JULY 17TH, 1004. CA'DASAN SPACE.
“I really don't see the purpose of all of these ship movements, Supreme Lord,” complained the Great Admiral on the com holo. “The ships are not getting their maintenance time. The males are not given sufficient time to relax, constantly on the move as they are.”
“So, the ship movements are confusing you, Great Admiral?” Mrastaran asked his current left flank front commander. “And you would like to rest your males?”
The older male returned a blank stare from the holo, and Mrastaran expelled an exasperated sigh. Sometimes the obtuseness of his people was disheartening. He had plans to attempt to breed intelligence back into his people, incentives for the smartest males to take the brightest females to wife. He still had to do something about the dregs breeding. And it would take generations before there was any progress. Something that could wait until the war was over, if the race achieved a favorable outcome. He kept his enthusiasm for a victory curbed. Dealing with this admiral depressed his mood, and he could no longer consider a victory.
“If the ship movements are confusing to you, just think how they are affecting the enemy.”
The Great Admiral blinked. Mrastaran thought the male must have been a mighty warrior in his day. How else could he have risen to his elevated rank except from pummeling opponents.
“Just follow my orders, Great Admiral. Everything will work out. And don't worry. You will get your chance to fight the enemy.” And may the Gods help us when you lead your fleet into battle, he thought.
Mrastaran dismissed the holo and turned to look at the regional plot. Every one of his forces, from single ships to battle fleets, was indicated on that three dimensional chart as blinking icons. As well as all of his wormhole gates. There were sixteen of the new stealth ships on there, single dots in scattered systems. The other wormholes were with regular forces. Thirty in gates that were allowing his diversionary fleets to shift before boosting through hyper to attract attention. A hundred more with the battle fleets forming well behind the lines. Those would be moving up soon, hidden in places where the emergence of a large force would cause the most damage to the enemy.
While still weak in wormholes, as compared to the allied forces they faced, the Ca'cadasans were still accumulating ten a day from their various manufacturing worlds. As long as they didn't lose many in combat the numbers would keep growing. Still not enough to gain dominance over the humans, but enough of a force multiplier to make a real difference in certain actions.
The humans ships were also indicated on the plot. Not all of them, but more than the humans would have believed possible for him to have knowledge of. His intelligence gathering service was paying dividends, and possible targets were constantly being revealed.
The front itself, the narrow strip of space where the opposing fleets faced each other, was the weakest it had been in some time. The Emperor had been holding back reinforcements since gaining the throne, sending only the older ships, of which there were plenty, to fight the human incursion. Every new hull was going into the two battle fleets he had forming. And the front had actually advanced at a slower rate than before, thanks to his delaying tactics. Soon those fleets would be ready for commitment.
Mrastaran had no illusions that he could crush the allied fleet, but if he could throw them back, gaining more time for new weapons and equipment to be deployed, he might be able to gain a draw, at least temporarily.
“The human is here, Supreme Lord,” came the call from his aide, a young male officer he had chosen for his particularly sharp mind.
“Send him in,” said Mrastaran after dismissing the holo. He didn't think this particular human would be able to use any of the knowledge that holo contained, but Mrastaran was trying to instill a new discipline into his people as far as operational intelligence went. And that discipline started with him.
“Are you ready for today's lesson?” he asked his visitor in Terranglo as the woman entered his cabin.
“Of course,” she answered in return. And the language lesson went as always, with the Emperor achieving a greater command of the primary language of the enemy. He wasn't sure when this skill would come in handy, but he thought eventually being able to speak directly to the enemy might be useful.
* * *
“The numbers calling for leaving the alliance are growing in our Parliament, Emperor Sean,” said the High Lord Grarakakak over the com. “They are still a good ways away from a majority, but I can only see the numbers growing.”
“I see,” said Sean, nodding. From what he understood of the laws of the Elysium Empire, if the opposition achieved a majority of two thirds they could demand that the High Lord and the other High Council Members follow their lead. They could also withhold funds with a simple majority, much like his own parliament. “Anything we can do to curb their growth?”
“Short of dropping a kinetic on their building,” said the High Lord, a slight smile tugging the corners of his beak. “Not a thing. I will keep working with my allies, and we're a long way from withdrawing. I just thought you would want to know, so you don't get blindsided if it comes to pass.”
“Thank you,” said Sean, holding back the invective he wanted to release against the Brakakak people.
He knew that was unfair. There were five primary species in that Empire, the ones that held the political power. The Brakakak were the majority, with about twenty-nine percent of the population. Next were the Knockermen, still part of the government despite their recent rebellion. Twenty-four percent of the population, with the votes those numbers carried. So the other three races, along with the small minorities of other species, controlled forty-seven percent. What it came down to was the Brakakak, even if they were completely behind the High Lord, didn't have the votes to carry the Parliament. Neither did their primary opposition. The Brakakak did hold most of the military power, since the great majority of their spacers came from that species. The majority of their ground force were Knockermen, but holding space meant holding the high ground.
The holo from the High Lord faded away. Sean thought about the message he had received from the Crakista Pro-counsel an hour before. That leader was facing a similar problem, with a twist. His fellow ruler, an younger female, wanted to get out of the alliance, now. The co-rulers held more power than the leaders of any of the other allies. Sean was close, but not quite. Crakista had a rubber stamp legislature, which had the ability to favor or disfavor the decisions of the rulers. And their favor meant nothing to the leaders if they didn't want to pay attention.
So basically, half the leadership of the Crakista Empire wanted out of the alliance, while the other half was not quite sure what to do. How much of a push would it take to get Hssrat to change his mind, and the Crakista to withdraw. It would cost them all of the trade concessions, access to the wormhole network, and not much else. They had already benefited from the tech exchange, and wouldn't miss out on much more there. Trade concessions might mean something to other, more monetarily motivated species. But the Crakista based their decisions on logic, and if it appeared to benefit the species to leave the alliance, they would do so. In fact, it might benefit them in the long run to let the human powers take the brunt of the combat casualties from here on, preserving their own power while they built up their homegrown wormhole industry.
“Samantha,” said Sean into the air, requesting a connection to his cousin.
“You called, your Majesty,” said the women, who was still working in the Imperial government as a Minister without Portfolio, a position in which she could do anything her Emperor asked.
“Please,” groaned Sean. “I get enough of the bowing and scraping from others. I don't need the same from family.”
“You asked for it,” said Samantha with a smile as her face came up on the holo. “What can I do for you, Sean?”
“I need you and your people to work on firming up our relations with the Crakista,” he said, hoping that enough minds working on the problem could come up
with an inventive solution.
“Not asking for much, are you? Those cold blooded lizards are almost impossible for us mammals to understand.”
Sean sighed. A lot of his people felt that way about the Crakista, who were not actually lizards at all, though they had a superficial resemblance to that Earth line of animals. They engendered the atavistic fear that snakes caused in most people, to this day. The Crakista actually maintained a slightly higher body temperature than humans, though the cold blooded tag could have been attributed to their unemotional nature.
“They have feelings, even if they keep them buried,” Sean told his cousin. “I actually overheard one telling another a joke, and the laughter was unmistakable.”
“How do you know the one wasn't telling the other how he tortured some small furry animal?”
“You really don't like them, do you? For your information, everything said at that conference was recorded and translated. It was a joke. Not a very good one by our standards, but a joke nonetheless. Involving impossible sexual practices if you must know. Deep down they aren't that much different than us.”
“No, Sean,” said Samantha, her face scrunching up in disgust. “I don't like them. But I will do my best to find out how to sway them with a propaganda campaign. Or with dirty jokes, if that's what it takes. Is that good enough?”
The Emperor took a moment to digest what she had said. Samantha was a very capable woman, a close cousin with the same genetic heritage as himself. Which made her sit on the top of the bell curve for intelligence among humans. And he knew she could hold her feelings in check to get the job done.
“Good enough. And you have my authorization to get whatever you need from Sergiov's people. And, of course, from State. Though I suspect you've already penetrated that department and have your hands on all the dirty little secrets.”
“I'm not telling. Give me a couple of days and I'll be back to you with an operational plan. Okay?”
“Good enough.”
Samantha terminated from her end, a privilege Sean allowed her since she was a member of the Imperial family. Besides, she was serving voluntarily, and so he allowed her some latitude.
“Sergiov,” said Sean, starting the process of connecting to his intelligence chief.
“Your Majesty,” said Ekaterina, her face coming up on the holo after a short delay. “I think your brainchild is bearing fruit.”
“The Maurids and Rangers you mean?”
“Yes,” said Sergiov, a smile lighting her face. “They have uncovered Caca operatives, and collaborators, on a score of liberated worlds. Those bastards are deep into the fabric of those worlds. They have been feeding information to the enemy about everything the native people observe.”
“How are they getting it out?”
“We're not sure in every case, but in a couple of places they have piggybacked an encrypted transmission onto the carrier wave of a news cast. It's beamed into space, then intercepted by, something, out there. From there we're not sure how it's getting to their command. But we've set a trap in one system, and hopefully the rat will wander in.”
“My God,” exclaimed the Emperor. “Could it be one of their stealth ships?”
“That's our guess,” said Sergiov, nodding. “If we could capture it, that would be quite the coup.”
“Hell. Just get some sensor readings on it while it tries to evade, then blow it out of space. That would be enough.”
They still knew very little about the Caca stealth ships. All they had were the few sensor readings scouts had taken when pursuing, then losing them. Not enough. They didn't know if the enemy ships had the same capabilities as their own. Or were they possibly better at hiding. Sean didn't think they could have the same strike capability, since as far as he knew the Cacas didn't have accelerator tubes to move their missiles up to speed. The only way they had achieved wormhole launches in the past was to expand a gate and send a swarm through en mass. He couldn't see them doing that with a stealth craft. Or could they have pulled that off as well?
“We should have an answer either way within a couple of days. The transmitter is in our control in that system, and we have kept up the Caca transmission schedule. There are still a number of planets we need to check out. I wish we had ten times the number of agents we have deployed currently.”
“Tell special ops to cut some more people loose,” said Sean after a moment's thought. He had tens of thousands of augmented soldiers and spacers in their twin commands. Training at the moment, when they could be put to better use. “And I can't see us running out of Maurids anytime soon.”
“No, sir,” said Sergiov with a laugh. “And every one of them ready, willing and able to do anything to get back at the Cacas.”
“Anything else of immediate import?”
“No, sir. Anything else can wait until the morning's brief.”
The Emperor nodded and terminated the connection, thinking about who else he needed to contact.
“President Klanarat, please,” he said into the air. Klanarat was a fellow national leader, not at Sean's beck and call. He might have a long wait for the connection to be made, depending on what the President of New Earth was engaged in. Sean was about to move on to another call when the holo came to life.
“Emperor Sean,” said the Alpha in a voice that sounded filled with excitement and exhaustion at the same time.
“President Klanarat,” replied Sean, studying the face of his counterpart on the other front of the war. He thought the Alpha Klavarta looked ill, on the edge of collapse, and reminded himself that Klanarat was old for his kind. Just over sixty, in a genetic line that had not been augmented for longevity. It was a shame, really, since humans in the Empire could live for more than three hundred years with a little luck. Another reason to curse the memory of the clones who had ruled that nation when first contacted by the Empire. “I wanted to ask, how are you doing?”
“I doubt that was the reason you called, Sean,” said the Alpha with a tired smile. “But thanks for asking anyway. I'm holding on. And Vice President Thrann is ready to take over if I go down.”
“You need to hang on. Jennifer told me she wanted to see you back here for another visit. Don't disappoint her, please.”
“That's reason enough to go on living,” said Klanarat, smiling. “Now, I'm sure this is more than a courtesy call. We are both way too busy for such.”
Sean nodded, wishing he did have the time to spend just talking to this being, the ruler of the mightiest ally on the other front. Maybe having a few drinks and shooting the breeze. But business called.
“How goes the investigation? Any closer to uncovering the traitor?”
“Unfortunately, no,” said Klanarat, the smile flying from his face. “We have our suspects, and my intelligence chief is setting traps for them to stumble into. The conspiracy might go deeper than we thought. A lot of people who wish that the old rulers were still around. And willing to risk much to sunder our alliance with the people who brought them down.”
“Fanatics,” spat Sean, shaking his head. “Don't they realize how much better off they are with people like them in charge?”
“They see us as the problem,” said Klanarat, shrugging his narrow shoulders. “Our nation was holding its own against the Cacas, and the leaders they worshiped were in power. What could be better? Even if you ignore, as they had, that the Cacas were set to roll in and finally crush us.”
“And how are things working out with Admiral Bednarczyk? Has she done anything to warrant a term in your prison?”
Klanarat laughed, a sound that warmed Sean's heart. “She can be a handful, can't she? She's driving my entrenched admirals to distraction. And I'm enjoying every minute of it.”
“Glad we, she, could be of service,” said the Emperor. He picked up a glass of water and took a sip, then turned his attention back to the president. “I assume she's busy reorganizing her command.”
“Oh yes. She's hell on wheels, that one. I don't see where she get
s her energy from. If we're ever short of antimatter, we may have to tap her veins.”
“And your production? We might have to divert some of what we promised you to our front if things keep going as they are.”
“Having problems with the Brakakak and Crakista, huh?”
“And how did you know that?” asked Sean, raising an eyebrow.
“Come now, Sean. I have my own intelligence service, keeping an eye on friend and foe alike. Just like everyone else in this game we play.”
“Yeah, those two species are having problems of their own. A growing number of their peoples are calling for them to withdraw from the alliance. Not a majority, yet. But if the Cacas keep striking at them to the exclusion of our own fleets, that number will grow.”
“You think the Cacas are trying to drive a wedge between you and the alien allies?” asked Klanarat, a questioning expression on his face. “I didn't think they were bright enough to consider that.”
“This new Emperor of theirs sure is. Too bad Bednarczyk wasn't able to kill him before he could assume the throne.”
“Not from lack of trying,” stated Klanarat emphatically. “If he had stayed in the system, and not been recalled, he might have died with the majority of his fleet.”
He wouldn't have driven his force into certain death, like the idiot that took over, thought Sean, shaking his head. It would have been better if this Mrastaran had stayed a fleet commander. Even better if he had been executed, and the immature idiot who had sat the throne remained. Better for his people that he took over, but Sean didn't care for them as much as he did for his.
Are you coming to dinner, came a voice in his head, the tone one of impatience. Shit, he thought. He was scheduled for a formal dinner with his wife. A hell of a thing when a man had to schedule time with his family, but that was one of the problems with running an Empire at war.
“I have to go,” he told the president. “My Lord and master beckons.”
“Say hello to your lovely wife for me, then.”
The holo faded, and Sean launched himself out of his chair in his haste to get to the dining room. He had planned to shower and put on some clean clothes, but thought his wife would care more that he was there, not what he was attired in.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 17: The Rebirth Page 10