David Weber & Steve White - Starfire 02

CRUSADE

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and

any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box

Riverdale, N.Y.

ISBN: 0-671-72111-9 Cover art by Paul Alexander First printing, March

Distributed by SIMON & SCHUSTER 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, N.Y.

Printed in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One: Exiles’ Return

Chapter Two: A Decision of State

Chapter Three: The Peace Fleet

Chapter Four: A Slaughter of Innocents

Chapter Five: "A khimhok stands alone, Mister President.“

Chapter Six: The Path of the Storm

Chapter Seven: The Faith of Holy Mother Terra

Chapter Eight: A Question of Authority

Chapter Nine: Ivan the Terrible

Chapter Ten: "To Smite the Infidel____“

Chapter Eleven: "The Line will hold!“

Chapter Twelve: Like the Good Old Days

Chapter Thirteen: The Blood of Patriots

Chapter Fourteen: Options of War

Chapter Fifteen: The Stewards of Holy Terra

Chapter Sixteen: The Blood of Warriors

Chapter Seventeen: "I need those ships!“

Chapter Eighteen: No Sae Bad… Fer a Shellhead

Chapter Nineteen: "We must all do our duty, Admiral Berenson.“

Chapter Twenty: Complications

Chapter Twenty-one: Without Authorization

Chapter Twenty-two: Knight Takes Queen

Chapter Twenty-three: An Admiral Heretical

Chapter Twenty-four: "It’s what I tried to stop!“

Chapter Twenty-five: A Gathering Fury

Chapter Twenty-six: "Buy me some time.“

Chapter Twenty-seven: At All Costs

Chapter Twenty-eight: A World at Bay

Chapter Twenty-nine: The Final Option

Chapter Thirty: Vengeance Is Mine

Chapter Thirty-one: The Terms of Terra

Chapter Thirty-two: Khimhok za’Fanak

CHAPTER ONE Exiles’ Return

"Is the zeget to your liking?“

Twenty-Sixth Least Claw of the Khan Khardanish’zar-than, Lord Talphon, combed his claws

suavely through his luxuriant whiskers, and his slit-pupilled eyes glinted across the table at his

liaison officer.

"Yes, thank you, Captain. And it’s quite well cooked, too.“

Khardanish noted Lieutenant Johansen’s teeth-hidden smile with approval, for Humans often

forgot that bared teeth were a challenge among his people. He knew Jo-hansen had studied the

Zheeerükou’valkhannaieee carefully in preparation for this assignment, yet it was still gratifying

to see such awareness of proper behavior. Not mat he was quite prepared to stop teasing his

guest just yet.

"I am glad,“ he said, "and I apologize for how long the cooks took to grasp that you would truly

prefer it cooked.“

"Not necessary, Captain. I console myself with the thought that a TFN chef would find it just as

hard to believe you would truly prefer it raw.“

Khardanish allowed himself the snarling purr of a chuckle. It was remarkable how well he and

Johansen had learned to read one another’s nuances, particularly since neither had the proper

vocal apparatus to speak the other’s language. Khardanish suspected he had drawn the Lorelei

Patrol at least partly because he understood Terran Standard English. There was much talk of

new translating software, but the current generation remained crude and imprecise… and used

too much memory for a lowly destroyer, anyway.

The least claw had been less than enthusiastic when he heard about his new post. It was

flattering for a least claw to serve, in effect, as a small claw with his own squadron, but the Tenth

Destroyer Squadron’s four old ships hardly constituted the Navy’s cutting edge, nor did the

Lorelei System qualify as a critical sector. It was one of the very few systems the Khanate had

succeeded in wresting from the Federation in the First Interstellar War of two Orion centuries

before, but the thoroughly useless star was hopelessly indefensible (as the Terrans had proved

in ISW-2), which, he suspected, was probably why the Federation had permitted his people to

keep it. Lorelei had no habitable planets, and only one of its six warp points led to Orion territory;

four led to Terran space, and the sixth led only to death, for no survey ship had ever returned

from its far terminus. His Znamae and her sisters were here purely to "show the flag,“ as the

Terrans put it.

Yet Khardanish had come to realize his duty held an importance too few of his fellows could

appreciate. Most agreed that when the Federation and Khanate allied against the Rigelians in

the. Third Interstellar War, the Treaty of Valkha’s assignment of liaison officers to all border

patrols had made sense as a means of defusing potential incidents. Far fewer would admit that

the contact those liaison assignments engendered remained equally desirable as a means of

nurturing the still slowgrowing mutual respect of the star nations’ warriors.

Khardanish himself was surprised by how genuinely fond of the lieutenant he had become. He

would never find Humans attractive. Their faces were flat; their ears were small, round, and set

far too low; they lacked any hint of a decent pelt; and the absence of the whiskers which were an

Orion’s pride made it difficult to take them seriously. Even their males had only a soft, cub-like

fuzz, but it was even worse in the lieutenant’s case. She was a female, and the long hair which

framed her face only emphasized its total, disgusting bareness. And if the Human custom of

wearing body-shrouding clothing at all times was less aesthetically objectionable - at least it hid

their naked skins! - it still seemed… odd.

But Samantha Johansen had many qualities he admired. She was observant, intelligent, and

keenly sensitive to the inevitable differences Between their cultures, and her military credentials

were impressive. The lieutenant was only fifty-three - twei’t’tty-e’t’t^ht, by hex people’s reckoning

- but s’t’t’t’te had seen the zeget. Her mess tunic bore the ribbon of the Federation’s Military

Cross, the Valkhaanairs equivalent, which must have been hard to come by in the fifty Terran

years of peace since ISW-3. Perhaps, he speculated idly, she had been chosen for this duty by

her superiors just as carefully as he was coming to believe First Fang Lokarnah had chosen

him?

"Ah, Saahmaantha!“ he said now. "At times, you are too much like one of my own for comfort.“

"I take that as a compliment, Captain,“ Johansen said, chewing another slice of zeget

appreciatively. In fact, she found it overly gamy, but it was a warrior’s dish. The bear-like zeget

was four furry meters of raw fury, the most feared predator of the original Orion homeworld, and

Least Claw Khardanish had done her great honor by ordering it served.

"Do you?“ Khardanish poured more wine. The Terran vintage was overly dry for his palate, but it

had been Johansen’s gift, and he drank it with the pleasure she deserved of him. He tilted his

glass, admiring the play of light in the ruby liquid. "Then I will tell you something, Lieutenant. Do

you know what we Theeerükou’valkhan-naieee call our two wars with you?“

"Yes, Captain,“ Johansen said softly. " ‘The Wars of Shame.’"

"Precisely.“ He sipped delicately. "I find that apt even though we are now aUies. We had twice

the systems, ten times the population, and a navy, and you had - what? A few dozen lightly-

armed survey vessels? Should not any warrior feel shame for losing to an enemy so much

weaker than he?“

Johansen met his eyes calmly, and the least claw approved. Even among his own people, many

would have sought to hide their discomfort with some polite nothing; this Human merely waited.

"But you were not weaker where it mattered most, Saahmaantha,“ he said seriously. "For your

people, war was a matter for planning and discipline; for mine, it was a chance to win honor by

individual bravery. Your First Fang Anderson lured us into traps, ambushed us, and massed his

fire to burn us down as we charged against him, and to the Theeerlikou’vaikhannaieee those

were coward’s tactics. My grandsire, the first Lord Talphon, fought in both Wars of Shame. He

was an intelligent officer, one of Varnik’sheerino’s proteges, but even he thought your people’s

way of war fit only for chofaki.“

Johansen still said nothing, though her eyes flickered. Literally, the term meant "dirt-eaters“;

figuratively, it implied beings so lost to courage and honor they could not even recognize them

as concepts.

"Yet I have read his journal many times, Saahmaantha, and he learned better.“ Khardanish

watched his guest relax. "He was not at Aklumar, but his ship was the sole survivor of the First

Battle of Ophiuchi Junction, and he fought in every major engagement of the Junction

Campaign. By the end, he had learned what your Federation Navy taught us so well; that the

duty of a warrior must be to win, not to count coup. So if you are like one of us, perhaps that is in

part because my people have grown more like yours.“

"And is that a good thing, Captain?“ Johansen asked.

"Yes, Saahmaantha.“ He refilled her empty glass and raised his own to her in the Terran

manner. ‘We owe you much for teaching us there is no cowardice in forethought. Some might

argue that point even now - they rememoer only the shame of defeat and prefer still to think of

Humans as chofaki - but my grandsire died defending Tanama against the Rigelian First Fleet

with a single Alliance task group, and his Terran units died with him. None fled, and the names

of their commanders are inscribed among my clan’s fathers and mothers in honor.“ He regarded

Johansen levelly. "I believe he would approve of you.“

"Your words do me honor, litter master,“ Johansen said quietly.

"True honor is in the heart which understands them, cubling,“ Khardanish returned the formality,

then twitched his tufted ears in humor. "But listen to us! We grow too grave, Lieutenant.“

"Perhaps.“ Samantha sipped her own wine, leaning back from the low table on the cushions

which served Orions in lieu of chairs, then grinned wryly. "But if we’re growing more like one

another, we’ve paid enough along the way, sir. This very system’s history is proof of that.

Khardanish nodded. A hundred and fifty Orion years before, a Terran fleet in Lorelei had cut off

and trapped a third of the Khanate’s battle-line. Forty years before that, an Orion flotilla had

penetrated the Terran frontier undetected during ISW-1 and surprised an entire Human colony

fleet here. There had been no survivors.

"Perhaps,“ he suggested dryly, "that is because we have always been alike in at least one

regard, Saahmaantha.“ His liaison officer raised an eyebrow in the Human expression of

interrogation, and he gave another chuckle. ‘Both of us are incredibly stubborn,“ he said simply.

A gentle vibration quivered through the superdread-nougnt Alois Saint-Just as Engineering ran

her final drive test, and her captain watched his read-outs with profound satisfaction. There was

honor in commanding even the smallest unit of Task Force One, but to command the flagship -!

He turned his eyes to the tactical display. Only Saint-Just’s squadron mates Helen Borkman and

Wu Hsin lay close alongside, but the dots of other ships dusted the three-dimensional sphere

with a thick coating of data codes, and the nav beacons marking the warp point pulsed amid the

minefields and asteroid fortresses. A thrill of pride ran through him, and he forced himself to

settle back, watching the chronometer tick off the last few hours.

"Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge.“

The computer recording was both calm and unhurried; the wail of alarms was neither, and Least

Claw Khardan-ish erupted from his quarters, still sealing his vac suit. A luckless maintenance

rating bounced off a bulkhead as his captain ran right over him and bounded into the central

access shaft, cursing softly but with feeling. He loved Znamae, old as she was, but her

accommodations had been designed by eight-thumbed zarkotga. Destroyers had no mass to

waste on intraship cars, and his quarters were the full length of the hull from her bridge. It was

bad enough to take so long to reach his station, but the unseemly haste it forced upon him could

not be reassuring to his crew.

He slowed abruptly as he spied the bridge hatch. By the time he reached it, he was moving with

a warriors measured, purposeful stride.

Son of the Khan Yahaarnow’ziltakan, Znamae’s exec, looked up with obvious relief as

Khardanish dropped into his command chair and racked his helmet. He was, he noted sourly,

the last to arrive. Even Johansen, whose cabin was almost as inconveniently placed as his, had

beaten him this time.

"Report!“ he said crisply.

"Unknown drive fields, sir.“ Observer First Hinarou’ frikish-ahn’s experience showed in her

precisely enunciated report. "Bearing oh-seven-two level by on-three-three vertical. Range

approximately three-point-two light-minutes. Estimated base course two-four-nine by oh-oh-

three. Data are still rough, sir, but data base does not recognize them.“

"Are you certain of that bearing, Observer?“ Khardan-ish demanded.

"Positive, sir.“

The least claw darted a quick look at Yahaarnow and Lieutenant Johansen and saw his own

surprise on both faces.

"Astrogation, back-plot Observation’s estimated base course.“

"Aye, sir. Computing now.“ There was a moment of silence, and when the astrogator spoke

again he sounded startled. "Sir, assuming Observation’s course and bearing are correct, it looks

like they came from warp point six!

Khardanish’s tufted ears flicked in quick acknowledgment, but he was deeply puzzled. Point six

was the warp point Lorelei’s Human discoverers had named Charon’sFerry, and if no survey

ship had ever gone into it and lived, how in Valkha’s name could anything come out of it?

"Unknowns are now at two-point-nine-five light-minutes, sir. Coming up in the outer zone of your

tactical display - now.“

Khardanish glanced into his holo tank. Human designers preferred a more compact, flat-screen

display, but Orion eyes had problems with such systems. Now he watched drifting lights blink

alive, glowing the steady yellow of unidentified vessels. They blinked again, ana suddenly each

bore a small light code denoting its estimated tonnage.

There were twelve of them, he noted digging his extended claws into the padded armrests of his

command chair. Most were no larger than his own destroyers, but the largest was a heavy

cruiser.

"Come to Status One,“ he ordered. "Prep and download courier drones.“ He waited for the

acknowledgments, then made himself lean back. "All right, Communications - standard Alliance

challenge.“

"Aye, sir.“

The range was still two and a half light-minutes - thirty minutes’ travel for Znamae under full

drive - and the five-minute wait seemed eternal.

"They are responding, sir. I do not recognize - wait! Coming up from data base now.“ The com

officer paused, then continued flatly, "Captain, they appear to be using pre-Alliance Terran

communication protocols.“

Khardanish looked up sharply. Pre-Alliance? That would make them at least fifty Terran years

out of date!

"Com Central confirms, sir. Their protocols match those used by the Terran Federation Navy at

the time of the First War of Shame.“

"Lieutenant?“ Khardanish looked at his liaison officer, and Johansen raised her palms in the

Human gesture of helpless ignorance. Which, he thought sourly, was a great deal of help just

now.

"Can you unscramble, Communications?“

"Affirmative, sir. We have no visual, but audio is coming up now.“

The com link was none too clear, and there was a hiss of static under the voice, but the distorted

words were recognizable.

"Unknown vessels, this is the Terran cruiser Kepler. Identify yourselves.“

"Khhepaahlaar?“ Khardanish’s tongue twisted on the word and he frowned at Johansen. ‘1 do

not recognize the name, Lieutenant. Do you?“

"No, sir.“ She punched keys at her console, calling up the TFN navy list. "No ship of that name is

listed in my files, either, sir.“

"I see.“ Khardanish combed his whiskers for a moment. There might, of course, be one

explanation, for one could never be certain one had located all the warp points in any system.

"Closed“ warp points were unde-tectable; they could be located only by passing through from a

normal warp point at the far end. It was possible a Federation survey flotilla had done just that -

that they were coming not from Charon’s Ferry but from a newfound closed point on the same

approximate bearing. But that would not explain unknown drive frequencies or archaic

communication codes. Or why this Kepler was not in Johansen’s data base.

He pondered a moment longer, but there was only one way to find out.

"Identify us and ask if we can render any assistance, Communications.“

"Aye, sir.“

"Maneuvering, slow to thirty percent.“ There was no point closing too rapidly. The range was

less than two light-minutes now, and his old destroyers were slow; if he should have to run he

wanted all the start he could get. There was another frustrating wait as the signals crossed, and

then -

"You are in Terran space, Znamael“ the voice from the speaker snapped, and Khardanish

growled under his breath. This was becoming ridiculous!

"Sir!“ Observer First Hinarou’s voice was sharper. "Additional drive sources detected. Two new

formations. Designate them Groups Two and Three. Group Two bears one-six-four by oh-three-

three, range three-point-two light-minutes; Group Three bears oh-two-eignt by oh-three-two,

range three-point-one light-minutes. Both are on converging interception courses!“

Khardanish’s eyes slitted. That sort of spread suggested only one thing: an attack formation. The

first group must have been an advanced screen, and the others had spread out behind their

scouts, maneuvering beyond scanner range to position themselves to run down his squadron

whatever ne did.

But why? If they were truly Terrans, they were allies, and if they were not Terrans, now could

they have known to use Terran com protocols - even ones so sadly out of date? It made no

sense! Unless…

No one had ever come back from Charon’s Ferry, but JO Fleet records suggested that at least

some of the Terran colony fleet annihilated here had fled down it in a desperate bid to escape.

Was it possible they had survived?

It seemed fantastic, but it might be an explanation. After all, more than ninety Terran years had

passed since then. Survivors might have managed to cling to their technology. But how could

colony snips survive what survey ships could not? And how could they have produced sufficient

population to build this many ships? And why wait this long to return? If -

"We have tentative classifications on Group Two, sir,“ Hinarou said tensely. "Coming up on your

display.“

Khardanish looked back down and tightened internally. At least seven of those ships were

capital units; three were superdreadnoughts.

"Maneuvering, come about one-eight-oh degrees. Maximum power.“ Znamae swerved in a

course change so radical it could be felt even through the drive field7 and Khardanish turned to

Johansen. "Observations, Lieutenant?“

"Sir, they may claim to be Terran, but they don’t match anything in my records. I don’t know what

they are.“

"Could they be survivors of the colony fleet of 2206?“

Johansen bunked, then frowned. "I suppose it’s possible, sir, but if they are, where have they

been all this time?“

"I do not know, but if that is the case, they cannot know what has transpired since. They may

even believe we are still at war.“

"Sir,“ Obseiver Hinarou broke in, "we are picking up additional sensor emissions. Battle Comp

estimates they are targeting systems.“

"Acknowledged, Observation.“

Their pursuers were far outside weapon range, but that would change. The capital ships were

gaining only slowly as they cut the angle on the squadron’scourse, but their escorts were twenty

percent faster than his ships. They would reach missile range in little over two hours, and the

first group was far closer. They would have the range in less than eighty minutes, and it was

thirty hours to the nearest warp point.

Khardanish beckoned, and Johansen crossed to his side. He leaned close to her, speaking

softly.

"Either those ships truly are Terran, however and wherever they have come from, or they are

not. In either case, we cannot outrun them. If they attack, we will undoubtedly be destroyed, and

the consequences to the Alliance may prove disastrous.“

"I understand, sir,“ the lieutenant said when he paused.

"But perhaps we can avoid that eventuality. So far we have used only our own com techs, and

they are Theeerlikou’valkhannaieee. You are Human. You must speak for us and convince them

of the true state of affairs.“

"I’ll try, sir.“

"I know you will, Saahmaantha.“ He waved her back to her console, then turned to his com

officer. "Patch the lieutenant into your link.“

"At once, sir.“ The communications officer touched a key, then flicked his ears to Johansen, and

she drew a deep breath.

"Kepler,“ she said slowly and distinctly, "this is Lieutenant Samantha Johansen, Terran

Federation Navy, aboard the Orion destroyer Znamae. You are not in Terran space. This system

was ceded to the Khanate under the Treaty of Tycho. The Federation is not - I repeat, not - at

war with the Khanate. We are allies. I say again, the Terran Federation and the Khanate of Orion

are allies. Please acknowledge my transmission.“

Lieutenant Johansen’s words winged across space to the cruiser Kepler, and a stunned com

officer relayed them to the superdreadnought Saint-Just.

"What did she say?!“ The admiral commanding Task Force One stared at his flag captain in

disbelief.

"That the Federation and the Orions are allies,“ the captain repeated shakenly.

‘Holy Terra!“ the admiral murmured. "It’s worse than we feared possible!“

The captain nodded silently, trying to grapple with the blasphemous possibility, then shook

himself.

"Shall we reply, sir?“

"Wait,“ his admiral commanded, nibbing his prominent nose as he thought. He was silent for

several seconds, then looked back up with cold eyes. "Instruct Kepler to reply, Captain.

Emphasize that we’ve been out of contact for many years. Tell this Lieutenant Jo-hansen“ - the

name was an epithet in his mouth - ’we must investigate her claims. Request, politely, that the

Orion ships halt and permit the screen to close with them.“

"Aye, sir.“ The captain’s voice was flat with disapproval, and his admiral’s eyes flickered with

cold amusement.

"If the infidel agrees, we’ll halt the remainder of the task force while the screen closes, and

then…“

The long delay between Johansen’s transmission and the response was agonizing, but it finally

came, and all eyes on Znamae’s bridge turned unobtrusively to the least claw.

"Comments, Saahmaantha?“ he asked quietly.

"I don’t like it, Captain,“ she said flatly. "They don’t feel right, but they’ve got the speed to catch

us if we run.“

"I share the lieutenant’s suspicion, sir, and I must point out that if they close to such a short

range, their weapons would -

"I know, Yahaarnow,“ Khardanish said, "but we have small choice, and the Alliance serves both

our Khan and the Federation well. If we risk our lives to preserve it, we do no more than our

duty.“ He held the exec’s eyes until his ears twitched agreement, then looked at Johansen.

"Very well, Lieutenant, inform them we will comply.“ He turned back to the exec. "Maintain

Status One, but I want no active targeting systems.“

The Orion Tenth Destroyer Squadron hung motionless, watching a handful of scanner dots close

with it. The remainder of the "Terran“ fleet had halted well beyond attack range, and Khardanish

hoped that was a good sign, yet uneasiness simmered in his blood, and it was hard to keep his

claws from twitching. The faceless com link had refused further communication until rendezvous

was made, and its silence bit at his nerves.

He watched Kepler’s light dot. The heavy cnüser was now at eight light-seconds and closing at a

leisurely two percent of light-speed with two light cruisers and three of her brood of destroyers.

The other six destroyers had halted at ten light-seconds, just within standard missile range. It

looked as if the other side was doing exactly as agreed.

"Range six light-seconds, sir,“ Observer Hinarou reported.

"Lieutenant, request that they come no closer until we have established visual communications.“

"Aye, sir.“ Johansen activated her com once more. "Kepler, this is Lieutenant Johansen. Our

commander requests that you come no closer until visual communications have b - “

"Incoming fire!“ Yahaarnow snapped, and the display was suddenly alive with missile traces.

"Return fire!“ Khardanish slammed his clawed fist against his armrest. "Enemy flagship is

primary target!“

"Aye, sir, opening fire now!“

The Tenth Squadron belched homing missiles, but the reply was pitiful beside the holocaust

racing for it, and the enemy drive fields peaked as they charged in for the kill.

"Evasive action!“ Khardanish commanded, and his ships, too, leapt to full power. They swerved

in frantic evasion maneuvers, and Znamae lurched as the first warhead burst against her

shields. The energy gunners had required a moment to activate their targeting systems, but now

the force beams opened up, slamming at the enemy with electromagnetic fists.

"Launch courier drones,“ Khardanish said softly, and his bridge crew knew their commander had

already written off his entire squadron.

"There,“ Kepler’s captain said coldly. "That one’s done all the talking. That’s the one we want.“

Courier drones spilled from the embattled destroyers, racing for the warp point beacons as

nuclear flame boiled on their mother snips’ shields. The squadron’s overloaded point defense

stations could stop only a handful of the incoming missiles, but Khardanish’s own missiles were

striking home, and he watched explosions crawl over the heavy cruiser’s shields. The invisible

blows of his force beams savaged them as well, and they were going down.

But so were his, and the light code of the destroyer Tramad flickered as her last shield died and

the first missile impacted on her drive field.

"Target’sshields are weakening,“ Yahaamow reported. "One enemy destroyer streaming

atmosphere. We - “

His voice broke off as a savage burst of energy swept past Znamae’s shields and slashed into

her bows, and Khardanish’s eyes went wide in shock.

"Forward armor destroyed. Life Support Three inactive. Shield Compartment Two no longer

responds. Heavy casualties in Missile One.“

Khardanish slewed around towards Hinarou, and the observer first’s ears were flat to her skull in

disbelief.

"That was an x-ray laser, Captain!“

The least claw turned back to his display, but his brain raced. That surpassed anything the

Khanate or Federation could do. It took a bomb-pumped laser to produce a weapon-grade beam

of x-rays at such a range, and though independently deployed bomb-pumped lasers were

feasible for static defenses, they were far too cumbersome for deep-space use against targets

David Weber & Steve White - Starfire 02 - Crusade

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