by Ken Wolfson
"Olajuwon, does any other ship in the fleet have our hull profile? Would any other ship be tough enough to make it out of Tollyon? I've got the sensor data aplenty, and another carrier backing me up. I have hauled Vindication's 30-million-ton ass across forty-five light years of hostile space and we will not be treated like hostile spies." Then he said to Zoey: "Send my filed combat reports, everything." He looked at Amelie. She tapped her desk, but shrugged. I disapprove, but I'm with you. He returned with a nod, then settled in to wait.
Ten minutes passed while more ships locked up Vindication and the dreadnoughts maneuvered to flank her barriers.
No reply.
"I'm taking my carrier to Vervunder-I," he said. "Don't stop me. I've survived bigger fleets. Target the flagship but keep all fighters in the tubes," Adrian said. Olajuwon's hurried come-about to bring her gun decks to bear had caused her screen to overshoot. Adrian wouldn't get through, but he didn't need to. Targeting her without launching fighters was a symbolic gesture; he had one quarrel, no matter what happened next.
"Yes, sir. Olajuwon is locked up." Her voice shook.
The gold boxes vanished. "All ships have un-locked us, sir," Cage said. He was devoid of his smirk, and was instead biting his lip hard.
"Cancel the attack run. We've gotten through to them," Adrian said.
An older voice spoke over the intercom.
"Commander Huxton, this is Rear Admiral Velda Silver. I apologize for the confusion. Stand down. You will have a berth and supplies made available to you. I want you on a private channel at 0800; that's twelve hours time. Don't fucking keep me waiting." There was the respect Adrian was looking for.
"Yes, ma'm," Adrian said, and ended the call. The bridge exhaled. The atmosphere reeked of cold sweat and coffee. Every officer with eyes was staring at Adrian with expressions ranging from slack-jawed awe to brow-furrowed incredulity. He pretended to ignore them.
"Second watch has the bridge. When we reach the berth, all hands receive forty-eight hours recreation time shipboard," he said. Applause rang out in scattered clumps. They'd all earned it.
“Hey Commander, permission to speak freely,” Cage said.
“Go ahead,” Adrian said.
“Can we send a message over general fleet channels; Dear Serpentia fuck you, you backstabbing shits, we bailed your asses out and now you leave us out to dry.”
“No, we won’t attack Serpentia, we will leave them alone,” Adrian said, though he was biting back his own rage.
Over the next twelve hours, recon counted 315 refugee ships arriving in orbit of Vervunder-I and II. They huddled beneath the great sentry batteries. A few dozen realized there were no supplies to be had, and set out at high burn for the jump shelf and a route deeper into the Burn. The remainder lacked fuel, consumables, or simple will to carry on, and added their crying masses to the refugees swarming station and space. Fleet logistics reports bouncing around the public channels estimated there were two hundred million more people crammed into the stations. Vervunder's economy, split between two warring forces and tanked by refugees, had collapsed. Adrian watched a few news reports from local and noble-backed conglomerate networks while he waited on his phone call. The native inhabitants of mining workers and bureaucrats had joined the food lines. The bolder ones were roaming their stations in gangs, unleashing their frustrations on the refugees.
#
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Admiralty
Adrian sat down at his desk with a cold Betelgeuse Brew and smoked sikrit dinner roll, and dialed Lady Admiral Silver's private number. A golden dragon was etched across the centuries-weathered wood of his personal desk. Its wings spread, and the desk split open down its spine. The page-thin screen unfurled and solidified into a single display. A gel keyboard flowed from the dragon's mouth and solidified, too. Adrian placed his hands where 500 years of Imperial Commanders and 40 years of Jacob Hallard's chosen had placed theirs. He turned the display on, and waited for his request to go through Olajuwon's security and be accepted by the vice Admiral.
Within seconds his desk beeped, and a shape solidified on screen.
“Lady Silver,” he said and saluted.
"Hello, Anvil. My dossier reads that you display a cold and pragmatic demeanor with the best politicians in the fleet, but in dire situations your base instincts emerge in violent fashion. I'm thrilled you've surpassed my expectations." She returned the salute.
Lady Silver was mid-fifties in standard years, average age for her rank. Her hair was sliding towards gray, and for whatever reason she hadn't bothered getting the pigmentation refreshed. Her eyes pierced Adrian with stern intensity, analyzing every detail of him.
"I just do my job, ma’m" Adrian said. Was that the content of his official dossier? He'd never actually checked the fleet records.
"Well, Anvil, you're doing a good job if you made it here from Tollyon," she said. Lady Silver was the niece of Lady Tonta Silver, one of The Founder’s companions. Adrian had read her career bio and seen a steady string of choice assignments to make him salivate. At least her performance ratings were decent on those assignments, making her far better than the average beneficiary of nepotism.
"Vindication is the only survivor?" Adrian said.
"Only one."
"Was Molyneux present?" he said.
"No. I assumed she was KIA," Silver said. A girl appeared behind her. A teenager with mane of black curls, wearing a silver and blue jumpsuit. She carried a bottle of what appeared to be red wine.
"Worse."
Silver let out a ragged sigh. "Another problem for the pile. I've met Lord Molitor; he's one hell of a tactician and he's got the most modern supercarrier in the fleet. And he was a close compatriot of yours. I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you ma’m, it’s another loss on the pile," Adrian said, and genuinely smiled at her. “If I may ask, what's the situation? And where are our allies? Soon as Vindication gets her basic repairs, I'm disposed for whatever you need."
"Situation is bad and getting worse. Right now, we're at even numbers and greater throw weight with Vervunder's sentry batteries. Ardech was contracted to lease us the big guns and some shipyards, preserving their neutrality while giving us some firepower. That's why the Hullen haven't just rolled through us like they did the rest of the expanse. The problem is that our scouts report they'll be getting heavy reinforcement soon, and as for our reinforcements—you're it," she said. She held out a hand. Her squire handed her a full glass. "Thanks, Samia."
"What about our human allies, and Kiiren and Duphain? Where the hell are they?" Adrian said. Every war in the past forty years, the Systems' backers had pitched in. The other human nations sold secondhand weapons cheap and provided mercenaries. The Duphain sent loans and advisors, the Kiiren sent spies and fleets. Adrian loved the Kiiren. Their intel reports were always more detailed then the Ministry’s, more up to date in their details, and always arrived when he needed them.
"I'll send you the news report, though it's been making the rounds of the fleet. Long story short, they're not coming," Silver said. “We overstayed our couch welcome and ate too much from their fridge.”
"And the Wendago?" Adrian said. He raised his beer. Silver raised her own glass, and they drank together.
"Those are the reinforcements, when they get here en masse. Somehow Emoche got a horde together—first time this many tribes have united in two centuries," she said. Vindication had fought in that war, long ago. Adrian had read her then-COS' logs stored on his desktop. A Wendago Lord called Sevyn Sendogar had united the roaming can cities and launched a great crusade. Several smaller human and alien nations had fallen first; then the great horde had rounded on the Empire. Their first strikes had been devastating. The Imperials simply poured more fleets into the grinder until they ground the Wendago to dust, and nailed Sevyn’s head to a spike on Vulk.
"Emoche's got them believing in his ‘golden age’ schtick. He had a tribe when I faced him in the Crescent, at Vykhor," Adrian said.
<
br /> "That's the real topic of this conversation," Silver said. She finished her glass and held it out for more. “In a month, no commander has faced this false prophet and survived, except for you. My tacticians and the ministry are in the dark, and we need all the intel availible."
"I've got a couple dozen terabytes of combat records from the battle of Vykhor stored on my hard drive," Adrian said.
"I appreciate that, but I need first person intel. Give me personal account of what went down and how you defeated thirty dragoons with a single battlegroup. Say whatever you want; I don’t have the time to punish you for improper etiquette." She hit a button, and a red bulletin popped into the corner of Adrian's screen, declaring he was being recorded.
Adrian started at the beginning, when they'd first arrived in the terrified system, and progressed from the Wendago's scouting parties to the spoiler attack to the last dragoon being caught in the blinding starburst of nuclear detonation.
"Shame someone didn't act on your report that he survived," Silver said.
"Everyone I reported it to had already been bought. Anyways, here's my personal take on Emoche. He's a true believer."
Lady Silver stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Go on. What's that mean in a tactical sense?"
"Means he sincerely believes he's got a god on his side." Adrian repeated his belief about Emoche's arrogance in battle, finishing with, “his fleet is lazily deployed and probably not expecting the beaten loyalists to assault."
“You confirm what I’d expected. He’s weak and arrogant, vulnerable now. Thank you." She brushed the wine bottle away and dumped her glass in a recycler.
"I don’t trust him, ma’m, he sprung this mutiny on us, he could have more up his sleeve. Especially in a system as cluttered as this.”
"I've already accounted for that," she said. "Also, I've moved Vindication up to the top of the priority list, and upset a few lesser nobility in the process. I need every supercarrier I can get my hands on, especially one with as much combat experience as yours."
Adrian could barely keep the smile off his face. "Thank you. I have one more request. My crew and Serpentia haven’t been paid in a month, do you have a payroll budget?"
“Sorry, I used up the last of the budget two weeks ago. We’re going to all have to hold for at least another two standard weeks until the monthly refill comes. If it comes.”
“Ma’m, I must state the urgency of this,” Adrian couldn’t keep the shaking from his voice. “My crew was yanked off of shore leave. They’re tired, worried about their families, and don’t know if we even have a government left wort fighting for. I’ve already had threats of mutiny. I’ve dealt with them peacefully, but if word gets out that there’s no pay coming then there will be violence.”
“Anvil I understand, but I can’t do anything. My payroll was supposed to come from the Gehenna admiralty on Farrigan. I had to re-route it through the Burn admiralty to Volantis. That was hell and I barely put it through, and I’ve only received replacement ships from them, despite being the last line of defense before their border. I’m spent. I can provide additional security troopers if you’re worried about a mutiny.”
“That will be alright, no further requests,” Adrian said. How bad was the situation in the Burn if reinforcements weren’t coming?
"Dismissed, Commander." She ended the call.
His desk folded back up; the dragon returned to a crouch. Adrian finished his beer. Then he grabbed his wrist-mounted comp and sent out a memo.
Bridge, Engineering. Vindication is being moved to the top of the repair list. Take 13 hours rest, then get to work. Take everything and everyone you need from anywhere; blank check.
He imagined Ravin's nuclear detonation of a grin, and found himself smiling too.
His comp dinged. Video file from Velda's personal address. He opened it.
The aliens held a summit at the interstellar embassy. Four sentient races, plus a few human nations filling out the gaps. The discussion was carried on in their native tongues, with subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the screen.
The Duphain renounced their alliance with the Systems. “After forty years, we have finally learned the mistakes of this the sunk cost fallacy. Therefore, to conserve our economy, we will withdraw all assets and wait this internal dispute out,” their towering rockpile of an ambassador said. Several human ambassadors assured him the aliens that their nations wouldn't take offense at his actions against a human nation.
The Kiiren ambassador rose, and raised their four arms. “You forget—if the Systems collapses, the Empire waits beyond Grahm. We cannot allow the golden armada to return to its former power. The Kiiren have established an committee to explore the viability of rendering aide to certain houses within the Systems, and we invite you all to join.”
Their words triggered an assault. Half a dozen humans and two aliens surrounded their podium and shouted them down in a chorus of harsh tongues and multi-throated roars. Finally, the Kiiren threw up their arms and withdrew their motion. The assholes returned to their seats. Some looked relieved; some exchanged grins. If only Adrian could throttle them there. He was sure there was an objective argument for their stand, but this was his fucking nation they were putting down.
He sent the vid to Amelie, and was answered with a radio call.
“Hello,” he said.
“So, bad news then, but not surprising,” she said.
“Is it?”
“We owe the Kiiren and Duphain massive loans. The national treasury last made a payment on those loans 15 years ago and our entire quadrant of the galaxy is in recession. They’re not throwing any more money down the lost cause fallacy and I don’t blame them,” she said.
“That’s infuriating, but fair,” Adrian said. “Silver doesn’t have the payroll budget for us. Can you cover for the 2 months?” Amelie’s breath caught in a spike of static.
“At least you’re upfront with me about these surprises. Yes I can, and I’ll cover Serpentia too. You’ll all get a voucher that will be filled once the drone goes to Volantis for my house funds and back.”
“Wait, Serpentia too?” Adrian said. He was still grinding his view of Mirra under his teeth.
“Why yes. They haven’t paid either. We’ll win over her crew, and either win Mirra or bend her to us,” Amelie said. It was deliciously devious.
“Do it, and thank you,” Adrian said.
“Of course, love.” Adrian hung up, then settled in for a night of solo drinking. His shoulder ached as he raised the glass.
#
Chapter Twenty-Four: Date Night
With Vindication finally secure in a berth, Adrian had a break in his workload. He slept a full 7 hours for the first time in a month, and did some basic sparring practice with Alenkot. The trooper had plenty of youthful athleticism, but he lacked refinement and Adrian fundamentally destroyed him.
Soon, Adrian began to miss the connection that'd helped him along for the past four years. Amelie had faded out into being another officer under her command. He hadn't had her back in his quarters since Tollyon. She'd been buried in her work, too. Aside from an occasional kiss slipped in under the crew's nose, they'd barely spoken socially.
"Hey." He took her aside after their shift ended. Hair was spilling out of her bun.
"Hey," she said, and smiled. He probably looked just as ragged.
"Are you free?"
"Now?"
"Yes."
"Give me a few minutes to prep." She shoved her hair back in place.
"You don't have to," he said. There was something appealing about her after she'd worked a hard day.
"I want to, though. And I expect you to do the same." She punched his shoulder as a goodbye. Adrian groaned, for that meant wearing civilian clothing.
First he took a walk about the ship. The crew were eating dried rations and snack bars. It was their first meal of actual food in a month, and they dug in in the mess hall with delight. It was good enough.
&nbs
p; He showered and went to find the old outfit Alyssa had designed for a ball on Volantis two years ago. Black trousers and a pinstriped dress shirt with a red tie. Fleet colors. He'd lost the red suit jacket, so he went without. His eyes lighted on Amelie's tights dangling from the ceiling. He picked them up, and saw a tear straight through the waistband. The culprit, a riveting bolt, was lodged through Amelie's spare uniform into the back wall. Shame.
He ordered dinner up from the mess, poured vodka, and waited.
Amelie knocked, and he answered.
"Hello handsome," she said. She'd put on fresh makeup, but was in uniform and carrying a bag. "Glad you dressed up. Give me a second, please." It was an old routine whenever they visited. Wasn't like they could walk around in date night outfits.
She emerged from the bathroom and beamed at him. She wore a silk navy blouse above a skirt made of some floaty material that fluttered as she walked. Her legs were snug in tights that matched his tie, and sat atop high heeled boots. A silver headband held her hair behind her ears. She twirled about so her skirt fluttered about her waist. Blood rushed to his face; his ears burned. "How do I look?"
He caught her by the waist, and planted the kiss. He got a nose-full of her sharp perfume. She seized his hair and held them in place.
"You are the most beautiful girl in the expanse," he said once they slipped apart. Amelie lit up, but caught herself.
"I know."
"I tried to wear something extra, but it was a casualty of war," Adrian admitted.
Amelie squeezed his free hand in hers. "I'll replace it in time for our next outing, no worry."
Dinner passed with little conversation, but plenty of nudging under the table.
"Thank you." He nudged her shin with a foot.
"Are you liking civilian clothing?" she said.
"I’m vulnerable," Adrian said.
"Why is that?"
"We're in a war and I'm not in uniform," Adrian said.