All for All, page 20
part #3 of Cast Adrift Series
All the more so because we no longer control the planetary intelligence and counter-espionage networks, he reflected. The days when we could offer patronage and titles are long gone.
He put the thought aside as he mentally compared the report to the official statements from the human government and the reports forwarded to him from the fleet observers. The humans had won two victories, both of which looked spectacular even though the fleet observer had been quick to point out they were little more than pinpricks at best. The spy went into more detail about how many ships had been lost and how many weapons had been fired off, but ... overall, there were no major differences. The humans had won and, in doing so, they'd won allies.
Which is interesting, he mused. Isn't it?
It was something that had honestly never occurred to him - or to any of the other major powers. The universe was divided into great and lesser powers, the former doing as they pleased and the latter doing as they were told. The Alphans had clients, races they patronised; they didn't have allies, even amongst self-spacefaring races. The cold laws of the universe, the laws of the jungle, were immovable. One got what one could grab, one kept what one could keep ... one ruled when one was strong and knuckled under when one was weak. And yet, the humans were making actual allies? It was hard to believe they took the Terminus Accords seriously - the Galactics had agreed the Accords were nothing more than a PR stunt - but they'd handed Terminus over to the other powers without hesitation. It was madness. By every sane galactic standard, they should have kept the bottleneck system until they were forced out. Instead ...
"Insane," he muttered. "But it might work."
His mind churned. The Pashtali were still overwhelmingly powerful. Given time to concentrate their forces, they could reverse humanity's victories ... couldn't they? Tarsus was probably helpless before them, if they returned in force, but Terminus? They did have a crossroads generator now - that was a reality everyone would learn to accept - yet it wasn't anything like as flexible as they presumably hoped. It certainly didn't match Alphan capabilities. And that meant ... Terminus was effectively impregnable unless the Pashtali were prepared to take horrific losses while punching through the bottleneck.
And that means the humans have a secure rear area, without needing to expend their ships and men defending it, he thought. They have allies.
It was a curious situation and yet, he could see the advantages. The collective firepower of eight lesser powers might be enough to deter even the Pashtali, if they thought the alliance would hold together for more than a few months. And then ... what did it mean for the galaxy? How many lesser powers would join up, seeking protection from their betters? And what did it mean for his people?
He stared at the report, without reading it. In truth, he had absolutely no idea.
Chapter Twenty-One
ESS Dauntless, System P-34
"The Munoz are doing well, Admiral," Olson reported, as the fleet glided through a crossroads and into System P-34. "The Pashtali are taking a beating."
Naomi nodded. She'd been nervous about relying on her allies to clear the crossroads, despite weeks of simulations and joint exercises, but the aliens had done well. They'd thrust through the crossroads, projecting an image of being strong without being too formidable, then brought in the rest of their squadrons when the Pashtali chose to stand and fight. Her lips twisted into a grim smile as the last of the enemy ships vanished from the display. They should have fled the moment they'd seen the ships emerging from the crossroads. It might have saved their lives.
And they would've added their ships to the enemy fleet being gathered to confront us, she thought, coldly. The scouts hadn't located any trace of an enemy fleet, beyond a handful of pickets and guardships monitoring various crossroads and star systems, but she was morbidly sure it was being assembled and prepared. She'd trailed her coat through a handful of enemy systems, none particularly important, in hopes of keeping the enemy guessing about her movements, yet she knew it was just a matter of time before the Pashtali tried to do something. They have to stop us before they start losing control of their own systems.
She allowed herself another smile. The Pashtali had tried to lay claim to the Occupied Zone by weakening humanity's grip on it, then insisting the absence of any effective control over the sector gave them the right to send ships to patrol, protect their convoys and effectively take over. There was a certain sense of pleasure in turning the logic on them. The more systems she raided - punching out defences, hammering ground bases, destroying passing convoys - the weaker the enemy would look, eventually convincing other races to send ships to 'secure' the star systems ... and, effectively, take control for themselves. It would be a while before anyone worked up the nerve to try - the Pashtali were still terrifyingly powerful - but she was sure someone would. Eventually. If the Galactics thought the Pashtali Empire was on the verge of collapse, they'd want to grab what they could before someone else got there first.
"Detach two raiding squadrons to the planet, with instructions to clear the enemy presence," she ordered. "And remind them that, if they run into something they can't handle, they are to back off."
"Aye, Admiral," Olson said.
Naomi nodded. The system wasn't particularly important in the grand scheme of things. The files had been vague, but - reading between the lines - it was clear the natives had barely mastered the wheel when the Pashtali arrived and took over. They were so lowly on the galactic scale, thanks to their masters, that they didn't even reach the level of clients or even scavengers. They had no hope of independence, let alone power in their own right ... she shuddered, all too aware humanity could have gone the same way, penned up in enclaves and left to die. She wished she could do something for them, beyond blowing away the Pashtali bases on the surface, but there was nothing. There was no way she could defend them when the enemy returned to retake the system.
We should be able to do something, she thought, but nothing came to mind. She didn't even have time to pick up a handful of aliens and take them away, settling them somewhere far from enemy space. Or did she? She had a pair of empty troop transports that could be repurposed, if there was time. If we try ...
She tapped her console, issuing orders. There was no way to know what would happen if they tried, but she owed it to herself to make the attempt. She couldn't hope to evacuate the entire planet, yet if she could lift off a breeding population and move them to Terminus or all the way back to Earth...
Her lips twitched in amusement. Earth might not be welcoming, but colony worlds tended to be more progressive. And who knew where it would go?
"Admiral," Olson said. "James Bond signalled. She made transit through Crossroads Two and ... I'm afraid it isn't good news."
"Spit it out," Naomi ordered. "What happened?"
"System P-33 is a bottleneck," Olson said, as the sensor reports appeared on the display. "And they're ready for us."
We nearly fucked up the timing, Naomi thought. She'd sent James Bond ahead of the fleet, with orders to pass through a handful of systems, but if the enemy had realised the fleet had arrived in P-34 they might have refused to allow James Bond to transit into the threadline from P-33. A few minutes more and the aliens would have had a chance to stop her dead. We got lucky.
She frowned as she surveyed the defences. The defenders hadn't let the grass grow under their feet. They'd towed battlestations from the other crossroads to provide additional firepower, then - if she was any judge - started to lay minefields too. If they hadn't been doing that when James Bond passed through, they'd sure as hell be doing it now. She hadn't been able to keep P-34's defenders from alerting P-33.
"The scout only picked up fourteen warships, holding position near the crossroads," Olson said. "However, there might be more ships lurking under cloak."
Naomi nodded. She doubted it - the Pashtali couldn't afford to keep throwing away ships, not when they needed to meet her fleet with one equal or greater - but it was possible. They'd never have a better chance to bleed her white ... she tapped her console, exploring the possibilities, then frowned. A direct assault through the crossroads would end badly. If she won, she'd pay such an immense price that the enemy would have no trouble mopping her up; if she lost, she lost.
Fortunately, there was another option.
"Signal the fleet," she ordered. "We will proceed to Crossroads Two and make transit into multispace, then link up with Crossroads before advancing to P-33."
"Aye, Admiral," Olson said.
"Detach two scouts and send them ahead," Naomi added. "I want a clear topographic analysis of the multispace region surrounding the crossroads, with their best guess of which parts of multispace correspond to P-33."
"Aye, Admiral."
Naomi forced herself to relax as the fleet picked up speed. There was no point in worrying about the coming battle, not yet. If they found a place they could open a crossroads, they'd do it; if they didn't ... she keyed her console, bringing up the starchart. There were fewer threadlines in the region than she'd expected, but they could make their way around P-33 without crashing into the system and being whittled down on the defences. Given time, they could even make their way to a different crossroads and enter the system without challenging the defences at all.
But we need to create an impression of unstoppable momentum, she reminded herself. A long delay between attacks will give them time to rebalance and counterattack
She studied the starchart for a long moment, recalling the latest - and already outdated - messages from Earth. The human race had new allies; some were willing to take the field, some only willing to supply money and support without putting themselves in danger. The latter would be fairweather friends, she was sure, but there was no point in complaining about it as long as they didn't switch sides too quickly. The realities of galactic power weren't easy to ignore. The longer she kept the enemy off-balance, the more races that would either side with humanity or start picking at the still-breathing corpse of a once-great empire.
"Admiral," Olson said. "Signal from Major Lollard. His force has made contact with the locals and they've accepted his offer of transportation. He requests permission to assign the POW ships to the mission too."
Naomi hesitated, then nodded. She should have thought of that. The POW ships were uncomfortable, even by military standards, but they were designed to hold thousands of intelligent life forms and keep them alive long enough to reach their destination. If the Pashtali were seemingly reluctant to surrender, the ships could be put to other use. The aliens wouldn't be POWs, but ...
"Do it," she said. "And assign a destroyer squadron to escort them back to Terminus."
She told herself, as more and more reports came in from the planet's surface, that she'd made the right call. The natives had been crushed so badly they'd forgotten almost everything of their pre-contact culture, yet they'd been denied any role in the alien empire ... they weren't used even as soldiers or brute labour. She was surprised the Pashtali hadn't simply exterminated them. Genocide would - in theory - bring the entire galaxy crashing down on the perpetrators, but the system was so isolated it was quite possible no one would notice. Her lips thinned . The Pashtali might not have deliberately set out to exterminate the locals, but they were pushing them down the path to extinction. The aliens she'd rescued might wind up the last of their kind.
The thought haunted her as the fleet reached the crossroads and slipped into multispace, her scouts buzzing ahead to watch for minefields and other nasty surprises. How many races had died out, crushed so completely they simply couldn't recover? How many races had become scavengers, dependent on their betters for the technology they needed to survive? How many had been penned up, unable to rise? She had no answer. She doubted she ever would.
There has to be a better way, she thought. Somehow ...
She stood and made her way through Dauntless, touring the decks as she'd done when Dauntless had been her ship. It was a strange experience, as if disparate parts of her life were blurring together. The crew were respectful, of course, but ... she wasn't the old lady any longer. She spoke to a handful, trying to gauge their mood and morale, even though she knew the answers might well be worthless. It would be a brave crewman who told his admiral he was down in the dumps ...
Her lips quirked. Morale was high, for the moment. It wouldn't last forever - the ongoing mission and the lack of shore leave would start to grate soon, no matter how many entertainment nights the captains tried to offer, or how many illicit stills were quietly ignored as long as crewmen didn't report for their shifts drunk - but it would last long enough. She hoped. It was impossible to say how long it would be before they could stand down and go home, or even orbit a cosmopolitan world long enough to get some leave. No one knew when - if - the Pashtali would see sense and come to the table before the war was fought to the bitter end.
It doesn't matter how many perks we offer the crew, she reminded herself. They need to be off the ship for a few days, away from the uniform, away from their duties and the discipline and ...
She smiled at herself. She'd often thought her commanding officers - and the admirals above them - hadn't grasped that point. And yet, she understood their concerns - and their thinking - a little better now. There was no time to slow down, no way to pull ships out of the line of battle and give them and their crews a little rest. Operational tempo had to be maintained, regardless of the wear and tear on the ships and crew. They could not afford to let the enemy go on the offensive.
It isn't as if we can stop them, she thought, as she entered her cabin to rest. It was a short flight from P-34 to P-33, but she could get a few hours of sleep before returning to the CIC. We can only keep piling on the pressure and hope they break.
Sure, her thoughts mocked. And what happened to your ancestors when they tried the same tactic and lost?
She told that part of her to shut up. If there had been any other options, she would have taken them. Now, she was committed.
***
"It seems rather pointless to save the local primitives," Observer Salix said, as Admiral Yagami joined him on the CIC. "Why waste berths on your ships?"
"Leaving them to die would be inhumane," Admiral Yagami said. She sounded tired, as though she hadn't slept very well. "And who knows what they might become, if they were given a chance?"
Salix said nothing for a long moment. The Alphans had written and imposed Galactic Law on the vast majority of the known galaxy, but they hadn't done it out of the goodness of their hearts. The law was designed to legalise everything they'd done, from taking control of a number of vital systems to rubber-stamping the de facto enslavement of primitive races. He had no illusions about the law, or the simple fact it was hard to convince anyone - these days - to enforce it against the Great Powers. And his people had no real concerns about primitive races. They would hardly go to war on their behalf.
And yet, the humans had deployed ships to rescue a bunch of primitives from alien domination.
It puzzled him. The Munoz and the others had something to offer - ships, personnel, a reason to fight - but the primitives had nothing. They had nothing except sticks and stones ... they didn't even have insights into Pashtali thinking or technology from being subjugated that might justify the expense. The human race was going to have to pay for their care and feeding, as well as everything else. The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. And yet ...
"They can give you nothing," he said, finally. "Why help them?"
"It costs us very little," Admiral Yagami said. "And it may wind up being very useful."
She turned away and continued to snap orders as her fleet split in two, one force launching missile pods through the crossroads while the other headed to the RV point. Salix leaned forward, watching with interest. The missile pods wouldn't do much, if any, damage to the enemy defences, but they'd keep enemy eyes focused on the crossroads. Would they realise the humans had brought their captured crossroads generator all the way from Earth? Salix was mildly surprised they'd gone to all that trouble. His people would have paid through the nose to get their hands on the alien ship and take it apart, just to see how it worked. The Pashtali hadn't come up with something new, although it was hard to be certain. They'd certainly surprised everyone when they'd opened crossroads in the middle of the first major engagement.
And there's no way to know how many other ships they have that can open crossroads, he reminded himself. The official estimates had been vague to the point of uselessness. Half the analyst team had been in deep denial, despite the sensor records the Solar Navy had forwarded; the other half had veered between insisting there was only one crossroads generator and suggesting there might be an entire fleet of them. They have to have more than one, but how many?
"Admiral," Olson said. "The fleet has reached the deployment zone."
Admiral Yagami glanced at Salix. "How do your ships handle the gravity flux?"
"They adapt," Salix said. He didn't know the technical details - the few who did were rarely permitted to leave the homeworld and never allowed to leave the empire - but he'd been on warcruisers that had jumped into combat zones before. "The Pashtali generators are nowhere near as advanced as ours."
"So it would seem," Admiral Yagami said. He thought he saw hesitation, even concern, on her face. Relying on alien technology had to gnaw at her, although there was little in her fleet that was purely human. He couldn't fault her. The crossroads generator had been put together by a very inhuman race and the slightest mistake could be disastrous. The only way to be sure the control system worked was to try it. "Signal Crossroads. They are to open the gateway in five minutes."
"Aye, Admiral," Olson said.
