The Economic Origins of the War
The industrial power of the Sol System is difficult to understate as it underpins the military might of the United Nations of Earth. For decades Sol was the source of effectively all heavy industrial and commercial goods used across the colonies. This imbalance was further exuberated by the stranglehold Earth based shipping interests had on the trade routes between human worlds. As a result, the Sol System was very much the economic heart of human controlled space.
The abuse of this monopoly was not long in coming as the Earth based conglomerates worked together to ensure colony based businesses would always be at a disadvantage. From preferential rates for fellow Earth based companies to the use of legal maneuvers to hinder transactions, the predatory acts were quite blatant. Appeals by the colonies fell mostly on deaf ears as UNE politicians also had a vested interest in keeping major manufacturing based in Sol. For them, the conglomerates were major donors to their political campaigns in addition to providing jobs for their constituency.
Of the conglomerates, three especially stand out as the primary economic powers in the Sol System. First is Terrastar, a major naval manufacturer and lead contractor for the UNE Navy. Second is Kobayashi-Mitsui, the premier shipping combine that dominated trade between human worlds before the war broke out. And finally there is Lucresent SA, a major consumer goods manufacturer that dominated the market for durable goods.
Between the three giants, it is arguably Lucresent SA that was the most aggressive in attempting to limit colonial competition. The manufacturing it specialized in was the most readily developed in the colonies and with lower labor costs, colonial startups could have seriously undermined its market position. With assistance from the politicians of its native west European homeland, Lucresent SA attempted to impose near punitive requirements on quality and standards on products manufactured in the colonies. It even went so far as to attempt to restrict the sale of products on the very colonies they were manufactured on, one of the few instances where its efforts failed. In many other cases however Lucresent SA achieved its goals and the heavy regulatory burden it created for colonial businesses succeeded in limiting growth for many such companies.
A direct consequence of these regulations was a growing movement in the colonies to assume responsibility for their own laws and regulations. This quickly grew into a full-fledged independence movement, a movement UNE politicians immediately branded as dissident. The path to war had begun.
Fleet Admiral Evangeline Kosygin
Commander in Chief
Colonial Independence Navy
Chapter 5: By Oaths Bound
Resistance was light, or at least it felt that way to Reynolds. It was also possible she was becoming spoiled by the strike suit. Once Adam built up enough fold energy, the opposition was effectively halved after a single salvo. The fixed defenses still remained, but those were little more than target practice.
"We're making good time," Reynolds said as the first supply platform went up in flames.
"New boogies incoming," Khaldi reported.
"Beta flight, keep them occupied. Delta flight, clear a path through the turrets."
With the enemy tied down, there was nothing to stop Adams as he charged in and blew apart the second platform. This was proving to be almost too easy.
"Ma'am, we've got runners!"
Mentally chiding herself, Reynolds turned her fighter about to get a better view. A pair of freighters was indeed making a break for it from another platform.
"Delta, give chase and take them out if you can," Reynolds ordered. "Reaper, stay on task and finish off the platforms."
The click acknowledged her instructions and Adams moved to make another attack run.
"Commander."
The cool feminine voice surprised Reynolds but she responded nonetheless.
"A bit busy here Control."
"Team 2 has suffered casualties and will not be able to achieve their objectives within the allotted time."
Reynolds grimaced. "Control, we have our orders."
"Understood, and I cannot ask you to deviate from them. I can however suggest an altered flight plan back to the Arcadia that will take you through team 2's objective."
"Acknowledged. Make it so." Switching back to the squadron channel, Reynolds shared the news. "Alright boys and girls, it looks like Kern and Dubois need some hand holding. Once we're done here we'll fold to their location, so let's wrap this up now."
As if to comply with her command, the strike suit flared again and blew apart a dozen more storage containers. With the majority of resistance crushed, the squadron could soon go to assist team two with whatever they had run into.
"Ma'am!"
Coming about, Reynolds watched several signals detach from the last remaining platform.
"Freighters making a run for it ma'am, light escort accompanying them!"
"Beta flight, take them down. We'll meet you back at the Arcadia."
The four fighters of beta peeled away and Reynolds did not doubt they could handle the enemy fighters now running away. Beta also had the lowest expenditure of rockets so far so the freighter was as good as dead. The only question was how much she would regret splitting the squadron like this when she moved on to help team two.
"Alright, we're done here," Reynolds said as the last supply platform broke up. "Let's haul ass."
Leaving behind the smoking wrecks, Reynolds wasted little time celebrating their victory. Being too proud of her achievement would be premature until she saw exactly how sticky the situation team two had gotten into was.
As the squadron emerged by the outer defense perimeter, Reynolds' eyes darkened at the status report. Half of the interceptor squadron was gone including Dubois and the rest had their hands full trying to keep the enemy from taking out more of Kern's bombers. Those same bombers were having a hell of a time inflicting any damage to the command station as the various point defense emplacements threw up a literal wall of flak.
"Reaper, back up the interceptors," Reynolds ordered. "I'll back you. Brigit, you and delta run interference for the bombers."
"Aye ma'am. Good hunting."
There was plenty of game to be sure, so long as they avoided becoming hunted themselves. As they closed in on the enemy fighters, the strike suit transformed and blazed away just long enough to down three tightly clustered targets. Drained of its reserves, Adams reverted to scoring kills the old fashioned away and blew apart more targets with his plasma cannon. Reynolds again watched his tail, picking off enemies that tried to blindside her wingman.
Her fighter shuddered and the shields flared red as the enemy turned their attention to her. One came straight at her as if inviting her to a game of chicken but Reynolds simply locked on with a missile and let loose after having peppered it with a machinegun burst. One more flaming wreck joined the others littering the space around them. A couple more fighters were barreling down upon her, forcing Reynolds to evade instead of engaging. This time it was Adams' turn to watch her back as the strike suit streaked through guns blazing. One of the enemy fighters found itself along a parallel vector to Adams, giving him plenty of time to line up his guns and blow it out of space. The others tried to reform for another run only to learn the hard way just how much easier a target they made for the strike suit when grouped together. The latest salvo of missiles scored on all of the survivors, leaving none left.
"Boomer, you still hanging in there?" Reynolds commed Kern as the mayhem died down to more reasonable levels.
"Thanks to you," Kern replied. "The Cindy station's guns were more numerous than projected and Dubois bought it trying to guide us in. I was about to call a retreat when you showed up."
"Well we're here now, so let's finish the job," Reynolds said. "My boys and girls will handle the guns, you just worry about ripping that station a new one."
"Acknowledged. Now this is two I owe you commander."
"Say that after we all get home safe and sound," Reynolds said before switching over to her squadron channel. "Delta, Brigit, continue running interference. We're going to pay back the Cindies by blowing that station to hell and we need Boomer's torpedoes to do it. Me and Reaper'll trash a few more platforms to salt the wound."
Adams wasted no time charging for the platforms even as Reynolds issued more orders.
"Interceptor squadrons, stay with me and Reaper. Avoid the flak cannons but be ready to deal with any enemy light craft that tries to interfere."
"Understood commander," the senior survivor of Dubois' squadron replied.
There was little satisfaction to be had with the exploding platforms and even the burning of the station. The taskforce could not afford this level of attrition, even if the exchange rate was ridiculously lopsided in their favor. With so much of the navy destroyed, there simply may not be any reinforcements to make good their losses.
"Ma'am, we've got runners," McBride suddenly reported.
"I see them. Reaper, still got any rockets left?"
A single click answered in the affirmative.
"Smoke 'em."
The shuttles making a mad dash away from the station were for all intents and purposes harmless, lacking any meaningful weapons and extremely sluggish even if their hull was quite sturdy. In theory Reynolds could have let them run as they would be playing no further part in the battle, but a part of her had yet to forgive the Colonials for Sybille.
"Reynolds."
The cool voice interrupted Reynolds' thoughts and the commander grimaced.
"What is it this time Control?"
"Team three has encountered heavy resistance at their objective and requires assistance."
"How heavy?"
"Reports indicate an enemy cruiser present at the main command station."
"Oh bloody hell. Alright, we're moving out. Boomer, position your squadron one jump from team three and be ready to come in once we've created an opening. The interceptors will cover you."
"Yes ma'am."
"Ma'am, that's technically in violation of our orders," McBride said.
"Our orders can go to hell," Reynolds said. "I'm not leaving without the rest of my wing."
"Yes ma'am. Glad we're on the same page."
As the rest of the light craft formed up, the station began breaking up behind them. Due to its sheer size, there was no spectacular explosion to signify its death. The torpedoes of the bombers did not have quite that big of a punch, though the gaping holes they tore were more than enough to wreck the station. The cruiser they were about to engage would however be more suitable kindling for proper fireworks.
As the squadron folded into range of the main system command station, Reynolds grimaced at the sight.
"Team three, this is Angel. What's your status?"
"Half the squadron's gone ma'am," a strained voice replied. "Control managed to route a frigate to support us, but it's taking a real pounding from the cruiser."
"Understood. We're coming in hot. Reaper, I'm not sure we can save the frigate, so don't get yourself killed in the effort."
The only response Reynolds got was the strike suit suddenly accelerating, hard. Grimacing, Reynolds hit her own thrusters and chased after her wingman. The closer they got, the more her fighter shook from flak. With most of her reserves drained accelerating, there were far more close calls with missiles than Reynolds was comfortable with. Despite it all, somehow Adams stayed ahead even with almost all of the fire aimed at him.
"Damn it Reaper, do not go suicidal on me here."
Reynolds did not know exactly what drove her wingman to take this kind of risk but she could guess well enough. They had already lost a few people on this mission and now an entire frigate and all her crew might be going down. For some that sudden jump in numbers might almost numb them to the deaths. For Adams, someone who had lost his entire squadron, no weight could overwhelm his senses enough to let him ignore the pain.
Suddenly, explosions ripped over the topside of the cruiser as the two beam cannons and a third of the point defenses were blown apart. The bright beacon of fold energy dissipated as Adams flew over the cruiser before quickly flipping about. Reynolds herself dove, rolling under the cruiser and ripping apart the lone beam cannon there with a hail of rockets. The rest of the squadron broke off early, pouncing on the enemy fighters that were trying to chase down Adams and Reynolds.
Diving perpendicularly, the strike suit flared again and another salvo of missiles smashed into the cruiser. The two remaining heavy plasma batteries fell silent, as did most of the other point defenses. The cruiser was now effectively naked and ripe for the gutting.
"Boomer, this is Angel. The target is ready."
"Acknowledged Commander. Time for us to pay back the favor."
The blue glow of a fold event signaled the arrival of reinforcements but Reynolds paid it little mind. Adams was now racing around the battlefield, expending his remaining rockets on the supply platforms. Enemy fighters and interceptors were giving chase, only to be swatted aside whenever the strike suit built up enough charge. The few that survived did not enjoy that status for long once Reynolds locked onto them.
"Ma'am, the cruiser is maneuvering closer to the station," McBride said. "I think they're trying to use its guns for cover."
"Acknowledged. Reaper, see if you can do something about that."
The strike suit changed vectors, seemingly making a run for the enemy cruiser. Reynolds wondered for a brief moment what the enemy captain might be thinking at that sight. After all the carnage the ship had wrecked, she would not be surprised if the Colonials thought the strike suit was about to rip apart an entire cruiser single handed. There was a slightly vengeful satisfaction to that notion but Reynolds did not dwell upon it for long. There were still Colonial light craft to hunt after all.
The battle was dying down all around them as enemy ships tried to escape the carnage. Escape pods shot out from the cruiser and were let go without harassment, something Reynolds noted somewhat bitterly. That mercy had not been extended to the UNE forces at Sybille but she was not quite ready to become a cold blooded murderer just for the sake of vengeance. By the time the cruiser died, the UNE wing had effective control of the space around the station.
"Alright, form up and prepare to fold out," Reynolds ordered. "I think we've made our point about trying to screw with the UNE."
Looking at the icons lining up around her, Reynolds noted the holes that appeared. The interceptors and other fighter squadron had taken the heaviest beating, though the bomber squadron was also down a couple of birds. It was a downright miracle that all of the fighters in Reynolds' own squadron were intact, though here and there status reports indicated heavy damage incurred. This was a victory, but a costly one.
"Contact!"
The cry caused Reynolds to look up just in time to see the fold event erupt. The ships that came through were definitely Colonial, but that was not all.
"Those markings, it's the Black Fleet!" Reynolds found herself blurting out. "All squadrons, do NOT engage. I repeat, do NOT engage. Lock on fold coordinates and pull out. Move it!"
One by one, her ships blinked out from the battlefield even as the Black Fleet fighters roared towards them. Some even opened fire, throwing down a challenge to try to goad the UNE ships into a response. Her wing maintained discipline however and finally only Adams and Reynolds were left. After her wingman disappeared, Reynolds too engaged her drive. This was a retreat, but it was still a victory. The next time, they would see if the Black Fleet's reputation was truly deserved.
"-and you diverged from the specified attack plan not once but twice," Bowman said. "I expected better from you, lieutenant commander. Is there a reason I should not have you shot for your gross insubordination?"
The grilling had been going on for half an hour at this point now and Bowman had done a spectacular job of making himself sound like an ass. Then again Reynolds had already concluded that Bowman got plenty of practice for this so today's spectacle was no grand achievement.
"Though perhaps unnecessary, might I remind the captain that operational realities often require changing battle plans," McCallum interjected. "If I recall correctly, that was the first thing we were told in any tactics course at the academy."
"I don't need to be lectured about classroom theories," Bowman snapped. "What I need is firm adherence to the chain of command!"
"Even if that adherence gets our people killed?" McCallum replied coldly. "Correct me if I'm wrong, captain, but in order to actually defeat the Black Fleet, you need enough ships to actually match them. So unless your goal is to lose the taskforce before we can force an engagement, then I suggest you recognize when a situation appears where previously issued orders become counterproductive."
"Are you suggesting you intend to further disobey my orders, Captain McCallum?" Bowman growled.
"Considering that you cannot legally issue me binding orders, I have nothing to disobey," McCallum shot back. "And as a carrier's wing is always under the chain of command of the ship's captain, Lieutenant Commander Reynolds is legally required to follow my orders over yours. I suggest you keep that in mind, captain, lest you wish to test the effectiveness of the taskforce without Arcadia or the strike suit."
Bowman looked like he was ready to rip McCallum's head off, which would have probably been a fatal mistake had he succumbed to his anger. To top off his inanity, the cruiser captain had actually come aboard Arcadia to dress down Reynolds instead of summoning Reynolds to his ship. Even with his executive officer accompanying him, Bowman was relatively isolated and the presence of two marines further emphasized just who was the master aboard the carrier. So instead of sealing his nomination for a Darwin award, Bowman attempted to concede as little as possible with as much tact as a man of his mentality could muster.
"I, disagree, with your interpretation of how regulations deal with the chain of command in squadron situations," Bowman said, "but I see little point in drawing out this discussion at this point. And seeing as your wing was able to attract the attention of the Black Fleet, I am prepared to overlook your insubordination this time, lieutenant commander."
Reynolds made no response, though her eyes said it all about how much she cared about Bowman's judgment. For a moment Bowman seemed to almost recoil at the hardness staring back at him but he quickly composed himself and made his very hasty exit. Once the man was out the door, McCallum slumped back into his chair and sighed.
"That idiot's going to get us all killed."
"I would not dispute that conclusion sir," Reynolds said.
"Nevertheless, until Mercury completes its mission, we need Bowman's support," Control said.
"No, what we need is the support of the other ships," McCallum said. "We get them, Tartarus and Bowman can go to the hell it's named after for all I care."
"Do you think we'll get that support sir?" Reynolds asked.
"Maybe. Your saving of the frigate has at least pretty solidly established our credibility. And the Titan's captain is starting to become leery of Bowman's unpredictability."
"That was more Adams than me sir," Reynolds said.
"You can drop the false modesty Reynolds, you took out one of the cannons too. Right now though we need to put your wing back together after the losses it suffered."
Reynolds nodded grimly. The attack on Hydra, as important as it was wiping out the Colonial stockpiles, had resulted in her losing nearly a third of her wing. Those kind of losses could not be sustained if they were to have any chance saving Earth.
"I've already tasked my senior officers to try to work something out. I was intending to join them after the, inquiry, was concluded."
"Consider it concluded," McCallum said. "Dismissed, commander."
With a salute, Reynolds left the room, ready to get some real work done.
The other officers all nodded respectfully as Reynolds entered the light craft command deck, even if not all of them were under her command.
"Commander," Tapping greeted for all of them.
"Commander, lieutenants, chief," Reynolds said, allowing a slight smile to cross her face before turning somber. "We all know what our situation is, so let's not bother rehashing it. The question before us is, what do we do to improve it."
Adams and Tapping exchanged a look before the engineer spoke up again.
"The lieutenant and I have gone over the strike suit's telemetry and we're in agreement that it needs the more extensive upgrades suggested earlier. While the ship's flight performance is well ahead of anything else we have, its weapons are only middling so."
"How long are we looking at?" Reynolds asked.
"Days at least," Tapping answered. "Redoing its power feeds and capacitors isn't going to be quick and easy. They're just buried too deep."
Reynolds glanced over at the only attendee present virtually. "Control, do you see any problems with the planned upgrades?"
"So long as the upgrades are completed before the Relic is confronted," the AI replied. "It is currently the only ship capable of penetrating the passive defenses."
Reynolds grimaced, not so much at only having the one ship to use against the Relic but more that one of her pilots would have to go in alone. She tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to convince herself that it was not just because that pilot was Adams.
"Alright, I think we can afford the downtime. So long as Bowman doesn't get any new flashes of inspiration, we should be fine." Reynolds turned to look over at Harkens, Khaldi, Kern, and Tobias Watson, the senior surviving pilot of the further decimated interceptor squadron. "According to the captain, we probably can't expect any more reinforcements until we move on Earth. We need to keep moving to avoid contact with the enemy. The only good news I have on that front is we'll be getting one last supply drop before we go off the grid for a few days. We should at least have enough parts to keep our current birds in working order."
The others nodded, all acutely aware of how few those current birds were.
"That said, how's everyone holding up?" Reynolds asked. "I know I've been running all of you ragged, but I promise that after this meeting all of you will get at least six hours of sleep."
"Speak for yourself ma'am," Harkens said with a toothy grin. "If I take off for six hours, you might not have a fighter to fly anymore."
"Alright, four for you chief," Reynolds said, returning a smile of her own.
The others chuckled at the little interplay.
"I think we're mostly okay ma'am," Watson said. "We've lost a lot of good people, but we're still kicking. And when the time comes, we're going to nail the Cindies for everyone that didn't make it."
A grating sound came from Adams, a sound the others quickly realized was the equivalent of a chuckle for the man.
"Something funny, Adams?"
Et in Arcadia ego.
Reynolds cocked her head. "Since when were you versed in Latin?"
Mother made me.
That drew more chuckles and Reynolds shook her head.
"Well, death may be inevitable, but I intend to delay that inevitability as much as I can for us and introduce the Cindies to it as quickly as possible."
"Ahmen," Khaldi said.
A nod from the others confirmed the shared sentiment.
The hot chocolate-in-a-poach was completely synthetic, meaning it somehow tasted like both the real thing and like absolute crap at the same time. On that count it was still better than the synthetic coffee, which just tasted like crap. Officers had it somewhat better in that they could requisition real beans to grind but Arcadia's supply had run out days ago and there was little chance of them getting anything so low priority compared to spare parts, munitions, and basic rations. The crew would simply have to find some other way to keep up their morale, it seemed.
On that count, the latest supply drop had managed to help somewhat. In addition to all the other supplies, there had apparently been enough time to sort out the personnel with the taskforce so that mail destined for them could also be included. Not only letters but also a few packages. Some unfortunately no longer had any recipients and a good chunk of those fell to Reynolds to deal with. It was for this reason she was headed to the officer's lounge, to try to find a quiet spot where she could work and maybe bribe the stewards to get her another pouch of hot semi-chocolate.
To her surprise Adams was also in the lounge when she entered. The pilot was having a staring contest with a small package, one that probably came with the supply freighter. He was so engrossed that Reynolds' approach seemed to go completely unnoticed. Only when she was right in front of him did Adams look up.
"Something on your mind Adams?"
The other pilot smiled wirily and gestured to the package. Reynolds took a seat and set aside her pad and now empty poach.
"May I?"
Adams replied with a curt nod.
Taking hold of the package, Reynolds let her optical interface decode the barcodes printed on the box. There was nothing odd or out of place, simply a destination tag indicating one Daven Adams as the recipient and a generic return addre-
Reynolds' breathing caught as she saw the name of the returnee. Henrietta Croce. The name was perhaps not uncommon but there was only one person Reynolds knew by that name. Admiral Henrietta Croce, head of the UNE Office of Naval Intelligence. Reynolds gave Adams a look. The other pilot responded by bringing both hands to his head with only the pointer finger out and flexed them. Horns to signify demon, or Oni, ONI's unofficial nickname amongst mere mortals.
"And why exactly would you be getting a package from the head of Oni?" Reynolds asked.
The next sign from Adams literally caused Reynolds' jaw to drop.
My mom.
For a few seconds Reynolds just sat there, her mouth gapping wide in shock as Adams dropped that bombshell. When she finally found her voice, the words came out more as reflex than as the product of any conscious thought.
"Your mom is-!?"
Adams quickly brought a finger to his lips and Reynolds bit her tongue to stop the next few words. The nod that followed however confirmed her unfinished question.
"How come I never heard of this before?" Reynolds asked, her voice now much lower.
Adams pointed to his nametag, or more specifically the last name, allowing Reynolds to infer the meaning. In retrospect, the answer was obvious. She had never heard Adams be called Daven Croce and there was never a reference to the admiral as Henrietta Adams.
"Do you, umm, know your father?"
Adams nodded and then shrugged. Apparently he regarded that point as of little significance.
"Is he, still around? In some way."
This time Adams shook his head, firmly at that. The finality of that answer seemed to say it all.
"I see. Sorry if I pried too much."
The slight smile returned and Adams shifted his gaze back to the box.
"You don't want to open it?" Reynolds asked.
Adams took in a deep breath and shrugged. Needless to say, his current turmoil was a mere reflection of the complexity of his relationship with his mother.
"You should open it," Reynolds said. "You have the chance to do it now."
And it might be his only chance was the unspoken meaning. Sighing, Adams nodded and took hold of the box. After his identification code was entered, the lock clicked open and Adams opened it. Inside was another box, though this one was made of felt and obviously meant to store something fancy. Adams though sucked in his breath at the sight and simply froze. Then slowly, generally, he removed the top to reveal a simple pocket watch.
The cover was decorated by a bird of some kind, obviously a hunter with its wide wings and outstretched talons. Between its claws was a circle, one easily recognized as representing the Earth with its continents. In other words, the insignia of the UNE Navy was crafted upon the watch. As Reynolds watched, Adams popped the cover to reveal a crystal blue face. The clock was still running, its second hand ticking away. It was however the picture inside the cover that caught Reynolds' attention. The picture was obviously a taken as a spur of the moment, capturing all three participants in the act of life. A young boy was seated on his father's shoulders, one hand grasping tightly to his father's while the other reached out to meet his mother's. All three were smiling, the boy mischievously, the father proudly, and the mother indulgently. But all of them were smiling, a family captured in the moment of their shared joy.
As Reynolds looked up, she caught sight of a single tear running down Adams' cheeks. That tear was joined by others until her wingman's eyes were glistening. And then Adams closed the watch, gripping it tightly in his hand. Reaching over, Reynolds took that hand and squeezed as well.
"I'd like to hear more. After we've saved Earth."
Adams wiped his tears away with his free hand and nodded as he signed.
Meet mother.
"Well, I don't know if I'm that brave."
Adams replied with a muffled chuckle as he placed his other hand over hers. The two sat like that for a while longer, oblivious to the retreat of the other officers as they gave the two all the space and time they needed.
End of Chapter 5
The relationship between Reynolds and Adams was entirely of my own creation, since the developers chose to take an entirely different route as seen in the DC version of the game. Writing it was also pretty much an experiment on my part, to see if I could actually pace a romantic relationship unfolding and not make it feel too one-sided. For the most part I think it worked okay, though there was certainly room for improvement. Either way, that I was able to progress the story along the direction I wanted indicated to me that I could tackle more ambitious works later, which ultimately led to In Tune and then A Cold Calculus.