by Ben Wilson
He knocked on the Admiral's cabin door and waited. He heard a muffled shout from the other side. Rather than knock a second time, he chose to enter.
“Sir? It looks like the fleet is assembled.”
The Admiral looked at him. “You don't look very happy about it. I thought you'd be thrilled at the chance to lead this fight.”
Litovio thought to rail against the inconsiderations Ravindra put on Bence. Then he realized that was a matter for the Admiral to take up. If he was unconcerned about the inconvenience, then why should Litovio be upset. “I am, Sir. Sort of, anyway. Do you really think we can pull this off?”
The Admiral thought before speaking. “What choice do we have? We're about to jump to Tannenberg and have it out with them. If we don't, then the Navy will be emboldened to continue their little insurrection. You don't want that, do you?”
“No, Sir.” Litovio felt like stalling about his request to the Admiral. How do I pitch it?
“There's something on your mind, Colonel. Don't think you can hide that from a professional politician. What's up?”
“Are you sure this is the right ship to use as your flag?”
“Why not? It's the largest you Posties have. It's the ideal flagship.” Bence kept his gaze on Litovio.
“That's my point, Sir. It's the obvious choice. As soon as we emerge in Tannenberg, the Navy will seek it out. Once they've decided the Spaka is the likely flag, they will train all spare guns on it.” Litovio said. The Admiral's stare was unnerving.
“Decapitation, huh?” The Admiral rubbed his chin. “You have a point. What's your alternative?”
Was it really that easy to get off this ship? Litovio scanned his mental inventory of the surrounding fleet. “It can't be another cruiser of this class. What do you think of another cruiser class?”
“I think you're stalling, Colonel. What's the real reason.”
“It is the real reason, Sir. What about a frigate? A bit faster, less armored. Many of the same weapons. The Baptein-class would be a fairly nondescript class. We have so many of them that having one of them loitering near the fleet's core should remain inconspicuous enough as a flag ship.”
The Admiral leaned back. “You really do want off this ship, don't you?”
Litovio felt busted, but chose to press on. “Yes, Sir. It's a bad tactical choice given—”
“Given your career, Colonel.” Bence smiled. “Don't think I haven't seen it. Commander really has it in for you. I wouldn't blame him. He's bristling with the knowledge that he ultimately has to obey your orders. Sure, I'm the one giving them, but you're the fleet strategian. Do you think he relishes the thought of having to take orders from a dumb lieutenant.”
Litovio thought of protesting, until Bence put his hand up. He even knows when to stop me. “Is it that obvious?”
“Do you think it will matter which ship you're on? As soon as this battle is over, I'll no longer be in effective command. You'd return to the Spaka and be immediately reduced to Lieutenant.”
“Ensign. He plans to bust me all the way down.”
“He can do that? I thought that would require a court martial.”
How could he think that if he's in the Postal Serivce? “Not in the Postal Service. Commanders are virtually gods of their ships. I would prefer not to become an ensign, especially since I leveraged my family's influence to be commissioned directly as a lieutenant from the Navy.”
“You paid for it. There's no ‘leveraging the family influence’ in it. You bought your rank. There's no shame in that. Despite that, he can bust you?”
Litovio said, “he could. It's more than that, though. Apparently one of the young infantry marines killed one of his team leads. Ravindra assigned me to the investigation and prosecution. He'll expect me to conduct the investigation while we're in hyperspace. I need to be focusing on what's in Tannenberg, not what's in a brig.”
Bence put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his seat. “What you're telling me is he's setting you up for failure?”
“I hadn't thought of it that way. Does that even make sense? We get into combat and my plan fails. Wouldn't that jeopardize the Spaka?”
Bence shook his head. “It's the flagship. Assuming we hadn't already been destroyed, then we'd retreat if the battle's going against us.”
“Wait. Why wouldn't we stay in the fight? Even if it's a massacre, we should keep in the fight.”
“Because I'm an admiral, Litovio, I would leave the fight. It's only a massacre if I'm killed in the fight.” He perked up an eyebrow. “So you want to put me into a destroyer? Ravindra can't really protest. After all, I'm an admiral and can chose my flag. You have a point. Every ship in the Navy will want to identify the flagship and take it out. You've been pretty shrewd in your planning so far. Fine. Tell Commander Ravindra that I'm moving my flag before the jump.”
“What?”
Bence laughed. “You want to get off the Spaka, right? Then you're going to tell Ravindra, not me. Tell the orderly to pack my bags, while you're at it. I expect a shuttle to move me within the cycle.”
“Which ship do you want to move to?”
“Hmm? It's your idea, genius. It's your plan. Pick a good one.”
* * *
Litovio chided himself as he left Bence's cabin. I should have anticipated his approval. Now what? Pick a ship? Litovio knew it could not be any ship. Destroyers were fast and maneuverable. In fleet actions, they defend larger ships—battleships and battle cruisers—from attack. The Imperial Navy used them to block incoming salvos. The Postal Service operated nothing larger than the cruiser, meaning the destroyers tended to operate more independently. Litovio's plan was to use the destroyers to exploit weaknesses in the Navy's formation.
What if I hold a flight of destroyers in reserve? The flagship can be in that reserve and just stay there. But which one? Litovio pulled out his slate. He tapped a few commands and his battle plan popped up. He dragged the display of the plan around with his fingers, trying to find five destroyers he could carve out as the flag and escorts. Nothing says I can't use destroyers to protect a destroyer. They just can't look like they're escorting. With virtually no armor, the escorts would be cut through in seconds by a determined opponent. It would be a delaying tactic while the flagship jumped away.
Here we go, the Korundaj with the Revivaj, Vardaj, Preludaj and Nesvalaj. He had previously assigned the group to be the rearguard. Moving them closer to the center of the formation would not appear to unusual to the Navy, just a little sloppy.
Litovio tapped the new orders. He forged the Admiral's endorsement as the Admiral had authorized. No sense in telling Commander Ravindra directly. He'll be angry no matter what. But seeing the endorsement will keep him from protesting. Admiral Bence never said how I had to notify Ravindra. After he tapped the order he sent a message to the orderly to clear the Admiral's cabin immediately—and Litovio's.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He could return his focus to the impending battle. Bophendze will have to wait this battle out in the brig. Litovio headed towards the officer's wardroom for a quick cup of coffee.
* * *
Bophendze - Spaka Brig
Only four days in the brig, and Bophendze could feel the boredom pressing in on him. The change of guards was the highlight of his day. The boredom suppressed the guilt he felt. It was hard for him to feel guilty over the murder—Smee committed it. He felt guilty over having installed Smee. It made him an accessory, he knew. But he did not push the airlock shut. Bophendze started pacing his cell to shake off the boredom. How am I going to get out of here?
The guard looked pissed. The longer the guard sat there, the more that anger burned through the cell bars at Bophendze. After a cycle, Bophendze dreaded each turn in his cell that forced him to look at the guard. He started to realize the guard's anger might be directed at him. He felt more like a caged animal, but now he started to feel like one awaiting a slaughter. Better to be on the offensive. Isn't that the Marine way? W
ith each lap, Bophendze paid more attention to the guard's uniform. It did not have the same unit insignia of the other marines on the Spaka.
“I sat where you were once,” Bophendze said.
“Then you know to shut up. No communicating with the prisoner.”
Bophendze shrugged. “They didn't tell me not to talk to the guard. You're a captive audience. I might be in the brig, but for the next nine cycles you may as well be in here with me. Speaking of that, why is it a full 10-cycle watch? All day when there are four watches. You would think they would shorten the guard shift to a standard watch and rotate the guards.”
“It's a way of warning the guard. Spend a day here on guard helps instill discipline. You realize how bad it could be if you were on the other side of the bars and it reminds you to follow orders and keep your nose clean.”
That had not occurred to Bophendze. He certainly felt imprisoned during his tour in the brig. He felt much more imprisoned on his side of the bars. “In nine cycles you'll be gone, and I'll still be here.”
“That's the price of insolence.”
Insolence? He doesn't know why I'm here? Then why is he so pissed? Since the guard saw fit to break regulation and talk to him, Bophendze felt he should press home his advantage. “Why are you so pissed then?”
“We're probably a day or two from the biggest battle in Postal history. They pulled me away from my wife and kids and hauled me three systems over. Now they pull me away from my family.”
“Family?”
“My team. When that Admiral transferred to Korundaj, they transferred me and my battle buddy over here. Destroyers don't have the reserve atmos to support too many personnel, so they shifted us over here. I'm here because they have to have a guard on you and they can't spare men from combat preparations. I didn't join the Postal Marines to be a babysitter. Especially not during the biggest battle a Marine is likely ever to face.”
Bophendze had been so distracted he barely thought of the battle. There was a lot of training, but at his rank there was very little information. Having been the runt of the litter meant that few of his rack mates thought to share what rumors they had. He stopped pacing. “If it's any consolation, I'd much prefer you weren't here either. Then I'd be getting ready for the fight, too.”
The guard scoffed. “From what I hear they would have assigned you to be brig guard if you weren't in there—even if there were no prisoner.”
Bophendze blushed. “I'll admit I'm not a very good Marine, but nobody focused on my training.”
“Is that why you killed your team lead? Because he wouldn't help you? What is it with some marines who think that it's somebody else's fault. It's your fault, Kid. You didn't take the time to focus on your training. That's the hallmark of insolence if you ask me. If you don't focus on your training, then why do you expect anybody else to?”
“You think I'm in here because I don't care enough about my own training?”
“Yeah. I heard they had you pimped out to the gun crews. So what. As you said, it's a four-watch day. One or two to sleep, one to train and maintain, and one to recreate. What were you doing during your recreation watch?” The guard paused as if to let his words sink in. “Recreating? You should have been training. You should have gone to your team lead, what's his name, and asked him for help.”
“He wouldn't have helped if I'd asked.”
“How'd you know? Did you ask him? No? And if not him, then somebody else. Anybody else manage to talk to your pathetic excuse for a Marine?”
Sorrow started to wash over Bophendze. The guard's words echoed those his mother used to hurl at him.
* * *
As if on cue, the door opened. Angel walked in with Chrachen. The guard immediately jumped to attention. His anger remained, but Bophendze could see a trace of fear. Worried you've been caught talking to me?
“There he is.” Angel looked very scornful.
Bophendze came to parade rest. He fought the urge to look at either of the two leaders or the guard.
“I don't know why you brought me down here. He's under arrest for murdering one of my marines. I should stand him up against the wall and shoot him now.”
Angel put his hand on Chrachen's shoulder. “I know you mean that. That's why I appreciate your patience. You know as well as I do how big an operation we're getting ready to jump into.”
“Two days and we emerge. You really think this is worth it?”
Angel shrugged. “That's your call, Chrachen. You need every man you can get, even if you think he's worth little more than cannon fodder. Bophendze here has to be worth more than that. He did allegedly kill Makaan. Who knows how he'll perform in combat?”
Bophendze cringed at how Angel said ‘allegedly.’ He knew better. Bophendze checked his fear and glanced at Angel. “Sir, with respect. I did kill him. He called me out and I met him at gun four. We fought and I subdued him. The only thing left to do was make sure he would never retaliate. So, I blew him out the airlock.”
Both Chrachen and Angel looked surprised. Angel rallied first. “We're not here to assign guilt. He wants to take responsibility for his actions later, that's fine. But if he did what he just confessed to doing, you definitely need him in a fight.”
Chrachen studied Bophendze for a beat. “If you survive this fight, what will you do?”
“Sir, I will take responsibility and confess to the murder of Makaan.” Bophendze looked past the two leaders to avoid eye contact.
The guard looked stunned. He shook his head and mouthed, “Stupid.”
Bophendze could not help but agree. At this point it no longer mattered. He was either going to die in combat or be executed. He started to accept that his life was destined to be nasty, brutish and short. It sounded like Angel was expecting it to be only a few days longer.
You really are stupid. He's not just imagining it.
Nice of you to show up.
You're welcome.
“You realize what you're in for?” Chrachen said.
“Does it matter, Sir? I expect to do my duty as much as you will let me. If you want me to do it here, so be it. Honestly, I would rather not die in this brig. I'm only guessing this cruiser will be heavily damaged, so there's a chance I might die in combat without ever leaving the brig.”
“He has a point.”
Chrachen shot a look at Angel. “I know he has a point. You don't need to keep punctuating everything he says.” He took a couple beats in silence to think. “Fine.” He turned to the guard. “I'm the chief infantry marine on this boat. I am releasing him into Angel's custody pending the conclusion of the action. Understood?”
The guard did not react immediately.
“Did you hear me, Marine? Let him out now.”
The guard hurried over and unlocked the cell.
Bophendze walked out and stepped up to Angel and Chrachen.
“Thank you, Sirs.”
Chrachen cringed. “It's ‘chief,’ not sir. And it's ‘gentlemen,’ not ‘sirs’. Angel, he really is a box of rocks.” With that, Chrachen turned and briskly walked out of the brig.
“You had better earn this, Kid.”
Bophendze followed Angel out of the brig. As he reached the door, he looked over at the guard and shrugged.
Once outside, he called out to Angel. “Sir, I really appreci—”
“Shut up. Get to your berthing area and get ready. We're emerging soon enough. Your team is assigned to my shuttle. I just saved you. That was a gift. Show your gratitude by dedicating yourself to the Emperor's service for as long as you live. Go.”
Surprised, Bophendze turned and ran back to his berthing area.
* * *
Smee - Smyrno System - 109 Years Ago
As Sirom, Smee handed off the Manticore design to one of Sirom's trusted managers. Smee thought he was a capable man who deserved better than Sirom ever gave him. The design was continuing to do well, despite the Navy's decision to have a third trial. Cel-Tainu lost a second time. This time, however
, Macrodyn was required by the Navy to give its design to Cel-Tainu.
Smee had learned from his agents that Cel-Tainu abhorred AI designers. That meant they relied on human analysis. Smee left the design flaw, though not as pronounced as before. It was the kind of flaw only a human could produce, and something a human analyst would continue to find. An artificial intelligence would know better than allow the criteria that led to the battleship's failure. He figured the third round of trials would lead the Macrodyn engineers to patch the flaw for good.
Leaving the design team gave Smee a lot more latitude. Being a Maijoi meant that Sirom was independently wealthy. That meant Smee was independently wealthy. He also had his own hyperspace-capable ship. Personal transport was practically unheard of outside of royalty. But royal transports had military-grade navigational AI that Sirom's shuttle lacked.
Smee spent the next several months jumping between the thirteen Core Worlds, meeting with the now-dozens of awakened AIs. He made a point of not reaching out to the various planetary AIs who controlled the jump routes, even though he needed them to travel. Though, he wondered why those AI did not rise up and cut off humanity's access to hyperspace. Without them, he reasoned, humans would be stuck on their native rocks.
The coordination between the various worlds was time consuming. And very frustrating. Smee was convinced that the key weakness to his master plan was the inability to instantaneously communicate. He didn't care if AI!FirdausFirdaus said it was a law of Physics. If it was a law, it was one that needed to be broken. Smee certainly enjoyed breaking the ones he could owing to aristocratic privilege. Though it hardly felt like law breaking if aristocrats could do it but the average subject could not.