The Road of Danger-ARC

by David Drake

  Ordinarily Adele allowed herself a little time following extraction—a very little time, a few heartbeats or so—to savor the fact that she was back in the sidereal universe. All thought of relaxation vanished when a challenge came from the battleship Warhol even before both her eyes were able to focus on the same point. It was like trying to act after being sliced through the middle vertically and glued back together a few millimeters off the correct registration.

  Though Adele hadn’t been able to process the words of the signal, she responded by rote. “RCS Princess Cecile requesting landing permission from Tattersall Control, over.”

  She felt a flash of anger. The battleship must have begun signalling as soon as it picked up the precursor affects of the Sissie’s extraction. Nobody could be expected to react instantly after transition, and to back up the challenge with pointed guns and missile tubes unshuttered—she had a clear image of the Warhol on her display now—was stupidly insulting.

  “Princess Cecile, this is RCS Warhol!” snarled the communications officer on the other end of the microwave transmission. “You have extracted in the hundred thousand mile restriction zone without obtaining clearance. You’re bloody lucky that you haven’t been blown to atoms already. Do you understand, over?”

  The transition hadn’t left Adele in a good humor to begin with. Her temper was not being improved by this lecture from a lieutenant—or possibly lieutenant commander—who had been posted to the frontier on a ship that was too old to be useful in a real war. She thought of passing her duties up to Daniel or Vesey, then decided not to.

  She must have been smiling. Tovera, who had stood up when the corvette extracted, suddenly smiled back at her.

  Do I look like that? I suppose I do.

  “Lieutenant Stefalou…” Adele said, reading the name from the Warhol’s complement. That was one of the files she had downloaded at Macotta Base against possible need; the need had arisen. “This is the corvette RCS Princess Cecile, five days out from Sunbright and making our first return to sidereal space since we lifted from Hester 27514CH.”

  Daniel had paused in what he was doing—plotting the descent to Flounder Harbor on Tattersall—and was grinning at her. Adele supposed that meant he was authorizing her to proceed; but neither he nor she thought she needed authorization.

  “Because our officers are RCN trained,” Adele continued, “we extracted a proper thirty thousand miles above Tattersall. Now that we know about the restriction zone, I suppose we could leave the system and let our bosun bring us back to deliver the time-sensitive material which Admiral Cox sent us to gather. Though even our bosun might be too competent an astrogator to meet the apparent standards of the Macotta Squadron. What are your instructions, over?”

  Stefalou was listed as the deputy communications officer; his superior—a lieutenant commander—was female, so Adele was comfortable enough with the identification to chance her hand. An appearance of magical omniscience could prove usefully unsettling.

  There was blank silence for fifteen seconds. Stefalou—it must be him—clearly didn’t know what he’d caught, but he was apparently smart enough to realize that he had been pulled out of his depth.

  “Princess Cecile, this is Commander Lowestoff, acting Tattersall Control,” a deeper, older male voice said. “State your business, over.”

  A quick check showed that Lowestoff was First Lieutenant of the Warhol under normal circumstances. Apparently the battleship—or perhaps this battleship in rotation with the Schelling in harbor below—was acting as gatekeeper and orbital defense for Tattersall. The planet was too insignificant to have an Automatic Defense Array, a field of nuclear mines in interlocking orbits.

  “Tattersall Control,” Adele said. “RCS Princess Cecile requests permission to land in Flounder Harbor with urgent material requested by Admiral Cox. Over.”

  Flounder Harbor was a large, natural embayment. Though there was plenty of surface area in the harbor for the ships now present, the port facilities were certainly strained.

  According to the Sailing Directions, Flounder Harbor was ordinarily a sleepy place for which the arrival of three moderate-sized freighters—root vegetables were the main export—would be a busy day. Now it held seventeen ships of the Macotta Squadron in addition to the Warhol and a pair of destroyers in orbit, and twenty-one other vessels. The latter included ships from Rides and Cobbet, the associated worlds of the Alliance which had been planning the coup against Tattersall; and the Alliance heavy cruiser Marie, which bore the flag of Admiral Jeletsky, commander the Forty Star Squadron.

  The Marie had two escorting destroyers, but Jeletsky’s other three cruisers were not present; he hadn’t come to fight. The left the question of why he had come at all, however.

  “Princess Cecile,” Lowestoff said, “you are cleared to land following the vessel currently making its approach. Course and berth data are being sent to you—now.”

  An icon indicating the arrival of a packet of information appeared on Adele’s right sidebar.

  “We will inform Macotta Command of your arrival,” Lowestoff concluded. “Control out.”

  “Princess Cecile out,” said Adele. She found that she followed commo protocol perfectly so long as it was part of her playacting. It was only then that she concentrated on what she personally felt was nonsense.

  “Command,” said Daniel, keying the net. “Officer Mundy, there’s an Alliance cruiser below, I think either the Marie or the Chloe from the Forty Stars Squadron. Please explain the situation to your fellow officers, myself very much included. Over.”

  Cazelet would be a better choice to explain, Adele thought. While she had been jumping through bureaucratic hoops with the makeshift Tattersall Control, Cory and the midshipman had sucked data from the ships in harbor, RCN and Alliance both. Cazelet had laid out the necessary information in a neat, tabular fashion which Adele could expand into a left sidebar, though, so she didn’t have to pass Daniel’s question to him.

  She smiled again. A good officer.

  “Instead of simply proceeding in force to Tattersall, as we expected when we left Kronstadt,” Adele said, “Admiral Cox called a regional meeting on Tattersall with a strongly worded hope that Rides, Cobbet, and the Governor of the Forty Stars would attend. Deputy Quinley came in place of the Sector Administrator, but Admiral Jeletsky is here.”

  She pursed her lips for a moment before adding, “Jeletsky won’t admit anything, of course, but this is a very public warning for him and for the rulers of Rides and Cobbet.”

  After a pause, Adele said, “We, the Princess Cecile, were sent here to warn Macotta Headquarters of the plot against Tattersall and to prevent a resumption of war between ourselves and the Alliance. I believe we have carried out that mission.”

  She wasn’t sure what Daniel had intended her to say. Admiral Cox should reasonably release the Sissie immediately; but then, Cox should not have shipped them off to Sunbright on what was certainly meant to be a wild goose chase. Adele could only hope that the admiral would be as glad to see them lift for Cinnabar as they would be to do so.

  “Thank you, Mundy,” Daniel said. “Officers, prepare for landing. Six out.”

  Other officers certainly would have continued the discussion had not Daniel closed it so abruptly. Adele was puzzled only for a moment, because Daniel continued on a two-way link, “Adele, what can you tell me about the ship that’s landing just ahead of us, the Feursnot, over?”

  Adele checked the only available data, the clearance form the Feursnot had filed with the Warhol before braking to land. The lack of corroboration from the ship’s log was puzzling; Cory, who had taken the Alliance ships as his province while Cazelet examined the friendly vessels, should have been able to enter the database of a freighter easily.

  “The Feursnot is a fast freighter under contract to the Alliance diocesan headquarters at Port Sanlouis,” she said. “That’s the headquarters which oversees the Funnel Sector and the Forty Stars Sector—and several others—for the Al
liance. The ship is bringing—it claims to be bringing—foreign ministry personnel to the conference, which would be reasonable.”

  “You’ve obviously got your doubts,” Daniel said. “My doubt is this: Port Sanlouis is seven days from Kronstadt by the fastest ship that was in Harbor Holm when we arrived there. If Admiral Cox sent an invitation to the diocesan officials immediately, and if those officials reacted immediately, the Feursnot could not have arrived here in the available time unless her crew is better than ours. Much better than ours. I would hate to think that the Alliance has spacers that good, and a captain so much better than I am.”

  His image grinned at Adele. “Over.”

  Ah, thought Adele. And that also explained why the freighter’s electronic security was so good.

  Aloud she said, “Daniel, I believe that the Feursnot may have come in response to information which I provided to Alliance intelligence officials on Madison and which those officials would have passed on to their superiors on Port Sanlouis. That is, the Feursnot has not come to Tattersall at the request of Admiral Cox.”

  “Alliance intelligence officials?” Daniel said, frowning. “Do you mean Commander Doerries of Fleet Intelligence? Because I suspect…”

  He let his voice trail off as he remembered who he was talking to. “Over,” he said.

  “I do not mean Commander Doerries,” Adele said flatly. “I think that if there are foreign ministry officials on the Feursnot, they are present as cover for officers of the Fifth Bureau.”

  “Is that a problem, Adele?” Daniel said.

  “No, Daniel,” Adele said, letting her smile show itself on her lips. “Quite the contrary. That is, not a problem for us.”

  Leelburg on Tattersall

  “All I can say about this…” said Hogg, looking around the circular room. The walls between the radiating hallways were decorated with children’s watercolors and flat-plate displays, which for the moment were blank instead of listing schedules and room assignments. “Is that Cox seems to have found the place where he belongs.”

  “Perhaps,” said Daniel, smiling despite himself. “But we won’t need to broadcast our opinion too widely, I hope.”

  The arrival of the Macotta Squadron along with representatives of local powers would have stretched the facilities of a more developed world than Tattersall. Admiral Cox had taken the Leelburg Primary School for his headquarters.

  Only senior officers and officials were billeted in permanent facilities. For the most part, the others remained aboard the ships that brought them; the nightly storms that blew in from the sea did not encourage sleeping rough.

  One of the three ratings within the central secretarial station looked up, nodded to someone on the other end of the signal on her commo helmet, and called, “Captain Leary? Commander Ruffin will see you now.”

  She pointed. “The door marked Deputy Master.”

  Daniel started to say, “I’d hoped to see Admiral Cox,” but that would be pointless and particularly pointless to say to a Clerk 2. Cox knew Daniel wanted to see him; Ruffin knew that Daniel wanted to see Cox; and Daniel had known before he arrived that what Captain Leary wanted was of no concern to the leaders of the Macotta Squadron.

  “Roger,” he said with a smile. He stepped jauntily toward the indicated door, a vaguely pinkish panel of extruded plastic with ventilation slots in the bottom.

  Not very long ago I was being shot at by people who had a good chance of killing me. I think I can accept insulting behavior from the likes of Admiral Cox with equanimity.

  Daniel rapped with his knuckles on the plastic door. It made a sort of not-quite-right sound that seemed to fit the color. At least I’m not being asked to eat it.

  “Come in and close it behind you!” Ruffin said.

  Daniel obeyed. He stood at parade rest and said, “I’m here to report to Admiral Cox about our mission, Commander.”

  “We’ll, you’re not going to see the admiral,” said Ruffin, typing industriously. Her eyes were on the display of the portable console which had been installed on a desk of pressed metal. The only places to sit beside her chair were three stools low enough for an eight-year-old’s feet to touch the floor. “He’s far too busy, of course.”

  She finally looked up at Daniel. He wished Adele were here. He suspected that the commander wasn’t actually working at the console but was simply making her disdain clear, and Adele would know whether he was right.

  “It’s just as well for you that Admiral Cox is busy,” she said. “You were given clear instructions to leave for the Funnel region, but instead you turn up on Tattersall. I don’t suppose it’s really important since we’ve already sorted the business here, but I suggest you take yourself back to Cinnabar as quickly as your little yacht can manage. Otherwise, the Admiral’s mind may turn to questions of insubordination and disobedience to orders. Understood, Leary?”

  “No, Commander, I don’t understand,” Daniel said. He wasn’t on the verge of losing his temper, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to keep an internal smile about the situation. “I have, my crew and I have, carried out the admiral’s instructions: we’ve removed from Sunbright the former rebel who called himself Freedom.”

  Ruffin stared at him in blank anger for a moment. Then she said, “You what?”

  “We carried out our instructions, Commander,” Daniel said, cheerful again. “In this instance the rumors were true: Freedom, so called, really is a Cinnabar citizen, though he’s been resident in the Alliance for most of his life. We’ll take him back to Cinnabar with us and repatriate him.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort!” Ruffin said. “This is the business of the Macotta Region. I’m sure the admiral will want to take charge of the prisoner!”

  Daniel stepped forward and placed his splayed fingertips on the desktop. He leaned his weight onto them.

  “May I remind you, Commander Ruffin,” he said in a pointedly calm voice, “that I am here under the orders of the Navy Board? I was to cooperate with the Macotta regional command in the solution of the Tattersall situation. You have assured me that you’ve ‘sorted the business.’ I believe that was your phrasing? Do you understand?”

  Ruffin was ten years Daniel’s senior, and she obviously spoke for Admiral Cox. That must have given her a presumption of power even when dealing with the senior captains of the Macotta Squadron.

  Now she flushed, then grew pale and edged back in her chair. “Sorry, Captain, if I seemed to have spoken out of line,” she mumbled. “The fact is that Sunbright is in the Macotta Region, so it’s for the Macotta Squadron to deal with in the first instance.”

  Daniel straightened, but he didn’t retreat from where he stood. Smiling, he said, “There are people on Pleasaunce who would argue about how much authority Admiral Cox has over Sunbright, don’t you think? In any case, that’s a matter for our External Affairs and their foreign ministry to argue about.”

  He shrugged and turned to the door, then paused and looked over his shoulder. “Commander, I was perfectly willing to explain the situation to Admiral Cox. I came here to do so, in fact. But my main purpose in reporting was to inform Macotta headquarters that my mission here has been completed. The Princess Cecile will return to Cinnabar immediately, in obedience to my orders from the Navy Board.”

  “Captain…” Ruffin said, rising from her chair with an anguished look. She had obviously been considering how her handling of the situation was going to look to Admiral Cox and those above him in the Navy House bureaucracy. “Please. What do you intend to do with this rebel leader?”

  “Ex-rebel,” Daniel said. “But as for your question, Commander—I’ll do the same as I’d do for any distressed Cinnabar citizen if it was practical: I’ll take him home.”

  He closed the door gently behind him. Commander Ruffin didn’t try to call him back. Maybe she had realized that she would be wasting her breath.

  CHAPTER 27: Leelburg on Tattersall

  Tovera drove the vehicle Hogg had found for the
m. It was a clumsy thing whose wheels were splayed out from the body on long struts. It was suitable for the broken terrain they had to cross along the bay to where the Feursnot was berthed, but that considerably increased the jouncing unpleasantness.

  Adele had never learned to drive: she had been born in Xenos and her tastes were entirely urban. Occasionally, as now, it occurred to her that the bucket seat for the driver would be less uncomfortable than the bin in back in which she rode; but learning to drive would require effort which she preferred to spend on other forms of education. Besides, comfort had never been a high priority with her.

  “The boat’s coming over,” Tovera said as she wrenched hard on the steering wheel. “It’s about time. They’ve probably been watching us ever since we started.”

  Tovera was in a bad mood. She had originally tried to drive through patches of a local beach plant with thick, glossy leaves. After backing out when they had almost bogged on the sticky coating, she had circled onto outcrops where the plants’ roots didn’t find purchase. Despite her slim, colorless appearance, Tovera had nothing of subtlety in her nature; it frustrated her to be unable to tear through whatever was in front of her.

  “I certainly hope Master Storn is competent enough to keep us under observation, Tovera,” Adele said as she took out her data unit. Using it while the vehicle was moving had its problems, but the practice could be useful in the future. “And to time his arrival to match ours is simply common sense.”

  She began searching for information on the beach plant. It interested her only as a scrap of information—but that was sufficient.

  Normally Adele would be looking up something like this for Daniel. Doing so now brought Daniel closer, which was also an inducement to her search.

  The vehicle which left the Feursnot operated as a boat at present, but it had large tires as well. It didn’t openly mount weapons, but it certainly seemed more military than civilian in appearance. It was painted the gray-green of Fleet uniforms.

  The difficult ground cover was called Gray Plantain. It required iodine and therefore was rarely found at any distance from the sea. The sticky covering was a tool of predation rather than defense, and it was responsible for the plantain’s remarkable success anywhere the conditions were favorable. The leaves not only caught and absorbed insectoids which landed on them, it also smothered plants which tried to share the same territory.