by Eric Thomson
“Was it?” Jokkainen turned to the main sensor board between him and the chief. “That was the target station, sir.”
“And the Tol?”
The main display wavered for a fraction of a second as the visual sensors obeyed Jokkainen’s orders before settling on a mangled black mass venting columns of freezing gases from various hull breaches. As they watched, a stream of large-bore plasma from Jan Sobieski’s main guns struck the wreck, eating through its unprotected shell until one of the rounds hit a vital spot, triggering a final explosion which blew the hapless ship apart.
For a moment, Dunmoore expected to hear ‘That never gets old’ from the sensor chief’s station, but she wasn’t in Iolanthe, and he wasn’t Chief Petty Officer Yens.
The rest of the group’s swing around Miqa passed in a blur and before long, they were heading back to the hyperlimit at maximum acceleration
“Sir, from Rooikat. She launched the recon drones. They went FTL for Shrehari Prime moments ago.”
“Thank you. A shame we’ll be in hyperspace when they make their pass. I’d love to see the Shrehari reaction to their appearance.”
“Icing on the cake, sir,” Pushkin replied. “We broke enough of their toys just now to make the emperor and his council rage at the heavens.”
“We most assuredly did.”
Dunmoore knew the moment they jumped into hyperspace, her stress-fueled adrenaline spike would crash. And that, coupled with a short, disturbed night’s sleep meant she would start yawning uncontrollably.
“I’ll be in my quarters, Captain. Once we’re FTL and stood down from battle stations, I would be grateful if you’d allow me to walk through the ship with you.”
“It would be my honor, sir.”
Pushkin didn’t need to ask why. He already knew. Speaking with individual crew members after a battle was one of her longstanding habits. It had become one of his too.
— Thirty-Five —
“I would raise my drink to our Speaker of the Kraal for a grand success this afternoon.” General Vagh, a foaming mug of ale in hand, stood. “And I invite you to join me.”
The rest of Brakal’s inner circle, assembled in the Makkar estate’s formal dining room to celebrate, followed suit. As Vagh raised his drink to his lips, a strange look came over his face, and he placed the mug down again so he could pull a small personal communicator from his robe’s inner pocket.
“What is it?” Admiral Edronh asked.
“My friend at the admiralty. He would not call me tonight of all nights on a trivial matter. My apologies.”
As Vagh read the message on the device’s small display, his face seemed to lose its dark coloration.
“No. No. No. This cannot be happening now. Maybe the gods do exist and are taking away the dynasty’s mandate to rule.”
He turned his eyes on Brakal.
“Those thrice-damned human imps attacked the home system earlier today. Our antimatter cracking and refueling complexes in Miqa and Hoqa orbits are gone along with their defense platforms. Destroyed by two strike groups, one of four ships and the other of five. They also wrecked a Tol class cruiser refueling at Miqa as well as two Ptars and an armed transport at Hoqa. The enemy ships escaped via otherspace virtually unscathed and are presumably heading for home. Trage has ordered one of the system’s assault divisions to hunt them.”
“We no longer have antimatter fueling capabilities in this system?” Edronh asked.
“Not until replacements are towed out from Shrehari Minor’s orbital yards. But there is more. Both Shrehari Prime and Shrehari Minor were targeted by enemy otherspace automated reconnaissance craft. Two per planet. They were destroyed, but not before they triggered both planets’ close-in defense arrays.” Humorless laughter escaped Vagh’s throat. “And presumably not before they sent back extensive intelligence.”
“This changes things,” Brakal said. “Once word gets out among the population, we could face civil unrest. That may lead Lady Kembri and Mishtak to panic and impose martial law.”
“Which will only make matters worse,” one of the admirals dismissed by Trage said. “We cannot wait on Mishtak to accept the Kraal’s demand for cooperation in ending this war, or for his and the council’s resignation.”
“Or for Lady Kembri to see reason by herself. You know what must be done, yes?” Another forcibly retired senior officer asked.
“Indeed.” Brakal took a sip of ale while he sorted through his thoughts. “We must stay ahead of events so that when word of the enemy attack reaches the streets, a new government has taken over by command of the regent. A government untainted by Mishtak’s council. One who can point at Mishtak as the author of our empire’s dishonor, thereby saving the dynasty from a bloody overthrow.”
“In that case, call Lady Kembri now and offer to save her and Tumek’s lives by taking over as ruler. She will dismiss Mishtak without hesitation and appoint a replacement who will serve pending the Kraal’s approval if it means her son becomes emperor upon his majority.” Vagh put his communicator away and raised his mug again. “An emperor guided by someone wiser than every governing council in living memory. All hail Kho’sahra Brakal.”
“We should put the question to the Kraal,” Brakal replied, eyes looking for the reactions of his inner circle at Vagh’s impetuous toast.
“Nonsense.” Edronh climbed to his feet. “Yes, the Kraal can appoint one of its own as kho’sahra, but the emperor or his regent can also put forward a dictator, provided he meets the requirements and is endorsed by the Kraal. If our goal is outrunning bad news, it must be done in the latter way, and I can think of no better candidate than the current Speaker of the Kraal. I promise you our fellow lords will endorse such a nomination by the regent.”
“Leaving you to choose a new speaker and me to find a member of Clan Makkar who can take my place.”
“Your cousin Hradeq would be most suitable. Is he not a ground forces general currently serving out on the frontiers somewhere?”
“Every family has its strange ones, but yes, Hradeq would be acceptable to the clan and the Kraal,” Brakal replied. He studied the two dozen Shrehari military lords around the table. “Are we, therefore, agreed on this course of action?”
“If Lady Kembri dismisses Mishtak and his council,” Edronh said, “and appoints you kho’sahra, I can speak for everyone present when I say we will serve the new government to the best of our abilities. Provided your aim is ending the war with honor. The dynasty cannot survive another raid on the home system, and we know what happens when ordinary citizens believe a dynasty is no longer favored by the gods.”
Brakal slapped the tabletop with an open palm.
“Then let it be done.”
He drained his mug of ale and stood.
“If my lords of the Kraal will excuse me, I must speak with Lady Kembri about the hairless apes’ latest outrage.”
**
To his surprise, Brakal faced Mishtak seconds after the imperial palace accepted the comlink from Clan Makkar’s estate.
“What do you want?” He growled.
“Your resignation and that of the other councilors before the news of this infamous human attack on our home system spreads.”
“Never. It is I who demands you resign as Speaker of the Kraal after adopting a motion that is nothing short of treasonous.”
“I will speak with Lady Kembri.”
“No,” Mishtak snarled.
“Then I will come to the Forbidden Quarter with an escort from the Fourth Imperial Assault Regiment and enter the palace at their head.”
For a moment, Mishtak seemed robbed of his ability to speak by the sheer ferocity in Brakal’s tone. When he recovered, he said, “You wish to precipitate a fratricidal uprising? Are you that addled by your thirst for power?”
Brakal put on an exasperated expression.
“Enough posturing. You know what will happen once word gets out. Rumors of the gods withdrawing their favor will stir up anger and fear, which
in turn guarantees unrest capable of toppling the dynasty. That will precipitate a fratricidal uprising. There is only one solution. Resign along with the rest of the council. Let Lady Kembri appoint a new government untainted by the decisions you took, decisions which culminated in the hairless apes striking at our empire’s heart.”
“A new government which will surrender to the damned creatures?” Mishtak sneered with contempt, but Brakal sensed growing uncertainty in his tone and expression.
“No. We will offer them an armistice and a return to how things were the day before you unwisely chose war as a way of consolidating your power.”
“Perhaps it would be sager if I ordered your arrest and that of those who support you, then declare martial law until this blows over. Maybe even launch an attack on their home system and show we can do anything they can, only better. Send a few dozen ships, perhaps.”
Brakal let out a sharp bark of laughter which echoed off the stone walls and carried back to the dining room.
“The humans will expect retaliation and prepare accordingly, you fool. No matter how many ships you send, they will be destroyed. And we cannot afford losses of such magnitude. The only way we can save the dynasty is through a change of government sanctioned by the regent. Arresting the four hundred and imposing martial law will merely precipitate the disaster you wish to prevent. Now let me speak with Lady Kembri, or you will next see me over the barrel of an assault trooper’s weapon. The Speaker of the Kraal is allowed unfettered access to the regent under our laws and traditions.”
The sound brusquely cut off when Mishtak turned to one side, lips moving as he spoke with someone beyond visual range. Then, without warning, Mishtak vanished, his tired face replaced by that of a richly bejeweled female. As he had every time he met Lady Kembri, Brakal wondered what the old emperor who could have any mate he wanted, saw in her.
“My Lady Regent.” He inclined his head in a respectful gesture.
“Lord Brakal. You find me discussing this latest outrage with Mishtak. How you heard of it even though Admiral Trage was ordered to keep the news secret is something I will not ask.”
“Then you understand what will happen once word reaches the ears of the common people, Regent. And it will. One way or another and within a matter of days.”
“That sounds curiously close to a threat.”
“A fact. If I found out within mere hours, then others will know by now. As I told Mishtak—”
“I heard everything you said.”
“Then I urge you to heed my advice, Regent. For the sake of Emperor Tumek, you must replace the government which allowed the enemy to desecrate our home system by one which will make sure the war ends with honor. Otherwise, your son might no longer have a throne when he comes of age. Place the fault on Mishtak’s governing council, dismiss it, and install a new government with the mandate to seek an armistice. It is the only way we will get through this without seeing Shrehari spill Shrehari blood. Any scheme Mishtak might devise to keep power will imperil your dynasty.”
“What would you do if I refuse and instead sanction your arrest, the imposition of martial law, and aggressive continuation of our fight against the humans?”
Brakal’s lips curled back.
“You know the answer to that question, Regent. It would mean your dynasty does not survive.”
“You would remove Tumek?”
“Not me personally. But the people will, once they see how you insist on supporting a government which has brought dishonor on the empire. Do not expect the Imperial Armed Forces to spill civilian blood so you can keep the throne for Tumek. The Tai Kan might open fire on ordinary citizens, but I would not rely overmuch on them either. Many, if not most in both services, will share the people’s views.”
Kembri tilted her head to one side as she studied Brakal through black within black eyes.
“You would see me replace the current leadership with who or what, Lord Brakal?”
Did he sense the regent’s support for her governing council waver?
“Whatever or whoever you choose, if that choice is a clean break with Mishtak and his disastrous policies, and is committed to ending the war instead of seeking a final victory which will forever be out of our reach.”
“Should I punish Mishtak?”
The unexpected question took Brakal by surprise. Perhaps Lady Kembri understood the precariousness of her position and saw the current governing council members as potential sacrifices which might appease an angry citizenry. But he knew better than cornering a kroorath without leaving it an escape route.
“No. Let him and the other councilors retire and live on their estates, never to set foot in Shredar again.”
Kembri turned her head to one side.
“And you, Mishtak. If I dismiss the governing council, will you go into retirement without causing trouble?”
“Of course, Regent. We serve only at your pleasure.”
Did Brakal hear a note of relief in Mishtak’s voice? Perhaps he had finally concluded it would be better for his continued health if someone else dealt with the fallout of the human attack.
“Then you are dismissed. I expect you and the council to leave the Forbidden Quarter within the hour.”
“As you command, Regent.”
Kembri’s attention turned back on Brakal.
“Now tell me who I should appoint to rule in my son’s name.”
“Not who, Lady. What. In troubled times such as these, naming a kho’sahra with full powers is the best choice, an individual who will cleanse the imperial administration and keep the dynasty safe.”
“The kho’sahra must come from among the military lords of the Kraal, must he not?”
“That is the tradition. Though you can name him and ask the Kraal to ratify his appointment after the fact. I suggest you do so quickly and announce the change of government in response to the day’s events.”
Amusement seemed to radiate from Kembri’s eyes as she asked her next question.
“Who would you suggest? You know the military lords better than I do. Or will you serve the empire as kho’sahra?”
“If you wish me to do so, Regent, I could scarcely refuse.”
“Then you are my son’s kho’sahra from this moment on. Save the empire, save my dynasty, and find peace with honor.”
Brakal bowed his head.
“I pledge my life to your son, Lady Kembri, and to the empire’s welfare.”
She acknowledged his oath with a regal gesture before saying, “I will publish the proclamation momentarily. Lady Adjur, who has heard everything we said, is even now drafting it for me. I expect to see you in the palace tomorrow morning at the ninth hour with a preliminary plan of governance. You may nominate whoever you want to whichever position you wish, but I will ratify your choices.”
“You understand I will change most of the administration’s senior officials, starting at the admiralty.”
“I expect you to dismiss Mishtak’s people, Kho’sahra. Replace them with competent, honest, and honorable Shrehari. That is all I ask.”
“I will.”
“In that case, begin your task. Goodnight.”
Kembri cut the link leaving Brakal with his thoughts. A victory for him and his supporters. Brakal took a few moments to regain his calm. The speed at which he achieved his aim left him somewhat dizzy. And more than a little daunted by his new responsibilities. No one thought Lady Kembri would dismiss the council so quickly. Perhaps he had misjudged her intelligence and ruthlessness.
When he re-entered the dining room, everyone present jumped to their feet while Vagh called out, “The Kho’sahra” and saluted him with a clenched fist.
“We stand at your orders, Supreme Commander.”
“So the proclamation is out?”
“Delivered to our devices moments ago.”
“Lady Adjur is remarkably efficient.”
“Perhaps you should steal her away from the regent,” Edronh suggested, grinning.
/> “Instead of making facetious proposals, Admiral of the First Rank, start thinking about who you want as your senior command team.”
“Trage is out?”
“He will be when I see him tomorrow morning, before meeting with the regent. She wants my initial governance plan, and we have but one night to draft it.”
“Then call on your servants for tvass, lots of it,” Vagh said, to the general approval of his fellow military lords. “There is much we must discuss and many of us you must nominate so we can throw out Mishtak’s familiars before the sun sets tomorrow.”
— Thirty-Six —
Dunmoore entered Pushkin’s day cabin and headed straight for the samovar under the latter’s amused gaze.
“Your Lieutenant Jokkainen will never speak Shrehari understandably, but he sure is trying. Don’t be surprised if he uses his newfound knowledge of bonehead insults on his messmates.”
“Tupo’s shooting score was almost perfect, and you promised...” She handed him a mug of tea. “Thank you.”
“He did well.” Dunmoore dropped into the chair across from Pushkin and sighed. “I hope Zeke’s group was just as successful. Not knowing feels as if I have a tiny pebble in my boot, one digging into my foot with every step.”
“We could have tried to raise him before jumping out.”
“No. It was better we kept radio silence, just in case. A nervous commodore’s need for reassurance doesn’t count as a reason for breaking it.”
“Meaning it’s my job to soothe a frazzled flag officer.” Pushkin cocked a questioning eyebrow. “Should I break out the chess set?”
“No. And I shouldn’t be drinking this black stuff you pass off as tea either and try to sleep instead.”
“Why? We’re in the middle of the forenoon watch.”
“Right.” Dunmoore took a tentative sip. “The tyranny of time. That’s my reward for starting a fight in the middle of a starship’s night.”
“If you’re that tired, may I note we’re facing eight hours in FTL before we drop out at the rendezvous point? I seem to recall a certain commodore pointing out she was of no use while her flagship traveled in hyperspace, cut off from the rest of her command.”