A Choice of Treasons (53 page)

York wondered what ship Fleet would assign him to this time. At a major facility like Aagerbanne there should be plenty of available posts on outbound vessels. He wondered if he could influence the selection any by signing on to a good ship before the computers spit out their choice.

“There’s a lot of transition activity near Aagerbanne,” Olin Rame said.

Rame had the watch. York glanced his way, could just see him between fire control and navigation. Rame didn’t seem to share the happy mood of the rest of the crew. Jondee took the bait. “Sector headquarters—big facility—should be lots of activity.”

Rame nodded slowly. “Lot of clustering in the transitions too. I suppose
traffic control
might be getting a little sloppy.”

“Those boys and girls are always sloppy,” Jondee said.

York expanded his navigation summary for a detailed report, and keeping one eye on the live data flowing in he began playing back the navigation log.

In transition they were fairly near-sighted, couldn’t really see anything until they were within about one light-year of the source, and then they were only able to pick up gross phenomena like the transition flare of a large ship. As expected, starting from about one light-year out, the navigation log showed a history of fairly dim and indistinct data. And as they’d gotten closer the data had grown stronger and clearer until they were finally able to distinguish just about any transition flare in Aagerbanne
nearspace
.

When several ships traveled in a group it was customary to make transition a few minutes apart, spread out and avoid any possible side effects from the flares of nearby ships. But avoiding clustered transitions was really just a precaution, and not practical under certain circumstances; like under hot pursuit, or in really large convoys. Still, some effort was usually made to break up the clustering. But, as Rame had observed, the Aagerbanne traffic control operators were getting sloppy.

Gant interrupted York’s thoughts. “We’re point-oh-eight light-year out, sir. About one hour at our present velocity.”

York nodded, commented to no one in particular. “Should be challenged any minute now.” He thought about down-transiting, taking a good look from a distance, but a flare out there all by themselves might make them too good of a target if there was a
feddie
nearby stalking the shipping lanes into Aagerbanne. And as long as they kept their transition velocity down their transition wake was minimal. A little more caution might be wise. “No exterior transmissions without my authorization. Passive scan and navigation only.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Gant said.

Jondee couldn’t help a comment. “Getting awfully cautious, aren’t we?”

“Captain,” Rame said tentatively. “I’m picking up some interesting data here.”

York was looking at the same data: raw traces from their navigational scans. There was something odd about it. He looked up from his console, saw that Rame had moved over to the navigation console, decided to join him there. Looking over Rame’s shoulder he stared at the traces while Rame began trying to clean up the data.

It was an odd sort of data, small, randomly spaced pulses of noise in the transition spectra. Rame tried to isolate it, pull it up out of the noise, while York leaned back and just stared at it. It had the oddest ring of familiarity, and he struggled to recall some phantom memory. He watched the odd pulses of data grow stronger as they got closer and it made him uneasy. “What’s our ETT?” he demanded, sounding more concerned than he’d meant to.

“About a half hour, sir. We’re about twenty-five hundred astronomical units out, and closing at six hundred lights.”

“And no challenge yet,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “Decelerate to three hundred lights. Sound general quarters, watch condition yellow. We’re going in slowly, just to be safe.”

Gant said, “New ETT is ninety-seven minutes, just under an hour, sir.”

York returned to the captain’s console, sat down and stared at the data Rame was processing. On his screen he watched a pulse appear, then another, then a rapid staccato of overlapping pulses, one on top of another—then a pause, then more individual pulses at random intervals. It was the tempo, the pace and spacing and timing of the pulses, that haunted him. There was something familiar about it, something he should recognize, but just couldn’t identify.

Time ticked slowly by and the signal grew stronger, but still its meaning eluded him. He looked at the navigational report on his console. They were three hundred astronomical units out and scheduled for down-transition in eleven minutes.

“Decelerate to one hundred lights.”

“Aye, aye, sir. New ETT is thirty-five minutes.”

“Could be a little unstable,” Maggie said, standing behind him. She had been looking over his shoulder while he stared at the data. “This ship wasn’t designed to run that slow in transition.”

York looked at her carefully. “Then please keep an eye on the helm yourself. I don’t want to inadvertently down-transit.”

She looked at him carefully, and under normal circumstances might have made some sort of remark. But she simply nodded, “Aye, aye, sir.” She edged her way around fire control to the helm.

York looked around the bridge, at Gant, Stara, Rame, Jondee, their various assistants. The cheerful mood of a few hours ago had vanished.

“It’s the beat,” Rame said, staring intently at his data. “The way it comes in little bursts, then pauses, then comes again all of a sudden . . .” He gazed at it for another moment, then jerked upright and snarled, “Shit! Those are flares from transition batteries. That’s heavy bombardment.”

Now that Rame had identified it York could see it too. “Watch condition red. Warn engineering we may need shield power and stand by for transition.”

Nothing happened for a moment as they all peered around their consoles and stared at him in horrified disbelief. “Move, god damn it,” he shouted. “The
feddies
are hitting Aagerbanne. That’s a major engagement down there, and we’re stumbling right into it.”

Jondee was the first to react. He slapped the alert switch on his console and the blare of the alert klaxon broke their paralysis.

York barked, “Decelerate to eighty lights, and rig for silent running.”

“Sir,” Maggie said. “We may not be able to keep from down-transiting at eighty lights.”

He spoke carefully. “Miss Votak, take the helm yourself. Decelerate to eighty lights and do not down-transit. That’s an order. Do you understand?”

She didn’t hide her vexation. “Aye, aye, sir.”

He was going to try an old hunter-killer trick. The more velocity they had when they down-transited, the bigger the flare. But also each change in velocity dumped energy into the transition spectrum around them, energy an enemy could spot. The trick was to dump the energy in little increments then transit only when you had to.

“Holding at eighty lights, sir,” Maggie acknowledged.

“Thank you, Miss Votak,” York said. “Decelerate to sixty lights and do not down-transit. Jondee, get me Cappik.”

“You’ve already got him, sir.”

Jondee had anticipated him. Cappik’s face was staring at him out of one of his screens. “Chief Cappik, stand by to cut all power: gravity, shields, the works. When I give the command I want us all the way back to minimum idle. No exterior transmissions, no emissions of any kind. But be ready to give me shield power instantly.”

Cappik gaped at him for a second, but he didn’t flinch or hesitate. “You got it, sir. Just give me the word.”

“Holding steady at sixty lights, sir.”

“Very good, Miss Votak. Decelerate to fifty lights. And do—”

“I know, sir.
And do not down-transit
.”

Jondee on
allship
warned everyone to stand by for weightless maneuvering.
Cinesstar’s
hull started to groan and creak. “Holding unsteadily at fifty lights, sir. We’re starting to experience discrete gravitational instability on some of the lower decks.”

“I understand,” York said. “Decelerate to forty lights. And do everything you can to keep us from down-transiting for as long as you can. But if she does go into transition, hold as much sublight velocity as possible. Don’t broadcast our position by dumping energy. Mister Stara, tell your weapons stations to be ready for anything. But they’re not to fire without specific orders from you or me.”

York’s stomach crawled up into his throat as a gravity wave rolled through the bridge. The drive started to thrum erratically, and the hull’s groans turned into shrieks.

“Holding at forty lights. Serious gravitational . . . No . . . She’s transiting . . .”

“Transition,” Gant screeched.

“All stop,” York shouted. “Cappik, shut us down. Drones out on passive.”

The deck gravity suddenly disappeared and York floated up in his straps. The hull echoed with the sound of the drone launch.

“Miss Gant I want a situation map soonest.”

“We’re two hundred and fifty-three astronomical units out, sir. Coasting at point-nine-three lights and closing. Dilation factor two-point-seven. We’re scanning our own
nearspace
now, sir.”

Everything came to a sudden and complete halt, and they waited. York caught himself holding his breath so he exhaled slowly.

“Clear to a hundred thousand kliks, sir.”

York spoke calmly, though it wasn’t easy. “Very good. Go to long range.”

That was an order he didn’t need to give. Gant and her assistants were already pulling in every bit of data they could, and as the time passed they all watched a frightening picture unfold on their screens.

They’d blundered into a full assault on a major imperial installation by a Directorate armada. The Syndonese had come in with at least two hundred ships, and Fleet had met them with a like number.

York had seen it before. It was impossible to marshal a force large enough to take an installation like Aagerbanne without detection. So it wasn’t uncommon for the enemy to be waiting for you with a like force. When that happened you could just withdraw, hope for a better chance on another day, or you could do what the
feddies
had done in this case, try to fight it out.
Cinesstar
had already missed the preliminary rounds: a little sparring for a few days while both sides tried to gage the strength and determination of their opponents.

The Syndonese clearly outnumbered the imperial forces, even with support from Aagerbanne. It appeared
Cinesstar
had arrived just in time to see the real action. At the moment York and his ship were in no danger. But at their present sublight velocity it would take them just under two days to coast right into the middle of it, and all they could do was pray the Directorate finished the job before then.

CHAPTER 24: AAGERBANNE

When the guards brought in her prisoner Add’kas’adanna lifted her head slowly and looked into his eyes. They’d met only via the screens in their various command centers, and then only for a few brief minutes while they negotiated the terms of surrender. And he had shown no surprise that the Fleet Director herself had led the assault on Aagerbanne. He should have been surprised.

His uniform was torn in places, burned in others, splotched with grime, but he threw his shoulders back and saluted her smartly, and all the while his eyes burned into her.

She stood from her desk, returned the salute and looked him over carefully. This man was very much the imperial officer, a man who commanded troops and fought in battles, not one of their foppish holiday soldiers. When it had become clear Aagerbanne would fall, their effete noblemen had evacuated the system, leaving this warrior to surrender.

Add’kas’adanna pointed to a chair and spoke without malice. “Please, Admiral Sayalla. Sit and rest.”

Sayalla nodded and sat down wearily. Add’kas’adanna turned to her guards. “You may go.”

The guards saluted crisply and left.

From a drawer in her desk Add’kas’adanna retrieved a bottle of slaeka, the whiskey made on her home planet. She poured some of the reddish liquid into two glasses, stepped around her desk and handed one to Sayalla. He nodded his thanks and sipped at it carefully. She put hers to her lips, and as was customary for the first sip, she took a healthy gulp. Then she returned to her desk and sat behind it.

“You and your crews fought well,” she said.

Sayalla shrugged. “Not well enough. We lost.”

“You were heavily outnumbered. You couldn’t have fought better.”

Sayalla’s eyes brightened. “But we could have, if I’d been allowed to fight my own battle.”

Add’kas’adanna knew well what he meant, for even in her position as the Supreme Commander of Directorate naval forces her superiors constantly hampered her. Ninda and Kaffair wanted an obedient Fleet Director, one who kept her thoughts limited to military matters. Neither of them trusted a Kinathin breed warrior enough to bring her into his confidence. Ninda certainly didn’t want her to think for herself, to wonder why he had sent her with an entire armada just to hunt down an
imper
man’o’war. She smiled at Sayalla’s remark. “But we are soldiers, and that’s our lot in life. And like even the most common of soldiers, sometimes we can only wonder at the reasoning behind our orders.”