by Eric Thomson
“Jan Sobieski sees us, sir,” Chief Yens said, raising a hand to attract Dunmoore’s attention. “She’s painting us with a communications laser.”
“Comms, please return the favor and open a link. Pipe it to my command chair, in case Captain Pushkin wishes to speak with me.”
“Aye, aye, sir. At current separation, it’s one and a half seconds each way.”
“Thank you.”
Laser comms moved at the speed of light, meaning a three-second round trip delay between Iolanthe and Jan Sobieski. Subspace radio would have been instantaneous, but anyone could listen in provided they were on the right frequency and capable of decrypting transmissions. Perhaps Gregor wanted a private conversation with his former captain and mentor.
Almost a minute passed, then Pushkin’s face appeared on the display embedded in her command chair’s arm. Dunmoore raised its electronic privacy shield so no one could overhear them, though she could still hear the rest of the CIC.
“Good afternoon, Skipper. I’m in my cocoon. We can talk privately.”
“Hi, Gregor. I’m in my cone of silence as well. What’s up?”
Three seconds passed.
“Any chance of you twisting the admiral’s arm and sending both of us after Rooikat and the convoy. When I spoke with Darcey Hauck a few minutes ago, Rooikat’s sensors showed the convoy turning on a course that doesn’t lead to any outlying star system, and they’ll jump shortly.”
“So they’re not headed for Lorgh?”
“Doesn’t seem so. At least not directly.”
Dunmoore thought for a moment.
“You and Darcey figure they plan on making a dogleg a few light-years out to shake any potential hunters? Could well be. Sometimes the bastards learn faster than we expect. I suppose it’s worth trying — if I can catch Hawkwood before she goes FTL inbound for our location. Wait one.” Dunmoore touched her chair’s control surface. “Get me the admiral on subspace and pipe it to my chair.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Why did Petras backtrack on fully implementing the idea?” Pushkin asked.
“Corto and her obsession with keeping control over the task force, lest any of us does something that’ll reflect badly on the admiral, what else?”
“Sir,” Chief Day interjected. “I have the admiral on subspace.”
Petras’ angular features replaced those of her former first officer.
“What is it, Siobhan? We’re about to go FTL for the rendezvous.”
“Sir, it appears the convoy took a heading that doesn’t lead directly to one of the enemy-held star systems, and I fear they might already be adapting their tactics after your attack. At this point, they’re going FTL in fifteen minutes at most and should be on their intended hyperspace course. If the convoy plans on tacking two or three light-years out, we could easily lose it. I was hoping you might allow Iolanthe and Jan Sobieski to join Rooikat in chasing them down while Luckner assembles. We three have the best sensor suites of any ships and can leapfrog each other to stay in contact. Besides, Iolanthe and Jan Sobieski can do a lot of damage if we catch them tacking and keep the bastards sublight until you arrive with the rest of the task force.”
Dunmoore bit her tongue before adding a comment about flexibility in the face of enemy plans being one advantage of well-executed wolf pack tactics. But reminding Petras he’d succumbed to his flag captain’s blandishments again wouldn’t help her cause.
A frown creased his admiral’s forehead.
“I wish someone thought of this possibility beforehand, but I suppose there’s no helping it now.”
Dunmoore’s ears picked up a muffled voice over the comlink. Corto protesting? Petras glanced over his shoulder as the audio cut out. When he turned back, she noticed a spark of irritation in his hooded eyes.
“Go. Don’t take chances and stay in touch. I’d rather you waited for the rest of Luckner if there’s a risk you or the others might suffer damage.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Petras, out.”
She glanced down at Pushkin.
“Your navigator and mine need to talk. We’re joining Darcey. And unless there are other matters you wish to discuss in private, we’ll use the subspace channel. Even though they’re only three seconds, these delays are irritating.”
After the expected pause, a delighted smile appeared on Pushkin’s face.
“Yes, sir! Subspace it is. Jan Sobieski, out.”
— Ten —
“Brakal, one of us at last.” An older Shrehari of the Warrior Caste rose from his rough-hewn chair to greet Strike Force Khorsan’s former commanding admiral. He studied his friend and fellow Kraal member through black within black eyes deeply set in an angular, ridged skull polished to a deep amber by decades beneath combat helmets.
“Vagh.” Brakal gripped the retired general’s arms in a comradely greeting. “You still look ready to chew up the best the humans can throw at us.”
“Bah.” Vagh waved away Brakal’s words as he dropped back into his chair. “Sit. I recognize Toralk lurking by the door, but who is your other shadow?”
A feral smile split Brakal’s face.
“Regar, of the Tai Kan. Sworn to Clan Makkar.”
“What?” Vagh stared across the tightly packed lower town tavern at the smiling spy. “One of them sworn to a Warrior Caste lord? Will wonders never cease?”
Laughter rumbled up Brakal’s throat.
“Kerhasi said as much when I told him.”
“Another who will soon join the inactive reserve of officers, no doubt. It seems Trage is determined to replace anyone capable of winning against the humans,” Vagh replied, naming the Imperial Armed Forces’ commander-in-chief.
Brakal took the foaming mug of ale proffered by one of the tavern’s aproned waiters and took an appreciative sip before letting out a deep sigh.
“Excellent stuff.” He placed the mug between them. “I fear winning is no longer a realistic outcome, my friend. Trage is flailing around, dismissing field commanders at the slightest hint of failure because he no longer knows what else he can do. The humans are beating us. They adapt and plan new ways faster than our sclerotic admiralty can wipe its collective hind end.”
Vagh let out a sad grunt.
“And they are persistent. Trage dismissed Kokurag and me because we could not extinguish every sign of human resistance in the Cimmeria system. Never mind it has not, so far interfered with our war effort. But Trage and his useless operations staff cannot comprehend such a goal requires more ships capable of keeping smugglers from resupplying human combat units which, instead of dwindling during all these turns since we occupied the planet, are growing in strength. Our replacements will fare even worse — they do not enjoy the benefit of our experience keeping resistance to a mere irritant.”
“It is the same everywhere.” Brakal took another gulp of ale. “In every star system we occupy. And now they invade our space, carrying out raids that are well beyond irritating. The gods are turning against us. Let me tell you why I am here instead of commanding a strike group.”
When Brakal fell silent after a long tale of frustration and woe, Vagh made a gesture of dismay.
“I am but a soldier, yet even I know they build better ships and build them faster than we can. If one of theirs is capable of destroying an orbital base, then yes, we face disaster. Perhaps not soon, perhaps not to the degree we might fear, however...” Vagh let his words hang.
“However, indeed. And in the interval, the empire will continue bleeding until the common people rise in revolt. Too much taxation, most of it unfair, too many dead, most of them from ordinary citizen clans and too many promises of victory proved false by the enemy. Perhaps the ruling dynasty deserves to be overthrown, as many have throughout history, for failing to preserve our honor and losing favor with the gods. Although blaming the child emperor is futile. No, it is the council which deserves our wrath. It dragged us into this futile war without end.”
“Agr
eed.” Vagh drained his mug and thumped it on the table, signaling he wished a refill. “And I daresay you will find most of us dismissed by Trage for not winning an unachievable victory agree with your views.”
“No doubt.” Brakal’s lip curled up. “Yet grumbling among ourselves in taverns is also futile. I seek not only the admirals, generals and other officers unfairly dismissed. I also seek those who sit in the Kraal, or would if that august body deigned to carry out its ancestral duties, such as stifling the emperor’s and the council’s worst impulses.”
“So this is why you sought me out so soon after your return.”
Two fresh mugs of ale appeared as if by magic. Brakal raised one of them in salute.
“You are merely the first, Vagh. Join me, and we will each speak with others who wore the imperial uniform and whose clans claim seats in the Kraal. Once we bring those of Warrior Caste to our side, we will reach out and cajole the civilian lords until the four hundred clans come together and stand against the council. It is the only way. We must stop our empire’s lifeblood from leeching out into the galaxy until nothing but a husk remains for the humans and our subject races to pick over.”
Vagh studied Brakal in silence for a few moments.
“What do you intend once the Kraal votes to dissolve Mishtak’s government? Replace it with a new band of thieves? We clan lords cannot sit on the council, nor can members of the military services even if they are in the inactive officers’ reserve and not under military discipline.” When Vagh saw Brakal bare his fangs, he glanced around the room to make sure no one was listening. “By the demons of the Underworld, you intend to name a kho’sahra and set up a military dictatorship which would rule in the emperor’s name, am I correct?”
“Is there a better solution to end this war with honor, extricate us from human space, and heal the empire?”
Vagh’s gesture of assent was grudging.
“We have not seen a kho’sahra in the Forbidden Quarter since the days of Emperor Torav the Weak, five hundred turns ago. This would be momentous.”
“Yet the common people will cheer.”
“It is not the common people’s reaction that should worry you.”
Brakal’s feral smile returned.
“The military will welcome one of their own to replace a council that has failed it and sullied the honor of its members. With them and the people supporting us, everyone else will submit. Mishtak and his fellows command little loyalty, even among the bureaucracy. They will find few who would stand against a popular kho’sahra promising an end to the madness of war.” He held out his hand. “Are you with me, Vagh?”
The older Shrehari snorted as he reached out to grasp it.
“You speak as if I have something better to do nowadays. Of course, I am with you.” After toasting each other, Vagh asked, “Who shall be our kho’sahra?”
“I can think of several admirals and generals who would do well, Warrior Caste officers smart enough to surround themselves with honest, capable Shrehari who have a talent for public administration. None of them serve at the admiralty, needless to say. That bunch of superannuated incompetents will not even spend their last turns on the inactive reserve list when we are done.”
Vagh eyed Brakal with undisguised suspicion.
“I hope you do not consider me a candidate for the position.”
The latter rubbed his angular chin as if lost in thought.
“As a general of the third rank and clan lord, you enjoy sufficient standing, and there will be few generals or admirals of the second rank, let alone of the first rank whom anyone would consider suitable. We will invite most of those to retire once the empire changes its leadership.”
Vagh held up a restraining hand.
“Not even in jest, Brakal of the Makkar. I will help you with this, but I will not become the dictator.”
“Agreed, Vagh of the Najuk. You would be best placed as deputy commander of the Imperial Ground Forces and oversee our soldiers’ withdrawal from human worlds.”
A faint air of indignation crossed Vagh’s features.
“You would simply hand back what we took?”
“What profit did their star systems bring the empire? How much treasure and how many lives did we waste taking and holding them? So long as we leave a single Shrehari trooper on their soil, this war will continue.”
Another grudging assent.
“Understood and accepted.”
“The Kraal may decide who will be our kho’sahra, though we must make sure it chooses whoever is best for the empire’s future. But until it meets, our words are nothing more than farts in an ion storm.” When Brakal noticed Vagh’s eyes dart over his shoulder, he asked, “What?”
“Your Tai Kan pet. He slipped out. Toralk is still at his post.”
“Then something alerted him. Your bodyguards?”
“Within sight. Retired troopers, both of them. If Mishtak’s spies are imprudent, they will pay with their lives. What shall we do now?”
“Talk to the following, obtain their agreement, and ask that each speaks to another six.” Brakal rattled off half a dozen names, forcibly retired admirals and generals who were either clan lords themselves or first-degree relatives of clan lords. He then named six more, saying, “I will speak with them in the next two or three days. The Kraal must meet before the next change of the moons. Tell them we assemble in the Jakrang, far from Mishtak’s lair. And if you could ask a friend for reliable troops to guard the Jakrang, so much the better.”
“I will find us a full regiment of Assault Infantry.” Vagh stood, imitated by two oversized Shrehari in civilian clothing who had been lounging in a booth behind them. “Take care, Brakal. The moment Mishtak hears you are assembling the Kraal, he will be tempted to send his assassins. Unlike Trage, that misbegotten whelp of a diseased whore will order a clan lord’s slaying without hesitation. After ruling unopposed for so long, he believes himself untouchable.”
“Then we will disabuse him of the notion.” Brakal climbed to his feet and gripped Vagh’s forearm. “Take care.”
He watched his friend and his guards leave by a side door before joining Toralk by the tavern’s main entrance.
“Where is Regar?”
“Taking care of someone who showed too much interest in General Vagh and you, Lord.”
Brakal let out a thoughtful grunt.
“I suppose he can identify secret police spies more readily than either of us.”
“He said we should return to the estate without him if he does not meet us at the car by the time you finished speaking with Vagh.”
Toralk touched the holstered weapon on his hip out of reflex, then turned for the exit before Brakal could move ahead of him, and step into the waning afternoon light first.
They found Regar leaning against the boxy vehicle with the double-headed dragon crest on its sides, looking pleased.
“Is General Vagh with us?”
“He is. And the individual you pursued?”
“Stepped into the wrong alley, slipped on some dung, and cracked his skull open as he struck the cobblestones. A sad yet not uncommon occurrence in this area. His body will already have vanished, never to be seen again.”
“Was he...?”
“Without a doubt. Since word could not yet be going around telling of your intent to assemble the Kraal, I can only assume either you or the general were being watched simply because you are known as cantankerous, old clan lords with no love for the regime.”
A growl rose in Brakal’s throat.
“Prudence, my liegeman. I may be cantankerous, but I am still in my prime.”
Regar made a gesture of submission that was anything but.
“If you say so, Lord.”
— Eleven —
“Nothing.” Chief Yens allowed herself a frustrated sigh once the sensors finished searching almost thirty minutes after Iolanthe came out of FTL. The three ships had been playing leapfrog for two days, trying to detect the convoy. “Unless t
hey’re sailing into the black, the boneheads need to change course just about now.”
“Funny you should say that, Marti,” Chief Petty Officer Day said, grinning at his friend. “Incoming from Rooikat on a repeater, Captain. They caught the enemy convoy tacking six hours ago, while we were in hyperspace. Their new heading is for the Tyva system.”
Sirico slapped the arm of his chair.
“I knew it. Astrid owes me a bottle of Glen Arcturus. I told her about the intelligence reports claiming there’s a FOB orbiting the system’s second planet, but she didn’t think the convoy would dogleg back so sharply. Nor does she think intelligence knows a black hole from a pulsar. Navigators.” He grinned at Dunmoore. “What can you do, right? They’re all about math.”
She gave him a pained look which wasn’t wholly feigned.
“Gambling? On my ship? Please tell me I misheard.”
“Just a friendly wager between shipmates, sir,” an unrepentant Sirico replied.
“Nice try. Add Rooikat’s info to the tactical projection.”
Red icons denoting several enemy ships appeared, along with a dashed red line connecting it to a star system identified as Tyva. Blue icons showed the last known position of Task Force Luckner’s other ships, with those presumed to be FTL surrounded by a blueish halo.
Ezekiel Holt’s hologram appeared at Dunmoore’s elbow.
“What are you thinking, Skipper?”
“Time and distance, Zeke. Ask Astrid to plot a course for Tyva’s heliopause, one jump. I want to come out of FTL as close as possible to where that convoy will emerge based on Rooikat’s information. It’ll be the wolf pack’s rendezvous.”
“Will do. Stand by.”
“Signals, send to Rooikat. Remain sublight until Jan Sobieski and the flag acknowledge the enemy’s new heading and my intentions, which are as follows. Iolanthe will make one jump to the Tyva system’s heliopause hoping to overtake the enemy and intercepting him before he leaves interstellar space. Jan Sobieski will join us as quickly as possible. Rooikat shall follow once she completes her retransmission duties. Standby for rendezvous coordinates at the Tyva heliopause.”