“Kontos wouldn’t fake the readiness of that ship,” Marphissa said. “Not to us. I’ve known many an executive and CEO who would, to curry temporary favor, but not Kontos. He’s too honest.” She smiled again, bitterly this time. “He wouldn’t have lasted another year under the Syndicate. Speaking truth to CEOs is a deadly habit.”
“He’s not being too honest about the status of Midway,” Bradamont noted, nodding toward the depiction of the battleship on Marphissa’s display. “It looks like the ship has suffered a recent major propulsion casualty rather than having full capability as it really does.”
“That’s some impressive camouflage, isn’t it?” Marphissa said. “It looks just like more than half of the main propulsion units blew up. But that’s misleading the enemy, not his own superiors. I’m perfectly fine with that. If Midway looks like a bird with a broken wing, the Syndicate flotilla should leave her alone and plan to nail her after they’ve gained control of the star system.”
“Or they might try something foolish, thinking she’s an easy target. You’re keeping this formation?” Bradamont asked, phrasing the loaded question diplomatically. Marphissa had arranged her own warships in Standard Box Formation One as well, though in this case the two heavy cruisers with her, Manticore and Kraken, occupied the center, with the light cruisers Falcon, Osprey, Hawk, Harrier, Kite, and Eagle at six of the eight corners of the box, and her twelve Hunter-Killers at the other two corners and positioned inside the box.
“For now,” Marphissa replied. “I know it’s not the best formation to engage that Syndicate flotilla, but I want the Syndicate commander to think I’m still following Syndicate doctrine.”
“Good idea,” Bradamont approved. “The longer they believe you’re going to fight a predictable battle, the better.”
“Kommodor,” the communications specialist announced, “we have just received a transmission from the Syndicate flotilla. It is addressed to the commander of our force.”
“Bounce it to me,” Marphissa said.
The window that appeared before her showed a woman whose wide mouth and cheekbones appeared to be set in a perpetual state of kind merriment. She would have seemed the personification of a warm, happy grandmother except for the jarring juxtaposition of the finely tailored Syndicate CEO suit that she was wearing.
“Happy Hua,” Kapitan Diaz murmured, horrified. “That’s really her, isn’t it?”
“Speaking of false appearances,” Marphissa said. “Even though I’ve heard of her, I still have trouble believing someone who looks like that is the most ruthless bitch in the Internal Security Service.”
Hua began speaking. Her voice would have been pleasant enough, but the words she was speaking destroyed any illusion of congeniality. “To the commander of the rebellious mobile forces in this star system. You have two choices. Surrender your mobile forces to me, and be allowed the opportunity to prove your usefulness to the Syndicate Worlds once again, or die. I expect an immediate response. For the people, Boucher, out.” As usual in Syndicate communications, the CEO droned out the “for the people” phrase in a quick slur of rote words that her delivery made clear were meaningless.
“That was clumsy,” Bradamont snorted. “She should have tried to fool you into letting her get a lot closer before she issued that ultimatum.”
“She’s a snake,” Diaz said. “She’s not used to negotiating with her victims. I guess their offers to surrender or confess and you might live must fool some people because they always say that, but no one who was really guilty would be dumb enough to believe it.”
Marphissa nodded. “That offer only catches the innocent who think their innocence will protect them. That CEO threatened me right off, Honore, because she doesn’t realize how hard it will be to catch our ships with her battleship. Unless you’ve done space operations, it’s hard to grasp just how huge the battlefield is. I bet she’s thinking in planetary surface terms. Like, she can see us, so we can’t be all that far away.” She paused to think. “Comms. Give me a broadcast to every ship in the Syndicate flotilla.”
“You have it, Kommodor. Key Two.”
“Also prepare a copy of the record we have of the destruction of that Syndicate light cruiser the last time they were here. The one that mutinied.”
“In a moment, Kommodor. One moment. Ready. Attachment Alpha.”
Marphissa gestured Bradamont away from her seat, so that the Alliance officer would not show in the transmission, then took a deep breath and tapped the control. “To the people in the crews of the mobile forces still under control of the Syndicate, this is Kommodor Asima Marphissa of the free and independent star system of Midway. We are no longer slaves of the Syndicate. We rule ourselves. Every snake in this star system is dead, so we do not serve the whims of internal security or fear for the safety of our families and loved ones. We are free, and you can be as well! Do not serve those who see you and treat you as cattle! Rise and slay the snakes among you, then join us, or return to your own homes to help them gain the freedom we have fought for. But beware of snake tricks. They will slay you without warning or cause, as they did the crew of this unfortunate light cruiser which belonged to the last Syndicate flotilla to come here. Join us, who value and respect all, workers and supervisors alike. For the people!” she ended, emphasizing and giving power to each word. “Marphissa, out.”
She tapped the attachment control, sending the image of the light cruiser being blown to fragments by its own power core. Did the crews of the other Syndicate vessels know that light cruiser had been destroyed to prevent its crew from taking the ship? They would now.
“Those ships must be crawling with snakes,” Diaz muttered. “What chance of successful mutiny do any of the crews have?”
“Probably none,” Marphissa admitted. “But all of those snakes will be redoubling their watching of the crews of their own ships, worried about them, instead of watching and worrying about what we’ll do. The snakes will question everything anyone in the crews does, slowing their actions and making them hesitate. You’ve been there, just like me. You know what it’s like.”
“Don’t remind me! There were times I was afraid I might breathe wrong.”
It would take ten minutes for the defiant reply to reach the Syndicate flotilla, but only three minutes later the operations specialist reported movement. “The Syndicate mobile forces are accelerating and coming onto an intercept vector with our formation, Kommodor.”
“Standard acceleration profile for a battleship formation,” Diaz noted. “Happy Hua is doing everything by the book.”
Marphissa nodded again, her eyes once more on her display. “What are you thinking?” she asked Bradamont.
“If this CEO is inexperienced in space combat,” Bradamont replied, “then, if it were me, I wouldn’t merge this formation with Kapitan Kontos’s when Pele gets close enough. I’d have Kontos operate separately. That CEO will have a lot more trouble grasping the situation and deciding what to do if she has two attacking formations to deal with instead of one.”
“She’s going to use the automated systems,” Diaz said. “Don’t you think? Hua Boucher won’t trust the supervisors or workers in the crews, but she will trust the software because people that high up always believe their own propaganda about how perfect the automated systems are.”
Marphissa nodded, chewing her lower lip as she thought. “Yes. Kapitan, you are right. And so are you, Captain Bradamont.”