by Eric Thomson
Then, as if Kroesh could read his mind, he said, “No, we are not using you, Brakal. Watching you, yes. That was Regar’s duty. Helping you where we could, that as well. Hoping you would somehow gain enough influence before this war destroyed us, definitely, because you are among those who truly know how disastrous Mishtak’s decision to invade human space was since you are one of the few who understand our enemies. Your return to the homeworld took us by surprise, as did your open opposition to the council and the energy with which you are reviving the Kraal. But we are pleased.”
“You keep using the plural. Who are the others?”
“Like-minded individuals in the directorates I control. Government officials responsible for security and law enforcement with whom I interact. Palace officials fearful the dynasty might lose the support of the citizenry thanks to Mishtak’s intransigence and who whisper in my ear. And many others. Much is bubbling beneath the surface in Shredar and has been while you were fighting the humans on our frontiers. However, the various strands of disquiet need a catalyst to transcend mere words and become facts, something which will unite the disparate anti-Mishtak elements in pursuit of a common goal.”
“And I am to be that catalyst?”
“You already are.” An air of amusement seemed to cross Kroesh’s face. “More is happening in Shredar of late than just the somnolent Kraal awakening to the cries of an empire in distress, though you know it not.”
“And who controls these happenings?”
“No one. For now. But unless the Kraal truly rises and challenges Mishtak, things might spiral out of anyone’s control when the time comes.”
Brakal grunted before taking another mouthful of ale. After swallowing, he said, “And that brings us to Unagroth and others of his sort who might waver under the council’s pressure — or its threats.”
“The reason why Regar decided it was finally time you and I spoke openly.”
“Correct. Satisfy my curiosity, if you will, Kroesh. When would you and I have spoken openly if not for Regar thinking the time was finally right?”
Kroesh made a gesture combining uncertainty with dismissal.
“Perhaps another reason would have arisen, or we would have continued to support you from afar until it became opportune for a formal and public meeting between us.”
“Such as when the Kraal would search for a new Tai Kan director?”
“The soon to be named kho’sahra rather than the Kraal, but yes.”
Brakal drained his bottle and held it out for Toralk, refusing a fresh one with a wave of the hand.
“You expect me to become that kho’sahra.”
“Surely you don’t think Mishtak will cooperate with the Kraal and admit his war was a mistake. He will refuse your entreaties. That leaves us with one course of action. Forcing the council’s dissolution in favor of a kho’sahra. And according to our ancient traditions, the dictator must be a clan lord who is also an admiral or a general.”
“There are many of us who are both.”
“None with a vision to end this war before the dynasty falls and fall it will if the enemy ever turns our space into his playground. The regent supported Mishtak. His failure will be hers and her son’s. Pray no human warships appear in the home system while Mishtak still governs in Lady Kembri’s name. His failure to protect the heart of the empire would be more than anyone could bear and instead of a power transition accompanied by a few hundred arrests, we might face a bloodbath on the Field of Honor.”
“You ask much of me.”
Kroesh’s lips curled back again.
“Nothing you do not ask of yourself. Be honest, Brakal. You saw a future as kho’sahra the instant you resolved to rouse the Kraal and force Mishtak’s hand. You believe no one else could do better in ending the war and healing the empire.”
Brakal made a gesture of agreement.
“No one currently inhabiting the Forbidden Quarter. They would rather hide behind the belief in a final victory we cannot achieve, even if it costs us everything. Some of them would rather the empire perish in fire and blood than admit invading human space was a fatal mistake. Others spent turns drinking at the well of their own propaganda and are utterly blind to reality.”
“Then there is nothing left to discuss. We are in perfect agreement. I will make sure Unagroth and enough undecided Kraal members vote with the military lords, even once you face the necessity of removing the governing council and electing a kho’sahra.”
“What if the Kraal, in its wisdom, chooses another military lord for that honor?”
“An unlikely outcome. The military lords know you and the fire you carry within. The civilian lords know of Clan Makkar’s honor, their own losses to the council’s increasing taxes, and not much more. They will gladly hand the problem of our war against the humans to someone else.”
“And what if Mishtak launches a disinformation campaign branding the Kraal as traitors to delegitimize it and its decisions? Or separate the military lords from the civilian lords?”
“No one with a molecule of sense believes what comes out of the Forbidden Quarter any more. Common born or noble, let alone those who labor in the various ministries.”
“Shredar overflows with those who don’t even boast a single atom of common sense.” A thoughtful expression crossed Brakal’s face. “It makes me wonder what hold Mishtak has on Lady Kembri. She is cunning and ruthless in protecting her whelp until he rules in his own right. Surely she knows which way the winds of war are blowing.”
“Does it matter? If the Kraal petitions her to dismiss the council and accept a kho’sahra named by the four hundred or face a coup which would taint her regency, Lady Kembri will choose wisely.” Kroesh tapped his midriff with a clenched fist. “My hunger stirs, Lord of Clan Makkar, and I hear you set a fine table. I should honor it as few would in this city.”
“Regar informed you of my table?” Brakal gestured toward the door leading to the dining room.
“No. He is discrete on matters concerning your clan, your house, and your privacy, as befits someone sworn to your service. You did well in accepting his oath. He will serve you as no other if you give him the chance to form a Tai Zohl.”
“And you will head the Tai Kan. If not Regar informing the universe of Clan Makkar’s culinary delights, then who?”
Another amused expression curled up Kroesh’s black lips.
“That would be telling. We perforce share common acquaintances. Shredar is a big city in area and population, but for our sort, it is a mere village replete with gossips. Fear not. Your friends are loyal, and your supporters have motivations that will keep them honest.”
“Our sort?”
“Those concerned for the welfare of the empire, its ruling dynasty, and a future devoid of bloody dynastic change.”
— Twenty-Nine —
“All of Task Force Luckner’s ships made it, Commodore,” Chief Petty Officer Yens reported once her sensors recovered from dropping out of hyperspace. “And they’re running silent. No sign of enemy activity or installations in our vicinity.”
An awed hush settled over the CIC as eyes turned to the main display where one star shone brighter than any other.
“So that’s the boneheads’ native sun, is it?” Lieutenant Commander Sirico asked, his question directed at no one in particular. “Somebody pinch me. I can’t believe we’re actually here.”
“Took us long enough,” Major Tatiana Salminen replied from her battle stations post at the rear of the compartment. “And whether that is, in fact, their native sun has long been hotly debated in some corners. Look up the legend of the L’Taung civilization.”
“Ah, yes.” Sirico turned to grin at the soldier. “That strange story claiming the present-day Shrehari are descendants of an ancient star-faring empire which collapsed a hundred thousand years before our distant ancestors developed the first hints of civilization. Maybe those old boneheads visited Earth back then, leaving us with legends of eldritch gods.”
<
br /> “Not so strange, Thorin. Evidence of its existence has been found in several locations,” Ezekiel Holt said, remembering the top-secret report detailing Admiral Corwin’s treasure trove on Arietis. He and Dunmoore exchanged a knowing look.
“Ah well, it is an old universe, Captain. Who knows how many species rose to claim interstellar dominance and died away before our own even existed in its most primitive form? Mind you, for an ancient race, the boneheads aren’t that smart if they attacked us without being sure we’d fold. And now, we’ll make them truly regret that oversight.” Sirico let out a contented sigh as he turned his eyes back on the main display. “Lovely view no matter what.”
“Give me a few minutes, sir. It’ll get better,” Yens replied. “The sensors are trying to find Shrehari Prime itself.”
Now that they were within reach of the target, Dunmoore felt trepidation at mapping out their next steps. She’d deliberately avoided making plans of action beyond getting here since no one knew about enemy dispositions, activities or anything else useful. The hardest thing would be fighting impatience while they observed.
Though she was intent on a display of confidence by coming as close to Shrehari Prime as possible while remaining beyond the resident assault division’s weapons range, destroying a few antimatter cracking stations orbiting the star system’s gas giants would do just as well. As would attacking a convoy, a subspace booster array, or any piece of insufficiently protected infrastructure in space.
Dunmoore kept reminding herself their mission was achieving a psychological effect. Physical damage would be incidental to the primary goal of damaging Shrehari morale.
The image on the main display wavered without warning. A small blue and white orb replaced the reddish sun.
“Shrehari Prime. The enemy’s homeworld.”
“It looks so peaceful, just as Earth does in every picture I’ve seen,” Sirico said. “Or pretty much any of our worlds, actually. Just think about it. The idiots who figured invading the Commonwealth and causing countless deaths would be a great idea live within what? Less than a day’s travel from here? Makes you wish for a flight of kinetic penetrators aimed at the imperial capital so you could watch the impact energy turn it into a glass-lined crater.”
“An eye for an eye, Thorin?” Dunmoore asked with an eyebrow cocked in amusement at his heated words. A second after she spoke, she realized her mistake.
A broad grin split Sirico’s face.
“Sure. Just ask the captain.”
She gave Holt an involuntary glance only to see him wearing an amused expression.
“Strictly speaking,” he said, “the Shrehari weren’t directly responsible for my raffish good looks.”
He tapped his eye patch with an extended index finger.
“It was a secondary explosion in Shenzen’s engineering section during our damage control efforts after the commodore disengaged us. But joking aside, giving them the idea that deliberately targeting civilians is now part of the game would be a huge mistake. The whole city for a city thing almost wiped us out during the Second Migration War.”
“I fought the bastards when they tried to take Scandia,” Salminen added, “and I’ll say this in their favor. The Shrehari sense of honor keeps them from inflicting gratuitous civilian deaths, let alone use mass murder as a weapon against unarmed sapient species. In that respect, if nothing else, they could teach our ancestors a thing or two. I doubt showing them we’re so dishonorable we would target cities from orbit will produce the psychological effect we want.”
“Indeed.” Dunmoore nodded approvingly.
After spending a lot of time with Salminen and her soldiers during their long passage through Shrehari space, safely concealed in hyperspace from any but the most finely tuned sensors, she’d gained a greater appreciation for the Scandian officer’s breadth of knowledge and keen insights. The difference between this Salminen and the shaken, disoriented infantry captain who led the survivors of her company aboard Iolanthe after the pirate raid on Toboso a few years earlier was striking.
She turned to the communications station.
“Chief Day, please set up optical links with the task force vessels and pipe it to the conference room.”
“Sir.” A few minutes passed. “Everyone is online. The captains are standing by.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Holt. “Shall we?”
Holt climbed to his feet. “Commander Sirico, you have the CIC.”
“I have the CIC, Captain.”
Dunmoore still wasn’t used to hearing the combat systems officer exchange the time-honored words with her successor and she was momentarily taken aback, but thankfully no one noticed. Holt ushered her into the corridor, then allowed her to enter the conference room first and sit at the head of the table. Eight holographic projections had already taken their places. Holt sat in the empty spot immediately on her right.
“Can I assume everyone survived that last long jump without issues and is scouring the system on passive sensors?”
A smattering of ‘yes, sir’ and vigorous nods answered her question.
“Considering we came out of FTL in almost perfect formation, good station keeping, everyone.” A pause, then, “You can mark this date in your ship’s log. We came out of interstellar space closer to the Shrehari homeworld than any other human warship, not just in this war but in our entire history. And we did so without being detected.”
“Now what we need to do is return home and hand our navigation logs to the Fleet historians,” Commander Farren Vento said in a droll tone. “Otherwise, it didn’t happen.”
“Speaking of navigation, as discussed before leaving Commonwealth space, Lieutenant Drost will transmit an emergency jump plot within the hour, so we can escape as a single unit should we find ourselves unexpectedly faced with an overwhelming enemy formation.”
Holt, whose eyes were glued on a readout embedded in the table, said, “Already done, sir.”
“Thank you. We’ll cruise at sublight in this area for a while. Perhaps several days, until I’ve seen enough to develop a target list. Please send a copy of your sensor log to the flag CIC every six hours. We’ll merge your readings with Iolanthe’s to build a picture of this star system and the enemy’s activities. Needless to say, I expect everyone to maintain strong silent running discipline. Unless we accidentally stumble over a Shrehari surveillance platform or come within visual range of patrolling ships, we should stay undetected. Any questions?”
She looked at each of the holograms before ending with Holt. All shook their heads.
“Make sure you keep the optical comlinks live. The one thing we cannot afford is sending out stray radio waves. Thank you. We will speak again soon.”
Eight holos winked out of existence until only Holt remained.
“I’ll be in my quarters staying out of everyone’s way, Zeke.” She glanced at the conference room’s primary display time readout. “How about you and I reconvene here after supper, say at six bells in the dog watch? That’ll give your threat AI time to digest the first round of sensor logs.”
He nodded once.
“Yes, sir. What will you do in the meantime?”
“Continue tinkering with scenarios that’ll take us past Shrehari Prime’s moons undetected so we can give the folks at their admiralty a collective heart attack when we light up.”
Holt chuckled.
“Are you really considering something that — um — bold? They will have seeded their high orbitals with plenty of defense platforms. Perhaps even the moons.”
“No. But it keeps me busy and more importantly, amused.”
**
After supping in the wardroom, Dunmoore took a mug of coffee up to the conference room and settled in her accustomed chair. Moments later, Holt’s day cabin door opened, and he stepped through.
“Sir, you didn’t need to bring your own cup. I would gladly serve you from my urn.”
“Thank you, Zeke. I was probably operating on automatic whe
n I took it.”
“I know you want to make yourself unobtrusive because Iolanthe isn’t configured as a flagship, but please don’t take it to extremes.” He settled in beside her. “We enjoy taking care of you and don’t want your pennant moving to Hawkwood, should they fix that flag bridge and make it functional again. If you want a personal assistant, I’m sure Leading Spacer Vincenzo will gladly volunteer. Chief Dwyn can spare him for such a worthy cause.”
She gave Holt a tight smile.
“My personal needs are few. Poor Vincenzo would be bored to tears. If I ever need a steward for a formal supper or a ceremonial guard at my back, he’ll still be my first choice.” She raised her coffee. “I promise I’ll avail myself of the urn in your day cabin next time we meet here. Has the threat AI finished crunching the data?”
“Yes. I hope you didn’t plan on turning in early. We face a few hours of analysis already.”
“Who can sleep when we’re one FTL jump away from the enemy’s homeworld?”
“I don’t foresee any problems after we plow through the radio intercept summaries and visuals of eleven planets. You probably won’t either. In fact, we might wish to stop when we can no longer absorb information and leave the rest for tomorrow. As you said, if we don’t break silent running or come across the enemy at really close range, we can take our time.”
“Agreed.”
“Radio intercepts or visuals?”
“Let’s start with the visuals of Shrehari Prime. I doubt we’ll go anywhere near it, but who knows?”
“Even if we avoid the homeworld, we could always send them a copy of our analysis before leaving, just to show we mapped out their defensive arrays,” Holt suggested, half in jest.
“Not a bad idea, actually. There’s nothing quite as worrisome as knowing someone’s been taking images of your most intimate domestic arrangements.” When Holt raised a questioning eyebrow at her choice of words, she said, “I’ve been reading old psychological thrillers. Our pre-diaspora forebears were strange people.”