A Faded Star (29 page)

 Stokes' face turned from its normally animated
collection of features to a carved granite mask. Stokes' brown eyes bored into
Cobb's with an intensity that made Patho want to run out of the room. “Agent,
you have ten seconds after your search is complete to be off of my ship. Until
you have a real charge to make, I'm going to file an official inquiry with
Lashmere Command to find out how you managed to weasel your way into a
legitimate search warrant on an active duty spacecraft. If I find any kind of
wrongdoing or misrepresentation of any so called 'facts' you've discovered, you
can rest assured that there will be a full inquiry from command.”

 The two men stared hard at one another. Patho resisted
the urge to call in the Marines. After a moment, the comm on Cobb's wrist
beeped. “Cobb,” the agent said.

 A voice came out of the small wrist mounted computer.
“Patho's cabin is clear, agent. Do you want to conduct a search of the entire
ship?”

 Patho felt his stomach unknot. Relief flooded through
his senses. He looked at Stokes, who was still staring hard at Cobb.

 Cobb said, “No, a search of the whole ship would take
weeks, and we can't disrupt their operational schedule. We'll have to get it
done another way.” Cobb tapped his comm and then said, “Well, Mister Patho, it
looks like you had a bit more forethought than we estimated. If you tell us
where you hid your illegal comm, we can get this over with and let Rampart
carry on its mission without you.”

 “I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have
an illegal comm.”

 “Are you really trying to say you still deny your
involvement? Your entire family is in this up to their eyeballs. We know you
have something to do with it. Further denials will only make the justice harder
when it's meted out.”

 Stokes thrust himself out of his chair and roared,
“Agent Cobb! Get the hell off my ship! Now!”

 Cobb looked up at Stokes with an expression one might
expect of a parent watching a particularly precocious child. “Commodore, your attitude
is wholly unproductive, I-”

 Cobb didn't get any further in his sentence. Stokes
strode around the table, grabbed Cobb by his shirt and hauled him bodily out of
the chair he had been sitting in. Where he had yelled before, this time his
voice was barely above a whisper. “Off my ship now, agent. Don't return without
a real reason. I've had enough of your innuendo and suspicion of Commander
Patho just because his family is a bunch of reactionary fools.” Stokes released
the agent, who settled back onto his feet but did not sit back down. Stokes
said, “Marine, get in here.”

 The door opened, and the marine private came in and
said, “Yes, sir?”

 “Agent Cobb and his detail are leaving. Escort this
man directly to the boarding tube. He is not to make any side trips, detours or
stops along the way. Directly off the ship. If he resists, place him under
arrest and throw him in the brig.”

 The Marine snapped to attention and said, “Yes, sir.”
He took Cobb's arm and began to propel the agent from the room.

 Cobb shook the Marine off and said, “You're making a
mistake here, Commodore. Making me an enemy is a very poor choice.” The Marine
grabbed his arm again and pushed the Cobb out of the room, the agent
reluctantly cooperating with the young marine.

 Patho's head was spinning. “Sir, I... I mean, thank
you, sir.”

 Stokes turned and gave Patho a wink. “You think he
thought I was out of control, there, commander?”

 Patho's mouth practically unhinged itself he was so
surprised at the sudden change in the commodore's demeanor. “Sir? I mean, uh,
you wanted him to think you were out of control?”

 “Exactly. The less rational he thinks I am and the
more reactionary he thinks I am, the more likely he is to disregard any actions
I might take. Right now, he thinks he has the high ground, but I'm betting he
has some very thin evidence that he over leveraged to get the warrant to search
your cabin. When I make my complaint to the admirals, he's in for some tough
questions.”

 “Sir, I don't know what to say. Thank you.” Patho found
himself in a quandary. His revulsion and anger at Cobb and the ideas his words
represented made him feel like an outsider, even here on the ship, but Stokes
had always been on his side. The commodore's refusal to give credence to Cobb's
suspicions and baseless accusations gave him hope that there might be a future
for him in the Lashmere Navy after all.

 Stokes nodded at him and then said, “Take the rest of
the day off, Aden. Do something frivolous. Get your mind off of the Navy and
off of Cobb. Comm me if you need tomorrow as well. I can also recommend a good
counselor if you want to talk to someone. It can help sometimes.”

 “Thank you, sir. I'll consider it. And thank you for
the time off.”

 “You've been raked over the coals with this, Commander.
It's unfair and unreasonable, what Cobb's doing. I don't want this having an
effect on your career. I'll see you in a day or two, commander.” Stokes walked
out of the room, his still healing leg giving his stride a slight hitch as he
walked.

 Patho sat silently, staring out of the observation
port. He'd just realized it, but the ports on this side of the ship gave a
fantastic view of the big manufacturing ring with Lashmere in the background.
He tried to get his churning thoughts under control, but his emotions were all
over the place. Rage and hatred for Cobb. Gratitude and respect for Stokes. He
found himself thinking of Marli after a little bit. She was the first Ebrim
who'd paid any personal attention to him. Her capricious nature unsettled him
at times, and he often wondered if she remembered he existed when he wasn't in
her line of sight. He shook his head and started for his cabin to pack up
things for an overnight stay. He was going to a hotel on the surface for the
night, he decided. Someplace luxurious and expensive. With luck, a bit of
pampering would help take his mind off of things.

 Captain Erickson was pacing back and forth on the
bridge again. Her nerves were frayed after the long trip back to Lashmere. The
trip hadn't been a comfortable one. Every day, Erickson had played the events
of L262 over and over in her mind. The failure of alliance intelligence, the
crab counterattack, and the sheer size of the crab fleet was terrifying.
Several attempts to send a signal into the Lashmere system had failed. Erickson
wasn't sure if there was something wrong with her comm system despite three
complete diagnostic checks and multiple assurances that it had been operating
flawlessly or if there was something wrong in the Lashmere system itself. She
glanced at the navigational display. She'd have her answers soon enough. They
were scheduled to drop out of FTL just outside Lashmere in a few minutes.

 Time slowed to a crawl, watching the counter run its
course. Quiet orders passed back and forth between her officers, managing
routine operations of the ship and making the preparations for sublight speeds.
She jumped a bit when her executive officer said, “We're on approach, captain.
Dropping to sublight now.” He turned his attention to the helmsman and said
“Activate sublight engines. Drop out of FTL, helm.”

 “Get full tactical scans of the system, exec,”
Erickson said. Her heart started to thud harder in her chest. She worried about
what the crabs could do to her home if they'd attacked in the kind of force
used at the alliance base.

 “Scan looks clean, ma'am. Getting an instant comm
request from Naval Command.”

 “Put it up, exec.” She brushed chocolate brown hair,
grown far longer than was normally acceptable for military regulations, from
her eyes. Straightening in the command chair, she was surprised when she saw
her friend and mentor, Captain Misato, appear on the screen. No that wasn't
correct, he was wearing the large golden stars of admiral rank now.

 “Captain. Welcome home. We're a bit surprised to see
you here. What brings you here so soon?”

 Erickson gave Misato a brief overview of the
situation. Including the destruction of the ships in L262.

 Misato's eyes hardened for a moment, and Erickson knew
he was refusing to ask about his daughter, who'd been killed on the Rapier.
“Sir, your daughter was aboard the Rapier when it was destroyed. They were
incredibly brave.”

 Misato nodded, his eyes glimmered with unshed tears
for a moment before the man took firmer control of his emotions. “We'll have
time to mourn later, Captain. For now, we will have to brief the full board of
admirals and make a decision on how to proceed. You are clear to dock at berth
seven. Make your best time, send us your ETA. You have a very long day ahead of
you, Captain.”

 “Yes, sir.” The comm channel closed and Erickson had
her crew push the Saber to its highest sublight speed.

Two days passed with the admirals in conference with the
vice president and the counselor of war. Rook and Rampart were ready to depart
on their joint shakedown to test out new systems when Commodore Stokes was
called in to Admiral Coffee's office. Stokes took a shuttle for Rampart's boat
bay rather than waiting for one of the shuttles from the space dock. Half an
hour later, he found himself standing outside the admiral's door. He tapped the
entrance chime, and the door slid open a few seconds later.

 Admiral Coffee and Admiral Misato were in the office.
Coffee spoke, “Commodore, please come in.”

 “Thank you, sir.” Stokes strode into the well
appointed office. He saw there was a small conference table in the room. Coffee
motioned him to sit at one of the chairs surrounding the small table. Stokes
seated himself and waited attentively for the admiral to gather his notes and
join him. Paper rustled along with the small data pad as they were placed on
the deep brown table. Stokes rubbed the wood grain absently as he waited for
whatever the admiral was planning on saying.

 After a short shuffling of papers, the admiral began
to speak. “Thank you for your patience, commodore. As you are no doubt aware,
the expeditionary force, or what's left of it, has returned to Lashmere. The
force was completely wiped out by a massive crab force. After action analysis
seems to indicate that the crabs were able to anticipate the targets selected
by Admiral Drogue and Captain Hanlon.”

 Stokes interjected, talking right over the admiral,
“Are they okay? Admiral Drogue and Captain Hanlon?”

 “They don't appear to have survived, Commodore. The
Broadsword, which is what they had named their command ship, was destroyed
along with three more of the ships the alliance had assigned to them. The only
people who survived are Captain Erickson and her crew. She related the battle
to me personally, and it appears the crabs set a very carefully planned trap
for them. The five ships assigned to the expeditionary force were met by just
under a thousand warships. This kind of overkill is rather unsettling. We're
still trying to figure out the significance of this kind of fleet movement.”

 “I see, sir.” Stokes fought to control his emotions.
Hanlon had been an outstanding officer and her loss, along with the loss of
Admiral Drogue represented a tremendous blow to the Lashmere Navy. Sighing,
Stokes continued, “What are we planning then, sir?”

 “There has been a great deal of deliberation among the
admirals. We have come to several decisions over the last few days. The first
is that a fleet sufficient to stop any crab or alliance encroachment in the
Lashmere system must be built. We cannot and will not surrender to either of
these forces. In order to meet them with something like parity, we've devised a
build schedule that will take several months. Once it is complete, our order of
battle will be superior to any force we've so far observed.”

 “What kind of force are we planning on, then?”

 “We've gone with a mixed force. We had several goals
we decided were unavoidable. The first concern we have is that the crabs will
mass their entire fleet against us in one move. Their ships number at least two
thousand in total. They may have other forces we haven't observed so far. The
sensor logs from the Saber indicate that many of their ships are small, much
smaller than Rampart. The two that Rampart fought a few months ago were among
their largest ships. Lashmere intelligence has divided the ships up into four
rough categories. They've been designated escorts, frigates, destroyers and
battleships. They don't appear to have anything between destroyers and
battleships like cruisers, battlecruisers or assault cruisers. Their attack
philosophy seems to be complete overkill in all circumstances.

 “As a result of the kind of force the crabs deploy,
we've decided to go very heavy with our assault cruiser design. More than half
the ships we produce will be the assault cruiser design. These ships should
have enough power to take on crab battleships when they are in two to one
engagements. A single assault cruiser has a fifty-fifty chance of taking a crab
battleship alone based on observed firepower and defensive capabilities Captain
Erickson brought us. Survivability in a bad engagement is very high as all of
the ship designs we've come up with have far better acceleration curves and
maneuverability compared to observed crab ship capabilities.”

 Stokes considered the information Coffee had given
him. “Have we considered the implications of any conflict with the alliance
forces?”

 “Based on the situation, we've decided the alliance
isn't a threat. The reason is that they have yet to launch an attack in their
own defense. Their culture appears to be mired in a bizarre kind of moral
dilemma. They seem to want to defend themselves, but they can't make the
logical leap from a purely defensive strategy to a proactive defense that
includes preemptive strikes without losing their sense of moral superiority. We
have some theories as to why this is the case, but without a deeper exchange of
cultural ideas with the alliance races, we won't know for sure.”

 Stokes asked, “What are the popular theories, sir?”

 “The first theory is predicated on the known fact that
the alliance is responsible for attacking and nearly destroying the human race
five thousand years ago. We have a partial copy of the alliance's primary
database, but there are a lot of holes in the data. Clues gleaned from this
database seem to indicate this is the most likely correct theory. The idea is
that when the races of the alliance realized they were effectively responsible
for genocide, it caused them to make a decision as a culture to never be
involved in anything that might lead to such an outcome again. There are a
variety of entries in the database we've discovered to date that seem to
corroborate this conclusion.

 “The other theories range from neurochemical aversions
to violence to evolved cultural norms that refuse to acknowledge the idea that
offensive actions can be taken. We don't have any good supporting data on most
of the other theories.”

 “We're going to need a lot more command officers. How
are we going to man so many ships?”

 “Admiral Misato has come up with a six month crash
course in officer candidate school principles. The current classes will be
given the remaining curriculum, graduated and tested for assignment aptitude.
The six month course is going to be pretty tough, involving twelve to eighteen
hour days six days per week. We're dropping a lot of the physical training,
focusing only on general physical fitness and very basic hand to hand combat.
Most officers coming out of the program will have only the most basic field
survival skills. They'll know one end of a firearm from another, but that's
about it. Nearly all currently serving officers will be given promotions, and
depending on their current ranks, command of ships in the fleet. That reminds
me. I have to ask you about Commander Patho. What do you think of him?”

 Stokes considered his response for a few seconds. When
he responded, he decided to go for broke. He thought Patho had been unfairly
persecuted by Agent Cobb, and this was a good moment to let the admiral know.
“Well, sir, I have a few thoughts and observations regarding Commander Patho.
First, I'd like to take this opportunity to point out how Agent Theo Cobb of
Lashmere Intelligence has been attacking him at every turn. I don't know why
this is the case. The warrant they served for the search of his cabin aboard
the Rampart was the thinnest excuse for such an invasion of privacy I've ever
seen signed by a legal officer. It's unfortunate, as Mister Patho has
repeatedly demonstrated his loyalty, aptitude and desire to serve in the
Lashmere Navy. At no time have I seen or heard of any action he may have taken
that might indicate to me his loyalties or his personal integrity are anything
but excellent. I've never caught the man in even vaguely deceptive behavior,
and he's gone above and beyond at each opportunity to help everyone under his
command.

 “He's a natural leader. The men of his division are
performing far above the norm in tactical exercises. He even trains his
enlisted men in drone command. Many of his enlisted NCOs are going to make
strong candidates for officer training. His command presence is far above
normal. During combat with the crab destroyers, he kept his wits about him and
literally carried another officer out of a dangerous area single handedly. I've
already recommended him for a distinguished service ribbon for his heroism that
day.”

 “Yes, I've read your report from the action with the
crab destroyers. The award has been provisionally approved once his
non-involvement in the Karn separatist attack in headquarters has been
established. The reason he's being investigated so harshly is because he's
being considered for command of the stealth corvette fleet.”

 Stokes gaped at Admiral Coffee for several seconds
before regaining his composure. “Command of the entire fleet? How many of these
corvettes are we planning on building?”

 “At least thirty. With the one kilometer rings, we can
build about fifteen at a time so two runs of them. There may be a third run,
smaller for the proposed research and scientific model. The current mindset is
that if we survive any attack by the crabs, or the alliance for that matter, we
can build research ships afterward.

 “The destroyer class ships will be roughly thirty
percent of our force and used primarily as a screening element for the assault
cruisers. We're also going to build the so-called behemoth class.”

 “They would seem to be the rulers of any space battle
if we can get them built, sir,” Stokes observed.

 “There are potential problems with the behemoth class.
We're going to build a single ship first to test it out. The issue comes from
our method of faster than light travel. As you know, the energy for making the
jump ring is mostly borrowed from the distortion in space-time it creates. When
making a jump ring large enough to accommodate a ship with the mass of the
behemoth, the energies required are rather staggering. In theory, the system
should work, but there is a possibility that the ship's FTL system could have
an unpredictable effect.”

 “The point to point drive is a proven technology, sir.
I doubt there's anything we can't account for at this point,” Stokes said.

 “I agree, and our scientific division agrees as well.
That's why we're going to build one. If testing works for the first ship, we'll
build at least four more. We want to have enough capacity to evacuate Lashmere
if necessary.”

 “Do you think it could come to that, sir?”

 “One of the possible scenarios the intelligence
division has come up with is the redeployment of the virus used originally by
the alliance to destroy humanity. If there is even the remotest possibility of
that occurring, we have to have the ability to evacuate the planet and move the
entire population to a safe area unknown to the alliance. Each behemoth class
ship can carry up to five million civilians in standard configuration and ten
million with a significant refit. Lashmere has a population of twenty-five
million. Five behemoths would be enough to completely save everyone living
here. The added effect is that the ships are true juggernauts. Nothing the
crabs or the alliance might throw at us is sufficient to even scratch the hulls
of these ships. They have armor that's EM stabilized, uses the newer
ceramic-carbon mesh designed in conjunction with the factory ship computer, and
it's ten meters thick at its weakest point. A direct hit from our most powerful
torpedo might, and I stress might, get through.” Coffee leaned back in his
chair and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “I'd like your input,
commodore. You and Captain Erickson are the only two command officers we have
with combat experience against the crab ships.”