Rear Admiral Micah Jonas was not a happy man. It had all seemed so simple and foolproof back on Thaeron. He would simply move in with massive firepower on the unarmed planets of the rim, seize Haven and Cord, kill Cord, and present the Emperor with the return of a ‘renegade’ sector. Its very simplicity made the plan’s success almost inevitable. Besides, nobody would dare resist a flotilla powerful enough to destroy a planet.
He was well aware of the ancient adage that “no battle plan survives contact with the enemy” — but he’d been sure that there would be no battles. Surely even these provincials would realize that resistance to his overwhelming force would be doomed to failure.
However, things had begun going wrong almost immediately. First, Predator had deserted, providing Cord a nucleus for an armed space force, and incidentally revealing Micah’s plan to the Viceroy.
Then, Cord had dug up that damned Kedron somewhere, and suddenly what had been a simple exercise in gunboat diplomacy became a military gamble.
Then, Kedron had shown up at Thaeron claiming to be a Fleet Vice Admiral, and nearly destroyed Micah without firing a shot.
Kedron’s visit had cost Micah dearly. He’d lost two more of his ships, strength he was becoming painfully aware that he could ill afford. He'd also lost hundreds of crewpeople when hand-to-hand combat had broken out on all of his ships between those who’d believed Kedron’s message and those who’d remained loyal to Micah. Over two hundred died, and almost a thousand more had to be confined to various brigs.
It had been a near thing. Micah’s plan had almost ended in disaster. It’d taken months for Micah to regain enough control to proceed. He was getting desperate. The plan could still work, but time was getting short.
He’d breathed a huge sigh of relief when he’d finally given the order for the flotilla to jump to Haven. However, it seemed his relief had been premature.
Certainly, Cord had fled as soon as Micah’s ships emerged at the edge of Haven’s system. Micah had watched in impotent fury as blips identifying two destroyers, four of the ubiquitous rim tramps and a blip whose beacon identified her as a merchant vessel called Valkyrie drove for a secondary jump point. They’d disappeared before Micah’s forces were close enough to engage. He could have destroyed Cord, Kedron and the resistance in one blow if he’d been able to catch them. Oh, well, Cord couldn’t win without control of his sector capital. Eventually, he’d have to launch an attack. All Micah had to do was sit and wait.
Once his ships had assumed standard Fleet orbit positions, Micah had commandeered all commercial vid channels for his announcement.
“I am Rear Admiral Micah Jonas of the Empire Fleet,” he'd begun. “I have come to secure the arrest of the traitor Sander Cord and his criminal minion, Val Kedron, as well as to secure this sector for the Empire, and prevent its rebellion.
“I call upon all loyal citizens of the Empire to assist me in preserving the peace of this sector, and its quick return to the Empire’s fold. It will be necessary for me to temporarily impose martial law on the planet of Haven. Do not resist. Our marines are authorized to shoot when necessary to preserve order.
“However,” he’d continued with what he’d considered a friendly smile, “I’m sure that shooting will not be necessary. We are, after all, all loyal subjects of the Empire, despite Cord’s lies and duplicity. Unfortunately, the Viceroy’s treasonous acts require that I impose certain restrictions and directives until we’ve rooted out the traitors. I’m sure I can count on your cooperation. Please stay tuned for the regulations and instructions that are required to implement martial law."
He’d been pleased with his speech, but almost as soon as he finished, the commercial vid channels were suddenly blanketed by a broadcast originating somewhere off-planet.
“This is Viceroy Sander Cord,” it began, “Warrants are hereby issued for the arrest of former Rear Admiral Micah Jonas, and former Captain Jamin Van-Lyn, both recently cashiered from His Imperial Majesty’s service. These criminals are wanted for mutiny, rebellion, sedition, and high treason, and are wanted dead or alive. A reward of twenty thousand imperial crowns is offered for each of them. All Fleet personnel are reminded that these men are traitors to the Empire and the Fleet. Conflicting Fleet regulations are temporarily suspended, and Fleet personnel may claim the reward.
“I call upon all military and civilian personnel within the rim sector to resist these criminals in any way possible. Cooperation with these fugitives may result in imperial criminal charges up to and including treason and rebellion.”
It took Micah’s techs only moments to trace the signal to its source, but that source turned out to be a drone buoy orbiting at the edge of the system. It took more than three days for Raptor to get close enough to destroy the buoy, and all that time, Cord's message drowned out all broadcasts on the commercial channels.
Micah was furious. His carefully crafted message was made to look ridiculous, and his authority and legitimacy virtually destroyed by a thirty-second recorded message. Not only that, but everyone on the planet had to listen to the damned thing repeat over and over for more than three days!
In fury, Micah sent his other two Destroyers, Gyrfalcon and Eagle, to find Cord. Neither Captain was happy about putting their ships at risk, but Micah was adamant. By all the odd gods of the galaxy, he wanted Cord and Kedron!
He also decided to send Relentless to the Gamma system. He knew that Gamma and the four other closely associated planets along the far edge were the economic heart of the sector, as Haven was its political heart. It was essential that he have control of both.
Bon-Lor complained about being sent three jumps away without backup, but Micah had bullied the drunken sot into submission. In the end, Bon-Lor had complied, much to Micah's relief. Bon-Lor had been useful on Thaeron, but now, his drinking was making him a liability.
In the meantime, within minutes after his broadcast had concluded, Haven’s planetary government had called to capitulate. Less than ten minutes later, the marine detachment sent to seize the Viceroy’s palace had reported the palace secure, with no resistance. Micah had been relieved. Despite everything, the plan had seemed to be working. Then…
The first sign of trouble had come when Micah had shuttled down to the planet, to personally move into the Viceroy’s palace.
He’d walked into a dead building. There’d been no power to operate anything. His marines’d had to force the doors. The building had also been empty. Not only Cord was gone; there was a complete absence of people. Not a servant was to be found. Not a tech, either. The building was deserted. Unheated, the building’s interior temperature was well below zero. Hoarfrost decorated the walls.
The first order of business had been to restore the power. Once the comps were up, it would be simple to locate and secure the palace employees. He’d had Nemesis ’ Chief Engineer come down, bringing a work party. Then he’d retreated to Nemesis. Time enough to move into the palace once the power was restored-and the heat.
The Chief had called back in less than half an hour. “The fusactor’s been dumped, sir,” he reported.
Micah had frowned. “Well, how long to get it up and running?”
“You don’t understand, sir,” the man protested, “The fusactor’s been dumped! All the fuel has been removed — and there’s no fuel in the storehouse. The fusactor’s cold. Once we can get the fuel, we could probably get it back on line in about forty-eight hours. But without fuel…”
Micah’s irritation was becoming more visible. “Well, get the fuel! Have it sent in, if necessary. But get that fusactor started. I need access to Cord’s comp!”
However, that blasted Cord had backed up the comp’s files and memory, then dumped the core. Even the basic operating system was gone. The same had been done to every government comp in Haven City. Even the records of the prisoners in Haven’s jails had been wiped.
As for the palace, it seemed that fuel rods no longer existed on Haven. In the end, it had taken a visit by Micah’s marines to the processing plant. Under the prodding of aimed weapons, the plant’s manager had remembered where some fuel rods were stored.
Finally, after almost a week, the palace had power, light, and heat. What it didn’t have was anyone who’d admit to being an employee there. Without the comp personnel files, Micah had no way to identify the workers. When he advertised for more workers, the only applicants were rather obviously the lazy, the incompetent, and the criminal. Micah had finally appointed an officer to oversee the palace personnel, but even so, meals were frequently late and rarely edible, laundry was as likely to be returned soiled and torn as clean, and housekeeping… well, the less said the better.
In the meantime, Micah had other troubles. An active underground resistance, for example. All Fleet property had to be constantly guarded, and even so, in many cases the guard disappeared along with the guarded. Moreover, even with the patrolling and guarding, Fleet weapons and equipment were sabotaged or destroyed.
Early on, Micah had tried to use detachments of marines to protect his people and equipment. However, every time they left the palace grounds, jeering crowds pelted them with garbage, insults, and taunts. When individual marines or small groups tried to go on liberty, if they didn’t end up retreating to the palace, they found restaurants that refused to serve them, and girls that cursed and assaulted them. When small parties began disappearing or turning up dead, Micah had no choice but to keep them close by.
The marines weren’t used to being treated as invaders and criminals. If a solution wasn’t found soon, their commander warned that Micah would begin seeing wholesale desertions.
Micah was not impressed. “Damn it, Colonel, Haven City has less than two million people. You have over six hundred marines and a shipload of weapons and equipment. Surely you can maintain control of a city that size!”
The Colonel struggled in vain to rein in his flaring temper. “Admiral,” he grated. “Haven’t you figured out yet that we’re the targets of a very well planned and executed guerrilla campaign?”
Micah grunted. “Pah! I thought marines were supposed to be good. What do they have to fear from an unarmed rabble? Patrol with sensors and detect every power cell in the city,” he continued. “That should lead you to them in no time. Really, Colonel, I shouldn’t have to do all your thinking for you!”
The Colonel flushed. “They are neither unarmed nor a rabble. They are very well armed and very well led. Moreover, we’ve been doing what you’re suggesting for days. Every power cell in the city has been located. But the resistance is using weapons that don’t use power cells. I have something to show you, sir.” His emphasis on the last word effectively conveyed his disgust with his superior. He spoke into his wrist comm. “Sergeant, bring in the stuff.”
The door opened and a sergeant and a private brought in armloads of what were obviously weapons. They placed them on the conference table then assumed the parade rest position.
“Private,” the Colonel ordered, “tell the Admiral about your patrol last night.”
“Yes, sir,” the private snapped. “My squad was ridin’ around in a hovertruck. I was talkin’ t’Snerson. Then alla a sudden this dart’s stickin’ outta his neck. He barely had time t' look s’prised before he collapsed. I looked around, and three more of the guys’re down. There was no way a’ tellin’ where the darts come from, no noise, no flash. Just guys dyin’.”
Micah shivered slightly. It wasn't a pretty picture.
“At first we all jus’ sprayed fire at anything and ever’thing within range,” The private continued. “Then I heard the screams. I turned aroun’, and Smiley’s face is melting! And the two guys on either side of him are screamin’, too. They was all screamin’ and squirmin’ around on the floor of the hovertruck. ‘Fore we cud even react, there’s this explosion, an’ the whole back end of the hovertruck was flames. I get blown outta the truck, and when I go to get up, I see Smitty jump down from the truck’s bed. His tunic’s on fire an’ he’s screamin’ somethin’ awful. So, I grab ‘im an’ roll ‘im like they taught us; but these flames wasn’t smothered. I grabbed my canteen to douse the flames, an’ the water just makes ‘em spread! I couldn’t do nothin’ but stand by and watch Smitty burn. I finally give ‘im a shot from my blaster, just t' stop the screamin’.
“By the time the Reaction Squad got there, they was only three o’ us left.” He shuddered. “An’ we never saw nobody the whole time. Nobody!”
Micah was shaken. The Colonel nodded to the Sergeant and the Private, and they trooped out.
The Colonel swept a hand toward the display on the table. “These are what we’ve managed to pick up after fights with the enemy,” he began. “They usually manage to take their dead and wounded with them, but they’re not as careful with their weapons.”
He picked up an object that looked like an oversized, bulky sporting shoulder-laser stock. But there was no laser crystal, no projector. The Colonel fumbled with it for a moment, and then threw something on Micah’s desk.
It was about twenty centimeters long, with a wicked-looking barbed point at one end, and rudimentary fins at the other. Micah picked it up and examined it. The fins were angled and hinged at their fronts, and pivoted to fit within the stubby shaft of the object. It was all metal. “So this is the dart the private mentioned?” His anger with the Colonel was forgotten.
The Colonel shrugged. “It appears that our enemies have been digging into the history books, coming up with primitive weapons that don’t use power cells. That thing you’re holding is called a ‘bolt’ or ‘quarrel’, and this is the launcher. It’s called a ‘crossbow’. The sergeant who identified it for us says that this one’s an improvement over the originals. It uses a coil spring for power, and has a magazine that holds ten bolts. Evidently the ancient ones used a leaf spring of some type.”
Micah's brow wrinkled. “Spring powered? Surely they couldn’t be powerful enough to be dangerous?”
The Colonel smiled grimly. “This one has a pull of over five hundred pounds. It launches those darts at more than three hundred meters per second. It also doesn't produce a flash, and is almost completely silent.”
He picked up another weapon from the table. This one appeared to be a child’s toy, a simple plas handgun. Micah had seen them advertised. They were powered by a light spring and fired two-centimeter balls of paint. The Colonel picked up three balls, his exaggerated care telling Micah that they didn’t contain paint.
The Colonel indicated the balls in his hand. “This weapon is a modified version of the kid’s toy, of course. They’ve just put a slightly more powerful spring in it. But the balls! Some of them contain acid, some explosives. Again, no noise, no flash. And they have a range of about ten meters.
“The resistance has other toys, as well. A pneumatic slugthrower, for instance. Muzzle velocity of several hundred meters per second and a range of two to three hundred meters. Explosives based on something the lab boys call ‘black powder’ that can’t be detected by our sniffers. One of the nastiest, though,” he continued, picking up a clear cylinder twenty centimeters in length and ten in diameter, “.. is this. The cylinder is thin glass, not plas, and contains a highly flammable liquid.” He indicated a length of fabric protruding from one end of the cylinder. “To use it, you just light the fabric, and then throw the cylinder. When it hits, the glass breaks, and the liquid bursts into flame. Notice the stuff floating around inside,” he continued. “We had a devil of a time analyzing it. Seems it’s something called ‘white phosphorus’ that burns when it comes into contact with air and heat. Moreover, water won’t put it out. The stuff just burns until it's gone.”
Micah shuddered again. Then he looked thoughtful. “You’re right, Colonel. This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment resistance movement,” he concluded. “These people were prepared well in advance. Do you have any idea who they are?”
The Colonel looked uncomfortable. “We got lucky yesterday. There was a skirmish, and one of the men covering the enemy’s retreat was hit just as they were retreating. The Lieutenant commanding the squad was smart enough to have his men drive off anyone who tried to help the man escape. By the time they could get to him, the man was dead. But we found this in his pocket.” He tossed a coin-sized object on Micah's desk. Micah examined it. “A marine ident disk!”
The Colonel nodded. “I think we’re facing Wil Tor and his marines.”
Micah snorted. “Tor! Certainly, he shouldn’t be a problem! An uncultured provincial.”
The Colonel’s half-smile was grim. “I suggest you call up his record again. Uncultured, maybe. But Wil Tor is a veteran of over a dozen actions, and his last assignment prior to coming to the rim was as a student at the War College — in Strategy and Tactics. I can’t think of anyone I'd rather not have opposing me.”
Micah looked troubled. “I’ve been trying to preserve the illusion that we’re here to save Haven. But now… What about taking civilian hostages, Colonel?”
The Colonel shrugged. “That’s the classic tactic, sir. However, I’m not sure I could muster up a firing squad if Wil called your bluff. Don’t forget, to my marines, these people are civilians, citizens of the Empire.” He sighed and removed a sheet of paper from his tunic. “Then there’s this, Admiral.” He tossed it on the desk in front of Micah.
It was a poster, obviously professionally printed. In large lettering at the top, it began “MARINES!” Beneath that heading, the actual message began.
“Is this why you joined the marines? To help a corrupt criminal take over an imperial sector? To harass, injure and even kill unarmed civilians? Look at them. They could be your family. Your sister, your mother!
“You have no business here,” it continued, “There is no violence here. The only treason here is the treason you brought with you! Do you really believe the Emperor would abandon the Round Trip Ticket? Or is that just another of Jonas’ lies? THINK ABOUT IT!”
“Those things are appearing all over the compound,” the colonel said. “There seems to be a whole series of them. I’ve seen several different versions. Moreover, the troops are reading them. Since we got here we’ve had almost a hundred desertions.”
Micah frowned. “Well, stop them, Colonel. Confine the men to barracks or something!”
The Colonel shook his head. “That's not a solution, sir. For one thing, it’s not necessary. None of the troops go into town anymore, except on duty. It’s too dangerous. Besides, they don’t like being treated like brutes and criminals. Even so, if I ordered them confined to the compound, they’d resent it. We’d just trigger even more defections.”
Micah was getting angry. “Well, do something, damn it! We have no choice. Send your damned marines out and have them round up two hundred civilians for hostages. Equal numbers of men and women, but no children.”
The Colonel looked unbelieving. “You’re serious, sir? You’re really planning to kill civilians?”
Micah nodded grimly. “If necessary. We’ll tape them and broadcast the word that unless the terror activity ceases, they’ll be executed.”
The Colonel winced. “It won’t work, sir!” he said desperately. “Tor won’t stop. All you’ll do is help him by alienating anyone left not on Cord’s side! Besides,” he continued, “I’m not sure I can find enough men to fill a firing squad to shoot civilians. In fact, I hope not. I’d hate to know that I have that kind of people in my Marine Corps.”
Micah glared. “Your precious marines haven’t done very well so far! It’s their fault I have to resort to hostage taking. Round up those hostages, Colonel.”
The Colonel popped to attention and rendered a smart salute, whirled and left the room. The next morning he was gone. A message posted on the day room door said he’d defected, and urged as many of his men as possible to follow.
Micah finally got the hostages, after relieving the major who’d replaced the fugitive colonel and replacing him with a captain. However, that didn’t end his problems, external or internal.
Less than two hours after the hostages had been taken and the warning broadcast, Micah’s orderly announced Jamin Van-Lyn. Micah was irritated. Van-Lyn was supposed to be aboard Nemesis. He must have come down to protest as soon as he’d seen the warning broadcast. Micah sighed and had him admitted.
As he’d thought, Van-Lyn was upset about the hostages. The damned fool couldn’t understand that Micah had to be able to hold out until Cord came to fight.
If it cost a few hundred civilian lives, well, so be it.
Van-Lyn shook his head. “No, Admiral. Some of the things I’ve done since this began sicken me. But I will not permit the slaughter of innocent civilians. The Fleet exists to protect Empire citizens, not murder them.”
Micah slammed his fist on his desk. “You’re forgetting who’s in command here, Captain!” he thundered. He pulled his sidearm. “I’m warning you, Captain. You will obey my orders, or I’ll execute you on the spot for mutiny.”
Van-Lyn glanced mildly at the needler in Micah's hand, then shrugged. “I doubt it, Admiral. You need me and you need Nemesis. Shoot me and you’ll have neither. Cord will be able to simply waltz in here and arrest you. Or simply shoot you down.
“But I warn you,” he continued. “If you execute those hostages, I’ll relieve you on grounds of mental aberration, and place you under arrest. Then I’ll order the flotilla back to Thaeron, and report myself to Chard Danought under arrest.” The old man spun and stamped out of the office, slamming the door.
Micah stared after him. The trouble was, the old man was right. He couldn’t afford to lose Van-Lyn now, not with combat ready to erupt at any moment. Van-Lyn’s exec wasn't experienced enough to fight a dreadnought. Besides, Micah didn’t have a firm grip on the man. Nevertheless, as soon as they’d beaten Cord and Kedron, Van-Lyn would die.
Planetary resistance wasn’t the only problem Micah faced. Predator and Harpy had jumped his two Destroyers, Gyrfalcon, and Eagle.
Eagle had been destroyed. Gyrfalcon had fled back to Haven, seriously damaged. Micah’s Chief Engineer surveyed her damage, and decided that she'd have to be sent back to Thaeron for repair.
“It wasn’t Predator and Harpy that were the problem, Admiral,” her captain explained. “They’ve got a bunch of small armed boats. The damned things are smaller than a Strengl, and harder to hit. They’re unbelievably fast and maneuverable. They jumped us before we could transition from jump drive to inertial drive, before we had shields. And our targeting comps were just baffled. They swarmed around us like bees, carving us up with big lasers, or hitting us with rocks. Some of them have mass drivers that must be fifty centimeters in diameter.
“Then, just about the time we got shields and some of our shots began to hit those little monsters, Predator and Harpy moved in. When I saw Eagle blow up, I knew I had to get back here and warn you.”
Micah was thoughtful. Gyrfalcon ’s captain was young, but by all reports, he was smart, resourceful, and brave. No, he hadn’t run out on a battle. He’d retreated from one that was lost.
Gyrfalcon ’s damage was so severe that Micah had no choice but to send her limping back to Thaeron.
Micah had Gyrfalcon ’s sensor logs shown to the captains of his other ships. The lethal little boats impressed and worried them. Oh, Nemesis and Dauntless probably had little to fear. Though enough stings could eventually be serious, even to a cruiser or dreadnought. They wouldn’t be given time to realize that threat.
The Lieutenant in command of Raptor, though, had a lot to fear from them. If Kedron had enough of those damned things, they could overload Raptor ’s shields and cut her to pieces.
“Nothing’s really changed, though,” Micah decided. “Those boats are a surprise, and I want you all working on methods of dealing with them. However, there’ll be no ambushes here; no jumping us before our shields are up.
“No,” he continued, “There’ll be no opportunity for tricks here! They have to emerge far enough out to give us more than enough warning. Then, they have to attack us on our terms; and one damaged Cruiser and two damaged Destroyers are simply no match for our forces.”
“But…” Raptor ’s Captain began. Micah held up a restraining hand.
“Don’t worry, Captain.” He said, “I’m well aware of the threat of these new boats to your ship. Nevertheless, as long as we keep her under cover of either Dauntless ’ or Nemesis ’ weapons, you should be all right. Moreover, we will be looking for ways to deal with the damned things. Perhaps the Strengl s could give you cover.” He shrugged. “At any rate, we’ll work it out.”