“Yes, your Majesty,” said the Captain.
Sean walked over to the cat, bent over, and scooped the big Siamese up into his arms. “It’ll be OK, my big boy. You’ll see. It’ll be OK.”
Sean left the bridge carrying the cat, wondering about what he would do when they reached that far away sector HQ.
* * *
MASSADARA SYSTEM, MARCH 20TH, 1000.
“We’re receiving a message from base, sir,” said the Com Officer, Lt. JG Natasha Cummings, over the intercom.
Commander Bryce Suttler grunted as he shook the sleep from his brain. “And how are we getting this message, Lieutenant?”
“Through the wormhole, sir,” said the officer. “You were right.”
“I seem to recall another officer making the suggestion first, Lieutenant,” he said bringing his feet to the floor and ordering coffee through his link. “Good work. I’ll be up in two.”
When Suttler reached the bridge it was in its normal state of activity, fully manned, as it was supposed to be in a combat zone. Watch officers were looking intently at the viewers and passive sensors, observing the activity within the system several light hours away.
“Anything new?” he asked, waving the crew back to their seats.
“Same old, sir,” answered Lieutenant SG Walter Ngovic, the Tactical Officer, moving from the Captain’s chair where he had been standing watch. “No new ships have entered the system since you retired. Three of the battleships have left in a group, on a heading for in sector. That leaves eighty-five of the capitals, along with their consorts. Oh, and the Cacas have been sweeping with actives in our area, but as far as we can tell they have not gotten a return.”
As far as we know, thought the Captain of the Sea Stag. His ship was supposed to be all but invisible on any scans, active or passive. With an advanced enemy of unknown capabilities that may have not been true, and the only way they would know was when an object, ship or missile, started on a heading their way. And we don’t know if they're only scanning our area, or if they are randomly scanning the entire perimeter.
“That’s still a lot of capital ships gathered in this one system,” said the helm officer.
“I’m sure they’re not here to defend the system,” said the Tactical Officer. “That looks like a battle fleet to me.”
“But what’s the target?” asked Suttler, looking over at the Com Officer. “Any luck on breaking their code?”
“Not yet, sir,” said the young woman with a frown. “It’s quite sophisticated.” She looked at her board for a moment, then back at the Captain. “Personal communication coming in from Fleet for you Captain.”
“I’ll take it in my ready room,” said Suttler, getting up from his chair and heading for the hatch.
The ready room was small aboard this ship, like most areas as compared to a regular warship. The Stealth Attack Ships needed all the space they could designate for machinery and weapons. There were still some large open areas aboard, like the gym and rec rooms. But even that space had to come at a price to others.
Suttler took a seat at the desk and keyed in to the link. A holo came to life over his desk, and he found himself looking at Vice Admiral Sheila Mtwambe, the head of the Silent Service, as they were called, at least for Sector IV.
“Admiral,” said Bryce, surprised that he would be talking to someone so high up the chain of command as the Stealth commander of the Sector. “What do I owe this contact to?”
“You’re doing a fine job out there, Commander,” said the Admiral in a voice deeper than most would expect from a woman. “In fact, you are one of the few stealth ships we actually have in place to observe the enemy. Fine job getting where you needed to be, and good thinking about using the wormhole to communicate with us.”
“That was actually the idea of my Com Officer,” said Bryce, still feeling the pleasure of the compliment of an officer he respected.
“Well, whoever came up with it, it’s brilliant. We have established contact with all of the other stealth wormhole ships in the sector, though none are in as good a position as yours. Though there are some moving into position as we speak.”
Bryce nodded his head, thinking of the hard proposition that the easy words conveyed. Those ships would stair step into the systems of interest, leaping down hyper levels beyond the detection range, it was hoped, of the vessels around that star. While also hoping there weren’t unknown pickets further out in space. And then a month’s movement through normal space, coming to a rest far enough out system that it was hoped nothing would notice them, or the stealth field didn’t break down at the wrong moment, or a hundred other little things.
“I also wanted to congratulate you for your part in getting the heir free of the system,” continued to Admiral, a smile on her face.
“Is he alright? I mean, did he make it back to Conundrum?”
The Admiral was silent for a moment, as if contemplating what to say over the channel. Why does she hesitate? thought the officer. Surely this is the most secure means of communication possible. Nothing could leak out of the wormhole, could it?
“His Majesty has not been heard from since he left the system,” said the Admiral in a low voice. “Neither of the Hyper VII ships, the Jean de Arc or the Dot McArthur, have been heard from.”
“Then he is lost,” said Suttler, feeling downcast.
“I didn’t say that,” said the Admiral, shaking her head. “There are too many possibilities. Those ships may have had to power down and hide from the pursuers. Or they could be damaged and making repairs.”
But the most likely explanation is they were tracked down and destroyed, thought the Captain, who had a keen understanding of Imperial politics, having been raised in a Sector Assemblyman’s house. And that means chaos, as the military tries to keep Parliament from foisting an idiot on us. Maybe even enough chaos to start a civil war, at the one time when we can’t afford one.
“We must remain hopeful, and do our duty, no matter what it calls us to do,” said the Admiral, her face grave.
Bryce nodded his head, taking in the words and not having any trouble deciding whose side the Admiral was on. Like most of the senior brass she was a staunch Monarchist, and not at all on the side of the Parliament in any dispute against the crown. After all, the Crown had supported the military through the many brush wars of the last century, while Parliament had always been wont to vote their wallet, and against the best interests of the Fleet and Army.
“You be careful out there, son,” finished the Admiral, smiling from the holo. “You keep giving us good information, and get back to base in one piece. Mtwambe out.”
The holo faded, and Suttler was left to his own thoughts. He knew he would get a promotion when he got back to base, whenever that happened. Hell, he thought, I might get a double promotion and a title out of this month’s work. Saving an heir had to be worth something, even if the heir was later lost, unless there was a cover up to keep blame from falling on the military, which was always a possibility. Destroying millions of tons of enemy shipping in the battle of Massadara, as well as providing valuable intelligence from a presence within the enemy’s sphere would be worth a promotion in and of itself. But first we have to make it out of here, thought the dashing young officer. I’m not really into posthumous awards.
* * *
“Any word on who the humans were trying to get out of the system, and what became of him?” asked the Great Admiral, walking down the corridor with his Chief of Intelligence, Admiral Kleroconida.
“We have interrogated many of the prisoners from the enemy naval force, my Lord,” said the male, giving a head nod of negation. “And all I can tell you was that he was a prince of the Imperial Family. Even the lowliest spacer knew that much, but not much else. We don’t know where he stood in the succession of this Empire. According to one of the human’s we interrogated this was considered a quiet sector, and the prince was sent here to get military experience without actually being put at risk.”
“None that we have talked to knew the answer to that question. And we are sure that the prisoners are frightened of us and our interrogations. Any who seemed to withhold information have been executed in front of the other prisoners, then butchered in their view before becoming rations.”
“So you do not think they are withholding information about this prince, and what he means to their Empire?”
“I do not believe so, my Lord. But still, I wish to put an operative among them.”
“Ben?” said the High Admiral, thinking of the one pet human they had aboard. He had sent for more from the surviving human colony, the one the Empire had established so they would have agents for such a task if they ever met humans again. “I thought he might be useful here, and have had him study the captives, so he might blend in better.”
“Excellent,” said the Great Admiral, giving a head motion of exuberance mixed with congratulations. “Then we will use him to get the information we need. See to it.”
The other officer acknowledged the order and turned to walk away. “And Admiral,” said the Great Admiral before he could move too far. “Send out a signal to all ships, coming and going, to keep a lookout for any enemy ships that may be trying to sneak out of the space we now control. I do not know the importance of this prince, but he was of concern enough to the humans where they withdrew a capable capital ship out of their order of battle. And rendezvoused with one of their fast scout capitals. So he must be of some importance.”
Later the Admiral dined with some newly arrived captains of battleships. The roast human was perfect, and the Admiral reminded himself to compliment the chef when he had a chance. The head cook was also a slave, but considered very valuable by the officer whose palate he served. The Admiral didn’t think a thing about eating members of another intelligent species that just had the misfortune to be made up of compatible amino acids. If they didn’t eat them the humans would just go to waste rotting on the surface, or floating in space.
“Gentleman,” said the Great Admiral, holding up a glass of wine imported from the capital planet. “To the Emperor, may he always rule in the light of the Gods.”
The other officers raised their glasses and returned the toast, while the Great Admiral studied them, and decided the fates of they and their ships. There were still raids to send out, small systems to take. But he was planning a major attack on several of the enemy fleet bases, and wanted to keep a good sized force back to build around.
“My Lord Admiral,” said one of the officers. “There is something that we are curious about, and maybe you can answer the question.”
“And what it that, my good Captain?” asked the Admiral.
“We have heard that these humans have become super intelligent demons in the years since we last met them,” said the Captain, an expression of worry on his face. “It is said that they can think faster than our best computer. The only reason I ask this Admiral is not because we fear the vermin, but to gain facts to dispel the rumors among our crews.”
“They have improved themselves in the intervening millennia,” agreed the Great Admiral, signaling for the slaves to come forward and fill their glasses. “They are smarter and stronger on the whole than before, and have improved their technology considerably, but still not up to our level. So no, they are not super beings. However, they are smart and devious fighters, and that is something you gentlemen will always want to remember. Do not take them for granted, or they will hand you your horns. Fight them with a combination of caution and audacity and you will do fine.”
“That is good to know, Great Admiral,” said the Captain who had asked the question. “I will remind my officers and crews of that point.”
“Just remember that they have a certain inbred deviousness that seems to be genetic to their kind. If you think they are doing something obvious, look for another action it is hiding. We have many advantages over them, including our intelligence gathering apparatus. We have agents we can infiltrate into their ranks.” Or at least we will in the near future. “We will know more about their operations than they will know about ours. And that is an advantage I aim to press.”
Chapter Five
It would have been difficult to have designated the exact direction to Mecca from each and every planet in human space. We could point out the general direction from every one of thousands of worlds. But each of those worlds orbits around its own star. And each of those planets rotate at different rates. It would have been a mathematical nightmare to fix the direction to Mecca based on where each world was in its rotation and orbit, and then to figure the location needed to pray to from every point of that surface. But Mecca, the location where the Prophet, may Allah bless his name, ascended into heaven, is as much an idea as a place. So on each world where people of the Faith settled a symbolic Mecca was established, for the use of that world. And so has the Faith progressed in these times. The Faith has also progressed in the way it views the divergent beliefs of other humans. No longer are these seen as the enemies of the Faith, placed here by Satan to ensnare the race of Man. Not when there are other forces in the Universe who would like nothing better than to see humankind fail, or even better from their point of view, to depart. No, now we see other worshippers of God, in all his many possible guises, as fellow journeyers on the road of destiny. Because if we cannot work together despite our different beliefs, we will never be able to work together against those of different biologies, who would like nothing better than to see us wiped from the Universe. Teachings of the New Koran, written in the Imperial Year 121.
CAPITULUM, JEWEL, AND IN ORBIT AROUND JEWEL. MARCH 21ST, 1000.
“So this is the young man we have all been hearing about,” said the Interim Prime Minister Theo Streeter, Duke of Coventry. Today he felt a little more secure in that position, knowing that Grand Duke Carlos Maldonado, his political opponent, would no longer trouble him.
“This is he,” said the Imperial Investigation Bureau Director Jakobe McGregor, smiling, leading the slender pale faced man into the luxurious sitting room. Countess Judy Decker, Sergeant of Arms of the Lords, looked up from the plate of food she was addressing to give the noble a look. She then leaned over and whispered something in the ear of Archduke Frederick Mgana. She looked back at the young noble with a smile on her face.
He is perfect, isn’t he, thought the Prime Minister, holding his hand out to Count Hector Romanov Sutter, Third Cousin to the Emperor, and the man they proposed to place on the throne. Bright enough to act the part. Not so bright that he will try to wrest control from us. Perfect.
“Welcome, Count Hector. Welcome to Capitulum. Are you ready to assume the throne of Empire?”
“I am, Prime Minister,” said the fit young man, gripping Streeter’s hand in a crushing grip. “But only as it is necessary to protect the realm. I have no desire for power.”
But you do have the desire to get out of debt, thought the Prime Minister, returning the grip, using his ex-professional athlete’s strength, squeezing until the young man grunted.
“You have, of course, met my colleagues,” said Streeter, nodding to the pair sitting on the couch.
“Of course,” said the young man, bowing with the courtly manners of the Imperial Family. “My Lady. Your Grace.”
“He was difficult to locate,” said McGregor, putting his arm around the Count’s shoulders again. “It took some of my best people to find him.”
When one is hiding from the mob, it should be difficult to locate you, unless you want to be dead, thought Streeter. Now the mob will be hiding from him. I’ll have to ask McGregor later what he did with those men of his. Probably paid them off, but I would be more comfortable if they were eliminated.
“And the people he owed his debts too?” asked Streeter.
&nbs
p; “They have been paid off, and told that it is no longer in their best interests to bother the Count,” said McGregor. “We made sure that they understood. Those that survived.”
The young Count smiled at the last, the grin of a man who had been tormented and lived to see his tormentors pay. He has a cruel streak within him, thought the Prime Minister. Good. We might have need of an Emperor that turns the people away from the crown with his excesses. So they can turn to the Parliament for relief. Even the military can turn to Parliament. He looked back at the young man, already seeing the greed for power that lived behind his eyes. The same greed that Streeter felt.
“After this day forward you will always be in the spotlight,” said Streeter, noticing that the young man stood up straighter and smiled at hearing those words. This was one who was tired of being in obscurity, who wanted to be cheered and adored by the public.
“Have a seat over here, Count, and we will talk about your coronation. And how, after you become Emperor, you and the Lords can work together to make this a better Empire.”
* * *
“You have got to be kidding me,” said Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski, the Chief of Naval Operations, to the woman in the holo. “Where the hell did they dig this one up from?”
“The young man was actually hiding out on a frontier planet in Sector Seven,” said Ekaterina Sergiov, Chief of the Imperial Investigations Agency. “He had crossed the crime syndicate on his home world by not paying his gambling debts, and they didn’t seem too concerned about his civil rank.”
“Seems to be a trend here,” said Len, looking at another screen that showed Hector Romanov Sutter’s service record. “He was busted out of the service for gross insubordination and dereliction of duty. Thought it was more important to drink and play cards than stand his watch. I’m surprised he didn’t serve time in a military penitentiary.”
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm Page 12