally.  The Admiral smiled at her remark.  At least the media reports would go through the censors first, just to make sure that any sensitive data was edited out before the Trolls picked up on it.  There had been nothing to suggest that the Trolls were interested in monitoring human transmissions, but there was no point in taking unnecessary risks.  “I...”

The Admiral spoke over her.  “It has been decided that the alien corpse will be transported to a secret base near Earth,” he said.  “I have assigned you and Rubicon to transport the corpse to the base, at which point you will be assigned to assist the analysis team as they study the alien technology and attempt to devise countermeasures.  You and your crew have more experience facing the aliens than anyone else; you’ll take a couple of analysts from my base on your ship as well before you depart.”

“Yes, sir,” Janine said, unable to hide her surprise.  There were officers who would have welcomed a chance to escape Capricorn before the Trolls landed on top of it, but she had expected to fight and die beside her comrades.  “With all due respect, sir...why us?”

Admiral Davidson looked up at her.  “Because you do have the experience – and you have a growing reputation,” he said.  He smiled, rather thinly.  “You have been keeping up with the media reports, haven’t you?”

“No, sir,” Janine admitted.  She hadn't had the time; Rubicon had lost a third of her crew during the refit and no one had been able to dig up replacements before they set out for new Marseilles.  Janine had effectively been serving as her own XO as well as Captain; she was uncomfortably aware that if they ran into real trouble they were dangerously undermanned.  Damage control would be a real problem if the alien weapons had been less effective.  “What have they been saying about me?”

“They’re calling you a hero for your brave escape from New Marseilles,” the Admiral informed her.  Janine found herself blushing in horror.  “Right now, the media thinks that you walk on water and can kill with a glance.  If you happen to want to retire, you could go on the lecture service and enjoy more clout than most of the ex-Admirals the media has dragged up to provide commentary on the war.”

Janine swallowed the response that came to mind.  “Sir...”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Admiral Davidson said.  “The media are vultures – and once they’ve built you up they will be happy to tear you down.  However, it does give us a problem – and an opportunity.  Sending you to Earth might give us a chance to use your fame to boost civilian morale...”

“Sir,” Janine said, slowly, “permission to speak freely?”

“Granted,” the Admiral said, “although I think I can guess what you want to say.”

Janine scowled.  “I didn't join the Navy to be a media hero,” she protested.  “I can’t just leave everyone else behind and run off to Earth...”

“Your duty is to go where the Navy needs you to go,” Davidson said, flatly.  He looked down at the desk for a long moment, and then back up at her.  “I won’t lie to you, Captain.  Right now, the inner worlds are in a state of complacency and the outer worlds are in a state of terror.  The inner worlds have been safe for so long that the idea that something – anything – might be able to threaten them is beyond their ability to grasp.  Why shouldn't it be?  They’re protected by the all-powerful United Nations Naval Service, which they pay for and effectively control.  But that also means that they are reluctant to make sacrifices and that they are willing to give up something that doesn't belong to them to ensure peace.

“The outer worlds are far too aware that alien threats can destroy them, but they don’t have the political clout to convince the inner worlds that that is true.  They’re also suspicious of the inner worlds, particularly the homeworlds that seed colonies out along the edge of explored space and the corporations that can muscle their way into a position of power and then start raping the colonies to death.  Right now, they need support from the inner worlds and that support isn't going to be coming unless we manage to convince the inner worlds that our backs are pushed against the wall.”

Janine blinked in surprise.  “But they have to know just how badly the Trolls hammered us in the early engagements...”

“But they don’t really grasp it,” the Admiral said.  “The inner worlds are separated from New Marseilles by hundreds of light years.  They don’t really believe that the Trolls can reach their worlds to threaten them – the all-powerful Navy will stop them long before the Trolls can get anywhere near the inner worlds.  And I wish that that was true, but looking at the records it’s easy to tell that we’re going to take a beating when the Trolls finally come for Capricorn.  The Navy needs you to help convince the inner worlds that we have to make serious preparations for war.”

Janine looked up at the holographic star chart and shook her head.  The Admiral was right; the Trolls were a long way from the inner worlds...but they wouldn't stay a long way from the inner worlds.  Unless their tactical doctrine was radically different from humanity’s, they would have to punch out Capricorn before advancing further into human space, if only to prevent Capricorn from raiding the occupied planets and their supply lines at will.  No, they’d engage Capricorn as soon as they could – and God alone knew what they’d bring to bear against an entire base.  The Admiral might find himself fighting a losing battle.

“I understand, sir,” she said.  “I won’t let you down.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the Admiral said.  “I’m having the alien body and the analysts transferred to your ship now, following which you can depart as soon as possible.  The analysis team will continue to study the body, but I doubt they will find anything new...”

Janine nodded, sourly.  The analysis team had largely agreed with Doctor Li; the alien corpse had been an engineered creature, rather than something that had evolved naturally.  It was a chilling thought; they might not have seen the real aliens at all, even on occupied worlds.  What they needed, desperately, was an intact alien craft to study – and, so far, they had been driven away from all battlefields.  Holding Capricorn might just give them the chance to capture an alien craft reasonably intact.  

“Good luck, Admiral,” she said, as she stood up.  Her crew had been granted liberty, but they’d been warned not to go too far from the airlock where Rubicon was docked.  If the aliens turned up, they'd have to cast off from the command station as quickly as possible, before the aliens had a chance to start firing on the base.  “Is there anything else you wish us to transport to Earth?”

“I would feel bad about using your ship to convoy a personal letter from me,” Davidson said.  “I just hope that your luck holds out, Captain.  We’re going to need it.”

Chapter Fifteen

Capricorn Base
21st April 2435

Flight Captain Connie Chung woke up as the alarms sounded throughout the fleet carrier, calling the crew to battlestations.  There was someone else in bed with her...for a moment, her memory failed her and then she remembered meeting a transfer Flight Captain from Capricorn in the Officer’s Mess.  One drink had led to another and then she’d found herself inviting him back to her cabin for the night, if only because she had been thoroughly stressed trying to train up five maggots – new pilots – to standards that would render them actually fit for combat.

“Get up,” she snapped at the man, as she slapped his ass.  “Move, you stupid bastard!”

He started awake and then started grabbing for his shipsuit.  Connie would have laughed if she hadn't been so busy pulling her suit over her body and then donning her helmet and running out of the hatch.  The starfighter pilots were racing to their craft, while the carrier’s support personnel hastily powered them up for immediate launch.  Either the Captain or the CAG had decided to order a drill, or the Trolls had entered the system, bent on shredding 9th Fleet before it grew any stronger.  She felt uncomfortably dirty as she entered the tubes and ran across to her fighter, but there was no time for a shower.  If the fleet was under attack, they had to be out in space as quickly as possible or they’d die when the Trolls blasted the fleet carrier with their death rays.

“I’ve fixed the additional torpedoes to your rack,” one of the flight deck staff bellowed.  Connie barely heard him over the racket of a dozen starfighters powering up for launch.  “You should be able to fire them all through the main firing control.”

Connie nodded as she scrambled up the ladder and clambered down into the cockpit.  The general consensus was that the aliens simply didn't have starfighters of their own, which meant that all of the starfighters could concentrate on launching torpedoes against the enemy craft rather than half of them providing cover to the other half, keeping enemy starfighters off their backs.  There was no logical reason why the enemy couldn't have starfighters – they were certainly humanoid, unlike the Polis – but Connie wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.  Humanity had so few advantages in this war that they needed to make the most of what they had.

“All fighters, this is the CAG,” a voice said, as she linked into the starfighter’s computer system.  “The Trolls have entered the system in force; I say again, the Trolls have entered the system in force.  Prepare for immediate launch.”

Connie ran her hand down the set of switches, confirming that the starfighter was manned, powered up and ready to go.  A moment later, the craft slid forward into the launch tubes and there was a clunk as the blast doors came up to protect the deck staff.  Her HUD came to life in front of her eyes, displaying a swarm of red icons approaching the system from on a vector that suggested they came from the direction of Cadiz.  It was hard to be sure, but they seemed almost determined to hang back, rather than simply charging the human starships.  After the micro-jumping tactic they’d shown at New Marseilles, Connie was rather surprised.  Or maybe it wasn't such a surprise; there were so many human ships near the command base that they might intersect with a human ship and both starships would be blown into flaming debris.  The Admiral had been scattering debris around in the hopes that the aliens would do just that.

“Blue Squadron,” the CAG said, “launch!”

Connie winced as the force of the launch pushed her back into her chair.  The starfighter was boosted out of the carrier and into open space, with hundreds of other starfighters forming up into attack wings.  There was a brief exchange of signals between the various squadron commanders and then Blue Squadron fell into position behind Red and White Squadrons.  They had a higher percentage of veterans than Blue Squadron and therefore had been given the rather dubious honour of leading the first assault.  Connie had heard that their CO had suggested sending the maggots in first, a suggestion that had resulted in him nearly being punched by the CAG.  But they were all stressed out, knowing that they be swatted out of existence the next time they encountered the alien ships.

“This is System Command,” a new voice said.  “I make the enemy fleet as being thirty-seven Alphas, fifty-two Betas.  Watch the Betas, pilots; we believe that they have no blind spot to use against them.”

Connie nodded, sourly.  The starfish-shaped alien craft had enough firepower to pick off hundreds of starfighters – they might be the alien version of an antifighter cruiser – and, lacking a blind spot, the pilots would be exposed all the way into their attack runs.  Tactical analysts had suggested that the aliens might not have armed them with the truly formidable death rays the larger cruisers used against human starships, but Connie suspected that it didn't matter.  The alien weapons were formidable enough to take out entire starships even when not on the highest possible settling.  

The alien craft were getting closer, fanning out into a formation that looked vaguely familiar, not unlike a standard UNNS formation for beating off starfighter attacks.  Connie gritted her teeth as she saw the Betas moving into covering position, ready to intercept any human starfighter that dared try to make a run on the larger ships.  But the Betas were less of a problem than the cruisers; they already knew that they didn't dare allow the Alphas into firing range of the fleet if it was at all possible to keep them away.  A great many pilots were about to die today.

“Starships firing...now,” System Command said.  On the HUD, the human starships had launched over a thousand missiles, aimed directly at the alien craft.  Chances were that they would try to jump away from the missiles, Connie had been warned, but it would still force them to react to something the human race did rather than the other way around.  “Prepare to enter chaotic formation as soon as the missiles shoot past you.”

Connie nodded, feeling tension gripping at her chest.  According to the tactical analysts, combining missile and starfighter strikes would force the aliens to divert their firepower to deal with the missiles while the starfighters got close enough to unload their torpedoes into the alien craft at point-blank range.  Connie was rather less sanguine about their chances of success – the aliens had already displayed a remarkable ability to swing their weapons from target to target – but anything that gave them a fighting chance wasn't to be sneered at.  They’d also launched ECM warheads and other surprises, hoping that they would deny the aliens the use of at least some of their tricks.  But then, Connie reflected, the aliens probably had plenty of other tricks the human race hadn't seen yet.

“Missiles coming up our butts,” one of the other squadron commanders said.  “Watch your backs.”

Connie nodded, grimly.  The seeker heads were supposed to know the difference between a human starfighter and an alien target, but it wouldn't be the first time technology had failed in the field, no matter what the technicians claimed.  She adjusted course slightly to allow one of the missiles to rage past her, its drive lancing it directly towards one of the alien cruisers.  A moment more and it would be in firing range.

“Chaotic formation, now,” she ordered.  The starfighters slid into their new formation, ducking and weaving as they charged towards the alien fleet.  Ahead of them, the alien craft were already beginning to blaze with light as their point defence fired on the missiles – and proving, in passing, that the Betas were devilishly effective platforms for antifighter fire.  Only a handful of missiles survived to enter terminal attack phase and slam into the alien craft, destroying two of the Betas and damaging one of the Alphas.  A moment later, the damaged Alpha jumped out and vanished, prompting a cheer from the fighter pilots.  They’d forced an enemy craft to retreat.  “And engage!”

Space seemed to light up with flickers of light as the alien craft opened fire on the starfighters, attempting to pick them off before they got into firing range.  Connie threw her fighter through a series of evasive manoeuvres as they closed in on the alien ships, finally entering engagement range just after a bolt of light nearly vaporised her starfighter and herself.  There was no time for organised strikes – post-battle analysis of the Battle of Cadiz had suggested that the aliens used those brief moments to concentrate their fire and pick off additional starfighters – but there were so many starfighters in the assault force that several others would follow her in.  She unleashed three of her torpedoes into the alien craft’s hull and then pulled away, spinning the craft through a random evasive pattern as the aliens concentrated on burning her torpedoes out of space.  They were effectively sprint-mode missiles, fired at nearly point-blank range, but the aliens still managed to pick off two of them before the third slammed into their hull.  The detonation shredded some of the alien armour, creating a blind spot in their defences.  Another flight of starfighters would be able to take advantage of it if they realised it was there.  

She glanced down at her HUD as she pulled away from the alien craft, attempting to round up what remained of Blue Squadron.  Four pilots – all maggots – had died, picked off by the alien craft; the survivors had managed to unload their torpedoes and escape the aliens before they were obliterated too.  But they might have been the lucky ones.  Nearly a thousand starfighters had been wiped out of existence by the aliens before they managed to launch their torpedoes and escape.  

The aliens had taken a pounding, thankfully.  Five Alphas had been destroyed outright, with two more damaged, forced to jump out and escape.  Nine Betas had been picked off, although assaulting those starships was even more dangerous than assaulting the Alphas.  Very few of the pilots who slipped into attack position managed to survive long enough to launch their torpedoes and escape.  But they were still coming, racing towards the base at terrifying speed.  The human starships were still launching missiles, yet it wouldn't be long before they had to jump out themselves or face the alien death rays at close range.  And then they’d be unable to return to the battle...

“Form up on me,” she ordered.  At least they’d drilled forming impromptu squadrons from the remainder of pre-battle squadrons.  White Squadron had been effectively wiped out, leaving only one pilot alive to return to the fight.  Several other squadrons had been obliterated right down to the last pilot.  “Prepare to return to the attack.”

***
“Alien craft will be within attack range in one minute, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “Should I signal the cruisers to withdraw?”

“Not yet,” Admiral Davidson said, calmly.  The cruisers were in position to intercept the alien craft, which was a laughable preposition considering the firepower the aliens could bring to bear.  “Tell them to continue firing and prepare to trigger the laser warheads on my command.”

The alien craft sliced closer to the cruisers, their weapons blazing as they wiped the human missiles out of space before they could get into attack range.  It would only be a few seconds before they could start targeting the launch platforms directly, but there would be a slight window of opportunity...the seconds ticked away, right until the very last moment...

“Fire,” Davidson ordered.  A hundred nuclear warheads, their power channelled into high-energy gamma-ray laser beams, fired as one.  The concept of laser heads had been dreamed up in the days before First Contact, but they had generally been dismissed as ineffective and wasteful.  But there was no way that the alien death rays could block a laser beam and prevent it striking alien hulls.  “The cruisers are to jump as soon as they come under attack.”

The alien craft seemed to stagger as the laser beams dug into their hulls.  Whatever they used to produce their craft was at least as tough as standard hullmetal, but the analysts had deduced that they needed the hull relatively intact to channel the power of their death rays.  The bomb-pumped lasers swept across the alien hulls, melting the armour and slicing into the interior before the bombs destroyed themselves.  A moment later, the shocked alien craft returned to the attack, firing at everything that might pose a threat.  Nearly a dozen cruisers died before the remainder jumped out and vanished, leaving the alien craft tormented by  starfighters and out of position to engage the cruisers.

For a moment, everything seemed to come to a halt, leaving Davidson wondering if the aliens would fall back and retreat.  They’d certainly been given a bloody nose.  But instead the aliens started moving again; ignoring the command base, they headed directly for the carriers and their escorts, aware that without the carriers the starfighters would be crippled and effectively rendered helpless.  Once the starfighters were gone, they could wipe out the remainder of the fleet and the command base at leisure.

“Order the starfighters to return to the attack,” he ordered.  The carriers were already launching the rearmed starfighters and directing them to cover their motherships.  If worst came to worst, the carriers would have to jump out and return to pick up the starfighters once the battle was over, assuming that the aliens didn't follow the carriers and wipe them out before it was too late.  “We have got to protect those ships!”

***
“Our target is Beta-nine,” Connie said, as the remains of Blue Squadron followed her back into the fire.  The aliens had taken a nasty blow; the updates from the combat analysis team suggested that some of their ships had lost their ability to fire their weapons in any direction.  If the bomb-pumped lasers had actually worked, it was quite possible that they could win this battle.  “Form up on me and prepare to engage the enemy.”

The aliens were blazing away furiously, blasting anything that could be a threat.  Connie watched helplessly as they picked off a pair of lifepods from the damaged cruisers, followed by sweeping their weapons over the cruiser debris so ferociously that the remains were wiped out of existence.  Their tactics didn't make any sense to her, unless they believed that the debris was being used to conceal other weapons.  It would have been true if there had been time to prepare the entire system and turn it into a death trap.  Rumour had it that the RockRats were doing just that after Beta Nine – the irony wasn't lost on her – had been hit by the trolls.

They raced closer to the alien ships, slipping into chaotic formation just before they entered the enemy’s engagement range.  The aliens had to be feeling a little harassed; the fleet carriers had launched the rearmed starfighters from the other direction, trapping them between two waves of starfighter attacks.  But then, they were effectively able to fire in any direction; their blasts lanced out and lashed into the starfighters, forcing them to scatter and therefore dilute their attack.  It wasn't as effective as picking off the starfighters one by one, but it was effective enough to disrupt the attack patterns that gave them their best chance of inflicting serious damage.

Beta-nine twisted in front of the squadron, spitting fire in all directions.  Connie braced herself as another burst of light shot past her starfighter, just before she saw two of Blue Squadron simply wink out of existence as the aliens scored two direct hits.  She activated her targeting systems, armed her remaining torpedoes and fired them directly towards the alien craft.  As always, the aliens swept their fire back towards the torpedoes, hoping to wipe them out before they could strike home.  Connie cursed out loud as all three torpedoes were vaporised and destroyed, just before the aliens resumed firing at Blue Squadron.  They were less lucky with the next starfighter, which accidentally rammed right into the alien craft.  The resulting explosion created a blind spot which allowed the remainder of the squadron to fire their missiles directly into the starship, blowing it away in a series of brilliant explosions.

“Target destroyed,” she reported, with some relief.  Thirty-seven starfighters had accompanied her on her attack run, nine survived to break away from the remains of the alien craft.  They would have to link up with other shattered formations...no, they would have to return to the carriers and rearm before they returned to the fight.  There was no point in challenging the enemy without weapons.  “Prepare to...”

Something slammed into the rear of her starfighter; the entire craft shuddered violently and threatened to break apart.  Connie didn't hesitate; she grabbed the ejector level, braced herself and exploded outwards into the inky darkness of space.  A moment later, the remains of her starfighter exploded underneath her, leaving her alone in space.  The battle, as far as she was concerned, was over.

Carefully, she checked her life support and realised that she had enough air to survive for another hour.  The emergency beacon had already been disabled; it wasn't something that any of the pilots found comforting, but the Trolls had already demonstrated their willingness to fire on lifepods.  She shook her head as she settled into the chair, hoping – praying – that another human ship would be able to recover her before she ran out of life support.  At least, she told herself, if the aliens saw her and fired on her she wouldn't know it before it was too late.

In the distance, she could see brief flashes of light.  The battle was, if anything, far from over.

Chapter Sixteen

Capricorn Base
21st April 2435

“They’re pushing up towards the fleet carriers now,” McLaughlin reported.  “They’ll be in engagement range within five minutes.”

Janine nodded, grimly.  Rubicon had been making its way out of the system when the alien attack fleet had arrived and she’d ordered the ship into cloak.  A single cruiser couldn't make much difference to the actual battle, but they’d get good records for the analysts before they had to jump out and escape.  But watching helplessly as the aliens tore into the human defenders extracted a price of its own.  Her comrades were dying and there was nothing she could do to help them.

It was actually harder to track what was going on, even though they had access to the stealthed sensor platforms scattered around the system.  The Trolls seemed to be taking a beating, for once, but the human defenders were also losing ships and starfighters faster than they could be replaced.  It looked as if the battle had devolved into a battering match, with the winner being the side that could remain fighting the longest, yet the sheer advantage the aliens had in firepower gave them an advantage.  Janine could only watch and pray that it wasn't a decisive advantage.  There was no way to know just how badly the aliens were being hurt, but she was sure that upwards of several thousand humans had already been killed.

But the aliens might be on the verge of scoring a victory.  If they managed to take out the carriers, the starfighters would be doomed, allowing the aliens to complete the destruction of the fleet and the base at leisure.  And then there would be nothing stopping them from advancing short of another fleet base, on the edge of the inner worlds.  She remembered what the Admiral had said to her and shivered.  In absolute terms, losing most of the core worlds wouldn't detract from humanity’s industrial base and population centres, but if the aliens gained a foothold in the inner worlds there might not be time to turn humanity’s vast industrial base into a production centre for military power.  At least the bomb-pumped lasers had given the aliens a nasty surprise.  Perhaps they could start mass-producing laser warheads for starships and give the human ships a chance to even the odds.

She shook her head, bitterly.  All she could do for now was watch and record as 9th Fleet fought what looked to be its final battle.

***
“The aliens are closing in on the fleet carriers, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “They’ll be in engagement range in two minutes.”

“Order the carriers to jump out to the RV point when the aliens reach engagement range,” Admiral Davidson said.  There was no point in risking the carriers in a close-range engagement with an enemy who had already displayed superior firepower.  Besides, the carriers and the starfighter pilots would need time to reorganise their shattered squadrons.  “The remainder of the starfighters can return to the base instead of their carriers.”

That was risky, if only because the base was a stationary target, but there was no other choice.  “And then move the cruisers in to engage the enemy at long range,” he added.  “We might as well try to give the aliens something else to think about.”

On the display, the carriers twisted and vanished into flux space.  

***
Captain David Atwell felt the Australia shudder as she started to launch her missiles towards the alien craft, which were angling back towards the command base now that they had been cheated of their first choice of pray.  He half-expected the aliens to jump out, cutting their losses, but they didn't seem to have decided to throw in the towel just yet.  Instead, they were angling right towards the command base.  Logically, they had deduced that the command base could also support the starfighters – if nowhere near as many of them as the fleet carriers – and they intended to destroy it before completing the destruction of the human fleet.  If they managed to wipe out the facilities surrounding Capricorn itself and the fleet base, they would have crippled 9th Fleet even if the majority of the ships remained intact.  The fleet would have no choice, but to withdraw to the inner defence lines and abandon the entire sector to the Trolls.

“Keep the range open,” he ordered.  The alien craft were faster in normal space than the best the UN capital ships could produce, but they would have to work at overtaking his ships.  And then he could jump out to the edge of the system in the hopes that it would force the aliens to come after him again.  It would be like waving a red cloth in front of a bull, except that this bull was presumably intelligent enough to ignore the bait.  “Try and coordinate our strikes with what remains of the starfighters.”

The alien ships kept advancing, steadily burning missiles out of space as they accelerated towards Australia and her sisters.  David cursed under his breath as they kept firing, blasting away at the starfighters as well as the missiles; damn it, he wanted a ship that could do that!  The main display counted down the seconds to the moment when the aliens would be able to engage them, when they would have to jump out or risk having alien death rays ripping their ships apart.  And then the display changed sharply.

“Tactical,” he snapped.  “What the fuck is that?”

“I’m not sure,” the tactical officer admitted.  “They’re pulsing artificial gravity waves at us.”

David frowned, puzzled.  The gravity waves wouldn't do more than tap his ship lightly – and if the aliens could make a gravity field powerful enough to do real damage, the war was already lost.  Besides, if they had such a weapon, they would have used it already.  

“Shit,” the helmsman said.  “Sir, if we try to jump out while the local gravity field is so variable, we would probably lose control of the flux field.  We might end up shredded...”

“Or unable to jump at all,” David finished.  The aliens had pulled off something devious, he had to admit; they couldn't be stopped from entering engagement range now.  And then his ship and her sisters would get torn apart.  “Prepare to switch to sprint-mode fire; if we all fire at once they will have to split their attention between us and the missiles.”

“Alien ships entering engagement range,” the tactical officer said.

“All units, this is Commodore Powell,” a new voice said.  “Squadron orders; all ships scatter.  I say again, all ships scatter.”

“Scatter,” David ordered.  It made sense; at the very least, the aliens would have to decide between wasting time trying to destroy the entire squadron or letting them go as they closed in on the command base.  “Pull us back and...”

“Alien ships firing,” the tactical officer snapped.  “They’re targeting...”

Australia shook violently as an alien death ray sliced into her rear hull.  A moment later, the artificial gravity failed as a series of explosions rocked the ship, culminating in an explosion that rocked the bridge.  Half of the consoles failed while the remainder lit up with bright red warning lights.  There were so many damage reports that David knew that there was no hope of saving the ship.

He keyed his wristcom as he unhooked himself from his chair.  “All hands, abandon ship,” he ordered.  “I say again, all hands abandon ship...”

The bridge seemed to suddenly blaze with light.  There was a moment in which David knew that it was already too late, and then the world slipped into darkness.

***
“Admiral, they have destroyed the 12th Cruiser Squadron,” the tactical officer reported.  “The starfighters are closing in to attack range now.”

Admiral Davidson nodded, grimly.  Who would have thought of using gravity waves as a weapon?  How did they even manage to focus them against enemy targets?  Combined with their death rays, it was a remarkably simple trick that forced their targets to stand and fight against superior firepower.  Maybe they could reprogram navigational computers to ignore the artificial gravity waves, disengaging the safety interlocks, but that might just result in the flux drive field tearing the ship apart.

They must not be able to use it at very long range, or they would have used it against the carriers, he thought.  At least it wasn't something that would force the UN to fight on unfavourable terms.  But right now it hardly mattered.  The aliens were closing in on his command base and he doubted that the starfighters would be able to do enough to stop them from taking out the base.

“Order all non-essential personnel to their emergency positions,” he ordered.  He’d kept a couple of passenger liners back from the general evacuation, preparing them so that his people would have a chance to escape.  Against any normal enemy, he would have been willing to surrender once the remainder of his command had jumped out, but this foe had made it alarmingly clear that they were prepared to slaughter helpless humans in lifepods.  Once they got into danger range, he intended to overload the base’s reactors and try to take out as many ships as possible in the blast.  Or there were enough nuclear warheads in the missile stores to make one hell of an explosion.   “And then order the remaining starships to pull back to the RV point...”

“Admiral,” the sensor officer snapped.  “I’m picking up...”

Admiral Davidson swung around to look at the main display, which had just started to flicker with new icons.  “It’s the 5th Fleet, Admiral,” the sensor officer said.  Ten new fleet carriers, a dozen assault carriers and over thirty freighters that had been modified to carry and laugh fighters in combat operations...enough firepower to deter any normal foe.  But the Trolls had shown their willingness to engage numerically superior foes before.  “They’re here!”

“Order them to launch their starfighters and engage the enemy,” Admiral Davidson said.  He hadn't dared hope that 5th Fleet would arrive in time.  Admiral Ivanovo had been careful not to make any promises.  “And then order our cruisers to open fire with long-range missiles on the alien ships.”

It proved to be unnecessary.  Five minutes after 5th Fleet had started to launch its fighters, the Trolls hesitated...and then jumped out of the system.  Davidson watched carefully, half-convinced that the Trolls intended to relocate themselves to a better position, before realising that they’d actually forced the aliens to retreat.  For the first time, humanity had produced a clear-cut victory, even if it had come at such terrifying cost.  Nearly three thousand starfighters had been wiped out, along with thirty starships and their entire crews.  It would have been a great deal worse if 5th Fleet hadn't arrived.

“Recall the starfighters and send one of the pickets to call back the carriers,” he ordered.  Some of 9th Fleet’s fighters would have to land on 5th Fleet’s carriers until their own carriers returned to Capricorn.  It would be confusing and cumbersome, but they’d manage; they were, after all, the problems of victory.  The Trolls had to be feeling worse.  “And then start launching the SAR pickets.  I want every lifepod recovered before it’s too late.”

And then the entire command base erupted into cheers.

***
Connie could tell that her life support was running low, even though she should have had enough air to last her for at least forty more minutes.  It was rare for a starfighter pilot to be able to eject in a conventional fight, let alone one against the Trolls – and it was far too possible that one of her cockpit’s life support units had been destroyed when the Trolls hit her starfighter.  Or maybe she’d simply rammed a piece of debris.  Most of her computer systems had shut down to avoid radiating betraying emissions that might have attracted the Trolls to vaporise the cockpit, which meant that she was completely alone in the inky vastness of space.  She had more familiarity with the true nature of interstellar space than any civilian – or any crewman on one of the massive fleet carriers, for that matter – yet she couldn't deny that it still held terrors for her.  

She peered outside into the darkness, looking at the eternal light of distant stars – no twinkling in outer space, where there was no atmosphere to provide the effect – and shivered.  There was no way to know what was going on out there, but unless the human race had had a stroke of good luck the Trolls had smashed the fleet base and chased away the carriers – or simply destroyed them.  If the fleet had been forced to retreat, she would be alone, with the only people who could pick her up being the Trolls.  And they had been more willing to vaporise harmless lifepods than take prisoners.  Indeed, all of the reports from New Marseilles indicated that the Trolls didn't take prisoners at all.

It puzzled her – and she knew that it puzzled the analysts.  Surely they had to understand that treating human prisoners well would convince humanity to treat their prisoners well.  Even the Magana, barbarians though they had been, had known better than to deliberately mistreat prisoners.  But the Trolls had destroyed lifepods, nuked cities and shown a willingness to completely eradicate some worlds of their human population.  Her mind chased the thought around and around, wondering just what drove such an alien race.  Did they find the human form too unspeakably disgusting to be allowed to exist?  Such xenophobia was far beyond most human xenophobes – it wasn't as if humans had to encounter aliens on Earth, or any world outside the Triangle and the joint settlements there – but these were aliens.  Or maybe they believed that humanity had done them some wrong in the past.

Shaking her head, she looked down again at a single injector tab at the bottom of her medical supplies.  It wasn't often talked about, but every pilot’s nightmare was dying alone in interplanetary space as the air ran out.  The tab would allow instant, painless suicide – although, she acknowledged with a bitter smile, the manufacturers wouldn't have anyone coming back to complain if the tab wasn't as painless as they promised.  Maybe it was her time to die.  The Trolls wouldn’t take anyone alive if they had won the battle...

Her radio hissed, picking up a sweep from a SAR craft.  A moment later, the emergency beacon snapped on, providing her precise location to the hunting craft.  Connie stared in disbelief as the SAR craft came into view, her pilot neatly tipping her so that she scooped up the lifepod into her cargo hold.  Connie felt gravity reasserting itself as the cargo hold’s hatches slid closed, followed by the hiss of air as it was pumped into the hold.  She managed to undo her cockpit’s locks and climb out into the hold as a medical team raced forward and caught her, pulling her into the next compartment.

“I’m fine,” Connie insisted, knowing that it wouldn't do any good.  If her life support had been contaminated, she might have been breathing poison – or something that would confuse and disorientate her.  They would have to put her through a test to be sure.  “What happened?”

“We won,” the medic said, as he pushed an injector tab against her neck.  The stimulant would give her enough energy to keep her on her feet until they returned to the carrier.  “You’re the ninth pilot that we pulled out of the vacuum since the end of the fighting.”

Connie stared at him.  “We won?”

“The 5th Fleet came into the system and caught the Trolls by surprise,” the other medic said.  She patted Connie’s hand, seeming to understand her astonishment.  “They had already taken a battering and so they decided to fall back and leave us alone.”

“It won’t be for long,” her companion grumbled.  He pressed a sensor against Connie’s chest and nodded.  “You should be fine, Flight Captain.  We’ll drop you off on your carrier before too long – they shouldn't have any difficulty finding you a spare fighter.”

No, they wouldn’t, Connie thought.  Too many pilots would have died, their starfighters blown apart by alien death rays.  Even if they had forced the aliens to retreat, how long would it be before they came back with more ships?  It wasn't as if another fleet was waiting in the wings to relieve Capricorn for a second time.  In the days before the Trolls – it felt like a lifetime ago – the standard procedure would be to have pilots returned to the inner world for some leave before recertifying them for flight duty.  Now, she would be pointed towards a new starfighter and told to take it out and join the fight.  

“And the media seems to have arrived in force,” the female medic added.  “I guess they might be interested in interviewing you, if you’re interested.  Some of them have been sending random spam through the communications network to get people to open up to them.”

Connie snorted.  “I think I’d prefer to have a broken bottle stuffed up my ass,” she said, remembering the Flight Captain she’d pulled into bed...had it really been only a few hours ago?  It felt as if she had been floating in space for years.  “They can't really want to interview me.”

“There weren't that many survivors from those who found themselves in space,” the male medic said.  He seemed rather amused at her horror.  “You’re going to be newsworthy for quite some time.”

Connie rather doubted it.  Standard UNNS doctrine was to put in a second assault as quickly as possible if the first assault had failed.  The Trolls were unlikely to disagree.  She might just, if she hurried, be able to get back into her starfighter before the Trolls returned to Capricorn.  And God alone knew what would happen then.

Chapter Seventeen

Luna
23rd April 2435

“We are all relieved to hear that your forces were successful in beating off the attack on Capricorn,” the Ambassador from Edo said, “but we fail to understand why you are reluctant to authorise a peace mission to the...ah, Trolls.”

Grand Admiral Anton Ivanovo scowled inwardly, although he kept a bland expression on his face.  Politicians rarely grasped the realities of military operations at the best of times – and these were hardly the best of times.  While the Battle of Capricorn might have been a victory for the human race, it had come at a high price – and the Trolls had chosen to retreat rather than be driven out of the system by force.  There was no way to know just how badly they had been hurt overall – there was no way to know if the UNNS had destroyed point one percent of their fleet, one percent or ten percent – but he doubted that the Trolls had been beaten permanently.  They would likely adapt, react and return to Capricorn to overcome.

The victory had also cost the lives of far too many starfighter pilots.  Everyone with any flight training at all – and no other job – was being rushed into the training centres, but it took time to produce a starfighter pilot, even with the program slashed down to the bare necessities.  Producing new starfighters also took time – and the politicians had refused to authorise an emergency rationalising of the human race’s colossal productive capability.  It was alarmingly possible that the UNNS would run out of starfighters before it ran out of pilots, even though Anton had given orders to transfer several dozen squadrons and pilots from various fleets to Capricorn.  And they might not arrive in time before the Trolls returned to the system.  

“We may have convinced them that Capricorn is too tough a target to take at this moment,” he said, “but we are far from ready to push the Trolls back to wherever they come from.  It will take time to build up a force designed to minimise their advantages and start taking them on under more even terms.  A peace mission right now might be taken as a sign of weakness.”

The thought almost made him scowl.  There was a peace lobby, composed of liberals from the inner worlds on one hand and politicians from outer worlds who were threatened by the Trolls on the other.  Anton would have been a great deal more enthusiastic about launching a peace mission to the Trolls – hoping that they would come to terms with the human race now that they’d picked up a bloody nose – if there had been any signs that the Trolls were willing to listen to human diplomats.  But even though they must have deciphered a stellar database – there had been no hint that they were surveying human space – they had simply ignored all previous attempts to communicate with them.  There was no reason to believe that a more formal peace mission would actually succeed.

“But this war has already put a colossal strain on our system,” one of the other Ambassadors pointed out.  New Moscow had been loudly reluctant to take any refugees from the outer worlds and had had the clout to make it stick.  The growing refugee crisis was yet another problem for the UNNS, although several worlds had been more receptive to the refugees than New Moscow.  But as the Trolls pressed onwards, the people who had been willing to take the refugees in might become refugees themselves.  “We need to put an end to it.”

“It takes two sides to make a peace,” Anton said, tiredly.  “So far, the Trolls have shown us nothing, but remorseless hostility.  What do you think we can offer them to convince them to stop trying to take it by force?”

There was one possible answer to that; some of the captured outer worlds.  Anton had no doubts that the inner worlds would happily accept the loss of the occupied worlds in exchange for peace – and no doubts that the outer worlds would see it as a betrayal.  There were already political catfights in the General Assembly over possible peace terms that might be offered to the Trolls, although the victory at Capricorn had temporarily silenced the ‘peace at any price’ crowd.  It didn’t seem to have occurred to the wealthy and powerful worlds that made up the controlling bloc in the General Assembly that ‘any price’ could include their own worlds.  The Trolls were still hundreds of light years from their territory.  

“If we can convince them to talk, we can convince them that we can co-exist,” one of the Ambassadors said, finally.  It wasn't an answer to Anton’s question.  “Admiral, we need to end this war as quickly as possible.”

Anton didn't disagree with the sentiment, but he did question their ability to bring the Trolls to the negotiating table.  But they had grown up in a world where their wishes shaped reality, where they could rig the political game in their favour.  It hadn't occurred to them, not really, that the Trolls were outside their political game – and the tools they had for forcing the Trolls to talk peace were probably not up to the task.  Why would the Trolls talk – let alone bargain from a weak position – when they knew perfectly well that they held the technological advantage.  One defeat didn't mean that they’d lost the war.

The analysts hadn’t been able to offer any theories on just what the Trolls thought they were doing, or at least none that were backed up by any evidence.  Post-battle assessment teams had gone through the debris at Capricorn, looking for debris from Troll starships, but they’d been unable to recover anything that reassembled a computer system.  Anton wasn't surprised – UNNS starships were designed to purge and then destroy their computer cores if captured or crippled beyond hope of escape – yet it made it harder to understand their new enemy.  It would be a great deal easier to plan their defeat if they knew just what the Trolls thought they were doing.  

But all they had were theories.  One theory stated that the Trolls had no idea just how large the UN actually was – and that they’d picked on New Marseilles and the other worlds under the impression that they were all humanity had.  But they’d clearly picked up a navigational database from somewhere, so they must have known better before launching their invasion of human space.  Another theory, far more believable, was that the Trolls were working to conceal their full numbers from the human race, which suggested that they committed their forces in numbers they believed to be sufficient for any given task.  Apart from Capricorn, they’d been right every time.  And Capricorn had only been saved by the unexpectedly early arrival of 5th Fleet.  There wouldn't be a second miracle like that.  

“I quite agree,” he said.  “However, bargaining from a position of weakness – and we will be bargaining from a position of weakness – is not conductive to getting the best terms possible.  Have you thought about what they might demand from us?  Or what we are prepared to surrender if they are willing to talk peace?”

“A diplomatic mission will be dispatched from Capricorn, led by the High Commissioner for that sector,” the Ambassador from Edo said.  They’d planned it out before consulting him, Anton realised.  “Unlike previous encounters, they will travel in an unarmed and unescorted civilian starship, one that will present no threat to the Trolls.  We believe that making a calculated gesture of submission will attract their attention.”

Anton wondered, rather cynically, just who the High Commissioner had offended to get that mission.  “I believe that a second starship should be detailed to accompany the peace mission,” he said.  “If something were to happen to the passenger ship, there would be no way of informing Capricorn.  The second starship could remain under cloak and well clear of the Trolls.”

“But they might take that as a hostile move,” one of the Ambassadors protested.  “What if they detect the cloaked ship?”

“The evidence suggests that they are unable to track cloaked ships, certainly not at long range,” Anton said, as patiently as he could.  Rubicon had certainly managed to slip close to New Marseilles without being detected.  Unless the Trolls had been tracking her and had been reluctant to show their hand...no, that made little sense.  The cruiser could have been – and had been, in a sense – a scout for an attacking force.  Unless their tactical doctrine was completely alien, the Trolls would have been much better served by destroying the cloaked ship as soon as they discovered her.  “A second ship will pose no threat to the peace mission, Ambassador.”

The Ambassadors exchanged glances.  “Very well,” one of the others said.  “You will have your second ship, Admiral.”

Anton nodded.  He wanted to raise the issue of rationalising humanity’s industry, but they weren't panicked enough for that to be pushed through without a fight.  Why was it, he asked himself bitterly, that humans were reluctant to take extreme measures until it was too late?  The corporations that owned much of humanity’s industrial base had been lobbying against the emergency rationalisation ever since the prospect had first been raised in the General Assembly, claiming that it was the first step to government control and eventual ruin at the hands of planners who were ill-qualified to direct business in any direction.  Outside war, Anton would have agreed; the free market was much more efficient than any government-controlled industrial system.  But this was war and the human race needed as many starfighters – and missiles, mines and torpedoes – as possible.  Dozens of different corporations doing their own thing wouldn't be anything like as efficient as central control in wartime.

“Thank you,” he said.  “And I do hope that the Trolls will listen to us.”

“I’m sure they will,” the Ambassador from Deutschland said.  “We slapped them back at Capricorn – they have to be reconsidering their hostile aims now that we beat them in one system.”

***
“What’s the word from Earth?”

“Plenty of people are relieved after the Battle of Capricorn,” Commander Susan Hathaway reported.  It galled Anton to be monitoring civilian morale, but there was no choice.  These days, panic in the civilian world could translate instantly to changed policies coming out of the General Assembly.  “But for a great many people, Capricorn might as well be in another galaxy.  They just don’t see the true nature of the threat.”

Anton nodded.  Earth was surprisingly insular for a world that had given birth to one of the largest galactic political units known to exist.  But them, everyone who was interested in moving to another planet – one where there were no other nations – had already done so.  The nations that remained on Earth were shadows of their former selves, collecting money through the tourist trade and exporting people to new colony worlds, some more willing than others.  It was the Halo – the ring of settlements in orbit around Earth – that provided the system’s industrial might.  And the Halo had long since cut itself free of Earth.

“The outer worlds are less convinced that the threat is over,” Susan continued, grimly.  “They’re still evacuating as much of their population as possible, and doing what they can to provide arms and shelter outside the cities to the rest of their people.  I think that the refugee crisis is going to get a great deal worse, Admiral; we’re already pushing the limits of what we can transport with the commandeered freighters and the fleet train.  And we don't have many places willing to take the refugees without question.”

“See if we can recruit pilots from among them,” Anton said, although he knew that it was unlikely.  Priority in the evacuation was being given to pregnant women, children and the elderly.  They were trying to make sure that each family had at least one parent allowed to join the evacuation, but it wasn't an easy task.  Vast numbers of children had been sent off-world without any parents at all.  Even if the Security Council was right and the Trolls had taken enough of a bloody nose to convince them to sue for peace, it would take years to sort out the mess and return the children to their homeworlds.  “I thought that the RockRats were offering to take some of the refugees.”

“Yes, Admiral, but they’ve also made it clear that they only want to take children,” Susan admitted.  “They’re worried about introducing adults into their fragile political biospheres, according to their Ambassador.  But if the children end up converting themselves into RockRats...”

Anton snorted.  If the children remained with the RockRats for longer than a few months, they would probably be given genetic treatments that would adapt them for life in space – and a whole series of improvements that mocked the laws the UN had enacted to prevent all such improvements.  And if they then returned home, they would spread their modified DNA throughout the planet’s gene pool, breaking the laws spectacularly.  There was no point in trying to ban the RockRats from doing anything; their individualistic culture insisted that the children themselves would have to make their own choices about the future.

“Under the circumstances, I don’t think that that is a major problem,” he said, finally.  No doubt it would worry the General Assembly, which had been firmly against genetic modification ever since the first gene-splicing techniques had been developed, but it couldn't be helped.  Perhaps it could be used to leverage other planets into opening themselves up for refugee settlement.  “If they’re willing to take the children, let them take the children.  God knows no one else is willing to take on the job.”

He looked down at the desk, and then up at Commodore Ellis.  “Did the techs come up with any new designs for bomb-pumped lasers?”

“We have several designs in production now,” Ellis informed him.  “One design has been rigged into a missile for ship-to-ship combat; it’s nowhere near as efficient as the proximity and contact nukes we used before encountering the Trolls, but they should be able to detonate just outside the Troll engagement range.  If we can scorch their hulls, Admiral, we should be able to disarm them without having to lose so many starfighters in frontal attacks.  Closer detonations will actually do considerable internal damage.

“A second design has been created for actual close-range combat,” he added, “but the problem is that the design is...somewhat faulty.  The weapon will only get one shot and there’s a faint possibility that the nuke will actually destroy the firing ship.  I’d suggest mounting the weapons on tugs rather than anything larger – so far, the techs haven’t been able to come up with a design that can be considered safer.”

“Unsurprisingly,” Anton commented.  Hullmetal was strong, but a nuclear explosion right on top of it would be guaranteed to cripple the ship.  Besides, the Trolls could burn through hullmetal with terrifying speed.  “I assume that mass production has already begun?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Ellis said.  “I’ve had the specs sent to every production facility in the United Nations.  It should take some weeks to have them retool some of their production nodes to produce the new weapons, but once they’re ready they should be able to turn out thousands of missiles relatively quickly.  The real bottlenecks lie in producing bomb-grade material and we have plenty of sources in the asteroid belts.  One of my subordinates actually suggested trading the plans to the RockRats in exchange for mining assistance.”

“See to it,” Anton ordered.  The RockRats were preparing for war too, with all the strengths and weakness of their strange culture.  He’d been a younger officer during the dispute and he still remembered how civilian craft had torn apart a handful of UN ships that had taken their civilian nature for granted.  The RockRats were the master spacers of the galaxy and it showed.  “Did the post-battle assessment team come up with anything interesting?”

“They’re still working on samples they recovered from the battle, but they did manage to analyse the material the Trolls use in place of hullmetal,” Ellis said.  “From what they were saying, it looks as through the analysts were right on the money when they claimed that the entire enemy ship is a weapon.  They can fire in any direction, apart from into their blind spot; their hull somehow channels their death rays towards their targets.  I think they had a theory for taking advantage of that system, but so far they haven’t sorted it out into something workable.”

He paused.  “The odd thing is that we recovered a second body from one of the wrecks,” he added.  He tapped a switch and a holographic image appeared in front of Anton.  “It doesn't look anything like the body recovered from New Marseilles.”

Anton’s first thought was that he was looking at a biological table.  The alien was very alien, with a large body mass and four stumpy legs reaching down to the ground.  There appeared to be an eye at each corner and a mass of manipulative digits – the alien equivalent of hands – hanging down from the body mass.  Anton found himself trying to imagine how the alien walked – not well, he deduced.  Or perhaps the aliens were used to running along on four feet.

“It is clearly related to the body we recovered from New Marseilles, but I’m afraid that it’s DNA was scrambled too,” Ellis explained.  “The analysts think that one set of aliens actually created the other.  I’m afraid we don't know which one is which.”

Anton shivered.  Humanity hadn't managed to design a non-humanoid version of humanity, at least outside the RockRat projects that pushed the limits of genetic engineering.  But these aliens clearly had managed something that should have been impossible.  And if the aliens had no particular qualms about creating subordinate races, what might they have in mind for humanity?

“Dear God,” he breathed.  “What the hell are we fighting?”

Chapter Eighteen

Capricorn Base
24th April 2435

Hind had been on military bases before, but Capricorn seemed to be the largest and certainly the most active military base in the United Nations.  It was practically thrumming with activity as the base’s personnel prepared for a second attack, an attack that could come at any time.  Hind had ridden out with the shuttles that had sifted through the wreckage, looking for alien technology that could be salvaged and sent back to Earth for analysis, and watched grimly as the recovered bodies were launched into space on a trajectory that would eventually put them in the nearest star.  The latest figures claimed that upwards of eight thousand humans had died in the fighting – and it would have been a great deal worse if 5th Fleet hadn't arrived in time to save the day.  

Her escort had been surprisingly good about arranging interviews with officers and enlisted men who were willing to talk to her, but Hind had no doubts that the people she was allowed to see had all been carefully briefed on what they could and could not say to the nosy reporters.  Wars were fought with PR as much as they were fought with guns and warships, at least on Earth, and the military knew that a single bad report could cause a major drop in public support.  Hind suspected that the situation wasn’t as bad as they claimed, but there was no point in rocking the boat too much.  They had all been warned that pushing the limits of what they were allowed to send back home would result in arrest, detention and eventually being shipped back to Earth in disgrace.  There were reporters who regarded being evicted from a military base as a badge of honour, but Hind knew that she couldn't do her job effectively if she was sent back home.

She walked down the corridor, trying to pretend that she belonged on the base, and into a compartment that had been marked out for her by her escort.  It was a giant bar, something that she wouldn't have expected to find on a military base – but then, the military personnel needed to rest and relax as much as anyone else.  Maybe more, in their case, she reflected; one of the officers she’d interviewed had commented that all of the privacy tubes were booked up for the next three months.  Hind suspected that he was exaggerating a little – military regulations on who could have sex with whom had always confused her – but she found it hard to blame them.  They’d been reprieved from almost certain death.  

The starfighter pilot she’d been promised a chance to interview was seated in the far corner, underneath one of the giant windows that looked out into interplanetary space.  Outside, Hind could see dozens of starfighters flashing past while men in worker bugs worked desperately to repair damaged starships and put them back into service as quickly as possible.  Beyond them, it was easy to imagine that some of the flashing lights belonged to the fleet, standing at the ready to repel the Trolls when they returned to the system.  No one seemed to believe that the Trolls would simply give up now that they’d taken a bloody nose.

Hind picked up a drink from the counter – apparently, the booze was free, but there were dire warnings about what would happen to anyone who turned up unfit for duty – and walked over to the pilot, who glanced up at her listlessly.  Like many settlers from the outer worlds, she was a curious mix of human ethnic types, appearing a cross between Chinese and Nubian genes.  There were planets where the population had been genetically altered to preserve a racial look that would otherwise have blurred into the rest of humanity; Connie Chung, perhaps, had had parents who had left one of those worlds.  They were never very kind to anyone who refused to fit into the rest of the society.

“You may as well sit down,” Connie said.  She sounded tired, as if she’d been pushed right to the limit.  In theory, starfighter pilots were supposed to have downtime that matched the time they spent in their cockpits, even if they were not in combat, but those theories had been abandoned in wartime.  Hind had heard from one of the other reporters that a number of pilots had been busted for using – and abusing – stimulant drugs to keep themselves alert during the endless patrols around the base.  “It’s not as if I’m going anywhere.”

“I understand,” Hind said.  “I think...”

“You don’t understand,” Connie snapped.  Her dark eyes, set within her dark face, flashed fire.  “I spent an hour floating in space, completely helpless, knowing that every second could be my last.  And now they insist that I take a break before I return to duty.”

Hind blinked in surprise.  “You don't want a break?”

“The remains of Blue Squadron are still out on the firing line,” Connie said, her voice softening.  “I’m only on reserve because some of the others were panicking when they were picked up by the SAR team.  And if the aliens attack now, I’m going to be completely helpless again while my friends and comrades go into battle and probably die bravely.”

Her eyes seemed to harden.  “Have you looked up the combat statistics since we encountered the Trolls?”  Hind shook her head.  “A pilot has only a fifty-fifty chance of surviving any given encounter,” Connie explained.  “And death isn't something that repeated exposure makes you immune to catching.  We lost a third of our starfighter pilots in this battle – other battles had a higher loss rate.  I should be out there with them!”

“I see,” Hind said, although she wasn't sure that she did.  If she’d been offered a chance to escape the front line, she wasn't sure that she would have refused it.  But the starfighter pilots had trained all their lives to put their bodies between humanity and war’s desolation.  “What are they going to do with you?”

“They’ve promised that I can transfer back into Blue Squadron, but right now I’m one of the more experienced pilots they have,” Connie said.  “Chances are that they’ll stick me in one of the new squadrons, the ones formed completely from maggots.”  She shook her head.  “We would never have built a squadron like that before the war; there should always be a large proportion of veterans mixed up with the newcomers.  That’s how maggots learn to survive before they actually go into combat.”

Hind frowned, puzzled.  “But if they put you there...and you’re a veteran...”

Connie laughed.  “Have you ever tried dropping a tiny drop of black ink in a glass of milk?”

“No,” Hind said.

Her puzzlement must have shown on her face, for Connie explained.  “If the unit has a high percentage of veterans to maggots – to newcomers, the maggots will pick up the lessons the old ones had to teach fairly quickly,” she said.  “But if the ratio is reversed, the maggots are much less likely to pick up what they need to know.  They graduate from the various training centres thinking that they’re Bucks – ah, that they’re the greatest pilots in the galaxy – and then they die before they have a chance to realise their mistake.  It’s even worse when they actually trained together, because they have a pre-formed clique before they meet their new commanding officer.  Chances are that I will have to deal with something like that.”

Hind nodded.  It made sense, sort of.  “What do you think our chances are of defeating the Trolls?”

Connie laughed, rather sardonically.  “I think you should direct that question to the Admiral,” she said.  “No one would be interested in the opinion of a starfighter pilot from the back of beyond...”

“But you have faced the Trolls,” Hind said.  “You must have some opinion.”

“I think that we need to develop technology that allows us to stand up to them on even terms,” Connie said.  She shook her head.  “You know just how many starfighters have been lost in each engagement.  Every time we lose a veteran and replace her with a maggot, we lose efficiency.  Sooner or later, our squadrons will be completely composed of maggots and they won’t even survive their first battles.”

She looked up at Hind, right into her eyes.  “I think that we’re going to be worn down until we can't fight any longer,” she added.  “This is the first time we’ve had to face a demonstrably superior enemy.  And each battle costs us much more than it costs them.”

“But they retreated,” Hind pointed out. “We forced them to leave...”

“Ah, but we don’t know just how many ships they have,” Connie pointed out.  “For all we know, they're going to come back tomorrow with a much larger fleet.  Even if they don't have any more ships than we’ve seen, we have no idea where they come from, so launching a counterattack is out of the question.  Maybe those overpaid bozos in Survey Command will find an alien world we can target, or maybe they’ll be detected and destroyed before they can escape.”

She took a sip of her drink and snorted again.  “We were taught that there’s no point in pushing a battle if you know that cannot complete your objectives,” she added.  “If the Trolls had kept pushing, we would have wiped out their fleet and still held Capricorn.  Their commander clearly had authority to break off the engagement if it looked like they were losing – and he did.  But that means that those Troll ships will survive to fight another day.

“I suggest that you try to tell them back home that this is serious,” she concluded.  “And then shut the hell up and join me in a drink.  I have too many friends to mourn.”

Hind nodded and took a sip of her own drink.  Connie was right, in a sense, although she doubted that the censors would allow her to send a completely unedited transcription of their conversation – recorded by the terminal on her belt – back home to her editors.  But if Connie was right, the UN might have won the battle, but still be losing the war.  And that meant...

She shook her head.  It had been years since she’d left her family on Morocco and gone to Earth to train as a reporter, but she still kept in touch with them.  Morocco was one of the older inner worlds, settled as part of the ethnic streaming program the UN had started in the hopes that it would end sectarian conflict among humanity, yet it was also in the path of the Troll invasion if they pressed towards Earth.  It had a population of nearly a billion souls; evacuating so many people would be impossible.  Perhaps she should warn her family to leave...

But where could they go?

***
Admiral Davidson stood up as Admiral Donna Cicero stepped into his office.  Protocol had dictated that he should have met her sooner, and put on a proper reception in the command base’s shuttlebay, but they’d both quietly agreed that protocol could be put aside until they were sure that the combined fleets were ready to fight off a new attack.  Assuming they could, of course...Davidson had good reason to suspect that the Trolls would attack again as soon as possible, hoping to catch and destroy the combined fleets before they could be deployed against their conquests.

“Welcome to Capricorn,” he said, extending his hand.  She shook it firmly.  “We’re all very glad to see you and your ships.”

“I’m glad to see that you were still in possession of the system when we arrived,” Donna said.  She was a tall woman, with short black hair and a reputation for bloody-mindedness, but those were exactly the qualities the human race needed to fight the Trolls.  “The last report suggested that you were on the verge of being overrun.  I had to risk burning out our flux drives to reach the system in time.”

“And we are grateful for it,” Davidson said.  He waved her to a seat and picked up a bottle he’d been saving for a special occasion.  “Scotch?”

“Yes, thank you,” Donna said.  She glanced at the bottle as he filled two glasses.  “Straight from Nova Scotia?”

“My granddaughter sent me a crate of bottles of their finest Scotch,” Davidson said, passing her a glass.  “I'm not much of a drinker myself, but this is an important occasion.”  He lifted his glass.  “To humanity!”

“To humanity,” Donna echoed.  She drank, deeply.  “So tell me – what exactly am I being bribed to do?”

Davidson chuckled.  “You may be interested to know that the Security Council has authorised the dispatch of a peace mission to Cadiz, where the Trolls appear to have established themselves permanently,” he said.  “They’re going to fly in on an unmanned civilian starship and introduce themselves to the Trolls using the frequencies we know the Trolls use for themselves.”

“I wonder what poor sucker drew that assignment,” Donna said.  “I take it that they’re not going to allow 5th Fleet to provide an escort?”

“They seem to believe that the Trolls will find it threatening,” Davidson said.  He tapped a control and a star chart appeared in front of them.  “Right now, after we managed to repair our most damaged starships and lay new minefields, Capricorn is as strongly held as possible – at least without drawing new pilots and starfighters from your carriers.  I want you to take 5th Fleet here” – he tapped a location between Capricorn and Cadiz – “and prepare for a reconnaissance in force against Cadiz.  And by reconnaissance in force I mean I want you to clear the orbitals and bombard their ground-based installations from orbit, if possible.”

Donna nodded.  “And if it isn't possible?”

“I have been given strict orders to preserve as much of my battle line as possible,” Davidson admitted.  “In the event of the Trolls confronting you with superior firepower, so that you cannot inflict sufficient damage on the planet, you are to withdraw and return to Capricorn.”

He shrugged.  “It is unlikely that the peace mission will succeed,” he added, “but in any case you won’t attack until after the diplomats have had their chance.  The cloaked escort covering the passenger liner will jump out to you with the latest reports from Cadiz, allowing you to bring your forces into the system at the best possible position.  Unless, of course, you believe that the attack is doomed to failure, in which case you are ordered to withdraw.”

“Our first chance to strike back at the enemy,” Donna said.  “At least it will have them reacting to us for a chance.”

“Precisely my thoughts,” Davidson said.  “For what it’s worth, I can give you complete freedom in planning the operation – I’d love to take 9th Fleet on the offensive, but we have to remain here...”

“Where the aliens know that you are pinned down,” Donna said.  “They know you can't go anywhere else.”

Davidson nodded.  “They raided New Texas yesterday, according to the report,” he said.  “The noose is tightening; the New Texans put up a fight, but they took a beating and the system is effectively naked.  We assume that they will come back to this system as soon as they feel able to kick us out and destroy the command base.  In that case...”

Donna nodded.  Without Capricorn, nearly seventy worlds would be exposed to the Trolls as they pressed in towards Earth.  3rd Fleet was constructing an inner defence line along the border between the outer worlds and the inner worlds, but no one had any illusions about their ability to stop the Trolls without taking massive losses in the fighting.  3rd Fleet would have to remain concentrated to inflict any damage at all and that risked leaving a number of worlds unprotected, save by their own self-defence forces.  And they weren't up to the task of standing off the Trolls.  

“I understand,” she said.  She studied the map thoughtfully.  “I notice that that position will put us within one jump of Capricorn as well.”

“Just in case they jump here to engage us,” Davidson said.  “They’re capable of more precise jumping than us; it’s quite possible that they can jump further too.  There was a theory that the Traders could jump much further than five light years in a single hop and for all we know, the Trolls can do it too.”

“The diplomats might have asked the Traders if they knew anything about the Trolls,” Donna said, thoughtfully.  “Or tried to buy more technology off them.”

Davidson shrugged.  The Traders never sold weapons technology to anyone, even when the race desperately needed it.  They might trade something the human race could use to even the odds, but it was unlikely.  And the price might be terrifyingly high.  

“The diplomats will handle that,” he said.  “They may also manage to convince our...allies to join the fight, even though they’re reluctant to engage the Trolls.  But for the moment, we’re on our own.”

“Understood,” Donna said.  She studied the chart for a long second, mentally calculating possible engagements between her fleet and the Trolls.  “I assume that you’ll send a picket to alert us if you come under attack?”

“Of course,” Davidson said.  They shared a long glance.  “We need a victory desperately, Admiral.  A clear-cut victory that we can use to boost public morale.  Because otherwise I’m not sure that we can win this war.  What happens when the refugee panic reaches the inner worlds?”

Donna nodded.  “We won’t let you down, Admiral,” she said.  She pulled her terminal off her belt and opened it up.  “Now, if you don't mind, I have an operation to plan.”

Davidson laughed.  “Good luck,” he said, and meant it.  “Draw anything you need from the storage dumps here.  If it produces a victory, it’s worth it.”

Chapter Nineteen

Capricorn Base
28th April 2435

“Maggots,” Connie said, in disgust.

They’d promised her a squadron – actually, they’d promised her a return to Blue Squadron.  But with the losses the original Blue Squadron had taken, its pilots and their starfighters had been folded into another squadron and a whole new Blue Squadron had been formed from maggot pilots who had been forwarded to Capricorn from a dozen planets in the threatened sector.  She’d been right; there were twelve pilots in any squadron and only one of them – her – would have any real combat experience.

She’d glanced through the files and noted that few of the pilots had anything like the recommended time in cockpit that they should have before they graduated from the training centre.  The truncated course they'd been given wouldn't have been anything like enough to make up for their weaknesses.  In fact, two of them had been on the verge of failing the course before the standards had been dropped enough to allow them to get through the barrier and into a cockpit.  At least they wouldn't be as bad as the ones who thought they knew something because they had flown a shuttle or a civilian freighter.  They had the most to unlearn before they could be trusted in a cockpit.

Shaking her head, she walked through the door and into the compartment.  “Attention on deck,” she barked, as she marched to the front of the compartment and took her place behind the podium.  The pilots sprang to their feet and snapped to attention.  At least they knew that much, thankfully.  “My name is Flight Captain Chung and, for my sins, I have been appointed the CO of Blue Squadron.  What that means, as far as you are concerned, is that I am God.”

She looked from face to face and sighed, inwardly.  They all had the false confidence that came from graduating out of the training centre – and being in a group with their fellow trainees.  She’d have to break them up to convince them that she knew what she was talking about – and that wouldn't be easy.  They’d probably wind up hating her.  

“Stand at ease,” she ordered, after a moment.  They relaxed, slightly.  Good; they weren't completely spoiled by the training centre’s reduced standards.  “You’ve spent the last six months learning to fly Dragons.  You’ve flown hundreds of hours in simulations, but only a few hours in actual starfighters.  I’m afraid that simulators don’t prepare you for everything, including fighting the goddamned Trolls.  From now until we go into battle, I am going to own your every waking moment.”

She allowed herself a smile.  “I’m sure that most of you heard that starfighter jocks get all the sex, booze and rock and roll they want,” she added.  Some of them noticeably perked up when she mentioned sex.  “Well, I’m afraid that that has to be paid for – and right now you are going to pay for it by training so extensively that you will be too tired for anything by the end of each day, until you’re up to what I consider to be acceptable combat status.  If any of you have a problem with training, let me know and I’ll see to it that you get transferred to a combat support position, where training is slightly less important.

“Understand something; you are standing in the shoes of one of the crack fighter squadrons in the Navy – and they lost seven pilots to the Trolls.  Other squadrons have been completely wiped out by the Trolls, or shattered so badly that they had to be withdrawn from service and their survivors assigned to other squadrons.  And they had far more training and actual experience than you.  Right now, the odds say that you will be exterminated when you go up against the Trolls.  We're going to spend the next few weeks getting you up to the standard required to actually survive a close encounter with the bastards.”

She gave them another thin smile and nodded to herself.  “Yes, I am going to be one hell of a bitch to you – get over it.  I want you to survive your first actual combat mission and I am going to give you the best chance I can be riding your asses so hard that you’ll live, breathe and dream combat in space.  If that’s going to be a problem, let me know and you can wash out along with the others who thought they could make it as starfighter pilots.  Are there any questions?”

There were none.  “Good,” she said.  “Blue Squadron has been assigned compartment 123-262 as quarters; yes, you’re going to be sleeping in one compartment.  What do you think this is?  A training centre?  Get down there, get your shit stowed away, and report to the flight deck at 1400 precisely.  We’re going to get out there and train for the rest of the day.”

One of the new pilots raised her hand, tentatively.  “But that's only ten minutes away,” she protested.  The fleet carrier was colossal, but if they’d taken the chance to familiarise themselves with her deck plans they would have noticed that compartment 123-262 wasn't more than twenty metres from the briefing compartment.  “We won’t have time...”

“Then you’d better run, hadn't you?”  Connie sneered.  She glanced at her wristcom and noted the time.  “You now have nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds.  And anyone who happens to be late will be doing press-ups while the rest of us rest at the end of the day.”

She smiled as the maggots ran out of the compartment and started to hunt for their quarters, remembering the day her first CO had given her similar orders.  It had taken her five minutes to realise just how close they were to the sleeping compartment and another two to stuff her entire bag into her locker, stowing it away.  How many of the newcomers would do the same?  Shaking her head, Connie sauntered down to the flight deck and looked at twelve new Dragon starfighters.  Chances were that some of the maggots would manage to damage them on their first flight outside the carrier.  Keeping one eye on her wristcom, she checked each of the fighters quickly, downloading the flight deck’s reports into her terminal.  They had all been cleared for launch, but she’d specifically asked them to leave the pre-flight checks undone.  The maggots needed to learn that they had to do them for themselves.

The maggots ran into the flight deck as the final seconds were ticking away, two of them looking on the verge of panic.  Press-ups were bad, but being blown into vapour by a Troll starship would be even worse.  Connie turned around and watched as they attempted to line up in front of her, clearly not having noticed the lines on the deck that could be used to form a straight line of men.  And they'd stepped beyond the lines too...she rolled her eyes.  The training centre’s standards had definitely slipped.

“I intend to offer a one-mistake amnesty,” she said, just as her first CO had said.  “What that means is that I will point out the mistake the first time it’s made in a calm and reasoned manner and chew you out with extreme volume the second time the mistake is made.  If one of your comrades makes a mistake, learn from it or discover just what happens to maggots who don’t learn from someone else’s misfortune.”

She smiled.  “For a start, take a look at the lines on the deck,” she added.  “You do not walk beyond them without checking with the deckhands, unless you’re boarding your own starfighter.  Even then, you take extreme care on the flight deck.  Pilots have been injured or killed because they fucked up and weren't watching where they were going.”  She paused.  “Why are you still standing outside the lines?”

The maggots jumped forward, back into the safe zone.  “Good,” she said, smoothly.  “Now...go board your starfighters.”

Back when she'd been a cadet, they’d been taught how to check the starfighter’s weapons and sensor nodes before actually scrambling up the ladder and boarding the starfighters.  Seven of the maggots thought to do that before boarding their craft, the remainder just started to scramble up the ladder and into the cockpit.  Connie let them buckle themselves in before she pointed out the mistake and forced them to climb back out of the cockpit to do it properly.

“You’ll notice that we have given you dummy weapons for the training fight,” she said, as the pilots returned to their cockpits.  “That’s because we don’t trust you to handle live weapons yet.  I suggest that you remember that these are playing live weapons – you accidentally light up one of your wingmen, you would kill them if you had normal weapons.”

She climbed into her own cockpit and pulled the cover down over her head.  “Secure for launch,” she ordered.  “Now.”

The pilots did seem to know how to do that properly, probably because any pilot who failed to secure his craft properly would be unable to launch from the fleet carrier.  Still, they were slower about it than any experienced pilot would have been, taking several minutes to prepare their fighters properly and then slide forwards into the launch tubes.  They should have experienced high-speed launches from the carrier back in the training centre, but two of them sounded nervous.  The process had unnerved Connie too before she’d learned that there were more dangers when out in interplanetary space.

“Blue Squadron, cleared for launch,” the CAG said.  “Good luck.”

Connie keyed the switch and the starfighter blasted forward, right out into interplanetary space.  Behind her, the maggots joined her, some of them clearly uncertain of how to handle the launch properly.  Their starfighters were wobbling, like boats on the water, except that it wouldn't really matter if the starfighter turned upside down.  There was no such thing in space, apart from when they returned to the carrier.  

“Looking a bit unstable there, Blue Eight,” she said, picking on the worst offender.  “Keep your hands steady on the controls as you follow me towards the training area.”

She smiled as she heard some of the comments from the pilots on Combat Space Patrol.  The maggots were clearly maggots and they would have to learn fast before they were accepted into the carrier’s starfighter community.  Connie heard some of the responses and rolled her eyes; the maggots hadn't earned the right to reply in kind, not yet.  

“Once we’re in the training area,” she said, “you do not fly out of it without my permission.”

The maggots acknowledged, slowly gaining control over their starfighters as they followed her out into the training area.  There was a single freighter in the exact centre of the area, modified to look roughly like a Troll Alpha-class cruiser.  Combined with the simulations that would overlay their HUDs, it would look realistic and probably frighten the hell out of the maggots.  Some of them might even join the wet pants club on their first flight.

“Form up on me,” she ordered, and watched dispassionately as they struggled into a formation.  The training centres didn't teach proper formation flying, mainly because a predicable formation was an easy target for alien gunners.  “I’m activating the simulation now.”

She flicked a switch and the word SIMULATION appeared on her HUD, just as the freighter morphed into a Troll cruiser.  “All right, maggots, this is what we’re going to do,” she said.  “The Troll ship ahead of us is about to break into firing range to take down our carrier.  Our Dragons don’t carry flux drives so if we lose the carrier, we’re trapped in this system and we won’t be able to get our asses out before the Trolls kill us or we run out of life support.  So...we have to kill this bastard before it kills us.”

Her lips folded into a smile.  The maggots didn't know it, but the exercise was rigged to teach them the lessons they needed to learn.  “On my mark, drop into chaotic formation and prepare to follow me in,” she added.  “Now!”

Grabbing her stick, she yanked the starfighter out of the predicable formation and gunned the engine, flashing right into the Troll’s engagement range.  The HUD showed flashes of light from the Troll ship as it opened fire, trying to predict her next position in time to intercept her and blow her out of space.  Behind her, the maggots were trying to pull off a chaotic formation, but they weren't quite succeeding.  Three of them were picked off by the Trolls before they started to scatter, forcing the Trolls to split their fire.

“Get in close,” she snapped.  The Trolls knew about the blind spot now; they were hurling everything they had at her to stop her slipping into the starship’s sole vulnerable place.  “No, don’t fly around at the edge of their range; get in close and engage the fucker!”

Two more maggots died as they made the mistake of flying in a straight line long enough for the Trolls to predict their course and pick them off, followed by three more as they tried to catch up with her.  The remainder got into the blind spot, only to see the Troll ship rotate on its axis with terrifying speed, effectively forcing them out of the blind spot.  They hadn't expected anything that size to move so quickly, let alone spin fast enough to overload a human compensator...before they could react, the Trolls opened fire and the remaining maggots – and Connie herself – were wiped from existence.  A red sign – YOU’RE DEAD – appeared in front of her on the HUD.  Angrily, she pushed the reset key and the Troll ship morphed back into a freighter.  

“So tell me,” she said.  “How many of you realise just what went wrong then?”

There was a pause.  “Let me tell you,” she said.  “You scattered, gave the Trolls a chance to react to you – and you didn't even try to follow the blind spot when the Troll ship rotated.  The first time you fail at doing that in a real battle, you will wind up dead.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Captain,” several maggots said at once.  Good; at least they were thinking.  

“I’m glad to hear it,” Connie said.  “And now we have reset the simulation...it’s time to try again.”

***
Three hours later, she led the maggots back to the carrier and watched carefully as they came in to land on the flight deck.  Landing operations were practiced endlessly at the training centre – a single mistake could cause a catastrophe if the pilots were very unlucky – and the maggots, tired through they were, managed it safely.  Finally, Connie landed behind them and passed the starfighter over to the ground crew, who would pass it forward into the flight deck.  

“I’d love to make you study what you did wrong in detail, but you probably need to eat,” she announced, as the maggots lined up in front of her.  “We’ll go pick up some food at the mess and then we'll discuss your failures in great detail.”

It was a more subdued group of maggots who ate with the other pilots, but largely excluded from their groups.  Connie understood; it was never easy to accept a new person into an established squadron, particularly when the newcomer had never seen the elephant personally.  They’d find it easier once they fought their first combat mission, when – if – the Trolls returned to Capricorn.  The departure of 5th Fleet might just be intended to convince them that they would have a window of opportunity to attack for a second time.  But they’d been trapped once that way already so they might not be fooled a second time.

“Heard you’d tapped Green Squadron to teach the maggots how to dogfight,” Flight Captain Cawdor said.  He grinned mischievously at her.  “When do you want us on duty?”

“Tomorrow, probably,” Connie said.  The maggots looked completely worn out – and there was no point in pushing them much harder.  But good fighting technique would teach them how to carry out a proper chaotic formation when the shit hit the fan.  And no one expected the Trolls to remain absent for much longer.  “Just make sure that they actually learn the right lessons.”

Cawdor nodded.  They could all sense just how badly the squadrons had been degraded since the first encounter with the Trolls.  The aliens had badly weakened them, simply by slaughtering vast numbers of pilots.  Like it or not, their fighting trim had been crippled and their morale was low.  Even beating the Trolls off from Capricorn, a minor miracle in its own right, had failed to convince them that they could win.  Connie could sense the despair hanging over the compartment like a shroud.  

“Don’t worry,” he said.  “I assure you that they’ll learn everything they need to know.”

Connie watched him go, rolling her eyes.  The maggots needed to learn quickly, or they’d wind up dead when they ran into the Trolls.  But having their heads handed to them by a more experienced squadron might not teach them anything.  They should have learned those lessons at the training centre and they’d evidently been avoided.  

“Report to the briefing compartment at 1900,” she ordered, as she finished her meal and stood up.  She wasn't on the flight list, so she might as well take a quick break and write a letter to her family.  And besides, she should update her will as well.  “Once we’re there, we’re going to go over everything we did before catching some sleep.  Tomorrow is going to be another busy day.”

The maggots groaned.  No doubt they’d thought they’d left regulated schedules behind along with the training centre.  Connie left them to finish their meal and walked off, leaving them to enjoy whatever remained of their innocence.  They’d run into the Trolls soon enough.  

Chapter Twenty

Cadiz System
1st May 2435

Captain Tom Smith had decided that he didn’t like diplomats.  Interstellar Queen was no stranger to pompous asses with too much money and political clout for their own good – she was the finest and certainly the most expensive passenger liner in five sectors – but he’d never actually flown her into a war zone before.  Normally, she was kept well away from any danger – and escorted by a pair of destroyers to ensure that she wasn't hijacked or attacked by pirate ships.  But now he was taking her right into the middle of a combat zone.

No one familiar with human starships would have mistaken Interstellar Queen for a warship.  At nearly two kilometres long, she had been designed to have plenty of portholes looking out into space, as well as corridors wrapped around her main hull that allowed her passengers to stare out at gas giants and other spectacular views as she made her way from sector to sector.  Tom was uncomfortably aware that a single missile hit in the wrong place would cripple his ship, leaving her hopelessly exposed to alien attack.  If it had been up to him – and the insurers – the whole idea of using the ship for the peace envoy would have been dismissed out of hand.  But someone on Earth had brought pressure to bear on her owners and he’d discovered that all he could do was offload the passengers and non-essential crew on Capricorn and take the diplomats onboard.  And they’d spent the three days jumping to Cadiz complaining that the accommodations didn't live up to the advertisements.

“We’re ready for the final jump,” he said.  With half of the crew left behind, the trip had been slower and more careful than normal.  “Once we’re in Cadiz, we'll start broadcasting your first message.”

The diplomats – led by Ambassador Rutherford, who had been the UN’s High Commissioner for the sector – had argued with each other over just how they should approach the Trolls.  How best to seem non-threatening, they’d asked?  Eventually, they’d tried to suggest a jump into near-Cadiz space, only to have Tom veto it.  They’d complain, no doubt, to their superiors and Tom’s superiors would feel obliged to reprimand him, but interstellar law admitted of no ambiguity on the issue of a Captain’s authority while the ship was underway.  Besides, if the mission succeeded, they’d be heroes – and if it failed, they might be grateful for the distance between them and Cadiz.  They should have enough time to recharge the flux drive for an emergency jump if the Trolls decided to be unwelcoming.

Ambassador Rutherford was a tall man, slowly trending towards fat.  “That’s good to hear,” he said.  He’d been on the bridge several times since departure, ignoring increasingly impolite hints that maybe he should go elsewhere.  Tom had the distant impression that the Ambassador wasn't as keen on the mission as some of his subordinates, which wasn't too surprising.  The Trolls had ignored all previous attempts to contact them and fired on all human ships within range.  And after having been given a bloody nose at Capricorn they'd probably be even less inclined to listen to reason.  “Why don’t you take us in now?”

Interstellar Queen was no warship, able to jump at a second’s notice.  Tom had developed procedures for shortening the time between jumps – they certainly wouldn't be deploying the parasol or anything else that might be sliced away from the hull by the flux field – but it still took time to ensure that everyone had taken their stations.  An emergency jump would probably cause their normal run of passengers to reach for their lawyers and start suing the company; the bastards didn't realise that jump sickness was largely unavoidable in groundhogs who had never experienced a jump in their lives.  

Tom keyed the intercom.  “This is the Captain,” he said.  “All hands, assume jump stations; I say again, assume jump stations.”

Normally, the caretakers – the stewardesses – would ensure that all of the passengers were in their cabins, or out of the swimming pool before they jumped.  Now, the stewardesses had been left behind on Capricorn and the swimming pool had been closed – and the diplomats should know how to take care of themselves.  He keyed the countdown as the reduced engineering staff spun up the flux drive, then brought his hand down on the red button.  Space folded around Interstellar Queen and she found herself in the Cadiz System.

“Secure from jump stations,” he ordered.  The navigational computers bleeped as they checked their position and then compared it to the coordinates the helmsman had loaded into the processes.  They weren’t more than a few hundred kilometres from their planned arrival point, a testimony to the efficiency of the hugely-expensive military-grade flux drive the designers had incorporated into Interstellar Queen’s hull.  “Bring all sensors up to full power and start scanning for hostile vessels.”

Interstellar Queen was a target – and, unfortunately, one that couldn't be hidden very easily.  Her designers had decided to cram military-grade sensors into her hull instead, allowing her to even pick up on a cloaked ship approaching on an attack vector, or so they claimed.  No one knew for sure if the Trolls even had cloaking devices, but he’d been warned that the analysts expected that they would be better than human cloaks.  Their ships were so different from standard UN-designed starships that they might not produce the turbulence that a human starship left in its wake.

Rutherford cleared his throat as the main display started to light up.  “I think that it’s time to start broadcasting the first transmission,” he said, firmly.  Tom had wanted to delay it long enough to ensure that their arrival point was clear of possibly-hostile contacts.  “They’ll have detected our arrival, won’t they?”

“I’m very much afraid so,” Tom said.  They were well within the range that UN sensors would have detected their arrival.  Normally, a cruiser or a pair of destroyers would be sent out to investigate the new arrival, just in case it was a ship in trouble.  The Trolls might assume that they were a spy ship and send one of their dark ships to obliterate the intruders.  He looked over at the communications console and nodded to the operator.  “Start sending the transmission.”

It was another reality of interstellar operations that radio waves, effectively instantaneous on a planetary scale, were painfully slow between planets, let alone stars.  At five light minutes between Interstellar Queen and Cadiz, it would take five minutes for the Trolls to pick up the message and another five minutes for them to respond, assuming that they replied at once.  A StarCom was much faster, but Interstellar Queen was too small to carry one – and even if they had, no one knew what frequencies the Trolls used for their FTL communications systems.  All Tom could do was wait and hope that the Trolls were feeling friendly.

“I’m picking up some radio transmissions from the asteroid belt,” the communications officer said.  She was a young dark girl from Liberia, someone who would have been left behind on Capricorn if she hadn't volunteered for the mission.  “I think they’re RockRat transmissions, Captain.”

“Monitor them, but do not reply,” Tom ordered.  The RockRats had had a major colony within the Cadiz System; the briefing they'd received from the military had warned that the RockRats might have been exterminated by the Trolls.  But a solar system was a vast place and the RockRats were masters at hiding their colonies from even an intensive search; it was quite possible that they were still alive, monitoring the enemy’s operations in the system.  

Rutherford had made it clear, more than once, that they had to preserve the appearance of neutrality as much as possible.  Personally, Tom thought that that was insane; the diplomats were paid to represent the human race to the rest of the galaxy, not act as cheerleaders for the other side.  But Rutherford had insisted, pointing out that they couldn't risk looking like a spy ship or the Trolls were likely to open fire without bothering to listen to the prattle from the diplomats.  And he had been given authority to issue orders as long as they didn't interfere with the safety of the ship.

Tom keyed the console and linked to the engineering department.  “Keep the flux drive at readiness,” he ordered.  At least the military drive could survive more wear and tear than the average civilian drive.  “I want to be able to jump out the moment they show any signs of hostility.”

The Ambassador looked over at him.  “You do realise that this is a peace mission?”

“I know that,” Tom said, as patiently as he could.  He wanted to throw Rutherford’s insane ideas back in his face, if only to ensure that no other ships and crews would fly into danger just because the diplomats had no real conception of actual interstellar realities.  “And you know that, and your subordinates know that.  But the Trolls may mistake us for a hostile starship and if they open fire, we will need to jump out at once.”

“This ship doesn't look anything like a warship,” Rutherford said.  “They won’t mistake us for an attacking force...”

“Neither do their ships,” Tom pointed out, dryly.  The visuals he’d seen of Troll starships would have been impressive if they hadn't been so damn terrifying.  They’d actually managed to build starships to an aesthetic ideal, rather than ships circumscribed to the limits of the possible.  The settlers on Roddenberry would be delighted when the human race managed to develop their own improved drive systems; they’d been planning to build their idol’s starships for longer than the human race had been in space.  “They may mistake us for an unusually deadly warship.”

Silently, he cursed another diplomatic decision under his breath.  There had been a suggestion that one of the aliens in human space should accompany the mission, on the theory that the Trolls would hesitate before risking widening the war by firing on an alien ship.  Tom had thought that it was an excellent idea, but the diplomats had refused, pointing out that Earth didn't need another diplomatic incident when the UNNS was fully embroiled with the Trolls.  He’d actually had the impression that the diplomats were more concerned with their reputations than anything else; they’d been quick to block the motion before they came up with anything to justify it.  

He glanced at his console.  Twelve minutes had gone by since they’d started transmitting towards Cadiz.  At their range, it was impossible to know if there were any alien starships near the planet, or if they had pulled out and abandoned the world after wrecking everything of value in the system.  The message was still pulsing out...they knew that the Trolls had radio, but it was quite possible that they weren't monitoring the human frequencies.  But standard operating procedure for human warships was to monitor every frequency and he couldn't imagine a race that didn't take the same precaution.  After all, an attack force sneaking towards the planet might accidentally betray itself with a radio transmission...

“No response at all, Captain,” the communications officer reported.  “I’ve run through every hailing frequency in explored space as well as the bands we know they use and there has been no response.”

“Continue transmitting,” Rutherford said, before Tom could say a word.  How dare he issue orders on the bridge of Tom’s starship?  But he was a well-connected man who could probably have Tom dismissed from his post with a word in the right set of ears.  “They have to be listening.”

Tom nodded and studied the sensor display, watching as the information constantly updated.  There was nothing that suggested a technological presence in the system, apart from the RockRat transmissions; they hadn't even picked up any ship-to-ship chatter from the Troll starships they assumed were orbiting the planet.  But all that meant was that they observed good signal discipline.  Their hulls probably made it easier for them to use lasers for communications rather than radio.  Or perhaps they had something that the human race didn't even dream existed.  

He started as the sensor console started to bleep an alarm.  “One contact, right on top of us,” the sensor officer snapped.  He had been borrowed from the military as he had more experience with tracking Troll starships than anyone else.  “They just jumped in, ten kilometres from our position.  I read one Alpha-class Troll cruiser.”

Well within firing range, Tom thought, grimly.  A single burst of death ray fire from the Troll ship could rip his ship apart before they even knew that they were under attack.  He had to hope that the diplomats were right and the Trolls were prepared to talk peace after being given a bloody nose, or they were all dead.

Rutherford smiled.  “Call the rest of my team to the bridge,” he said.  “And start transmitting the second peace signal now.”

Tom swallowed his irritation as the rest of the diplomatic team came onto the bridge.  They might have been diplomats, but their diplomatic skills hadn't been in evidence over the last three days, when they’d made impossible demands on his staff.  Interstellar Queen’s crew were highly paid because they had to put up with lewd remarks, groping and even providing erotic services to the passengers, yet some of the diplomats had been worse than some of their passengers from hell.  And the passengers at least left tips behind when they were done.

“They came,” one of the diplomats said.  He sounded as if peace was only a few words away, or if they’d already completed the peace mission and were heading home to receive the plaudits of a grateful United Nations.  “I knew they would come.”

Tom ignored them as best as he could, watching the main display as the second message pulsed out towards the aliens.  They were well within range for face-to-face conversations, but it had been assumed that the Trolls would need time to decipher the message before the two sides could start talking properly.  Tom suspected that they probably understood UN Standard better than many of its speakers – they had to have captured an interstellar database from somewhere, or they wouldn't have known where to attack – yet the diplomats might have had a point.  A slow exchange of messages might be less conductive to hostility than a face-to-face conversation.  

“Picking up a response,” the communications officer said, excitedly.  “It's in standard!”

“Put it through,” Tom ordered, before Rutherford could say a word.

The voice was harsh, yet almost completely atonal; Tom suspected that it had probably been produced by a computer.  “We demand the immediate surrender of the United Nations,” it said.  There was a long pause before the aliens spoke again.  “No other terms will be considered.”

Tom almost smiled as the diplomats staggered backwards, stunned.  They lived in a universe where there was always room for talk, if only because jaw-jaw was better than war-war.  But the Trolls weren't even bothering to treat with them as equals; they’d issued their demands and were now waiting for a response.  And now the diplomats would have to chose between trying to open a dialogue anyway or jumping back to Capricorn to report failure.  

Rutherford looked over at him, and then licked his lips nervously.  “Open a channel,” he ordered.  The communications officer looked at Tom, who nodded.  “This is High Commissioner Rutherford, representing the United Nations.”

He stopped, clearly uncertain what to say next.  “We wish to discuss terms for ending this war without further violence,” he continued.  Tom suspected that that wasn't going to go down well with the Trolls.  They’d stated their terms – unconditional surrender – and Rutherford was completely ignoring them.  “There has to be room for both of our races in the galaxy.  If the human race has somehow given offense...”

The harsh voice interrupted him.  “We demand the unconditional surrender of the United Nations,” it said, flatly.  “No other terms will be considered.”

Tom glanced over at the sensor officer as he spoke into the silence.  “I’m picking up energy discharges flickering over the Alpha,” he said.  “I think they’re preparing to open fire!”

“We have to keep trying to talk to them,” Rutherford insisted.  “Captain...”

“Prepare for emergency jump,” Tom snapped.  A warship would have jumped out instantly, but even with the flux drive powered up Interstellar Queen took longer – perhaps too long – to get ready.  “Ambassador, they’re not interested in talking.”

“Everyone wants something,” one of the other diplomats said.  “We have to keep pressing them to discover what they want and why they’re attacking us.”

Tom fought down the urge to slap the silly girl senseless.  “Get off my bridge,” he ordered, instead.  The timer had started to count down the seconds until they could jump out.  “They don’t want to talk to us...”

“Energy spike,” the sensor officer snapped.  “They’re firing...”

Interstellar Queen shook violently as a death ray cut into her rear section.  Alarms rang through the ship as the Troll beam sliced through the weakened hull metal and blew through the engineering compartment, destroying the flux drive and the fusion reactors that provided the ship’s power.  Emergency power cells came on, too late to prevent the artificial gravity from failing...

“Major damage, all sections,” one of his officers called.  “We’ve lost drives; I say again, we’ve lost drives!”

“Get us out of here,” Rutherford screamed.  He was panicking.  “Jump us out now!”

Tom stared at him, feeling oddly calm as his ship started to come apart around him.  “The drives are gone,” he said, no longer caring about what sort of report the diplomats would make when they returned home.  They weren't going to return home.  “We’re trapped in this system.”

“Then tell them that we surrender,” Rutherford insisted.  “Tell them!”

“Energy spike,” the sensor officer said.  “They’re preparing to fire again...”

“I don’t think they’re interested,” Tom said.  “Goodbye, Ambassador.”

The Troll ship fired a second burst directly into Interstellar Queen’s forward sections.  There were no survivors.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cadiz System
1st May 2435

“Those lousy murdering bastards...”

“That will do,” Captain Helen Lei said, tightly.  Not that she disagreed, but they didn't have time to let their emotions run away with them.  On the main display, the remains of Interstellar Queen died as the Troll ship started to head back towards Cadiz.  They didn't seem to realise that the passenger liner hadn't been alone.  “Helm, prepare to jump us back towards the RV point.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.  “Powering up the flux drive now.”

Helen’s orders had been explicit; she was to shadow Interstellar Queen at a safe distance, but do nothing to interfere, whatever happened.  Pocahontas was a light cruiser, without the modified missiles or starfighters that were needed to take on the Trolls, and there was nothing that she could have done to save the passenger liner, yet it still gnawed at her that civilians had died.  She had a serving officer’s contempt for diplomats, who seemed to give away prizes won with blood and suffering, but even they didn't deserve to die like that.  The Trolls had simply blown them away when they refused to leave quickly enough to suit them.

The mission hadn't been a total failure.  Previous fly-through missions to Cadiz had seeded the system with stealthed reconnaissance platforms and Pocahontas had been able to access their storage nodes and download their observations.  The analysts had already deduced that the alien fleet that had retreated from Capricorn had not returned to Cadiz, which suggested that they had another rendezvous point somewhere outside the system.  That was common sense, Helen knew; it was surprisingly reassuring that Troll tactical thinking didn't seem to be too different from human doctrine.  It was almost impossible to locate an RV point outside a given system, unless one got very lucky.  The Trolls would have time to lick their wounds in peace.

After nuking the planet’s settlements – and deploying a small army of what everyone believed to be genetically-engineered warriors – the Trolls had left only five warships in orbit around the planet, all Alphas.  Helen was at a loss to explain their deployment, unless the Trolls had decided that they needed to keep all of the Betas with their main striking fleet.  That would make a certain kind of sense, she decided; they knew that their cruisers had blind spots, blind spots which their lighter craft lacked.  Keeping the Betas with the fleet was the simplest way to provide antifighter cover.

“Drive powered up,” the helmswoman said.  “Captain?”

“Jump us out of here,” Helen ordered.  A jump over five light years would push her ship to the limits, but there was little choice.  At least the Trolls were probably unaware of the presence of 5th Fleet, ready to jump into Cadiz and extract revenge for the dead diplomats.  “Now.”

Her stomach clenched as Pocahontas jumped out of the Cadiz system.

***
The space between stars was unaccountably vast, leaving Hind feeling tiny and utterly isolated light years from any living world.  It was strange to realise that the tiny lights that blazed out against interstellar space were actually massive stars, themselves tiny against the sheer vastness of the universe.  There were cults that worshipped the interstellar darkness, she recalled, and others that cursed it as a sign of the devil’s work.  The cults were absurd, at least in her opinion, but it was easy to see why they gained adherents.  Out here, so far from any inhabited world that it would take years to reach the closest in normal space, it was easy to feel utterly insignificant.

Admiral Cicero had been looking for embedded reporters and Hind had been one of the first to sign up for the mission, reasoning that there wasn't much she could do on Capricorn unless the Trolls decided to return to try to take the system for a second time.  No one had raised any objections, suggesting that her first reports hadn't upset anyone too badly, apart from her editor.  He’d ordered her to attach herself to Admiral Davidson and send feature articles, but apart from a brief press conference shortly after the battle Admiral Davidson had been completely isolated from the media, protected by a swarm of armed Marines.  Apparently, he didn't want to give interviews.  Hind found it hard to blame him.

Her wristcom buzzed.  “Miss Valhi, please report to the briefing room,” a voice said.  

She was still finding it hard to get around the vast carrier; Powerful was the largest starship in the United Nations, larger even than the vast colonist-carriers that transported entire populations from Earth to their new homeworlds.  Several of those ships had arrived at Capricorn over the last week and started hauling refugees from the threatened worlds into the heart of the United Nations.  God alone knew what they’d do if the Trolls managed to threaten the inner worlds with half of the shipping in ten sectors tied up moving refugees from the outer worlds.  

Hind nodded and started to walk out of the observation blister, relying on her wristcom to provide guidance to the briefing room.  It was a short walk, but the unvarying sameness of the military decor never failed to confuse her as she tried to make her way from compartment to compartment.  There was a system for assigning numbers to each individual section, she had been assured, but it had proved impossible to grasp.  And then her escort had told her that she was lucky not to be assigned to one of the fleet train’s mobile shipyards.  Those changed so rapidly that anyone not assigned to them would find it impossible to get around the ship.  

The briefing room seemed too small to house 5th Fleet’s Captains and other senior officers, but most of them were attending via hologram, their images blurring together into a single mass of light.  When one of them spoke, the automated software propelled their hologram forward, allowing them to be seen clearly.  It seemed rather confusing to Hind, but the military officers seemed comfortable with the system.  Besides, with a war on, no one actually wanted to leave their starships and shuttle over to Powerful.

“The Pocahontas has just returned from Cadiz,” Admiral Cicero said, flatly.  Hind had tried to get onto the peace mission’s starship, only to be told that the diplomats had already picked the reporters who would be accompanying them.  The list had included five reporters known more for kissing asses than actually chasing stories.  “I have to report that the Interstellar Queen was destroyed by the Trolls, lost with all hands.”

There was little shock from the assembled military officers.  They hadn't expected any other outcome, Hind realised; they’d known better than to hope for peace.  For herself, she felt relief that she hadn't been on the ship, mixed with a curious regret that the mission had failed so badly.

“Pocahontas monitored the transmissions between Interstellar Queen and a Troll Alpha,” the Admiral continued.  “The Trolls demanded the complete and unconditional surrender of the human race.  When Ambassador Rutherford attempted to continue talking to the Trolls, they opened fire and destroyed the liner.  We have to assume that they knew that the Interstellar Queen was being shadowed, otherwise their demand would not reach the rest of the human race.  They certainly know that we have been monitoring the system.”

She looked up, right into the mass of holograms.  “We will therefore proceed to Cadiz and liberate the system,” she concluded.  “We jump out in five minutes, following attack plan alpha-one.  Our priority will be to hammer the Alphas before they can escape from the system.  For once, we will have the firepower advantage and I don’t intend to waste it.  Good luck to us all.”

The Admiral made a gesture and the holograms vanished from the compartment.  “You will be in the CIC during the attack,” she informed Hind.  That was a surprise; she’d been lobbying for a position where she could actually see what was going on, but the military had been dragging their feet on the issue.  “Just sit at the rear of the compartment and keep your mouth shut.  The tactical staff have enough problems without you asking questions at the wrong time.”

She smiled.  “And get ready to write the story of your life,” she added.  “This time, we hit them, not the other way around.”

***
The Combat Information Centre was a massive compartment, dominated by a single vast holographic display and a dozen consoles that collectively passed orders to the remainder of 5th Fleet.  Hind watched as the Admiral took her station in front of the holographic display, with her tactical officers ready to pass on her orders, just as the countdown ticked down to zero.  She braced herself as the flux drive engaged and Powerful jumped nearly five light years.  A moment after the jump, they were in the Cadiz system.

“Mountbatten and Kurdistan didn't complete the jump,” the tactical officer said, as the display lit up with the icons representing the fleet.  “Their engineering officers warned that they’d pushed their drives too hard in the race to Capricorn.”

“Understood,” the Admiral said, calmly.  “Move Dingell and Pinafore forward to cover their positions in formation; launch a picket back to the RV point to tell them to hold position and wait for word from us.  Launch all sensor probes and link us into the tactical platforms.  I want all of the alien craft pinned down before we advance further into the system.”

Piece by piece, the tactical holographic tank lit up as data started flowing into the system.  Her briefings had told Hind that some elements were easy to check, such as the locations of the various planets and asteroids in the system, while other elements were nothing more than question marks until the fleet advanced close enough for real-time data.  The Admiral’s plan was brutally simple; the fleet, which had arrived one light minute from Cadiz, would advance on the planet and force the Trolls to either give battle or retreat without a fight.  Either way, the Admiral had assured her, the Trolls would be on the receiving end of more firepower than they normally dished out.  Given that they weren't too proud to back off when it was clear that they were losing, the Admiral expected that they would take one look at 5th Fleet and retreat at once.  Hind found herself hoping that the Admiral was right.

“I have a lock on the Trolls,” one of the other tactical officers said.  “Five Alphas; seven Gamma-class freighters.  They’re all in orbit around the planet.”

“Launch starfighters,” the Admiral ordered.  5th Fleet had had to take some of the maggots from the closest training centre, according to one of the officers Hind had interviewed, but most of her pilots had had several years worth of experience in actual operations.  They had been forced to give up some experienced pilots to bolster 9th Fleet, yet they still had an advantage over the depleted formations of their sister fleet.  “CAG; designate groups one and two.  Group one is to attack the aliens; group two is to provide combat space patrol for the main body of the fleet.”

“Aye, Admiral,” the CAG said.  He was actually the super-CAG, or so he’d claimed during an interview that had turned into a dinner date; he was in command of every starfighter group in the fleet.  “Group one is advancing towards the planet now.”

“The Trolls are reacting,” the tactical officer added.  “The Alphas appear to be forming a battle line; the Gammas are heading to high orbit.  I believe that they intend to jump out as soon as they reach minimum safe distance from the planet.”

“That would be understandable,” the Admiral said, smoothly.  “Keep one eye on them, just in case they’ve taken a leaf from our book.  They may have rigged those freighters with missiles or some other surprise.”

There was a pause.  “And launch a second set of probes towards the planet,” she added.  “I don’t want any surprises at all.”

On the display, the Alphas started to drift out of orbit, almost as if they were in two minds about staying or going.  The starfighters were racing closer, ready to engage engagement range ahead of the capital ships, but no one had any doubt about their ability to take on and destroy the five Troll starships before the capital ships entered firing range.  Tactical doctrine, she’d been told, had been adjusted to compensate for the Trolls and their technological surprises.  

“I wonder if those ships are damaged,” the Admiral mused.  “Cadiz can’t be so important to them that they’d sacrifice five ships just to delay us.”  She looked over at the tactical officer.  “Have we seen those ships before?”

“Uncertain, Admiral,” the tactical officer admitted.  “We haven’t been able to devise a method of separating out one Troll ship from another.  They could be the damaged units from the fleet that attacked Capricorn, but we’re too far from them to tell if they are actually damaged.”

“Maybe their commander is torn between putting up a fight or retreating,” another tactical officer suggested.  “We don’t know how they would regard an officer who retreated without even firing a shot at the enemy.”

“Possible,” the Admiral said.  

Hind frowned.  If the enemy possessed superior firepower, why would it be a bad thing to retreat rather than put up a fight that would inevitably end in disaster?  It wasn't as if the Trolls actually needed Cadiz, surely.  Retreating would preserve five starships for further battles, ones where they could bring their full might to bear against the next human fleet.  But if they were rather like the Sutra, who regarded retreating from battle as a sign of displeasure from the gods, they might feel that they had to fight anyway...

...But that made no sense.  The Trolls had retreated from Capricorn when they’d found themselves confronted by a second human fleet.  Clearly, the Trolls didn't regard retreat as a bad thing.  Was it different once they’d planted a small colony on the surface of a conquered world?  The last report from Cadiz had confirmed that the Trolls seemed to be establishing a colony as well as landing an army to hunt down the remainder of human resistance, which was fighting a losing battle in the hills of their homeworld.  Maybe they feared what the fleet would do to their colony once they retreated.

“The starfighters are entering engagement range,” the CAG said.  On the display, the Trolls opened fire, firing brilliant streaks of light towards the human starfighters.  A handful vanished from the display, each missing icon signifying a starfighter pilot blown to vapour by the Trolls.  “And the Trolls appear to be falling back.”

“Curious,” the Admiral said.  The Trolls had clearly modified their own doctrine, twisting and turning to force the starfighters to give chase – and making it very difficult for them to slip into the enemy’s blind spot.  Each Alpha was manoeuvring to allow one of its fellows a clear shot into its blind spot, taking out human pilots who relaxed too soon.  “I wonder if they’re trying to force the starfighter pilots to exhaust their fuel and life support.”

“They’d be better off jumping out, Admiral,” the CAG said.  “One of the Alphas has already taken a beating and another is under heavy attack.”

The tactical officer looked up from his console.  “Admiral, we will be within bombardment range of the planet in seven minutes,” he said.  “Do you still wish to proceed with obliterating the alien colony?”

Hind shivered, despite herself.  Certain orders, she’d been told, could not be given unless counter-signed by the Grand Admiral himself.  One of those orders covered the bombardment of an enemy planet, at least outside any weapons emplacements or spaceport facilities that might keep the planet as a threat to human military occupations.  The UNNS prided itself on enforcing the law forbidding random planetary bombardment, even to the point of preventing the Sutra Royalists from exterminating large numbers of their enemy during the Intervention.  No one was comfortable with putting that law aside...

...But the Trolls had nuked human civilians.  Whatever else happened, they had to be made to understand that the UNNS could not let that pass.  Their colonists on Cadiz were about to pay the price for what their fellow Trolls in their military had done, but as no one knew how the Trolls organised their society, no one knew how much authority their – presumed – citizens actually had.  The peace lobby on Luna had protested strongly when the motion had been introduced to put General Edict 24 aside, yet in the end their moralistic arguments had proven futile.  There were just too many humans who wanted revenge – and to deter the Trolls from launching orbital strikes against a core world.  

“Yes,” the Admiral said, tightly.  “Warn the resistance that we will be targeting Troll settlements and tell them to keep their heads down.  We don't want to kill any humans by accident.”

The seconds ticked away as the fleet approached Cadiz and the starfighters pressed their offensive.  One Alpha died, followed rapidly by a second...and then the remainder of the enemy fleet jumped out.  Not very far, the tactical officer insisted, but they were too far from the jump point to get a proper vector on the alien ships.  The CAG pointed out that they were probably taking on an observation role, now that they’d put up a brief fight for honour’s sake.  

“Costly battle for honour,” the Admiral observed, wryly.  She was, Hind realised, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  “Start launching bombardment missiles as soon as we enter firing range...”

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “I’m picking up...oh, my god!”

On the display, new red icons were flickering into life.  Hind had little experience in reading military displays, but even she could tell that they were close to the fleet.  Too close.  The other shoe had just dropped...

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cadiz System
1st May 2435

“What the hell?”

Flight Lieutenant Sandy Bugle had been assigned to the CSP along with the rest of Yellow Squadron, a grim reminder that their squadron held more than their fair share of maggots after the CAG had reshuffled Liberty’s wings to ensure that the striking starfighter groups had most of the veterans.  It was something that bothered him; he’d lost friends and family when the Trolls had hit Cadiz and he wanted a chance to hit back at the bastards.  But instead he’d been assigned to the rear left flank...

His sensor systems were picking up...something alarmingly close to the fleet.  It didn't read out like turbulence that would suggest the presence of a cloaked fleet, yet he was unable to think of whatever else it might be.   He keyed his console, sending an alert to the fleet, and then altered course, following his Flight Captain as they raced towards the source of the mystery field.  The maggots followed them, staying in formation, just before space seemed to shimmer and disgorge upwards of fifty Alpha and Beta-class warships.  Sandy stared in absolute disbelief...they’d slipped up to the fleet and the CSP was already in firing range...

“My God,” the Flight Captain said.  It was already too late.  “Evade, evade...”

The Trolls opened fire before the starfighters could slip into an evasive pattern.  Seconds later, Yellow Squadron was wiped out as death rays blasted the craft and their pilots from existence.

***
“Alter course,” the Admiral snapped.  “Divert the remainder of the CSP to cover our flanks...”

“Enemy craft entering engagement range,” the tactical officer said.  Hind stared at the display, realising that the Trolls were moving much faster than the human ships.  They would overtake the fleet before they could power up their flux drives and escape.  “They’re opening fire!”

“Goddard is gone,” another tactical officer said.  “Genesis and Thunderbird have taken heavy damage; Thunderbird is gone.  Mockingbird and Hawkeye are under attack...”

“All ships, massed missile fire,” the Admiral snapped.  “Give them something else to think about than tearing into our flanks.”

Hind shook her head as she saw the disaster unfolding.  The Trolls didn't seem to be concentrating on the outer flanks, other than firing at targets of opportunity and clearing the way for their mad charge.  In fact, they seemed to be charging right into the human formation, aiming right at the carriers in the centre.  It made sense, even to her decidedly civilian brain; the Trolls knew that the starfighters needed their carriers to be a deadly threat, so they were concentrating on eliminating the carriers first.

“Hawkeye and Thor have been destroyed,” a tactical officer said.  “Stark rammed a Troll ship; both ships have been destroyed.”

“Group one starfighters are reversing course,” the CAG added.  “They’re coming back to aid the fleet.”

Hind looked at the display and wondered if the starfighters could make it back in time.  In a matter of seconds, 5th Fleet had gone from complete control of the situation to a desperate struggle for survival.  A struggle it seemed to be losing.  The Trolls were pushing closer, even though they were now forced to divert their attention to sprint mode missiles and starfighters as they fought to push the Trolls back out of the formation.  It wouldn't be long before the Trolls reached firing range of the bigger carriers...

“They’re targeting Liberty,” the tactical officer said.  Hind looked over at the live feed from one of the cruisers.  The massive fleet carrier had been hit several times, losing five of its eight flight decks as Troll fire tore through their hullmetal and guttered their inner workings.  Hind couldn’t imagine the hell that had been unleashed inside the starship as she struggled for survival.  The crew within those massive tubes had to be dying as fires raged through the ship, detonating the starfighter missile warheads inside their mothership.  “Liberty has taken heavy damage...”

The live feed fuzzed out as Liberty exploded in a flash of blinding light.  “Liberty has been destroyed,” the tactical officer reported.  There was no point in him making that report.  “Constitution and Dynamo are under fire” – another fleet carrier and one of the assault carriers – “and taking heavy damage...correction; Hope just rammed the Alpha attacking Constitution.  She reports that she’s lost two flight decks, but remains operational.”

“They’re concentrating on the flight decks,” the Admiral said.  Hind wasn't sure if the Admiral had meant to speak aloud.  “They know our weaknesses, of course.  Take out the flight decks and the carriers are useless.”

“Quicksilver and Witch are taking fire,” another tactical officer said.  two more escort carriers, only included with the fleet because they’d needed additional flight decks.  Neither of them had the sheer mass of armour that was built into an assault carrier or a fleet carrier; they were doomed almost from the moment the Trolls targeted them for destruction.  “Vision is attempting to cover Witch, but is taking fire herself.”

“Bring up the flux drives,” the Admiral ordered.  Hind was surprised that she hadn't given the order earlier.  The fleet’s mission had turned into a complete disaster.  “Are we still in range to bombard the planet?”

“Yes, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “We can still salvo missiles at Cadiz.”

“Then launch them,” the Admiral ordered.  “If they’re anything like us, they’ll move to cover the planet and give us time to escape...”

Powerful shuddered violently as alarms howled through the massive ship.  “Direct hit to flight deck eight,” the tactical officer snapped.  “I’m reading massive destruction inside the tube.”

“Seal that section,” someone barked.  It took Hind a moment to realise that it was the starship’s Captain.  “Rotate the ship to...”

His voice vanished as another explosion rocked the giant vessel.  “Direct hit to compartment theta-rho-alpha,” the tactical officer snapped.  “The hullmetal took most of the blast, but the bleed-through has damaged the compartment...”

“Enemy ship destroyed,” another officer said.  “The starfighters killed her!”

“Missiles away,” someone else said.  “Cadiz has been targeted; missile impact in ten minutes and counting...”

“Keep their drives online,” the Admiral ordered.  She was effectively holding the planet hostage, Hind realised, unsure if she should be impressed or alarmed.  There was no such thing as precise targeting in the middle of a war zone, she had been informed, and it was quite possible that one of the missiles would strike the human-controlled areas rather than the alien colony.  “We want them to see the threat...”

Powerful rang like a bell as something struck home.  “Direct hit to forward section,” an officer reported.  “We have major internal damage...”

“Lightning, Jutland and Midway have been destroyed,” the tactical officer said.  “The flux drive is online and ready to jump us out.”

“Recall the starfighters,” the CAG ordered.  “Admiral...”

“Belay that order,” the Admiral said.  “The starfighters are to cover the fleet as it withdraws.”

The CAG stared at her.  “Admiral,” he protested, finally, “if you leave the starfighters in the system...”

Another impact struck Powerful and he broke off.  “I know,” the Admiral snapped, her voice icy cold.  “But we need to preserve as much as possible of the fleet as we can.  The starfighters are to cover our retreat.”

There was a long moment as they locked eyes, and then the CAG looked away.  “Very well, Admiral,” he said, his tone one step short of outright insubordination.  “The starfighters will be abandoned as we fall back from the system.”

“Shimmering Harmony and Nimitz have been destroyed,” the tactical officer said.

“General orders to all ships,” the Admiral said, her voice cutting through the noise almost effortlessly.  “The fleet is to withdraw; I say again, the fleet is to withdraw.  We will scatter and rendezvous at point beta.”

There was a long pause.  “Flux drive spinning up, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “And we are jumping...”

Hind felt her stomach churn as the flux drive activated.  They were doing an unplanned jump, she realised in horror, just before her chest gave up the remains of her last meal.  She wasn't the only one to lose her lunch, somewhat to her relief; several other officers vomited on the decks as the jump was completed.  Even the Admiral looked rather unsteady.

“Admiral,” she began...

“Not now,” the Admiral snapped.  She looked...beaten, Hind saw; beaten and broken and tormented by guilt.  “Just...not now.”

***
“They’re gone!”

Flight Captain Timothy Gabon shared his subordinate’s disbelief, but choked it down as Vampire Squadron reformed and prepared for its final battle.  Apart from a badly damaged assault carrier, so badly damaged that it couldn’t jump out and escape, 5th Fleet was gone – or destroyed.  The Trolls had ambushed the fleet so badly that it was certain that most of the cruisers and destroyers had been destroyed along with nine carriers.  One way or another, the UNNS had suffered a shattering defeat.

“Yes, they’re gone,” he said.  He found it hard, almost impossible, to believe what had just happened.  The starfighter pilots trusted the carriers not to abandon them if the fight went badly – but against any normal foe, there would have been time to recall the fighters and land them on the carriers before they had to jump out.  Given the sheer level of firepower the Trolls brought to close-range engagements, the Admiral had probably had no choice, apart from retreating at once.  But that thought didn't make it any easier to bear.  “Form up on me and prepare to go down fighting.”

There was no point in trying to surrender.  As he watched, the Trolls were wiping out the few lifepods that had been launched from various ships before they were destroyed.  They almost seemed to be waiting – waiting, he saw, for the starfighters to exhaust their weapons and life support.  The Trolls would probably be happier waiting for them to die peacefully rather than hunting them down.  Maybe, just maybe, they could make it to a RockRat sanctuary, except they didn't have the slightest idea where to look for one.  And then they would just lead the Trolls to the hidden base.

He shook his head.  Nine hundred starfighters had been abandoned in the system, eight hundred and fifty of them piloted by veterans.  There was no escaping the fact that the Trolls had given the human race a bloody nose that far exceeded the one they’d taken at Capricorn; worse, with 5th Fleet effectively destroyed, they could launch a second attack on Capricorn at leisure.  But it hardly mattered.  All that mattered now was killing as many Trolls as they could before they ran out of life support and died.

“Come on, you apes,” he said, as he gunned his engine.  “Who wants to live forever?”

***
“Three fleet carriers and two assault carriers survived, Admiral,” the tactical officer said, an hour after their escape from Cadiz.  They had jumped again to the RV point and discovered that only fifty-two ships had made it out of the fire.  5th Fleet had been slaughtered, losing nearly all of its striking power in a single engagement.  “All of our starfighters, save five that suffered electrical faults that prevented their launch, were lost.”

Donna nodded, staring down at her empty desk.  5th Fleet had had fifteen heavy carriers and a dozen escort carriers – and almost all of them had been lost.  The five that had survived were too badly damaged to return to battle, even if new starfighters and pilots could be drawn from Capricorn Base.  They’d even lost the experienced pilots they needed to train new maggots and impart the lessons they would need to learn to survive.  

Offhand, she couldn't think of a single battle that had been lost so badly.  The first major engagement of the Magana War had been costly, but the damage hadn't been so great and the United Nations Expeditionary Force had survived to fight again.  Fighting to support the Sutra Royalists hadn't been so costly – and the Dispute with the RockRats had been fought out with small ships, not least because both sides hadn't wanted to wage war to the knife.  And it would be her name that would go down in history as a paragon of military competence; Admiral Donna Cicero, a worthy heir to Custer, Percival or Yamamoto.  The loss of so many fine ships was bad enough, but losing their crews was worse...

They’d court-martial her, of course; they wouldn't have any choice.  And then they would need a scapegoat, so they would drag her through the mud time and time again, destroying her to please a frightened public.  Once the news of the defeat leaked out – and it would; she had no doubt of that – the politicians would demand that someone was thrown to the wolves, and she knew better than to expect any political support as her patrons struggled to distance themselves from the disaster.  She would go down in history as an incompetent who had gotten much of her fleet butchered and then had to abandon her starfighter pilots to save the rest of her crewmen...

“I understand,” she said, shortly.  “Order the StarCom spun up and make a brief report to Capricorn, and then order the fleet to jump out before they track the transmission and try to jump us.  No, inform Commodore Heinz that he is in command of the fleet until further notice and his first priority is to return to Capricorn.”

“Aye, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “Do you...?”

“Go,” Donna snapped.

The tactical officer retreated at high speed, the hatch to her stateroom hissing closed behind him.  His report lay on her desk, a constantly updating dirge of the disaster that had overwhelmed 5th Fleet.  Starships damaged, including several cruisers and a carrier that would probably be better used by being cannibalised for spare parts rather than being repaired in Capricorn’s docks.  Another cruiser had been so badly damaged that she’d been lucky to jump out at all; her crew were being evacuated to one of the carriers, before the ship itself was abandoned in interstellar space.  Perhaps, when peace returned to the galaxy, she could be recovered, or left drifting endlessly as a memorial of her failure.  

Her career was over, but that hardly mattered.  Perhaps no battle since the Battle of Midway, a wet-navy battle nearly five hundred years ago, had left one side so completely shattered.  It boded ill for the war, and it was her fault.  Nothing she could do could excise the taint of her failure.  

Carefully, she opened her bottom drawer and removed the service pistol that had been presented to her after she’d completed the required course in shooting and self-defence at the Luna Academy. It had been years since any UN starship had been boarded in action, but regulations still insisted that all officers and crewmen had to carry sidearms to repel boarders if necessary.  If the Trolls had actually grown a slave race of soldiers – and it certainly seemed that they had – perhaps they would think nothing of a boarding action.  Maybe there was sense in the regulations after all.

Quite calmly, she lifted the pistol, checked that there was a round in the chamber, pointed it at her head and pulled the trigger.

***
The first person to visit the Admiral’s cabin was unable to raise the Admiral and contacted the Marines, who – after checking with the ship’s Captain – forced the door.  They discovered the Admiral’s body lying slumped in her chair and called for a medic, but it was clear from the start that nothing could be done to save her life.  According to the Marines, the Admiral had been dead for over an hour before the tactical officer had tried to raise her.  She had committed suicide.

Hind wrote the final pages of her report afterwards, wondering just how badly the Admiral had taken her own failure.  It seemed clear from talking to some of the survivors that 5th Fleet had been effectively shattered – and the fact that they’d been convinced that they were winning the battle had only made it worse.  The Trolls had jumped them with impressive skill and slaughtered the human ships.  Worst of all, according to the analysis staff, the Trolls didn't even seem to have pre-planned the ambush.  The data suggested that the Trolls had taken advantage of an opportunity to bring in the rest of their fleet.

“They were emitting StarCom pulses from the Alphas,” the analyst admitted.  Hind hadn't understood, so the analyst explained in baby language.  “They have an effective way to coordinate starships and military operations at interstellar distances.”

It had taken some time for Hind to understand the implications.  StarCom units were massive installations orbiting a single world, or crammed into a fleet carrier where they drained half the ship’s power to pulse a signal several light years.  But if the Trolls could mount a unit on their cruisers, they could presumably coordinate their operations with much greater skill.  They could instantly react to the Navy’s movements, while the Navy would require days or weeks to realise that the Trolls had moved and move to counter them.  

The analysts had come up with their own explanation of what that meant and it chilled her.  They’d hit the various planets they’d targeted with just enough force to overwhelm the defenders quickly and brutally, keeping the remainder of the fleet out of range.  If one fleet ran into trouble, they’d call for help and a second fleet would arrive.  The only hopeful note was that the Trolls had fallen back from Capricorn.  And no one expected them to wait long before attacking the base for a second time.  The 5th Fleet wouldn’t come riding to the rescue this time.

She shook her head as she looked down at her report.  No doubt most of it would be censored out anyway, but she had to try.  The people had a right to know what had happened, even though there would be panic once the truth came into the light.  They had to know.

Didn't they?

Chapter Twenty-Three

Luna
4th May 2435

“Just how bad was it?”

The analyst, in the unenviable position of having to give bad news to his superior, squirmed.  “Very bad, sir,” he said, finally.  “5th Fleet is no longer combat-capable.”

“Give me the report,” Anton ordered, finally.  The analyst passed the datapad over and Anton looked at the summery.  5th Fleet had been shattered.  The Trolls had managed to completely reverse the verdict of First Capricorn; five carriers had survived, but with only a handful of starfighters.  And Admiral Cicero had committed suicide.  “I see.”

The analyst didn’t need to tell him just how bad it was.  Anton knew precisely what would happen if Capricorn fell – and the fleet base was likely to fall now that 5th Fleet had been shattered by the Trolls.  Fifty worlds would be exposed to the Trolls before they hit the inner defence line...and there would be panic, massive panic.  The refugee crisis they’d had from the outer worlds would become a great deal worse once those worlds realised that the distant war was about to reach their atmospheres.  Evacuating so many people would be impossible – and even if they did manage to find the starships to lift them, where the hell would they go?

“Thank you,” Anton said, finally.  There was no point in shooting the bearer of bad news, something he’d learned as a young CO.  “Tell your superiors that I want a full report on everything new we learned about the Trolls in that battle.  You are dismissed.”

He watched the analyst flee through the hatch and then keyed a switch on his desk.  “Jane, please contact Commander Weaver and Colonel Montgomery and inform them that I wish to see them in my office now,” he ordered.  “And then get me an emergency link to the Security Council.  I will need to speak with them as soon as possible.”

It wouldn't be long before word got out, he knew, and then there would be panic.  Everyone would be looking for a scapegoat, for someone to blame.  Admiral Cicero’s suicide would probably ensure that she took most of the blame, but the politicians wouldn't be satisfied without a live sacrifice to throw to the media vultures.  Admiral Davidson had urged the counterattack on Cadiz that had turned into a disaster, yet Anton knew that the last thing 9th Fleet needed was a political catfight.  He didn't intend to relieve Davidson unless it couldn't be avoided.

The hatch hissed open, revealing Commander Weaver and Colonel James Montgomery.  Montgomery had been a Federation Marine before taking a serious wound in combat and transferring to the Red Team, a little-known section of the Admiralty’s Strategic Planning Division.  Red Team’s job was to think of the worst-case scenarios and then devise plans and procedures for overcoming them.  Their reports didn't make comfortable reading.

“Gentlemen,” Anton said.  Commander Weaver had done excellent work as part of the Alien Analysis team.  It was time for him to be transferred again.  “You’ll get the full report later, but the key point is that 5th Fleet has been effectively destroyed and that Capricorn Base is likely to fall sooner rather than later.  Once it falls, the Trolls will be able to ravage their way into the inner worlds at will.”

Montgomery’s face flickered, slightly.  His team had drawn up hundreds of possible predictions for the future of the war, some of which suggested that the United Nations would be defeated in less than a year.  With the Trolls demanding nothing less than unconditional surrender, it was unlikely that any future peace mission would manage to convince them otherwise, not unless the UNNS managed to deploy a completely new weapons system that could match the Troll death rays.  Anton had high hopes for the research teams, but duplicating the weapons was a chancy process.  

“We have to assume the worst,” he continued.  “We must give some thought to continuing the fight when – if – the vast majority of the Navy has been defeated.”

Humanity had fought the Sutra on even terms and had enjoyed a slight edge over the Magana, but the Trolls possessed superior weapons, starships and now communications systems.  Anton could envisage countless hit-and-run raids devastating the inner worlds, weakening the United Nations as its defenders chased the Trolls from system to system, until the Trolls felt they could bring their fleet into the Sol System and attack Earth itself.  Humanity had fought such a war against the Magana; it was quite likely that the Trolls would do the same to the United Nations.  They were certainly advanced enough to understand the weak points in the galactic economy.

The analysts were still puzzling over how the Trolls had managed to get into space in the first place,  In theory, a race couldn't climb into space until it had managed to develop the scientific method and a respect for science that was lacking in many barbaric societies, at least unless someone else gave it the technology without the social development that accompanied technological development.  The Magana had been barbarians because they’d been given the technology to reach space without having to work for it.  But the Trolls were actually more advanced than humanity and yet they acted like barbarians.  Why weren't they willing to discuss peace terms?  Surely they had to know that crushing the entire United Nations would be difficult, costly and perhaps fatal.  

“You speak of post-war resistance,” Montgomery said, flatly.  “We have no idea how the Trolls will react to that.”

“I think we have to prepare for the worst,” Anton said.  The worlds the Trolls didn't nuke, for whatever reason, were sealed off from space.  Even assuming that that was all the Trolls did to the inner worlds, the human race would be at their mercy for the rest of eternity if they couldn't get off their planets.  The RockRats would probably be hunted down and exterminated.  “We have to give some thought to continuing the fight if we lose the first war.”

Commander Weaver was shocked.  “But surely the other powers will intervene,” he said.  “They can't want the Trolls for neighbours.”

“I imagine they don’t want the Trolls for neighbours,” Anton agreed, dryly.  “But right now, they’re too scared of the Trolls to consider intervening and probably widening the war.  ONI says that both the Sutra and the Polis had put their own weapons programs into high gear, but unless they come up with something that allows them to take the Trolls on – without the staggering losses that we have taken – we have to assume that they will try to stay out of the fighting.  The best we have from them is a promise to take some human refugees.”

He shook his head.  “We cannot count on any of them,” he added.  “At best, they will intern any humans they find in their space after the war is lost.  At worst...”

“The Trolls might go after them next,” Montgomery said.  “They must know that that is a possibility.”

“They do,” Anton said.  “But they won’t commit themselves to the war unless they feel that they have a decisive advantage or they have no choice.”

There was a long pause.  “Project Iceberg is the most suitable response to a possible defeat, I feel,” Montgomery said, finally.  “The reasons for vetoing it – ah, your predecessor vetoed it – no longer apply.”

Anton frowned.  He hadn't been briefed on Iceberg.  “Tell me about it,” he ordered.  “What exactly did the planners have in mind?”

“Iceberg is a fairly useless system on the edge of the Triangle,” Montgomery explained.  “Politically speaking, the exact ownership is mildly disputed – mildly because no one actually wants the system very much.  It’s too close to the Hexed System for comfort.”

Anton nodded.  The Hexed System was one of the galaxy’s great unsolved mysteries, a puzzle that had baffled the UN – and every other galactic political unit – for over a hundred years.  Simply put, every starship that entered the Hexed System suffered a series of minor failures that eventually destroyed the ship unless the crew left the system very quickly.  The record for remaining in the system and escaping alive was five days – every attempt to stay further had resulted in the starship being lost.  No one had come up with an explanation for the system that suited everyone; as far as anyone could tell, the Hexed System was completely empty, ready for settlement.  Spacers generally gave the area a wide berth.  

“The general concept was to establish a settlement on Iceberg itself, an icy moon orbiting a gas giant,” Montgomery continued.  “That settlement would be completely hidden, providing a base for intelligence operations within the Triangle and – if necessary – supporting patrol ships for military deployments.  Now, the base would be used as a nexus of resistance activity against the Trolls; we could ship out the core of a R&D facility as well as trained soldiers and spacers, giving the resistance a chance to continue attempting to crack the Troll weapons.”

“Chancy,” Anton observed.  “What if the base happened to be discovered?”

“It would be destroyed,” Montgomery admitted, frankly.  “The defences that would be needed to hold off the Trolls – or anyone else for that matter – would be easy for any survey team to spot.  Red Team has considered several possibilities, Admiral, but the only other possibility worth a damn is hidden asteroid bases.  And we know that the Trolls are searching for them in every system they take.”

“For fear of the RockRats,” Anton said.  It would have been nice if the RockRats had shared their intelligence – and planned operations – with the UN, but instead they were largely fighting a private war.  “How long would it take to establish the base?”

“Assuming that we were given full access to supplies, not more than a year,” Montgomery said.  “The original survey team found suitable caves under the ice for settlement, so it would mainly be a task of converting them into living quarters and concealed hangers.  Once the base was operational, we could start transferring picked crews and their families while faking their deaths.  The mining equipment would still be there so they could simply expand further if necessary.”

Anton nodded.  “You’ll have full authority to draw whatever you need,” he said.  “I want you and Commander Weaver to take the lead on this project.  No one – and I mean no one – is to have any knowledge of Iceberg unless they’re going to remain on the base indefinitely.  If anyone asks questions, refer them to me.”

“We will have to make some preparations for a government-in-exile,” Montgomery warned.  “I’d expect the Security Council to have some nominees to take over if Earth falls.”

Anton wouldn't have been too surprised to hear that the Security Council had its own contingency plans.  “Leave that to me,” he said.  “There are evacuation plans for Luna if the Trolls ever get within engagement range of Sol.  If those plans are needed, the Security Council can be evacuated and then moved to Iceberg.”

“Understood, sir,” Montgomery said.  “You’ll have a full report on your desk tomorrow, once we update the contingency plans and then start making preparations.”

Anton smiled, humourlessly.  “Good luck,” he said, flatly.  “I have a feeling that we’re going to need it.”

***
The news broke over Earth two hours later.  At first, the general population didn't seem to understand what it meant; the war was still hundreds of light years away.  But the media’s commenters managed to put it in surprisingly accurate context; 5th Fleet was gone, hundreds of thousands of lives had been lost...and the Trolls were at the gates.  Whatever feeling of safety the inner worlds had enjoyed evaporated into nothingness, leaving panic in its wake.  Anton watched grimly as riots broke out all over Earth, with pro-peace factions taking a beating from rioters who blamed them – somewhat irrationally – for the defeat.  It was true that 5th Fleet had followed the peace mission into the system, but the peace mission had hardly doomed 5th Fleet.  That had come when the Trolls had slipped a cloaked attack force into engagement range and pounded 5th Fleet’s carriers into scrap.  

Shaking his head, he issued orders for additional units to be pulled off the border with the Polis and sent to reinforce 3rd Fleet.  9th Fleet already had too many maggots in its starfighters, but the desperate measures that had produced such a crisis would have to be repeated throughout the United Nations.  Several classes of starfighter pilots would have to be graduated without completing their training, a terrifying prospect if it hadn't been so necessary.  At least they’d already managed to ramp up starfighter production, thankfully.  There would be planes for the pilots to fly, once they got out to the fleet.

There was no political will to reduce Home Fleet’s deployable strength by reinforcing 3rd Fleet, currently based at New Brisbane.  New Brisbane had been a major base back when the UN had been expanding before encountering the Sutra, but in the following centuries it had been largely neglected, even though it did hold the key role in the inner defence line.  There just hadn't been the money to keep updating the base, nor the political will to push the local government into contributing itself.  Besides, New Brisbane had a self-defence force of its own.  The locals weren't going to pay for the UN’s ships when they already had to pay for their own.  But right now 3rd Fleet needed all the additional firepower it could get.  

7th and 8th Fleets would have to be pulled away from their own stations, leaving only a handful of squadrons to carry out defence duties against pirates, renegades and possible alien threats.  Between them, they represented awesome levels of firepower – but so did the Trolls.  Anton knew that holding the line was going to be difficult, if not impossible, yet they had to try.  Perhaps the horse would learn to sing after all.  He left the Admiralty to finish drawing up the orders for the fleet redeployment and headed for the Security Council’s chamber.  There was no longer any choice.  They would have to declare martial law – and a full-fledged switch to war production – across the entire United Nations.  

The chamber’s atmosphere seemed heavy with the scent of barely-concealed panic once the representatives had finished watching the destruction of 5th Fleet.  Coming after the victory at First Capricorn, the defeat was a catastrophic blow to their morale – and the rejection of any peace terms save unconditional surrender meant that they had no way to secure their power and positions in the event of an alien victory.  They had once considered themselves masters of the universe.  Now, they had to wonder what would happen when – if – the Trolls fought their way to Earth.

“The situation is grim,” Anton said, once the horrific scene had come to an end.  “We must assume the worst.  Capricorn is doomed and the war is about to advance into the inner systems.  There is no way that we can provide security for all of the threatened worlds.”

“Then we did we spend so much money on the Navy?”  One of the representatives demanded.  He sounded angry, but Anton could hear the panic underlying his words.  “Why did we meet your exorbitant demands for funding if you cannot protect us from the Trolls?”

That wasn't exactly how Anton remembered the endless battles for funding, but he let it pass without comment.  “Right now, the only way we have to face the Trolls with any hope of success involves massive concentration of force,” he said, flatly.  “If I disperse 3rd Fleet – and the other fleets when they arrive – their units will be scattered over nearly fifty different star systems.  The Trolls will have their opportunity to pick off hundreds of ships without needing to risk a significant defeat.  In fact, given their demonstrated superiority in weapons and communications, a relatively small Troll force might be able to inflict crippling damage before we can react to it.”

He’d wondered how the Security Council would take his words – and was surprised, and puzzled, when they took them surprisingly calmly.  “We must put our industries on a war production footing immediately,” he continued.  “Right now, we’re burning through pre-war stocks at an alarming rate.  We need to start mass production of everything from bomb-pumped lasers to standard missiles, mines and even StarCom units.  We also need to federalise the various self-defence forces and start deploying them – at least their starfighter pilots – with the Navy, as well as instituting a general conscription program.”

“That would be hugely unpopular,” the American Ambassador noted.

“It gets worse,” Anton said.  “We have to start preparing to evacuate vast numbers of people from the threatened worlds – and use war emergency measures to force planets to take them.  Right now, sir, the Trolls have a chance to launch a campaign against us that will take them to the edge of the core worlds themselves.  We have to accept that we’re fighting this war until we win or until the Trolls start tearing through the inner worlds.  This is war to the knife.”

He could understand their concern, for the UN had only limited powers over the major worlds and their economies.  The founders had been willing to agree that humanity needed some form of united authority, but they’d also been concerned about how that authority could be abused, particularly given the corruption and abuse of the UN’s early days on Earth.  Eventually, they’d come up with a compromise that had suited almost everyone – but right now had become a suicide pact.  Convincing the various worlds to accept rationalised production and war emergency powers wouldn't be easy.

“There is no choice,” he said, grimly.  “Right now, we still have a chance to stem the tide and push the Trolls back to wherever they came from.  But if the Trolls break into the core worlds, the war will be lost.  And that will be the end of the human race.” 

Chapter Twenty-Four

Capricorn Base
6th May 2435

“My God,” one of the maggots breathed.  “Look at them.”

“That will do,” Connie snapped at him.  At least the remainder of the flight had enough sense to stay quiet as the remains of 5th Fleet returned to Capricorn.  A handful of ships, all badly damaged – and lacking the starfighters that would have allowed them to defend themselves when the Trolls came to finish the job.  Rumours had been flying around the base for several days, yet they didn't seem to grasp the reality.  The surviving carriers of 5th Fleet were all badly damaged and effectively inoperable.  

The maggots had made progress, as even Connie was prepared to admit. They weren't anything like as good as her first command, but in some ways they had less to unlearn and there was plenty of data on how the Trolls fought for them to use in simulations.  The maggots had even engaged in mock dogfights with other squadrons and done remarkably well.  But Connie refused to allow herself to grow too attached to them, knowing just how many of them would die when the Trolls returned to Capricorn.  Blue Squadron – the maggots had been pressing to be allowed to choose a nickname, but no nickname could be chosen until the squadron had fought its first battle – would be hammered when they went into battle for the first time.  

They weren't the only ones.  9th Fleet had been drilling endlessly since the last battle, trying to develop new tactics that might allow them to give the Trolls another bloody nose.  But everyone knew that it was just a matter of time before the Trolls returned with enough force to seize the base; the Admiral had been evacuating everyone from the system whose presence was not absolutely necessary.  The vast hordes of refugees from the worlds hit by the Trolls had been moved further into human space, to worlds that were reluctantly preparing shelter for them now that the United Nations had declared martial law.  Connie wondered what would happen if – when – Capricorn fell.  Hundreds of other worlds would be exposed to the Trolls.  

“Form up on me,” she ordered, tightly.  5th Fleet was angling in towards the base now, the damaged ships heading towards the shipyard.  Connie doubted that there would be time to repair them, even if half the workers hadn't been sent back to the inner worlds.  It was more likely that tugs would be assigned to transport the carriers to the inner worlds, assuming that the Admiral didn't decide to just scrap the badly-damaged ships.  She caught sight of a fleet carrier that had lost three of its flight decks and shivered.  The carriers had been designed to continue operating even after losing some of its flight decks, but that had been in the days before they had encountered Troll death rays.  She wouldn't survive for five minutes if the Trolls managed to get into engagement range and opened fire.  

Blue Squadron formed up and lanced towards the carriers, providing what escort they could.  Up close, it was alarmingly clear that the carriers had lost all of their starfighters.  They would be helpless targets when the Trolls returned to Capricorn.  Connie suspected that they would definitely be sent home.  Who knew?  Maybe they could be fixed in time to join the defence line forming up around New Brisbane.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought.  For the moment, all that mattered was whipping the maggots into shape and preparing for the coming battle.  She doubted that the Trolls would underestimate Capricorn Base a second time.

***
 “My God,” Vice Admiral Paul Howard said.  “They were chewed to ribbons.”

“So it would seem,” Admiral Davidson agreed.  Back on Luna, the Board of Inquiry would already be considering the reasons for the defeat.  Admiral Cicero, no longer able to defend herself, would probably be given most of the blame, but Davidson knew that that wouldn’t be the end of it.  5th Fleet had been shattered and panic was spreading through the inner worlds.  The Security Council would need to sacrifice people to the mob and the Board of Inquiry was looking for possible victims.  “Commodore Heinz has made it clear that 5th Fleet is no longer combat-effective.”

He looked around the small compartment.  The officers he had summoned to attend – via hologram, as they had no idea when the Trolls would begin their assault – were all from 9th Fleet, or from the base itself.  There were no officers from 5th Fleet, a grim acknowledgment that the fleet was no longer serviceable.  Besides, with a Board of Inquiry looking for scapegoats, he didn't want to risk contaminating his own command structure.

“We have to assume that we may be attacked at any moment,” he said.  Deep-space sensors had been picking up hints that the Trolls were watching Capricorn Base – and now that the remains of 5th Fleet had returned to the base, the way was clear for the Trolls to capitalise on their success by obliterating both fleets as well as the base itself.  “Their FTL communications systems ensures that they will suffer no time-delay in assembling their forces.  As of now, Plan Stalingrad is to be considered active.”

Howard stared at him.  “Admiral...”

“There’s little choice,” Davidson said, flatly.  Plan Stalingrad had been dreamed up as a worst-case scenario, a plan he had never expected to have to use.  And then the Trolls had shattered 5th Fleet and taught him just how limited his imagination had been.  “We know that we are going to lose the base.  We cannot afford to lose more starships and starfighters in a futile defence.”

The analysts had claimed that the Trolls had a better cloaking device than the United Nations; it was certainly true that a large Troll fleet had gotten into firing range of 5th Fleet without being detected until it was too late.  Davidson had no difficulty imagining other scenarios where the Trolls would launch cloaked ships into Capricorn, attempting to wipe out the fleet’s carriers before they could jump out and escape.  And the UN could not afford to lose more carriers.  The cruisers and destroyers that had served as the fleet’s workhorses ever since the Traders had given humanity the keys to the stars were nothing more than targets for the Trolls.  Some of the new missiles and weapons promised to change that, but there wouldn't be any of them at the next battle for Capricorn.

“The remains of 5th Fleet will remain here long enough to load up with starfighters and refugees, and then jump out towards New Brisbane,” Davidson ordered.  Even with hundreds of freighters commandeered under martial law, evacuating the entire system was still a lengthy process.  The carriers had enough life support to carry thousands of additional refugees away from the system, back to where they could help rebuild the fleet and defend the human race.  “Once the Trolls arrive, 9th Fleet will fall back and jump out on my command, abandoning Capricorn to the Trolls.”  He looked up at Vice Admiral Howard.  “At that moment, you will succeed to overall command of 9th Fleet.  Take the ships to New Brisbane and join the defence line there.”

Vice Admiral Howard held up a hand, but Davidson spoke over him.  “There’s no choice,” he said.  “Right now, we don’t have anything that can detect the presence of cloaked Trolls at long range.  9th Fleet must not be shattered like 5th Fleet was shattered.  If we lose 9th Fleet too, we may be unable to stop the Trolls before the Core Worlds, if at all.”

He watched as that sank into their minds.  The Trolls were the most advanced enemy the human race had ever faced, yet few officers had truly believed that they were facing absolute defeat.  Losing the outer worlds was painful, but it didn't really affect humanity’s ability to produce starships and weapons and carry on the fight.  But if – when – the Trolls started raiding into the inner worlds, they would start destroying shipyards, industrial nodes and cloudscoops, crippling the human race’s ability to make war.  And as long as the human race had no idea where the Trolls were based, there was little chance of being able to counterattack by hitting the Troll industrial base.  The war might be within shouting distance of being lost.  

The inner worlds certainly hadn't believed that the human race could be defeated, not until the news of Second Cadiz had leaked out.  Some still believed that there was no real crisis – that it was just another skirmish with an inferior alien race – but martial law and the switch to total war production had silenced most of the doubters.  Hundreds of thousands of people were trying to flee, while others had been jailed for protesting martial law or the war itself.  He had little sympathy for the protesters, if only because they refused to see the obvious.  It took both sides to make peace, but only one to make war – and, so far, the Trolls had refused to discuss anything, apart from unconditional surrender.  The destruction of the peace envoy had been an act of shocking barbarity.

“It is vitally important that 9th Fleet be preserved,” he reminded them.  “On my signal, the starfighters are to be recalled and the fleet is to jump out.  The base’s defences will cover you as long as necessary.”

He hesitated.  “I will be remaining on Capricorn myself,” he concluded, “along with a staff of volunteers to man the defences.  I do not intend to surrender.”

Not that surrender seems to be possible, he added, in the privacy of his own mind.  The Trolls happily fired on escape pods and crippled ships, something that puzzled the analysts; surely, any race capable of logical thinking would conclude that accepting surrender made it easier to convince others to surrender.  They’d gone around and around the point countless times, but none of their solutions had made sense.  The Trolls could simply have dumped their prisoners on one of the captured worlds if they didn't have transports to take them back into their own territory.  And why would they not want human military personnel for interrogation?

“Admiral,” Vice Admiral Howard began, “you should command from your flagship...”

“Not this time,” Davidson said.  It was tradition, a tradition that had endured since the first days of the UNNS, that the senior commanding officer would share the same risks as his men.  There were times when the policy had its drawbacks – losing a vital commander could cause entire fleets to fragment, at least until a new commander assumed command – but it was one of the keys to maintaining morale in the fleet.  “In the event of my death before you jump out, you will assume command and pull out as much of 9th Fleet as possible.”

He tapped the table, firmly.  “As I have said before, we must not lose 9th Fleet,” he reminded them.  “And as long as we preserve those carriers, the entire base is expendable.  Dismissed.”

The holograms winked out, leaving him alone with two officers from the base itself.  “Start moving the personnel for evacuation,” he ordered.  Capricorn Base would be almost deserted by the time the Trolls arrived, if they were lucky.  “Is the defence grid ready?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Commander Hsu said.  She’d been one of the first volunteers to remain behind.  “And all of the missiles are linked into the system.”

“Good,” Davidson said.  He had no illusions about their ability to hold the system, but at least they could give the Trolls a bloody nose before they destroyed the base.  It was unlikely that they would want to capture it, even though a normal foe would want the weapons and equipment that the UN had stockpiled over the years.  Some of those weapons would be used before the base self-destructed to ensure that nothing fell into Troll hands.  “Go see to the evacuation.  Now.”

***
“Your request for a transfer to 9th Fleet has been granted,” Commander Jordon informed her.  “You have been assigned a billet on Triumphant and a shuttle flight has been arranged for you.”

Hind nodded.  As soon as the remains of 5th Fleet had reached Capricorn, she’d been transferred over to the base along with the handful of other reporters that had survived the battle.  She had rather suspected that the Navy had decided that it didn't want her any longer – the dispatches she’d sent home had confirmed the sheer scale of the defeat at Second Cadiz – but instead it had allowed her a place on 9th Fleet’s current flagship.  

Capricorn Base felt eerie as she wandered through the corridors, waiting for the planned shuttle flight to the fleet carrier.  The base was being evacuated; thousands of personnel were being moved to the damaged ships that had survived Second Cadiz, along with enough life support packages to ensure that they would remain alive until the fleet reached New Brisbane.  A long line of military personnel, some with partners and children in tow, were waiting for the next shuttle flight, watched by MPs openly carrying stunners and shock-rods.  Hind had heard that there had been riots among the civilian refugees from the outer worlds; someone was clearly intent on ensuring that there wasn't a similar riot on Capricorn Base itself.  The children were upset, some of them crying aloud as they were forced to leave behind everything, apart from a single carryall.  All their toys and games would have been left behind in their quarters, along with most of their family’s possessions.  A pair of women were clutching their wedding photographs in one hand, refusing to risk putting them down for fear that they would be left behind.  

One of the MPs waved her on with his shock-rod and Hind obeyed, walking away from the docking ring and down to the observation corridor that ran around the exterior of the base.  Outside, she could see the massive fleet carriers docking with the station, hastily funnelling refugees through the docking bays and out into their hulls; the docking bays, she realised in some horror, had became bottlenecks for the refugees.  There were only so many that could be filtered through at a time.  Beyond the fleet carriers, hundreds of shuttles flew through space, transporting refugees to starships too far away to dock with the station.  She’d been told that it was the greatest evacuation ever undertaken since the Grant Incident of 2257, when a settled world had proven to undergo such a wrenching seasonal shift that it was uninhabitable for seven months out of every year.  Looking out at the movement outside the base, she found it impossible to doubt it.

Most of the StarCom network had been reserved for military use, but she had managed to download a couple of bulletins from the inner worlds.  The public was now fully aware of the scale of the crisis and countless thousands were attempting to escape to safety.  It wouldn't be easy, even for those with money; the Navy had commandeered every starship with an FTL drive and put them to work on a more orderly evacuation.  The news suggested that richer citizens were bribing officials to get their families prioritised for evacuation, news that had caused riots when it had finally broken out into the public datanet.  God alone knew what would happen when – if – the crisis reached the core worlds.  Humanity’s oldest worlds – and Earth itself – were so heavily populated that evacuation was effectively impossible.

Her wristcom buzzed, reminding her that she had to go back to the docking bay to board her shuttle.  There had been enough dire warnings about what would happen if they missed their flights – at best, they would have to wait several days, pushed back to the end of the queue – to convince her that she didn't want to miss it.  She walked back through the corridor, found the right line and joined up, abandoning most of her possessions on the station.  Apart from her terminal and a change of clothes, both of which were carried in her handbag, there was nothing else she really needed.  

The line moved slowly towards the shuttle as the MPs checked ID cards, making sure that everyone had authorisation to board this particular shuttle.  One woman fell into hysterics when the MPs pulled her out of the line, pointing out that her shuttle was seven hours in the future.  She started to fight them, only to be stunned and left to lie on the deck.  Hind hoped, as she lost sight of the woman, that she would recover in time to board her own shuttle.  It was hard to blame her for wanting to leave earlier.

Inside, the shuttle was crammed, the safety margins pushed to the limit.  Hind found herself trapped between two burly men who looked to be asteroid miners, one eyeing her chest as if he’d just seen heaven.  It was impossible to twist enough to avoid bodily contact, so she gritted her teeth and endured it as the shuttle lurched and disengaged from the docking port.  Something was badly wrong with the gravity field; it seemed to be constantly wavering from standard gravity to almost no gravity at all.  The shuttle was wobbling insanely as it made its way towards the fleet carrier...

…And then an alarm sounded.  Hind felt panic running through the passengers as the shuttle picked up speed, the gravity field flickering so rapidly that two of the passengers were noisily sick.  Her unwanted admirer grinned at her, almost as if he thought that she should be grateful for his attention, and then shuddered unpleasantly as the shuttle rocked again.  It felt almost like riding on a boat on an unquiet sea.

“This is your pilot,” a voice said.  “The Trolls have entered the system.  Do not panic.  I say again, do not panic.”

Hind winced as the feeling of panic grew stronger.  They were in a shuttle without flux drive, a shuttle like the ones the Trolls had fired on without compunction.  Of course they were going to panic...

Chapter Twenty-Five

Capricorn Base
6th May 2435

“The enemy has entered the system,” a voice snapped.  “I say again, the enemy has entered the system.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Connie snapped, as red icons flared to life on her HUD.  At least forty Troll starships had jumped into the system, led by a flight of Beta-class starfighter killers.  Behind them, there was enough sensor disruption to suggest the presence of several more alien ships hiding under a stealth field.  “Blue Squadron, form up on me and prepare to engage the enemy.  We get one pass only so we’d better make damn sure it counts.”

She glanced at her HUD as the remains of 5th Fleet spun up their drives and jumped out, while 9th Fleet moved into position for its own departure from the system.  Merely making one pass and then returning to the carriers didn't sit well with her, but the Trolls had definitely brought enough firepower to make sure that most of the fleet would buy the farm if they tried to fight it out with the Trolls at close range.  By now, they all knew what the Trolls could do.

The maggots swung into position behind her as the other squadrons stormed past, racing towards the Betas.  Connie braced herself as she altered her firing system, setting the launchers to fire all of the torpedoes towards her target when she entered firing range, and then angled her starfighter towards her target.  The maggots followed with commendable speed, even though several of them seemed to be nervous, their hands twitching on the sticks and causing their craft to wobble alarmingly.  Connie found it hard to blame them.  If experienced squadrons could lose over half of their strength facing the Trolls, the maggots knew that most of their number would be eliminated when the Trolls opened fire.  At least they’d spent days practicing evasive patterns.  The Trolls would have to work to hit them.

“Ringbolt One is engaging,” a voice said.  “I say again, Ringbolt One is engaging.”

Capricorn Base had stockpiled over a hundred thousand missiles for the fleet, too many to be loaded into the starships or pulled back to the inner worlds.  Admiral Davidson’s teams had positioned the missiles in space, readying them for a handful of massive salvoes against the Trolls when they finally returned to Capricorn.  Connie knew that it would be difficult to accurately guide so many missiles towards their targets, but it hardly mattered.  Most of the missiles would die providing cover for the starfighters to slip in close and hammer the enemy.

“Wow,” one of the maggots breathed, as the swarm of missiles appeared on their HUDs.  “I sure hope that they are programmed not to engage us.”

Connie felt her lips quirk into a brief smile as the missiles bore down on the starfighters.  It was unlikely that there would be an accidental collision, or that the missiles would accidentally target the starfighters instead of the Trolls, but with so many craft flying through the same area of space accidents were likely to happen.  Besides, IFF gear wasn't fully reliable at high speed.  Ironically, the Trolls were helping the human race; the missiles had been fired outside engagement range, but the Trolls would close the gap before the missile drives burned out and the warheads self-destructed.  

“Watch your back,” she ordered, calmly.  The swarm of missiles merged with the starfighters and then raced onwards, heading towards the alien craft.  They were already starting to spit fire towards the onrushing missiles.  “And on my mark, go evasive.”

Space seemed to light up as missile after missile died, giving the starfighters a fighting chance to get close to the Betas without being targeted by their defences.  Connie snapped a command and the maggots followed her into chaotic patterns, just as the aliens realised that there was a new threat and started firing on the starfighters.  Several missiles actually made it all the way to their targets, blowing two Betas into space dust and damaging a third so badly that it actually limited out of formation and started retreating towards the edge of the star system.  It must have lost its flux drive, Connie realised; the crew must be praying that no one would engage them before they managed to make repairs.  But there was no time to hunt down and destroy the ship...

“Engage...now,” she snapped.  Her starfighter shuddered as she volley-fired her torpedoes towards the target, followed by the surviving maggots.  Three of them had died as they closed in on their target, the same target that was now switching its fire to the incoming torpedoes.  Even the Trolls couldn't hope to stand off so many torpedoes at close range...three survived long enough to slam into its hull and damage the ship badly.  A moment later, it jumped out and vanished.

“Pull back,” Connie ordered.  “Return to the carriers.”

“But we could win,” one of the maggots protested.  “We could...”

“Get back to the carrier or I swear I will beat the shit out of you,” Connie snapped.  Maybe he was right, if the starfighters were prepared to bleed themselves white again.  But they would still have to return to the carriers to rearm anyway.  “And get the hell out of their engagement range before they hit you!”

The Troll starships were actually speeding up, bringing their weapons into engagement range of the retreating starfighters.  They fired rapidly, pulsing waves of fire through the starfighters, picking off several dozen of them before they could escape and rearm.  The starfighters accelerated themselves, racing back towards the carriers and leaving the Trolls behind; for a moment, Connie wondered what they would do – what they could do – if the Troll starships proved able to match the starfighter speed.  But instead the Trolls fell back and continued patiently towards the base – and 9th Fleet.

They weren't taking any chances either, she realised.  The Trolls were firing on everything that came into range, from lifepods to pieces of space debris left behind by the previous battle.  At first, their tactics made no sense to her – and then she realised that they were ensuring that there were no more surprises waiting for them.  The human race had used mines and other concealed weapons to hurt them in the past; this time, they were lifting up and looking under every stone as they advanced on the base.  There wouldn't be a second chance to hurt them so badly.  

The starfighters slowed as they approached the carriers, following orders from the CAG to land in formation so the craft could be rearmed as quickly as possible.  As far as Connie knew, the plan hadn’t changed – but it was quite possible for the carrier to be crippled, forced to unleash its remaining starfighters to defend itself.  The starfighters from Capricorn Base were also heading towards the carriers, followed by the remaining shuttles carrying refugees from the massive installations the UN had built in the system.  They would all have to be destroyed to prevent them falling into Troll hands.  Assuming that they were interested in human technology...

“Take us in to land,” she ordered, as the squadron returned to the carrier.  “And then remain in your cockpits.  We may have to launch again at a moment’s notice.”

***
The shuttle passengers were panicking openly as the massive fleet carrier came into view though the portholes.  Hind saw a handful of starfighters streak past, followed by what might have been another shuttle – or a Troll ship.  The panic grew worse as the passengers decided that it had to be the latter, just before the shuttle docked with the carrier and the hatch hissed open.  There was a terrifying hiss of air for a long second, just enough to scare hell out of everyone before it faded away.  The hatches hadn't mated properly.

“Out, out now,” a voice snapped.  The passengers pushed and prodded at each other as they scrambled out through the hatch and into the fleet carrier.  Outside, there were a line of armoured Marines, barking orders and pushing the refugees through the interior corridors and up towards the space that had been assigned for them.  Connie felt a hand grabbing her ass and turned to see her unwanted admirer, grinning at her as if he expected her to enjoy his attentions.  Instead, she twisted against the flood of people and brought her knee up into his groin, sending him staggering to the deck in pain.  

Another hand grabbed her and yanked her out of the stream of passengers, just in time to save her from being trampled to death.  A Marine pushed her against the bulkhead, ordered her to stay there, and then rescued her assailant before he could be crushed to a bloody pulp.  Connie stared at him, and then up at the grim-faced Marine.  There didn't seem to be time to explain that he’d started it...

“Now hear this,” a voice boomed through the ship.  “Assume jump stations; I say again, assume jump stations.”

The stream of passengers came to an end as Connie settled down onto the deck.  It was always better to be seated when a starship jumped, if only because some humans suffered from dizziness in the wake of jump shock.  The Marine kept one hand on her shoulder, either out of protectiveness or – more likely – to ensure that she didn't slip away.  God alone knew what would happen now; if they hadn't seen him groping her, they might assume that she had attacked him without provocation...

She shook her head.  The system was under attack and it was quite possible that she would be dead before the carrier could jump out and escape.  And if that happened, whatever happened to her afterwards wouldn't matter very much.

***
“All fighters have returned to their ships, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.

Vice Admiral Paul Howard nodded, bitterly.  He had hoped, against all logic and reason, that the first starfighter pass – combined with the emplaced missiles from the base – would damage the Trolls badly enough to justify launching a second strike.  But, if anything, the situation had worsened sharply.  Scout probes had penetrated the Troll stealth field and detected a further seventy starships within the field, slipping closer and closer to the base – and 9th Fleet.  There was no way to know if the Trolls were also trying to slip cloaked ships closer to the fleet, but if he had their technology it was exactly what he would do.  They had to know how long it took the United Nations to build a new fleet carrier from scratch.

“Spin up the drives,” he ordered.  Leaving people behind didn’t come easily; no wonder Admiral Cicero had committed suicide.  She had abandoned her pilots to the Trolls, knowing that there was no choice if she wanted to save her ships.  “Jump us out as soon as the drives are powered up and ready.”

On the display, the Trolls were swarming closer to Capricorn Base.  It wouldn't be long before they realised that the base had few defenders left and they decided to press their advantage...if they hadn't been so paranoid about traps, they might have managed to engage 9th Fleet before the fleet could escape.  

“Drives powered up, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “The fleet is jumping...now!”

***
“Fire the second salvo of missiles,” Admiral Davidson ordered, as 9th Fleet retreated from the system.  There was no longer any escape for him and the volunteers, but none of them had changed their minds in the last few moments before the fleet left.  He allowed himself a brief moment of pride and then started to concentrate on issuing specific orders.  “And then prepare to launch the third salvo of missiles.”

On the display, the Trolls opened fire with their death ways, scything countless missiles out of space.  Their two formations were linking up slowly, but steadily – and their point defence was hellishly effective.  Only seven missiles survived to target enemy ships and none of them managed to destroy their targets.  At his command, the third salvo of missiles was launched, targeted on the damaged troll ships.  This time, only one missile managed to slam home and destroy its target.  

At least they had forced the Trolls to slow down, he told himself, firmly.  It wasn't very convincing.  The Trolls might not realise that the base was effectively defenceless against them, but they were certainly taking advantage of it.  If they hadn't been so paranoid – if they hadn't paused long enough to destroy anything that could be a threat – they would have destroyed the base by now.  Not that it really mattered; once the fifth and final salvo was launched, the base would be completely defenceless.  

“The Trolls are entering engagement range of the final salvo,” the tactical officer reported.  “Should I launch the missiles?”

“Hold them for a moment,” Davidson ordered.  The Trolls might not have seen the missiles; when their drives weren't active, they were as stealthy as anything else without an active cloaking device.  If they were fired at much closer range, they might surprise the Trolls.  “If they start firing on the missiles, don’t wait for orders; launch them all at once.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.  The seconds ticked away as the Trolls came closer, their sensor sweeps sifting through space for possible targets.  Davidson had already been forced to watch as a handful of lifepods were blasted out of space, either because the Trolls feared that they could be mines or through sheer unpleasantness.  It was impossible to tell what was going through their minds.  “I think they’ve got them!”

Davidson nodded as the Trolls opened fire.  The tactical officer keyed a switch and the missiles started to bring up their drives, racing towards the Troll starships at close range.  They opened fire, wiping out dozens of missiles, but a handful survived to slam into the Troll ships, blowing four of them into flaming plasma.  Two more were damaged, jumping out for repairs, yet the remainder kept coming.  It would only be a minute before they entered engagement range of the base itself.

“Gentlemen, it’s been a honour,” Davidson said, to the entire compartment.  “Thank you for staying at your posts.”

The base rocked as the Trolls opened fire, their death rays cutting through the heavy armour surrounding the base and biting deep into its vitals.  A series of explosions shattered the docking ring as the remaining fuel supplies for the shuttles detonated, followed by a second set of explosions as the Trolls burned their way into the station’s core.  The UN had built the base to stand up to multiple nuclear strikes, but the planners hadn't anticipated the Trolls.  Davidson made a mental note to ensure that the next generation of fleet bases were better-shielded, before laughing at himself.  There was no way that any message from him would reach the Admiralty on Luna.  

Consoles exploded as power flooded through the command network, followed rapidly by a final series of explosions that devastated the interior of the base.  Davidson was thrown to the deck by one explosion, only to hear the sound of air whistling out of the base, just before the world went white around him.  His last thought, before he died, was that the Trolls wouldn't be able to pull anything from the base’s computers...

***
“Your friend will be spending the trip in the brig,” Vice Admiral Howard said.  Hind nodded, in some relief.  Luckily, the Marines had seen her groper before she had kneed him in the groin.  “I’m sorry about the delay, but...”

“You had more important things on your mind,” Hind said.  9th Fleet had escaped Capricorn and was now waiting, according to the Admiral, for the final report from observation starships that had been emplaced in the Capricorn system.  And then it would start the long lonely voyage to New Brisbane.  Hind would have to write her own report on the final hours of Capricorn Base before the fleet started jumping home, but she felt too dirty and soiled to do anything, apart from showering.  If there was a shower.  Her quarters were shared with six other women from the base.  “I’d ask for an interview...”

Howard shook his head.  “Not now,” he said, flatly.  “I have too much else to do right now.  I dare say that there will be time as we start jumping to New Brisbane.”

He looked down at his desk.  “I think you’d better make it clear to the public that nothing short of a total effort will defeat the Trolls,” he added.  “Right now, they have the whip hand and we expect that they will use it.  They could raid a hundred worlds now that Capricorn has been destroyed and we would be unable to stop them.”

“I understand,” Hind said.

The Admiral’s communicator buzzed.  “Admiral, the pickets have just returned to the fleet,” it said.  “Capricorn Base has been destroyed with all hands.”

“Download the records and then start the fleet jumping to New Brisbane,” Howard ordered.  “Thank you for your time, but...”

Hind nodded, recognising the dismissal.  “I’ll hold you to that interview promise later,” she said, as she stood up.  “Good luck, Admiral.”

Outside, the Marine guard nodded politely to her as she walked down the corridor and through the hatch that separated Officer County from the rest of the carrier.  Like the rest of the ship, it was crammed with people; several of the wider decks had even been turned into makeshift cabins for refugees.  Everywhere she looked, she could see signs of misery and fear, of people who had been forced to flee their homeworlds for an uncertain destination.  And it would get worse as the inner worlds were evacuated, she knew.  Millions of humans would be on the move, heading they knew not where.

Ever since Second Cadiz, she had realised that defeat was a very real proposition, but now it came home to her with an immediacy she hadn't felt earlier.  This wasn't the Magana War, or the Sutra Intervention, this was something different, something almost primal.  To lose would mean the end of everything.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Area 51
12th July 2435

“Sally,” Janine called.  “Long time no see!”

It was true, too.  After Rubicon had reached Sol – and had been redirected to a top secret military research base two light years from the Sol System – Sally had returned to the RockRat capital at Wolf 359, where she’d reported to her people and helped to convince them to remain allied to the United Nations instead of fighting their own private war against the Trolls.  Now that Capricorn had fallen, the Trolls had steadily slipped closer and closer to New Brisbane, raiding human worlds as they advanced on the linchpin of the inner defence line.  Some of their assaults had been beaten off, or forced to retreat; too many more had succeeded in blasting their way through all opposition before hammering the orbital installations around their targets.  Slowly, but surely, humanity’s industrial base was being worn away.

In numbers, the analysts suggested, the Trolls were vastly inferior to humanity.  They made up for it with their advanced technology, allowing them to launch precisely targeted strikes with overwhelming force, coordinating their operations in a manner that humanity couldn't match.  As StarCom nodes were destroyed, parts of the network fell apart, leaving the Navy largely ignorant of what was happening in five different sectors.  Several emergency communications vessels had been rushed forward in hopes of patching up the holes in the network, but the Trolls had proven alarmingly good at tracking them down.  At least there had been a small victory when one of them had been used as the bait for an ambush...

But the human race was losing the war.  Both the UN member worlds and the RockRat colonies were being targeted, sending floods of refugees fleeing their homes and looking for a safety that was largely illusionary.  The core worlds were doing what they could to produce homes for the refugees – the conscription effort was pulling many of them into the military, where they could at least try to strike back against the Trolls – but there were just too many of them.  And that didn't include the civilians left behind on a hundred worlds, worlds that had been isolated or nuked by the Trolls.  Leaving them behind threatened the very ethos of the United Nations.  

Janine had expected to be sent back to the war, but instead Rubicon had been forced to wait at Area 51, leaving her and her crew with too much time on their hands.  Cold logic told her that all they could do was die bravely, yet she still felt guilty for the time she was spending on the base while her comrades fought and died trying to stem the Trolls as they advanced on the core worlds.  9th Fleet had been heavily reinforced at New Brisbane – two more fleets had been called off the other borders and positioned at New Brisbane – but the Trolls could avoid contact as long as they chose.  The fleets had to wait and watch helplessly as the Trolls raided dozens of planets, slashing through the self-defence forces and daring the UN to stop them.  

“I know,” Sally agreed.  The RockRat looked tired, but there was a new fire in her eyes.  “I brought some vital information to the base – and they rewarded me by telling me I couldn't go home yet.”

“Poor you,” Janine said, unsympathetically.  Rubicon’s entire crew had been in isolation ever since they had arrived at the hidden base.  “What did you bring them?”

“Something that might allow them to give the Trolls a nasty fright,” Sally said, and refused to be drawn any further.  RockRats understood the need for restricting some kinds of information; they just resented the United Nations deciding what information needed to be restricted for them.  And besides, millions of RockRats had already died in the war.  “I understand that you’re crucial to their plans.”

Janine’s wristcom buzzed before she could say anything else, summoning her to the Director’s officer.  Director Dave Bowery had been a pain in the ass as long as she’d been at the base, a military officer whose main responsibility had been riding herd on the civilian and military researchers gathered on the station.  At least he was dedicated to his job, she’d been assured; Area 51 was so isolated from the rest of the United Nations that base commanders had been known to go stir crazy.  Bowery seemed to be reasonably stable.

He stood up to greet Janine and Sally as they entered, followed by Master Sergeant Thomas Mandell.  The Marine nodded politely to Janine; unlike the rest of her crew, he and his remaining Marines had been taken to Earth where they had been extensively debriefed on what they’d experienced on New Marseilles.  None of their stories had made reassuring reading; indeed, Janine had heard that the UN had classified most of them and forbidden the media to share them with the population.  Enough had leaked out to convince far too many people that they didn’t want to be anywhere near the war front.

The third man in the room was Doctor Bruno Lombardi, a civilian scientist with dark skin, an untamed mop of hair and a reputation for thinking outside the box.  He wore a uniform that didn't fit and looked about as unmilitary as it was possible to get, but unlike so many others he had refused to allow the Troll technology to daunt him.  From what Janine had heard, he had a dozen theories for everything the Trolls had shown humanity and he'd been pushing for experiments that might – might – produce useable hardware.  Janine hoped and prayed – and she knew that the rest of the UNNS did likewise – that he was right.  If they didn't manage to match the Troll technology, they were going to lose the war.  

“Thank you for coming,” Bowery said.  He looked like a bureaucrat, even in military uniform.  “We may have had a lucky break.”

He nodded to Lombardi, who stood up and took control of the compartment’s data projector.  “As you are aware, post-battle analysis teams recovered samples of the Troll version of hullmetal from the rubble left behind by First Cadiz,” he said.  Janine, who had watched helplessly as 9th Fleet fought its desperate battle, nodded impatiently.  “That material was shipped to several different research bases around the United Nations – and we have had something of a breakthrough.  We may not be able to duplicate it...”

“...Because some of the irreplaceable material was destroyed by your experiments,” Bowery injected.

“...But we can tell you something about how it works,” Lombardi said, ignoring the interruption.  “In fact” – he shot an amused glance at Bowery – “our experiments told us a great deal about what the material could and could not endure.”

He clicked a switch and an image of a Troll Alpha appeared in front of them.  “Early records from the battles proved that the Trolls have a remarkably omnidirectional offensive capability,” he said.  He sounded fascinated, as if the issue was more of a scientific puzzle than anything else.  Janine found it a hard attitude to comprehend.  She’d watched starships and starfighters blown out of space by those hellish weapons.  “Unlike our ships, which require weapons mounts, the Trolls can fire in any direction.  We are now several steps closer to understanding how they produce that effect.

“Sparing the technobabble” – he shot another look at Bowery, who glowered back at him – “their hullmetal is, in effect, a giant superconductor.  They can charge it with energy well beyond anything we can duplicate for ourselves.  Surrounding this superconductor is a field that effectively serves as the gun barrel, when shaped to allow a burst of energy to be released.  Basically, the Trolls can turn any part of their hull into a gun and fire a death ray towards its target.

“Once we had an idea of what we were looking for, we went back and studied the records again,” Lombardi continued.  “The energy spike noted by our ships before the Trolls open fire is them charging their hullmetal, followed rapidly by the first discharges of their death rays.  Given their rate of fire, we believe that they must be capable of charging up their hull metal at terrifying speed; they certainly have more efficient power generation facilities than our own.  There is some evidence to indicate that there are limits to how many death rays they can fire at any one time, but their rate of fire means that this isn't really a handicap.”

“Certainly not against starfighters and missiles,” Janine muttered.

“Their targeting...well, their targeting sucks,” Lombardi added.  Janine swallowed the response that came to mind.  “They have destroyed vast numbers of starfighters and missiles, but proportionally they miss many more times than they hit their targets.  It is quite possible that the nature of their weapons means that their targeting isn't always accurate – given time, we may even be able to come up with a detector that allows a threatened starfighter to evade before it gets hit.”

Janine rather doubted that that was possible.  The death rays moved at the speed of light.  Even assuming a couple of seconds warning, a starfighter pilot would have to react with incredible speed to get out of the way before the death ray fired.  In theory, it was a perfectly workable idea, but in practice...she would have been astonished if it worked in the field.  

Bowery cleared his throat.  “As interesting as this is,” he said, “could you please get to the point?”

“We believe that the alien hulls are closely linked to their power generation systems, no matter how they work,” Lombardi said, not even remotely abashed.  “It should be theoretically possible to overwhelm their hullmetal with a powerful burst of energy and cause feedback that would cripple their entire ship.  If that happened, the Troll starship would be effectively powerless and helpless.”

“Ready to be captured,” Mandell said.  He’d seen the point quicker than Janine herself.  “But how could we use it in a battle?  Surely their other ships would come to their aid?”

“I believe that that is why I am here,” Sally said.  “If I may...?”

She took the controller from Lombardi, who shot her an admiring look, and changed the picture.  “The Pegasus System is home to several million RockRats – consequently, we feel a certain urge to ensure that nothing bad happens to it.  As there are no UN settlements in the system, we have tapped the local gas giant for HE3 and spread more extensively through the asteroid belts than was perhaps wise.  We know that the Trolls have been launching small attacks on the system, jumping in, blasting a few targets and then jumping out again.  So far, we’ve managed to deter them from hitting the colonies themselves, but it’s only a matter of time before they push in and eliminate the habitats.”

Mandell frowned.  “That seems odd,” he said.  “I thought that Pegasus was one of your more important systems?”

“It is, but their main war seems to be directed against the UN,” Sally said, seriously.  “We – RockRat Intelligence – believes that they’re more interested in tying down elements of the system’s defence force rather than actually hammering the system.  So far, their attacks have been conducted by only one or two ships at a time.  They’ve been determined to avoid a general engagement and, so far, they have succeeded.”

Janine nodded.  The RockRats armed all of their starships – and could put together a formidable military machine at a moment’s notice.  Pegasus wasn't like Capricorn, a base that could support a war effort aimed at cutting the enemy’s supply lines, merely a particularly well-armed system.  The Trolls had probably decided to bypass the system – raiding it to keep the RockRats on their toes – and deal with it after they had defeated the UN itself.  

Bowery spoke into the silence.  “Regardless of their motives, it gives us a window of opportunity to capture one of their ships,” he said.  “Rubicon will be outfitted with a prototype pulse cannon...”

“...Pulse blaster,” Lombardi injected.  “You have to admit that it sounds cooler.”

“...And attempt to use it to capture an enemy ship,” Bowery said.  “Assuming the cannon works, the Marines will board the ship, kill all of the opposition – this mission is too important to try to take some of the Trolls alive – and then Rubicon will tow the ship back here, to Area 51.”

“One theory is that the Trolls use antimatter to power their starships,” Lombardi said.  “If that’s correct, the pulse blaster will probably knock out the containment centres and blow the Troll ship into atoms.”

Janine shook her head in disbelief.  “Is that possible?”

“Uncertain,” Lombardi said.  “The general consensus is that their ships would explode more violently than they do if they had large amounts of antimatter on board – and they don’t seem to use antimatter in their weapons – but we don’t know for sure.  If so, they must have a more efficient way of producing antimatter than we do – our experiments have never produced enough antimatter for more than a handful of experimental programs.  All we can suggest is that the Marines are careful not to push any buttons before we know what they do first.”

Mandell snorted.  “I think you can rely on my men to remain disciplined,” he said, tightly.  “How long will it take before we can deploy?”

Bowery shrugged.  “At least two weeks to refit Rubicon,” he said.  “We have a tiny shipyard here and a small army of workers, but we’re nowhere near as efficient as a proper shipyard.”

“It will take another two weeks to reach Pegasus,” Sally added.  “And then we will just have to lie in wait and see what happens.”

“A month,” Mandell shrugged.  “They might get tired of the game by then, or launch a direct assault against New Brisbane...”

“We don’t have any choice,” Bowery said.  “We looked at ways to speed the process up at little, but there wasn't anything that took more than a day or two off the first estimate – and that came at the cost of neglecting safety precautions.   Captain...can you and your ship undertake the mission?”

Janine didn't hesitate.  “I believe we can,” she said.  “I would like to grant my crew some shore leave on Earth before we return to the combat zone...”

Bowery looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded.  “They can take the Washerwoman from here and reach Luna,” he said.  “I suggest that you warn them that Area 51 is a secret base and anyone who breathes a word of its existence will be spending the rest of their lives on a penal colony.  Once the refit is completed, they can resume their stations on Rubicon and you can jump out to launch your attack.”

“I’d suggest firing the pulse blaster just before the Troll ship enters death ray range,” Lombardi added.  “We think that the effect will be diluted over longer range.”

“I see,” Janine said, tightly.  If the pulse blaster failed, Rubicon would be staring at an understandably outraged Troll starship that was in firing range of her position.  Lombardi could mock their targeting all he liked, but her experience suggested that the Trolls generally hit starships when they aimed at them.  Perhaps they had time to shape their ‘guns’ more effectively against starships.  “And if the effect fails?”

“Immediate withdrawal,” Bowery said.  “We will need hard data on what actually happened, Captain, and that means that you will have to escape before the Trolls can open fire on your ship.”

“Understood,” Janine said.  “With your permission, then, I will start preparing training simulations for my crew.”

“I’ll have all the data forwarded to you,” Bowery said.  “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that it is all highly-classified...”

“Stupid,” Sally said, flatly.  “The more minds you have working on it, the greater the chance of a proper breakthrough and the duplication of their tech.”

“That wasn't my decision,” Bowery said.  “But if we did tell the universe, the Trolls would know what we knew...”

“Assuming that they bother listening to our broadcasts,” Sally said.  “There isn't a shred of evidence that they have any interest in us beyond a determination to kill as many of us as they can catch.”

“The Admiralty believes that we cannot take that chance,” Bowery said.  “I would remind you, however, that all data has been shared with the RockRats – and your leaders have agreed to maintain the secrecy policy.  If we did manage to put together something that would change the course of the war, we wouldn't want the Trolls to catch wind of it before we were ready to hammer them flat.”

“If,” Sally said.

The meeting broke up, leaving Sally to head down to speak with the RockRat scientists – and Lombardi following in her wake like a lovesick calf.  Janine shook her head and then smiled at Mandell, who seemed rather pleased at the chance to hit back at the Trolls.  Not that Janine could disagree with that; so far, humanity had taken a beating even when they successfully repulsed Troll probes into the inner systems.  

“Come and have a drink,” she said, finally.  She needed some downtime, now that they had a mission to start working towards.  “I think we'll need your input on how to carry out the operation.”

Her crew would get some shore leave; Janine would get none, even though she would have liked to visit her family.  But Avalon was on the other side of the core worlds and, so far, largely unthreatened by the Trolls.  Janine could only hope and pray that that would remain the case indefinitely.  God alone knew what would happen if the Trolls started raiding into humanity’s rear areas.  There would be no safe world for the refugees.

“Of course,” Mandell agreed.  He knew what she had in mind, all right; both the official reason for sharing a drink and the loneliness – and desperation – that fuelled the unspoken reason.  “Don’t worry, Captain.  This operation is bound to work.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Troll-1, Deep Space
15th July 2435

“I think we may have something here, Commodore.”

Commodore Jess Venture looked down at the sensor officer’s console.  UNS Magellan was specifically designed for long-range survey work; she had the best sensors the United Nations could produce along with drives and supplies that allowed her to operate for years without returning to a UN base for repair and refitting.  Survey Flotilla Alpha-Nine had been on a rare return to Capricorn when the war had broken out and had been immediately dispatched to locate the Troll homeworlds.  So far, several months of searching had turned up nothing apart from a handful of worlds that would have been suitable for colonisation, if the Trolls had never been encountered.  

“Show me,” Jess ordered.  “What have you found?”

Locating habitable worlds wasn't difficult; the UN deployed orbital telescopes along the edge of the outer worlds, each telescope capable of locating potential life-bearing worlds for upwards of fifty light years in any direction.  Actually ensuring that they were habitable required a visit from a survey ship, a process that could take some time.  Even the most promising worlds had sometimes proven to hold nasty surprises for unwary colonists, creating problems for the UN’s Colonisation Institute.  Survey Command existed to certify that the potential colonies were safe to settle before the settlers actually started arriving.

With a hostile race somewhere within the area, matters became much harder.  Any spacefaring race produced artificial emissions from modern technology, even if – like the RockRats – they worked hard to conceal their locations.  Earth had been pumping out radio transmissions ever since radio had been invented, eventually attracting the Traders to Earth; every world the UN had colonised emitted both light-speed radio transmissions and FTL StarCom pulses that linked the United Nations together.  The general theory was that the Trolls had located New Marseilles and the other targeted worlds through homing in on their transmissions and eventually launching an attack.  It didn't explain just why the Trolls had reacted with such uncompromising hostility, or why they’d pressed the offensive so hard.  The best theory Survey Command had been able to come up with was that humanity had settled alarmingly close to the Troll homeworld, but Jess wasn't sure she believed it.  Quite apart from the Trolls clearly possessing an empire of their own, Survey Command had surveyed every world for fifty light years around New Marseilles and found nothing suggesting the presence of other intelligent life.

“There’s a G2 star five light years away,” the operator said.  “It’s definitely emitting artificial radio pulses.”

“Interesting,” Jess agreed, calmly.  The mere presence of radio transmissions didn't prove that the world was occupied by the Trolls, but if the Trolls were prepared to slaughter vast numbers of humans they probably wouldn't hesitate to exterminate any other race in their territory.  They would have homed in on any new emerging race, just like the Traders and the United Nations.  “Can you pin them down?”

“The telescopes place at least five planets in orbit around that star,” the operator assured her.  “Two of them are definitely within the life-bearing zone, at least for life as we know it.  The remainder are probably gas giants – plotting think that there are at least two other planets on the other side of the star.  I think that the system could definitely support intelligent life.”

Jess considered it.  The transmissions weren't much to go on, but it was the most hopeful sign they’d encountered so far – and they couldn't afford to ignore them.  God alone knew what was happening back in the United Nations, but the Trolls seemed to know the location of humanity’s worlds and – so far – humanity hadn't been able to launch a counterattack.  If they had stumbled on a Troll world, they had to confirm its existence and then send a message back to the United Nations.  The UNNS could then make plans to pay the world a visit with a battlefleet.

“Start plotting out jump coordinates for a stealthy approach to the star,” she ordered, as she straightened up.  “Magellan and Drake will make the first approach.”

Walking back to her command chair, she keyed the link to the remainder of Survey Flotilla Alpha-Nine and issued orders.  While two survey ships would make the approach, the remainder of the flotilla would remain where they were in interstellar space and wait for their CO to return from the mystery world.  If they didn't return within two weeks, the flotilla would send a ship back to the United Nations to report the existence of a possible Troll military base, one that would require the attention of a battlefleet.  It was risky – survey ships knew that they might run into another Hexed System or something else equally weird and dangerous – but Occam’s Razor suggested that the Trolls held the newly-discovered system.

“Rig the ship for a stealthy approach,” she ordered, as the new jump coordinates blinked up in front of her.  Jumping in unexplored space was always more variable than jumping within space the UN had charted, but there shouldn't be any difficulties in jumping into the outskirts of the system.  The real delay would come when they crawled inwards, fearful of being detected and jumped by the Trolls.  Humanity deployed watching satellites out at the edge of vital systems and she dared not assume that the Trolls did the same.  “And then place the pickets on alert.  They are to be ready to jump at a moment’s notice.”

“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.  Survey Command, unlike the regular Navy, allowed the flotilla’s commander to serve as her ship’s commander as well as commanding the entire squadron.  Normally, Survey Command’s ships operated independently; operating as a group was unusual, certainly on such a scale.  “I have to warn you that...”

“...Regulations strictly forbid attempting to launch a picket from the shuttlebay unless the situation is dire,” Jess recited.  Activating a flux drive caused a gravimetric shock, which could damage anything close enough to be affected.  Launching a picket from inside Magellan was risky as hell, almost certain to cripple if not destroy the mothership, but if the Trolls detected them that concern was likely to become moot.  The picket might be the only ship to escape if the Trolls attacked her units.  “Confirm condition three throughout the ship and then prepare to bring up the flux drive.”

“Condition three confirmed, aye,” the XO said.  “Flux drive online and ready to jump.”

Jess smiled.  Jumping into unexplored space was what she lived for, the chance to be the first person to set eyes on a new wonder of the universe.  Survey Command saw plenty of nothingness, as the regular Navy joked, but they also saw wonders and glories beyond the imagination of those who restricted themselves to one planet.  Even with the Trolls out there, watching and waiting for any intruders, she couldn’t suppress the old thrill.  They’d spent too long drifting through interstellar space in search of anything that might lead them to the Trolls.

“Jump,” she ordered.

***
There was no overt difference between the view from their position in interstellar space and their position twenty light minutes from the edge of the mystery star system, but Jess could feel something in her heart as she leaned forward to peer at the display.  Up close, the plotting computers were already locating and charting large astronomical bodies within the mystery system, including a total of ten planets, three more than had been expected.  They were close enough to the primary star that it was possible that they’d been concealed by the star’s gravity field, but she made a mental note to check that with the plotting department.  Missing a planet within an unexplored star system could have disastrous consequences.

“I’m picking up more radio transmissions,” the sensor officer said.  The system display began to sparkle with icons as new sources of radio transmissions were detected, plotted and logged.  A number appeared to be in interplanetary space, suggesting the presence of asteroid mining facilities if not asteroid colonies.  The Trolls might have RockRats of their own, or – unlike the UN – perhaps their early spacefaring powers had been able to keep a tighter control on asteroid miners.  Jess had once had a RockRat boyfriend who had claimed that the RockRats were the ultimate expression of freedom, an inevitable development of space travel on a grand scale.  She hadn't been able to refrain from pointing out that neither the Sutra nor the Polis had developed anything akin to the human RockRats.  “At least one of the worlds in the life-bearing zone is heavily inhabited.”

Jess nodded, tightly.  The telescopes would already be pointing at the planets, trying to get a view that could be analysed to determine if the biosphere was human-compatible.  One thing they did know about the Trolls was that they shared similar tastes in worlds – if they’d been native to gas giants, it was unlikely that they and humanity would have had any reason to go to war.

“The other four rocky worlds are silent,” another sensor officer added.  “No transmissions at all, at least not as far as we can detect.”

“Curious,” Jess’s XO said, out loud.  “You’d think they’d make use of the entire system.”

Jess couldn't disagree.  Humanity had terraformed Mars in the early days of space exploration – and the UN had terraformed nearly a hundred rocky worlds after the first version of the flux drive had been invented.  By now, many of them were perfectly habitable, the colonies forsaking their protective domes for the planet’s countryside.  Even though there had been vast numbers of inhabitable worlds, the UN had kept dumping engineered microbes into planetary atmospheres to start the long terraforming process.  There was no reason why the Trolls would not do the same.

“Maybe this is one of their outer colonies,” the sensor officer suggested.  “They might not have started the terraforming process yet.”

“Or maybe they’re not interested in terraforming at all,” the tactical officer added  “The Saints were responsible for trying to impede the Mars Terraforming Project before the flux drive was invented.  Perhaps the Trolls have similar beliefs.”

Jess shrugged.  The Saints had been radicals, believers in a mythically pure early age of humanity that had been destroyed by the development of technology.  Over time, their beliefs had mutated into unthinking opposition to anything that threatened the natural order, as defined by their leaders.  If they'd been allowed free reign, humanity would never have reached into space and remained at the mercy of natural disasters such as an asteroid impact or a supernova, let alone a hostile alien race.  Jess had visited colonies where technology was forsaken and none of them had been pleasant places to live.  The Saints had eventually settled their own world, only to have their descendents walk away from their beliefs.  But their stupidity had never quite been eliminated from the human gestalt.

“Signal to Captain Pollack,” she ordered.  “Drake is to remain here and monitor our laser transmissions as we creep into the system.  If anything happens to us, they are to jump out immediately and return to the flotilla. “

“Drake acknowledges, Captain,” the communications officer said.  “She’s standing by.”

“Good,” Jess said.  She settled back into her command chair and concentrated on producing an impression of calm in the midst of chaos.  “Helm, take us into the system.”

The hours ticked away as Magellan crept further and further into the mystery star system.  As they slipped closer, the sensors picked up more data, confirming the presence of a major spacefaring civilisation.  A handful of other facilities were located in orbit around one of the gas giant, almost certainly cloudscoops for mining HE3; the Trolls had shown no interest in capturing humanity’s cloudscoops, but it was possible that they had developed technology that limited their demand for the fuel.  Or perhaps they had started to capture them now.  There was no way to know how the war was progressing, hundreds of light years in their rear.

“I’m picking up a drive field,” the sensor officer said, suddenly.  Jess tensed; if an alien starship had just stumbled over her ship, the next moments were likely to be the end of them.  “It is definitely more advanced than our own system, but it appears to be less efficient than the Troll systems we saw at New Marseilles.”

Jess shared a glance with her XO.  It was possible – just possible – that they’d stumbled over someone completely new, an alien race that was only just starting to explore space.  But if so, why hadn't they encountered the Trolls?  Jess had listened with interest to the theories that suggested that the Trolls had a much better flux drive than humanity, yet it defied belief that they might be much further away from the UN than anyone had anticipated.  Why would they have picked a fight with humanity if they were so far away that they wouldn't even have encountered humanity?

“It could be an asteroid miner,” the tactical officer added, as the mystery ship drifted away.  “I think its larger than one of our designs, but most of ours are designed for use in a heavily populated system...”

He broke off as a new icon appeared on the display.  “Trolls,” he snapped.  “The drive field is a match for a Troll Alpha-class ship.”

“Inch us away from them,” Jess ordered, as the two Troll starships approached one another.  Maybe they’d stumbled on a military exercise – or maybe the Trolls had seen them coming and dispatched ships to hunt them down.  Or maybe they were up to something completely incomprehensible.  “Keep updating Drake; they have to know that we have encountered the Trolls.”

The next two hours passed slowly, very slowly, as they picked up more intelligence about the enemy star system.  Very little of it seemed to make sense; the Trolls had a presence on the planet’s surface, but surprisingly little in the way of orbital installations.  They also had a gas giant mining operation, which seemed to be shipping HE3 to the asteroids rather than to the planet, which suggested that what little manufacturing capability the system possessed was in the asteroids rather than in orbit around the planet.  The UN’s tactical doctrine called for minimising areas of vulnerability by putting industry in orbit around the planets, but the Trolls evidently disagreed.  Or perhaps the split between the planet-Trolls and the asteroid-Trolls was sharper than in the United Nations.  Her ex-boyfriend might have had a point after all.

Launching stealthed probes was a risk, but she couldn't risk the ship by taking her any closer to the planet.  Data flowed in slowly, revealing that the Trolls had established settlements near to the oceans; indeed, half of their cities appeared to be built into the oceans.  There had been no suggestion that the Trolls were amphibious, but it was a possibility.  They also seemed to keep very large animals, creatures larger than Earth’s long-gone whales, as pets.  There were hundreds of them swimming in the ocean, very close to the cities.  

“I think that we’ve learned all we can from this system,” she said, finally.  Covert survey work was always tricky; they had to survey the system without allowing the enemy to realise that they had been surveyed.  Besides, obtaining hard tactical data on the system’s defences wouldn’t be possible unless they saw the defences in action.  “We’ll pull out now and leave the system until the Navy is ready to enter in force.”

There was no way to know just how important Troll-1 was to the Trolls, she reflected as Magellan started to withdraw back towards Drake’s position.  It certainly wasn't one of their major hubs, unless their industrial technology was light years ahead of humanity’s.  There had to be more systems and shipyards further away from the United Nations, where the Trolls had built the fleet that was tearing through the United Nations like paper.  Once two starships had been dispatched back to Capricorn to report to Admiral Davidson, the remainder of Survey Flotilla Alpha-Nine would continue surveying the nearby star systems.  Logically, there had to be other Troll systems in the same general area.

As soon as they linked up with Drake, Jess ordered both ships to jump out and leave the Troll system hopefully unaware of their presence.  Once they were clear, Jess started to write her report for the Admiral, stressing the fact that this was the only known Troll system to be discovered, at least so far.  But it seemed to be barely defended, just ripe for the plucking.  The Navy could slip into the system and repay the atrocities on a dozen human worlds in full, before destroying a part of the Troll infrastructure.  She doubted – and she expressed her doubts to the Admiral – that the system was vitally important to the Trolls, but at least it would have them reacting to humanity for a chance.  And humanity needed a chance to hit back.  

“All ships are reporting in, Captain,” the communications officer said.  There wouldn't be much to report – they'd just waited in interstellar space while Magellan and Drake took all the risks – but she had to check anyway.  “They’re delighted to see us safe and sound.”

“Copy our findings to them, and then order Hope and Redeemer to prepare for detachment from the squadron,” Jess ordered.  The two ships would make their own way back to the United Nations, ensuring that at least one of them would reach someone in authority.  Unless the Trolls had reached so far into the United Nations that no fleet could be dispatched to destroy the Troll world...no, she refused to consider that possibility.  If worst came to worst, her own flotilla could probably bombard the Troll world before jumping out and escaping their retribution.  “The Grand Admiral needs to know what we found here.”

She settled back in her chair and brought up a chart of the local sector.  “And then start plotting out a least-time survey of the nearest stars,” she added.  “There have to be more Troll facilities in this sector.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Terra Nova
25th July 2435

By universal agreement, Terra Nova – the first extra-solar planet to be settled by the human race – had been a rather embarrassing failure.  Unaware of just how many worlds there were out among the stars to be colonised, every member nation in the United Nations had insisted on sending along their own colonists, resulting in a community that was as diverse as any believer in multiculturalism could wish for.  At first, it had worked surprisingly well, but once the process of taming the planet and building a colony had been completed, the various ethnic groups had started to fall out and then fight with their neighbours.  The UN’s first attempt to solve the problem had only made matters worse – and with countless other worlds opening up for single-ethnic groups, Terra Nova had rapidly become a backwater with only one major export, people.  

Commodore Roger Youngblood rolled his eyes as he studied the latest list of demands from the surface.  Normally, a planet that had been settled for over fifty years would be handling traffic control – to say nothing of mining its gas giants and asteroid fields – but Terra Nova’s disparate nations hadn't been able to agree on anything as simple as a coherent policy for orbital traffic, let alone a united authority for establishing their rule over the rest of their system.  They might spend years screaming about how the RockRats and various outside corporations were stealing their system’s resources, but they weren't willing to stop fighting long enough to do something about it.  Although they might have had a point; the UN’s police mission in the system had caught a bunch of agents for one of the factions who had intended to push an asteroid onto territory occupied by their rivals.  They hadn't realised that an asteroid that size would probably have wiped out every faction along with the rest of the planet’s biosphere.

Terra Nova was only twelve light years from Earth, but space traffic to the system was minimal, save for tourists, smugglers and the RockRats, who magnificently ignored the hotheads on the planet while they mined their way into the asteroid belt.  Uniquely for any industrialised world, Terra Nova even imported its HE3 from Earth, rather than setting up a cloudscoop or even mining it from their two moons.  The factions below preferred to waste their limited interstellar currency rather than cooperate on anything; no wonder, Youngblood reflected, that the smart folk were leaving the planet in droves.  And no wonder that the factions were growing increasingly unhappy about the departures...

Orbit Station One had been modified extensively since the UN had wound up providing forces for orbital police work.  From nothing more than a receiving station, it had become the sole gateway to the rest of the United Nations for Terra Nova, presenting a curious problem for the UN servicemen who manned the station’s systems.  Every ship that wanted to land on the planet’s surface had to be searched for contraband, while the small fleet of corvettes had to be kept supplied.  They were out of service almost everywhere else – the design was heavily outdated – but Terra Nova was backwards in more ways than one.  And they had to provide security for the UN enclaves on the planet.  At least the ROE allowed him to use deadly force if the factions tried to threaten any of the enclaves.  Orbital bombardment could teach even fanatics a harsh lesson.

He looked up from his datapad and studied the command centre, the core of his small kingdom.  It wasn't anything like as modern as the defences surrounding Earth, New Washington or any of the other core worlds, but it did the job.  Between his tiny fleet, a network of stealthed satellites and a handful of RockRat colonies that were willing to share data, he could cover most of the system.  But without a united government on the planet below, he had little authority to intervene when outsiders established their own colonies within the Terra Nova system.  Someday, he reflected sourly, the problem was going to produce a great deal of money for lawyers.

“Commodore,” one of his sensor officers said, “I’m picking up something odd, right at the edge of sensor range.”

Roger scowled.  One of the many problems facing the United Nations presence in the system was that competent officers and crew didn't want to be assigned to the system.  Terra Nova was a dead end in more ways than one, which resulted in the UNNS using the system as a dumping ground for personnel who simply couldn't cut it somewhere else.  There was a hard core of dedicated officers, including several who had practically grown up on the ancient corvettes that formed the core of his fleet, but not enough to keep everything running smoothly.  Roger himself wouldn't have been anywhere near the system if there hadn't been an incident with a mislabelled cargo manifest on Nova Scotia, an incident that had caused a diplomatic incident and ruined his career.  But at least he was trying to carry out his duties.

“Show me,” he ordered.  The sensors surrounding the planet were so old that he doubted that they were completely reliable.  Half of his budget was spent on producing spare parts, something that could have been done on Terra Nova itself if he had trusted the factions not to try to screw with the system.  “What does it look like?”

“I’m not sure,” the sensor officer admitted.  She had barely scraped through the training centre, according to her file.  No one else had wanted her, apart from the dumping ground that Terra Nova had become.  “It looks as if all of our radar sweeps are being scattered and reflected back at us...”

Roger swore.  He’d been briefed on the war, of course, even though Terra Nova was so far behind the lines that no one had expected that anyone would attack the system. But a stealth field operating so close to an inhabited planet had to be enemy action.  Standing orders allowed UN forces to fire on stealthed craft that crept so close without bothering to ask questions first.  It had to be an enemy attack force.

“Bring the station and our defences to condition one,” he ordered, hitting the alarm switch and sending sirens howling throughout the massive station.  Not that he had any illusions about their ability to stand off any attempt to take the system.  Orbit One wasn't designed to serve as an orbital battlestation.  “Send a flash message through the StarCom to Earth, requesting immediate reinforcements...”

“The stealth field just collapsed,” the sensor officer said.  “I’m reading...nine, perhaps ten alien craft, unknown configuration.  Enemy craft are moving towards us on attack vector.”

Roger nodded.  Looking at the design, the enemy craft were definitely related to Troll Alpha-class ships, although they were little bigger than a standard UN-designed light cruiser.  There was nothing small about their speed, however; they were lancing towards Terra Nova fast enough to be in orbit before the planetary defences, such as they were, came to full alert.  His corvettes were powering up, but half of them were out of position and the other half were sitting ducks.  If the Trolls had wanted to start their raiding campaign against the core worlds by striking an easy target, they’d definitely come to the right place.

“Defence grid armed, ready to fire,” the tactical officer said.  He’d run into the command centre seconds after the alarm had sounded, his uniform wrinkled and stained.  Roger cursed his own failures as a CO; he should have ensured that his crew shaped up or were discharged from the Navy.  Instead, he’d let things slide.  “Orbital missile launchers armed, ready to fire.”

The Trolls had faced missile clouds of over a thousand separate missiles, Roger knew; they were unlikely to be deterred by the handful he could throw at them.  But he had to try; surrender was impossible, as was escape.  Orbit Station One was far too large to jump through flux space and escape the Trolls.  

“Signal the planet and warn them that the shit is about to hit the fan,” he ordered.  If nothing else, there were so many weapons on the planet below that the Trolls would get a bloody nose if they tried an occupation.  “And then order the missile launchers to open fire.”

The Trolls opened fire seconds after the missile launchers started to boost their missiles into space.  Their death rays scythed through the missiles, wiping them all out before they reached anything like engagement range, followed rapidly by the destruction of his handful of corvettes.  The tiny ships were ripped apart in seconds, the handful of lifepods following the rest of the crews into death a moment later.  Roger cursed, yet again, as the Trolls swooped into orbit and started firing on the orbital satellites.  None of them had been designed to stand up to weapons fire, not when there was little point in designing anything permanent for Terra Nova.  They were wiped out of space seconds after the Trolls started firing.

“They’re firing on the planet,” the tactical officer said.  “Targets...military bases, spaceports and several industrial centres.  So far, they’re not targeting cities directly...”

Roger shrugged.  There would be hundreds of civilian casualties during the bombardment – and more, probably, as social order on the planet below fell apart.  If the Trolls weren't interested in occupying the planet, at least they didn't seem to be interested in mass slaughter.  But then, if they had any idea how close they were to Earth and the Home Fleet, they would have to know that the human race wouldn't let them stay on Terra Nova.

“And that was the StarCom,” the sensor officer added.  “They just cut us off from the rest of the universe.”

“Keep copying our records to the RockRats and any other corporate installation in the system,” Roger ordered.  He had no idea why the Trolls hadn't destroyed Orbit Station One – it wasn't as if the station was armoured against their death rays – but he didn't expect it to last very long.  They might just want witnesses to the genocide they were about to unleash on the planet, perhaps, or maybe they just intended to send a message by ignoring the station completely.  It was easy to tell that he had nothing left to throw at them.  “Warn them to go doggo and hide if they can't jump out of the system.”

He ran through what he’d seen in the last strategic update.  Home Fleet had been heavily reinforced and there were powerful self-defence forces in several neighbouring systems, including the RockRat capital at Wolf 359.  It was quite possible that a fleet carrier and its starfighters would arrive in time to take a bite out of the Trolls, assuming that its commanding Admiral agreed to send it.  Terra Nova was less important to the United Nations than almost any world outside the outer colonies; it was quite possible that the UNNS would assume that the attack on Terra Nova was a feint and refuse to send anything to intercept the Trolls before they could escape.  It would be different if the Trolls intended to hold the system, but so far they just seemed to be on a glorified hit-and-run mission.

“I’m picking up a distress signal from Celeron,” the sensor officer reported.  Celeron was the fifth world in the Terra Nova system, claimed by an interstellar corporation in the absence of any powerful authority in the system.  It had a small mining station with a surprisingly large entertainment section for miners on downtime, an attraction for some of Roger’s people when they were off-duty.  Nothing as elaborate as Disneyworld, naturally, but few miners wanted anything other than booze and women.  “They’re reporting that they’re under heavy attack – and then the signal cut off.”

Roger nodded, grimly.  The Trolls hadn't just targeted the planet, they’d targeted the other installations in the system as well.  Even if they didn't know the precise details of human politics, they would know that so much devastation would force the UNNS to try to divert more starships to cover the inner systems, which would weaken their ability to hold the line against the Trolls.  Or, if the UNNS didn't take the bait, the Trolls would cripple humanity’s industrial base.  The results would be devastating either way.

“We have to assume that they’re gone,” he said.  He’d spent several days there himself, not too long ago, in the arms of a young woman called Candy.  At least he hadn't become as besotted as some miners became with the whores, women who were trained in extracting all of a miner’s wages from him before he returned to the mines.  The UN had logged any number of complaints that the system was effectively keeping the miners in permanent debt, but there were no grounds for intervening as long as the miners gave up their money to the whores willingly.  “Continue signalling the rest of the system.”

The reports continued to flicker in from all over the system.  Attacks on asteroid mining ships, the destruction of a RockRat colony, a brief, but savage attack on another mining station near the gas giant...the Trolls were taking their time, working over the entire system.  Roger could do nothing, apart from watching helplessly and recording everything for later analysis.  Unless a large fleet arrives to drive the Trolls away, they were unlikely to survive the day.  He found himself fighting the urge to shout at the Trolls, to invite them to get it over with and stop fucking around while he watched helplessly.  He’d taken an oath to protect the human race.  And when he’d been put to the test, he’d failed miserably.

A thought struck him and he stopped, considering it.  “We may have a window of opportunity to get down to the planet’s surface,” he said.  There were five heavy-lift shuttles on the station.  The Trolls would probably detect them and pick the shuttles off in flight, but when they attacked the station itself they would all be killed anyway.  “Leave the systems on automatic and get down to the shuttlebay, now.”

He brought up his command display as the others raced for the hatches, heading down towards the shuttlebay, and activated the internal security system on a time delay.  It was just possible that the Trolls intended to board the station and, in that case, they would get a hot reception.  Once the computers were sealed – and primed for self-destruction if the wrong codes were entered – he followed the rest of his crew down to the shuttlebay and climbed into the last shuttle.  The remainder were already drifting out of the shuttlebay and down into low orbit.

Assuming that the Troll sensors weren't magic – based on a technology so advanced as to be beyond human comprehension – they would have problems separating the shuttles from the rain of debris that was slowly drifting into the planet’s atmosphere.  Or so Roger hoped; there were few other grounds for optimism.  He took control of the shuttle and guided it towards low orbit, hastily deactivating the drive when the Troll starships came up, over the horizon, and advanced towards Orbit Station One.

“I think they’re targeting the station,” the tactical officer said.  He’d managed to link the shuttle’s internal sensor system into the station's own datanet.  “They’re...”

Roger nodded as the Trolls opened fire.  The death rays sliced into Orbit Station One and cut through the structure, wrecking a station that had been in existence almost since humanity had discovered the flux drive.  There was nothing left on the station to explode – he’d taken the precaution of dumping the remaining shuttle fuel into space – but it hardly mattered.  The Trolls sliced through the remains of the structure until it finally came apart, showering chunks of debris into the upper atmosphere.  Some of them were large enough to make it through the atmosphere and down to the planet’s surface, where their impact would add to the population’s suffering.  But there was nothing he could do about it now.

Instead, he gunned the engine, praying that the debris would shield them as he guided the shuttle down into the planet’s atmosphere.  The Trolls ignored the shuttles; instead, they drifted away from the planet and then jumped out, their starships vanishing in flickers of light.  Roger felt relief, a sensation that faded as soon as he realised that the shuttle’s passage through the planet’s atmosphere was going to be rough.  The air was chopping away at them as they dived lower, trying to avoid pieces of debris that would smash the shuttle if they struck the hull.  Something did slam into the shuttle and for a terrible moment Roger feared that he’d lost control, before managing to wrestle the craft into a reasonably stable flight path.  

“We’re going to come down some distance from the nearest town,” the tactical officer said.  No one had bothered to update the maps of Terra Nova on the shuttles, if only because they often changed violently.  “Do you think that the Navy will send a recovery mission?”

“Let's hope so,” Roger said.  But with Earth itself at risk, how long would it be before a recovery mission arrived?  “Until then, we’ll just have to stay out of trouble on the planet’s surface.”

And that wasn't going to be easy, he knew.  Even before the Trolls had attacked the planet, the UN hadn't enjoyed a good reputation among the factions – or at least those of them who didn't want to escape the planet – and if they were discovered, they might be killed by their fellow humans.  They’d just have to remain out of sight and pray that they weren't discovered before the UN arrived to rescue them.  If nothing else, the sheer mass of debris falling through the upper atmosphere would make it harder for the factions to locate them.

“Hang on,” he added, as the flight suddenly became a great deal more bumpy.  “Here we go...”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Pegasus System
1st August 2435

“Captain?”

Janine looked over at McLaughlin, who was manning the tactical console.  She’d had to pull some strings to keep him for her ship – experienced tactical officers were worth their weight in gold, particularly now that the UNNS was reactivating every starship in the reserve – but she was glad that she’d succeeded.  The last thing she needed was to break in a new tactical officer while carrying out a mission that could easily turn into a disaster.

“Yes?”  She asked.  “Has something finally decided to come hunting us?”

“I think so,” McLaughlin confirmed.  “I’m picking up faint suggestions of turbulence on an approach vector.  The drive field is scrambled, but I’m picking up enough to confirm that it isn't a human ship.”

Janine smiled.  They’d spent nearly a week in the system, escorting a handful of freighters from one RockRat colony to another.  The Trolls seemed inclined to raid small convoys, jumping in, blasting their targets and then jumping out again before anyone else could realise that their targets were under attack.  A single cruiser from the UNNS wouldn't deter them, Janine knew, even though they’d been taught to respect starfighters.  It was much more likely that the Trolls would regard Rubicon’s presence as just another target.

“Good,” she said.  “Set condition two throughout the ship.”

The drumbeat echoed through the hull as she activated her console and studied the live feed from the ship’s sensors.  McLaughlin was right; the turbulence field didn't look like a human field, even with a cloaking device masking most of the ship’s emissions.  Humanity had learned enough about the Troll cloaking device – lessons that had come in blood and pain – to know that the Troll device was better than humanity’s, but it had flaws of its own.  They should have several minutes at least before the Trolls slipped into firing range.

One disadvantage the Trolls had, they’d discovered, was that they literally could not fire while the cloaking device was active.  Firing would betray the craft’s presence as surely as decloaking in the middle of a hostile fleet, but the scientists suspected that the cloaking device was incompatible with their death ray projection system.  Even if they could run both systems simultaneously, they’d concluded, there would be too much energy radiated from the hull for the cloaking device to hide.  Or maybe there were limits to whatever the Trolls used to power their ships.  The UN had certainly found cloaking devices to be energy-intensive.  

Sally came onto the bridge, followed by two other officers.  The RockRat had taken up the position of XO, not something that had sat well with some of the crew.  Prejudice against RockRats was strong and growing stronger as the RockRats consistently refused to put their fleets under UN command, resulting in a number of unpleasant incidents below decks.  Janine hated having to hold Captain’s Masts, to punish crewmen who were feeling the stresses of the war just as much as herself, but there was no choice.  Discipline had to be maintained.

“There's only one ship, as far as I can tell,” Lieutenant Polly Ransom reported.  Bringing her along had required pulling more strings, because Polly was one of Area 51’s experts in sensor technology.  Bowery had argued that she knew too much to be risked in war, but Janine had insisted that they needed every advantage they could get.  Polly had also helped outfit Rubicon with additional sensor nodes, devices that would be worse than useless in a conventional battle, but might give the ship an advantage in springing the trap.  “Do you want me to inform the RockRats?”

“Laser only,” Janine ordered.  There were four sublight freighters accompanying Rubicon, all crewed by volunteers.  If the ambush went badly wrong, Rubicon had orders to abandon the freighters and leave them to the wrath of the Trolls.  It was something else that didn't sit well with her, but the Trolls had rewritten the tactical handbook.  There was nothing that could stop one of their craft short of a wing of starfighters.  “And remind them not to send anything back to us except through laser.”

She shook her head at Sally’s droll expression.  The RockRats were born in space, knowing and respecting it as wet-navy sailors had done back on Earth, long before humans had started exploring outer space.  They knew more about living in space than anyone born on a planet’s surface, including the simple awareness that a single mistake in space could kill someone – or everyone.  No wonder that they considered themselves almost separate from the United Nations, the association of planet-dwellers.  People who never left the surface of a habitable world didn't really understand the true nature of the universe.  It was red in tooth and claw, just waiting to capitalise on a single mistake.  And you could do everything right and still lose.  In some ways, the RockRats were more fatalistic than any planet-bound apocalyptic religion.  

On the main display, the Troll ship drifted closer.  Janine found herself envying the grace it showed as it approached, marvelling at a power curve well beyond anything the human race had developed for itself.  If they’d encountered one another peacefully, the Trolls could have taught the human race so much, but instead they’d simply opened fire on Admiral Hanson’s entire squadron.  Janine shivered, remembering the battle that had marked the opening of a terrifying new war in space.  Why – just why – had the Trolls simply opened fire without even trying to talk?

She pushed the thought out of her mind as new tactical icons sprang up around the Troll ship, trying to parse out its secrets before it decloaked.  Polly was sure that there was only one Troll ship, which was something of a relief; Lombardi’s pulse blaster was only guaranteed one shot, and then they would be back to matching missiles against death rays.  They might as well have matched bows and arrows against lightning.  There might be another Troll ship somewhere in the system, although the RockRats were sure that there was only one ship raiding their shipping.  It suggested that the Admiralty was right when they concluded that the Trolls intended to keep the RockRats pinned down rather than anything else.  Taking Pegasus wasn't worth the effort involved, at least not until the UNNS was defeated.

Sally had admitted that some of the RockRats believed that the war was unwinnable, that the UN would be forced to accept a crippling peace – if the Trolls had ever shown any interest in anything besides unconditional surrender or destruction.  They intended to slip away into interstellar space and head away from space known to humanity, or the Trolls.  Janine wasn't ready to give up, now or ever, but she had to admit that they might have had a point.  It would take years, perhaps centuries, to duplicate the technology the Trolls had demonstrated and produce starships that could match a Troll vessel one-on-one.  Maybe the RockRats would one day return to liberate their planet-bound cousins from slavery, or bombard the Troll worlds to radioactive dust in retaliation for their destruction of their fellow humans.  

A red sphere on the display marked the known Troll firing range.  It was fussy, reminding her that they didn't have a precise location for the Troll starship.  Just outside that sphere, there was a second sphere centred on Rubicon, the range of the pulse blaster.  They should get a single shot before the Trolls had time to fire, assuming that the Trolls decloaked out of weapons range.  But if they were wrong – and it was quite possible that the Trolls would prefer to decloak right on top of Rubicon – the cruiser might be in serious trouble.

“Get the pulse blaster ready to fire,” she ordered.  The Trolls had to know that their turbulence would be detected by the human ships, but when?  When would be a good time to reveal that she was aware of their presence?  Back at the Academy, there had never been any tactical studies based around a similar scenario.  The UNNS had learned hard lessons since the Trolls had taught them just how inadequate their imaginations actually were.  “And prepare to bring up full active sensors.”

Standard procedure for dealing with a cloaked ship was to sweep the area with active sensors, watching for faint distortions and reflections that might signal the presence of a cloaking device.  No one was quite sure how the Troll system would react to a sweep, but if nothing else, Janine told herself, it was one more question that they’d try to answer today.  The Troll ship crept closer, matching course and speed with an elegance that Janine had to admire, before hovering just outside weapons range.  Janine allowed herself a tight smile and nodded to Polly.

“Full sensor sweep, now,” she ordered. There was a pause as the active sensors came online, sweeping the area of space where the cloaked ship was lurking.  “Tactical, target the Troll ship with the pulse blaster as soon as it starts decloaking.”

“It's decloaking,” Polly snapped.  A new note of alarm was running through her voice.  Unlike the rest of Janine’s crew, she had no experience at all in a combat situation, at least not outside simulations.  “I confirm the presence of one Troll Alpha-class starship.”

“Understood,” Janine said, calmly.  There was no mistaking the familiar silhouette of a craft that had brought so much death and destruction to the human race.  The Troll ship shimmered into view, confident in its power and majesty, hanging effortlessly against the stars.  It seemed convinced that there were no starfighters waiting to burst out of the freighters, a trick the human race had used before.  Or maybe it was just ready to deal with the starfighters when they finally showed themselves.  “Take aim.”

“Pulse blaster locked on target,” McLaughlin reported.  He shot Polly a brief look.  The sensor officer looked terrified, almost frozen.  Janine motioned for one of the secondary officers to take over the sensor console.  Polly had done her job.  “The Troll ship is hanging just outside firing range.”

What are you thinking? Janine thought, wondering about her counterpart on the Troll ship.  So far, they hadn't been able to deduce anything about the Troll command structure, assuming that one existed.  But one had to exist, surely.  They couldn't be a race of anarchists, not if they wanted to carry out a full-scale invasion of human space.  Besides, the handful of worlds founded on anarchist principles hadn't worked very well in the long run.  What do you want from us?

“The Troll ship is coming into range,” McLaughlin said.  “They will be in firing range of us in ten seconds...”

“Fire the pulse blaster,” Janine ordered.  “Now!”

The bridge lights dimmed as most of Rubicon’s power was diverted into the pulse blaster, which fired a pulse towards the Troll ship.  Janine braced herself, knowing that there would be no escape if the Troll ship proved immune to the pulse blaster, before the Troll power signature vanished completely from the display.  For a moment, she thought that the ship had been destroyed – even though there had been no explosion – or jumped out, before sensors revealed that the teardrop-shaped starship was still there.  It was just...drifting.

Shaking herself out of her shock, Janine hit a switch on her console.  “Marines, go,” she snapped.  “Capture that bastard intact!”

***
Master Sergeant Thomas Mandell braced himself as the assault shuttles undocked from Rubicon and raced towards the Troll starship at full burn.  It was easy to imagine enough point defence being left intact to blow the shuttles to dust, so the cruiser launched a spread of decoys along with the Marines.  But the Trolls didn’t fire on the shuttles as they roared closer, while the Marines braced themselves to board the alien vessel.  Up close, the Troll starship looked to have been put in a very bad way.  The silvery hull material they used in place of standard hullmetal was cracked and broken, while pieces of debris were drifting away from the wounded ship.  

The Marines had wondered where to board the alien craft, as no one had ever managed to locate an airlock on the Alphas or their escorts.  Now, Thomas could see that part of the alien hull had shattered completely, revealing a gash in the hull that the Marines could use to enter without being ambushed at the airlock.  He barked a command and the Marine shuttle stopped just outside the gash, lights blazing brightly as they peered into the darkened recesses of the alien ship.  Apart from a handful of bodies – of both kinds of Troll – there were no signs of the aliens at all.

“Go,” he snapped, and the Marines launched themselves out of the shuttles, into the alien ship.  Like all alien ships, it was weirdly inhuman, strange enough to make his head hurt even if it lacked the nightmarish qualities of a Polis battleship.  His armoured combat suit automatically analysed the remaining atmosphere and concluded that the Troll atmosphere was breathable by humanity.  That wasn't a surprise – the Trolls had shown no difficulty operating on New Marseilles – but it was well to be sure.  “Launch the nanoprobes.”

The tiny sensors started to produce an image of the ship’s interior as the Marines reached what had to be a bulkhead hatch.  They would seal automatically in a human ship if the hull was breached, or the power was lost, and the Trolls evidently agreed with human ship designers, at least that far.  The Marines set up a seal to keep the atmosphere intact and then blasted through the bulkhead hatch.  Two Marines were immediately blasted down by a pair of humanoid Trolls, both of whom were carrying handheld energy weapons.  The Corps had assumed that the Trolls didn't have handheld energy weapons, if only because their landing and occupation forces had only used projectile weapons, but it was clear that that assumption was in error.  Thomas snapped a command and the Marines launched a spread of grenades into the Troll compartment, clearing the way for them to get into the alien ship.

He watched on his HUD as their chart of the ship’s interior grew by leaps and bounds.  The Trolls seemed to have been badly scattered by the disaster that had hit their ship, but they never seemed willing to surrender and be taken prisoner.  At first, the Marines tried to offer surrender, but after the third Troll died in place they gave up and started putting the Trolls down as quickly as possible.  It was clear that they would attempt to destroy their ship rather than let it fall into human hands and Thomas knew that they could not risk them succeeding.  They had to kill all the Trolls, even if it didn't sit well with them...

The fight raged for nearly an hour before the Marines broke into what had to be the vessels command centre.  Unlike a human bridge, there was nothing more than a shattered tank – his suit’s analysis system informed him that it had held water – and a fleshy mass that had been destroyed, either by the pulse blaster or the Trolls themselves when they decided that their ship was lost.  The mass seemed to have been tied into the starship, not unlike the neural links used by the United Nations, creating a horrific blending of biological material and more understandable computer systems.  His Marines explored the command centre carefully, noting that most of the ship’s communications nodes appeared to have been shattered by the pulse blaster.  Humans who were forcibly disconnected from neural links often suffered brain damage, even death.  It was logical to assume that the Trolls had the same problem.

Inch by inch, the remainder of the Troll starship was secured by the Marines.  None of the Trolls offered to surrender; they just kept fighting until they died at their posts.  Thomas knew that some UN personnel would keep fighting until they were overwhelmed – something that had become more common after the Trolls had made it clear that they didn't take prisoners – but he had to admire their dedication.  They came very close to detonating the ship’s reserve power cells and destroying the Marines, along with humanity’s one chance to capture and study their technology.

“Captain,” he said, finally.  “The ship is ours!”

***
Janine let out a sigh of relief she hadn't realised that she'd been holding.  She'd known that any UN crew fighting the Trolls would try to destroy their ship, even though the Trolls probably didn't need to study human technology, and she’d feared that the Marines would be lost.  Instead, the crazy plan had worked.

“Engineering, link us to the Troll ship,” she ordered.  The second half of the operation was no less risky – and it would become a great deal more dangerous if a second Troll warship turned up to discover what had happened to the first ship.  There hadn't been any StarCom pulses from the captured ship, but there was no way to know what orders they had about reporting back to higher authority.  “And then prepare to carry the ship through flux space.”

She smiled as she settled back into her command chair.  It would be risky – two ships jumping in tandem would screw up the navigational computers – but there was no other way to get it to the RV point.  There, the Troll ship would be moved into a mobile shipyard and transported to Area 51.  Once at the base, Lombardi and his fellows could unlock its secrets, perhaps coming up with something new that humanity could use against its foes.  And who knew what might happen then?

The thought was reassuring, even though she knew what had happened at Terra Nova.  Their enemy had entered the core worlds and started raiding, something that had never happened in all of human history.  Janine knew, even if she didn't want to admit it, what the event signified.  Unless humanity could develop something new to use against the Trolls, the war was within shouting distance of being lost.

Chapter Thirty

Luna
15th August 2435

“This is not a promising report, Admiral.”

Anton nodded, swallowing the response that came to mind.  Terra Nova had merely been the first of the core worlds to be hit by the Trolls.  Since then, no less than nine other worlds had been hit, although the Trolls hadn't enjoyed the same degree of success elsewhere.  Their attacks on New Washington, Britannia and Edo had been completely wiped out by the local self-defence forces.  The Trolls had handed out a beating, but they hadn't had it all their own way.

But they had managed to panic the civilians, at least the ones who hadn't panicked after Second Cadiz.  The population had risen up with one voice and demanded more home defence, something that the politicians had been forced to answer.  Units that had been pledged to the UNNS as reinforcements had been withdrawn, while the starships from 6th and 7th fleet had been broken up and parcelled out to the threatened worlds.  It hadn't helped relationships between the inner worlds and the core worlds either.  Several inner worlds had been abandoned to provide defences for the core worlds.  The core worlds simply had more clout.

The civilians simply didn't understand some of the basic realities of the war.  Apart from starfighters, the human race didn't have any effective counter to the Trolls, which meant that sending cruisers and destroyers up against the Alphas did nothing more than give the Trolls new targets.  Dividing up the human fleet and scattering it over a dozen threatened worlds just offered the Trolls the chance to pick the ships off in small numbers.  Concentration of force was the only thing that allowed the human race to deter the Trolls and the politicians were making it harder for him to concentrate his forces.  Apart from Home Fleet, and the starships at New Brisbane, there were few concentrated fleets left in the United Nations.  

It got worse.  The fleets that were meant to provide border security against the Polis and the Sutra had been pulled away from the borders, ordered to jump back to the core worlds as quickly as possible.  Unsurprisingly, the border areas had seen a resurgence of pirate and raider activity, some coming out of the Triangle, others almost certainly from the Sutra factions.  The Trolls were trying to cripple the United Nations economically and the raiders, intentionally or otherwise, were helping them.  It wouldn't be long, according to the economic predictions, before what remained of the UN’s shipping along the borders had to simply stop servicing the area.  The shipping companies couldn't take the losses for very long.  

The real problem lay in the report that Anton had been given by his planning staff, which he’d passed on to the Security Council.  HE3 was the backbone of the United Nation’s economy, an endless supply of cheap fuel for everything from starships to aircars and fusion reactors.  Mined from gas giants, existing in such vast quantities that no one could hope to set up a monopoly, it powered almost everything in the galaxy.  And the Trolls had discovered just how important it was to the United Nations.  Their attacks against the core and inner worlds had targeted the cloudscoops, destroying them one by one.  There were already shortages in a dozen sectors and the price of refined HE3 was rising steadily.  The report Anton had been given suggested that the UN’s economy would grind to a halt in less than a year, unless something was done to prevent the Trolls from taking out more cloudscoops.  

“No,” he agreed.  “The situation has become desperate.”

The politicians muttered amongst themselves.  Anton kept a sharp eye on political manoeuvrings on Luna, but he had been becoming increasingly aware that the politicians were discussing certain matters in private.  One of them, he suspected, was his removal and replacement with another Admiral, which wouldn't have been so bad except his successor would be under immense pressure to deliver something – anything – and simply wouldn't be able to deliver it.  Another was the threatened withdrawal from the United Nations by several core worlds, worlds that had already started to withdraw units of their self-defence forces from the front.  If they called their naval personnel home too...Anton didn't know what would happen then, if only because it had never happened before.  But then, humanity hadn't been brought to its knees in a few short months before either.

He had been careful not to tell them about the captured Troll starship, knowing that whatever they heard would leak out into the datanet and probably reach the Trolls.  But there was another piece of good news he could offer them.

“However, we do have an opportunity to give the Trolls a bloody nose of their own, perhaps force them onto the defensive,” he added.  “We located one of their worlds.”

He smiled at their reactions.  The UN had been far luckier than it deserved to be, for the survey ships had had no idea that Capricorn had fallen to the Trolls.  If they hadn't taken the precaution of sneaking back into the system under stealth, giving them a chance to spot the Troll starships infesting the system, they might have been caught and destroyed before they could pass on what they’d found.  Instead, they’d made it to one of the RV points listed in the contingency plans – contingency plans they’d expected never to have to use – and located a hidden StarCom unit.  It had been used to pass word back to Earth, along with what tactical data they’d been able to discover.  

The analysts said – and Anton couldn’t disagree with them – that the system the survey ships had discovered wasn’t a core system, but unless the Trolls were very alien hitting their system should force them to deploy their ships to provide cover to their rear areas.  It might just give the United Nations a breathing space they needed desperately, as well as giving the Trolls a sharp lesson in the dangers of slaughtering vast numbers of humans.  He intended to propose issuing General Order 24, authorising the assault force to target the Troll civilian settlements and destroy them.  After the Trolls had killed so many humans, it was the least they could do.

“I intend to dispatch 6th Fleet from the core worlds to take up position in Troll space,” he said.  “At the same time, I intend to order the survey ships to destroy the Troll world, along with its civilian population.  It is time to hit them back as hard as they hit us.”

There was a long pause.  “Admiral,” one of the Ambassadors said, finally, “if you slaughter one of their civilian populations, they will do the same to ours.”

“They’re already doing the same to ours,” the French Ambassador snapped back.  “They slaughtered the entire colony on New Marseilles, remember?  And that was just the first colony world to be wiped clean of life.  Billions of humans have died ever since they started this damn war!”

The argument raged backwards and forwards, without any clear consensus.  Anton found it hard to blame them; with humanity’s string of defeats steadily rising upwards, their positions were being undermined back home.  Martial law couldn't prevent the population from expressing their discontent to their local politicians, which in turn weakened the Ambassadors who made up the Security Council.  If they bombarded a Troll world and the Trolls retaliated against their homeworlds, they would get the blame.

It wasn't logical, Anton knew.  The Trolls had started slaughtering human civilians a long time before the human race had discovered where to target an attack on their civilian population.  Logically, the politicians couldn't be blamed for failing to deliver the impossible, but logic and reason rarely had anything to do with human politics.  Their rivals were already promising greater security if they were elected into power, conveniently ignoring the fact that they couldn't offer anything more in the way of security than those who currently held office.  

But, so far, the Trolls had only targeted outer worlds and a couple of inner worlds for mass slaughter.  A single targeted core world would kill billions of humans in a single strike.  

The Ambassador from Britannia, the only one with any naval experience of his own, learned forward.  “A question, Admiral,” he said.  “Do I understand that you intend to send 6th Fleet several months from the core worlds?”

Anton scowled, inwardly.  He’d been hoping that they would miss that little detail.  Typical – the first sign of any awareness of military realities and it had to be at the most inconvenient moment.  

“Yes,” he said, flatly.  “I believe that we have to have a striking force in position to take advantage of any additional targets that we happen to discover.”

“But that will weaken the defences of the core worlds,” the Ambassador said.  “Why can't the survey ships take the targets out themselves?”

“The survey ships will be hard-pressed to target the largely civilian world they discovered alone,” Anton said.  “Fundamentally, Survey Command’s specialist ships are not intended to serve as warships, even though they are armed; they certainly don't include any starfighter carriers in their squadron.  If they are forced to engage Troll warships, they will be destroyed very quickly.  6th Fleet, on the other hand, has more than enough firepower to hit a target and – if necessary – withdraw under fire if it becomes clear that they have bitten off more than they can chew.”

There was another problem.  Survey Command taught its crewmen how to survey new colony worlds and make first contact with alien races, not to follow orders without question.  Crews that were, to all intents and purposes, half civilian might not accept orders to target and exterminate a civilian population, no matter what the Trolls had done to the human race.  They’d certainly been isolated from the realities of the war, if only because they’d departed human space not long after New Marseilles had been attacked, opening the war.  

He paused, and then pushed ahead.  “There is a second problem,” he continued.  “Right now, we have more targets to defend than we have ships and starfighters to cover.  The Trolls can pick and choose their targets, weakening us while we are unable to weaken them in turn.  If this continues, we are going to lose the war.  Pinning down our fleets isn't going to do anything that might force the Trolls to look to their own rear areas.  But if we go on the offensive, we might just buy time to rebuild and drive the Trolls out of our space.”

Spelling matters out so baldly for politicians was always risky, but there was no choice.  He listened as the debate resumed, with the representatives forming up along predictable lines.  Those who represented well-defended worlds wanted to go on the offensive, those whose worlds would be uncovered – at least slightly – by the departure of 6th Fleet were less inclined to send those ships several months from the core worlds.  The Trolls definitely had an advantage, Anton had to admit; their flux drives could jump further than anything the human race had produced.  It would take them less time to get from their colony worlds to the United Nations, giving them a decisive advantage.

“Is it possible,” one of the representatives asked, “for the survey ships to make a targeted attack on the enemy system, rather than just wanton destruction?”

Anton shook his head.  “Those ships are not capable of standing up to Troll warships,” he reminded them.  Outside of heavy carriers, Earth had nothing that could take on a Troll cruiser in single combat.  “They will have to launch a hit-and-run raid, not something that allows for accurate timing.”

“I see,” the representative said.  

The debate lasted nearly an hour before they finally came up with a consensus.  Thankfully, 6th Fleet would be sent away from the United Nations, towards the Troll industrial worlds that had to exist near the colony world that the survey ships had found.  The politicians had hesitated longer over authorising a general strike against the colony world, but Anton pointed out that there was no other choice, unless they wanted to wait until 6th Fleet reached the edges of Troll space itself.  It would simply take too long to get the fleet into position.  Humanity needed the reprieve now.

“Good luck, Admiral,” the representative from Edo said.  Anton, who knew that Edo was one of the worlds considering a complete withdrawal from the United Nations, wasn’t impressed.  Their departure – if they did depart – would unbalance the UNNS.  “We need a victory, desperately.”

Anton nodded in agreement.  The representative was right.  They did need a victory.

***
“The preliminary report on the Troll starship has been completed,” Commander Weaver said, when he returned to his office.  “Do you want the summery right now?”

Anton nodded.  “The pulse blaster worked,” Weaver said, seriously.  “From the basic report, it is clear that the pulse fried their internal communications system as well as their power distribution nodes.  Unfortunately, Professor Lombardi is convinced that the pulse blaster won’t work once they realise what they’re facing.  He thinks that it won’t be difficult for them to configure their systems to resist the pulse, although it will come at a loss in efficiency.”

“Which may benefit us anyway,” Anton said.  Anything that weakened the Trolls was worthwhile.  “What else did he learn about the alien ship?”

Commander Weaver grinned.  “Unlike our ships, which are powered by fusion cores, the Troll ship was powered by what Lombardi called an artificial singularity,” he said.  “The Trolls apparently created one that they then used as a power source, a source that actually provided far more power than the ship required.  Luckily, their safety precautions called for dispelling the singularity if the ship ran into trouble or the pulse blaster might have accidentally destroyed its target.  Lombardi thinks that we can probably create a singularity of our own, given time, but we’d probably have to design a whole new class of starship to carry it.  Even a fleet carrier would require a major refit to carry the generator.”

“But it can be duplicated,” Anton mused.  “And their energy weapons?”

“Well, they were successful in capturing handheld energy weapons as well as the ship itself,” Weaver said.  “Two of them have been taken apart; from the basic report, it seems clear that they project beams of directed energy towards their target.  However, the shipboard weapons appear to be of a different class altogether, which suggests that the basic handheld weapon may not be usable on a starship.  There may be problems with scaling it up to produce one that can be mounted on a starship.  Experiments are apparently continuing.”

There was a pause.  “So far, we don’t have a clear picture of what the Trolls use to produce their death rays – unfortunately most of that system was taken out by the pulse – but the scientists think that we can combine human and Troll technology to produce something that should even the odds.  It may even have a longer range than the Troll death rays, allowing us to engage them from outside their own range.”

“Assuming we produce workable hardware,” Anton said.  He had served in procurement during his first stint at the Admiralty and he knew how hard it was to move from theory to something that could be mounted on human starships.  “What about their drive technology?”

“Lombardi claims – some of the other researchers don’t agree – that their singularity was worked into their drive system,” Weaver said.  “We assumed that they’d somehow managed to scale up a starfighter-style drive to fit into a starship, but Lombardi thinks that they were able to use the singularity to produce an effective drive field.  Again, research and experiments are continuing.  Director Bowery requested permission to start building a new experimental test bed at Area 51.”

“Granted,” Anton said.  If something useful could be produced before the human race ran out of time, it might save the UN from inglorious defeat.  And if they were defeated, Area 51 could link up with the Iceberg Project and start building the fleet to liberate human space in secret.  The Trolls would probably pick fights with the Sutra and the Polis next, whatever those races believed – or claimed to believe.  It might give the resistance a chance to rebuild and then strike back.

“Their flux drive is also linked into the singularity, but in a manner that we have not yet been able to understand,” Weaver added.  “Professor Rashid has a theory – one that hasn't been proven or disproven – that they use the singularity’s gravity field to fold space to a far greater extent than a standard flux drive.  By his calculations, they might be able to jump somewhere between thirty to fifty light years in a single jump.”

Anton blanched.  From their positions in the inner worlds, the Trolls could jump right to Earth – or to colony worlds on the other side of the homeworld.  They could certainly shave time off the journey between Capricorn and New Brisbane.   Hell, they could pull most of their ships off defence duty, knowing that they could jump reinforcements in at once if necessary.  

“More importantly and disturbingly, the Trolls appear to have created a third form of life,” Weaver concluded.  “We don’t understand how yet, but they didn't have a standard computer core on their ship.  Instead, the command network was linked into another entity, a large biological mass.  Unfortunately, we can’t say much about it because the pulse fried it completely.  We just know that it was grown from Troll DNA, probably as a living computer node.  What this says about the Trolls is rather worrying.”

“Dear God,” Anton said, shaking his head.  If there were at least three different forms of Troll, which one was the real one?  Coming to think of it, did they even know themselves?  They seemed to have taken self-improvement to a far greater level than the RockRats had ever dreamed of doing.  “What the hell are we fighting?”

Chapter Thirty-One

New Brisbane
25th August 2435

Paul had distrusted the very idea of promotion since he received his first command, long before humanity had known that the Trolls existed.  Starship command had been his dream, the chance to command his own ship; few higher ranks ever had the ability to take command of a starship directly.  Indeed, there were strong precedents that suggested that no Admiral ever had the right to assume command of a starship, although they did have the power to relieve the Captain of command.  The one example that suggested otherwise had been during the Magana Wars, when a fleet carrier had been hammered by a sneak attack that had wiped out the Captain and his XO.  

The Admiral’s uniform he'd been given still felt uncomfortable, even though his promotion had come shortly after Admiral Davidson had been confirmed dead.  9th Fleet – and the few combat-effective ships from 5th Fleet – had had to crawl to New Brisbane, always fearful that the Trolls would track them down and harass them before they could reach safety.  Not that there was any such thing as safety in the United Nations these days; the reports suggested that the Trolls had even probed the Sol System, although the sheer weight of firepower held by Home Fleet had probably deterred them from actually attacking.  A great many treaties had been signed in the days since Terra Nova had been attacked, linking all of the military bases in the system into one huge defence network.  The Trolls would need a full fleet to attack it.

He’d chosen to fly his flag on Triumphant instead of transferring to Brisbane Base, officially because he intended to share the dangers his subordinates faced.  Unofficially, it gave him an excuse to avoid politicians, reporters and corporate managers, all of whom seemed to believe that the commander of the defence force could put their interests at the top of his priority list.  Unlike Capricorn, New Brisbane had a massive civilian population as well as the military base, something that hadn't been a problem until the Trolls had started to raid into the inner worlds.  Politicians who’d managed to squeeze funding out of the General Assembly for Brisbane Base, correctly believing that it would give the local economy a boost, had suddenly realised that that put them at ground zero if – when – the Trolls attacked.  It was surprising how many high-ranking politicians had left for emergency meetings on Earth ever since they’d awoken to discover that they were on a war front.  

The corporate interests weren't much better.  Paul had ordered them to deploy their ships to help move refugee populations away from New Brisbane, but they’d complained and dragged their feet and even called in favours from the politicians to gain exemptions from the order.  They’d quietened down after Paul threw caution to the wind and had five of the worst offenders arrested – and then transferred to Brisbane Base – yet he had a feeling that it wouldn't be long before that came back to haunt him.  At least the corporate shippers had been less inclined to quibble.  Some of them had been very helpful – but then, anyone who lived in space was more aware of the fundamental realities than those who had spent all their lives on the ground.

New Brisbane was a curious system in many ways.  Two stars rotating around one another; one bright enough to give heat and light to a human-compatible world, one so dim that it had only been discovered a few years before the human race took to the stars.  The astronomers had claimed that there was something very unusual about the star system; they’d had a network of satellites and stations examining the lesser star, watching for signs of intelligent life.  Paul was inclined to dismiss their suggestions that an unknown alien race had killed one of the stars, but it was true that the dim star’s planets had been shattered by a cosmic shock sometime in the very distant past.  Their remains had produced some of the richest asteroid fields in the galaxy, mined by the RockRats and locals alike.

He shook his head as he glanced down at another report from the starfighter training centres.  Many more maggots were being graduated ahead of time and merged into veteran squadrons, something that continued to weaken the Navy’s starfighter force.  At least the Trolls seemed unwilling to challenge New Brisbane directly, giving him time to train his pilots as thoroughly as he could, but he knew that it was just a matter of time.  The same logic that led them to Capricorn would force them to take New Brisbane – and they’d already started chipping away at the worlds nearest to the naval base.  Paul would have been astonished if they gave him more than a few more weeks to prepare...

...But he would give them a bloody nose.  New Brisbane had been settled for over three hundred years and the locals had built up a formidable industrial base.  Ever since the declaration of martial law, it had been producing mines, missiles and other unpleasant surprises for the Trolls, as well as a small number of indigenous starfighters.  Paul had used the largess liberally, spreading mines around the planet’s high orbitals and deploying others in position to intercept any attack on Brisbane Base itself.  He’d even emplaced mines near the cloudscoops, knowing that the Trolls would probably target them first.  If they cut off the flow of HE3 to New Brisbane, the planet’s economy would slowly grind to a halt.  At least he’d been able to convince the miners to speed up their production efforts.  There would be a fuel reserve for the locals to keep their economy going for a few months.

His wristcom buzzed.  “Admiral,” his aide said, “Admiral Jackson and Admiral Sun are requesting another tactical conference.”

“Understood,” Paul said, gritting his teeth.  By strict seniority, both of them were senior to him, with enough time in grade to automatically assume command of the combined fleets.  But the Grand Admiral had ordered Paul to assume supreme command, pointing out that he had experience fighting the Trolls that the others lacked.  They had cooperated – the Grand Admiral had used the state of emergency to relieve a number of officers more interested in politics than fighting – yet Paul knew that they were far from happy.  They’d taken the opportunity to question every decision he'd made without ever – quite – crossing the line into insubordination.  No one was even sure if they could, legally, be insubordinate to an Admiral who was technically junior to him, but they didn't want to challenge the Grand Admiral.  Not openly, at least.

He stood up.  Life had definitely been easier when he'd been fighting the Trolls as a Vice Admiral, with Admiral Davidson soaking up the political shit.

“I’m on my way,” he said.  “I’ll hold the conference in the main briefing room.”

***
They weren't maggots any longer.

Connie led Blue Squadron towards the asteroid cloud, wondering just when the maggots had crossed the line into veteran pilots.  Maybe it had been when they’d first faced the Trolls, or during the long retreat from Capricorn and the arrival at New Brisbane, when they’d prepared themselves to draw another line in the sand.  There was little disrespect offers to her maggots now, at least not by the other veterans.  But then, there was an endless supply of new maggots from the training centre, utterly unprepared for the realities of war.  They grew up quickly or they died.

No one was quite sure what had happened to the planets orbiting the dim red half of the binary pair, but it had left behind something that only rarely occurred outside bad movies and worse novels – actual terrain in space.  In peacetime, the rich and wealthy locals competed with one another to see who could fly through the asteroid field, threading their way between countless asteroids and making it out safely.  Connie had heard that the sport claimed several dozen lives per month, but the authorities had never seen fit to ban it.  The pilots had joked that the authorities were really using it to rid themselves of entitled brats who would only grow up into little monsters.  Now they were using it as a training ground for themselves, the joke had become a great deal less funny.  Most of the paths through the field had been charted, but there was a certain imprecision about even the best charts.  Sometimes one asteroid hit another, sending it off on a random trajectory that could intersect with a third asteroid...it wasn't a safe place to play games.  

“All right,” she said.  “One at a time, follow me in – and watch yourselves.  I don’t want to attend another funeral in this system.”

They’d attended too many in the weeks since they had arrived at New Capricorn.  Far too many crewmen had been killed, along with Admiral Davidson himself and most of 5th Fleet.  Connie had held one personally for the maggots who had died in Second Cadiz, knowing that the Navy would give her new maggots to train soon enough.  At least she’d been spared that for a month, thankfully.  One of the squadrons had been weakened badly enough for its remaining pilots to be folded into Blue Squadron while its veteran cadre had been ordered to reconstitute the squadron from new maggots.  Connie didn't envy them their task.  

Flying through the asteroid field safely wouldn't have been a real challenge, she reminded herself as she gunned the engine.  The real challenge lay in flying as close to the asteroids as possible, flipping the starfighter around to avoid ramming straight into the asteroid she’d been using to play chicken.  It reminded her of the simulations she’d run back at the training centre, where they hadn't been constrained by bothersome issues of reality.  She'd been wiped out countless times in the simulations, flying through asteroid fields that made this one a piece of cake.  Connie was smiling as she emerged from the tail of the asteroid field, flipping her starfighter up and over the asteroids as she returned to their starting point.  Judging from the commentary, the pilots were having fun as they threaded their way through the asteroids and out into clear space.  She allowed herself to relax as the last pilot escaped safely and returned to the flock.

“Hey, Maw,” one of them called.  “Can we do that again, please!”

Connie snorted.  She was effectively mother to eleven pilots – and she still wasn't quite used to it.  “I think that we have to let the others have a go,” she said.  The pilots had been staging through the escort carriers and a handful of modified freighters.  “They need to...”

Her voice broke off as an emergency transmission echoed through the system.  “...Is RockRat Colony Vin,” it said.  “We are under attack by the Trolls; I say again, we are under attack by the Trolls.  This is...”

“Form up on me,” Connie ordered.  Vin – one of the larger asteroid clusters that the RockRats had turned into a small city – was only a few hundred thousand kilometres from their location.  It was quite possible that they were the closest force that could respond in time.  “Prepare to engage the enemy.”

She gunned her drives, tapping a command into the system to bring her weapons online.  The improved missiles for the capital ships hadn't yet reached the starfighters – the latest scuttlebutt suggested that the techs were having problems slimming the warheads down to reach the required size for starfighter torpedoes – but the starfighters had already proved themselves against the Trolls.  They might take savage losses, yet the Trolls would know that they had been kissed.

“This is Blue Leader,” she said.  If the RockRats had been linked into the command datanet, she would have received a SITREP as well as a distress call.  “We are approaching your position.  Can you give me a situation report?”

There was a long pause, long enough for her to wonder if they were already dead.  “Five Troll starships, unknown class,” a different voice said, finally.  She sounded young – and badly frightened.  “They're killing everyone!”

“I have them on my HUD now,” Connie said, as reassuringly as she could.  The Trolls seemed to be standing off and bombarding the asteroid settlements after cutting through the modified freighters the RockRats had used as defenders with contemptuous ease.  All five Troll ships were Charlie-class, a design the analysts claimed the Trolls used mainly for hit and run missions.  “We’re coming in hot.”

The Trolls seemed oddly disinclined to fight – but then, they had already completed their primary mission.  There had been nineteen habitats in the cluster, along with two industrial nodes – and all, but three of them had been destroyed.  Instead of facing the starfighters, they started to move away from the asteroids, leaving behind the remains of a once-thriving civilisation.  A handful of lifepods could be detected among the wreckage, screaming for help; for once, the Trolls simply ignored them.  They were more interested in avoiding the starfighters; they knew, by now, that three or four hits could cripple or destroy their ships.

“Prepare to fire,” Connie ordered.  “Go chaotic...now!”

The starfighters spun into their evasive patterns as the Trolls opened fire, a second before something shook Connie’s starfighter violently.  As soon as she regained control, she realised that all five Troll starships had simply jumped out, timing their jump in the hopes that the gravitational flux would cripple or destroy the incoming starfighters.  Connie cursed as she stared at where the Trolls had been, knowing that it was impossible to give chase.  The bastards seemed to be able to make multiple jumps, ensuring that no one could follow them even if they did have a flux drive of their own.

“They ran,” one of the pilots exulted.  “They were too scared to face us...”#

“They knew that they didn't have to face us to win,” Connie said, sharply.  She switched the channel over to the main link to the carrier.  “CAG, this is Blue Leader.  The Trolls just attacked a RockRat settlement, and then withdrew at high speed.  We are returning to the barn; I say again, we are returning to the barn.”

More reports seemed to be coming in as Blue Squadron altered course, heading back towards the carrier.  The Trolls hadn't just limited themselves to one target; they’d hammered dozens of habitats and installations right across the system.  So far, they hadn't targeted Brisbane Base itself, or the main body of the fleet, but everyone seemed to agree that it was only a matter of time.  

Bastards, Connie thought, sourly.  They can jump in, hit their targets and jump out again.  And we can't do anything to stop them.

***
Alarms were still howling through the massive carrier when Paul ran into the CIC and took his command chair.  “Report,” he snapped.  Red icons were flashing into existence all over the main display, some marked to warn him that the reports were already out of date.  “What the hell are they doing?”

“At least thirty-seven raids have been launched against facilities in this system,” one of the tactical officers said.  He’d managed to keep his original staff, even though he’d technically inherited Admiral Davidson’s surviving officers.  “First reports indicate that they have wrecked their targets and then withdrawn from the system.”

Paul nodded, sourly.  It looked as if the Trolls wanted to weaken the defenders before bringing in their main fleet to obliterate the base, but there was no way to be sure.  The Trolls were versatile enough to launch raids they knew would alarm the human defenders, without bothering to follow through and bring in their main fleet.  His ability to provide support to other systems that might be attacked would be badly crippled.  More to the point, his inability to cover everywhere in the New Brisbane System itself would be made very clear.  There was no way to know if the Trolls studied human politics, but if they were trying to force a command crisis, they could hardly have done it better if they’d tried.

“Show me the targets,” he ordered.  A list flickered to life in front of him.  Naturally, the Trolls had targeted the cloudscoops, but their attack had failed and they hadn't stayed around long enough to launch a second strike.  That was odd; normally, they showed no lack of resolution until it became clear that they couldn't win.  Had something happened to limit their deployable forces?

He shook his head.  “My compliments to Commodore Francis,” he said.  “His squadron is to jump out to the gas giant and provide support to the defenders there.  The cloudscoop must be protected at all costs.”

“Aye, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.

“We’re picking up a request from General Atwell,” the communications officer said.  “He’s requesting that you dispatch fleet units to New Brisbane to reinforce the orbital defences.”

“Denied,” Paul said, shortly.  New Brisbane was heavily defended already, with enough starfighters to keep the Trolls well away from the planet.  His priority was securing the fleet base and keeping his forces concentrated.  It was the only way to produce a victory against the Trolls.  “Launch the ready fighters, then bring up the secondary fighters and prepare to launch them at a moment’s notice.”

He nodded as the ready fighters fanned out to reinforce the CSP.  The Trolls had to know that his fleet was near the command base – and they had to regard the fleet as their primary target.  Nothing else made sense, unless they were so alien that their tactical doctrine was incomprehensible to human minds.  But so far they’d fought a conventional war with unconventional technology.  No, they’d go after the fleet.  The only question was how.

“Admiral, I’m picking up...Jesus Christ!”

“I see,” Paul said, as new red icons flared into existence.  The Trolls had arrived in force.  “Launch all remaining fighters.  Prepare to engage the enemy.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

New Brisbane
25th August 2435

“Dear God – how many of them are there?”

“Leave that for the moment,” Connie said.  Blue Squadron had been lucky; they'd barely avoided having the Trolls land right on top of them as they approached the fleet.  “Concentrate on linking up with the rest of the fighters.”

Every carrier was launching its fighters now, forming them up into a giant wedge that looked almost impossible to stop.  But Connie knew how easily the Trolls could destroy the tiny craft – and how rapidly they could fill space with deadly bursts of energy that vaporised starfighters as they tried to enter firing range.  No matter how many of them were out there, far too many pilots were about to die.  It was quite likely that she would be one of those pilots; she’d pushed her luck ever since the first battle at Cadiz.  Only a few hundred pilots had survived every major battle so far.  More of them would die in this battle.

She pushed such concerns aside as the squadron slipped into the other starfighters and reversed course, ready to join them when they accelerated towards the Trolls.  It was always difficult to coordinate a mass attack, but that very lack of coordination would give them an advantage, although she doubted it made up for the disadvantages.  Besides, they'd be flying in behind missiles...and if the new weapons worked, the Trolls would be in for an unpleasant surprise.  Maybe – just maybe – there would be time for her pilots to get in, land their blows and then pull out again.

***
“I’m reading upwards of a hundred Alphas, seventy Betas and thirty-seven Deltas,” the sensor officer said.  “It's hard to be sure; their damned stealth technology and drive field overlap is making it hard to get readings on ships at the rear of their formation.”

Paul nodded.  They outnumbered the Trolls by over ten to one, but that probably wouldn't make much difference to the aliens.  The bastards already knew how to use their technology to neglect humanity’s numerical superiority.  But this time they would be in for a surprise, perhaps one that would convince them to back off and retreat.  If only they knew just how many ships the Trolls had at their disposal.  He might be able to deduce if bleeding his fleet white to stop them was worthwhile, or not.

“Two minutes to actual missile firing range,” the tactical officer said.  “All missile-carriers report that they are ready to open fire.  Starfighter squadrons are moving into position to support the missile barrage.”

“We fire as soon as they cross the line into actual firing range,” Paul ordered.  If nothing else, they would be firing so many missiles that even the Trolls would be unable to stop them all before they hit home.  “And then send the starfighters in after them.”

On the display, the Trolls moved in.  They’d learned from the early battles too, Paul noted; their formation would allow their capital ships to cover one another from the incoming starfighters, as well as linking their death rays into a single defence pattern.  The Trolls would be damn near unstoppable once they got into firing range – his fleet would be crippled very quickly – but until they reached firing range they were unable to actually damage the carriers.  They would seek to close the range as fast as possible...

“Enemy starships entering actual firing range,” the tactical officer reported.

“All ships, fire,” Paul ordered.  “I say again, fire at will.”

The Trolls had faced massive missile barrages before, but this one was an order of magnitude greater than any they had previously encountered.  Paul half-expected them to jump out when they realised just what sort of hammer had been flung at them, but instead they held their position, clearly confident that their death rays could sweep most of the missiles out of existence.  Under normal circumstances, they might well have been right.  There were so many missiles in such a restricted area of space that most of their death rays would be certain to score hits.  

“The Trolls are continuing to approach,” the sensor officer said.  “They’re actually picking up a little speed.”

“Angle the missiles in towards the Betas,” Paul ordered.  They’d analysed Troll firing patterns extensively and concluded that the Betas were generally ordered to cover the Alphas instead of themselves.  As they were the worst threat to human starfighters, it puzzled him why the firing patterns weren't reversed, unless the Troll admirals wanted their big ships to stay intact even at the expense of losing their smaller ships.  He'd known a few human admirals who had had similar thoughts.  “And activate the warheads as soon as they enter firing range.”

The Trolls greeted the missiles with a hail of fire, launching so many bursts of point defence fire that parts of the missile barrage seemed to simply melt away.  Paul watched, silently calculating the odds, as the missiles revealed their true nature.  Every one of them had been designed to serve as the base for a bomb-pumped laser, lashing out at the Troll hulls with a weapon that they were completely unable to intercept.  Just like Admiral Hanson’s force, back when the human race had first encountered the Trolls, they had been caught by surprise.  

“Admiral!  We scored a ninety percent kill rate on the Betas!”

Paul smiled, grimly.  The Trolls had seen bomb-pumped lasers before, but it didn't seem to have occurred to them that they could be mounted on starships – or, for that matter, produced in such vast quantities.  In all previous battles, human starships had been largely worse than useless, but that had just been turned on its head.  The Trolls had just been given a very nasty surprise.

“Seven Alphas are gone too,” the tactical officer added.  “The starfighters are moving in now.”

“Launch the second missile barrage,” Paul ordered.  The Trolls were stunned, but that wouldn't last very long.  And they could still win this battle.  “And prepare to launch the third salvo.”

***
Connie heard the pilots whooping with joy as most of the Betas were blotted out of existence, ripped apart by the bomb-pumped lasers.  The Troll advance seemed to have almost stopped dead in shock, as if whoever was commanding the fleet was trying to decide what to do next – not that it stopped their point defence from firing madly on the starfighters.  Their point defence crews had suddenly become very motivated, she thought with a droll smile.  They had to know that their ships were suddenly vulnerable.  

The starfighters went into chaotic formation as they lanced towards one of the Alphas, which was firing madly towards the five squadrons that had picked it as a target.  There were so many starfighters in the fleet that they could afford to swamp their targets with dozens of starfighters, even though the enemy’s point defence seemed to be still coordinated.  Chances were that they’d missed the command ship, if there was a command ship.  The Trolls didn't seem to look for human command ships and none of the spooks had been able to isolate a Trill command ship from its peers.  It was quite possible that their version of command datanet was spread out over multiple ships.  The UN had experimented with a similar system.

“Fox two,” she snapped, the moment they came into firing range.  Two torpedoes shot away from her starfighter, slamming right into the target.  Several more pilots also fired their torpedoes, ensuring that the Troll ship had no chance to escape before warheads started detonating inside its hull.  It vanished in a blinding flash, leaving the starfighters roaring away looking for new targets.  Connie cursed as one of the surviving Betas almost killed her, just before it too was overwhelmed and destroyed.  For the first time, she realised, the human race might inflict more damage than it took.

And then the entire Troll fleet jumped out en masse.

Connie stared.  For a heartbeat, she thought that they had won – and then she realised that the battle had only intensified.

***
 “They did a tactical jump, Admiral,” the tactical officer snapped.  “They’re behind us!”

Paul nodded, feeling a flicker of envy; no human flux drive could have produced such an accurate jump over such short range.  The Trolls had neatly separated themselves from the fighters and avoided the mines near the base; instead, they were in the perfect position to start blazing into his rear.  Several carriers were already under attack; as he watched, a fleet carrier blew apart into a blaze of light, lost with all hands.

“Order the destroyers to attack,” he snapped.  The Trolls were within energy range of his ships – and that meant that they were in range of his destroyers.  “They may fire at will.”

Bomb-pumped weapons were dangerously unreliable, which was at least partly why the UNNS had never seriously considered deploying them before the Trolls had arrived to force the human race to resort to desperate measures.  Each bomb-pumped laser installation generated an incredibly powerful magnetic bottle to capture and direct the energy of a nuclear bomb, focusing it all into a laser beam.  But if the magnetic bottle failed, the full fury of a nuclear blast would be released, vaporising the projector and the starship that carried it.  That wasn't a concern for missile warheads – the missiles were doomed anyway, allowing the designers to skimp on the magnetic bottle systems – but mounting bomb-pumped lasers on starships, even small destroyers, was terrifyingly risky.  But until the techs managed to produce death ray projectors for the human race, they had little choice, but to resort to such desperate measures.

The Trolls had known that they were safe; fleet carriers didn't mount enough missile launchers to overwhelm their defences, while the destroyers could be safely ignored.  But they’d been wrong; each of the destroyers now mounted an energy weapon that tore through their hullmetal and deep into their hulls.  Paul could envisage the hell that had been unleashed inside the Troll ships, perhaps worse than the hell they’d brought to the human targets they’d attacked.  X-ray radiation was a major part of each bomb-pumped laser’s beam.  It was quite possible that the Trolls on damage control duties would get radiation poisoning from the blasts.  Or so the techs had promised.

Again, the Trolls seemed to stagger, giving the starfighters time to race through the fleet’s position and lance into the Trolls, looking for weaknesses they could exploit to prevent them from being killed the moment they entered weapons range.  The Alphas opened fire, then changed their minds, jumping out back to where they’d started.  Paul wondered if he was seeing the first sign of indecision among the Trolls, or perhaps their commander had been killed and there had been some confusion before the new commander took command.  God knew that that had been a problem for humans ever since they had first gone to war.  

“Admiral, a number of starfighters require rearming,” the CAG said.  “They fired all of their missiles at their targets.”

“Order the damaged carriers to jump out,” Paul ordered.  “They can meet up with us at the RV point.  The remaining starfighters can rearm in relays.”

“Understood, Admiral,” the CAG said.

The battle seemed to have reached a lull as the Trolls hung just outside firing range, waiting.  Paul studied them as the starfighters hastily rearmed, their pilots taking the brief opportunity to catch something to eat and drink before returning to the battle outside.  The remainder of the fleet would have their own chance to refresh themselves, before the Trolls decided to resume the offensive.  But for once they just seemed inclined to wait and see what happened next.  The battle appeared to have stalemated.

“Update the Grand Admiral – and Augustus,” Paul ordered.  For once, humanity could match the Trolls in one area; FTL communications.  There were enough fleet carriers with their own StarCom units in the fleet to allow him to coordinate on a level no other human commander had enjoyed, at least since the human race had developed the flux drive.  “And start rearming the destroyers.  They’re not going to give us much time to prepare for the next round.”

But he seemed to be wrong.  The Trolls were just holding position, waiting...but waiting for what?  For him to attack them, perhaps, or for reinforcements to arrive?  God knew they’d been hurt badly in the battle, even if it had come at terrifying cost.  One third of his starfighters had been wiped out, seven carriers had been destroyed or damaged and nine destroyers had been destroyed by their own weapons.  No doubt the techs would eventually come up with something that would be much safer, if the human race lasted so long.  

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said, quietly.  “All starships have completed their rearming process and are ready to begin operations.”

Paul nodded, a thought running through his head.  If the Trolls were waiting for reinforcements, they were likely to become much stronger as soon as their reinforcements arrived.  And he wasn't going to get any reinforcements, not since 6th Fleet had jumped out on a mission that – he suspected – was targeted on a Troll world.  His strength wouldn’t increase unless he called up starfighters from the local self-defence force, which was unlikely to agree without hesitation.

But could he take the offensive?

His combined force was the strongest human formation outside of Home Fleet itself.  Losing it would shorten the war, but for the first time they’d inflicted crushing losses on the Trolls.  He had a window of opportunity to complete their destruction, or at least force them to flee the system in disarray.  And yet if he pushed it, his own fleet would also take damage, perhaps enough to weaken the system so that the Trolls could overrun it on their second attack.  That was threatening to become a habit.

“Orders to all ships,” he ordered, quietly.  “The battle line will advance and engage the enemy.”

The fleet carrier hummed softly as she glided forward, her escorts and starfighters fanning out around her.  Paul issued orders as the fleet advanced, designating targets for missile bombardment; the remaining bomb-pumped lasers would suffice to destroy the Trolls, assuming they didn't simply retreat.  The starfighters could deal with whatever was left, if anything.

“We are entering missiles range, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “Locking in targets now.”

“Hold fire,” Paul ordered.  The Trolls would be able to eliminate most of the missiles if they were fired from too far outside their own range.  Besides, the closer the fleet advanced, the easier it would be to hit their targets.  He designated a point on the display and nodded to the tactical officer.  “Launch missiles as soon as we reach that point.”

“Understood, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  The Trolls seemed almost stationary, as if they were waiting to lure the human fleet out of position.  But unless they had a much larger fleet in reserve, Paul knew, they weren't going to be able to do anything with the opportunity.  Brisbane Base itself was surrounded by mines, weapons platforms and its own swarm of starfighters.  And New Brisbane was heavily defended.  “Weapons online...”

They reached the designated point.  “Firing!”

Paul watched as the latest swarm of missiles flashed towards their targets.  The Trolls reacted finally, jumping out in a single body.  Paul braced himself, expecting to see them appearing in his rear or attacking Brisbane Base itself, but they were gone.  It looked as if they’d decided that they couldn't win the battle, so they were just pulling back and abandoning the attempt to take the system.

“No enemy ships detected, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “Local space appears to be clear.”

“Return us to the base,” Paul ordered, grimly.  Those ships had escaped to fight another day, along with the damaged ships that had broken off earlier.  It was easy to envisage them being repaired and rearmed and then sent back into battle.  At least there would be more opportunities to try to hit the Troll supply lines, he told himself.  Maybe they could force a stalemate long enough to convince the Trolls that the war was futile.  “And then signal the entire fleet.  Well done.”

***
It was an hour before they figured out what the Trolls had done, an hour during which the last opportunity to stop them had been lost.

“There’s no mistake, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “They’ve taken up position in the asteroid fields, after clearing them of human settlements.  The entire Brisbane-B system is effectively under enemy occupation.”

“They also took out the cloudscoops before they could be stopped,” another officer added.  “Commodore Francis and the task force has been destroyed.”

“Understood,” Paul said.  They’d beaten the Trolls, they’d won a tactical victory – the first real tactical victory that hadn't been immensely costly.  But the Trolls had managed to cripple the system and, with their position secure for the moment, dislodging them would be difficulty.  The scouts suggested that, for the first time, they were deploying automated defence platforms of their own.  They clearly believed that they could hold Brisbane-B for as long as it took.  “Get me a link to the Admiralty.  I’ll discuss this personally with the Grand Admiral.”

He took one last look at the display and then smiled.  “But don’t forget that we beat them,” he added.  “We inflicted far more losses than we took.  And we forced them to run.  We won this battle.”

With that, he stepped through the hatch and past the Marine guards, walking down towards his stateroom.  It wasn't until he was inside that he allowed the confident pose to drop.  They had produced a tactical victory – at a terrifying cost - but it had turned into a strategic stalemate.  The Trolls could keep wearing them down until the fleet was broken, and then finish off New Brisbane whenever the hell they wanted.  No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, the war was very far from won.

Chapter Thirty-Three

New Brisbane
25th August 2435

Hind had watched in horror from the hotel as Oz, the capital city of New Brisbane, dissolved into chaos.  New Brisbane was simply too populated to be evacuated quickly, even if the shipping had been available, although the richer and more powerful citizens had managed to find convenient excuses to leave the planet.  Panic had started the moment the Troll starships appeared in the system, only to be replaced by delight and relief as it became apparent that they were not going to bombard the planet.  And as soon as their attack was beaten off, a massive city-wide party had spontaneously broken out.  Huge crowds had flooded the city’s parks and gardens, while pubs and hotels handed out food and drink for free.  Someone started singing the planet’s national anthem and thousands of voices joined in, followed by heartfelt prayers of thanks for deliverance.  The fact that the Trolls had occupied the other half of the system seemed to have slipped their notice.

She walked through the streets, marvelling at the sights around her.  Large groups of children were playing games on one field, running around chasing one another in delight.  Their older relatives and friends were playing a game that seemed to be a combination of football and basketball, played with four balls and what looked to her like ten separate teams.  In the shadows, couples kissed and made out, half-hidden from public view.  Others were kissing madly in public, dancing through the streets.  Everyone just wanted to be happy and how could she blame them?  The Trolls had an unfortunate tendency to exterminate the human population on one-third of the worlds they targeted.  New Brisbane had been facing the prospect of planetary bombardment when the Trolls finally arrived in their system.  They deserved a chance to relax and enjoy themselves.  

Glancing from side to side, she took thousands of pictures and video clips to be uploaded to Earth through the StarCom network.  Her editor had said that he wanted good news – watching the Trolls hammering their way towards Earth was apparently distressing Earth’s population, along with the rest of the core worlds – and the party presumably counted.  So did the weapons the UNNS had deployed, crude though they were, that had managed to give the Trolls a bloody nose.  With humanity’s vast industrial base devoted to turning out more and more weapons, perhaps the Trolls could be stopped completely.  Or maybe they had merely been delayed, not stopped.

A hand grabbed her and, before she could react, pulled her in for a kiss.  Hind gasped in shock as she saw her assailant, a half-drunk man wearing a military uniform and a big smile on his face.  He kissed her for a long second and then let her go, heading towards the next woman and kissing her too.  Hind wiped her mouth and rolled her eyes, before making a mental note to ensure that that scene wasn't reported to Earth.  Her mother would have a heart attack if she even suspected that her daughter was involved in something immodest.  

Shaking her head, she walked onwards towards the self-defence force HQ.  Like the rest of the city, it seemed to have joined the party, with dozens of personnel spreading out around the city sharing lies about the battle.  She heard several different stories of Troll starships firing towards a particular person, even though she had been informed that the Trolls hadn't actually bothered to attack New Brisbane.  That was interesting, suggesting that the Trolls might want to capture the planet’s orbital infrastructure rather than simply destroying it to deny it to humanity, but there was no way to know for sure, at least until the Trolls returned to the attack.  They’d been beaten off from Capricorn before – Hind had been there, after all – yet they’d returned in force, once they had defeated Admiral Cicero and 6th Fleet.  There was no reason why they couldn't make a second attempt at taking New Brisbane, along with the UNNS naval base in the system.  Indeed, that was exactly what she expected them to do.

Inside the base, all was chaos.  New Brisbane’s defence forces had impressed her as being professional, unlike some of the other self-defence forces, but the city-wide party had even penetrated to the heart of their headquarters.  If Hind had been a terrorist, intent on attacking the base and killing as many servicemen as she could, it would have been easy to sneak a large bomb through the defences and detonate it in the middle of the base.  But instead she wanted to interview General Atwell, the military CO of the self-defence force.  He might have been happier with the bomb-carrying terrorist.

The General was in his office, chatting to someone on the telephone rather than joining the vast crowds outside in the city.  He was a short man, with the build of a spacer, suggesting genetic enhancement somewhere in his family tree.  New Brisbane prided itself on being more cosmopolitan than many other core worlds, but it was surprising that a genie had managed to reach such a high rank outside the RockRat communities.  Or maybe it wasn't such a surprise; someone who ordered his children genetically-enhanced could be charged and jailed for his crime, but it was illegal to persecute the children themselves.  And someone built for life in space would be very well suited to the military.  Perhaps he’d simply worked his way up through the ranks.

He didn't seem too happy to see her, putting the phone down with an audible thump, but Hind was used to that reaction.  “I would have called ahead,” she assured him, as she took a seat facing his desk.  Papers were strewn everywhere, some marked with the red insignia identifying them as top secret documents.  The military had probably been preparing to destroy the paperwork and purge the computers for fear the Trolls would capture them when they invaded the planet.  “But I’m afraid that the phone lines were down.”

“Civilian lines are automatically shut down when the planet is under threat,” Atwell growled.  Besides, even a modern network would probably be overloaded with so many people calling their friends and families to confirm that they were alive and well.  “What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me what, if anything, you intend to do about the Troll presence in your system,” Hind said.  “They’re still here, General.”

Atwell nodded.  “I know,” he said, tightly.  Hind doubted that he would tell her anything even remotely sensitive, but he might let something slip if she pushed him gently.  “Right now, the government wants to focus on the positive rather than the negative.”

Hind, who had a habit of researching the local political situation wherever she went, suspected that there was more to it than that.  Many local politicians had fled the system, heading to Earth in the belief that it was safer than New Brisbane.  Now that the Trolls had been beaten off, their opponents would make plenty of political capital out of their flight – and elections were only three weeks away.  The local government would probably try to avoid calling attention to the cowardly politicians if possible, citing the declaration of martial law and various statues relating to planetary security.  But somehow she doubted that they would manage to cover up the names of the cowards in office.  The local media would make sure of that.  

“But isn't focusing on the positive instead of the negative precisely what got Admiral Cicero to stick her neck into a trap?”  Hind asked, with wide-eyed innocence.  The sweet little girl act had fooled better men than General Atwell in the past.  “She didn't realise that the Trolls had baited a trap until it was too late.”

“That is outside my field of operations,” the General said, firmly.  “As it is, I have a great deal of reorganising to do before the Trolls return to the offensive or we attempt to throw them out of the system.”  He made a show of tapping his intercom.  “Sergeant, please escort the reporter out of the building.  I have work to do.”

Hind smiled to herself as the Sergeant guided her out of the building and outside the gates, before having a few sharp words with the sentries who were supposed to be on duty.  The meeting had been largely useless, but it had taught her a few things about New Brisbane that might be useful in a later puff piece when the real news ran out.  Unsurprisingly, the self-defence force had been more interested in political connections than actual fighting.  Right now, that focus was a deadly danger to the entire planet, now that an alien threat had actually penetrated to the heart of the human race’s territory.  

Grimly, she prayed that Home Fleet was in a better state.  If the Trolls did manage to take New Brisbane, or merely force the defence fleet to withdraw, they would be able to advance right up to Earth itself.  And then the homeworld of humanity would itself be under threat.

***
“We won!”

Connie had to smile as the pilots lifted her up and carried her around the flight deck in delight, showing off their relief that they had not only survived, but beaten off the Troll offensive that threatened New Brisbane.  A third of their fellow starfighter pilots were gone – Connie’s first look at the figures had suggested that they had mostly been maggots – but they were alive and the battle was won.  It was time to party.

She caught sight of Flight Captain Jellico being carried around by his own pilots, just before her pilots put their heads down and charged towards the other pilots, still carrying her on their shoulders.  Jousting was an old tradition in the Navy, but normally it was only done when a pilot earned his spurs as part of a starfighter squadron.  It had been years since Connie had been carried around like a man mounted on horseback, yet she’d never forgotten the joy and relief of finally being accepted as one of their own.  There had been so many maggots shipped out to the fleet in recent months that the tradition had been somewhat overused...

“Charge,” the pilots chanted, as they sped up.  She winked at Jellico as the two groups collided, poking and prodding at each other, before melting apart into a handful of individual pilots once again.  Connie poked Jellico and had the satisfaction of seeing him slowly falling off his perch and falling to the deck, just before she slipped down herself.  All around her, pilots were slapping each other’s backs and sharing stories of death rays they had seen blasting towards them, only to miss by bare inches.  According to one report, one starfighter had passed so close to a death ray that the paint had been scorched by the alien beam.  

There was, if anything, even more celebration in the wardrooms.  Alcohol was strictly forbidden onboard UNNS ships, but one of the enlisted crewmen had set up a still and handed out glasses of something that looked as if it should have been left in the horse.  Connie took a sip, winced at the taste and then swallowed it anyway.  One glass wouldn’t impair her if they had to abandon the party and run back to their fighters, she told herself, and besides they had had very little to celebrate since the trail of tears had begun.  Her pre-war squadron had been reduced to three pilots, all of whom had been sent to lead squadrons made up of maggots and a handful of retired pilots who had returned to the ranks.  Most of her friends had died in one battle or another.

A mob of enlisted crewmen – mainly flight deck crews – arrived as the party started getting louder and rowdier.  Someone turned on a boom-box and started to play loud music, one of the recently-composed songs mocking the Trolls and promising revenge for the mass slaughter they’d wrought on a dozen heavily-populated worlds.  It was so loud and unthinkingly awful that someone had suggested, mostly in jest, that they should use it as a weapon against the Trolls.  The racket would certainly confuse them long enough for the UNNS to land several blows against their formations.

The stories got wilder and wilder as the evening progressed.  One crewman had been recovered from a lifepod launched by Thermopylae, one of the destroyers that had mounted a bomb-pumped laser cannon on its hull.  He claimed to have seen Troll starships sliced in half before their retaliation wrecked the older destroyer in her hour of glory.  Connie didn't doubt his story, even though cold logic suggested that it had been nowhere near as dramatic.  For the first time, human starships had gone toe-to-toe with the Trolls and inflicted actual damage on the nearly-invulnerable aliens.  Even though the Trolls hadn't been thrown entirely out of the system, they had been hammered – and would have to be more careful where they chose to attack in the future.  Indeed, Connie wondered what would happen if every starship was outfitted with bomb-pumped lasers.  A fleet of shipyard tugs would be a more than fair exchange for a handful of Troll cruisers.  The war might be far from lost.

“They’re going to hate themselves in the morning,” a voice said.  Connie looked around to see one of the Petty Officers who supervised the refuelling and rearming of the starfighters when they returned to the ship.  “All that alcohol and music and mess...”

Connie had to smile.  “Let them have fun,” she said, and eyed him meaningfully.  “You want to go find a privacy tube?”

He looked back at her, as if he couldn't quite believe her brash approach, before grinning openly.  “I can’t think of anything better to do,” he said.  “Shall we go?”

Connie couldn't think of anything better to do either.  By the odds, she should be dead by now – and far too many pilots she barely knew had died in the battle.  She had no doubts about her bravery, but the endless retreats and crippling losses – heavier for the human race, always heavier for the human race, at least until now – were taking their toll.  Part of her just wanted to sit down and collapse, even if it meant her death.  It hadn't escaped her notice that the number of pilots seeking counselling or stimulant drugs had skyrocketed over the last two weeks.  They were on the verge of being burned out.

But they’d pulled off a victory, she reminded herself, and shook her head.  Yeah, a victory...but one that was as much a stalemate as anything else.  And it had cost them heavily; in hurting the Trolls, they’d taken a beating themselves.  The nightmare, the one that drugs and sex and her duty couldn't defeat, kept returning to her mind.  Earth and the various colony worlds, the core of the United Nations, being bombarded by the Trolls until they were completely depopulated.  And that would be the end of the war.

***
“I’m planning to raid their bases now,” Paul said.  The scouts had returned from Brisbane-B, having located several Troll installations that appeared to have been shipped into the system.  Unsurprisingly, the Troll fleet train appeared to be as capable as the fleet train the UNNS had built up to support its operations – and it had superior flux drives and other drive technology.  “We can keep them on their toes until we can drive them out of the system.”

“I'm very glad to hear it,” Grand Admiral Ivanovo said.  “The Security Council was very relieved to hear about your victory, Paul.  I’m afraid there will be much kissing of babies in your future.”

Paul blinked.  “Sir?”

“They’ve nominated you for the Golden Earth,” Paul said.  It was a rare award, handed out by the entire General Assembly.  Traditionally, it went to those who had performed a great service for humanity.  Paul would join the inventor of the flux drive, the Admirals who had commanded in the Sutra Intervention and the Magana War, along with several doctors and survey officers.  “I think they intend to recall you long enough to give you the award and then show you off to the media.”

“Oh,” Paul groaned.  “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t have time.  I need to reorganise my squadrons and replace the lost starfighters...”

“I understand your position,” the Grand Admiral said.  “But I’m afraid that they are the civilian leadership and we have to obey, once they finally decide when and where to award you the medal.  I’ll try to ensure that you have at least a week to prepare your fleet before you get recalled to Earth, but there are no guarantees.”

Paul nodded.  “You’ve seen my report,” he said, changing the subject.  “We're dangerously short on the new warheads, Admiral.  Even when we win, the Trolls find new ways to gnaw us.”

“They do have an advantage with those death rays,” the Grand Admiral agreed.  “I’m pushing warhead production as fast as I can – and I’m forwarding you some of Home Fleet’s stockpiles.  There are also going to be a number of Weber and Kratman-class ships heading your way, pulled out of the naval reserve.  They may be outdated today, but they can still carry a bomb-pumped laser cannon and a small crew of volunteers.”

“Good,” Paul said.  It was going to be costly, but the UNNS could replace ancient cruisers and destroyers – even modern cruisers – faster than it could replace fleet carriers.  “Have there been any new developments on the technological front?”

“Not yet,” the Grand Admiral admitted.  “I have teams working on biological weapons, or even nanotech weapons, but progress is slow.”

Paul swore.  Biological weapons had been deployed in combat, once.  An entire colony world had been depopulated as part of a land-grab scheme, a world that was still quarantined two hundred years later.  “Have we really fallen so far?”

“I’m afraid so,” the Grand Admiral said.  “Right now, the Trolls are in our territory and grinding us down.  We may not bring any new weapons to the table before they defeat us – and that will be the end.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Troll-1, Deep Space
15th September 2435

The orders had been explicit – and supported by an update on the war ever since they’d left Capricorn.  Jess was glad that she’d opened the file in the privacy of her stateroom, for the news had shocked her to the core.  The Trolls had forced their way to the very edge of the core worlds, raiding the core of human territory at will.  And that meant that the once-invincible UNNS was on the ropes.  If Earth and the other core worlds were lost, the human race’s ability to continue to fight would be lost along with them.  

She forwarded the orders – and the update on the war – to her senior officers, informing them that a briefing would be held in one hour.  It wasn't a surprise when her subordinates started trying to speak with her beforehand, either to express their support or to protest their orders in horror.  Survey Command was as much civilian as it was military and even the officers who had transferred over from the regular navy would regard their orders with some horror.  They were charged with finding new worlds and boldly going where no one had gone before – it was even Survey Command’s motto – not waging war on the enemies of humanity.  But there was no choice.  The final update had made it clear that 6th Fleet wouldn't be in any position to support them for at least another month.  

Walking down to the briefing compartment, she waited patiently for the holograms representing her senior officers to flicker into existence.  No doubt some of them had been talking to their fellows, trying to build a consensus, although she couldn’t say if they were supporting their orders or protesting against them.  Survey Command had always been more of a consensual organisation than a strictly hierarchical one, unlike the regular military.  Even the old rule that a Captain was the absolute master of his ship was diluted in Survey Command.  No one had realistically expected Survey Command to be forced to fight a war, or do anything more dangerous than escape from hostile aliens.

It galled her to have to take precautions against her own subordinates, to assume that they might be planning to effectively mutiny – against their orders, if not necessarily against her – and to take steps to ensure that any mutiny failed very quickly.  She issued her orders, feeling like a paranoid fool, and then settled back to wait.  It wouldn't be long before the die was cast.

“Our orders are clear,” she said, as the conference opened.  “We are to return to Troll-1 and destroy the planet.”

“You mean commit mass slaughter,” Captain Hendry said.  He was civilian through and through, a man who had never served in the regular navy.  “Even if we only make one pass at the planet, we are going to sentence a great many Trolls to death.”

“You saw the report from the front,” Captain Williamson countered.  He was regular navy, one of the gunslingers assigned to escort the survey ships and cover them as they retreated from hostile territory.  Under the circumstances, Jess was very relieved that he was there, even if she would have preferred a fleet carrier or two.  And then there would have been someone who could take command and remove the responsibility from her shoulders.  “The war is in shouting distance of being lost.”

“I am not a military man,” Captain Prather said, “but it strikes me that the Trolls have only overrun newly-settled colonies, worlds that possessed little in the way of defences or industry to rapidly augment those defences.  If we lost every outer colony world, even the inner worlds, we would not lose more than seven percent of humanity’s entire industrial base.  The core worlds alone could keep fighting for years if necessary.”

“That may be true,” Williamson said, tartly, “but may I remind you that our last set of orders and updates are actually three weeks out of date?  The Trolls may have attacked and captured the inner worlds; they have definitely launched raids against their infrastructure.  Hell, the reports themselves admit that the Trolls have definite advantages over us.  As long as they are sniping away at the core worlds, they have an advantage that they can use to keep us off-balance until they bring up the main body of their fleet and crush the last sparks of resistance from the human race.”

“But our orders are to hit the civilian population of an undefended planet,” Hendry protested.  “We cannot follow those orders.”

“General Order 24 was ordered by the Security Council,” Williamson snapped.  “As such, it is a legal order – and an effective response to the mass slaughter of human civilians by the Trolls.  We may deter them from continuing their slaughter of human civilians by reminding them that their own worlds are under threat.”

“Assuming they think like us,” Prather said.  “They may care nothing for their civilians – if indeed we are looking at their civilians.”

“It is still mass slaughter,” Hendry said.  He crossed his arms firmly.  “Commodore, I believe that we should reject those orders.”

Jess held her tongue for a long moment, silently gauging his support – and those who would support her, or those that were undecided.  Perhaps Hendry took it for weakness, for her started to speak again, suggesting that they should send a note back to Earth requesting clarification before they did anything.  Jess composed herself as best as she could and tapped a command, issuing orders to her Marines.  Hendry could not be allowed to prevent them from carrying out their orders.

“We will be carrying out the orders,” she said, flatly.  She looked around the compartment, looking from face to face.  “Let me be clear on this, gentlemen and ladies; the human race is in serious danger of losing the war, perhaps of being wiped out completely.  We still don’t know why the Trolls started the war in the first place, but the blunt truth is that we are losing the war.  And defeat may mean the end of everything.

“We are in a war emergency situation, declared as such by the Security Council and the General Assembly, and accordingly we are under military orders,” she continued.  “We are the only ships that can carry out their order and we will carry out the order. Our entire civilisation is in danger.  It is our responsibility to defend it.”

“By slaughtering tens of thousands of helpless civilians,” Hendry scowled.  “I reject your militaristic view of the situation...”

Jess spoke over him.  “Right now, we are at war and the standard protocols for governing survey missions no longer apply,” she said.  “Captain Hendry, under the power vested in me by regulations, I am relieving you of command.  The Marines onboard your vessel will take you into custody for the duration of the military emergency.  You may file a protest if you like and I will see to it that it is entered into the mission log.”

“This is outrageous,” Hendry thundered.  “You cannot take my command simply for refusing to follow illegal orders...”

His image vanished in mid-outburst.  Jess carefully concealed her flicker of amusement and then looked over at the other commanders.  “If any of you wish to protest these orders, you may do so and it will be entered in my log,” she said, sharply.  “However, these orders will be carried out.  Any further defiance will be regarded as mutiny while in a state of war and treated as such.”

Someone with genuine military experience would probably have found a better way to handle them, but Jess hadn't been able to think of anything else.  “I have drawn up a preliminary attack plan for discussion,” she added, when no one else bothered to protest.  They’d be demanding her discharge from Survey Command after the war, no doubt, but for the moment they were cowed.  “We will hash out the complete operation here and then proceed to Troll-1.”

She lowered her voice, now that her point had been made.  “I know that this isn't easy for any of us,” she said, “but we have no choice.  Right now, we’re all that the human race has to strike back at the Trolls.”

***
Given the intelligence attached to the first report, Jess half-expected that the Trolls would be there to greet them when they jumped back into their system.  But instead the squadron appeared in empty space, several light hours from the inhabited planet.  Jess had considered attempting to take out the asteroid bases as well as the cloudscoop,  but Captain Williamson had discouraged her.  The Troll starships were far deadlier than any of her ships and the last thing she wanted was an engagement with any of them.  A single Alpha could destroy her entire squadron.  

“Everything appears to be clear, Captain,” the sensor officer said.  “I’m picking up nothing that suggests a Troll presence within encroachment range.”

Jess nodded, feeling the tension rising throughout the bridge.  An engagement with the Trolls here, no matter how disastrous, would have spared her from having to launch a strike against their populated planet.  Hendry’s angry protest, forwarded to her by the Marines, had called her a mass murderer and worse, promising that she would be known as Bloody Jess the Executioner when they returned to human space.  He was probably right, Jess told herself, but it hardly mattered.  The Trolls had to be deterred from bombarding humanity’s core worlds.

“Take us in,” she ordered.  This time, almost every ship under her command would be travelling into the system under cloak.  She had picked their arrival coordinates with some considerable care, bringing them in above the system plane.  The Trolls, like humanity, seemed to keep most of their activity within the system plane, suggesting that anywhere above or below would be less intensely monitored.  Or so she hoped.  The real nightmare was the Trolls picking her up and plotting an ambush as her fleet glided into the inner solar system.  “Prepare to flash-wake the flux drive if anything escapes the cloaking field.”

The hours ticked by remorselessly as Magellan led the way into the inner system, her passive sensors endlessly scrutinising every tiny piece of radiation for signs of Troll activity.  A new base, one they hadn't picked up the first time, was revealed, orbiting alarmingly close to the local star.  Perhaps the Trolls, like humanity’s more dedicated researchers, were heedless of their own safety when it came to studying interesting stars and planets.  Survey Command had lost several starships in the early years when astronomers had sought to get just a little bit closer to dangerous stars.

“Picking up three starships in orbit around the planet,” the sensor officer said, finally.  Jess had taken the opportunity to have a nap and ensure that the rest of her squadron was rested, knowing that the Trolls were unlikely to pick them up until they approached the planet itself.  “One of them is definitely a Beta; the other two are of an unknown class.”

“Log it for the report to the Admiralty,” Jess ordered.  The Trolls might have shown the class to the UNNS by now, but if not it would be another piece of intelligence about their mystery foe.  Even now, she found it hard to believe that so little was known about the Trolls.  What sort of race could prosecute a highly-successful war without even bothering to communicate with its targets?  How could they be so alien that communication was futile?  But it wasn't; the Trolls had managed to demand unconditional surrender.  They just didn't seem aware of the possibilities of a negotiated surrender, on terms.  Perhaps it was lucky that they didn't even seem aware of the possibilities of coming to terms, then breaking them once the human race was no longer able to defend itself.  “Can you pick up anything else surrounding the planet itself?”

“A handful of satellites,” the sensor officer said.  “They’re emitting radio transmissions; I think they’re probably communications satellites, rather than orbital defence installations.  If there are any orbital defence stations, they’re not going active.”

Jess nodded.  Standard procedure in the UN was to keep a number of defence stations stepped down, just to ensure that wear and tear on the equipment didn't ruin it before it was actually called upon to fight.  The Trolls evidently agreed...although, of course, it rather looked as though they had only located a newly-settled colony world.  New Marseilles wouldn't have looked any more impressive whenever the Trolls had discovered it.

“All right,” she said.  “Once we reach Point Alpha, hold us in place and prepare to start rolling missiles out of the shuttlebay.”

“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.  There was a long pause as Magellan finally came to a halt, relative to the planet.  “We’re in position.”

Jess had originally intended to slip as close to the planet as possible and then open fire, counting on surprise to keep the Trolls from shooting down the missiles before they reached the planet.  Captain Williamson had pointed out the flaw in that reasoning; the Troll point defence was vastly superior to its human counterpart.  It was quite possible that they could wipe the missiles out before they struck home, before engaging the survey ships and destroying them.  Instead, they were rolling missiles out into open space at Point Alpha, using gas canisters to propel them towards the planet.  Unless the Trolls had something so far advanced over the human race that it might as well be magic, the missiles would be almost undetectable until they were far too close to the planet.  

“Missiles away, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

Jess nodded, feeling sweat trickling down her back.  “Move us to Point Beta,” she ordered.  Long minutes ticked past as the squadron altered position, separating from the missiles that were now racing silently through space towards their targets.  “And prepare to drop the cloak.”

“We’re in position, Captain,” the helmsman said, finally.

“Take us in towards the planet, full speed,” Jess ordered.  “And drop the cloak.”

Magellan lurched as she built up speed rapidly, heading right towards the target.  From the Troll point of view – she hoped – they would see a human attack force appearing out of nowhere, racing towards a world that they had to defend.  Standard human tactical doctrine called for engaging an enemy attack force as far from the planet as possible; everything depended upon the Trolls agreeing with human tacticians.  Logically, they should – but their technology had allowed them to circumvent human tactical knowledge in several previous encounters.

“The Beta and the unknown ships are moving,” the tactical officer snapped.  “They’re advancing to block us from Troll-1.”

Jess smiled.  “Start firing as soon as they enter range,” she ordered.  It would be a surprise if any of her missiles lasted long enough to reach their targets, but it would give the Trolls something else to think about.  “And prepare to jump us out just before we enter their range.”

The Trolls weren't trying anything fancy; they just deployed into a position that allowed them to target any missile that might otherwise hit the planet and advanced on the human ships.  Magellan opened fire the moment the range closed enough for powered flight, her missiles racing away from her tubes and directly towards the Troll ships.  They opened fire with their death rays, sweeping the missiles out of space with effortless ease.  Jess braced herself as the distance between the two squadrons narrowed rapidly.  Any jump through flux space at high speed would have her crews vomiting on the deck.  

“The missiles are going active...now,” the tactical officer said.  The Trolls seemed to halt, just for a second, as the missiles they’d carefully launched towards the planet came to life and roared at their target.  Their warheads had been carefully programmed to target military installations and then cities – a sop to her Captains who didn't like the idea of bombarding civilians first – and she'd fired enough of them to ensure that several would definitely get through the defences.  “The Trolls are reversing course...”

Too late, Jess thought, coldly.  They’d been lured out of position and it would take them several minutes to get back into position – and by then it would be too late.  The missiles were entering the planet’s atmosphere now, plunging down towards their targets.  A handful of defence installations on the surface opened fire, but most of the missiles survived to detonate nuclear warheads over Troll cities.  Jess watched as dispassionately as she could as massive fireballs swallowed the cities, sending the strange whale-like creatures fleeing for their lives.  It was difficult, almost impossible, to tell how many Trolls had been killed, but it hardly mattered.  The safety of their rear areas had been proven to be nothing more than an illusion.

“The Trolls are reversing course again,” the tactical officer said.  “They’re heading right towards us.”

“Jump us out,” Jess ordered.  There was no point in allowing the Trolls to engage them now that they had completed their mission.  Bloody Jess the Executioner echoed though her mind as the flux drive powered up.  “Now!”

The universe seemed to go dim around her, a second before her chest heaved violently.  There had been no time to calculate a precise jump, leaving some of her officers coughing and vomiting as Magellan returned to normal space.  If the Trolls had managed to track them, they would have easy targets as the survey squadron fought to recover from the lingering effects of jump shock, but the Trolls had other problems.  The planet had been nuked; any survivors would be in desperate need of medical attention.  

I killed them, she thought, feeling guilt twisting at her soul.  The orders had come from Earth, but she had carried them out.  I murdered millions of alien civilians...if they hated us before, what will they do now?

She shook her head, angrily.  The Trolls had started to slaughter human civilians first; they couldn’t complain if humanity responded in kind.  It was inhuman, but survival trumped everything.  The high ideals of the United Nations no longer mattered when humanity was facing an alien race that could exterminate the entire human population.

Or so she told herself.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Area 51
20th September 2435

“It didn't work?”

“I’m afraid not,” Bowery said.  Janine nodded, sourly.  They’d hoped that the Troll ship they’d captured had been alone.  Now, it seemed as though it had either managed to get off a transmission or had been quietly shadowed by another Troll starship.  “The Irons was destroyed when the Trolls somehow neglected the pulse blaster and returned fire.”

“I told you that that would happen sooner or later,” Lombardi said.  The little scientist had been pulled out of the captured ship to take part in the conference, something he’d loudly protested at the time.  “They use shaped energy fields to direct their death rays.  Once they knew what they were facing, they were able to reshape them to absorb the pulse from the pulse-blaster.  I suspect it probably inflicted some damage, but not enough to fry their entire command network.”

“Right,” Janine said.  Once again, she had been put on the sidelines of the war, helping to refine ideas from the scientists and producing actual hardware that could be used against the Trolls.   “They also know that we have bomb-pumped lasers.  Can they use their energy fields to counter them?”

“I doubt it,” Lombardi said.  “A standard bomb-pumped laser may be a great deal less subtle than the pulse blaster”-  he paused, long enough to admire his invention – “but it is also considerably more powerful.  They may manage to bleed off some of the bomb’s energy, which may explain some of the weirder results from the Battle of New Brisbane, yet it won’t be enough to completely neutralise the blast.  In fact, two or three strikes at roughly the same moment will completely overload their system and prevent them from bleeding off any energy at all.”

He smiled, looking rather pleased with himself.  “By combining technology we reverse-engineered from the Trolls and some of our own technology, we have actually managed to produce a heavy energy weapon of our own,” he continued.  “It isn't really the same as the Troll death rays, but linked to a singularity of our own it should produce a devastating blast – and our simulations suggest that it will actually have a considerably longer range than the Troll death rays.  I don't think I need to tell you just how much of an advantage that would give us in future battles.”

Janine nodded, unable to conceal her glee.  The Trolls wouldn't be able to intercept human-designed energy weapons, any more than they could intercept bomb-pumped laser beams.  And if the human race had the range advantage, they could simply obliterate the Trolls from outside their own range, massacring them before they could escape.  After what the Trolls had done in almost every encounter, at least until New Brisbane, the thought of slaughtering their starships was a dangerously seductive proposition.

“However, the energy weapon demands vast amounts of power,” Lombardi added, ruefully.  “There are theories for minimising the requirements, but only theories.  I believe that we can create our own singularity power core for Phoenix, yet if the core were to destabilise the battlecruiser would rapidly become helpless.”

“Or at least disarmed,” Janine said.  “I was under the impression that the battlecruiser still had all four fusion cores.”

“For the moment,” Lombardi confirmed.  “But we may have to pull one or two of them out of the ship – or relocate it – if we need more room for the singularity core.  Luckily, she’s a very big ship.”

Janine nodded.  Fifteen years ago, the then-Grand Admiral had allowed a Doctor Macpherson, a starship designed from Nova Scotia, to construct what he’d been told had been the first of a next generation of combat starships.  Unluckily, Doctor Macpherson’s genius hadn't accounted for the limitations of modern technology and his battlecruiser design had been massively underpowered for its size.  Phoenix, the single unit to be constructed, had been eventually towed to the fleet yards orbiting Mars and abandoned, while the Grand Admiral had been urged to take early retirement.  Naturally, the system being what it was, Doctor Macpherson had spent the intervening years complaining about how the Navy had failed to build his grand starship.  The fact that the starship was next to useless seemed to have escaped his mind.

But combined with a singularity core, it should be able to fly and fight properly – and as the starship was already largely constructed, there was no point in building a new testbed starship from scratch.  A pair of tugs had transported Phoenix to Area 51 and the base’s team of dedicated yard workers had already begun refitting her – and then adding new modifications to the design as more and more of the Troll technology was unlocked.

“There will be other problems,” Lombardi admitted.  Unlike Doctor Macpherson, he did seem to have some understanding of basic military realities.  “The main one is that the big gun will be unidirectional; you can blast anything in front of you, but you won’t be able to cover your own rear.  If the Trolls manage to get into your blind spot, you can kiss your ass goodbye.”

“That...isn’t really a good thing,” Janine pointed out, with what she felt was magnificent understatement.  “Is there nothing you can do about that?”

“Well, we are working on scaling up their handheld energy projectors and duplicating their force fields they use to direct their fire, but nothing has yet come out of it,” Lombardi said, slowly.  “One piece of good news is that we have managed to design a new form of armour coating that will be much more resistant to their death rays.  Once we have ironed out the kinks in the formula, we will be able to apply it to normal starships as well as our testbed, giving them some chance for survival against the Trolls at close-quarter range.  However, the armour won’t stand up to their fire for very long...”

“Every little helps,” Janine said, dryly.

“What we have managed to come up with is something that may give us another advantage,” Lombardi added.  “We have been doing a great deal more research into railgun systems and magnetic fields lately and we think we have a way to create a semi-autonomous magnetic field that can be used as a containment field for supercharged plasma, perhaps even antimatter.  Put simply...”

“Please,” Janine said.

“...The device effectively produces plasma projectiles that can be used against enemy starships,” Lombardi explained.  “Think of it as a machine gun that shoots bursts of energy instead of bullets.  Unlike standard missiles, the plasma pulses shouldn’t react badly to being hit by their death rays; the worst that will happen is that the magnetic field will lose containment early and then release the plasma.  We’re not sure what this will do to a Troll hull if it happens to hit, though.”

Janine nodded.  “Can you produce a working model of the device?”

“Fairly quickly, although swapping over to mass production may be difficult,” Lombardi said.  “But that led to a whole new area for prospective research.”

He grinned.  “Do you want to know what else you can use a singularity for?”  He kept speaking before Janine could answer.  “I think you can use it to produce antimatter in vast quantities.”

“Except the Trolls don’t seem to be in the habit of using antimatter weapons,” Janine pointed out.  Lombardi’s enthusiasm was infectious, but she’d seen too many bright ideas fail to work in the cold light of day.  “Why don't they use it for themselves?”

Lombardi shrugged.  “Their technology seems more geared to producing energy weapons than projectiles – which isn't too surprising when you consider what they can do with their energy weapons,” he said.  “Any missile we launch can be shot down by the Trolls before it reaches its target, unless it happens to mount a bomb-pumped laser.  They may feel that antimatter is simply too dangerous to mess with unless there’s no other choice – and so far they haven’t really had any reason to question that assessment.”

Janine considered it, slowly.  “But you think you can produce vast amounts of antimatter,” she said, thoughtfully.  “What can we do with it?”

“I’m still working on that,” Lombardi said.  “Antimatter warheads are one obvious answer, because if they happen to be hit by death rays their antimatter containment fields will fail and the antimatter will explode.  I think even their sensors would have problems coping with the energy released by a swarm of antimatter projectiles...”

“So will ours,” Janine said, coldly.  “And so will any starfighters that happen to be following the missiles into the engagement zone.  I think that this is one weapon that is more likely to work for them than for us.”

“There are other possibilities,” Lombardi protested.  “We might be able to produce an antimatter cannon, something that can be targeted on their ships from a distance...”

“I’d hate to be onboard a ship that carried so much antimatter,” Janine said, wryly.  “One hit and the explosion would vaporise the entire squadron.”

“So it would seem,” Bowery said.  “Perhaps we don’t want to interest the Trolls in what antimatter can do for them.”

Lombardi flushed angrily, but nodded.  “There are two other possibilities,” he concluded.  “One is provisionally termed the fission beam.  It causes limited nuclear fission when targeted against a solid object, causing a major explosion.  We managed to get the beam to work in the labs, but so far we haven't been able to produce one that can be used in the field.  The second is actually far more frightening.  We’ve termed it the decoherence cannon.”

“And what,” Janine asked, “does that do?”

“It causes decoherence,” Lombardi said.  “Basically, it is an upscale version of the fission beam, but unlike its parent the effect propagates through its target and releases almost all of the energy bound up inside the solid object.  You could turn it on a planet and it would go up like a supernova.  Imagine all the old nightmares about grey goo coming true.”

“My God,” Janine said.  “What...what would this weapon do to a Troll ship if we hit it?”

“Destroy it, completely,” Lombardi said, flatly.  “They wouldn't stand a chance.  The whole ship would simply be wiped from existence.”

“We need it,” Bowery said.  “How long until you can produce a working model?”

“Several weeks, probably longer,” Lombardi said.  “Actually, almost certainly a great deal longer.  We’d have to make the jump from theory to practice and we don't have much from the Trolls to guide us in this direction.  Besides, we may want to do the experiments some distance from the base.  I really don't want to lose control of a decoherence field right here.”

Janine frowned.  “What prevents a fission beam from losing control too?”

“The fission beam causes an effect that outruns the fission field, therefore destroying its own source of reaction mass,” Lombardi said.  “Depending on the target, the results could be anything from a minor explosion to a nuclear-scale explosion that is actually part of the target’s hull.  The result could be spectacular.”

“True,” Janine agreed.  The UNNS built starships to resist nuclear strikes, but multiple hits were always immensely destructive even if the ship itself remained intact.  But the Trolls circumvented that by using death ways to bore into the hulls and slice through the vulnerable matter beyond.  If Lombardi was right, the fission beam would actually turn that solid defence against the starship, transforming its armour into a deadly liability.  “How long will it be until you can produce something we can use?”

“Several weeks, I think,” Lombardi said.  “We’re trying to solve most of the problems now – it helps that we've actually proved that the technology works.  Once we have a working design, we can pass it on to the industrial nodes in the core worlds.  And in the meantime we can keep working on Phoenix.”

***
The experimental battlecruiser was over six hundred metres long, a flattened cylinder with drive nodes that tapered out from her rear.  Up close, she was an impressive starship and it was easy to see why Professor Macpherson had believed that she would be the model for all future starships.  Seeing her, Janine wanted her, even though she knew all of the design’s manifold weaknesses, weaknesses that might be corrected now that the human race had started unlocking the mysteries of Troll technology.

Grand Admiral Ivanovo had stated that Rubicon’s crew would be transferred to Phoenix as soon as the battlecruiser was ready to be deployed, but there was no guarantee that they would see battle at once.  In fact, there were strong reasons to forbid Phoenix from ever encountering the Trolls until the human race had produced enough of the new weapons to have a decisive effect on the battle.  Janine resented those reasons even as she understood the logic; if the Trolls had advance warning of the new technology, they would presumably start working on defences and countermeasures.  And yet...

...The Trolls had been stopped at New Brisbane.  That much was clear, but they had been stopped at Capricorn too and they had returned to the system shortly afterwards.  And they had continued raiding, first into the inner worlds and then into the core worlds themselves.  It was impossible to know just what they knew about humanity, but their raids were keeping vital war material pinned down guarding priceless installations.  A raid on the Scorpion Shipyard had destroyed two fleet carriers before they could be completed.  If the Trolls managed to destroy the remaining shipyards, the war was as good as lost.  It had taken centuries to build up Earth’s vast infrastructure, let alone the factories and industrial nodes in the core worlds.  The Trolls could destroy entire industrial nodes in a single lucky strike.

The Grand Admiral had briefed her personally on a contingency plan she hadn't even anticipated, until she’d understood just how disastrous the entire war had become.  There were plans to continue the war even after the loss of Earth, to rebuild in secret and then return to the fight.  If Earth fell, a contingency that was all too possible, she had orders to take Phoenix and the captured Troll ship – and most of Area 51 – to a hidden base, where they could continue their research and development.  It wasn't a good plan, Janine considered, but it was the best one they had.  Other starships had apparently been issued sealed orders to be opened in the event of complete disaster.  She wouldn't be alone in resisting the Trolls if the worst came to worst.

She shook her head as she walked away from the observation blister and down towards the intelligence station.  The Troll starship had proven a mine of useful insights into the nature of the Troll campaign, even if its command network – and computer databases – had been completely fried by the attack that had captured it.  One piece of intelligence had been some working information on the miniaturised Troll FTL communicator.  Given the right sensors, a human starship could actually search for Troll rendezvous points and track their jumps from their mysterious homeworld to the battle front.  Like humanity, they had a fleet train, even if their logistics were significantly better than the UN’s.  That had been a disconcerting surprise.  The UN had been used to thinking of itself as the foremost expert in interstellar logistics.

“Captain,” Commander Slater called, as Janine entered the compartment.  “Take a look at this!”

Janine studied the holographic star chart, thoughtfully.  Red icons represented locations where the Trolls had made transmissions, presumably reporting their safe arrival to their high command.  There was no way to tell just where the transmissions were going, at least not directly, but signals intelligence had picked up a handful of promising leads.

“The important detail,” Slater said, “is that they have run no less than ten convoys through the same general location.  Right here, they have been running the ships through the point at a rate of one every five days.  I think they’re probably reinforcing their foothold in the New Brisbane system.”

Janine nodded.  Now that the Trolls had established themselves in the system, they were raiding human bases – and humans were doing the same to them.  It made little sense to her, unless they were trying to wear the humans down; why didn't they just retreat back into interstellar space, secure in the knowledge that human starships couldn't track them down?  She wasn't the only tactician to question their actions, but they’d created a position that forced the UN to come to them.  They couldn't be left alone to build up in the New Brisbane system, or they’d eventually produce an impregnable fortress.

“They may not realise that we can track their transmissions,” Slater said.  Janine wouldn't have taken that on faith – the Trolls did know that the human race had StarCom technology – but the only way they could have prevented detection was to shut down all transmissions completely.  And doing that would scupper their ability to use coordination against their enemies on Earth.  “If we were to forward this to Admiral Howard, he might be able to take advantage of the opportunity to run a set of ships into raiding position.”

“Might work,” Janine said.  At least it was action.  “How long do they stay there?”

“I’m not sure,” Slater admitted.  “Their drives seem to recharge quicker than ours.  I think that they don’t stay at the RV points any longer than ten minutes, but the only thing we have to go on are their transmissions.”

“True,” Janine agreed.  Any data from Area 51 was scrubbed before it was couriered to Earth and then transmitted out of the core worlds, but it still bothered her.  If the Trolls launched a surprise attack on the base, they would be able to destroy Phoenix, the scientists and the single captured ship.  It would set Earth’s research efforts back decades.  “Have it prepared for transport to Earth.  Admiral Howard will know what to do with it.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Deep Space (15LY From New Brisbane)
25th September 2435

“We promise you one hell of a show,” Captain Chen said.  He grinned, openly.  “This is what our ships were designed to do.”

Hind nodded, impatiently.  The 24th Cruiser Squadron – otherwise known as the Avenging Angels – dated all the way back to the early years of the Magana War, where they’d raided deep into enemy territory before the UNNS took the offensive and eventually pushed the Magana back to their homeworld.  She wasn't quite sure how the same offensive sprit transferred from the original officers and crew to their successors, but the military seemed to take it seriously.  And besides, they’d been offered a chance to take a crack at an unsuspecting Troll convoy.

“Assuming that the Trolls aren’t waiting for you,” she said, finally.  The briefing officer had pointed out that the Trolls could be setting a trap, even though they seemed to prefer to attack targets that humanity had to defend rather than bait traps in the hope that it would draw attention.  “I thought they could use any coordinate in interstellar space as an RV point, so why do they keep using the same one over and over again?”

Chen smiled.  “The same reason we do,” he said.  “If something were to happen to a starship as it made the jump, it might not be able to continue from one RV point to the next.  By using the same RV points, they make search and rescue missions something more than an exercise in futility.  We assume that they would prefer not to expend starships randomly.”

“I see,” Hind said.  It didn't strike her as too convincing, but she was hardly a military officer.  Besides, given the sheer scale of the fighting that had raged over the New Brisbane system ever since the Trolls had occupied half of it, it was a chance to catch the Trolls with their trousers down.  “And what if they don’t bother to walk into our trap?”

“Then we will eventually have to give up,” Chen said.  “But we do know that the Trolls can be out-thought.  They may not have realised that we can track their StarCom transmissions.  The Magana certainly never did.”

“The Magana stole their technology off another advanced race,” Hind pointed out.  Far too many people seemed to believe that that was true of the Trolls; they’d simply been uplifted to spacefaring status by another unknown race.  It suggested a way that they could have gained advanced technology without the moral insights and social development that they should have developed along the way.  But the human progress towards technology hadn’t been one smooth walk towards social justice and equality.  “Should we really assume that the same is true of the Trolls?”

Chen shrugged, seemingly growing impatient with her questions.  “I think that if we assign the Trolls the status of supermen we are going to lose,” he said.  “So far, the war has raged for months and the Trolls have not put any new weapons system into deployment, while we have produced the bomb-pumped laser and – if rumour is correct – other weapons that can be used against the Trolls.  Even if we force them to do nothing more than reroute their convoys from their homeworlds, we will be forcing them to react to us for a change.”

And that, Hind knew, was the core of the problem.  The lustre of the victory at New Brisbane had faded as the Trolls regrouped, occupied half the system and then started raiding deeper and deeper into human space.  Humanity needed victories to keep its morale high, or the UNNS would come apart as political leaders started trying to make their own deals with the Trolls.  Rumour claimed that a couple of rogue worlds had already signed agreements with the Trolls; Hind knew that no one had managed to uncover any proof, but the rumours were still spreading.  All the faultlines within the UN’s great edifice were threatening to come apart as the war pressed closer and closer to humanity’s homeworld.

“Captain,” the sensor officer said, suddenly.  “I’m picking up starships jumping into the area!”

“Battle stations,” Chen snapped.  Red icons were flickering into existence, all Troll; Hind counted nineteen before she gave up.  “Set condition two throughout the squadron; I say again, condition two.”

Hind nodded as she took the seat that had been reserved for her.  Even knowing the rough location of the Troll RV point, it was quite possible that their convoy would arrive millions of kilometres from where the UN starships had positioned themselves.  Chen and his fellow commanders would have to decide if they should sneak closer under cloak and open fire, or let the Trolls go and wait for a better target.  Given that they’d been waiting for three days before the Trolls finally arrived, she had a feeling that Chen would prefer to be aggressive rather than wait in hope.

“Their jump sequence appears to have been completed,” the sensor officer reported, two minutes after the first Troll starship had arrived.  “I counted forty-two jump signatures, all consistent with Gamma-class starships or higher.”

“There will be escorts,” Chen said, more to himself than to anyone else.  “Helm, take us closer to the Trolls; tactical, start plotting firing solutions.  All stations, prepare to engage the enemy.”

The distance between the two squadrons closed rapidly, but the Trolls appeared to be under very good signal discipline.  There was little energy radiating from the Troll ships, nothing to identify them to watching human sensor officers.  Logically, most of them would be Gamma-class freighters, Hind told herself, but identifying Troll starships at a distance wasn't easy.  A ship that had been identified as a Gamma could easily be an Alpha or something that the human race hadn't encountered beforehand.  

And yet they had to hurry.  Observational data had confirmed that Troll warships could recharge their flux drives far faster than any human starship.  What no one was sure about – what the plan was counting on, to some extent – was if that was true of Troll freighters.  If the Gammas took longer to recharge, there would be a window of opportunity to catch and destroy them.  If not...well, as Chen had pointed out, at least they’d give the Trolls a fright and pick up some more data for the intelligence staffers.  

“I’m starting to pick up individual ships,” the sensor officer said.  “Thirty-seven of them appear to be Gammas, although five of them may be a variant on the class or something completely new.  The remainder are Alphas.  They’re conducting short-range sensor sweeps of the surrounding area of space.”

“Tactical, target the Gammas and upload your firing coordinates to the remainder of the squadron,” Chen ordered.  Hind blinked in surprise, wondering why they weren't trying to target the Alphas.  Chen must have noticed her confusion, because he provided an explanation.  “We don’t have the numbers for a duel with their warships, so we hit the freighters and jump out when they launch a counterattack.”

“Targets locked,” the tactical officer said.

The display washed red.  “They have us,” the sensor officer snapped.  An electric charge seemed to flash through the bridge.  “Their sensors just penetrated our cloaking fields.”

“Fire,” Chen snapped.  “All ships, fire!”

UNS McQueen shuddered as she unleashed a full broadside from her missile tubes, firing directly towards the Gammas.  One advantage the bomb-pumped laser missiles had over standard contact or proximity nukes, Hind had been informed, was that they had a longer effective range than the more typical missiles.  The Trolls might just assume that the humans had panicked and fired too early, but even if they didn't they were going to have problems evading or destroying the missiles before it was too late.

At least until they put a countermeasure into place, Hind thought, grimly.  Humans had a reputation for being innovative, but the Trolls were presumably innovative themselves.  At worst, they could simply copy some of humanity’s weapons and countermeasures.  They’d certainly captured enough wreckage to reverse-engineer human systems if they found their own insufficient.  But why should they believe that they had to copy humanity’s tech?  It was far more likely that they would adapt their own technology to match humanity’s innovations.  

“The Alphas are moving into defence positions,” the sensor officer said.  “They’ll be in a position to take out the missiles before they reach firing range.”

“That's some quick thinking on their side,” Chen observed.  It looked risky, for the Trolls, but if Hind understood what was going on properly it wasn't really a risk at all.  The targeted ships might not have been able to intercept the missiles before they entered their own attack range, but the untargeted ships could put themselves between the missiles and their targets, scything them down before they could reach engagement range and detonate.  “Switch the salvo to the Alphas; launch a second salvo at the Gammas...”

The display updated, terrifyingly quickly.  “Sir, the Alphas jumped out,” the sensor officer said.  A handful of red icons flashed and vanished from the display.  “The missiles wasted themselves on empty space.”

New red icons flickered into life behind the squadron.  “And now they’re behind us,” the tactical officer added.  “Closing into engagement range...”

“Squadron orders; all ships, evasive action,” Chen snapped.  “Fire at will; I say again, fire at will.”

He looked over at the sensor officer as McQueen rolled through space, launching missiles from her rear tubes.  “How the hell did they do that?”

“Unknown, sir,” the sensor officer said.  He hesitated, studying his console, and then looked up at his CO.  “They must have been watching the missiles very carefully, with their drives on a hair-trigger.  The moment they picked up signs that the bombs were about to detonate, they jumped out of the way.”

“And the bombs wasted themselves on empty space,” Chen snarled.  The second salvo had detonated, taking out three Gammas and savaging two more, but it hadn't been the decisive attack he’d planned.  “Retarget the remaining Troll freighters and fire as you bear.”

“Cooper Hawk is under attack,” the tactical officer snapped.  Hind winced; she’d visited the Hawk only a day ago to conduct a handful of background interviews.  Now, the cruiser was being torn apart by a Troll starship.  The range had dropped so far that the Trolls could take out bomb-pumped laser missiles before they could detonate.  “Shane and Dalhousie being targeted...”

“Spin up the drives,” Chen ordered.  His orders had given him the latitude he needed to cut his losses if the operation proved to be a failure.  “Jump us out of here...”

“Captain, three of the Gammas appear to be manoeuvring themselves into firing position,” the sensor officer said.  “I’m not picking up targeting emissions, but they wouldn't need them with so many other warships in the area.”

Chen swore.  “It must be their version of a Q-Ship,” he said.  “Continue firing!”

“Drives spinning up now,” the helmsman added.  “Thirty seconds to jump.”

Thirty seconds too long, Hind thought, as an Alpha fired on McQueen.  The entire cruiser shook violently as the death ray dug into her upper hull, just before the tactical officer fired the three bomb-pumped lasers mounted on her armour.  Hind allowed herself a moment of relief as the Troll starship seemed to stagger backwards, just before a dull thump echoed through the entire ship.  A dozen consoles went black, followed rapidly by the gravity failing as the ship spun out of control.  The Troll ship had inflicted enough damage to cripple its target.

“Flux drive is still active,” the helmsman said.  But Hind knew that jumping while they were so badly damaged could put them anywhere, including inside a star.  “Captain?”

“Jump us out, now,” Chen snapped.  Another Alpha was twisting itself into firing position, it’s death rays locking onto the hull.  “Jump now!”

Hind felt her chest heave as the flux drive activated, and then the entire ship shuddered so hard that she was convinced it was about to break up.  The world seemed to dim around her, as if something was pressing down on her eyeballs, just before McQueen shuddered her way back into normal space.  There was a final tearing sensation running through the vessel’s hull and then nothing, but silence.  

“Jump completed,” the helmsman said, into the silence.  Hind was suddenly aware of liquid – blood and vomit – floating through the air.  There seemed to be a very light gravity field...no, it was the air circulating through the compartment, pushing the balls of liquid towards the bulkheads.  When they struck solid metal, they exploded into countless smaller balls that drifted everywhere.  A body spun past her and she jerked back, knocking her entire body into a spin that eventually knocked her into a bulkhead.  “Captain?”

Chen was bleeding from a wound to his forehead, the blood bubbling away from his wound and drifting through the air.  “Did the rest of the squadron make it out?”

“Unknown,” the sensor officer said.  “We jumped out on a random vector; they presumably did the same.  They could be anywhere.  Our sensor systems are badly degraded.”

Hind saw the implications and shuddered.  “The Trolls could be right outside!”

Chen snorted.  “I wouldn't worry about it too much,” he said, flatly.  Hind lifted an eyebrow as she tried to pull herself down from the ceiling.  “If they are outside, we’re dead anyway.  I don’t think there’s any point in wasting time worrying about it.”

He keyed his wristcom.  “All stations, report in,” he ordered.  From what Hind had been told, the wristcom units had been reconfigured after Rubicon’s experience at New Marseilles.  Right now, they didn't depend on the starship’s internal communications system to function properly.  “Sound off by compartment.”

The tactical officer caught Hind’s hand as she spun down towards the deck and passed her something that looked like an oversized gun.  It took her a moment to realise that it was a vacuum cleaner to suck in all of the liquid running through the air.  Two of the crew appeared to have been badly injured, but there was little she could do to help.  What medical training she’d had hadn't been in a null-gravity field.

“We lost two of the fusion cores,” a voice said.  Hind looked up to hear the Chief Engineer’s voice, drifting out of the Captain’s wristcom.  “The flux drive is still active, but I wouldn't put much money on it surviving long enough to do more than two more jumps.  In fact, I’d strongly suggest jumping to Pegasus rather than trying to make it back to New Brisbane.  We can reach Pegasus in a single jump.”

“The helm can start working out the calculations,” Chen ordered, grudgingly.  Pegasus was a RockRat system; the UNNS would prefer not to seek help from them, even though the RockRats were fighting the Trolls alongside the United Nations.  Right now, such a thought struck Hind as thoroughly absurd.  “How’s our structural integrity?”

“Poor,” the Chief Engineer admitted.  “The framework was sliced through in two places, Captain.  It’s quite possible that the rest of the ship will come apart under impact of one more jump.”

“Another good reason to go to Pegasus,” Chin muttered.  “Helm, plot us a course to Pegasus, but do not engage the drive without my permission.”

He looked over at what remained of his bridge, and then scowled.  “We’ll have to float here until we have checked the entire ship and done what repairs we can,” he added.  “Start moving the wounded to sickbay and hope like hell that the stasis tubes are still working.”

***
Hind had seen horror before, but the interior of a badly-damaged starship was something out of her nightmares.  Pressed into service as a medical orderly, she helped manoeuvre the wounded into sickbay, often fighting to keep them under control as they thrashed about and made their wounds worse.  There seemed to be an endless series of dead bodies; crewmen who had been caught up in the damaged parts of the ship, or simply slammed into bulkheads when McQueen made her final desperate jump.  Parts of the ship seemed to have lost their integrity, atmosphere leaking out into space through dozens of tiny gashes in the hull.  The internal monitoring sensors had been destroyed, leaving the only sign that there was a leak the faint hiss as the air escaped into outer space.  

The medical and engineering staff seemed to be badly overwhelmed, even with most of the rest of the crew seconded to them for the duration of the emergency.  Hind helped as best as she could, even though she was so tired that she just wanted to crawl into a bunk and collapse, before finally returning to the bridge at the Captain’s command.  Two engineers had refitted the helm console with a computer node they’d brought up from storage, but it was clear to her that McQueen was in no state for trouble.  They’d just have to pray that the RockRats found them before the Trolls.

“I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be, Captain,” the Chief Engineer said, finally.  “We’ve braced the inner superstructure as best as we can, but the struts are composed of hullmetal and we don't have any onboard – or the tools to cut it, for that matter.  I’m not even sure why parts of the hull appear to have aged and cracked.  The Trolls might have been experimenting with a new weapon.”

Hind saw the awful logic of it and shuddered.  Hullmetal was far from indestructible, as the Trolls had been proving ever since the first battle, but it was incredibly tough.  It simply didn't suffer any form of metal fatigue.  To see such effects on a combat starship was downright alarming.  Maybe it had been an effect of the random jump, or maybe the Chief Engineer was right and the Trolls were experimenting with a new weapon.

“The RockRats will probably know what happened to us,” the Captain said.  “For now, all we can do is limp to Pegasus and hope that whoever finds us first is friendly.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

New Brisbane
27th September 2435

“So was it a new weapon or not?”

“We’re not sure,” the analyst admitted.  Paul swallowed the urge to tell him to go away and not come back until he was sure, one way or the other.  “McQueen jumped to a random set of coordinates, with a fluctuating flux field, heavy damage and an alien starship firing on her.  It is possible that some combination of those effects produced an aging effect in the hullmetal...”

His voice trailed off as Paul glowered at him.  “Hullmetal isn't supposed to age,” he said, flatly.  “Was there anything unusual about McQueen’s hull?”

“Nothing that was recorded during her last refit,” the analyst said.  He wasn't the best in the Navy, naturally.  New Brisbane might have defeated the Trolls, but that hadn’t stopped the base being stripped of all non-essential personnel, along with shipyard workers from the planet’s orbital industries.  It was just a matter of time before the Trolls destroyed them, even if they were reluctant to challenge the combined fleet again.  “And she was the only ship in the squadron to suffer such effects...the only surviving ship, I mean.”

Paul’s lips twitched.  The analysts never seemed to grasp that behind every statistic was a set of lives destroyed or ruined by the Trolls.  They might have regarded the Trolls as a fascinating puzzle, but the rest of the military had to regard the Trolls as a deadly enemy, one who might just have produced a new weapon out of their assholes.  Or maybe it was just a coincidence and the Trolls had had nothing to do with it.

But if the effect had spread further, merely trying to jump would have destroyed the ship – and seven Avenging Angels hadn't – yet – returned home.  Three had been confirmed destroyed by Troll death rays, but what had happened to the others?  Had their hullmetal weakened so strongly that they’d shattered when they’d tried to jump out?  Or were they floating in interstellar space, unable to jump home?  There was no way to know.  

“Keep working on it,” he said, finally.  The RockRats had custody of McQueen’s wreckage and they were good at figuring out technological puzzles.  He just hoped that they’d bother to share the results with the UN when they were done.  “Has there been anything new from the communications intercept stations?”

“No, Admiral,” the analyst said.  “Their last report stated that the Trolls appeared to be altering their convoy routes.”

Paul nodded and waved his hand in dismissal.  The analyst fled, leaving him alone to read the details of the report from the post-battle assessment teams.  They seemed to be in two minds if the Trolls had planned an ambush or not, but one thing was definitely clear.  The Trolls were altering their convoy routes and it might not be possible to stage another attack on their freighters.  And that meant that they could build up at leisure.

He tapped a switch, looking up at the chart of the system.  Ever since the first battle, the Trolls had been moving more and more firepower into the asteroid fields surrounding Brisbane-B.  Their starships were jumping in, raiding a couple of targets and then fleeing, while the UNNS lacked the firepower to dislodge their bases from the system.  New Brisbane was effectively under siege, while Brisbane Base was repelling attacks almost every second day.  The analysts thought that the Trolls had been badly weakened, but their only real proof lay in the negative; the Trolls hadn't made a second serious attempt to capture or destroy Brisbane Base, let alone the entire system.

At least he’d received some reinforcements.  His starfighter compliment had been rebuilt to almost pre-battle levels, while the makeshift Joe Buckley-class of starships had arrived to help hold the line against the Trolls.  The whole idea of suicide ships struck him as thoroughly unpleasant, but there was apparently no shortage of volunteers for manning ships that were really nothing more than tugs with bomb-pumped lasers mounted on their hulls.  Some of the volunteers had lost friends and families to the Trolls, others were heeding the call for holy war issued by a joint religious commission.  The latter were particularly dangerous.  One simply couldn't trust fanatics to go haring off after the right targets.

But the blunt truth was that the United Nations was losing the war.  Each raid into the core systems didn't just damage civilian morale.  It also cost the human race vitally important industrial nodes that couldn't be replaced quickly, if at all.  Paul had studied the Magana War, humanity’s greatest war prior to first contact with the Trolls, back when he’d been at the Academy and one thing had been clear.  Victory had gone to the side that had been able to out-produce the enemy while destroying the enemy’s industrial nodes.

It wasn't something that sat well with many Academy cadets, and the young Paul had agreed with them.  There was no room for bravery, loyalty and honour in cold economics, the same cold economics that determined the outcome of the Magana War.  In the end, the human race had produced thousands of starships and the Magana had simply been swamped, while producing new classes of weapons and defensive systems to ensure that the Magana were unable to trump quantity with quality.  It wasn't a pleasant thought, but Paul had been having visions of the last human starship in the war destroying a Troll ship, only to see another one jump in from their mysterious homeworld.  As long as the Troll industrial base remained intact, supplying their front lines, the human race was doomed.

The real question, the one that kept his analysts up late at night, was just what the Trolls were preparing for humanity.  They’d won all of the early battles through superior firepower, right up until the moment humanity had produced bomb-pumped lasers, evening the odds to some degree.  Right now, they had to know that they couldn't trade ships for bomb-pumped lasers, not unless their fleet was vast enough to raise the question of why they hadn't attacked Earth already.  Logically, they had to be preparing their own surprise...but what?  And how long would it take them to get whatever they had in mind out to the front lines?

Producing bomb-pumped laser warheads had been easy.  They weren't that different from standard nukes, certainly not enough to require massive retooling before the industrial stations started churning them out.  But what could the Trolls do to counter them?  The analysts believed that they would attempt to increase the range of their death rays, yet Paul suspected that that wasn't the only answer.  That still put them on the defensive.  Human doctrine said that taking the defensive – in any field – was akin to accepting defeat; there was no evidence that the Trolls disagreed.  They’d certainly been quick to launch a second attack against Capricorn.

So what were they planning that would upset the balance of power once again?

His intercom buzzed.  “Admiral, this is Davis in CIC,” it said.  “We’re picking up a handful of Troll ships jumping into the base’s outer defence sphere.”

“Understood,” Paul said.  If nothing else, the constant attacks were wearing down his personnel and putting colossal wear and tear on his equipment.  Fleet carriers normally required at least three months in the yard for every year on active service; his fleet should, by rights, have sent at least seven fleet carriers back to Earth for refit.  There hadn’t been any time to do that, so the equipment was wearing down...eventually, the ships would be inoperable.  “I’m on my way.”

***
“This is the CAG,” a voice boomed.  “Condition three has been declared throughout the ship, all ready pilots to their planes; I say again, all ready pilots to their planes.”

Connie dropped her handful of cards on the table, scooped up her helmet and ran for the hatch leading down to the flight deck.  Her pilots followed her, one complaining that he had a full house before he’d had to abandon his cards; another chuckling over his misfortune.  Two others joined them, hastily zipping up their flight suits; Connie made a mental note to reprimand them sharply.  They might have been so worn down since the first battle that they were taking what comfort they could in each other’s arms, but they were also breaking regulations.  Sleeping with people in the same squadron, or department, was forbidden, for a whole series of very good reasons.  One of them would have to be transferred if they couldn't keep out of each other’s pants.

The starfighter was ready for her and so she scrambled up into the cockpit, after completing the quick series of visual checks to ensure that everything was fine.  At least they hadn't been ordered to scramble; their instructors had rammed it into their heads, time and time again, that they could take nothing for granted.  A full scramble meant relying on the flight deck crew to have checked everything, replaced or serviced everything that needed some tender loving care, and then reset the computers to suit each pilot.

“Link into my plane,” she ordered, as she brought up the HUD.  Condition three meant that the ready pilots wouldn't be launched unless the CSP had run into something they couldn't handle, or had to be redeployed to cover other parts of the fleet.  At least the engineers had come up with drop pods for life support, finally.  They could operate at extended range if necessary for several hours.  “Draw the tactical situation from fleet command and prepare yourselves.”

The HUD came to life, revealing a set of red icons at the very edge of the fleet’s combat zone, where any target would be automatically engaged by the fleet’s defenders.  Either by accident or by design, the Trolls had scoped out most of the fleet’s defence zones, often flying starships outside the zones to dare the human ships to give chase.  After two merry chases which had ended with the Trolls jumping out and escaping, the Admiral had ordered that all further probes were to be ignored unless they were heading right into the combat zone.  This time, twelve Troll starships were hovering along the edge, waiting to see what sort of response they would draw.

“Looks like we won't have to move, Lead,” one of the pilots said.  “The CSP can easily deal with those losers.”

“There's nothing easy about anything the Trolls do,” Connie said, tartly.  The Trolls might just have been trying to annoy them, or maybe they were just waiting for the starfighters to expose themselves before they sprang their trap.  “We wait in our planes until the all-clear is sounded or until we have to get out there and reinforce the CSP.”

She frowned as the pilots acknowledged, ready and waiting for the order to move.  Just what, she asked herself, were the Trolls doing?  A simple observation mission, an attempt to poke the defenders...or what?  All they could do was wait, and see.

***
“They’re right on the edge, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  “CSP Lead is requesting permission to engage the enemy.”

Paul shook his head.  “They’ll see them coming and jump out,” he said.  Driving the Trolls away would be a victory, of sorts, but they’d just jump back.  They’d learned through bitter experience the high cost of allowing the Trolls to lure the starfighters into a futile chase.  The pilots got tired and sloppy, their starfighters started to need more maintenance, if not outright replacement by a new craft.  “Order Commodore Hausa to prepare to jump her squadron towards them.”

The tactical officer looked up, surprised.  “You mean to send a single cruiser squadron into battle against the Trolls?”

“Perhaps,” Paul said, irritated.  On the face of it, the tactical officer was right to be worried; even with bomb-pumped lasers, no cruiser squadron had beaten the Trolls in an even fight.  But it was worth the risk to a single squadron if it revealed just what the Trolls were planning, before his entire fleet fell into the trap.  All of his instincts were screaming that the Trolls were up to something...

He resisted the urge to pace the deck as the seconds ticked away.  The Trolls did nothing, almost as if their ships were nothing more than derelicts waiting for a salvage crew to arrive.  On instinct, Paul ordered a full sensor sweep of local space, along with the launch of multiple sensor probes; it was quite possible that the Trolls were using one squadron as a distraction while the rest of their fleet slipped into firing range.  They’d used that tactic against 5th Fleet successfully and they might think that it was worth trying for a second time...

...But maybe not.  Admiral Cicero hadn't been prepared for a close-quarter duel when her opponent had death rays, but he had bomb-pumped lasers and the suicide ships.  It would be costly, yet perhaps worthwhile; God knew the human race could replace the Joe Buckley-class ships far quicker than the Trolls could build their Alphas, unless they had some building technique right out of science-fiction.  Perhaps they used nanotech on a vast scale to build their ships, or maybe they had the power to replicate entire starships out of energy...no, that was sheer science-fiction.  Besides, if they had that sort of technology, they could have simply swamped the human race by now.  

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said, suddenly, “I’m picking up new starships jumping just outside the combat zone.”

Paul swore as the display started to fill with red icons.  Five hundred Troll starships, two hundred of them Alphas...and the remainder mostly Betas.  Here and there, there was a starship that defied easy categorisation, including what seemed to be a squadron of modified Gammas, but the remainder of the fleet was easy to classify.  They probably wanted the human race to see what was coming in their direction.  The Trolls were outnumbered four to one, yet Paul knew that that wouldn't be enough.  Even if they won the battle, the combined fleet was going to take one hell of a beating.

“I’m picking up a StarCom transmission from the planet,” the communications officer said, suddenly.  “They’re reporting seventy additional Alphas holding position just outside engagement range.  They want reinforcements.”

“So do I,” Paul snapped.  The Trolls were behaving...oddly and he didn't like that, if only because it suggested that they had something up their sleeves.  Simple common sense wanted that dividing one’s forces in the face of the enemy was asking for defeat, which implied that the Trolls were either very confident or believed that their FTL communications capability was good enough to coordinate two attacks at once.  “Order them to hold their starships in orbit and...”

“Admiral,” the tactical officer snapped.  “The Troll fleet is advancing on our position.”

Paul nodded.  “Launch all starfighters,” he ordered, tightly.  There was no longer anything to be gained by keeping the ready and reserve flights in their launch tubes.  “General orders to the fleet; all ships are to implement formation delta-bravo; I say again, delta-bravo.”

“The fleet acknowledges, Admiral,” the communications officer said.  Paul nodded.  Manoeuvring two thousand starships at once was proving a tricky task; it hadn’t been carried out or even exercised since the renowned Admiral Kinnison had led the final attack on the Magana homeworlds that had ended the war.  In hindsight, perhaps the UNNS should have tried to revise the Z9 fleet control protocols before running into the Trolls.  “They’re advancing into position.”

The Trolls weren't trying to be subtle; their formation was a blunt hammer, aimed right at Brisbane Base and its defending starships.  Unsurprisingly, they had deployed the Betas where they could cover the Alphas, forcing the defenders to either target the Betas first or watch helplessly as the Betas swept the missiles out of existence.  Paul’s formation wasn't particularly subtle either; the suicide ships were in the lead, with the bomb-pumped laser cruiser following them.  At the rear, he’d placed another flotilla of cruisers and suicide ships, just in case the Trolls repeated themselves and jumped behind his ships.  This time, they would be caught between his cruisers and the deployed missiles surrounding Brisbane Base.

“All starfighters away, Admiral,” the CAG reported.  Controlling twenty thousand starfighters was, if anything, harder than coordinating the starships, although they had practiced endlessly since they’d taken up defensive positions at Brisbane.  “First Attack Wing is moving into position to support the cruisers.”

“Order the cruisers to target the Betas,” Paul ordered, flatly.  The starfighters would have a better chance against the Alphas; besides, once the Betas were destroyed the Alphas would be exposed to his bomb-pumped laser missiles.  But the Trolls had to know that...so what the hell were they planning?  “Fire as soon as the Trolls enter engagement range.”

There was a pause.  “Admiral, they appear to be moving the Gammas forward,” the sensor officer said, finally.  Paul felt a shiver running down his spine.  “They may intend for them to soak up our fire...”

Paul doubted it.  The Trolls might have been aliens, but their logic was comprehensible.  “Order three missile sections to target those craft,” he ordered.  “And fire!”

The display seemed to overload with green icons as the cruisers launched their missiles towards the Troll starships.  Hundreds of thousands of warheads, each one ready to pump a laser beam into its target, advancing towards the Troll ships...it seemed impossible that anything could stand in their way.

“Admiral,” the sensor officer said.  “I'm picking up...oh, my God!”

Paul saw it too.  Emerging from the cloud of Troll starships were the signatures of small craft, larger than starfighters, moving towards the human missiles at terrifying speed.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, was faster than a starfighter in space, until now.  The Troll craft – not much smaller than pickets, Paul realised – were going to tear hell through the missiles...

“Order the starfighters to advance and take them out,” he ordered.

He knew that it was already too late.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

New Brisbane
27th September 2435

“What the hell are those things?”

“Stay in formation,” Connie snapped.  There were so many objects moving through the same general area of space that the HUD was having problems tracking them all, something that she hadn't seen outside simulations intended to demonstrate to cadets just how quickly a situation could go to hell.  They hadn't practiced dogfighting with enemy starfighters because they had known that the Trolls had no starfighters; in hindsight, that had been a deadly mistake.  “We need to take those things out before they can tear us a new asshole.”

The Troll craft – her HUD insisted on identifying them as gunboats, although they were really little more than three times the size of starfighters – were already firing, their weapons lashing out and vaporising the missiles before they could enter attack range and detonate.  A handful of missiles appeared to have retargeted themselves on the gunboats, but even when they took a gunboat with them they were destroyed themselves.  Connie had to admire what the Trolls had done even though they had probably crippled the fleet; they’d fired a vast swarm of missiles towards the enemy fleet and most of those missiles were about to die uselessly.

A report from the battle analysis team flashed up in front of her.  The Troll gunboats seemed to have the same omnidirectional firing capability as the rest of the Troll starships, although they also seemed to have a slight blind spot towards their rear.  There was no way to know if the Trolls were flying them personally, or if they were under remote control from a flagship or even an AI, but it hardly mattered.  The starfighters had to take them out before it was too late.

“Clear guns,” she ordered.  Starfighters carried railgun cannons for close-quarter engagements with other starfighters; they would just have to hope that they would be sufficient to take out the gunboats.  Firing a starfighter railgun at a carrier’s armoured hull wouldn’t do more than scratch the paint.  “Mark your targets and watch where you aim.”

Up close, the Troll gunboats looked like spinning tops, although it might have been an illusion.  Their death rays were less powerful than those mounted on their capital ships, but they were more than powerful enough to kill missiles and starfighters.  Connie threw her starfighter into an evasive pattern as a pair of gunboats targeted her, before flipping the starfighter over and lining up her guns on her target.  The Trolls had learned their lessons well – their gunboats were gyrating around randomly, making it hard to target them – but she fired a long burst directly into the gunboat.  To her relief, the gunboat exploded in a flash of light.

“We can kill these things,” she snapped.  There was no longer any point in trying to control the dogfight, not when there were so many starfighters and gunboats engaged in the same general area.  All she could do was shoot at every gunboat that wandered across her sights and pray that none of them had an opportunity to take a shot at her.  It might have gone far worse for the starfighters if the gunboats hadn't had to worry about the missiles.  Their ability to fire in all directions gave them an advantage that more than compensated for their larger size.  “Keep firing!”

Flashes of light raced past her starfighter as another gunboat targeted her, before being picked off by a human starfighter.  The entire battle had dissolved into chaos, with the starfighters scattered, each one fighting its own battle against the Trolls.  Connie cursed as the inexperience of many of the pilots worked against them, even though some of the former maggots had had a chance to practice dogfight skills in the training centre.  The Trolls had managed to practice, probably in interstellar space, before revealing their new surprise at an appropriate moment.

“I’m hit,” a voice said.  “Going down...”

Connie saw the flash and killed the gunboat, too late.  For a moment, she flew into empty space and glanced at her HUD, trying to take in the overall scene.  Starfighters and gunboats were dropping like flies, but the gunboats seemed to have an advantage that made up for their lack of numbers.  And a new flight of gunboats was leaving the Troll fleet...

Shaking her head, she threw herself back into the battle.

***
Paul forced his face to remain expressionless as the starfighters engaged the gunboats, trying to distract them from taking out the missiles.  But the gunboats had done their work well; only a handful of missiles survived long enough to inflict damage on the enemy ships, not enough to clear the way for the starfighters to engage the enemy.  And there was another wave of gunboats leaving the alien fleet.

“Move up the Second Attack Wing to intercept the newcomers,” he ordered, as the gunboats evaded the combat zone between their fellows and the human starfighters, gunning their engines and racing straight for the fleet.  “And put all of our point defence stations on alert.  I want them to engage the gunboats as soon as they enter weapons range.”

Point defence had been neglected ever since the Trolls had arrived; they didn't deploy starfighters and the only defence against a death ray was not to be there when it was fired.  One of those assumptions had just been destroyed, Paul knew; the Trolls had decided that the starfighters produced unacceptable losses and had produced a countermeasure at terrifying speed.  Assuming that the gunboats hadn't been a previously-unseen technology, which was possible, the Trolls had started working on gunboats just after First Cadiz, when they’d discovered just how effective starfighters were in vast numbers.  Producing a whole new weapons system in around six months said unpleasant things about Troll R&D, to say nothing of the size and power of their industrial base.  

The gunboats didn't slow down as they flashed past the Second Attack Wing, which reversed course and gave chase in a futile attempt to catch the Trolls.  High speed didn't stop them from firing at anything that could be a target, taking out over two dozen starfighters before they zipped out of engagement range.  The CSP was also moving to intercept, but they probably wouldn't have much better luck.  They’d all grown up believing that nothing could outrun starfighters; now, the Trolls had turned that assumption upside down.

“Point defence AIs are calculating firing patterns,” the tactical officer said.  “They’re engaging...now!”

AIs, at least, weren't stunned by small craft moving at speeds that were generally assumed to be impossible.  They opened fire, launching tiny railgun slugs at the incoming craft, vaporising seven gunboats before the remainder went evasive and started to close in on their targets.  Unsurprisingly, they were ignoring the cruisers and homing in on the carriers, even though that meant having to fly through the wall of point defence fired by the cruisers and support ships.

“Jutland, Midway and Cuba appear to be the focus of their attack,” the tactical officer reported.  “Their CSP is attempting to beat off the attackers, but they only get one shot at the gunboats before they’re out of range.”

Paul said nothing, watching grimly as the gunboats strafed the assault carriers with their death rays.  Thankfully, they didn't seem to have anything like the power of the death rays mounted by their larger cousins, but they were still devastating.  One gunboat – deliberately or otherwise – slammed into Midway’s starboard flight deck, sending a chain of explosions ripping through the long tube and effectively disabling the entire deck.  The others pulled back long enough to assess the results of their strike, and then swooped back down to the attack.  This time, the point defence AIs wiped out a handful of gunboats, forcing the others to break off and await reinforcements.  They would not be long in coming.

“Order all cruisers to launch a second missile salvo, targeted on the Betas,” Paul ordered.  If they were lucky, the second salvo would force the first swarm of gunboats to concentrate on preventing them from reaching their fleet, rather than disengaging from the starfighters and attacking the rest of his fleet.  “Midway is to jump out and meet us at the RV point.”

“Understood, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.  There was a pause, and then a green icon vanished from the display.  “Midway has jumped out, sir.”

“Good,” Paul said.  Midway was no longer fully combat-effective; her flight deck would have to be repaired, along with the other damage, before she could return to duty.  At least he’d had the foresight to base most of the fleet train, along with the mobile shipyards, in interstellar space.  Midway would have a team of dedicated engineers to start repairs as she limped back to Earth.  “Order the suicide ships to advance towards the enemy lines.”

The battle grew more savage as the second salvo of missiles approached their targets, despite hundreds being vaporised by the gunboats.  Thankfully, the enemy didn’t seem to have brought more than seven hundred gunboats to the battle, even though that was enough to inflict grievous losses to his starfighters.  Some of the missiles were slipping through, targeting the Betas and wiping them out of space.  A handful even managed to take out a trio of Alphas.

“Admiral, certain patterns seem to be appearing in the data,” one of the analysts said.  “The Trolls do not seem to have a certain doctrine for deploying the gunboats for best advantage...”

Paul wasn’t sure that he agreed.  The Trolls had known about the danger of bomb-pumped lasers – and they’d needed a counter, or their fleet would have been crippled before it got into engagement range.  Meanwhile, trading a gunboat for a fleet carrier – or even a cruiser – wasn't a bad bargain at all from their point of view.  And it forced him to keep back some of his starfighters to serve as a CSP, even though it was apparently futile...

“Order the CSP to cover the suicide ships,” he ordered, dismissing the analyst as the two battle fleets started to close in for the kill.  Both sides were about to take one hell of a beating.  “Tell them to try and lure the gunboats away from them.”

The Trolls seemed confused by the suicide ships, right up until the moment one of them fired on a Beta and sent it limping away, badly damaged.  Immediately, the gunboats swooped to the attack, smashing through the wave of suicide ships and ignoring the starfighters as they covered their capital ships.  Behind them, some of the starfighters altered course and launched attack runs on Troll starships, taking out several of their targets.  But their losses were mounting upwards and Paul and very few starfighters left to spare.

“Move the CSP up to engage the enemy ships,” he said.  The CAG shot him a sharp glance, but complied.  There was no point in maintaining a CSP when their only hope was to cripple the enemy battle line before it engaged weapons range.  “Start rotating the point defence datanet through our ships; I don’t want a lucky hit to cripple us.”

“Admiral,” the CAG said, “a third of our starfighters have to return and rearm.  Right now, they’re short of everything they need to fight.”

“Order them to return to their ships,” Paul ordered.  The Troll gunboats had another advantage; they could keep firing indefinitely, while his starfighters would eventually run out of railgun slugs.  Recalling the starfighters to rearm was the only countermeasure they could use, but it risked losing the starfighters if their carrier was destroyed while they were rearming.  “The CSP is to cover them and attempt to protect the missiles from the gunboats.”

He grimaced as the Troll gunboats rotated and roared after the retreating starfighters, suddenly very vulnerable to their weapons.  Some of the CSP gave chase, attempting to hack down the gunboats before they could pick on the unarmed starfighters; the others attempted their own runs against Troll starships.  And a new flight of Troll gunboats was roaring towards the carriers...

***
It happened at terrifying speed.  Connie had been preparing to follow the rest of her pilots onto Nelson’s flight deck when a gunboat appeared out of nowhere and started firing on her.  Desperately, she yanked the starfighter away from the flight deck, passing within a bare metre of the hull, trying to evade her unwanted pursuer.  The carrier’s point defence was firing savagely at the gunboat, some of the shells coming too close to Connie’s own craft for comfort, but the Troll pilot managed to evade them all.  Connie would have been impressed if he hadn't been trying to kill her, while tearing up the carrier’s hull with death ray blasts.  He seemed to be firing at random...

...No, she realised; he wasn’t firing at random.  He was targeting the carrier’s point defence, creating blind spots where other gunboats could slip into firing range and begin tearing the carrier apart.  And then he drifted back to the flight deck and started firing into the ship’s interior.  It was heavily armoured, to trap and deflect a crashing starfighter, but not enough to stand up to death rays.  The Troll could disable the entire flight deck before anyone could get into position to stop him...

...Except for her.  Connie acted without thought, knowing that there was no other choice.  There was one weapon left to her, the starfighter itself.  Quite calmly, she pointed the starfighter at the Troll gunboat and rammed her craft right into its hull.  Both craft vanished in a brilliant flash of light.

***
“Nelson has been badly damaged, Admiral,” the tactical officer reported.  “Her Captain is requesting permission to withdraw.”

Paul gritted his teeth.  The battle was swinging against the human race, now that the Trolls were crippling his carriers, defending themselves against his missiles and steadily advancing into death ray range.  Four carriers had been lost completely, seven more had been forced to withdraw.  The chances of holding the system were looking less and less promising by the minute.

He had his orders.  If there was a good chance of losing the entire fleet, particularly the carriers, he was to withdraw, even if it meant abandoning the base and New Brisbane.  It wasn't as if New Brisbane was undefended, but he had no illusions about how long it would hold out when the Trolls started to attack it directly.  A sitting target against a heavily armed mobile force?  The fight wouldn't last very long and there would only be one outcome.

A dull shudder ran through the carrier as a gunboat spewed bursts of deadly fire into its hull, forcing him to make up his mind.  “Order all starfighters to pull back and return to their ships,” he ordered.  “Reprogram the final salvo of missiles to target the gunboats, if possible; if not, order them to attack the closest enemy ship.  And then start powering up the flux drives for immediate departure.

Withdrawing under fire was one of the most complex and dangerous military manoeuvres, not least because the enemy had a chance to shoot your personnel in the back.  Paul watched, grimly, as the remaining starfighters fled, only to be chased by the gunboats and harried until they entered point defence range of the fleet.  Even then, the gunboats pressed the offensive, several ramming carriers and inflicting severe damage.  A number of cruisers reported that they’d lost their flux drives and wouldn't be able to retreat.  Paul ordered them to hold the rear, knowing that he was sentencing them to death.  Admiral Cicero had killed herself for something similar, but he couldn't afford the luxury.

“All starfighters have returned to their ships,” the tactical officer reported.  “The gunboats are pressing the offensive.”

Paul nodded.  “Jump us out,” he ordered.  Brisbane Base would have to hold out as long as it could; not long, he knew, with the gunboats harrying them while the capital ships waited outside missile range.  “And rearm the starfighters.  We may be followed to our RV point.”

One by one, the combined fleet jumped out of the maelstrom and escaped.

***
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we’ve just been informed that the Trolls are advancing on the planet,” the pilot said.  “All civilian starships have been ordered to jump out of the system, immediately.  We will jump as soon as the drive has powered up.”

Hind braced herself in her small compartment, staring down at the terminal in her hand.  If she hadn’t visited New Brisbane...no, there was no point in tormenting herself with what might have been.  As it was, she was very lucky to have secured a space on a passenger liner, one that was crammed full of rich and powerful citizens – and those lucky enough to live in orbit, near the starship docks.  The White Swan, one of the most famous and expensive luxury liners in the known universe, was overcrowded with fleeing civilians.  

The terminal was illegally linked into the planetary datanet, which was in turn linked into the StarCom network binding the system together.  It looked as though the UNNS starships had retreated, leaving nothing behind to defend the planet – apart from its own self-defence force.  And no one placed much faith in an outdated military machine that hadn't purchased a new starship for upwards of a hundred years, at least before the crisis...on the display, the Trolls were racing towards the planet, daring the humans to stop them.  It didn't look as if there was anything left that could even slow them down.

“Jump in twenty seconds,” the pilot’s voice said.  White Swan had a military-grade drive, she’d been told.  It should be good enough to jump out of the system, even so close to the planet’s gravity well.  “Ten...nine...eight...”

Hind took one last look at the planet through the porthole, just as there was a flash of light and the planet vanished, to be replaced by stars.  Whatever was happening to New Brisbane, she’d escaped in time...leaving the rest of the civilians behind.  God alone knew what the Trolls would do to them...

Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered those who had celebrated the first victory, when the Trolls had first attempted to take the system.  What would happen to them now?

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Luna
27th September 2435

“Red alert; I say again, Red Alert,” a voice thundered.  “This is not a drill; I say again, this is not a drill.”

Anton snapped awake, grabbing for his uniform as he rolled out of bed.  The Sol System had been running defence drills ever since the Trolls had started a war, but no drill had been planned for this night.  It had to be real – and that meant that the one event everyone had dreaded had just come to pass.  The Trolls were attacking Earth itself.  It might be a raid, or it might be a powerful enough fleet to take the planet.  And if Earth fell the United Nations would fall with it.

Pulling his jacket on he walked swiftly to the hatch and out into the Naval HQ.  Earth had never been attacked in all the years the human race had been expanding into space – even the Magana had never dared attack the core of the United Nations – and a certain level of complacency had grown up throughout the system’s defenders.  Thankfully, the Troll offensive had given him a chance to identify and cut out much of the dead wood in the command structure – to say nothing of replacing outdated equipment – but he knew better than to be sanguine about the coming fight.  Even if the Trolls hadn’t produced any new surprises, they would still take a bite out of the system’s defenders.

The Pit was the very core of Sol’s defences, a bunker buried five miles under the lunar surface and linked to the various defence bases though a buried StarCom.  Anton strode into the bunker, nodded to the officer on duty and took his seat in front of the holographic display, ready to exercise command.  He would have preferred to command from a fleet carrier, or even one of the experimental flagships that had been developed over the past ten years, but everything else the Grand Admiral had to do kept him firmly on Luna.  Right now, he cursed himself for not transferring his flag to a fleer carrier and to hell with the consequences.  It was a long tradition that the UN Admirals shared the same risks as everyone else, a tradition that he was failing.  But there was no time to take a shuttle to one of the carriers near Earth.

“Situation report,” he snapped, as red icons came to life in the display.  The StarCom network would give him real-time information, but it could be deceptive.  Red icons were hovering near Mars, while others were flickering into existence near Jupiter and Saturn.  Outside of Earth’s orbital halo, the three planets made up a sizable percentage of the system’s industrial base.

“Enemy starships have jumped into the system,” the tactical officer said.  “Home Fleet has gone to full alert, but so far the enemy have not entered any of the defence zones.”

That was...odd, Anton thought.  The Trolls had to know that they would be detected; they certainly hadn't bothered to cloak, or even try to hide behind a stealth field.  And that meant that every second they hesitated before attacking gave Home Fleet time to rush to battle stations, launch starfighters and activate the vast network of automated weapons platforms that protected the system.  Sol might never have been attacked by an alien race, at least not until now, but it was the most heavily-defended star system in the United Nations.  The Trolls were about to take a beating.

“Get me a breakdown on the enemy craft,” he ordered, flatly.  Maybe the Trolls were just mounting a reconnaissance in force, although upwards of a hundred Alpha-class cruisers seemed a little excessive.  “And then order Home Fleet to prepare to intercept the Trolls.”

The tactical officer worked his console as data flowed in from over the system.  “I’m reading roughly two hundred Alphas and ninety Betas, as well as several starships of an unknown design,” he said, finally.  “That much firepower could make a serious attempt at taking Earth.”

“It could,” Anton agreed.  And if it had arrived just after the Battle of New Marseilles, it would probably have beaten Home Fleet and won.  Now, however, Earth’s defenders had plenty of bomb-pumped lasers, starfighters and minefields to make it harder for the Trolls to use their advanced technology against the human race.  But on the other hand, as long as they remained outside the planetary defences engagement range, they could just sit there and wait patiently.  Their mere presence would force him to send Home Fleet out, away from the defences, or cede the outer solar system to the Trolls.  

Earth itself was heavily defended, but the defences around Jupiter and Saturn were much weaker, certainly nowhere near powerful enough to stand off the Trolls.  They could punch through the defences, taking out the industrial facilities and cloudscoops in the process, and then retreat, content in the knowledge that they had just strangled Earth’s massive industrial base.  Or they could assume that Home Fleet would be forced to engage them, giving them a chance to destroy the fleet outside the planetary defences...

His mind was spinning in circles.  Angrily, he pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the display.  “Order Home Fleet to prepare to jump to Jupiter if necessary,” he said.  At least the Trolls couldn't hope to punch through Earth’s defences before Home Fleet could jump back – unless they had another surprise up their sleeves.  “And keep monitoring the Trolls.”

The communications officer looked up.  “Admiral, the Security Council wants to speak with you,” he said.  “They’re requesting an immediate conference.”

Anton swallowed a curse.  Of course the politicians wanted to talk.  The greatest threat ever to materialise in Earth’s solar system, a fleet manned by a race that wanted to fight a war of genocide, and the politicians wanted to distract him!  Didn't they realise that distracting a commanding officer at the wrong time could be disastrous?  He shook his head, ruefully.  Of course they didn't recognise it.  They were accustomed to making the universe bend to their will.

“Put them through to my headset,” he ordered, pulling it out from under the chair and placing it on his head.  “Inform me the moment the Trolls make their move.”

“Admiral,” a voice said.  The Ambassador from the United Stars, surprisingly.  “I understand that we have visitors.”

“Yes, sir,” Anton said.  The Security Council had full access to the live feed from all over the solar system.  They’d be able to count the number of enemy starships as easily as the UNNS tactical staff.  “Home Fleet is currently preparing to defend the system.”

There was a pause, long enough for him to feel a sensation of doom trickling down his back.  “It is imperative that the enemy be driven from this system as soon as possible,” the Ambassador said.  “Why have you not ordered Home Fleet to engage the enemy?”

Anton blinked in surprise.  Surely the politicians could not be as blind to military reality as that question suggested.  “Right now, the Trolls are not attacking any target,” he said.  “If I order Home Fleet to engage them, the Trolls will have an opportunity to jump past Home Fleet and hit their targets, forcing Home Fleet to wait until its flux drives are recharged before it can return to engage the enemy.”

“But the Trolls can wait out there indefinitely,” the Ambassador said, after another pause.  It suggested that the Security Council was itself divided on the question of what to do.  “We do not have that luxury.  Panic is already sweeping across Earth and the Halo.  We need the Trolls gone now.”

Anton glanced at the live news feed from the Galactic News Network.  The Ambassador was right.  Earth was dissolving into chaos, far worse than the madness that had gripped any other world threatened by the Trolls, while everyone who had a private starship was attempting to board it and escape.  Even if the Trolls retreated without doing anything more than taunting the defenders, Earth’s economy would take a severe blow.  And Earth was the linchpin of the United Nations.

“Right now, we can stand them off if they attack any defended planet,” Anton said, forcing his voice to stay calm.  “If we attack them, however, we risk putting Home Fleet out of position while the Trolls rip through Earth or Mars.”  He hesitated, and then committed himself.  “That is a military judgement, sir, and while I recognise the principle of civilian control of the military, that principle only works outside of actual combat.”

There was a pause, so long that Anton could imagine the heated debates raging through the Security Council’s chamber.  He’d never spoken to them like that, ever.  But he had no choice.  He was charged with defending the United Nations against outside threats and he didn't dare risk putting Home Fleet out of play, even for the relatively short time it would take for Home Fleet to recharge its flux drives.  There were just too many Troll starships in the system for Home Fleet to be committed until they knew what the Trolls intended to do.

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said, sharply.  “The Trolls have jumped into a position near Earth!”

Anton looked up at the display as the Troll force rematerialised just outside the Earth-Luna defensive perimeter.  Without the StarCom network, the Trolls would have seemed to be in two places at once, at least until the light-speed sensors picked up the jump.  Now, their entire force was hovering outside the defence perimeter, silently threatening humanity’s homeworld.  

He spoke into the microphone before the Ambassador could say a word.  “The Trolls have just jumped into a position to threaten Earth,” he said.  “With your permission. I must deal with them now.”

“Of course,” the Ambassador said.  “Earth must be defended at all costs.”

Anton closed the channel and looked over at the tactical officer, silently grateful for all the exercises Home Fleet had carried out ever since the first contact with the Trolls.  “Home Fleet is to assemble at Point Delta and prepare to advance on the Trolls,” he ordered, calmly.  If the Trolls were prepared to give him time to assemble his forces, he wasn't going to complain.  Unlike their previous location, they couldn't lure Home Fleet out of position and then attack Earth or the gas giants.  Home Fleet could simply jump after them if necessary, although it would take time to land all of their starfighters and then follow the Trolls.  But that could be what the Trolls were counting on...

Home Fleet moved with majestic slowness; cruisers and suicide ships in the lead, followed by the carriers and their swarms of starfighters.  The minutes ticked away as the fleet concentrated, followed by a steady advance towards the Trolls, who were still holding position just outside the Earth-Luna perimeter.  Anton knew better than to try to exercise tactical command from a distance – Vice Admiral Lyudmila would direct Home Fleet as it engaged the enemy – but the Troll behaviour puzzled him.  Maybe they wanted to lure Home Fleet into a battle outside the orbital defences, yet they could have done that simply by waiting until he was forced to engage...

A green icon vanished from the display.  “Admiral,” the tactical officer snapped.   “The fleet carrier Taranto has just been destroyed!”

Anton stared in disbelief.  The fleet carriers were well outside the range of enemy death rays – and there was no way that the Trolls could have mined the solar system and then lured the fleet onto the minefield.  And yet Taranto had been blown apart, almost as if the carrier’s warheads had all detonated inside the ship.  Another explosion flickered out inside Home Fleet’s formation, followed by a series of others that sparked into existence and then vanished.  A handful of other ships were destroyed for no apparent reason.

“Analysis,” Anton snapped.  Whatever it was, it had to be a weapon – something new that the Trolls had produced and deployed against Home Fleet.  It didn't seem to be very accurate – the explosions outside starship hulls weren't doing anything beyond swatting unlucky starfighters – but it seemed to be unstoppable.  “What the hell are they doing to us?”

“This is Weaver in Analysis,” a new voice said.  “Admiral, I believe that they’re fluxing warheads at us.”

Anton had read the research paper that had outlined the theory, years ago.  Everyone knew that if one starship happened to materialise in a location occupied by another starship, both starships would be destroyed as they interpenetrated, simply because two objects couldn't share the same location.  According to the paper, it should be possible to generate a flux field that would jump something – a warhead, perhaps – from one location to another, without the object actually needing a flux drive of its own.  Like a great many theories, the hardware hadn’t been able to match the theory and create a new weapon, but the Trolls had evidently overcome the problem and produced a working model.  And they’d lured Home Fleet into a killing ground.

“It can't be very accurate,” Weaver said.  The destruction of the fleet carrier had to be a lucky shot, or so Anton told himself.  But if the Trolls could target the flux warheads so precisely, the war was lost.  “But they could throw anything at us and a single interpenetration would wreck an entire starship...”

Anton nodded.  “Immediate orders to Home Fleet,” he snapped.  “The fleet is to jump back to Earth orbit, right now.”

The Trolls couldn't use it against a planet, even a planet’s orbitals – if they could, they would have wiped out everything in space by now.  Logically, that made sense; flux drives grew less and less precise the closer the arrival coordinates to a planetary mass.  The Trolls must suspect that their weapon couldn't work against anything within a planet’s gravity field...but it wasn't as if they were short on ammunition.  They could simply set up base in an asteroid field and throw rocks at Earth through flux space.  There might only be one or two hits per day, but it would work out in their favour.

Home Fleet jumped, leaving its starfighters behind.  Anton opened his mouth to issue orders, but they had already received the orders they needed.  The starfighters boosted forward, lunging at the Troll starships, which rapidly began to deploy small craft of their own.  Anton wasn't too surprised to see them, although the pilots would have to discover their capabilities the hard way.  The Trolls knew that they were vulnerable to human starfighters; it was only logical that they would seek to build starfighters of their own.

There was a brief, violent engagement – and then the entire Troll force jumped out at once.  Their small craft – gunboats, according to the analysts – followed, without returning to their motherships.  Anton swallowed a curse; the Trolls didn't just have a better flux drive system than the human race, they’d managed to miniaturise it enough to slot into a craft smaller than a picket.  It would give them one hell of a tactical advantage.

“Admiral,” Weaver’s voice said, “we believe that we have identified the ships that were carrying the flux gun.  They were emitting high levels of flux radiation during the engagement with Home Fleet.”

Anton allowed himself a moment of relief.  Being targeted by an invisible and unstoppable weapon would have destroyed the Navy’s morale.  The Trolls had kept the gunships well back in their formation, but now they knew what they were, they could target them with starfighters and take them out.  Indeed, the power requirements had had to be so high that the Trolls would have difficulty firing the weapon for long periods of time.  Perhaps they couldn't randomly bombard Earth’s orbits from the asteroid belt after all.

“Admiral,” the tactical officer snapped.  “The Trolls are attacking the Jupiter industrial facilities!”

“Order Home Fleet to detach its cruisers and prepare to jump out to Jupiter,” Anton ordered.  The Trolls were forcing the human defenders to react to their movements and he didn't like that, but there was no other choice.  “They are to jump into close range of the Trolls and engage them from the rear.”

The direct link to the Security Council began to buzz.  Anton picked up the headset again, reluctantly.  At least he’d issued the right orders.

“Admiral,” the Ambassador said.  “You are hereby ordered to keep Home Fleet concentrated in orbit around Earth.”

Anton had too much experience to show his shock openly, but even he found it hard to talk for a few seconds.  “Sir,” he said, flatly, “if the Trolls destroy the industrial facilities at Jupiter it will take us years to rebuild, years the Trolls are unlikely to give us.”

“That may be true, but we cannot afford crippling losses to Home Fleet,” the Ambassador said.  “Admiral, we are the supreme authority for military operations...”

“...But I am the local commander,” Anton snapped, “and in my opinion we cannot allow the Trolls to wreck Jupiter without at least trying to stop them.”

“We understand your position, Admiral, but our orders stand,” the Ambassador said.  “Home Fleet is to remain at Earth.”

Anton gritted his teeth.  “Very well,” he said.  Maybe a political gambit could untie his hands.  “But I insist on receiving your orders in writing, allowing me to lodge a formal protest.”

“Very well, Admiral,” the Ambassador said.  “But Home Fleet is to remain at Earth.”

***
Four hours later, the Trolls jumped out for good, leaving behind nothing, but wreckage orbiting Jupiter and Saturn.  Anton watched them go, grimly certain that they’d be back, once they’d finished consolidating their forces after their victory at New Brisbane.  They’d launched a raid intended to keep Home Fleet tied down while they attacked New Brisbane, punching open the route to Earth.  The politicians were about to discover that their homeworlds were under serious threat.

“Stand down from battle stations,” he ordered, tiredly.  His personnel would need a rest before they did anything else.  “And inform analysis I want a counter to their flux gun.  We need it as soon as possible.”

He shook his head, bitterly.  Right now, he would have to face the politicians, who would have realised just what losing Jupiter and Saturn meant for Earth.  He would sooner face the Trolls naked, without any weapon at all.  The worst the Trolls could do was kill him.

Chapter Forty

Luna
1st October 2435

“They kicked our asses,” Vice Admiral Howard said.  “And then they pulverised New Brisbane.”

Anton gritted his teeth.  The Trolls had bombarded human planets before, but they’d clearly decided to make an example out of New Brisbane; they’d bombarded the planet with antimatter warheads.  Antimatter warheads had been purely theoretical until recently – Area 51’s experiments with Troll technology had suggested a way of mass-producing antimatter – yet the Trolls appeared to have yet another advantage over humanity.  New Brisbane had been hammered so badly that the entire planetary ecosystem seemed to have collapsed.  The radiation levels were so high that there was little point in searching for survivors.

No one could have expected what the Trolls had done, even after the handful of human worlds they’d depopulated along the way to New Brisbane.  Anton had tried to classify the reports from New Brisbane, but enough had gotten out into the media to convince the entire United Nations that the Navy was unable to protect the core worlds any longer.  The earlier panics now seemed like nothing as the core worlds took desperate steps for their own defence, recalling their crewmen and starships from duty with the combined fleets.  If the Trolls had intended to shatter humanity’s fragile political consensus, they couldn't have done a better job – unless, of course, they had managed to flatten Earth.  The entire planet now believed that Home Fleet was all that was standing between Earth and the same fate as New Brisbane.

Anton had spent the last few days moving from ship to ship, speaking with ordinary officers and crewmen while doing his best to avoid the politicians and their uniformed sycophants.  He hadn't been surprised to discover that morale was falling sharply, with some officers openly questioning the value of continuing to fight.  Even with the proof that their damnable new weapons weren't as effective as they looked, a growing despair and demoralisation was taking root in the UNNS.  If the Trolls had offered halfway reasonable surrender teams, he suspected, the politicians would probably have accepted them.  Instead, they’d destroyed an entire world with a population of billions of humans.  There was no way to know what they would do if the human race surrendered unconditionally, the only thing that was keeping the politicians from making the offer.

They’d panicked in other ways too.  Every starship that could fly and energise a beam had been called back to the core worlds.  The borders with the Polis, the Sutra and the Triangle had been abandoned, leaving them at the mercy of raiders and pirates.  Anton had heard the reports of increased pirate activity in the abandoned sectors, but there hadn't been anything that he could do about it.  At least the Polis had taken over some of humanity’s policing duties; the Sutra had said nothing, yet Anton suspected that they intended to take advantage of humanity’s desperate situation.  They had long coveted some of the worlds humanity had settled along the border and their leaders had to be tempted to grab them now, while they had a chance.  It was even logical, from a defensive point of view.  If the Trolls came gunning for them next, the human worlds they’d occupied would serve as an excellent buffer to give their navy time to build up its forces and face the Trolls.  No doubt their intelligence service already had excellent data on every weapon humanity had built to throw at the Trolls, along with the reports of what weapons the Trolls used against humanity.  They would learn from humanity’s woes.

Not that it really mattered, Anton knew.  The United Nations was fragmenting, shattering the fragile economy that had bound humanity together.  Edo had merely been the first world to present its withdrawal papers to the United Nations, recalling all of its personnel and starships from the Navy.  Anton doubted that their attempt to seek a separate peace with the Trolls would get anywhere – the Trolls had merely repeated their demand for humanity’s unconditional surrender – but he couldn't blame them for trying.  It was growing increasingly evident that the Navy couldn't stop the Trolls before the Trolls crushed the human race into radioactive debris.

They would have relieved him, Anton knew, in their desperate search for a scapegoat.  Right now, the human population was demanding answers – and heads were rolling all across the United Nations.  If the orders he’d been given, the orders forbidding him to defend Jupiter, hadn't leaked out into the media, he would already have been relieved of command.  But as it happened, there had been massive riots across Earth after that had leaked out, because losing Jupiter had crippled Earth’s economy.  The Halo, the network of asteroid stations and manufacturing facilities orbiting Earth, was grinding to a halt.  Once Earth had used up its stockpile of HE3, there would be no more until the cloudscoops were rebuilt, or the mining stations on Luna were reopened.  And that wouldn't come close to meeting Earth’s demands.

The remains of Admiral Howard’s fleet had linked up with Home Fleet; naturally, the politicians had refused to allow Admiral Howard to redeploy to another of the core worlds.  It had sparked off yet another round of recriminations and backstabbing – and withdrawals – in the General Assembly, but the politicians had had no choice.  Earth was the cradle of the human race; they couldn't take the risk of it falling to the Trolls.  But the human race stood at bay, preparing for its last stand – and only a handful of people knew that Anton had started preparations for a post-war resistance.  It was a secret he could never share with the Security Council, let alone the General Assembly.  

“I wouldn't suggest saying that to the politicians,” Anton said, although there was no point in trying to hide the sheer scale of the defeat.  At least Howard had managed to get most of his fleet out of the New Brisbane system – and they’d managed to update their exercises to deal with the new gunboats the Trolls had deployed.  “They’re still intent on pulling everything back to Earth to stand shoulder to shoulder in the defence of humanity’s homeworld.”

Howard blinked at him.  “They’re abandoning the rest of the core worlds?”

“I think that they haven’t realised just how dire the situation has become,” Anton admitted.  “They were even talking about recalling 6th Fleet – even though the survey ships have found a new Troll world to target.  I had to spend every last piece of my political capital to ensure that 6th Fleet was cleared to attack instead.”

“I see,” Howard said.  “Admiral...can we win this war?”

Anton knew better than to attempt to dissemble.  “Right now, the Trolls have the advantage,” he said, simply.  “And they have effectively shattered our economy while theirs is as strong and vital as ever – and rather ingenious too.  We may – may – be able to produce new weapons that will give us an advantage, but the Trolls will do their best to ensure that we have no window of opportunity to deploy them.”

Howard nodded.  “We might be unable to put them into mass production before it is too late,” he said.  “Or discover that they have their weaknesses.  Superiority all over again.”

Anton had to smile.  Superiority was a short story, written in the pre-space era by one of the men who had helped to shape humanity’s dreams of the future.  It had focused on a space navy that had developed more and more advanced weapons, hoping to leap ahead of its smaller and weaker opponent.  But each of the new weapons had produced new problems for the developers, eventually leading to their defeat by their technologically inferior enemy.

In some ways, the Trolls had that problem facing humanity.  They could be hammered by bomb-pumped lasers fired from outside their own range, while starfighters could press the offensive through their point defence and take out their cruisers, despite absorbing staggering losses.  In some ways, the short range of their death rays was actually a weakness.  But the Trolls had adapted, produced new hardware and thrown it into the battle.  Their gunboats not only countered the starfighters, it gave them the kind of striking power that they’d lacked before, allowing them to press the offensive against humanity’s carriers.  Maybe the design had weaknesses, but so far nothing had become apparent.  The human race was, once again, desperately trying to catch up with the Trolls.

“I took advantage of your arrival to send Admiral Singh and Admiral Mahomet out to New Washington and Unity,” Anton said, changing the subject.  “In the event of something happening to me, you will assume command of Home Fleet while Admiral Lyudmila will become the Grand Admiral.  While Singh and Mahomet have seniority, neither of them have enough combat experience facing the Trolls.”

Howard looked at him oddly.  “Are you expecting to die, sir?”

“The Security Council – what’s left of it – is desperate,” Anton said, flatly.  “I believe that they will respond badly if we suffer another defeat, probably by relieving me of command.  In that case, Home Fleet needs the most experienced officer we have to hand in command.”

“I lost New Brisbane, sir,” Howard said.  “I was expecting to be relieved when I brought the fleet back to the Sol System.”

“There aren't enough experienced officers for us to relieve those who lose to the Trolls,” Anton said.  “The manpower situation is becoming desperate and morale is sinking rapidly.  We cannot risk wholesale purges of the fleet’s command staff or efficiency will also fall through the deck.  Right now, it’s all I can do to keep them from appointing political officers to...supervise commanding officers.”

Howard stared at him.  “Are they crazy?”

“I had to relieve Commodore Van Sylmar for making remarks that the politicians regarded as threatening,” Anton said.  “The politicians are scared, Paul.  They fear that they have lost control over the Navy, that we might turn on them if they are blamed for the crisis – or that some of us will take advantage of the situation to launch a coup.  Van Sylmar was openly suggesting taking over the reins of government for the duration of the war – God knows, we’re already in a state of martial law.”

He shook his head.  “The United Nations survived as long as it did because it was built on compromises,” he added.  “Each of the powerful states ensured that they would get a voice in affairs equal to the amount of money they invested in the United Nations.  The smaller states ensured that their internal affairs would be left inviolate, no matter how far they strayed from anything anyone else would consider civilised.  And the Navy was built up around the concept that it would be dominated by those who paid the bills.

“But the system never came under such extreme pressure before, not even during the worst years of the Magana War.  Right now, the larger worlds are demanding that the Navy provides additional defence forces, while the smaller worlds are claiming that they have been abandoned to the Trolls.  They want defences too...but if we try to meet all of those demands, the Navy will be spread so thin that defeat will be a certainty.  And the politicians didn't help by openly interfering with military operations.  There are even suspicions that some politicians took advantage of the declaration of martial law to take steps against their political opponents, or feather their own nests.  Enough has leaked out to confirm those suspicions.”

Howard looked down at his hands.  “So what do we do about it?”

“We hold the line for as long as we can,” Anton said.  He wanted to brief Howard about Iceberg, about the plans to continue the war, but he was the only one left on Luna who knew about the project.  If there was one advantage from all the chaos sweeping through the United Nations, it provided more than enough cover to hide the division of resources from the Navy to a secret base.  According to the reports from Area 51, Phoenix was completing her trials; the hybrid ship would be ready for operations soon.  Anton intended to bring her to Sol, to convince the politicians that the war was still winnable, but events might move too quickly for such a ploy to work.  “And we hope that we can produce a diplomatic solution.”

“You mean surrender,” Howard said.  “What happens if we lose Earth?”

“We lose almost all of our remaining starships,” Anton said.  “And that means the end of the war.”

***
Luna had a reputation for being an orderly place; four hundred years of being inhabited by people who knew the dangers of their own environment ensured that even political protest remained peaceful.  But it wasn't peaceful any longer.  Armstrong City, the largest of the underground cities dug under the lunar surface, had played host to a riot that had threatened to tear apart the city’s fragile gardens.  In the end, the police had resorted to mass stunning and knocked out the entire crowd.

Hind picked her way through the rubble, shaking her head as the police moved past her, collecting the stunned bodies and moving them to recovery chambers.  It was worse on Earth, she’d been told; even a global declaration of martial law hadn't been able to stop the panicking crowds from rioting.  Everyone who had the money was trying to buy a seat on a starship away from Earth, heading to Innocence or one of the other alien worlds that had signalled a willingness to take in human refugees.  The Sutra had closed their borders, while few wanted to go to the Polis.  They might have been a remarkably civilised race, but they just happened to touch off the worst of humanity’s phobias.

“Halt,” a policeman snapped.  He looked tired and beaten down, his body armour splashed with blood that wasn't his.  “Where do you think you are going?”

“I have an interview with the Commissioner,” Hind said, quietly.  She didn't like the way he was waving his stunner around, or the heavy automatic pistol he was carrying on his belt.  Policemen on Luna rarely carried anything heavier than stunners, fearing the results of firing bullets through fragile chambers.  One shot in the wrong place and the atmosphere would start spilling out of the city.  “He asked me to visit him.”

“Well, I’ll just check that,” the policeman sneered.  He took her ID card and placed a call into the network.  Hind couldn't tell if he was just being an asshole, or if he was too tired to be police and well-mannered.  It could have been a great deal worse.  Some of the riots on Earth had resulted in massive bloodshed.  “You appear to be cleared.  Stan?”

“Yes, boss,” a policeman called.

“Escort this...reporter” – the way he said it made the word sound like whore – “to the Commissioner,” the policeman ordered.  “Make sure she doesn't take the opportunity to loot along the way.”

Hind swallowed the response that came to mind as Stan escorted her away from the gardens, into the set of offices that served as Armstrong City’s Town Hall.  They were surrounded by policemen, several holding automatic weapons openly.  She was searched by a female police officer before being allowed to enter the Town Hall and escorted to the Commissioner’s office.  The Commissioner looked around as she entered and gave her a tired smile.  He looked like a man who hadn't slept for several weeks.

“This probably wasn't the best time,” he said, dryly.  Hind couldn't help, but agree with him.  “The riot you might have witnessed wasn't even the worst on the moon.”

“Oh,” Hind said.  “What started this riot?”

“Some asshole started a rumour that the Mayor of Armstrong City had pulled strings to get himself and his family out of the solar system before the hammer came down,” the Commissioner said.  “It wasn't true, as far as anyone could tell, but word spread and anger blossomed and...we ended up with a riot.  You’d think that people on Luna would know not to riot in public.  There are democratic ways to deal with any problem.”

“They probably thought that they wouldn't work fast enough,” Hind said.  Luna’s government was a legacy from the days where national and corporate interests had dominated political discourse.  The elected officials couldn't be recalled without a long process that probably wouldn't trap the Mayor on Luna, if he had managed to get tickets to escape the solar system.  Hind had done a little research and discovered that it cost millions of UN credits to buy even a small space on a freighter.  “God knows that the politicians have let us down badly.”

The Commissioner didn't bother to disagree.  “You can go back to your...organisation and tell them not to incite more riots,” he said.  “This one could have done real damage to the lunar infrastructure that keeps us alive.  You want to know what could have happened next?”

Hind shook her head.  “I think I know,” she said.  “I do have other questions...”

The Commissioner shook his head, looking down at a message on his terminal.  “I have just been asked to send two hundred officers to New Vegas,” he said.  “Apparently, the rioting there has gotten completely out of control.”

Hind shook her head.  New Vegas had started life as an entertainment centre for lunar miners, providing drink, gambling and women.  Not the sort of place her mother would want her to go, naturally.  Now...

She smiled.  “Can I accompany your men?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Commissioner said.  “The report suggests that the rioting may be impossible to quench without bloodshed.  I’d prefer not to have a civilian in the area at the time.”

“Bearing witness,” Hind said.  If there were any inquests, let alone trials...the Trolls might reach Earth before anyone could hold any trials.  “I see what you mean.”

“Tell your bosses what I told them,” the Commissioner said.  “We don’t need more reporters encouraging the masses to riot.”

Chapter Forty-One

Troll-2
3rd October 2435

Admiral Beatty had been polite, but firm.

“I’m afraid that the war situation demands desperate measures, Commodore,” he’d said.  “We must launch an attack on the system immediately.”

“They know we’re here,” Jess had said, sharply.  It was true.  Troll-2 was much more heavily defended than Troll-1 – and the Trolls had caught and destroyed one of the survey ships as they probed the system, collecting tactical data for 6th Fleet.  There was no escaping the fact that Troll-2 was very definitely a naval and industrial centre for the Trolls, or the fact that they had assigned over seventy starships to defend it.  6th Fleet would out-number the Trolls, but that had been true of almost every battle since the war had begun.  It hadn't stopped the Trolls from pushing humanity back until they reached the core worlds themselves.  “We should look for another target.”

“Except there isn't time for another target,” Beatty had said.  “The Trolls have reached Earth!”

His words echoed in her mind as Magellan approached the Troll world, under cloak.  Troll-2 was heavily industrialised, with a number of industrial stations in orbit around the largest gas giant and a handful of smaller stations orbiting the inhabited world.  Unlike humanity, the Trolls seemed to have placed most of the system’s industry near the gas giant, splitting their defensive capabilities in two.  Jess couldn't tell if that was overconfidence – or if the Trolls had good reason to be overconfident.  Seventy Troll starships was nothing to laugh at, even when they were in stationary orbit around the planets.  Instead, they were sweeping space close to the gas giant, hunting for more survey ships.

The display lit up as 6th Fleet jumped into the star system, without even trying to hide itself.  Jess had argued that they should make their approach under cloak, but the Admiral had pointed out that there was no way three hundred starships would be able to reach firing range of either of the planets before the Trolls detected them, even if the Trolls hadn't been running search patterns through local space.  Instead, they would come into firing range with all the subtlety of a punch in the face.  Jess found herself praying that the Admiral was right as 6th Fleet started to move in towards the industrial centres.  A moment later, the Troll starships jumped into position, forming a line between the human ships and their targets.

“The Admiral is launching starfighters,” the tactical officer reported.  Jess nodded as new icons flashed into life, each one representing a single human starfighter.  The Admiral had informed her that he’d had his pilots drilling endlessly, as soon as the survey officers had handed over the tactical data on Troll-2.  Janine hoped they were right.  The news from Earth had warned that the enemy were now deploying small craft of their own.  “No sign of any gunboats yet.”

Jess frowned.  Logically, the Trolls would have been rushing all the gunboats forward to the war front with the human race.  It was quite possible that they had neglected to deploy them to worlds they had believed were secure...if they still believed Troll-2 to be secure.  They’d detected and destroyed a survey ship already, enough to tell them that Troll-2 had been located.  Simple logic suggested that they would have brought more starships up from deeper into their territory, as well as all the gunboats they could muster.  Unless they believed that the survey ship had been alone...no, that wasn't likely.  Whatever else could be said about the Trolls, they weren't particularly stupid – or optimistic.  

A moment later, the Admiral’s fleet started belching missiles towards the Troll starships, each one armed with a single bomb-pumped laser.  The Trolls tightened their defensive formation, but otherwise didn't react, although there was little they could do until the missiles entered energy range.  Unless, of course, they jumped out of the way...but in that case the Admiral’s tactical staff had added a new wrinkle.  The missiles would head onwards, following a ballistic course, until they reached the industrial stations, whereupon they would detonate and destroy the targets.  Or so they hoped.  The Trolls were no doubt producing their own new surprises for the human race.  

“The fleet is approaching the planet’s gravity shadow,” the tactical officer added, a moment later.  “They should be safe from any flux guns...”

Safer, Jess thought.  The best the analysts had been able to suggest for coping with the latest surprise from the Trolls had been to hide within a planet’s gravity shadow, counting on the gravity to provide some cover from the flux gun.  It might work, at a cost of making it harder to jump out of the system if the Trolls proved too strong for 6th Fleet to overcome.  But there was no other choice.  The alternative was to run up the white flag and surrender.

The missiles reached engagement range – and detonated, firing powerful laser beams towards their targets.  Jess watched, first in exultation and then in puzzlement as only a handful of Troll starships vanished from the display.  The probes the Admiral had launched were showing Troll starships surviving direct hits, without revealing any damage at all.  As the hits mounted, the puzzle only grew stranger.  There was too little debris drifting where the Troll starships had been destroyed...

“Son of a...”  The tactical officer caught himself and looked up at Jess.  “Captain, those Troll starships are decoys!”

Jess saw it a moment later.  The Trolls had known that the system was being watched, so they’d planned a trap, using decoy drones to trick 6th Fleet into expending its first missile barrage on a non-existent enemy fleet.  And that meant that their starships had to be elsewhere...  The Admiral evidently agreed, for he was launching drones himself, sweeping local space for Troll starships hiding under cloak.  His starfighters turned back, unwilling to expend themselves on drones...

...Just as new red icons flickered into life.  Jess saw the ambush taking shape as the Troll ships materialised near 6th Fleet, rushing in towards the fleet’s rear.  They’d hidden in interplanetary space and then jumped in, bringing the range down with terrifying speed.  The Admiral’s cruisers opened fire the moment the Trolls entered firing range, but the Trolls were running evasive patterns that nothing short of a starfighter could match.  Only two Troll starships were hit before the remainder got into firing range.

Death rays flared out, lashing into the fleet carriers that made up the bulk of the Admiral’s striking power.  Jess watched in horror as they cut into drive sections, slicing through solid hullmetal and deep into their vitals, destroying their ability to pull back and jump out of the system.  Up close, the bomb-pumped lasers mounted on the human starships could and did firer back at the Troll ships, but the Trolls pressed the offensive.  A fleet carrier vaporised, followed rapidly by an assault carrier and a pair of makeshift carriers built on freighter hulls.  

The starfighters roared through the human formation and fell on the Troll ships, desperate to save their mobile bases from the Trolls.  Their enemies didn’t hesitate; they fired their death rays as the starfighters closed in, sweeping deadly beams through space and wiping out hundreds of starfighters before the remainder entered firing range.  A dozen Troll starships died in fire, but the remainder kept pressing the attack, slicing into the rear of 6th Fleet.  Jess found herself praying that the Admiral would order the remainder of the fleet to escape, yet it was already too late.  The Trolls had crippled or destroyed all of the fleet’s carriers.

A human cruiser rammed a Troll starship, destroying both vessels; other cruisers moved up and attempted to cover the damaged carriers.  The Trolls fired on them, slicing through their hulls and sending them staggering out of formation, before returning to the fleet carriers and picking them off, one by one.  Jess could only watch helplessly as the remaining carriers started to take heavy damage, explosions ripping through their hulls until they were no longer able to function.  Seconds later, they started to explode as their crews jumped into lifepods and blasted away from the ships, hoping for rescue before the Trolls could pick off the lifepods.  But 6th Fleet had been shattered.  The Admiral was dead and tactical command had been lost.

The remaining jump-capable ships jumped out, leaving the stranded survivors to face the wrath of the Trolls.  Jess heard two of her officers cursing as the Trolls finally destroyed the remaining ships, before targeting and obliterating the lifepods.  The offensive had turned into a complete disaster, yet the Trolls weren't even trying to take prisoners!  Surely they realised that if they picked up survivors and made them prisoners other human ships would surrender.  Or maybe they just didn't care.  It boded ill for the future of the human race.  

One by one, the Troll starships fell silent, leaving the remainder of the fleet – a vast field of debris – drifting silently through space.  For a moment, they almost seemed to be paying their respects to the fleet, before they jumped out and vanished.  Jess watched them go, wishing for FTL sensors – or a StarCom network – that would allow her to tell where they had gone.  They might be lying in wait for other starships, or they might be going home to tell their fellows what they had done to an imprudent human fleet.  There was no way to know.

The entire engagement, she realised suddenly, had lasted less than fifteen minutes.  Less, really; the Admiral had held his fire until they entered firing range of the decoy ships, intending to force them to fight at a disadvantage.  Instead, the Trolls had outthought him and this was the result.  Jess looked at the shattered remains of a dozen fleet carriers, twisting helplessly in the vacuum of space, and shivered.  6th Fleet had been destroyed so rapidly that the Troll industrial stations had taken no damage at all.  The fleet had been destroyed for nothing.

It was difficult to tell if there were still lifepods operating within the debris field.  Before the war, lifepods had been equipped with beacons that had signalled their location to any passing starship, but that had been before the Trolls started burning them out of space.  These days, lifepods only activated their beacons in response to a specific signal from a SAR craft, which suggested that there might still be other lifepods within the wreckage.  Taking her starship close enough to search for survivors was risky, but she owed it to the Navy to try.  They had left too many people behind ever since the war had begun.

“Take us in close, then pulse the lifepods,” she ordered.  The Trolls might miss her if she kept her ship under stealth, but she would be ready to run if their fleet returned to pick off the last surviving human ship in the system.  “Engineering; keep the flux drive ready to go on a moment’s notice.  We may have to run for our lives.”

The bean-counters aren’t going to be happy about that, part of her mind whispered as Magellan approached the debris.  Each flux drive cost the Navy plenty of money – and keeping them on standby, flexing power through the system, placed plenty of wear and tear on the jump generator.  Just by keeping it on standby, the lifetime of the generator would be sharply reduced.  The Trolls had somehow found a solution to that problem, but as far as she knew the human race hadn't come close to cracking it for themselves.  Or maybe it was an illusion.  The Trolls could simply be replacing their drives every few missions.

A silence fell over her bridge as the debris field came into view.  The remains of a cruiser – sliced in half by a Troll death ray – drifted out in front of the ship, spinning helplessly through space.  Countless pieces of debris spun after it, separating from a piece of wreckage so badly damaged that only its size marked it as part of a fleet carrier, posing a very real threat to anything that happened to pass through the field.  A fleet carrier loomed into existence, looking deceptively intact until she saw the damage inflicted on its forward hull when a Troll death ray had sliced through the ship and deep into its vitals.  Her crew, Jess hoped, would have died instantly, rather than remaining trapped in isolated compartments as the life support slowly ran out.  

As a young officer, Jess had been one of the first people to respond to an explosion onboard a passenger liner that had crippled the luxury starship.  Some lucky passengers had survived, but most of the vessel’s complement had died in the blast, or moments later when the air spilled out into space, leaving those who had survived the blast without air.  The naval crewmen had picked their way through the debris, searching for survivors in places the specifications suggested that there should have been trapped air and spacesuits, yet some of the passengers had died before they could be located.  It had taken too long to search the remains of the massive starship.  Right now, Jess knew that they simply didn't have time to even start poking through the wreckage.

“I have a handful of lifepod beacons,” the sensor officer said, finally.  “Two of them appear to be very low power; the remainder are nominal...”

Jess keyed her console.  “Shuttles, you are clear to pick up the survivors,” she ordered.  She hesitated, and then added a second order.  “You are authorised to skip standard safety precautions when departing and returning to this vessel.”

On the display, the shuttles skimmed out from Magellan’s position, combing their way through the debris field and picking up the lifepods.  Jess watched grimly as they passed a hunk of debris from a fleet carrier, before the first shuttle located its target.  The pilots didn't attempt to report in, knowing that too many radio transmissions could attract the Trolls; they merely picked up the lifepod, linked airlocks and brought the lucky handful of survivors into their shuttle.  One by one, the handful of lifepod beacons were silenced as the survivors were recovered.

“I have been unable to locate any more beacons,” the sensor officer said, grimly.  “I could repeat the signal at greater power...”

Jess considered it before dismissing the idea.  “I think that that will risk attracting attention,” she said.  Why hadn't the Trolls sent their own post-battle assessment teams out to sift through the wreckage?  The UNNS always sent assessment teams to every battle, at least ones where the UNNS had driven their enemies out of the system.  Were the Trolls so contemptuous of human life and technology, or did their leaders fear what would happen if their people actually met humans face to face?  Maybe the Troll government was a fascist state, constantly expanding by war and crushing everything in its path.  It would have been unusual, but it wasn't as if there was a certain development path that every race had to follow.  “Recall the shuttles.  We’ll jump out of the system as soon as they return to the ship.”

The tactical officer stared at her.  “Captain...”

“That’s an order, mister,” Jess snapped.  She understood why he would want to dissent, why they would all want to dissent, to protest their orders.  There might be any number of crewmen left in the drifting wreckage, dying slowly as their air ran out.  But there was no choice.  They had to leave the system and report in to the Admiralty to inform them that 6th Fleet had been effectively destroyed by the Trolls.  And then...?  Jess had no idea what they would do next.  6th Fleet had been the largest unit that the Admiralty had been willing to cut loose from the inner worlds.  They certainly wouldn't agree to send another fleet so far from the core worlds.  “Recall the shuttles, now.”

She settled back in her command chair as the shuttles returned to the ship.  Between them, they had pulled fifty-seven survivors out of the wreckage; fifty-seven, out of a crew complement that had been over twenty thousand human beings.  Even the worst days of the Magana War hadn't seen such one-sided slaughter.  God alone knew how many losses the Trolls had taken, but it wouldn't be anything like as heavy as the losses the human race had suffered.  And their industrial plant remained intact, ready to produce replacements for everything they had lost.

“Captain, all shuttles have returned to the ship,” the helmsman said.  “Jump drives are online and ready to jump us out of here.”

Jess stared at the handful of icons representing the Troll industrial facilities.  If only there was a way to strike back at the Trolls, to make them pay for what they had done to the human race.  Perhaps she could slip missiles into the system and point them at the planet, boosting them up to near-light speeds and rendering interception almost impossible...

She shook her head.  Hadn't there been a time when she had been terrified at the thought of slaughtering millions of unarmed civilians?

“Jump us out of here,” she ordered, already composing her report to the Admiralty.  They wouldn’t be pleased to read it, but there was no choice.  The Admirals had to know that 6th Fleet had been wiped from existence.  “And take us to the first RV point.”

The Troll system vanished from the display, to be replaced by the featureless stars of interstellar space.  6th Fleet’s colossal fleet train – a hundred freighters stocked with missiles and other supplies – had been waiting for them, intending to rearm the fleet...a prospect that was now no longer possible.  Jess watched as the ships exchanged signals, trying to come to terms with the scale of the disaster.  God alone knew what they would do now.  The fleet train carried enough weapons to fight a war for several months, assuming that they had had any warships to fight with...

“Activate the StarCom,” she ordered.  “I need to transmit the report to the Admiralty.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Luna
5th October 2435

The Security Council had hired new guards, Anton noted.  Normally, their chambers were guarded by United Nations Marines, a specialist unit trained in protecting the politicians from any of their constituents who might feel like taking their dissent into a more violent sphere than local politics.  Now, they had produced new guards, wearing uniforms that he didn't recognise and holding him outside until the Security Council deigned to receive him.  It didn't bode well for the future.  

But then, nothing boded well for the future.  The news from Troll-2 had come in only seven hours ago, yet it had already leaked out into the datanet.  An entire fleet lost, without inflicting serious damage on the enemy...Earth was panicking, even more than it had been after the first Troll raid on the system.  Anton had gambled by sending 6th Fleet so far from the core worlds and lost.  The Trolls had obliterated the fleet for minimal losses – and ensured that the Security Council would never approve a second deployment on such a scale.

Not that it really mattered, he reflected.  Even if he hadn't been sure that the Trolls were watching the system, they simply couldn't afford to risk uncovering Earth or any of the other core worlds for so long.  The news was an unmigrated liturgy of horror; Troll attacks on the core worlds, pirate attacks along the borders and rioting on all of the worlds that humanity knew must be defended.  Piece by piece, the United Nations was coming apart; right now, Anton wouldn't have bet on the Trolls arriving to finish the job before the politicians did it for them.  There were so many recriminations in the General Assembly that armed guards had had to separate some of the politicians before they could kill some of their fellows.  The cynical part of Anton’s mind wondered if that wouldn't have been an improvement on the current situation.  

He looked up as the door opened, revealing a guard who spoke rapidly to another guard, passing on a message without using the local datanet.  Anton shrugged as the guards beckoned him forward and motioned him through the door, before they started scanning him with various security sensors.  He had never had to go through a security check before entering the council’s chambers, but it was just another sign of their growing paranoia.  On Earth, the police and military had had to put most of the cities into lockdown, just to keep a lid on the growing violence.  The media just kept feeding the chaos with reports of more losses, police overreactions and economic damage.  Even if the Trolls just blinked out of existence tomorrow, the United Nations would never be the same again.

“He’s clean,” the guard said, finally.  Anton had never been treated with such disrespect either, but right now it didn't seem particularly important.  “You can take him through into the chamber.”

Inside, there were more armed guards, some of them eyeing each other nervously.  It took Anton a moment to realise that there were actually several different groups of armed bodyguards inside the chambers, each one as paranoid about their fellows as they were about outside threats.  Anton knew that that would be a recipe for disaster under normal circumstances, but right now it was the only way the politicians probably felt safe.  They’d brought in units from their homeworld to protect themselves from a military they no longer really trusted, not that it mattered.  Anton also knew that a single KEW from lunar orbit would destroy the entire chamber without putting boots on the ground.  He didn't bother to point it out to any of the guards.  It would only have upset them – and their masters.

A strange sense of fatalism overwhelmed him as he was escorted into the main chamber.  Five of the Ambassadors were missing, he realised at once; their worlds had effectively withdrawn from the United Nations.  Not that it had saved them; Edo had suffered a devastating attack only two days ago, with the Trolls sweeping through the system, destroying everything within range and then retreating, leaving the self-defence force to stare after them in important fury.  The only reason the Trolls hadn't pressed the offensive and occupied the system, Anton suspected, was that they didn't have to occupy the system to cripple Edo.  Their attack had already done enough damage to keep the system out of the war until they chose to occupy it.

The news never grew any better.  They’d started running convoys of HE3 from the core systems to Earth, but the Trolls were continuing their pressure on the remaining cloudscoops.  It was strange to realise that something as...common as HE3 could become scarce, yet the Trolls had discovered a weak point in humanity’s industrial base and were exploiting it for all it was worth.  The UN was slowly grinding to a halt, with shipping shortages everywhere – and entire fleets of refugees stumbling around, no longer knowing where to go to find safety.  There was even a report that a freighter commander had sold a few thousand refugees into slavery with a pirate group.  Anton had no way of knowing if that report was serious, but it showed just how badly the world was breaking down.  The UN was dying.

“Admiral,” the Ambassador from New Washington said.  “You have presided over the greatest disaster to strike the human race.”

So he was to be their scapegoat, Anton realised.  It wasn’t really a surprise.  He’d done the best he could, as had the rest of the Navy, but the Trolls had simply kept coming and coming until they had brought the human race to the brink of total defeat.  No previous war could match the number of civilians and military personnel who had died in this war, not on the thousands of dead starships or the planets the Trolls had bombarded.  Even the Magana had blanched at the thought of such wanton slaughter.

“You have persistently failed to bring us victory,” another Ambassador said.

Anton was tempted to point out that no one, not even the reincarnation of Alexander the Great, could have hoped to bring the human race victory, at least without knowing far more about the Trolls than he had known at the start of the war.  But he knew that it was human nature to seek out scapegoats, to find someone who could serve as a focus for resentment and terror, no matter the lack of logic.  The Trolls had opened the war by firing on Admiral Hanson’s squadron, back at New Marseilles.  No one could have prevented them from opening the war.

But had there been points when disaster could have been averted?  Could he have reinforced the outer worlds quicker?  Or could he have convinced the Security Council to declare martial law and get humanity’s industrial base rationalised much earlier?  Everything he’d done had seemed logical, at the time; they’d just persistently underestimated the Trolls.  And their greatest victory, the capture of a Troll starship, had never been advertised to the UN’s population.  It had had to remain a secret.

Not, in the end, that it really mattered.  He could play the game of ‘what might have been’ for the rest of his life, if necessary, yet it wouldn't change the simple fact that the human race stood at bay, waiting for the Trolls to launch their final offensive.  Home Fleet had been massively reinforced by every starship, spacecraft or starfighter the Admiralty had been able to scrape up, but Anton knew that it wouldn't be enough.  Once the Trolls had gathered their forces, they would move on Earth and shatter the core of human resistance.  And that would be the end of the war.

Some worlds would probably be left alone for months; the RockRats would hide themselves, but they might not be able to win.  The only hope for freedom – and victory – lay with Project Iceberg, the one project he had been unable to share with the Security Council.  God alone knew what they would do with the knowledge, perhaps offer it to the Trolls in exchange for their lives and power bases.  Anton knew that they were still trying to talk to the Trolls, to end the war – and right now, they might just have steeled themselves to accept the single offer the Trolls had made to them.  Unconditional surrender.  

“We have no choice, but to relieve you of duty,” the Ambassador from New Washington said.  Was there shame in his voice?  Anton couldn’t tell, but it seemed unlikely.  “You will pass command of the Navy to Admiral Dennison.”

Anton gritted his teeth.  He knew there was no point in trying to defend himself, but he had to plead for the future of the Navy.  Admiral Dennison had advanced in the ranks through an absolute willingness to do whatever his political patrons had wanted him to do, from serving as their eyes and ears in the Navy to following orders, whatever they happened to be.  And he was an abject coward.  Admiral Dennison had spent the war in the relatively safe naval base at Bandwidth and had never encountered the Trolls.

“Admiral Dennison is not suitable command material,” he said, finally.  “He does not enjoy the confidence of his subordinates.”

And that was a colossal understatement.  It was inevitable that Admirals with political connections – and the right accidents of birth – would reach high rank, but Anton had spent much of his time trying to keep unqualified officers out of senior posts.  Admiral Dennison’s performances at various fleet exercises – where his principle response to failure was to pick scapegoats from among his subordinates and blame them for his mistakes – hadn't even managed to reach mediocre.

“Admiral Dennison is an officer with a superb understanding of the political realities,” one of the Ambassadors said.  The fix was in, Anton realised.  Someone had come up with a political compromise that had pushed Admiral Dennison to the forefront of their minds, in exchange for...what?  There was no way to know.  “We feel that he will be able to reassure the fleet...”

“He won’t,” Anton said, flatly.  “This is not an issue where political realities are important.  The defence of Earth requires an officer who knows what he’s doing – and can pull the best from his subordinates.  If you put Admiral Dennison in command, it will shatter the fleet’s confidence in its command structure and that will be disastrous.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.  “Admiral,” one of the Ambassadors said, finally, “what are you saying?”

Anton threw caution to the winds.  “Admiral Dennison is an idiot who will get a great many people killed,” he snapped.  “If you want to bargain with the Trolls, you’ll be in a better position to do it before the Trolls destroy Earth’s defences.”

The Ambassadors exchanged glances.  “Very well,” one of them said, finally.  “We will allow you to nominate your own successor.  And then you will resign your position.”

Anton nodded.  “If you no longer have faith in me, I can no longer serve,” he said.  Oddly, even though he knew that the human race was in a desperate position, he still felt a little relieved at passing the responsibility on to someone else.  “I will see to it that the next Admiral takes command, followed by resigning.”

He stood up, saluted them and marched out of their chambers.  There was work to do, including his final set of orders to the fleet – and to Iceberg.  And then he could go home and reflect on the fact that, for once in his life, there was nothing more to do.

***
Anton had never owned an apartment of his own until he’d been promoted to Admiral and spent more time on Luna than on starships.  He’d purchased a fairly small flat and fitted it out as a place to rest when he wasn’t in the Admiralty HQ, resisting the temptation to purchase a much larger building for himself.  Anton had never married – all of his girlfriends had eventually gone onwards, leaving him alone – and right now he felt alone.  And his heart felt heavy with the weight of the secrets he'd taken with him when he left the building for the final time.  

By now, Area 51 would be evacuating its personnel and equipment to Iceberg, abandoning the UN’s most secret research establishment.  Phoenix would be on her way to Earth, in the hopes of using her existence to convince the politicians that the war was not hopeless, a final desperate gamble.  And then Phoenix would jump back into interstellar space and prepare to resume the war once the Trolls completed the destruction of human independence.  She would be the last best hope of mankind.

He could understand how the politicians felt, even though they should know better.  It was hard enough for him to accept that the human race was staring right down the barrel of racial extinction, or at the very least permanent servitude.  There was something about the human mind that simply refused to tolerate the prospect of absolute failure, or that the end might finally have come.  Even with the Trolls slaughtering vast numbers of human civilians, it was hard to imagine that they would get them all.  The UN had settled over three hundred colony worlds; the RockRats had spread themselves across countless asteroids, seeding settlements in locations that everyone else had dismissed as unimportant.  And there were sooner colonies that had headed out far beyond the limits of explored space.

And yet the Trolls might bring all that to an end.

There was no way of knowing why the Trolls had opened the war.  All attempts to open up a diplomatic dialogue with them had failed.  There was no shortage of theories, but nothing that could be proven; the Trolls were silent, enigmatic, and focused on their goal.  The destruction – or enslavement – of humanity.  Some people wondered if the human race had accidentally started the war, some wondered if the Trolls had interpreted the first contact package as a declaration of war...and some believed that the Trolls were just nasty bastards.  It would be humanity’s luck that they ran into an antidemocratic society that had somehow managed to make its way into space.  Even the monarchist Sutra had more social mobility than any of humanity’s antidemocratic societies.  

He shook his head.  It didn't matter, any more than the regret the Navy had shown when he’d announced his resignation and Admiral Lyudmila’s succession to the rank of Grand Admiral had mattered.  Anton had been relieved, in the end, to discover that the Navy had held him in some regard, but again it didn't really matter.  All that mattered was that he had failed in his duty to protect the human race.  

Admiral Cicero had committed suicide after her shattering defeat at the hands of the Trolls.  Anton had considered following her course and ending his own life, but he had been unable to take that final step.  There was still too much he wanted to see and do in this life, if he ever had the chance.  To go skydiving on Jupiter, to walk along the strange alien cities on Lovecraft, to actually play tourist rather than remaining on Luna and watching helplessly as the human race faced extinction...maybe he’d have a chance to indulge himself.  There was nothing else he could do.

There was a tap on the door.  Anton stood up, surprised.  Word of his resignation had spread rapidly, but no one knew where he lived.  Or so he thought; someone might just have bribed someone else at the Admiralty to reveal the location of his bolthole.  For a moment, he considered just leaving the interloper outside, but then he walked towards the door.  Perhaps he could finally have the pleasure of telling one of those media vultures what he thought of them.

The door opened, revealing a man wearing a black trenchcoat and carrying a small gun.  Anton jumped back, not quickly enough.  There was a faint hiss and something slammed into his chest, breaking through his skin.  A moment later, he lost control of his legs and staggered to the floor.  The assassin looked down at him for a long moment, watching as Anton’s eyesight started to fade, before walking away and closing the door behind him.  Anton felt his strength shimmer away into darkness...

***
 Hind had received the tip-off from a contact she’d made at the local police department, but she still had to call in two other favours before she could see the crime scene.  None of the neighbours had known that they were sharing an apartment block with the Navy’s Grand Admiral – the former Grand Admiral, Hind knew – but they’d been more than happy to talk to her.  The problem was that they’d seen and heard nothing until someone had come from the Admiralty to hand over the Admiral’s possessions and discovered the Admiral lying on the ground, quite dead.

The body was unmarked, save for a single bloodstain on the Admiral’s white shirt.  Two doctors were bending over it, making notes for the police record, while a set of armed Marines watched them closely.  There seemed to be a tension between the police and the Marines, Hind realised, as the doctors did their work.  She’d heard enough rumours to thoroughly alarm her.  The Admiral was dead...and God alone knew how the Navy would react.

“There's no traces of what killed him, at least none detectable with portable equipment,” one of the doctor said, finally.  “But from the wound, I’d say that he was shot with crystallised neurotoxin.  The poison will have broken down in his body before he died, rendering it almost impossible to detect.”

“Swell,” the Marine grunted.  “So who killed him?”

“Unknown,” a policeman said.  “A forensic team is on its way.  It will locate any traces of the killer and help us to track him down.”

The Marines didn't look convinced.  And, Hind realised, she wasn’t convinced either.  Only one group of people had the means, opportunity and motive to kill the former Grand Admiral – apart from the Trolls.  And the Trolls had never hired humans to do their dirty work.

Chapter Forty-Three

Luna
5th October 2435

“They killed the Admiral?”

Paul sat in the fleet carrier Magnificent’s CIC, listening to the exchange of radio messages between Home Fleet’s starships and the orbital defences.  Word of Grand Admiral Ivanovo’s death had reached the fleet only thirty minutes ago and the situation was already chaotic.  Ivanovo had been well-liked by his officers and men – and everyone believed the speculation that the Security Council had ordered him killed.  The suggestion that it might have been suicide, coming from an obviously ill-informed speaker, had only strengthened that conviction – and convinced the Navy that the Security Council was mocking them.  It was easy to see that the Navy was on the verge of mutiny.

Grand Admiral Ivanovo would not have approved.  But the Grand Admiral was dead and the Navy was coming apart at the seams.  The pounding the Trolls had handed out, along with the belief – rightly or wrongly – that they were no longer trusted by their political superiors, would have been bad enough.  But the suggestion that the Security Council had ordered the Admiral’s death was enough to convince the Navy to question its own beliefs and honour.  What was the point, some were asking, of serving politicians who had no honour themselves, who had turned the Grand Admiral into a scapegoat for their own failures?  It wasn't a fair assessment – Paul had fought the Trolls long enough to know that no one could have done better – but logic and reason and fairness were in short supply.  The Navy was on the verge of lashing out at the politicians...and that would be destroy whatever remained of the Navy’s honour.  It might lead to civil war...and with the Trolls breathing down their necks, civil war would be utterly disastrous.

It was the old problem of national disunity returning to haunt them.  All UNNS officers took an oath to be citizens of the United Nations, serving the human race, at least for the duration of their enlistment.  They were the only people who separated themselves from their homeworlds; no one else, particularly not the politicians who had been elected to the General Assembly, had taken such an extreme step.  But now the UN was fragmenting, the politicians were trying to scratch up advantages for themselves, crippling the Navy that served to defend the human race.  The politicians had ordered worlds abandoned and entire populations left behind to face the Trolls.  Right now, the Navy was simmering with rage, a rage that could explode out into mutiny and civil war.  A number of starships had already, it seemed, gone to the dark side.  It wouldn't be long until the explosion shattered the last remnants of representative government and democracy.

Paul looked into his own soul and shivered at what he found there.  It was tempting to turn the Navy’s firepower on the politicians, to send in the Marines to remove the politicians from power and take over the government...but he knew it would be disastrous.  They couldn't force Earth’s industry to move any faster, or produce more weapons...or even take back the millions of workers who had become unemployed as the economy ground to a halt.  Military rule would be nothing, apart from a short interlude before the Trolls arrived...maybe that, too, was fuelling the mutinous rage.  The Navy was gripped with hopelessness, a corrosive feeling that was tearing away at its integrity and its faith in itself.  Paul knew that they believed that the Trolls were just gathering their forces before advancing on Earth, and the remains of the UNNS.  They’d fight, of course, and they would hurt the Trolls, but it wouldn't be enough.

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said, sharply.  “I’m picking up a report of a firefight breaking out in the Luna HQ.  Admiral Lyudmila is out of contact.  Myrmidon and Pluto are moving out of position without orders.”

And so it begins, Paul thought, grimly.  The Navy was moving to challenge the politicians it blamed for the endless series of disasters.  And the politicians would try to take control and in doing so, cause a series of mutinies that would rip apart whatever was left of the Navy.  The Trolls might simply be able to walk in and take over after Earth’s defences tore themselves apart.

“Open a channel,” he ordered.  “I want everyone to hear me.”

The communications officer blinked.  “Everyone?”

“Everyone,” Paul confirmed.  “Don’t bother to encrypt the signal.  I want the whole system to hear me.”

There was a pause.  “Channel open, Admiral,” the communications officer said.  “you may speak when ready.”

Paul nodded, composing himself.  In truth, he wasn't quite sure what to say, but there was no time to write a speech.  He would just have to hope that his words, spoken from the heart, would be enough to head off a crisis.  And if they weren't...chances were that he would end up dead, or in command of a government established by force.  Neither option was very palatable.

“When we all enlisted in the Navy,” he said, “we took an oath to protect and defend the civilian population of the United Nations.  We all, from the highest-ranking Admiral to the lowest enlisted crewman, took the same oath.  We cut ourselves away from our homeworlds to stand together in the common defence of the human race.  Right now, we are facing the greatest – the gravest – challenge of our history.  Does that make our oath invalid?

“No!  We are still charged with fighting in defence of the human race.  Yes, some of our political leaders have make mistakes, some very stupid mistakes.  But that doesn't give us the right to threaten them, to plot their removal, or even to cross the line into outright mutiny.  We do not know who murdered Admiral Ivanovo; when we find out, we will see justice brought to them through the law, not through the courts.

“These are grave times.  We are facing the direst threat humanity has ever encountered from without, while our political systems crumble from within.  If the only thing left to us is our honour, what does it do to us if we lash out now at our own political system?  This is not the time to point fingers, or to fight each other; this is the time to prepare our defences to face the Trolls when they return to this system.  And they will return to this system.  Do you really want to give them the chance to walk in unopposed?”

He took a breath.  Speeches were definitely not his forte.  “We will see to it that the killers of Admiral Ivanovo face justice,” he said, “and we will do our duty and stand together in the defence of humanity.  Many of us have contemplated mutiny, but this is not the time to embrace disunity.  Let the police do their jobs, track down the killers and arrest them.  Our job is to defend the human race and that is what we are going to do.”

There was a long chilling pause.  “Return to your stations and prepare to continue exercising and drilling your ships,” he concluded.  “We do not know how much time we have before the Trolls invade our system, but when they come we must be ready to meet them.”

***
“Admiral Lyudmila has resigned, Admiral,” the Security Council representative said.  He didn't sound happy, merely relieved.  Perhaps the politicians had suddenly become aware of just how close they had been flying to the supernova.  “The Security Council has nominated you to succeed her as Grand Admiral.”

Paul nodded.  Never, in all of his worst nightmares, had he imagined negotiating with his political superiors.  One way or another, the United Nations as they had known it was not going to survive this war.  The Trolls would destroy it – and even if they didn't destroy it, a line had been crossed.  Naval personnel now knew that they had the power to threaten their own governments; it would be a great deal easier for them to cross that line the second time, or the third.

“Thank you,” he said, shortly.  “I am not a politician, so I’ll be blunt.  We came very close to the end of everything today and I don’t want to see it happen again.”

“Of course, Admiral,” the representative said.  “The Security Council will be happy to meet your wishes on this issue.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed.  That didn't ring true.  “Good,” he said, concealing his doubts.  “The first thing I need is for the remaining political commissioners to be removed from their ships.  They’re nothing more than a distraction to my officers and men.”

“If that is what you wish, it will be done,” the representative said.  “However, the Security Council does feel that the fleet needs to be more responsible to its political superiors.”

“Which isn't going to happen as long as the Security Council makes its lack of faith in them obvious,” Paul snapped.  “Second, you can issue general orders, but specific military commands and operational details remain with the Naval officers who are trained to issue such orders.  Third, perhaps most importantly, those responsible for the death of Admiral Ivanovo are to be found and punished.”

“The Security Council did not order his death, Admiral,” the representative said.  “I know that the Navy believes that we did, but we did not send an assassin to murder him.”

Paul considered it for a long moment.  Who else would have a motive?  The Trolls, of course, but the Trolls had never shown any interest in hiring humans – and besides, why assassinate Admiral Ivanovo after he had been removed from office?  It was easy to believe that the Security Council had ordered his death, if only because there were no other suspects.  There was no obvious motive for any of the lunar crime cartels to want the Admiral dead, unless they had wanted revenge for the Admiral’s crackdown on New Vegas, Lunar Vegas as the spacers used to call it.  But if they had been to blame, why had they not struck earlier?  Did they really feel that his death would go unnoticed after his resignation?

“We need a full investigation carried out,” Paul said.  “I’m assigning a Marine Law Enforcement Team to handle the grunt work.  I expect that you’ll smooth their path with the Lunar Police; we don't have time for a jurisdictional scrabble.”

“I’ll see to that,” the representative said.  “Admiral, for what it’s worth, the Security Council regrets having let matters get so far out of hand.”

“So do I,” Paul said.  “But regrets never made any difference, did they?”

He clicked the channel closed and turned back to the latest report.  The Trolls had been probing the solar system, watching the human race from a distance.  They’d probably scattered plenty of stealthed platforms around the planet, monitoring the Navy while secure in the knowledge that detection would be almost impossible.  The only good news was that they didn't monitor human politics, or they would have attacked while the Navy was on the verge of fighting a civil war or mounting a coup.  

Shaking his head, he looked down at the fleet list.  Over ten thousand starships, a solid core of them United Nations warships and the remainder modified freighters, passenger liners and scout ships.  A formidable force, the largest fleet humanity had ever scraped up, yet was it enough to deter the Trolls?  And there were the starfighters, the picket ships and the gunboats...and the countless shuttles that had been pressed into service.  Even manoeuvring such a disparate fleet would be almost impossible.  

A handful of self-defence forces had even pledged starships for the defence of Earth, almost as if they expected that this would be mankind’s last stand.  Paul couldn't fault them for being reluctant to send more ships, not when their own people were under threat.  But the Trolls were closing in on Earth and the UNNS was preparing to fight its final battle.  God alone knew what would happen if the Trolls won

But that hardly mattered.  All that mattered was that the twilight of the human race was at hand.

***
“Jump completed, Captain,” Lieutenant Gayle Anderson reported.  “The improved navigational system appears to have worked perfectly.”

Janine nodded, grimly.  Phoenix had been outfitted with an experimental navigational system, one that Professor Lombardi claimed to have created after studying the remains of the Troll computer network from the captured alien ship.  Human starships always had a margin of error in their jumps, even when jumping into empty space, but the Trolls seemed to be much more precise.  One more technology they possessed that was more advanced than humanity’s...but not for long.  Lombardi was confident that the next generation of human starships would be far more powerful than Phoenix, able to go toe-to-toe with a Troll Alpha.  

Assuming the human race survives that long, Janine thought, coldly.  Admiral Ivanovo’s last orders had been clear.  If – when – the Trolls attacked Earth, Phoenix was not to take part in the battle.  Instead, she was to monitor what happened from under cloak and then start jumping out towards Iceberg, meeting up with the other ships and personnel from Area 51.  Once there, they could start building a new human fleet incorporating all the lessons the human race had learned from the Trolls.  And then they would see which race would become the masters of the universe.

“Transmit our IFF signal to Luna Base,” she ordered.  Phoenix had jumped into the system nearly a light-minute from the base, but they would have been detected – and perhaps mistaken for a Troll probe.  One thing Lombardi hadn't managed to do was duplicate the Troll FTL communications system, the miniaturised StarCom units that allowed them a flexibility that the human race simply couldn't match.  He believed that it would be possible, sooner or later, but for the moment more research was required.  “And then hold us in position.”

Admiral Ivanovo had told them that Phoenix was the human race’s last hope.  Janine wasn't so sure if they should be showing the starship to politicians and the media, but the Admiral had claimed that displaying what they had achieved would be enough to convince them that the human race could fight on.  Janine wasn't so sure about that either; she’d successfully captured a Troll ship, allowing the human race a chance to reverse-engineer its technology, only to watch helplessly as the Trolls pushed them back against the wall.  Maybe they would be better served by slipping into the darkness and rebuilding in secrecy, or sharing what they’d discovered with the other races.  No one had any doubt that the human race was only the first target for the Trolls – and humanity had been the most advanced race in the known universe until the Trolls arrived.  What would happen when the Sutra and the Polis were targeted for conquest or elimination too?

She looked over at Sally’s image on her console – her XO was in the battlecruiser’s CIC, which could double as a secondary bridge if necessary – and frowned.  The RockRats were going into hiding, she’d been told, protecting as much of the human race as they could from discovery.  But hiding alone wouldn't be good enough, Janine knew; they had to find a way to fight back.  Area 51’s move to Iceberg might be the human race’s last best hope for freedom.

“I’m picking up a signal from System Command,” McLaughlin said.  “Captain, Admiral Ivanovo is dead.”

The news hit Janine like a punch to the belly.  She’d barely known the Admiral, but she had respected him – and his willingness to allow subordinates to exercise their own initiative.

“I see,” she said.  “What happened?”

“There’s a long download for your eyes only,” McLaughlin said.  “And then we’re ordered to hold position and wait for the first shipload of tourists.”

Janine nodded.  “You have the bridge,” she said, as she stood up.  She would have to decrypt the rest of the message in her stateroom.  “Inform me when the first tourists arrive in the shuttlebay.”

The message took only a few minutes to deliver, but its contents were shattering.  Admiral Ivanovo dead, perhaps by orders of the Security Council; the Navy on the verge of outright mutiny...and the Trolls probing the solar system.  Janine stared down at the datapad for a long moment, unsure of what to do.  Maybe the smartest thing to do would be to take Phoenix out of the system at once and head directly for Iceberg.  They could make their preparations there to wage war on the Trolls, without the Trolls having any idea what was coming their way.

But that would be an act of mutiny in its own right, no matter how justified.  

Shaking her head, she started to read through the other tactical updates from Earth’s defence network.  Maybe she could be nothing more than a helpless observer, but she could make sure that she knew who was standing on the defence line when the Trolls arrived.  She might be the only one to remember their names when the Trolls destroyed Earth – and shattered all that remained of the United Nations.

Chapter Forty-Four

Sol System
10th October 2435

“Do you really believe that this ship can defeat the Trolls?”

Janine considered her answer carefully.  Every politician who had visited Phoenix in her holding orbit had asked the same question, some rather sarcastically.  They’d given up hope in the wake of the loss of 6th Fleet and the Navy’s near-mutiny; others, she’d heard, had managed to get flights out of the system, searching for a safety that might prove elusive.  At least Philip Larson didn't seem to be that bad.  He’d stayed at his post where others had deserted the people who had elected them into office.

“I believe that this ship will serve as the prototype for a new class of starships that can face the Alphas on equal terms,” she said, finally.  Phoenix was a hybrid between human and Troll technology, a combination that was far stronger than the sum of its parts.  But the next generation of starships would take full advantage of the potentials of Troll technology and carry weapons that out-ranged the Troll death rays.  “The war is far from lost.”

“I hope you’re right,” Larson said.  He didn't sound convinced, but then the human race had its back pressed firmly to the wall.  Everyone knew that it was just a matter of time before the Trolls descended on Earth and humanity made its last stand.  “How long until we produce new starships with this technology?”

“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that,” Janine said.  The answer would only have upset him.  If the Iceberg facilities were all that were left to the human race, it could be years before the human race had a new fleet of ultra-powerful starships.  God alone knew how advanced the Trolls would be by then.  “The answer to that question is classified.”

Larson looked as if he was about to push the question, just before the alarms started howling.  “What’s that?”

Janine cursed.  “The Trolls have arrived,” she said, flatly.  The alarm could only mean that, she knew.  “I think you’d better come with me to CIC.”

She led the way through the corridors up to the compartment, catching sight of the main display as soon as she entered.  Earth was surrounded by red icons, pushing down into low orbit around the planet.  They’d jumped right into high orbit, Janine realised in shock, emerging at knife-range of Home Fleet.  Their death rays would cut into the fleet before the human ships could recover from their shock and start firing back.  Hundreds of green icons were flickering out of existence, faster than her eye could follow them.  Far too many of Earth’s defenders were really nothing more than converted civilian ships.

“Do something,” Larson urged.  “Take this ship to Earth and fight!”

Janine wanted to join the fight, even though Phoenix wasn't powerful enough to tip the balance in Earth’s favour.  But she had her orders.  If Earth fell, Phoenix was to be the core of a new resistance against the Trolls, using Area 51’s technology to build up a new fleet and eventually throw the Trolls out of human space.  All she could do now was watch helplessly and record what happened as Home Fleet fought its final battle.

“We can't,” she said, quietly.  “I guess you’re stuck with us for the duration, Mr. Larson.”

***
“Launch all fighters,” the CAG was bellowing.  Paul grabbed at his command chair as Magnificent shuddered under the weight of a direct hit.  The Trolls had achieved total surprise; they’d jumped right into point-blank range and opened fire.  No human fleet would have dared such a stunt, but then no human FTL drive was so accurate.  “Admiral...”

“Move the cruisers up to cover us,” Paul ordered, grimly.  Their only advantage was the simple fact that the Trolls were well within range of the ship-mounted bomb-pumped lasers.  They might just managed to survive long enough to push the Trolls away from Earth.  “And then signal the fleet; prepare to jump out of Earth orbit.”

The tactical officer looked surprised.  “Admiral?”

“We need fighting room,” Paul snapped.  They’d waited in orbit because they’d been worried about what the Troll flux gun would do to their position in interplanetary space.  Now, the Trolls had turned that against them.  “And we need time to reorganise.”

“Potomac has taken heavy damage,” another officer reported.  “She’s losing air and...”

A green icon vanished from the display.  “She’s gone, Admiral,” he added.  Paul grimaced.  The Trolls were pressing their offensive against the fleet carriers, largely ignoring the cruisers even though they were carrying weapons that could hurt the Trolls.  But that made sense; take out the carriers and Home Fleet would be effectively crippled.  “Mountbatten is under heavy attack.”

“Order the 56th Cruiser Squadron to cover her,” Paul ordered, just as a new shower of red icons sprung into life.  Enemy gunboats had jumped into the inner system, roaring down on Earth’s defences.  The massive orbital fortresses that had protected Earth against all threats for centuries were under heavy attack.  One by one, they blinked out of existence as the Trolls drove their death rays deep into their superstructure.  “Swing around the fighters and order them to cover the fortresses.”

He pulled back, trying to take in the entire scene.  The Trolls had gambled and it had paid off for them, even though at least a hundred Troll starships had been vaporised by the cruisers or the automated bomb-pumped mines they’d scattered through low orbit.  In return, they had shattered Home Fleet’s defensive formation and destroyed nearly eight carriers, with seven more badly damaged and on the verge of total destruction.  Home Fleet needed time to reorganised its scattered squadrons and time was exactly what the Trolls were not going to give his people.  Humanity’s last major battle was also going to be one of its shortest.

A tear pricked at his eye as he saw his people fighting magnificently to the last.  Civilian craft, armed with makeshift weapons mounted on their hulls, threw themselves at the Trolls, sometimes ramming their ships directly into the Troll starships.  But countless more were burned out of space before they could get into effective attack range, or obliterated in passing as the gunboats roared through their formations and threw themselves on the carriers.  Magnificent shuddered again as her 5th launch tube was completely destroyed by a gunboat slamming into its flight deck, triggering off a series of explosions that blew a shower of debris out into space.  The fight had barely lasted five minutes and yet it was already becoming hopeless.

“A new wave of incoming gunboats,” one of the officers snapped.  More red icons had materialised out of nowhere, racing down towards Magnificent and her fellow carriers.  “Point defence on alert; standing by to intercept...”

“Bring up the flux drive,” Paul ordered, sharply.  Home Fleet had lost the battle; now, all that mattered was finding a safe place to repair the fleet and attempt to liberate Earth.  “Order all starships to jump out on my command...”

“We can’t,” the engineering officer snapped.  “They’re using focused gravity pulses to neutralise our flux drives!”

Paul stared in horror as the gunboats fell on the formation.  The point defence and the CSP claimed a handful of them, but the remainder were just fast enough to evade everything they could throw at them.  They fell on the carriers like wolves on sheep, firing their death rays directly into Magnificent’s superstructure.  Paul opened his mouth as explosions tore his ship apart, ordering the crew to run to the lifepods and abandon ship, but it was already too late.  There was a moment of intense heat and pain, and then nothing.

***
Darkness had fallen over Washington City, but the night skies were illuminated by an endless series of explosions up in orbit.  Hind watched helplessly as Home Fleet fought its final battle, praying desperately that a miracle would occur and the human race would survive the war.  But as more and more debris fell out of orbit into Earth’s atmosphere, it grew increasingly less likely that Earth would survive.  Some of the chunks of debris were large enough to reach the planet’s surface and cause vast damage, even if they landed in the middle of a desert.  And if they landed in the ocean...

She tapped the radio, trying to pick up a news channel, but it kept blurring into static.  There was no way to tell if the Trolls were jamming radio channels or if the local authorities were keeping the radios off in the hopes that it would prevent panic; Hind prayed it was the former, but suspected that it was the latter.  The local government had been trying hard to keep the population ignorant, ever since the loss of 6th Fleet.  It hadn't really worked; the planetary datanet was designed to simply reroute around censorship.  

A sonic boom echoed through the sky as a piece of debris tumbled to Earth somewhere to the east, into the Atlantic Ocean.  Down below, Hind could hear panic spreading through the streets as people looked up and saw the holocaust taking place over their heads.  Another chunk of debris fell into the atmosphere, only to break up into smaller pieces of debris that burned up, leaving fiery trails glowing in the sky.  The noise of panic was followed by the noise of sirens as Washington’s police department attempted to respond to the growing riot, too late to prevent it from spreading across the city.  Hind knew, from a handful of interviews that she hadn't been able to use as sources, that half of the police force had deserted and gone to live in the countryside with their families, fearing what would happen when the Trolls reached Earth.  She could hardly blame them, even though their desertion would harm the cities they had sworn to defend.  No one expected the Trolls to show mercy.

There was a flash to the east, followed by a faint sense of movement in the darkness.  Hind stared, unable to understand what she was seeing until she saw the lights on a boat being lifted up into the air.  There was a giant tidal wave racing towards the city, moving far too fast for her – or anyone else – to hope to escape.  She watched numbly as the wall of water crashed over the land and roared through the city, finally slamming into the skyscraper that she was using as a vantage point.  The building shook violently and started to collapse, sending her falling hundreds of metres down to her death.

***
“Captain, I just picked up an all-channels broadcast from the General Assembly,” McLaughlin reported.  “They’re offering the Trolls unconditional surrender.”

Janine nodded, unsurprised.  Home Fleet had been shattered, effectively destroyed, in less than ten minutes of savage fighting.  The Trolls had torn through Earth’s defences and were descending on the planet, ready to accept surrender – or bombard Earth into a land of radioactive debris.  There was no longer any choice for the General Assembly, but to surrender – and pray that the Trolls were feeling merciful.  Nothing Janine had seen about them, ever since the first battle at New Marseilles, had convinced her that they were inclined to show mercy to anyone.  

“You have to surrender,” Larson said.  “Captain...”

Janine ignored him.  “Jump us out,” she ordered, flatly.  They’d have to find out what had happened to Earth – and the rest of the heavily populated system – later.  “Take us to the RV point.”

Phoenix hummed, and then jumped through flux space, leaving the Trolls in possession of Earth.  The bridge fell silent as the crew came to terms with what they had seen, the complete destruction of a once-powerful human fleet and the surrender of humanity’s homeworld.  Beside her, Larson was spluttering in shock, unable to understand what had happened, or why she had disobeyed his orders.  But Janine knew that there had been no choice.  Humanity had fought bravely and lost.  All that mattered now was building up a new fleet and preparing to return and evict the Trolls from humanity’s homeworld.

Seven months!  That was all it had taken for the Trolls to defeat the most powerful military force known to exist.  Seven months of hard fighting, brief fleeting victories and shattering defeats.  Janine had been there when the Trolls had announced their existence and she'd watched helplessly as they’d sliced a UN squadron into flaming debris.  Now she’d borne witness to the destruction of the last major fleet in human space and the fall of Earth, humanity’s homeworld.  Even those from planets who resented Earth or loudly declared their independence from the UN would be shocked when they heard the news.  Earth had fallen, and with it the United Nations.  The remaining worlds wouldn't pose much of a threat to the Trolls.

Seven months...

On impulse, she keyed her console, broadcasting her voice throughout the entire ship.  “You’ve all heard the news,” she said.  Her voice sounded harsh, even in her own ears.  “Earth has fallen and Home Fleet has been destroyed.  The United Nations has offered its surrender.  It won’t be long before the Trolls occupy our remaining colony worlds and start brushing up against space controlled by the Polis or the Sutra.  Humanity faces its darkest hour.  The fight seems hopeless.

“But we are still alive, and we still have access to the technology that produced this ship, the technology that may one day prove a match for the Trolls.  If we surrender, if we present this ship to the enemies of Earth, humanity’s last hope will be lost.  The best-case outcome for humanity will be eternal servitude.  After what they did to New Brisbane, the worst-case outcome is the complete extermination of the human race.

“I say to you that the war is not over,” she snapped.  “We have the ship, we have the technology, we have the shipyards that can produce more starships.  Instead of surrendering, we will slip into the shadows and build up a military force that will be more than a match for the Trolls.  And we will use that force to overcome their starships, liberate Earth and drive them back to wherever the hell they came from!  We will see to it that they pay in blood for every slaughtered human ever since they started this war!

Her voice softened, slightly.  “I won’t lie to you,” she added.  “It won’t be easy.  There will be times when the fight feels hopeless, when it seems that all we can do is fall to the ground and die, but I promise you that we will never surrender.  We will live on, we will survive, and one day we will return to crush the Trolls like bugs!  The human race survives in us.”

She clicked off the communicator and looked over at McLaughlin.  “Set course for the StarCom relay at Gamma-Alpha,” she ordered.  The fleets might have been shattered, but there would be some surviving starships.  “We have some orders to send.”

Larson stared over at her.  “But...”

“We may be the last free humans in the galaxy, soon enough,” Janine said.  The faces of everyone she'd known in the Academy, mostly killed by the Trolls, drifted across the surface of her mind.  “I will not betray the human race by surrendering, not now.  We’re all that remains of the Navy, the one last chance for freedom.  I will not surrender!”

End of Act One

The Story Will Continue In:

Vendetta: Flag in Exile

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