All for All, page 18
part #3 of Cast Adrift Series
The leader stepped forward. He barely came up to her chest. Nancy resisted the urge to kneel. It was hard to escape the sense she was dealing with a child, even though she knew better. She bit down hard on that reaction, too. The alien in front of her might not be the head of government - an ambassador could be thrown under the shuttlecraft, his diplomacy declared the work of a rogue who'd exceeded his authority if it blew up in the government's face - but that didn't mean she shouldn't take him seriously. His government would be offended, even if it was hoping the human ships would leave before the Pashtali returned. They didn't want their system to become a battleground. Again.
"I speak for my people," the alien said. His voice was low and raspy. Nancy was surprised he didn't use a voder. The tone bothered her, even though she knew it was just her perception. He wasn't trying to be offensive. "We are grateful for your help."
Nancy nodded, keeping her face bland. "We are grateful for the chance to offer it," she said, picking her words carefully. GalStandard Four had always been a little more flowery than GalStandard Two. "And we will soon be departing your system. Your worlds will be yours again."
She thought she saw surprise on the alien face. Galactic history teemed with liberators who'd kicked out the old masters, then established themselves as the new. The Pashtali had certainly told the galaxy they were liberating their conquests from their former masters ... not, she was sure, that anyone actually believed them. It just provided a fig leaf to do nothing about it. Here ... she was certain the locals had braced themselves to discover that the human fleet intended to keep the system, even if they didn't take the planet itself. They might be better masters than the Pashtali, but they'd still be masters.
And the Pashtali would return and kick us out, she thought. And then they'd become the masters once again.
She sighed, inwardly. She'd read a story once, written in the days before the galaxy had forced itself upon the human race, in which Earth was conquered by an alien race that was fighting a war with another race, pressing the humans into service as sepoys. They'd told their human servants the second race was utterly monstrous, a plague that had to be eradicated. And then the second race had invaded, kicked the first race off humanity's homeworld, and told the humans they'd been duped. It was the first race that was monstrous ....
And the planet kept changing hands, until there was nothing left of the human race, she thought, cold despite the heat. They were both monsters who cared nothing for the innocent lives crushed beneath their feet.
"You will not impose unequal treaties on us?" The leader lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Or insist on trading agreements?"
"No," Nancy said. The human fleet could impose whatever it wanted, now, but that wouldn't last. Besides, they'd made a good start by dealing with other races as equals. She wasn't about to throw it away now. "The planet is yours. We hope you will trade with us, under galactic protocols, but we do not insist on it."
She couldn't read the alien races, but she was sure they were staring at her in stunned disbelief. She'd felt the same, when the Alphans had told her they were abandoning Earth and leaving the human race to its own devices. It had been hard to believe, back then, and it was hard to believe now. She sighed inwardly. Leaving the system to its own devices was the best thing they could do. The Pashtali would need to think long and hard to come up with an excuse to invade for a second time ...
Not that that will slow them down for long, she thought. But they'll look like the aggressor in front of the entire galaxy.
She kept that thought to herself - she doubted the Pashtali would lose sleep over the matter, not when it was unlikely the galaxy would unite against them - as she briefly discussed trade deals. The system didn't have much to offer, beyond the right to make transit through the crossroads. The once-proud industrial base was nothing more than ruins, save for a handful of asteroid settlements that had gone doggo before the enemy started to look for them. They would rebuild, if they were given the chance. And if they did, they might be grateful to humanity for saving them.
"We thank you for your kind offers," the alien said, when they'd finished. "My government will debate the matter and reply directly to yours."
"Of course." Nancy bowed her head. "My government will be very eager to hear from yours."
She sighed to herself as she took a step back. She knew they intended to stall as long as possible, first to make sure the fleet actually departed on schedule and second to wait and see if the Pashtali intended to respect their newfound independence. The locals might have preferred to have the human fleet point its guns at their homeworld, making it very clear they'd been forced to concede whatever the humans wanted. But then, like the aliens in the story, the Pashtali might not accept such an argument. It was a great deal easier to dispute such claims when you weren't the one being held at gunpoint.
But the galaxy would know we'd bullied them, she reflected, as she boarded the aircar for the flight back to the camp. It might be necessary, to await the wrath of the system's former masters, but it would look bad in the long run. The Pashtali would certainly make a big show of how they were liberating the world from its human invaders, and the human race would wind up with egg on its face. And the only thing worse than a bully is an unsuccessful bully.
She shook her head. They'd done all they could, as little as it was. And now it was time to go.
Chapter Nineteen
System P-25, Pashtali Space
The Pashtali did not, as far as anyone had been able to determine, name either their ships or their worlds. Commodore Roger Valentine found it difficult to imagine a species with such a lack of imagination - and he knew the Pashtali had to have some, or they would never have climbed into space without help - and yet there were no suggestions the xenospecialists were wrong. It was possible, he supposed as the tiny squadron glided into System P-25, that the planets and ships had names in the alien language, but if so they'd never been translated into any galactic tongue. Perhaps it was an insane security precaution. Or perhaps they honestly didn't feel the need to share anything of themselves with aliens.
I suppose they do have a reason to be annoyed, he thought. Earth had barely been poking its way into space when human history had run into a brick wall and stopped dead. The Pashtali had been a major spacefaring race when they'd encountered the Alphans and discovered, to their horror, that they had no say in galactic protocols. It would have been galling to have laws imposed on you even if you agreed the laws were generally good laws. Galactic history would be very different if they'd been the ones to make it into space first.
He put the thought out of his mind as he studied the sensor display. System P-25 was a major shipping hub, located perfectly to support either a renewed drive against Earth or an offensive against Terminus. Hundreds of ships were gliding around the system, either going to and from the crossroads or plying the lanes between the various planets. The three major worlds were heavily defended, if the files were accurate, and for once he had no reason to doubt them. The Pashtali had invested heavily in the system's infrastructure. He was sure they'd be certain to invest in defences too.
Which means that getting too close to the planet is likely to be impossible, he told himself firmly. Task Force Skinsuit might be flying Pashtali ships, but if they hadn't changed their IFF codes after the Battle of Terminus he'd go spacewalking without a spacesuit. They knew humans could fly their ships now. But we don't have to get too close to make a splash.
"Captain," Marquez said. "Long-range passive sensors have picked out a handful of industrial nodes orbiting the planets."
"Add them to the target list, when we start firing kinetic projectiles," Roger ordered. He doubted more than a handful of the ballistic projectiles would strike their targets - it was hard to target something from light minutes away, even if the defenders weren't on alert - but it would keep the enemy off balance. "Any convoys?"
Marquez peered down at her console. "I think one is forming up now," she said. "But it's hard to be sure."
Roger nodded. The Pashtali system was surprisingly ordered - the majority of industrialised systems had hundreds of starships and spacecraft swarming around - but it was still hard to work out what was going on, not from a safe distance. The Pashtali were randomly sweeping space with active sensors, as if they hoped to catch intruders sneaking into their system. Normally, he'd consider it a waste of effort. Here, it might work in their favour. The Pashtali did have intruders in their system.
They'll be putting a hell of a lot of wear and tear on their systems, he reflected. It was a grim reminder that, despite everything, the Pashtali had money and resources to burn. But they can afford it for a while longer.
"Keep an eye on the convoy," he ordered. "And alert me when it starts to move."
He scowled as he sat back in his cramped chair, keeping an eye on the display. They'd intercepted a handful of transmissions, as they'd made their way to System P-25, but none of them had been particularly helpful. The Galactics were broadcasting wildly exaggerated claims, from human fleets bombarding the Pashtali homeworld into submission to the entire human fleet wiped out with a single shot. The only Pashtali message they'd intercepted had been indecipherable, to the point he wondered if it was a decoy intended to make them waste their time. It might have that effect, even if it was unintentional. If it drew on cultural aspects the human race didn't share ...
"Captain," Marquez said. "The convoy is departing the planet and setting course for Crossroads Three."
Roger smiled, coldly. "Plot an intercept course, then move us into position," he ordered. He'd picked their current location with malice aforethought. Crossroads Three linked to threadlines that headed further into enemy space, rather than leading outside their empire. It was just possible they'd be less wary about escorting convoys in safe territory. They'd learn better in a hurry, if his plan worked. "And prepare to start launching kinetic projectiles."
His heart raced as the ships glided into position. The convoy was being surprisingly careful - he wondered, grimly, if he was about to make a fatal mistake - and sweeping local space constantly with active sensors. There was a better than even chance they'd spot his ships - or, at the very least, detect hints there were cloaked vessels nearby. He hoped they'd hesitate to open fire, if they realised he was flying one of their ships, but that wouldn't last. After Terminus, they wouldn't let any ship nearby unless it had the right codes.
"They'll enter optimal firing range in thirty minutes," Marquez reported. "But they may see us earlier."
"We'll play it by ear," Roger said. "Patience."
He smiled again as he studied the enemy ships on the display. Their active sensors were a serious problem -they might easily detect his ships before they were in the right position - but they did give their targets a slight advantage. He could pick out their locations nearly as easily, using their own sensors to track them. Nine destroyers - or vessels of a similar mass - escorting thirty-seven heavy freighters. It was impressive, by his standards, and yet it was nothing to a great power. Thirty-seven freighters? The Pashtali had thousands.
"They can afford to lose a few," he muttered.
Marquez looked up. "Sir?"
"Never mind," Roger said. "Just thinking out loud."
His mind raced. The Pashtali rarely - if ever - hired freighters from outside their empire. It wasn't clear if they let their clients fly freighters within their space. They didn't need to bother, normally, but now ... his lips quirked. On paper, losing a handful of freighters would be little more than a minor nuisance. They might not even notice. In practice, it would be a different story. They'd have to redeploy freighters to cover the gap and then redeploy smaller ships to serve as escorts ... hell, they'd need to deploy bigger ships to make sure they could ward off raiders. And that would weaken the forces they could throw at Earth or Terminus. It was unlikely his raids would convince the Pashtali to come to the table, but it was possible. They'd certainly have trouble rebalancing themselves ...
Unless they decide to just grit their teeth and take it, he thought. Or use our attacks to galvanise public opinion.
He scowled as the enemy ships came closer. The Pashtali had attacked Earth. They'd pushed the human race to the brink of defeat. The galaxy could hardly complain if the human race took the war into enemy space, could they? And yet they would. They'd insist it was dangerous, that it would escalate the war ... as if a direct attack on humanity's homeworld was anything but! He wasn't blind to the risks, but ... he gritted his teeth. The Galactics might talk about the rule of law, yet it was nothing more than a thin veneer of legality spread over a galaxy where the strong did as they pleased and the weak suffered what they must. Why ...
The display flashed red. "Captain," Marquez said. "They've spotted us!"
"Fire," Roger snapped.
He'd considered trying to bluff, in the certain knowledge the Pashtali would hesitate to open fire, but it had seemed pointless. They didn't have the right codes and they'd just been caught sneaking around the system. He watched as the first salvo of missiles rocketed away from the squadron, aimed right at the enemy ships. The destroyers were already shifting position - whoever was in command was sharp, he noted ruefully - but it was too late to save themselves. Their point defence hadn't been prepped to back up the active sensors.
"The enemy fleet is breaking orbit," Marquez reported. "At least four squadrons, perhaps more. They're coming right at us."
Roger nodded. "Fire a second salvo, then transmit the prepared packets and reverse course," he ordered. "I think we've overstayed our welcome."
He ignored Marquez's snort as the enemy ships started to die. It was a shame they had no time to try to capture the freighters - their cargo might have been useful - but the enemy fleet was already heading for their position. He didn't dare risk a battle. His ships were undermanned, without a proper point defence network. The cruiser shuddered as she emptied her missile launchers, then started to come about. The electronic warfare packets might do some damage - Roger wasn't hopeful, but it was worth a try - as they assailed the local communications network. If they got through the firewalls, the enemy would have to waste quite a bit of time taking the system offline and repairing the damage.
"The kinetic projectiles are inbound," Marquez said. "They should do some damage."
"We'll see," Roger said. There was no shortage of space junk to compress into kinetic projectiles. They could afford to launch hundreds of shots for one or two hits. "Right now, trigger the drones and then take us straight to the crossroads."
"Aye, sir," Marquez said. Her fingers danced across the console. "The drones will go live in five minutes."
Roger nodded, silently accessing the situation. The enemy convoy had been shattered. A handful of ships had survived, but it didn't matter. The enemy fleet was piling on the speed, pushing its drives to the limit, yet it probably wouldn't manage to close the range enough to be sure of a hit in time to keep his ships from escaping. He wondered, idly, if they'd try to fire on him from extreme range. It was the sort of tactic the tactical manuals insisted was worse than useless, costing the attacker hundreds of missiles with no assurance of a hit, but it might just work. His ships didn't have the point defence they needed to survive a running battle.
They know what these ships can do, in the right hands, he thought, coldly. Do they know we didn't manage to capture or repair all their systems?
He glanced at the timer. The enemy fleet was really picking up speed. Warcruisers were supposed to be the fastest capital ships in space - they could even give gunboats and patrollers a run for their money - and yet the Pashtali ships were pushing their drives right to the limit. They were so intent on running his ships down that they didn't seem to care they were risking drive failures ... did they think they could recapture the ships before it was too late? Or ... or what? Did they think they had to be destroyed before their secrets fell into enemy hands? His lips twitched. It was a little late for that.
They might think we took the datacores intact, Roger thought. If they don't think we can fly the ships without them ...
His mind raced. Was that possible? There were no major difference between Pashtali technology and the rest of the Galactic races and the minor differences could be overcome by someone who knew what they were doing. The ships felt very alien, and everything from their control systems to units of measurement were a little weird by human standards, but they could cope. Could the Pashtali? They were so different, they might not be able to cope with human ships, so different they might assume humans might not be able to cope with their ships either. Did they think Task Force Skinsuit was crewed by turncoats?
"The drones are going live," Marquez said. "The enemy will see them shortly."
Roger nodded and waited. The drones were primitive, even by the standards of scavenger races. There'd been no way to convince the Solar Navy to let him take some of the latest Alphan drones, not when they might fall into enemy hands. His crews had patched together the drones, deliberately overpowering them to suggest some ships were using their drive fields to conceal others. The Pashtali might think they were being conned - they'd certainly notice the drive fields weren't very localised - but would they take the chance?
It might not be as much of a chance as it looks, he told himself. The planet is heavily defended. They might take the risk of splitting their forces - and it is no risk at all.
His mind raced. The Pashtali had to see the drones. They had to. What would they do?
"They're maintaining pursuit," Marquez reported. She sounded personally insulted. "They're ignoring the drones."
"Smart of them," Roger said. It would be interesting to know if the Pashtali had seen through the deception, or if they'd merely decided the planetary defences could handle the illusionary fleet, but it hardly mattered. "Maintain course and speed."
