become in truth what everyone now assumed they were: plain and simple pirates.
'Maybe I shouldn't've argued against two ships,' Alexsov said sourly.
'Don't blame yourself. Ortiz blew it, and you were right. Control's cover story only allowed for one 'legitimate' ship. We couldn't know he'd-'
The commodore broke off with a curse. His light-speed sensors hadn't been able to see the SLAM drone rise from the planet on counter-grav, but the blue spark of its lighting Fasset drive was glaringly obvious.
'Send the code,' he rasped, and the ops officer nodded.
'Sending now,' Commander Rendlemann replied, and Howell sat back in his command chair to wait. His light- speed destruct command would require thirty-one minutes to overtake the drone; by the time he knew whether or not it had succeeded, his ships would be within assault range of the planet.
Chapter Ten
Sirens continued to wail as the raiders decelerated towards Elysium. There had been no communication from the 'Fleet' ships, and that, in light of what had just occurred, was more than sufficient proof of their purpose.
The governor sat in his communications center and watched his staff coordinate Elysium's mobilization. His militia were marshaling with gratifying speed, but he'd created them purely as a morale-booster to prove he was Doing Something; he'd never anticipated they might actually be called upon, and the rest of his careful plans were a shambles. The evacuation centers were already madhouses, and the background crackle of reports from their managers grew more frantic with every second.
A dedicated screen lit, and Major von Hamel, Elysium's senior Marine, looked out of it and saluted. His eyes were level despite the strain in them, and he already wore his combat armor.
'Governor. My people are heading for their initial positions. We should be at full readiness well before the bandits launch their shuttles.'
'Good.' The governor tried to put some enthusiasm into his voice, but he knew as well as von Hamel just how little chance the Marines had.
'Militia Colonel Ivanov tells me his people are running a bit behind schedule, but I anticipate they'll be ready by the time anyone hits their local perimeters.' This time the governor simply nodded. Even von Hamel, who had supported the militia concept strongly from the beginning, had trouble sounding confident over that, and he leaned closer to his pickup.
'Sir, I've heard some strange reports on that battle-cruiser, and-'
'They're true.' The governor cut him off grimly and von Hamel's face went even tighter. 'Orbit Command confirmed she was Fleet-built, and we caught a last-minute transmission from Hermes just before she rammed. They definitely identified her as HMS Poltava. According to the records, she went to the breakers twenty-two months ago; apparently the records are wrong.'
'Shit.' The governor, normally a stickler for decorum, didn't even frown at von Hamel's expletive. 'That means these other bastards are probably real Fleet designs … with a real ground element.' The major was thinking aloud, his eyes darker than ever. 'We can't hold the capital against that kind of attack, and they've got the orbital firepower to take out any fixed position. I'm afraid Thermopylae's our only option, sir.'
'Agreed. We're trying to evacuate now, but we expected at least six hours of lead time. We're not going to get many of them out.'
'I'll buy you all the time I can, sir, but it won't be much,' von Hamel warned, and the governor nodded his thanks.
'Understood, Major. God bless.'
'And you, sir. We're both going to need it.'
Commodore Howell watched his plot, eyes glued to the fleeing SLAM drone, as his ships slid into assault orbit, their energy batteries busy systematically eliminating every orbital installation to eradicate any record of their identity. A backwash of assault shuttle readiness reports murmured in the back of his brain, relayed from Rendlemann's cyber synth link, but Howell wasn't concerned about this phase of the operation. He knew all about Elysium's militia, and he and Alexsov had anticipated from the start that the defenders would be forced back on Thermopylae. It was the only one of their contingency plans that made any sense.
He caught a hand creeping towards his mouth and lowered it before he could nibble its fingernails. The drone was up to ninety percent of light-speed now; their signal had barely three minutes to catch it before it wormholed, and it was going to be close. Assuming, of course, that catching it did any good. If they'd been locked out… . God, he hated this kind of waiting! But he couldn't cut it any shorter, and he turned resolutely to the holo image of the planet in an effort to think of something-anything-else.
Thermopylae was going to make things messy. Although Elysium had become an Incorporated World with direct Senate representation twelve years ago, its population was scarcely thirty million-too many for an all-out raid like Mathison's World but too few to provide the industrial and financial districts which concentrated wealth for easy picking. Only one thing made Elysium a target: GeneCorp's research facility. Every secret of the Empire's leading biomedical consortium lay waiting in that facility's data banks. That was Elysium's true treasure: a cargo that could buy Howell's entire squadron twice over yet be transported abroad a single ship.
But GeneCorp's HQ lay in the center of the planetary capital. It wasn't a large city, little more than a million people, but built-up areas could exact painful casualties, and the defenders knew what his objective had to be. That was why Thermopylae called for them to center their defense on GeneCorp's facility, where he couldn't use heavy weapons to support his ground elements without destroying the very data he'd come to steal.
It was going to be brutal, especially for the city's civilians, but that, too, was part of his mission plan. Maximum frightfulness. A terror campaign against the Empire itself. There had been a time when James Howell would have died to stop anyone cold-blooded enough to mount such an operation.
He bit his lip, cursing the way his mind savaged itself at moments like this. Past was past and done was done, and the final objective was worth-
'Got it, by God!'
Howell's head jerked up at Rendlemann's exultant cry, and wan humor glittered in his own eyes as he realized how successfully he'd distracted himself from the drone. But the blue dot had vanished, and he exhaled a tremendous sigh of relief.
'Begin Phase Two,' he said softly.
The governor stared at his tracking officer.
'But … how? It was over fourteen light-minutes down-range!'
'I don't know. It was out of beam range, and none of their missiles could even catch it. Its like-' The tracking officer broke off, her face sagging in sudden, bitter understanding and self-hate.
'The destruct code!' She slammed a fist against the side of her own head. 'Idiot! Idiot! I should've guessed from what happened to Hermes' drone! How could I've been so stupid?!'
'What are you talking about, Lieutenant?' the governor demanded, and she fought herself back under control.
'I knew they'd taken out Hermes' drone, but I assumed-assumed-they'd done it with their weapons. They didn't. They used a Fleet self-destruct command and ordered it to suicide.'
'But that's impossible! There's no way they could-'
'Oh yes there is, Governor.' The lieutenant faced him squarely, her voice harsh. 'Those aren't just Fleet-built ships out there. I figured some son-of-a-bitch at the wreckers must've disposed of the hulls on the sly-God knows they're worth more than reclamation, even stripped-but they've got complete Fleet data bases, as well, including the security files.'
