Kinder des Schicksals 4 (Xeelee 9): Resplendent

chair, and her officers and their equipment
clusters - and a few low-grade tars like me standing by - were just
floating in space. The light was subtle, coming from a nearby cluster
of hot young stars, and from the rivers of sparking lights that made
up the fleet formation we had just left, and beyond that from the
sparking of novae. This was the Orion Line - six thousand light years
from Earth and a thousand lights long, a front that spread right
along the inner edge of the Orion Spiral Arm - and the stellar
explosions marked battles which must have concluded years ago.
    And, not a handful of klicks away, the Ghost cruiser slid across
space, running for home. The cruiser was a rough egg-shape of
silvered rope. Hundreds of Ghosts clung to the rope. You could see
them slithering this way and that, not affected at all by the
emptiness around them.
    The Ghosts’ destination was a small, old yellow star. Pael, our
tame Academician, had identified it as a fortress star from some kind
of strangeness in its light. But up close you don’t need to be an
Academician to spot a fortress. From the Brightly I could see with my
unaided eyes that the star had a pale blue cage around it - an open
lattice with struts half a million kilometres long - thrown there by
the Ghosts, for their own purposes.
    I had a lot of time to watch all this. I was just a tar. I was
fifteen years old.
    My duties at that moment were non-specific. I was supposed to
stand by, and render assistance any way that was required, most
likely with basic medical attention should we go into combat. Right
now the only one of us tars actually working was Halle, who was
chasing down a pool of vomit sicked up by Pael, the Academician, the
only non-Navy personnel on the bridge.
    The action on the Brightly wasn’t like you see in Virtual shows.
The atmosphere was calm, quiet, competent. All you could hear was the
murmur of voices, from the crew and the equipment, and the hiss of
recycling air. No drama: it was like an operating theatre.
    There was a soft warning chime.
    The Captain raised an arm and called over Academician Pael, First
Officer Till, and Jeru, the Commissary assigned to the ship. They
huddled close, conferring - apparently arguing. I saw the way
flickering nova light reflected from Jeru’s shaven head.
    I felt my heart beat harder.
    Everybody knew what the chime meant: that we were approaching the
fortress cordon. Either we would break off, or we would chase the
Ghost cruiser inside its invisible fortress. And everybody knew that
no Navy ship that had ever penetrated a Ghost fortress cordon, ten
light-minutes from the central star, and come back out again.
    One way or the other, it would all be resolved soon.
    Captain Teid cut short the debate. She leaned forward and
addressed the crew. Her voice, cast through the ship, was friendly,
like a cadre leader whispering in your ear. ’You can all see we can’t
catch that swarm of Ghosts this side of the cordon. And you all know
the hazard of crossing a cordon. But if we’re ever going to break
this blockade of theirs we have to find a way to bust open those
forts. So we’re going in anyhow. Stand by your stations.’
    There was a half-hearted cheer.
    I caught Halle’s eye. She grinned at me. She pointed at the
Captain, closed her fist and made a pumping movement. I admired her
sentiment but she wasn’t being too accurate, anatomically speaking,
so I raised my middle finger and jiggled it back and forth.
    It took a slap on the back of the head from Jeru, the Commissary,
to put a stop to that. ’Little morons,’ she growled.
    ’Sorry, sir - ’
    I got another slap for the apology. Jeru was a tall, stocky woman,
dressed in the bland monastic robes said to date from the time of the
founding of the Commission for Historical Truth a thousand years ago.
But rumour was she’d seen plenty of combat action of her own before
joining the Commission, and such was her physical strength and speed
of reflex I could well believe it.
    As we neared the cordon the Academician, Pael, started a gloomy
countdown. The slow geometry of Ghost cruiser and tinsel-wrapped
fortress star swivelled across the crowded sky. Everybody went
quiet.
    The darkest time is always just before the action starts. Even if
you can see and hear what is going on, all you do is think. What was
going to happen to us when we crossed that intangible border? Would a
fleet of Ghost ships materialise all around us? Would some mysterious
weapon simply