FOUR
This time there were ten people gathered around the elliptical table—Farland, Rutta, plus eight commanders of the Third Fleet’s sections. Starting at the top, these were: Admiral Gerdagmar Schwartz, the navigational section chief, and Admiral Anselmodesto Bonaventura, the logistics section chief. Then General Adambrose Wexler, the operations section chief, General Toshikochiyo Kaneda, the armaments section chief, and General Achilleon Rulescu, the communications section chief, who were all sitting to the right of Bonaventura. Spindly Rear Admiral Standriej Lee, incessantly scribbling in his virtual notebook, was in command of the shipyards and mobile repair and renovation units. Colonel Modestiepan Korolenko, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Lee, represented the security section. The seat next to Rutta was occupied by Vice Admiral Allandreas Duarte, the Third Fleet’s intelligence section chief.
“Less than fifteen minutes ago, I spoke to Earth again,” Farland said, breaking the tension. “Unfortunately, the Council upheld their earlier decision, so we have no choice but to undertake all necessary and possible measures to stop the invaders.”
He raised his hand to calm the subordinates, and when they finally fell silent, he added, “Colonel Rutta will outline the plan we worked on last night. I’d like to hear your opinions, but”—he raised his hand again—“after the presentation, not earlier.”
Everyone nodded and looked at Colonel Rutta expectantly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he started. It wasn’t his intention to drag the briefing out. “The Council’s order puts us in an extremely difficult situation. We all know that an open battle with the Aliens will lead to rapid extermination, not only of this sector but also of the whole Third Fleet. To put it bluntly: if we follow Order 3-79/54, we’ll lose the war. That’s why the grand admiral and I have decided to use a certain stratagem―”
“Am I hearing correctly?” Schwartz interrupted him. “Is this about circumventing direct orders given by the Supreme Council of the Federation? It would be an act of betrayal!”
“You’re hearing it wrong, Admiral!” Farland roared, and he smashed his fist down on the table.
“Colonel Rutta was clearly—” The young, not even sixty-year-old brunette, with an olive complexion and a prominent nose on her slender face, wasn’t going to give up.
Theo had warned his friend that Schwartz might be the most cantankerous, being one of the latest-generation senior officers who’d been waiting too long now for a chance to prove their worth, especially on a battlefield. In Rutta’s opinion, she was ready to fight to the last man, unless someone told her to plant her tight, round bubble ass on board one of the ships. And he itched to make it happen.
“Silence!” the grand admiral lashed out again. “This is a serious discussion, not shooting the breeze in the canteen! Behave as befits the Fleet’s officer!”
Gerdagmar’s cheeks burned, but she didn’t say a word. She sat proudly as an offended princess might, showing that it wasn’t over yet.
“We will carry out the Council’s order,” Rutta professed. “However, we’ll do it in such a way as not to lose all the ships and crews.
“To get back to the main point … If Grand Admiral Farland is right—and I’m two hundred percent sure that he is—then the recent attacks on our border systems are just the beginning of an invasion on a much broader scale.”
They did not grumble at his words; every officer in their right mind had already concluded the same thing.
“The action we’ve seen so far, involving a few liners, is a classic combat reconnaissance. We don’t know how much time we have left, but one thing is for sure: if we want to stop the Aliens’ march, we’ve got to change our strategy, totally and utterly.”
This time they nodded; it was obvious to them too.
“Let’s sum up some basic facts … Firstly, the enemy did a thorough reconnaissance. They know where to strike, and are doing it with surgical precision, which may suggest they have agents on this side of the border.”
This stirred everyone up, especially the security and intelligence section chiefs. Rutta paid them no heed.
“Secondly, the Aliens have shields and weapons that we can only dream about. To have a fighting chance of winning with their liner squadron, we would have to send a dozen, maybe even several dozen, of our heaviest warships with adequate escorts. Still, the simulations show that our losses would be enormous. Unless we used everything that’s stationed in the Inner Rim.”
Schwartz nodded excitedly. This idea suited her to a T: a gigantic battle, one that the whole Galaxy would remember for centuries.
“But I’m not sure it’s the wisest solution,” added the colonel.
“Why?” Duarte asked. He didn’t mean to say anything at all, it just slipped out of his mouth. A moment later he hunched forward as if he was gearing himself up for Farland’s wrath.
Calmly, Rutta replied, “Because it can be exactly what the enemy wants. If we concentrate the Third Fleet in one of the systems nearby, we’ll be an easy target for the armada which is lurking somewhere out there.”
He gestured at myriads of stars beyond the imaginary line marking the Federation’s border. “Twenty or thirty liners would be enough …” He paused to emphasize the next sentence. “And yet there may well be a hundred of them.”
Rutta achieved the desired effect. He’d built the tension and then gave them time to think. Now he could get down to specifics.
“We have no idea how big the Aliens’ fleet is, that’s true, but only a madman could believe that their military power is restricted to those ten ships. The most recent attack was preceded by reconnaissance. If you’d read the reports, you’d have noticed that the enemy knows what tactics to use with us. It was no coincidence that Rutheford’s weakest points were targeted straight off.
“I doubt that the Aliens—who know our defense capabilities and are aware of our determination—believe they can defeat the Federation with just ten warships. Even having such technological advantage, they would lose this war, because sooner or later the Federation would redeploy a large part of the remaining four fleets here, and that would be a real game changer.
“Taking this into account, we began to wonder what the enemy had in mind when they attacked Valkyrie 7, Valis 11, and Vandal. There’s probably more than just one answer to that question, but we figure that the Aliens’ actions were meant to provoke us to concentrate the Third Fleet so that it would be easier to destroy it with one decisive assault. It goes without saying how such an unprecedented defeat would affect the morale of the people inhabiting other metasectors. That would be the end of the Federation.”
Everyone agreed with the colonel. Even Schwartz nodded.
Rutta continued, “That’s why we should change our approach. From now on, our main goal will be to hinder or halt the enemy’s progress. The Federation needs time to gather all the strength and implement new armaments programs without losing much of its Fleet.”
“Are you talking about the fifth-generation warships?” General Wexler asked.
“Among other things,” Rutta said, before the grand admiral opened his mouth. “Let’s not veer away from the subject,” he added quickly.
“Here’s what we suggest. The Third Fleet will be regrouped into nine strike teams, each of them comprising three smaller flotillas. Within the next two weeks we’ll deploy them in Belt T. Here, here, and here.” Some red icons flashed on the holographic map of the metasector. “This will enable us to respond to a crisis situation as quickly as possible.”
“Does that mean we’ll give up Belts V and U?” There was pure indignation in Schwartz’s voice.
“Yes.” Once again, Rutta was faster than the grand admiral, but this time he looked at him pleadingly. Now was the right time to enter into a dialogue with these people. Farland also understood this; his head moved in an almost imperceptible nod when he allowed his subordinate a little more freedom.
“You have my permission to ask single questions. However, I don’t want this discussion to descend into chaos!” he said.
“In that case, let me ask what about, and I’m quoting, ‘not one step backwards’?” Gerdagmar smiled triumphantly.
Got’ya, she thought.
“One thing does not exclude the other, Admiral Schwartz,” Rutta replied with such calmness as if he was giving her instructions how to reach the nearest maglev station.
“We’re going to redeploy our ships from deeper zones to the Inner Rim, which isn’t stepping backwards.” He smiled maliciously. “Besides—contrary to popular belief—the Council members are no idiots, and Highest Admiral Xiao has already approved all main aims and objectives of our plan and also agreed to conduct mediation. Even if he meets with resistance, the new directives will arrive long after the redeployment is completed.”
“Nevertheless …” Schwartz began.
“That would be question number two,” Farland restrained her immediately. “Let’s close the book on this matter. Please continue, Colonel.”
“Yes sir. Before I get down to details, I’d like to draw everyone’s attention to the one aspect of the invasion that we haven’t discussed until now.”
The section chiefs looked at him expectantly.
“Since the appearance of their first liner, we have received no message from the enemy. I don’t know if it’s just me, but they’re behaving as if in their eyes we were—” Rutta fell silent. It seemed that he was looking for the right word, but in reality, he knew what he wanted to say perfectly well, he just preferred someone else would do it.
“Vermin,” Colonel Korolenko said finally.
“Yes.” Rutta smiled at the security section chief. “They’re treating us like vermin. As if we were worthless, not able to communicate with them. As if we were a plague that needs to be eradicated.
“You’ve all seen the messages from Valkyrie, Valis, and Vandal. After Rutheford’s destruction, the Aliens remained at the jump zone until they annihilated all our drones. Then they went deeper into the planetary system and started firing at the Recon Corps’ station and colony installations. On Valkyrie, it was the same; the enemy didn’t leave the system until they wiped out all our installations in space and on the surface.
“The latest report said that they’d also launched some sort of long-range cruise missiles targeting our ships with no sub- and hyperspace propulsion as well as the relay stations located in the farthest parts of the system. Based on this, we can expect that the alien squadron which has defeated Admiral Khumalo’s task force will soon organize a similar purge on Vandal.”
“Everything seems to indicate that,” Duarte agreed. “We’re closely monitoring the alien crafts’ progress, so we know that seven hours ago they split up and set their course for the most important installations in the system.”
“Do you have any news about the helium-3 orbital mine?” Rutta asked.
“The first evacuations came immediately after the attack. The station will be ready to jump in four and a half hours.” Duarte consulted the report. “Long before the alien liner arrives on Gamma. But that’s probably the only good news.”
Rutta ignored the last sentence.
“From what we can see, it’s obvious that the Aliens’ aim is not to conquer our space but to exterminate Humankind. If so, let’s use this knowledge to our advantage. Why not give them something to do for months, maybe even years?”
He glanced at Admiral Bonaventura, the squat logistics section chief, and Rear Admiral Lee, who was the antithesis of the former. There was no realization in their eyes. The colonel nodded his head sagely—just a few hours ago he would have been as perplexed as they were now.
“How do you want to do that?” General Wexler cut in.
“In a very simple way,” Rutta replied. “Since they’re bent on erasing us from the Galaxy’s map, we’ll provide so many targets that they’ll need weeks to deal with each system. Even if they come in greater numbers, they’ll get stuck in the Inner Rim for months.”
“You’ve just said that their combat intelligence worked us out,” Duarte pointed out. “If they have such a detailed knowledge of our warships, they should also be aware of which systems we’ve colonized so far.”
“They should,” the colonel admitted. “But if you look at the pattern of their reconnaissance devices—”
“Are you talking about these strange probes that fly into our space and disappear after a few seconds? The ones that destroy the monitoring stations of our jump points?” Colonel Korolenko inquired.
“Yes, them. They’re scouts. They leave hyperspace for a few seconds, record all the signals, and disappear before we can respond. If a target seems promising, an alien squadron arrives a couple days later. Please note, however, that these probes appear not only in the inhabited systems. Of the seventeen reported incursions, only five systems were colonized.”
“If they are as smart as we think, they’ll quickly see through our stratagem,” General Rulescu butted in, momentarily dampening the enthusiasm around the table.
“Why do you think so?” Farland asked.
“Well, it’s obvious,” the chief of communications section said. “All they’ve got to do is analyze the radio signals that we’ve emitted recently.”
Rutta bit his lip. The skinny Black man, who didn’t look like someone who spent all day long in front of a computer console, was undoubtedly right. Although …
“Yes and no,” Colonel Korolenko said. Of all the people in the briefing room, he knew most about tapping. “This part of the metasector was colonized just a few years ago, and as you all know, the radio waves travel at the speed of light, so they can’t have gotten too far. If we set traps in Belt T and farther, the enemy won’t be deceived. Signals from that part of the metasector will reach the Frontier in ten years or more.”
“But from Belts V and U, they could have already reached the nearest star systems,” General Rulescu insisted.
“So what?” Duarte snorted. “The Aliens are much farther.”
“What makes you think that?” General Wexler asked.
“They need about fifty hours to send combat craft,” the vice admiral explained. “Hyperspace allows you to travel a light-year in fifteen minutes. It’s not a question of technology, it’s simple quantum physics,” he added as an afterthought.
“So, their base may be located twenty-five parsecs from the Federation’s current boundary. In Belts plus twelve, fifteen, or eighteen.”
“Who says that they need so much time?” Schwartz snapped. “They may well be lurking in Belt plus one or plus two.”
“I doubt it,” Duarte responded. “Such location wouldn’t be a good idea. Listen to this, my theory is more likely. It doesn’t have to be about maximum distance. Ten jumps from the border—” He did some calculations. “That means more than seven thousand probable locations. And with each belt, this number is increased by hundreds of systems. One neutron in a tokamak.”
“Come on,” Schwartz snapped. “Give me people and equipment and I’ll find the Aliens in a week.”
“Maybe you would,” Duarte admitted. “But at the cost of sending hundreds of patrol ships or other small reconnaissance craft. Not to mention the fact that the Aliens could have already locked jump points in Belt plus five, let’s say. I would do it,” he added, seeing that the ambitious head of the navigational section was opening her mouth again. “In this case, we’d lose a lot of ships and crews, and we wouldn’t get anything in return.”
Schwartz squinted her almond-shaped eyes threateningly and blurted, “You can’t wage war and not suffer losses!”
“So very true,” Farland said. “You’ve just volunteered, am I right? Your bravery and courage will show our pilots the way. You’ve won me over to the extent that I’m willing to grant you the permission.”
She shot him a withering look, which would have disheartened him if only he’d cared.
“It’s not what you meant, Admiral Schwartz?” he added, seeing that she went a bit pale. “Then I’m sorry, I took you for someone who values the lives of their subordinates and stands strong in the face of danger.”
“There are probes,” she said through clenched teeth.
“There are,” General Wexler admitted. “But not as many as you might think. After the Valis 11 base was destroyed, we lost communications with one-third of the equipment, and most of the probes from other stations were reversed immediately after the alarm, so—”
“Still, it’s worth the trouble,” Rutta interrupted him, glancing at the dais. “We need to talk to the Recon Corps. Their probes can comb farther belts when we do what we’ve got to do closer to the border.”
“Duly noted,” Farland muttered.
In the meantime, Schwartz smirked at the intelligence section chief. She had to settle for a micro-victory, offered by Rutta who didn’t want her to disturb him any further.
“Well, back to the point,” he said, capturing everyone’s attention again. “Our plan is to send transport craft to all systems in Belts T to R. Their task will be to deploy satellites in the orbits of the planets and create fictitious footholds on the surface of every celestial body. In short, these systems must seemingly teem with life—”
“Great idea!” Duarte said. “It could work.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Admiral Bonaventura mused. Then, encouraged by the grand admiral, he added, “What about scanners detecting life forms? Such an advanced civilization must have them, right?”
Once again, they all looked at Rutta.
“We’ll have to populate these systems,” the colonel said after a long moment of reflection.
“What do you mean?”
“The Fleet has thousands of auxiliary ships. We’ll deploy all of them; that is, everything we don’t need to engage the enemy in defensive and aggressive actions. Let these people and their equipment enrich the background.”
“And I am the one who willingly condemns subordinates to death?” Schwartz snorted.
“In this case, they can die of boredom at best,” replied Rutta. “As soon as the alien liners arrive in the system, an evacuation order will be issued immediately. Our boys will simulate a panic escape and after pulling the enemy deeper into the systems, they’ll make a subspace jump. Upon returning to their bases, they’ll be sent to farther belts.”
“Wait a minute.” Rear Admiral Lee, who’d been silent until now, looked around gloomily.
“Yes?” Rutta turned to the spindly chief of repairers.
“Who’s going to handle the evacuation if nearly all transporters are assigned to this operation?”
The colonel wasn’t able to answer this question right away. The rest were also reluctant to open their mouths. Finally, Theodoreginald broke the silence.
“That’s just a technicality which needs fine-tuning.”
Lee, who didn’t look any more cheerful, said, “Then you should hurry, because the Aliens may appear on Warsaw 74 and Winder 9 any week now.”
These two systems were the largest colonies in Belt S. One hundred and thirteen million people inhabited the oxygen-rich planet on Warsaw 74, and another seventeen million were dispersed throughout the colonies on four globes encircling the red giant called Winder 9. Evacuating so many people from the front line would require a lot of effort and plenty of equipment, and the latter was too scarce to handle both operations at the same time.
A deathly silence reigned in the briefing room. Rutta was skimming through his notes while trying to come up with a way to reconcile fire with water. Finally, the solution dawned on him.
“We can do this if we change our approach a bit,” he said.
“To what? Evacuating the civilians, or building false targets?” Farland asked.
“The former. We are going to move people the whole way to the Inner Territories, which means that the transporters will have to make a dozen or so jumps in each direction.”
“Correct. This needs to be done right. Nobody wants to repeat the same operation with cumulative populations.”
“I know, but the situation calls for more desperate measures.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s evacuate people only to Belt Q. There we have several large orbital stations which we can convert to transit points. If the Second Fleet arranges further transportation, everything will run smoothly.”
“Milowicz would have to work in our metasector,” Schwartz said.
“I have nothing against it,” Farland professed.
“Me neither,” Wexler echoed.
Korolenko was third, followed by Duarte. Gerdagmar didn’t wait until the others declared themselves; she just let it go. Allowing another fleet to conduct operations in one’s metasector was unprecedented. It wasn’t something the Admiralty might approve of—however, Rutta was right: desperate times required desperate measures.
When the colonel glanced at his superior, Farland promised, “I’ve got it.”
Admiral Bonaventura, who for some time had been paying more attention to the displays than the discussion, raised his head suddenly.
“I have an idea,” he said. “Related to the subject. I might just know how to compensate for losses caused by giving up some of the transporters.”
“We’re all ears,” Farland said.
“Since the issue of shifting the border no longer exists, we could make use of all the private equipment that’s been collected to build new colonies.”
“Go on.”
“Almost two thousand megaprinters are sitting in the magazines of the corporations which have been granted new exploration licenses. So, we can create not only the impression of systems teeming with life, but also entire fictitious colonies.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Not at all!” The logistics section chief was indignant. “We’re sending our ships there anyway, so transporting the megaprinters won’t cost us a thing. And when placed on the surface, this equipment will take care of building material by itself. The installations don’t need to be functional, so it’s enough to put up some buildings only. Our boys will cram some old electronics into them, thus creating a pretty successful mirage of real colonies.”
“Excellent,” Farland commended him. “And when the work is done, the printers can be moved to other systems.”
“Without the slightest difficulty.” Bonaventura turned to Lee, who was sitting beside him. “Standriej will help us.”
“That can be arranged,” said the chief of repairers. “Unless you try to fight with the Aliens at the same time,” he stipulated after a moment’s thought. “Then, judging by the simulations that I’ve seen here, I’ll have my hands full with the shipyard work.”
“The corporations won’t like it,” Korolenko said wryly. “I bet they’ve already sent freighters to move these printers to the other Rim. Capital doesn’t tolerate losses.”
“Any suggestions?” Rutta asked, knowing that the esdee was right. The corporations wouldn’t give a shit about the war effort and the Aliens’ attacks as long as the latter didn’t threaten the Central Systems, but then, of course, it would be too late.
“We could confiscate their equipment,” General Wexler suggested. “By decree of the Admiralty, or even the Council.”
“The Council would rather shoot you dead than abridge the privileges of those who fund their election campaigns,” General Kaneda said bitterly. He knew what he was talking about, because as a very young man—long before he joined the Fleet—he’d tried to bring down the system. This information was still in his personnel file.
“How about …” Bonaventura said uncertainly, as if his idea scared him. “We could tell the corporations that their equipment is irrecoverable. Because it was sent to Vandal just before the Aliens’ attack and—”
“That’s a good one,” Duarte laughed. “However, the corporations won’t be easily outsmarted. For instance, how do you want to explain the fact that the Fleet happens to have identical but non-inventoried equipment?”
Two staff officers spoke at the same time. A quarrel was brewing, but Rutta wasn’t having any of it. One look at the dais was enough.
Farland reacted immediately, “Shut your black holes! We’ll start moving the equipment to designated systems as soon as the time frame is agreed. Legal issues, leave them with me. Is that all?”
He looked at Rutta.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to make a suggestion,” Kaneda said hurriedly, seeing that the grand admiral was about to end the briefing. “How about we mine the jump points in randomly selected systems?”
General Wexler gave him a stink eye. Nobody in the Fleet liked mines, especially those who served on warships. In their view, it was one of the vilest types of weaponry—sordid and foul. However, this wasn’t about people but the Aliens, whose goal was to annihilate Humankind.
“I’m all for it,” Schwartz said before the chief of operations section had a chance to speak.
“Me too,” Rutta backed her up, surprising not only Wexler. That was it, he realized. Nuclear mines, which the Aliens will encounter unexpectedly right after they leave hyperspace. “But we’ve got to play it smart.”
“What do you suggest, Colonel Rutta?”
“We’ll mine the jump points, but only after an alien probe visits the system.”
“I see.” The armaments section chief grinned. “Those clones-of-bitches will be in for a surprise.”
You’ve no idea, the colonel thought before he realized that such a trap could only be set once. It meant he still had to work on his plan.
“One more thing,” Farland said. “The evacuees can’t know the real reason for leaving the Inner Rim.”
“Why not?” Schwartz queried, and several officers supported her.
“The Council wishes so,” the grand admiral explained. “Panic is the last thing we can afford.”
“What are we supposed to tell our people?”
Farland and Rutta exchanged a quick, meaningful look.
“The official version. That one of the stars in Belt Zero is going supernova. It’s a very unstable but surprisingly fast process. Science has no explanation yet.”
“And who’s going to believe it?” Lee snorted.
“Someone will spill the beans anyway,” Wexler added.
“For now, few people know about the invasion,” Farland said calmly. “Let’s keep it that way. Personnel seconded to this operation will consist of officers and sailors, so far stationed in the farther belts and having no idea what’s going on. Those who know the whole truth will be delegated only in exceptional cases, for instance when there’s risk of coming into contact with the Aliens.”
“You want us to lie to our people?!” Schwartz bridled at the very suggestion.
“There’s no other way.” The colonel spread his arms helplessly. “This is the lesser of two evils. Our scientific department says that panic caused by the Aliens’ attack could be catastrophic.”
“And how are you going to curb the colonists who managed to escape from Valkyrie, Valis, and Vandal?” asked Lee.
“As we speak, all of them are being gathered in separate sectors, specially designed for this purpose and cut off from the rest of the Federation. They’re going to remain there until the situation becomes clear,” the grand admiral replied.
“Besides—as you probably know—by the order of the Admiralty, on the very first day of the attack quantum communications censorship was implemented and commercial traffic was discontinued in the Inner Rim. It seems that—at least temporarily—these incidents are a secret. Let’s hope it stays this way.”