All for All, page 34
part #3 of Cast Adrift Series
We'll have hurt them, she thought, but not enough to stop them.
She sighed inwardly, feeling the seconds tick away. A conventional attempt to raise the siege would have been, ideally, paired with an attack from the far side. The Pashtali had clearly expected it, judging by how quickly they'd moved their fleet, and yet ... one hadn't materialised. Did they think the attackers had screwed up the timing? Or ... she forced herself to wait, hoping and praying the Pashtali took the bait. They'd never have a better chance to bring her fleet to battle on favourable terms.
"Admiral," Olson said. "The enemy fleet is raising the siege and coming after us."
"Not all the siege," Naomi commented. "The minefields will still be in place."
She took a breath as the display updated. The Pashtali had clearly taken a few minutes to reorganise their fleet. She'd had a chance to hammer them into submission, but not the ships and firepower to take advantage of it. And now ... the enemy ships were picking up speed rapidly, coming after the human ships. Her instincts told her to run. It was unfortunate, in a way, that her plans insisted they be allowed to chase her along a very predictable course.
"Signal the fleet," she ordered. "Set course for Antigen, as planned."
"Aye, Admiral," Olson said. The display updated, again. "The fleet is underway."
Naomi keyed her terminal, bringing up the starchart although she knew it by heart. It was hard to be sure - she knew there was at least one other enemy fleet in the region and there might be others - but unless the Pashtali got very lucky they wouldn't be able to ambush her short of Antigen itself. The threadlines wouldn't let them get ahead of her until then, even though they had a Crossroads. They weren't the only race that had surveyed the sector, in both realspace and multispace. If there were threadlines that would let them outrun her, she'd know about them.
Unless everyone decided to keep them a secret, she thought. But what are the odds of that?
She put the thought aside. The enemy fleet was tough. She'd hurt it - the analysts were still arguing over how badly- but it was still powerful enough to smash her fleet if she gave it a chance. And there was the other fleet ... she gritted her teeth. Her most pessimistic calculations insisted the other fleet couldn't get into position to block them, not unless they'd run a decoy campaign akin to the one she'd pulled. It wasn't a reassuring thought. If the enemy worked out what she'd done - and they would, because they knew where her fleet was now - they might steal the idea for themselves. Why not? She'd certainly stolen some of their ideas.
"Admiral," Olson said. "We'll be leaving the threadline in two days and making transit in realspace to another crossroads, then proceeding through two more to Antigen."
Naomi nodded. "We don't want to get too far ahead," she said. There were shorter routes to their destination, but they ran the risk of being intercepted ahead of time. "We don't want them to give up and reverse course."
Her mind churned. What would the enemy do? She'd tempted them with the prospect of destroying her entire fleet and, in return, they'd effectively lifted the siege. The Terminus powers would have no trouble blowing away the minefield, and the handful of ships backing it up, and securing the far side of the crossroads ... the Pashtali would have to choose between running her fleet down, which would knock the human race out of the war, or reversing course and going back to re-establish the siege. That wouldn't be easy. The best they could hope for, if they did, was locking the crossroads down again. And they'd still look weak in front of the entire galaxy.
The vultures are really starting to gather now, she thought. The news reports were all too clear. They need a victory or they're toast.
"They'll be chasing us for a week or so," Olson said. "Do you think they'll give up?"
"They can't," Naomi said, although she wasn't sure that was true. The Pashtali could break contact anytime they liked. Hell, they might assume she intended to break contact and simply abandon the pursuit before she had a chance. "They need a victory."
She smiled, inwardly. The aliens might be very alien, but their thinking couldn't be that alien. The iron law of galactic politics was that the strong did what they liked, as the Athenians had argued thousands of years ago, and the weak suffered what they must ... if they weren't accidentally wiped out. It stood to reason that the Pashtali would do everything in their power to avoid looking vulnerable, with so many other powers eying their territory with hungry eyes. If they broke contact, even if they re-established the siege, they'd look weak and weakness invited attack. No, they'd come after her ...
Unless they decide to abandon large chunks of their empire and defend their core worlds while building up their forces to resume the war, she thought. But that would bring powerful enemy forces far too close to their homeworld for comfort.
"Keep the range close, but not too close," she reminded him. Her mother had told her once, years ago, that the secret to catching a guy's heart was to run ... but not too fast. The principle was the same. As long as the enemy thought they could catch her, as long as they thought they could still win, they wouldn't give up and go home. "And signal the fleet. If anyone has any problems, I want to know about them."
"Aye, Admiral," Olson said.
"And make sure the alpha crews get some rest," Naomi added. They were going to be keeping their distance for a week, rather than skirmishing with the enemy. There was no need to wear her people out. "You, too."
"Aye, Admiral," Olson said. "And you."
Naomi nodded. "Alert me if anything changes," she ordered. Perversely, the best thing she could do for her crew was to make a show of going to her cabin to sleep. The fact that the cabin was right next to the CIC, and she could get from one to the other in less than a minute, was immaterial. She had to make a show of calm confidence. "And transfer command to the beta crews at the end of your shift."
"Aye, Admiral."
***
It was customary, Observer Salix reflected, for hostile encounters in space to be decided very quickly. Or at least it had been. Observer Salix had grown up in a universe where his race's warcruisers were the finest instruments of destruction in the known galaxy, armed with burners that could chop through armour like a knife through butter and protected by armour that could stand off anything less. It had been galling for his people to lose so many fine ships to a primitive race - his heart clenched every time he thought about it - but even those engagements had been decided quickly. The idea of a long, drawn-out battle was alien to him.
And yet, this battle ...
He was uneasily aware of the minutes turning into hours and the hours turning into days as he moved between the CIC and his cabin, snatching a few hours of sleep before returning to his lonely vigil. The human fleet was moving as fast as it could, yet there was no way it could escape unless it lost itself somewhere in multispace. Observer Salix knew the humans wanted to be chased and yet, as time wore on, he found himself wondering if the humans had made a deadly mistake. Their course wasn't as random as it looked. There was no reason the Pashtali couldn't bring their second fleet into position to intercept and trap the humans as they made transit through the next crossroads.
They're taking an immense risk, he mused, slowly. For what?
It was hard to decide, he conceded to himself, if the humans were doing the right thing. The plan looked good on paper. The Pashtali would lose - even if they won, they lost - but it could cost the humans everything too. His thoughts ran in circles as he studied the unchanging display, his eyes lingering on the tidal wave of red icons shadowing the human fleet. The last update had made it clear the siege had been broken, once and for all. The Pashtali needed to win, or the rest of the galaxy would turn on them. They no longer even had the option of backing off and conceding human independence.
He wasn't sure himself what he wanted to happen. His people wanted the Pashtali to lose, ideally so badly they couldn't capitalise on their technological breakthroughs. They'd backed the humans in a bid to make sure of it and yet ... he couldn't help wondering what would happen if the humans won the war. Would they remain friends and allies to their former masters, or would they seek revenge? Or ... would they just grow distant and ignore any future pleas for help, if the Alphans needed it? He scowled. Even a decade ago, the idea of his people needing help would have seemed absurd. Now, it had happened.
We are looking for ways to put together a peace treaty, he thought. The last update had made that clear, although it was also clear the message had been sent before the besiegers had been attacked and their fleet had given chase. But will that mean exchanging one enemy for another?
He wished, not for the first time, that he wasn't so alone. There were no other Alphans on the fleet, no one he could talk to ... no one who could confirm his fears or tell him he was being silly and worrying over nothing. He'd been cautioned of the risks of travelling alone, of falling into a trap laid by his own thoughts, but ... he knew his fears were valid. What would happen, many years from now, if Earth and Alphan Prime had a disagreement? The humans might be primitive, and foolish enough not to capitalise on their own technology before the invasion fleet arrived, but they were also dangerous. The Lupines, and the Vulteks, and now the Pashtali had found that out. Would his own people make the same discovery, at some later date?
And there's no one to talk to, he thought. He couldn't talk to a human. He'd been discouraged from forming friendships, let alone ... no, he couldn't talk to them about this. It would bring on the crisis he feared. What would the humans do, if they knew he saw them as a potential threat? What do I do?
He considered, briefly, trying to ensure both sides lost. But how? No answer came to mind. His people wouldn't thank him if he broke his neutrality. Nor could he do anything, even if he was prepared to throw his life away. Dauntless was a human ship, not one that had been begged, borrowed or stolen. The most he could do was kill a handful of humans before being killed himself, leaving his people with a diplomatic crisis at the worst possible time. They wanted the humans to win, but ...
You might be jumping at shadows, he told himself. It would be years before the humans finished digesting their conquests, if they somehow pulled off a complete victory ... and they wouldn't. There's no reason to assume there'll be a future crisis between Earth and Alphan Prime.
But he knew, as he continued his lonely watch, that history argued otherwise.
***
"We got the latest set of updates from Antigen," Nancy Middleton said. "Apparently, there are now warships from seventeen different races patrolling the outer system."
"Witnesses," Naomi commented. She studied the message thoughtfully. The Galactics wouldn't have any trouble deducing her fleet was heading straight for Antigen. They just needed to look at a starchart and draw a line. "Is there any risk they'll try to stop us?"
"I don't think so," Nancy said. She sounded confident, but she was trained to project such an air at all times. "They don't want the Pashtali to win."
"The enemy of my enemy is my enemy's enemy," Naomi quoted. "No more, no less."
She keyed the terminal, bringing up the starchart. James Bond had done yeoman work, forwarding intelligence through the FTL network ... the odds were good, she thought, that the Pashtali would uncover them shortly. She hoped the crew had the sense to keep their heads as low as possible, perhaps even undock and head for safety before the aliens caught up with them. And yet, she needed the intelligence. If the Galactics tried to take control of the crossroads, it could bring more and more powers into the war.
And not on the right side, she thought. The intelligence briefings claimed that certain powers were running convoys to Terminus and beyond, even setting up bases in enemy space, but she didn't know for sure. If they turn against us, instead ...
"They aren't interested in starting a war with us," Nancy commented. "They certainly don't want to side with the Pashtali."
"Just because we have enemies in common doesn't mean we're friends," Naomi said. Human history had dozens of examples of allies becoming enemies, after winning the war and trying to come to terms with the post-war universe. The British and Americans had allied with the Soviet Union to defeat Nazi Germany, only to wind up in a cold war with the Russians after the Germans were defeated. It was sheer luck that the human race hadn't fallen into civil war, after the Alphans had withdrawn. "Can we rely on them to keep their distance?"
"I think so," Nancy said. Her lips twisted in distaste. "There's nothing to gain from taking sides against us."
Naomi smiled. "Except for eternal gratitude from the Pashtali?"
Nancy smiled back. "Like I said, nothing."
"Hah." Naomi studied the display for a long cold moment. "As long as they look strong, the vultures won't dare to close on them."
She scowled. The fleet was two days from Antigen, with the enemy fleet in hot pursuit. It was hard to be sure, but it looked as if they'd shed a handful of ships ... including the Crossroads. And that meant ... she was sure the enemy had signalled ahead, trying to organise an ambush. They were herding her in the right direction ... the direction she wanted to be herded. If she was in command of the enemy fleet, she would have wondered at an enemy who was doing precisely what she wanted her to do.
There aren't many other choices, she thought. We gave up our best chance to break contact when we passed through the last crossroads. Right now, no matter how they work the problem, the only real hope of escape is flying through Antigen and hoping the neutral powers prevent the Pashtali from chasing us.
"They're on thin ice," Nancy assured her, calmly. It took Naomi a moment to remember what the ambassador had been saying. "The Alphans are trying to put together a proper peace conference. The Galactics are preparing to grab what they can, so they get a seat at the table. They've already lost their control over the Terminus bottleneck, Admiral, and one more defeat will ruin them. They know it too."
"And one more victory will give them a breathing space," Naomi said. She shook her head in frustration. She could kill five enemy warships for every ship they killed, an exchange rate so lopsided it was completely absurd, and they'd still have enough ships to protect their core worlds from the rest of the galaxy. "Why didn't they just try to grab the Occupied Zone, then stop and force us to accept it?"
"They'd never have a better chance to place bases on the edge of the Alphan Empire," Nancy said. "They knew the Alphans wouldn't intervene, not at first. And then they could decide if they wanted to use the Alphans as a buffer, or a target, at leisure."
"Madness," Naomi said. "It would be one hell of a gamble."
"Less of a risk than you might think," Nancy said. "If the Alphans let them get away with it, the Pashtali have bases; if they don't, the Alphans are unlikely to drive them all the way back to their homeworld. Either way, their losses are minimised."
The intercom bleeped. "Admiral," Olson's voice said. "We just got a solid look at the enemy fleet. I can confirm the Crossroads is not accompanying the warships."
Naomi nodded. "Good," she said. It wasn't entirely good news, but it suggested the enemy would hesitate to close the range before Antigen. They'd want to keep her heading in the right direction. Her lips twisted. Someone was flying into a trap, but she wasn't sure who. Who was the trapper, and who was going to be trapped? "Expand our recon shell. We don't want them sneaking up on us."
And if our timing is messed up, this will go horribly wrong, she thought. They'd have a brief chance to break off and run, if they were warned in time, but ... the odds wouldn't be in their favour. We could lose the battle, and the war, in a few short hours.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Antigen
"They should be here by now," Sarah said. "Do you think ...?"
Thomas said nothing. The entire system had been buzzing for days, ever since it had become clear the human fleet was heading directly towards Antigen ... and that a powerful enemy force was on its tail, snapping at its heels. The neutral warships had assembled to 'protect' the planet, and - purely coincidentally - make it difficult for the planet's defenders to take up position on the crossroads, while reporters and observers had flooded in from all the neighbouring systems. Thomas suspected they were in for one hell of a show. The Pashtali couldn't afford to let the fleet escape, not now. Antigen was too open a system.
"There was never a precise arrival time," he reminded her, finally. He'd been a trader long enough to know that trying to keep a precise timetable was asking for trouble. There was no way to guarantee a starship would arrive on the right date, at the right time, and anyone who claimed otherwise was lying. "We only ever had a rough ETA."
Sarah shot him a sharp look. James Bond was undocked, heading away from the planet on a course that would - eventually - take her to a crossroads that would lead her into neutral space. He hadn't been given contingency orders for when the fleet arrived - what orders he had been given were vague - but he intended to record the engagement, then ensure the recordings reached Earth even if the fleet didn't. And yet ... he eyed the timer balefully. They might have messed up the timing. They'd had to leave the high orbitals before they were locked down, as they would be when the fleet arrived, but they couldn't dawdle too long before someone started asking questions. He had a nasty feeling their cover wasn't as tight as he wished. The Pashtali had had plenty of opportunities to notice James Bond wasn't quite what she seemed.
"We'll have to pass through the crossroads in four hours," she said, tartly. "And then ..."
She broke off as her console bleeped an alert. "They're here!"
Thomas leaned forward, watching as the human fleet spilled out of the crossroads. There were a lot of ships, ranging from purpose-built warships to converted freighters and the massive crossroads generator. It was huge and yet, he could see gaps in the formations that suggested the fleet had been in a battle and hadn't had time to reorganise. He wondered, idly, if the watching Galactics believed what they were seeing. The fleet had been running for over a week. They'd had plenty of time to reorganise and reform before reaching Antigen.
