Throughout imperial history, people had asked the same question.

“Why isn’t my life better?”

The answer was complex, but at its root there was a single problem; the demand for resources was always greater than the supply. And the biggest, by far, drain on resources was the most ancient of rituals in humanity’s history: war.

Humanity had gone to the stars, but that simply expanded the size of the battlefield. Arsenals grew from city-killers to planet-killers, weapons of such great power that entire cults grew around them. The cost of weapons had expanded, too.

A pre-solar popgun might only need a handful of tools and a few kilograms of steel, but a kilometer-sized warship could beggar an entire warship.

And then came the great limiter. Those who chose not to participate in the eons-old game of life and death where often the first to lose. For it was always better to beggar your nation than to see the enemy raze it. Only a player could win, and James was hellbent on winning this time.

…

“Ladies and gentlemen, I think all of you understand the situation we find ourselves in.” James spoke to his gathered confidants and allies.

Their expressions were grim, but determined. That much was expected of them, after ten years of war and generations fighting against the warlords of the Fringe.

“Well…” Valeriy Sukachyov spoke up. “At least we had a year of rest. Next time, maybe it’ll be two years.”

Everyone chuckled at the grizzled miner’s words. James smiled bitterly at his words. He was loathe to call this time of peace to an end, but war waited for no man.

“As you all know, three days ago refugees from the Kingdom of Leonis were chased into our systems by warships of the Royal Leonian Guard Corps. This is one of two factions currently battling for control of the kingdom. Patrol Squadron Two, commanded by Commodore Luke Gaines, engaged the RGC task force. The outcome of this engagement was our total victory, as the enemy warships were destroyed or disabled without a single casualty or injury on our side.”

With a gesture of his hand, the small screens embedded on the table in front of every participant came to life. They showed a map of the nearby systems, each dot connected by lines according to the routes that starships could take via hyperdrive.

Pollux and Leonis weren’t direct ‘neighbours’, but only a single star system separated the two -and a small one at that-. It would only take four weeks for group of warships to get from Domusec to Solomon.

“Harriet, if you would…’ James asked his chief of staff, who nodded and stood up from her seat.

“Considering the distances, it should take two to three months before the royal guard sends somebody to check up on their lost warships. If we take out that scout force -and that’s a big if-, we’ll have four to five months before they send a truly dangerous group of forces.”

Governor Moore raised his hand. “Wouldn’t the, uh, scout force be a threat?”

Commander Noriega shook her head. “That ties into information we’ve gleaned from the interviews with RGC prisoners of war conducted by the Bureau of Naval Intelligence. Commander Hall is better suited to answering those questions.”

The meeting’s focus turned to the chief of the newly-reorganized BNI. The man stood up, his face carefully schooled into a neutral expression.

“As Commander Noriega said, we’ve conducted interviews with officers of the RGC. I should note that simply offering them a good meal and a visit to the flower fields outside Cradleton was enough to break most of them.”

The intelligence officer inserted a memory stick into his own screen, sharing a series of schematics with the rest of the meeting’s attendees.

“And what might this be, Stefan?” James asked, feigning ignorance for the benefit of those amongst them that had not been briefed beforehand.

“The Sentinel-class frigate, your grace. Four of these ships were defeated by Commodore Gains’ squadron. Now, our navy’s regulations classify a frigate as a warship between three hundred and five hundred and fifty meters long, with a mass between thirty-five and fifty-five thousand metric tons. That includes light, regular and heavy frigate sub-classes.”

CEO Kim spoke up. “This is much smaller.”

“Correct. A standard Sentinel-class frigate is just three hundred meters long and weighs just thirty kilotons. To us, it’s right about the size of a heavy corvette, and under-equipped for the task. Navy engineers have also listed a number of differences. Though their reactors are more efficient than ours, the ships employ railguns instead of coilguns and laser focusing arrays that cause eleven percent greater dispersion at one light second. They’re also lacking in proper maintenance, though this observation might just be a unit-specific irregularity”

“How bad are they, compared to one of the navy’s frigates?” Moore asked.

Commander Smith, James’ tactical officer, answered the governor’s question.

“That’s a complicated question…but in general terms, one of our own Aegis-class frigates is significantly better. They are a third longer and fifty percent heavier, and by our estimates carry more and better weapons as well as sensors. The only area where they outclass us is maximum speed.”

At the governor’s confused expression, the commander sighed.

“Theoretically, a ship can go up to speeds infinitesimally close to the speed of light. However, after a point, the rate at which micrometeorites degrade its shields and armor becomes unsustainable. The navy’s ship can sustain speeds up to thirty percent of the speed of light, while our civilian ships just twenty percent.”

“So…how much do the leonian ships outclass our own?”

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“They can reach thirty-five percent of the speed of light. That can mean life or death, but in very limited cases. After all, it takes a whole longer for them to reach that speed thanks to their weaker engines and as much time to slow down. In a normal combat environment, our ships can run circles around theirs.”

One-on-one combat superiority was almost certain; the highest ranking officers of the ships had confessed the dimensions of several ship classes. In general terms, leonian ships were a class smaller if measured by akritan standards.

Yet war, on a strategic scale, was as a game of numbers just as much as quality, and numbers had a quality of their own.

“The number of warships in the kingdom’s arsenal is…significant, but we do not have accurate numbers.” Lieutenant commander Hall continued.

“Combined numbers between the former royal navy, which now styles itself as the republican navy, as well as the royal guard, point to as many as eight battleships and battlecruisers, twenty-five cruisers, with an equivalent number of escorts. Even with our advantage in technology and build quality, we could not take the kingdom at its prime. Fortunately for us, we will not be.”

According to the BNI’s data, civil war had erupted following the king’s death some eight to nine months ago. The ‘lionsguard’ and the republican navy’s arsenals were impossible to gauged with biased data, though the length of the war meant there was some level of parity between the two warring factions. And that meant there was a niche the dynasty could take advantage of.

“Considering we’ve already damaged our relations with the RGC to an irreparable degree, it is only logical to align -if only temporarily- with the republican navy.” Hall proposed, pausing as everybody waited for James’ response.

Though the duke liked to hold meetings, take the opinions of his subordinates under advise and even delegate entire sections of the government to those deemed most loyal and capable, nobody had any illusions about who led the dynasty. The Akritan Dynasty had never lost a sovereign to internal strife; ruthlessness ran in the genes, and hierarchy was taught before a child could walk.

“Suppose we manage to form a temporary alliance with the republican navy. Commander Smith, could we pull off a victory?” He asked the tactical officer, who’d turned into the defacto leader of the navy in day-to-day affairs.

The stiff, expressionless man nodded. “I’m positive, Your Grace, though I will not promise anything. The number of ships in our possession is limited; a single defeat could spell doom not only for the campaign but our very survival.”

Many winced, but James simply nodded at his subordinate’s words. “Then we need to bolster our numbers. Where should we focus?”

“Destroyers.” Smith answered back in an instant; he’d probably already thought about it. “Our agility, quality and experience in deep-strike and raiding operations would be best served by more destroyer-sized vessels. I and my subordinates have already gamed a number of scenarios against leonian cruisers. Our destroyers are agile, relatively stealthy, well-armed and can fit all our advanced technology. But they are also easy to crew and relatively cheap to build.”

Kim nodded at Smith’s words, with James immediately hopped on. “You agree, Ms. Kim? Tell me, what could you build right now?”

The shrewd businesswoman smiled. “Kim Industries’ mobile shipyard is currently laying down the hulls for two more patrol boats for the polarii navy, which should lessen the need for anti-piracy patrols for our own navy. But our new ship-building facilities on Bridgehead station will be coming online in the next week. We can fit up to eight new destroyers, though I’d limit it to a flight of four to reserve space for repairs and maintenance.”

The duke nodded. “What do you need?”

“Running round-the-clock and with ample resources, my people can have that flight ready for the navy in five to six months. But I must emphasize the ‘ample resources’ part. Valeria Mining’s operations are expanding too slowly to meet such a jump in demand. With current production the ships will be done in eight, maybe ten months.”

Almost everybody frowned at her words, save for James and Valeriy. The two men looked at each other, then James looked back at Kim with a knowing smile.

“I think you will find production increasing meteorically in the next few days or so.”

+++

“You…want us to mine?” Luka looked at the female officer.

He and the rest of the ‘Refugee Council’ -the five ‘captains’ and six other refugees trusted by the group- had been gathered in a meeting room on Bridgehead Station to discuss the future of their people.

Luka had dreaded the meeting. The mining barges were running on a skeleton crew but otherwise full of akritan technicians, who let out such gasps as they went about their work that Luka wondered how the ships had gotten them here. By the latest estimates, two of the barges would be ready to set sail in two weeks, with the other three void-capable within two more months.

In other words, his people had no way to leave. The duke had promised him they could leave after the ships were repaired if they wanted to, but if he decided to withdraw his promise in the mean time they could do nothing about it. Station C3 had only had a handful of state-sec guards; the frigates pursuing them had simply been in the area.

Bridgehead was a whole different beast. The station served as the anchorage of the entire akritan navy, as well as the home of hundreds if not thousands of marines and loyal workers. The leonians were outnumbered and out-gunned, and their ships were locked with magnetic docking clamps that would take a ton of plastic explosives to break off.

“Correct.” Commander Noriega said, raising her hand. “And before you all say anything, I’d like to point out a few key differences between your previous…work, and this offer. Here, every man and woman gets a choice. We’ve got worker shortages in nearly every sector, so really your people are free to go where they are needed. If they can weld, there are three different companies who would take them. If they have advanced skills, they’ll get snapped up even faster.”

“So…we have a choice.” One of the other captains repeated.

“Quite. However, the dynasty needs more minerals. I’m sure you’ve already been told that we expect hostilities to commence with the Leonian Royal Guard in the next few months…”

The council-members writhed in discomfort, knowing full well that they’d brought war to their saviors’ doorstep. Nobody could blame them…except themselves.

“…and the dynasty’s shipbuilders have received orders for new ships, weapons, munitions and other war matériel. By my estimations, we will need an additional three hundred and fifty thousand tons of iron, copper, tungsten and other raw materials in the next six months. Considering how important the extraction industry is in the dynasty’s war planning, the duke is willing to provide certain benefits to everybody who participates.”

One of the woman’s assistants, handed out a printed list, giving time for the council members to read through it.

Many’s eyes jumped at the first. Permanent residence rights after two years of work. Citizenship in five, compared to the standard ten. Yet there was more.

Pay would be good, as would the working hours. Eight hour shifts for six sleep cycles with another one off work. Compared to their previous conditions, working twelve or fourteen hour shifts to cover their quotas with no ‘days off’, this offer was heavenly.

“I’m sorry…is the last one real?” A councilwoman asked, to which the commander nodded with a knowing smile.

“Yup. We’re offering this to every council member, especially the ‘captains’.” She glanced at Luka, her piercing gaze making his hairs stand up. “You get a proper crew able-bodied men and women to work under you onboard one of the barges, and we’ll give you a company.”

“The dynasty will keep forty percent of ownership, with the rest put in a trust managed by the captain and their senior officers. Each man will be given stock in the company along with their monthly paycheck, until the trust has been fully dispersed among the crew. The company won’t be required to pay taxes for the next year, and the dynasty will provide you with new equipment, provisions and fuel, enough to last you half that.”

Luka raised his hand.

“Please speak, Captain Belloti.”

“And what happens to the…revenue, m-ma’am?” He asked. “We will be selling the ore on the market, correct?”

The commander nodded with a grin. “Correct, and a good question. Your revenue will go into maintaining your ships, buying new tools, fuel and provisions, as well as paying everybody. And if you find that there is some left over…well, the company will do what the majority of stock holders decide. “That’s your people, Captain.”