The Jocasta Cameron educational center was like most major schools on Inglesmond. Transport made getting too and from the school easy, so while it was boarding school, the students were easily able to return home on the weekends, if they wanted to. From 11 to 17, almost 4500 students called the school home.
But not now. Cecelia was 16, and she had been handed off 12 11 year olds as they were put on a bus heading to the north of the center.
“Cecelia, what’s happening? They even took Mr. Muffins!” one of the kids said.
Oh God, not Mr. Muffins. The Cat got into everything. Why couldn’t the school just mandate hamsters only?
Then their bus, the first in the long line of buses holding every student and teacher, crested the ridge and Cecelia’s brain slithered to a halt as she saw the huge bulk of the dropships, the ground of the plain seared and melted. There were other buses there, and vtols landing and disbursing other people, some students, some looking like they were from the nearby cities.
This is a nature preserve, how can they be landing… Then she thought about the battle earlier that year. We won it, so what was…
“Attention students!” the bus speakers were blaring. “By order of the president, we are evacuating Inglesmond for a temporary period. You will be boarding the Heavy 23 in the following order…”
“We’re going? But what about mom?”
“Are we going to earth?”
“What about vacation?”
“Yay! We’re going to space!”
The kids were talking, some nervous, others excited.
But they were little kids, and most of the proctors had been told to avoid telling them too much about the fire consuming the Hegemony.
Finally, when it was their turn, Cecelia grabbed the sleeve of the rating guiding them. “What about the pets, our luggage, where are we going!” she said.
“Pets are in deep sleep—can’t risk it for people, there’s enough room, you’ll have your clothing provided, and Wynn’s Roost.”
Cecelia had wanted to be a pilot, and she knew astrography. “That’s…that’s over twenty jumps away.”
“Well, it’ll be a long trip—but we’ve got a partial circuit set up. You’re not going to have much fun, not with all those jumps, so make certain everyone has a barf bag. Now get your kids and get them on board.”
Cecelia didn’t say anything, but slowly turned pale. They’re coming back. The Kuritans, and nobody thinks we can protect ourselves. You didn’t evacuate kids if you thought the other side was just going to ask for surrender, or bomb a few factories. Not all the way out to the Periphery.
William watched as the teenager helped shepherd the kids towards the dropship. They had the circuit set up, mostly, and the first group, mostly children and vital workers were leaving tonight. Ten Starlords, millions of people crammed into short-term bays… They’d get more once the shipyards finished with the habitation pods, really 100,000 ton jump capable stations holding nothing but people and cargo.
God knew how long it would hold. According to Scuttlebutt, part of it was Terra calling in every favor they had, but the House Lords were grabbing every ship they had. Things were going to get a lot slower before too long, but that was another reason for the membership of the first lifts— the children of Inglesmond, and the absolutely vital professionals. Even if nobody else got out, it was enough to preserve the memory of their world…
The Klaxon’s sounded, as William turned to start ordering the buses and bystanders back to a safe distance—dropships kicked up one hell of a fuss when they took off.
2789
“Colonel Bradley.”
“Director Blake,” Bradley said. He wasn’t entirely certain why Jerome Blake was contacting him,but well. “Congratulations on your securing of Terra.”
“Yes.” Blake didn’t look overly happy. “The birthplace of mankind must be secured—no matter the cost, and in this case, the cost was high. I have essentially abandoned the rest of the Hegemony. Which is why I’ve contacted you.”
“A regimental combat team can do little about that.”
“More than you think. You’ve heard of Inglesmond’s movements?”
Bradley nodded. He had been surprised that the Draconis Combine was letting them go, but then Inglesmond had moved all of their defenses back to their homeworld, essentially giving up any attempts to protect the rest of the province, while other worlds appeared to be joining in the exodus,with varying degrees of preparation.
Minoru probably assumes they’re not taking the factories with them.
“They’re heading for the Outworld’s Alliance.”
“Yes, the far provinces, but…” Blake hesitated. “The House Lords are going to burn the Inner Sphere down, and before they end, I expect they’ll be looking for any resources they can find, to say nothing of pirates. It’s already as bad as it was during the Reunification War, and I expect it’s going to only get worse.”
“We have an arrangement with Minoru—”
“But not with his son. For that matter, what happens if things get more desperate for either side? You will not be allowed to remain as you are—unless you leave.”
“To Wynn’s Roost?”
“Yes. They have a military, but they’ll be stretched to the brink—millions of refugees will bring pirates and raiders and that presumes the Houses won’t attack them.”
Bradley had doubts about that. The far provinces of the Outworlds Alliance were far enough away that any serious redeployment of forces would leave the sending power vulnerable to their enemies.
Pirates on the other hand—more than a few nuclear stockpiles had gone missing and pirates wouldn’t care about house retaliation, not out there. But…
“The Kuritan’s might not take it well if we leave.”
“They are already involved in a war with everyone else in the Sphere,” Blake said. “I doubt they’ll want to add Comstar to that list, and in any case, I’ll sweeten the pot for them. Beside, it’s not like you’ll be taking service with their enemies. You’re merely leaving on a 10 year contract to protect HPG units in the Outworlds Alliance and other duties as “the legitimate government of Wynn’s Roost” requests. After that…”
Bradley frowned, thinking.
Then Blake used his ultimate weapon. “Colonel. If there’s anything left of the old Star League, it’s us. You can’t save the Hegemony, and the House Lords killed the Star League. But you can at least save some of the people who aren’t looting the corpse.”
Bradley shook his head. “We’ll have to discuss this, Director. I’ll get back in touch when we have a decision.”
“Don’t wait too long. There’s a limited window of opportunity here.”
Cecelia put the bag up to her mouth again as the ship jumped. Not that she had anything in her belly too throw up. Not any more. The Mammoth had been loaded, and then overloaded, so many people that she could barely move. So many people that some had to be sedated. For a moment, Cecelia had feared that they were being sent to die—that it was some cruel trick, because there was no way the dropship’s life support could continue to maintain them.
But they hadn’t stayed with one jumpship, instead being transferred between jumpships, each one ready to jump. Cecelia had traveled once as a younger child, but those jumps had been slow, and anyone who was feeling uncomfortable had been given drugs.
Now there were no drugs, and “comfort” was a barf bag and a blared jump alarm giving you enough time to get it over your mouth.
“Make it stop!” wailed one of the children. Cecelia awkwardly patted the child on her shoulder, checking to make certain that everyone was strapped to the wall. None of the kids had ever experienced zero-G before and the rating had warned them all—if they were floating away from the wall and the ship went under drive, broken bones would be the least of their worries.
In fact it—discontinuity—Cecelia tried to throw up on a completely empty stomach. God, no more, please…
And evidently, God was listening.
“All hands, all hands. This is the captain. After just over a week and twenty jumps, we’ve arrived at our destination. Welcome to Wynn’s Roost, a literally stinking paradise. We’ll be grounding in about a day, whereupon you’ll all be given shelter. I will have to see if anything broke, because in a week—I get to do twenty jumps back to the Inner Sphere, so if you’re upset about all the barfing, I don’t want to hear it.”
And here we are, scavenging the battlefields. Captain Steven Richards had been part of the SLDF—an engineer to be precise. He helped build the space stations that kept the fleet running, when they weren’t demanding he patch their ships up. And during the Amaris war, he’d patched more than his fair share of ships up—but not all of them. Some were too badly damaged, so they were just stripped for parts and bodies, and left until the SLDF could get back to properly repairing or disposing of them.
But now there wasn’t an SLDF and as part of the Inglesmond defense force, he’d provided all the information to the government, and now had some final orders.
“Repair any ships that can be transportable—but those that can’t, even if they might be repaired, blow them in place.” After all, Richards wasn’t the only man who knew where these ships were located, and even if they didn’t have the time to fix them, a house might. So they had to be destroyed before they could be turned against the people they’d been intended to defend.
Right now, a pair of Volga class transports had jumped out, after work to repair their cores, although most everything else looked wrecked. They’d be years refitting, and in the old days, would simply be scrapped. Another Volga had been stripped of everything else before it had been destroyed. There had been other finds, all of which were in terrible condition—by the end of the Civil War, ships that were merely “half” smashed were simply patched up and put back into combat. A Luxor with the front fifth of the ship blown off, a Potemkin that had suffered multiple internal explosions that had, by a miracle, left its jump core repairable. Several Lolas, the survival of the ship attesting to its rugged construction—most smaller ships had been destroyed, not damaged.
And this.
“It can jump?” Richards asked his aide as he stared at the ravaged form of the Admiral Willis. A McKenna. Or at least what was left of one. Both radiating fins were gone, the gun decks were tangled wreckage, and honestly, Richards wondered if it would ever be usable again, or if they should just put it out of its misery.
“Jump yes. Use a transit drive? Not without a lot of work.” The other engineer gestured at the stress fractures highlighted on the readout. “Fire the guns, even the ones that aren’t destroyed? Not unless you want to fly them off the superstructure. Oh, and the crew? They’ll be in suits the whole time—life system is gone, and we’ll have to live in a jumpship.”
“But it can jump.” Richard stared at his subordinate. “You know Tom and his ideas about never leaving anything behind. I don’t to find out it misjumped and everyone died because he talked himself into thinking things were better than they were.”
“It’ll jump. Parts are going to fall off, but It’ll jump. But… Sir, why are we nuking the other ships? We could always come back later and try to get them working.”
“Because sooner or later the house lords are going to find out about these places. Nuking the ships may piss them off, but they won’t be looking for where destroyed ships went, like the ones we’re taking right now.”
And because they deserve better than to be put in the service of monsters.
