Jack Campbell - Imperfect Sword

“That’s what the Alliance told us, anyway,” Diaz said, drawing mocking smiles from the specialists.

“That’s what Black Jack told President Iceni,” Marphissa corrected. “And Captain Bradamont told me the same.”

The specialists all nodded at that news. “The Captain,” Czilla said, “would not mislead us.”

“No, she would not,” Marphissa agreed, marveling that she could say something like that about an Alliance officer and really mean it. It was almost as amazing as the fact that to the crew of Manticore , Bradamont was the Captain .

“The sanitation routines we have to run daily in all the systems,” the weapons specialist said, “are those to find the enigma tricks? We’ve never understood how they work since they are nothing like any security or antiviral programs we are familiar with.”

“Yes,” Marphissa said. “That’s what they are doing. Do you want to become famous? Figure out how the enigmas do it. They code their worms using quantum-level programming.”

Jaws dropped among the specialists.

“All right,” Marphissa said, “keep a close eye on the links and false feeds. Every minute that we accelerate and draw closer to the star without the transports’ knowing we’re coming makes it less likely that the transports can have any hope of fleeing from us. But I want to nail them without any long chases,” she added as she turned back to face her display.

“It’s not the chases that are worrying you, is it?” Diaz asked in a low voice.

“Not nearly as much as how many snakes are on each of those transports to keep their crews in line,” Marphissa said, “and whether the snakes have outfitted transports as well as warships with those devices that can cause power-core overloads on command. If those devices are on the transports, all it would take is one fanatic snake on each ship willing to give everything for the Syndicate and all we would end up with is ten balls of debris orbiting near this star.”

Would all that debris have time to form a ring of wreckage about the sun before the solar winds kicked it farther out? The vision surprised and haunted her for the next few minutes as she did the only thing that she could, keep an eye on the status of her ships and on what the still-unsuspecting Syndicate transports were doing.

“Our systems estimate twenty minutes until visual contact,” Czilla reported.

In a blunt reminder that estimate meant an approximate value and not a firm quantity, it actually only took eighteen minutes before Hawk got a direct visual on one of the troop transports. By then, Marphissa’s flotilla was only four light-minutes from the transports, spreading out to pass the star close by on all sides in a maneuver formally called a High-Velocity Stellar Close Approach and Transit but informally known among warship crews as a Hot and Flat. Close by in stellar terms meant less than a light-minute, or about eighteen million kilometers. When Marphissa had been new to the mobile forces and had first heard the distance translated into kilometers, she had thought it was very large. But when skimming past the enormous uncontrolled nuclear-fusion furnace that was a star, even eighteen million kilometers seemed far too close.

“It really brings home how very small we are, doesn’t it?” Kapitan Diaz murmured.

Marphissa didn’t answer. She was reaching for her comm controls now that the element of surprise had been lost. “Syndicate transports, this is Kommodor Marphissa of the Free and Independent Midway Star System. We can destroy you at will. You are directed to surrender immediately. Reduce your shields to the minimum safe level for your distance from the star and refrain from changing vectors. Any attempt to flee will be met with force. Any resistance to boarding parties will result in your ships’ being fired upon. Each transport is to acknowledge its surrender to me. For the people, Marphissa, out.”

She gestured to the comm specialist. “Repeat that every minute for the next ten minutes.”

“Yes, Kommodor.”

The transports would not see Hawk for another four minutes, and on the heels of seeing the light cruiser not only would see Marphissa’s other warships coming into view as they cleared the star but would also receive Marphissa’s demand that they surrender.

What would happen then? It would depend in great part on how many snakes were on each transport and how loyal the transport crews were to the Syndicate.

“The Syndicate never sent the best to troop-transport duty,” Diaz said, echoing Marphissa’s thoughts. “The transports are slower, not much armor, fairly weak shields, and no weapons except some point-defense grapeshot launchers. The Syndicate figured if someone was the sort most likely to mutiny or disobey orders in some other way, having them on a troop transport made a lot more sense than having them on a warship.”

“I’d heard that, too,” she said.

“But it’s true,” Diaz said. “It’s not just a rumor or a put-down of transport crews. My sister got sent to a transport, and she told me it was true.”

“Your sister?” Marphissa gave him a surprised look. She vaguely recalled a reference to a sister in the mobile forces in Diaz’s service files, but he had never spoken of her before.

“She died when her transport was destroyed,” Diaz said, looking steadily at his display, his expression that of a man recalling something that even now he had trouble believing had happened. “She and the rest of the crew and about five hundred ground forces soldiers when an Alliance warship got through the Syndicate escorts.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Marphissa said.

Diaz looked down, then over at her, his eyes shadowed. “How many sisters and brothers do you think I have killed? I have no idea. I can’t hate them, the crew of that Alliance ship. I wish they had never come near my sister’s ship, but the odds are very good that they all died, too. If not in that battle, then in another soon after. And they were just doing their job. Just like me. No, I hate the Syndicate that put my sister on that transport and sent that transport to that star without enough escorts and started the war and kept the war going. But my sister told me, and would have told you, that the crews of the transports knew they were chosen because they weren’t considered good enough or trustworthy enough to be on warships. It’s true.”

She had to look away. “Thank you… for informing me… of that important information, Kapitan.”

“It’s why I still fight, Kommodor.”

“I understand. The Syndicate killed my brother, and even though I was able to avenge myself on the one responsible, it could not bring him back. All I can do is try to protect others.”

There were about two minutes left before the Syndicate transports saw Hawk and received her surrender demand. Then, as the range kept closing, another three to four minutes before she would see whatever the initial reactions of the transports were.

Her warships raced past their closest point of approach to the star, bending in flat curves around its colossal mass and nuclear fires, their courses now converging on the Syndicate transports.

If any of the transports had immediately decided to surrender, she would have received their transmission by now.

“All units,” Marphissa said. “Combat readiness at maximum, so the Syndicate ships will know we are ready to engage them, but no one is to fire on any of the transports until I specifically authorize each encounter. We want these transports intact if possible.”

“We’ve got a couple of runners,” Diaz noted.

Marphissa’s display highlighted the same two transports, which had lit off their main propulsion at the same time as their thrusters pitched them up and over toward a vector aimed at the jump point for Kiribati. She tapped the transports, and her display immediately presented vectors which would allow fairly quick intercepts. “To the two Syndicate transports attempting to flee, you know we can intercept and destroy you without difficulty. Brake your movement immediately to remain in your current orbits.”