At least until we power up the communications ship, she reminded herself, glancing at the fleet display. The communications starship seemed out of place, like an oversized bulk freighter, but it represented the changing face of war. Kat knew, from grim experience, that she should be delighted with a mobile StarCom, yet it wasn’t an unmixed blessing. And then we’ll know everything that happened while we were in transit.
She ate her breakfast, then stepped through the hatch and into the CIC. The timer had started a steady countdown, ticking down the seconds until the fleet reached the RV point. Kat sat down at her chair, hoping and praying that the Theocrats hadn’t moved. She’d pushed her ships to the limit, but it had still taken five days to reach the enemy base. The Theocrats had had ample time to pack up and leave if they’d detected Dandelion’s presence. She wouldn’t have blamed them for moving regularly either. The longer they stayed anywhere, the greater the chance of being detected and destroyed.
“Admiral,” Kitty said, “we’ll be at the RV point in five minutes.”
“Very good,” Kat said.
“And Captain Rogers sends his compliments, Admiral, and wonders what you intend to do with Dandelion,” Kitty added. “She isn’t one of our ships any longer.”
Kat made a mental note to have a word with Captain Rogers, in private. She’d never really understood just how badly the Royal Navy looked down on colonials until she’d become a commanding officer in her own right. William had told her, more than once, that it irritated the colonials while making life harder for the Royal Navy. Irritated people were not inclined to cooperate.
“Please inform Captain Rogers that I will ask Captain McElney to accompany us to the enemy base,” Kat said. She had no idea if Dandelion could be slotted into the squadron’s datanet, but it should be possible. The destroyer wasn’t that old. “If not . . . if he wants to return home . . . his loyalty is unquestionable.”
Kitty nodded. “Aye, Admiral.”
Kat keyed her console, bringing up the latest set of readiness reports. The training sessions she’d ordered had boosted the squadron’s stats back to their wartime level, although she was all too aware that there were still problems. They’d simply allowed too much to slide in the year between the fall of Ahura Mazda and the return of the Theocratic diehards. She promised herself, silently, that she’d make sure that changed, once the diehards were dead and gone. She’d declined the king’s offer of an appointment to Piker’s Peak, or anything else that might take her off a command deck once and for all, but she could still have a major influence. Any fleet under her command was going to drill as if they were expecting war to break out tomorrow.
If you want peace, prepare for war, Kat thought. The galaxy would eventually see another major conflict. And if you look ready to fight, you don’t have to fight.
“Admiral,” Kitty said, “long-range sensors are picking up Dandelion.”
“Send a standard greeting,” Kat said, “and invite her to take a place in our formation.” She allowed herself a cold smile as the icon appeared on the display. “And then set course for the enemy base. I want to come out of hyperspace as close as possible to our target.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Kat’s smile grew wider. Most tacticians would raise hell about a plan that involved splitting the fleet, but Kat had considered it carefully before deciding the idea was workable. Four superdreadnoughts and their escorts would return to realspace while five more would lurk in hyperspace. If the enemy managed to jump into hyperspace, rather than fighting to the last, they’d run into a trap. There was significant risk in fighting in hyperspace, as Kat knew all too well, but it was manageable. The Theocrats could not be allowed to escape.
And they won’t, she promised herself. This is the end of the line.
“I’ve transferred most of the prisoners to the freighters, sir,” the supply officer said. “But the ship isn’t designed for transporting so many people.”
“Then expand the life support,” Admiral Zaskar ordered tartly. Why couldn’t anyone think for themselves? He cursed his former superiors under his breath. “Make sure they know to behave during transit.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the officer said. “We made it clear to them . . .”
The alarms started to howl. Admiral Zaskar froze in horror, then spun around to look at the near-space display. A string of vortexes had opened, disgorging a fleet of enemy warships. Only four superdreadnoughts, according to his sensors, but they might as well have been a hundred. His missile supplies were so badly depleted that he suspected he couldn’t have put up an effective fight against even one superdreadnought. They’d been found.
He turned and ran for the hatch, slapping his communicator on the way. “Bring the fleet to battlestations,” he snapped. “Prepare to engage the enemy!”
His mind raced as he ran down the corridor, passing dozens of crewmen as they hurried to their combat stations. They’d kept their vortex generators powered down to avoid unnecessary wear and tear on the fragile devices, but . . . in hindsight, that might have been a mistake. The enemy hadn’t quite come out of hyperspace right on top of them—he rather thought the enemy CO could have his navigator shot for stupidity—but they were far too close for him to avoid engagement. And a quarter of his supplies were still in the asteroid base.
We’re doomed, he thought. Even if he managed somehow to get his fleet into hyperspace, it would mean abandoning things he desperately needed. The odds of successfully establishing a colony, already low, would drop still further. There’s no way out.
He forced himself to slow down as he stepped into the CIC, doing his best to project an air of calm competence. Moses
