The Turusch would have to be insane as a species even to consider taking on the home system of Humankind with thirty-three ships.
But thirty-three ships would make a good diversion.
Neptune was in the constellation Taurus, at a right ascension of four hours. The Turusch had emerged from metaspace in Pisces-around right ascension one hour. But if the Turusch were coming straight to Sol from either Eta Bootis or Alphekka, they would arrive first almost halfway around the sky-somewhere in the constellations of Bootis or Corona Borealis…say, somewhere around a right ascension of fifteen hours.
Did the Sh’daar empire completely surround Sol and the handful of star systems explored and colonized so far by men? Or had they sent those thirty-three ships on a long, round-about flank march, to have them approach Sol from Pisces, that part of the sky almost directly opposite Bootis and Corona Borealis?
Of one thing Koenig was certain. The enemy would not do such a thing for no reason…and right now the best reason Koenig could think of was that the Turusch wanted to focus the Confederation Navy’s attention on Taurus and Pisces right now.
Perhaps while the main fleet came in on a straight line from Eta Bootis or Alphekka. If they came fast enough, moved deep enough into the solar system before dropping out of metaspace, they might catch the majority of the Confederation fleet tens of AUs away from Earth…and accelerating in the wrong direction.
“God in heaven,” Koenig said softly.
“Is there a problem, Admiral?” Quintanilla asked. He was floating near the admiral’s couch.
“Yes, Mr. Quintanilla, there is. I think the Turusch are trying to pull a fast one on us.”
“Indeed?”
“Neptune is a diversion,” Koenig said. “They’re coming from the opposite side of the solar system.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“It’s what I would have done.”
“Admiral, the Joint Chiefs have given the matter considerable thought, and-”
“Comm!” Koenig barked, cutting Quintanilla off. “Put me through to Admiral Caruthers.”
He needed to discuss this with someone higher up in the command hierarchy.
And there wouldn’t be much time left.
Chapter Twenty
18 October 2404
“I think, Admiral,” Koenig said, “that Neptune is a trap.”
He was simlinked with Caruthers, standing in a virtual meeting space representing a conference room in Phobia. A holographic display of Neptune glowed in the center of the room, with dozens of straight white lines marking the planned trajectories of Confederation fleet elements. Triton was a small green-and-gray globe far off to one side.
“And just what do you suggest, Koenig?” Caruthers replied. He was an older, harassed-looking man, white- haired, with a perpetually worried expression. Koenig honestly couldn’t tell whether the icon he was interacting with represented the real Caruthers’ current appearance, or if he always looked this way, even when all hell
Koenig manipulated the three dimensional map, pulling back to show the orbits of all eight planets. “Neptune and Triton,” he said, and a red symbol winked on at nine o’clock. “The Turusch emergence at Point Pisces,” and a second red light winked on at about ten o’clock. “And where the main enemy fleet will strike,
“And how many ships in your battlegroup?”
“Twelve, sir. Not counting auxiliaries.” But they would be leaving the auxiliaries behind in any case.
“That’s twelve ships we’re going to need to defend Earth. If you’re wrong, Admiral, I’ll be crippling my defense.”
“Sir…we’ve detected thirty-three ships at Point Pisces.
“I understand that. But why have the main fleet come in from
“Because they’ll want to keep open lines of retreat that don’t pass through our space.” He was remembering the Turusch retreat back at Eta Bootis. They’d pulled off in the direction of Alphekka-further confirmation that that star was their staging area. “I agree they’ll come in off-ecliptic. My guess is they’ll emerge somewhere in southern Bootis or Serpens Caput, not down in Libra.”
“We’d be better off keeping the entire fleet in close, waiting for them to come to us. From whatever direction.”
“Sir, I must disagree. That would put us in exactly the same tactical situation as the Turusch at Eta Bootis. You’ve seen the after-action?”
“I’ve read your report, Admiral, yes. And that’s the only reason I’m even listening to this.”
“The enemy may already have launched near-
“If they’d launched impactors when they first emerged,” Caruthers pointed out, “we would have been hit around midnight. Three hours ago.”
“They’re scoping us out, Admiral. Identifying planets, population centers, military facilities, orbital manufactories, ship positions. And they need to watch all of those long enough to be able to predict orbits.”
“Which is why we’re moving our fleet elements, getting them out of the space docks.” He sounded impatient, and Koenig could guess just how busy he was right now, marshalling as many ships as possible for the defense of Earth.
“Of course. But we can’t change the orbits of Earth and Mars. Or move our major bases, like Phobia and SupraQuito.”
“I know…” Caruthers was silent for a long moment. “There’s been no warning from our High Guard automated probes out that way. Not since the original alert last night.”
“Agreed.” That was the one weak point in his reasoning, he knew. The probes had picked up Force Alpha. Why hadn’t they detected the hypothetical Force Bravo? “But if the enemy was aware of our detector net, they might have found a way to nullify it.”
“That’s a long string of suppositions,” Caruthers said. He hesitated again. “Admiral Koenig…I appreciate what you’re saying. But there’s just too much space to cover. I send you out to the area of Corona Borealis, and they pop in at Libra. Or, hell, Octans, or Ursa Minor. I’d be dividing my fleet in the face of the enemy, with a very good chance that you would never engage the enemy at all. And this time there’s just too much at stake. Damn it, we could be looking at the destruction of human civilization.”
“I understand, Admiral Caruthers. What I’m suggesting, though, is to launch four of
“Now look at this.” On the solar-system diagram, a straight red line drew itself from Neptune, at nine o’clock,
