Engaging the Enemy by Elizabeth Moon
“It worked over in Woosten,” Rafe said. “The protection end, anyway. I don’t think they ever had privateers there. Not a bad system to test it in…Woosten’s too poor to interest many of the big firms.”
“So they cut off communications and hit one particular shipper really hard. Probably chose Vatta because of Osman—”
“Or because Vatta is big, well known, and had never been part of Slotter Key’s privateer fleet,” Martin said. “Lots of publicity, less risky—no Vatta ship was armed.” He paused, frowning. “But for the attack on Slotter Key itself, they must’ve pressured the government somehow. From what Stella said, someone knew about the bunkers under your headquarters and placed charges belowground. You can’t do that from outer space.”
“But if this is what’s going on, and we can find more clues, we can tell people—” Ky said.
“Tell them what?” Rafe asked. “That there’s danger? They know that. Just giving them a man’s name won’t help.”
“I’m thinking of the other privateers. We need to find them, get them working with us.”
“Working with us? You mean to find out more?”
“As a…a fleet,” Ky said, as the concept she’d been groping toward came clear. “If Slotter Key has as many as thirty, and the others have that many, too, we’d have a fleet bigger than the pirates.”
“First, we don’t know how big their fleet really is,” Rafe said. “For all we know, they have hundreds, thousands, of ships. Second, you’ll never get fifty or a hundred independent privateers to agree to fight together as a fleet.”
“Even if they were trained to fleet maneuvers,” Martin said, nodding. “Which they aren’t.”
“Nobody could support a fleet of thousands,” Ky said. “Not without more resources than could be put together in the past few years. Hundreds, maybe. Slotter Key’s a wealthy world, and we have fewer than two hundred real warships, plus the support craft.” She ran the figures in her implant again: that was right. The economy would not stand more without adjustments that had not been made. “As for training,” she went on, “Slotter Key puts Spaceforce officers aboard its privateers, and they’re trained in fleet maneuvers. Maybe others do the same, or maybe we can borrow fleet officers.”
Martin looked at Rafe. Rafe opened his mouth. She held up her hand. “No. Don’t tell me why it won’t work. Help me find the right way to do it.”
“But—”
“Captain, you don’t understand the difficulties—”
In her mind a cascade of possibilities rained down, glittering like polished coins. “I do understand,” she said, putting an edge to her voice. “I understand that we are one ship—that Vatta has, to my knowledge, only two ships, one of which is an old, slow, toothless tub. I understand that the enemy has many ships, efficient communications, and the advantage of initiative. But I also understand—and you had better understand—that this family, my family, is not finished. I am not finished. My aunt Grace is not finished. I don’t intend survival—I intend victory.”
The moment she heard the words, she thought how brash they sounded, how unlikely to be true, but Rafe and Martin both looked at her as if they’d heard trumpets.
What had she done? Did she really have command presence? She pushed that question away and went on quickly.
“The pirates have a combined fleet right now. Even if it falls apart, it will cripple trade and communication. The resources to deal with that are already out here, if we just put them together.”
Rafe had recovered his breath. “And you think you can do that.”
“I had better do that,” Ky said. “No one else seems to be doing it.”
Martin nodded slowly. “Combining privateers might work. But what about the space fleets in systems that have them? Wouldn’t they be more use?”
“They’d be a big help,” Ky said. “If their governments released them. But most operate in their own system only. Some don’t even have FTL capability; they’re like block police. What we need is a true interstellar force.”
“What about communications?”
Ky grinned. “Those shipboard ansibles,” she said. “We have enough to equip at least a strike force—it puts us equal to the pirates. And we can have more built.”
“No,” Rafe said, paling. “You can’t do that. You mustn’t do that.”
“Yes,” Ky said. “Rafe, the tech’s already loose in the universe. You can’t suppress it now. Chances are some of your renegade development people are already manufacturing them. You’ve looked at Osman’s inventory lists. How many do you think are out there?”
“At least sixty,” Rafe said. His shoulders slumped. “But I don’t see why we can’t try to destroy them with the ships—”
Sixty ships with constant real-time communication independent of system ansibles…Ky shivered. She had hoped for fewer; she’d need a lot of allies to take on that many—or more.
“We can’t defeat them without communications parity,” Ky said. “Tactically, instantaneous communications between ships at scan-lag distances gives them incredible advantages in command and control.”
“If the system ansibles come back up, we could use those.”
“And if they don’t? And considering how vulnerable they are to skilled attack? No, Rafe. The only way to fight them is to use those ansibles ourselves.”
He shook his head but said nothing. The ship’s intercom bleeped.
“Captain!” That was Hugh Pritang on the bridge. “More ships downjumping.”
“On my way,” Ky said. She hoped one of them would be Gary Tobai, perhaps in a convoy. On the bridge, she found tension almost as thick as Aunt Grace’s fruitcake.
“Four more armed ships,” Hugh said, pointing them out on scan. “No sign of your cousin. Rosvirein Station hasn’t—ah, there they go.”
The station’s automated message center displayed a crawler on the lower edge of the navigation screen: ATTENTION ALL SHIPS. ALERT STATUS XENO. HOLD COURSE OR BE FIRED ON. MAINTAIN WEAPONS LOCKDOWN OR BE FIRED ON. SHIPS MAY ACTIVATE DEFENSIVE SHIELDS ONLY. ALERT STATUS XENO. SYSTEM ANSIBLE NOT AVAILABLE FOR PRIVATE USE.
“Shields up,” Ky said. “Lee, give us a calculation on time to jump if we don’t wait for the jump point.”
“Twenty-two minutes at present acceleration,” he said. “I’ve got it running, along with an estimated downjump variance.”
“Good,” Ky said. “Engineering: get the FTL drive on standby for an emergency jump.” She was not going to be caught, as at Belinta, no matter what happened here.
On scan, Rosvirein’s embedded systems defenses showed up as red dots, as did the system’s ships. Ky looked at the ship plots. The three original problem ships, inbound for Rosvirein Station…the outbound traders, some of them undoubtedly privateers just like Fair Kaleen… Rosvirein’s own Peace Force ships…and the four newcomers, which had come through the jump at high delta vee relative to the system and showed no signs of deceleration.
Ky’s stomach clenched. Eight Rosvirein ships, shadowing the first three, were now bracketed between them and the newcomers.
“That’s not good,” Hugh murmured even as she thought it. “C’mon, get yourselves out of there.”
“Scan lag’s almost an hour,” Lee said. “What’s done is done.”
All Ky could think of was Stella, Stella in a small, slow, defenseless ship…minutes passing like hours as she watched the outdated scan, as the newly emerged ships spread out, as the shooting began, from ship and embedded platforms both.
It was hard to remember that what she saw was almost an hour old, when shields flared.
“They’re not after ships,” Ky said. “They’re after system defense, the embedded installations.” The attackers’ shields flared under Rosvirein Peace Force fire, but none had failed yet.
“Look at that!” Lee pointed; Ky had already noticed one of the ships in line behind them veering from its assigned course. “Armed tradeship Iron Gate, and she’s loading on the delta vee.” S
“Course estimate,” Ky said.
“Nowhere near us; looks like she could be on a least-time course for…” He paused. The navigation screen showed the first blunt arrowhead of Iron Gate’s course change narrowing as the acceleration closed her options. “The system financial ansible platform.”
“A decoy attack,” Ky said. “These others are just covering the attack on the ansible. They have to know that ship weapons won’t—” But a flare on the screen belied her words; one of the embedded defense batteries was gone. “Prepare for transition,” Ky said. Even as she said it, another crawler came on the screen.
ALL SHIPS ALL SHIPS READY FOR UP TRANSITION. ALL SHIPS JUMP IN ORDER OF DEPARTURE, 30 SECOND INTERVAL, FAIR KALEEN FIRST. SHIPS NOT UPJUMPING WILL BE TAGGED AS HOSTILE.
“They want us out of here,” Hugh said. “If they have more of whatever that was, Rosvirein’s system defenses are in trouble.”
“So are we,” Ky said. “Lee?”
“Fifty seconds.”
It felt more like fifty minutes, but Fair Kaleen slipped into transition with the smoothness of perfect alignment.
“That was…interesting,” Rafe said. “I hope it’s over with before Stella gets there.”
It was the first time he’d expressed concern about Stella; Ky looked at his impassive expression, wondering.
“I hope the right side wins,” Ky said.
“They should,” Hugh said. “Unless a fleet follows that probe, Rosvirein’s Peace Force has plenty of firepower to run those raiders out. I read it as a test of the system’s defenses—”
“They blew an embedded installation,” Ky said.
“I’d bet it’s a peripheral automated one,” Hugh said. “Let’s look at the scan data when the ship’s secured for FTL flight—”
“After we set up a training schedule,” Ky said. “Clearly, we can expect trouble anywhere but in FTL. I’ll take bridge watch; you and Martin rough up a schedule for me.”
“It’s almost shift change,” Rafe murmured.
“It was my watch next anyway,” Ky said. “If you’re tired, you’re off duty.” Through her implant, she checked ship functions, one after another. No problems: Fair Kaleen hung suspended in indeterminacy.
“I meant, the captain’s a long way from her last meal,” Rafe said. “Aren’t there rules about that?”
Ky started to say she wasn’t hungry, but now that immediate danger seemed past, she was. And with the ship fully crewed, she now had galley staff; she called down and requested a meal. “Satisfied now?” she asked Rafe.
He put his hands together and bowed slightly. “I have only the captain’s welfare in mind.”
“I’m sure,” Ky said, trying to keep the same light tone.
_______
Three hours into the new shift, Martin and Hugh reappeared with a training schedule and more questions about her plans.
“How are the tradeships going to know we aren’t pirates, too? How are the system governments going to react? And the mercenary companies?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Ky said. “The traders…well, Vatta still has a reputation for honesty, Osman aside. I can talk to them. Unless the mercs have thrown in with the pirates, they have no reason to attack us. They make their money out of insystem conflicts, anyway. Governments—”
“Governments that don’t like or trust Slotter Key, remember—” Rafe said.
“I know, I know. First things first. We find the other privateers. One at a time if we have to, but I’ll bet they’re already joining forces if they’ve run into the pirate gangs.”
_______
Two days out from Rosvirein, Ky called Rafe into her office. “Did you tell that ISC manager about the shipboard ansibles?”
He looked shocked. “Good gracious, no! She’s not cleared at that level. Why?”
“Is there any way to use these shipboard ansibles to hook into local communications networks?”
“Not really,” Rafe said. He steepled his fingers. “The difficulty in integrating shipborne ansibles with local facilities is one of the big problems with using them. It’s easier to call ship-to-ship across systems than to access the local communications network. The system’s just not set up for that.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Ky said. “It’s closer—”
“Closer physically, yes, but that’s not the point.” Rafe frowned. “This is getting into proprietary secrets again, but you need to understand at least part of it. System ansibles access local-system communications through hardware and software that ensures cross-identification. The ansibles themselves are protected by requiring all incoming messages to carry valid initiation and destination codes, which—except for ship coms, which are in another database—are preloaded at manufacture. Each system ansible is custom-made to respond to its destination’s signals. Got that?”
“Yes, I suppose. It’s an expensive approach—”
“True. But it’s kept ansibles safe from the kind of takeover that used to happen with planetary and systemwide nets. Meanwhile, ISC sets the parameters for the system’s lightspeed net to match those of the ansible to form a unique connection. Part of our monopoly agreement is that systemwide nets will not link with other ansibles. Ansible-to-ansible links are possible, of course, but access to the system lightspeed net is limited to one ansible.”
“But some systems have more than one—many have both a financial and a commercial—”
“We—ISC—will manufacture more than one ansible with the same internal code, of course. But there’s only one connection code for each customer system, and our service agreement ensures that the customer can’t connect with any other ansible. If ISC opened customer systems to shipborne ansibles, that would mean a massive security hole.”
“There’s got to be a way around that,” Ky said. “I can’t believe that Osman and his allies weren’t contacting locals with theirs. It would keep their communications secure from any surveillance that ISC was doing through the system ansibles.”
“If they did, they had tech we don’t know about,” Rafe said. “Not that it’s impossible. Some of ISC’s research division have been unhappy with the no-proliferation policy for decades. Management has suspected that they’re using ISC funds for research we never see.”
“Let’s assume they had that tech,” Ky said. “It’s safer that way. And then let’s assume you can figure it out and build us an equivalent.”
Rafe stared at her. “Me? I’m not a designer or engineer. I can’t possibly—”
“Rafe, you’re the one person we have who’s expert in ISC hardware. Until we find a designer or engineer who wants to work with us, you’re it. I’m sure Osman had information on this somewhere. Find it.”
“But you need me to help you with the contacts—”
“Yes. You can do both. It may slow you down.”
“To a dead stop,” Rafe said.
“Not really. If you can even define what we need to know, we can start trolling for more expertise.”
“I’m getting close to the edge of what I can do,” Rafe warned. “My primary loyalty is still to ISC. You’re asking me to help subvert it.”
“It’s my contention that in order to help ISC, we have to have communications that work,” Ky said. “ISC’s enemies already have the tech I’m asking you to find—we’re not making things worse. We’re using the new tech to help.”
He scowled at the table. “Maybe. And maybe not. I’ll have to think about it.”
“Don’t think too long. By now the enemy knows who we are.”
“What about Stella? How will she know where you’ve gone?”
“I’ve left her a message, at the Captains’ Guild.”
“She’s not going to be happy about that.”
“I know,” Ky said. “But we didn’t have a choice. On the way we can stop off and…er…practice some things.”
“It’s not as if you didn’t have your own drills,” Ky said.
At the next jump point, Ky ordered the ship to lay over a few days. She took them close enough to one of the larger masses that debris from their successful shots at components of its ring system would stay in that area, not complicate the jump-point transit for other ships. The two corpses vanished in the first salvo.
Watching things blow up was less fun than it had been when she and her cousins set off illicit fireworks on the beach, but in three days she knew that the Gannetts were definitely a superb gunnery team and the others were as good as what she’d been shown in the Slotter Key Spaceforce. Osman had kept his weaponry and supporting electronics in superb condition, so only slight adjustments were required. On the fourth and fifth days, she and Hugh set up simulations for the crew to play through.
“I wouldn’t like to be the odd pirate that tried to take us on,” Hugh said, after the first round of simulations. “When do we go hunting?”
“We need to do more than pick them off one by one,” Ky said. “That could take a lifetime. There may be sixty or more with the portable ansibles. That’s how many Rafe thinks were dispersed just through Osman’s services.”
“Ouch. You’re right; we need a fleet. But assembling one—”
“Is not going to be easy, certainly not if I try to talk to governmental entities. I’m hoping to find some privateers at Sallyon, though. Surely they’ll be more willing to listen.” He nodded without much enthusiasm, and she went on. “We also need more than gunnery drills, Hugh. That last fire-emergency drill was pitiful, response far too slow. Keep us awake nights if you have to, but I want to reach Sallyon with a crew that’s thoroughly familiar with every compartment and every procedure.”
“Beats scraping paint,” Hugh said. Ky laughed.
In the next FTL passage, she had reason to wish she had not said keep us awake nights, because the drills he devised interrupted everyone’s sleep repeatedly. Power loss, environmental leaks, hull breaches, fire in the galley, armed stowaways holed up in cargo, artificial gravity failure…and the captain had a role in every emergency, usually involving getting to the bridge in nothing flat. She wondered where he’d found the variety of drill-enhancing objects and substances that smoked, stank, flared, and made scary noises like escaping air, crackling flames, gunshots, and gurgling liquids. Or the makeup that turned some of the crew into gory “wounded” or “dead” heaps here and there about the ship, and others into strangers—stowaways, assassins, the enemy.