by Eric Thomson
“No doubt. What next?”
“We treat Lena with due respect. I’ll bring her in on every discussion concerning the task force and let events unfold as they will. With any luck, we won’t wait long for a new task force commander and then she’ll be his or her problem.”
“No arguments, Skipper. She gets the freedom of the bridge?”
“Yes. And the CIC. Warn the department heads they’re to treat her with courtesy and accommodate her wishes so long as they don’t interfere with the ship’s operations.”
Holt tilted his head to one side.
“If I didn’t know you as well as I do, I’d suspect ulterior motives, but you truly are trying to make Lena feel welcome.”
“I am. And please make sure everyone understands that.”
**
“Come in.” Dunmoore rose from behind her desk and put on a smile that felt slightly strained. She waved at the chairs surrounding a low, square table in one corner of her day cabin. “Please sit. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you. Black is fine.”
Though she’d been in the compartment before, during Task Force Luckner’s early days, Corto studied her surroundings through expressionless eyes as she sat with her back to one of the bulkheads. Dunmoore noticed Corto’s searching gaze and wondered whether she was silently fuming at the fate which had denied her not only command of Iolanthe but the task force itself. She handed Corto a mug with the Furious Faerie insignia and sat across from her.
“Anything I should know about the recent operation from a flag bridge viewpoint, Lena?”
Corto shrugged.
“What you witnessed is what we did. The admiral’s plan worked, we escaped with minimal damage and no fatalities while the Shrehari lost another FOB and two warships. I don’t think there’s much worth discussing at the task force level.”
Dunmoore took a sip of coffee while keeping her eyes on Corto, who seemed to deal with her circumstances by presenting a facade devoid of emotion.
“I doubt Kirti Midura considers the damage to Hawkwood minimal. Tell me what happened. The plan was three volleys and out. Both destroyers stuck around for two more, which cost them most of their shield generators, and us our admiral. Who ordered the extra salvos?”
Corto didn’t immediately reply, and though she kept a bland face, Dunmoore saw jaw muscles working under her pale skin.
“Come on, Lena. HQ will want to know why the admiral deviated from his plan, ensuring one ship is headed into dry dock, and the other will be sidelined until she replaces her shield generators.”
“It was me, damn you.” Corto’s reply came out as a low growl through clenched teeth. “A split-second decision. I noticed the station lose its shields and ordered both destroyers to fire twice more before accelerating. We were capable of ending it right there without you and Jan Sobieski expending ammunition, something that might have allowed us to stay on patrol just a little longer, considering how low you both are. You know how decision-making can be in the heat of battle. I took a risk, and it didn’t pay off as I hoped.”
Dunmoore nodded slowly, impressed despite herself at Corto’s honesty, though part of her wanted to point out a flag captain didn’t make tactical decisions. She merely offered her admiral suggestions. The mistake wasn’t one which would leave a black mark on her career, especially since the task force suffered no fatalities, but it made her tactical judgment questionable in Dunmoore’s estimation.
Spur of the moment changes to a sound plan which was unfolding as expected could be excused if it brought about a cleaner, quicker victory. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, Corto made the situation worse, and Dunmoore felt a nagging suspicion her reason for doing so wasn’t quite as she claimed.
But accusing her of baser motives wasn’t something a temporary task force commander who held the same rank could do. Adding confidential observations to the patrol report — eyes only Commander SOCOM — on the other hand...
Either way, Lena Corto’s chances of ever wearing a commodore’s star were fading by hour. Petras would probably not receive another command in space after convalescing, and he was her sole patron. Dunmoore couldn’t think of any other flag officer willing to take on a bitter, passed over for promotion captain who hadn’t held a starship command in over eight years.
“Fair enough. Make sure the report includes mention of your orders and reasoning because HQ will ask what happened once they see Hawkwood’s repair bill. Better we’re proactive in such a case.”
“That was my intention.” Not even Dunmoore potentially implying Corto might lie by omission to cover herself seemed capable of breaking through her reserve. “Are there any other matters you wish to discuss? Or can I convene the after-action review for eight bells?”
“No. Please go ahead.”
“Thank you.” Corto drained her coffee in two gulps, carefully placed the mug on the table between them, and stood. “With your permission?”
“Granted. I’ll see you in the wardroom for supper.”
When the door closed behind Corto’s back, Dunmoore realized her shoulder muscles were bunched up with tension. She took a few deep breaths, willing them to relax and hoping their interactions over the coming days wouldn’t be this painful and tiring.
By and large, Iolanthe was a happy ship with a crew that worked and lived well together and coexisted comfortably with the embarked infantry company. Hopefully, Lena Corto’s sour mood wouldn’t be contagious.
Fortunately, the wardroom’s hearty welcome, engineered by Ezekiel Holt, eroded some of her aloofness and the subsequent after-action review with Task Force Luckner’s captains proceeded without a hitch.
Dunmoore acknowledged Hawkwood and Tamurlane’s battle damage stemmed from the order to fire additional salvos, but without implicating Corto in particular. Whether the latter was grateful for escaping censure in front of officers junior to her in rank, Dunmoore would never know since she did not intend to raise the matter ever again.
— Twenty —
Toralk appeared in the day room’s doorway and cleared his throat.
“Lord, Admiral Edronh is on the link. He wishes to speak with you. I told him I would see if you were available.”
Brakal looked up from his reader and frowned. What did Edronh want at this juncture? They had agreed to minimize communications between Kraal members until it assembled, especially contact via electronic means that could easily be tapped by the Tai Kan.
“I am available.” The Lord of Clan Makkar climbed to his feet. “And I will take the connection in my office.”
Once settled into the carved chair behind a massive desk, Brakal nodded at Toralk.
“Activate.”
Moments later, a projection of Edronh’s seamed face materialized over the desktop. He appeared older, more tired than the last time they met.
“Edronh.”
“Brakal. Thank you for accepting the link. Whether the Tai Kan are listening is immaterial. What I wish to tell you is already known at the highest levels of government. I thought it important you were aware as well.”
“I am listening.”
“The latest news from the war is dire, my friend. Strike Group Base Tyva was destroyed shortly after the humans ambushed a resupply convoy at the edge of its star system, taking ten of the fifteen ships in a matter of moments. Five escaped by going to otherspace before their drives were even half cycled. Three reported back to Atsang. Your phantom battleship was among the human attackers. It appears the hairless apes sent a full strike group of their own to hunt deep within imperial space. Nine vessels, six of which are either as strong as, or vastly stronger than our Tol class cruisers. They also destroyed two ships guarding Base Tyva — a Tol and a Ptar.”
Brakal cursed under his breath.
“At this rate, Trage will order half or more of each strike group to guard its base instead of hunting human starships.”
“Which would hand the initiative to the humans for good. But this is
only part of my news. I brought it up first because of your losses. Surprising no one, Trage has relieved Kerhasi of command. He replaced Kerhasi with a freshly promoted admiral of the third rank who has so far spent the war drawing up campaign plans that remain unused and will do so until the death of the universe.”
“Who?”
“Onnak.”
“An admiral whose last command in space dates back so many turns no one even remembers him? What a disaster. Trage must be senile to make such an appointment. The moment Mishtak goes, he goes as well.”
A bleak look further aged Edronh’s features.
“It gets worse. A large human formation — twenty warships of Tol size or larger — entered the Cimmeria system several days ago and severely mauled the assault division guarding it. Only after it left did the garrison realize the attack was a cover for the arrival of several armed supply vessels intent on replenishing the human resistance. They captured several containers, but much fell into human hands.”
Brakal let out a disconsolate grunt.
“Let me guess, Trage relieved the Cimmeria system commander as well.”
“There was no need to do so. Kurrivis led the Cimmeria Assault Division from the bridge of his flagship. The humans destroyed it alongside a dozen others, with the loss of all crew aboard.”
When he saw the disgusted look on Brakal’s face, Edronh said, “The humans are fielding new ships at a rapid rate. Ships vastly superior to ours. One of them fought alongside your phantom near Tyva, and it is the smaller of the two new designs we know about. The larger version, if the reports from Cimmeria, Nabhka, and Mission are believable, almost match your phantom in terms of firepower.”
“Nabhka and Mission as well? Why am I not surprised? Those imps from the deepest circle of the Underworld become bolder with every breath they take.”
“They too were struck by marauding human formations boasting examples of the two new ship classes. I expect over the next few tendays, we will hear that each of the star systems we took from them has seen off intruders. Of course, the council will never make this public. At least not officially.”
Edronh took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “The gods are increasingly on the humans’ side, it seems. We no longer enjoy the luxury of time if we are to staunch the empire’s bleeding before time runs out. When will the four hundred sit in the Kraal?”
“Soon, my friend.” Brakal fell silent for a few seconds while he wondered if he should speak freely, considering the Tai Kan might be listening, but figured Mishtak already knew the tenor of his plans. “We do not quite have a sufficient majority. The military lords are in step with us, but many civilian lords remain unconvinced we face a dire situation calling for the council to seek an armistice or resign. Your news about our freshest defeats should help with those who know my honor would not allow me to lie.”
Edronh’s face twisted into a cruel grimace.
“Shoot the ones who would support Mishtak no matter what and the rest will come to their senses.”
“If we do not find ourselves with a large enough majority soon, I will consider more forceful methods.”
“Propose what you will, Brakal. This must end before the people lose their faith in the empire’s leaders. We would not survive the ensuing chaos. By the way, I found the Tai Kan spy in my retinue.”
“You took his head from his shoulders, I trust.”
A burst of grim laughter rumbled up Edronh’s throat.
“No. I did even better than that. I fed the miscreant such disinformation he no longer has any credibility with his spymasters.”
**
Brakal swallowed a curse when Regar startled him by appearing in the day room without making a single sound. Night was falling over Shredar, and he was enjoying a cup of hot tvass while rereading the Saga of Rodek, which recounted the bloodiest dynastic change in recorded Shrehari history.
“What?”
“You might recall my mentioning friends in sensitive positions at Tai Kan headquarters. I have just come from a meeting with one of them.”
“If you intend to try my patience, you are on the right path.”
Regar inclined his head while a sardonic expression twisted his mouth.
“Mishtak has ordered Director Yatron to arrest the military lords of the Kraal if they assemble without his permission.”
“So the motherless bastards were listening in on my conversation with Admiral Edronh. Good. Rumors of such a move will ensure the perpetually undecided among the four hundred finally commit one way or the other. Will Yatron comply?”
“Unknown. Arresting lords of the Kraal on spurious grounds could unleash the very tempest we are striving to avoid, and Yatron understands this. He also realizes First Deputy Director Kroesh could use Yatron’s act of obeying an illegal order as sufficient cause to relieve him. At gunpoint, if necessary, something Kroesh would do with great pleasure.” Regar bared his fangs. “My friend tells me the atmosphere at headquarters is fetid in general and barely breathable on the senior officers’ floor.”
“Did your friend offer a reason?”
Regar’s smile widened.
“Kroesh oversees the Political Branch, which provides Tai Kan officers to the Deep Space Fleet.”
“You mean it forces them on the fleet, but never mind.”
“Those such as I, capable of seeing the same truth as the commanders and admirals they serve, seem in greater supply than we thought, and they report that truth to their superiors in the Political Branch. Those superiors, in turn, keep Kroesh aware of the situation along our frontier with those damned humans.”
Brakal put down his reader, leaned back, and studied Regar with discerning eyes.
“Strange that the Tai Kan, far from being a monolithic organization serving the council without reservations, is just as divided over our fate as the military and the Kraal. What should I do with this information, I wonder?”
“You are Speaker of the Kraal until the four hundred choose another. Demand a meeting with Mishtak. It matters little what you discuss behind closed doors. The important thing is that those who matter in this city see Brakal, Lord of Clan Makkar, and Speaker of the Kraal, boldly entering the Forbidden Quarter as Mishtak’s equal, unafraid of the governing council’s Tai Kan enforcers.”
“Bold. Unexpected. Mishtak cannot refuse me though he will seethe. But my demanding we meet must be public.” Brakal thought for a moment, then let a fierce smile curl up his lip. “I will advise the four hundred that I shall confer with Mishtak out of courtesy so I can formally announce the Kraal will rouse from its long slumber and once more take its rightful place as the empire’s supreme legislature.”
Brakal tossed his reader aside, drained the tvass mug, and stood.
“Did Mishtak not boast long ago that the council never sleeps? Perhaps I shall call him now.”
“No. Let me contact Mishtak’s senior aide. Individuals of your respective statures do not make arrangements themselves.” When he saw Brakal open his mouth in protest, Regar raised both hands. “You must trust me in these matters, Lord.”
“Very well,” Brakal grumbled. “But do not tarry. I want to see that poxed whoreson before this tenday is over.”
“It will be done.”
“How?”
“With threats, of course.” A bloodcurdling grin transformed Regar’s gargoyle features.
“Explain.”
“I would rather not discuss details, lest you get ideas. There are particular ways of doing things in Shredar, and you are still wholly innocent of them. It would be best if that state of affairs persisted.”
— Twenty-One —
“Bridge to captain.”
Dunmoore reached out and tapped the controls embedded in her desk. “Captain here.”
“Lieutenant Drost, sir. I have the watch. We received a text-only message for the acting commander, Task Force Luckner, from Starbase 32.”
“Pipe it to my day cabin.”
“Done.”
<
br /> She put down her reader and called up the message. Hawkwood would enter dry dock at once upon arrival. Admiral Petras’ stasis pod and the remaining injured would be transferred from there to the orbital station by shuttle. Iolanthe, Tamurlane, and Skua would dock with the starbase upon arrival while the rest of Luckner would assume a trailing orbit and dock in turn to resupply. Starbase 32 traffic control would send approach instructions for individual ships once Luckner entered Torrinos orbit. Rear Admiral Mensall wished to see Captains Dunmoore and Corto once Iolanthe was docked. SOCOM HQ asked him to hand over orders for Task Force Luckner.
A frown creased Dunmoore’s forehead. Tyrel Mensall was the 32nd Battle Group’s flag officer commanding and thus in 3rd Fleet’s chain of command, not SOCOM’s. Why would her superiors make him the intermediary when they could just as easily send orders directly to Iolanthe? Perhaps because she, or Corto, or both would hear unpleasant news best delivered by someone wearing two stars on his collar? At least this confirmed her patrol report and the confidential notations, including the one about Corto, had reached HQ.
She tapped the intercom.
“Bridge, this is the captain.”
“Officer of the watch here, sir.”
“Acknowledge receipt to Starbase 32. Retransmit the message minus the paragraph concerning Captain Corto and myself to the rest of the task force, tell Commander Holt, and ask for acknowledgments in return.”
Drost repeated the order. When she fell silent, Dunmoore said, “Thank you, Astrid. Please pass the entire message to Captain Corto verbatim and ask if she’d join me in the day cabin.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”