Scornful Stars

by Richard Baker

  He turned back to Elena and her assistant. “I agree with you,” he told them. “I promise you that one way or another, we’ll put a stop to what’s been going on in Zerzura—and we’ll see Marid Pasha answer for the blood on his hands. The al-Kassars, too.”

  Amelia looked up at him. “How, Captain? We’re about to be personae non grata here.”

  Sikander wasn’t exactly sure yet, but he didn’t share that with his exec or his guests. “Not for another twenty-two hours yet,” he said instead. “First things first: Elena, can we make a copy of Mr. Morillo’s presentation and the supporting research? I need to show it to Mr. Darrow before we do anything else.”

  With a small smile, Elena set a datastick on the conference table. “I thought you might want one. Here’s a copy of everything we’ve been able to document so far—I trust you’ll make good use of it.”

  “I certainly hope to.” Sikander scooped up the datastick and slid it into his pocket. “Next, I think you’d better leave Dahar as soon as possible. I don’t know if Hanne Vogt will tell Marid Pasha about the case you’re building against him, but if she does—or if he figures out your involvement based on actions we take—Zerzura could become very dangerous for you. Get out of Marid Pasha’s territory until you know that it’s safe to return.”

  Omar Morillo glanced over at his employer. “I’ve been trying to convince her of that for hours.”

  “Fine.” Elena looked unhappy, but she nodded. “I have to go to our regional headquarters in Meliya anyway. Given what we’ve found out in the last few days, we need to take steps to minimize our exposure in Zerzura, and I can’t take the chance of sending those instructions through Zerzuran message services—as you pointed out a few weeks ago, someone could be reading my mail.”

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Sikander agreed. If he were in her position, he’d certainly take steps to protect his business—and more importantly, his people—from Zerzuran retaliation. “I’ll send word if anything changes, but in the meantime I’ll feel better knowing that you’re somewhere safe.”

  “So would I, I guess. And that means I’d better be on my way.” Elena rose from the table, and came forward to give Sikander a fierce hug. He returned her embrace, ignoring Amelia Fraser’s smirk. “Get these bastards, Sikander,” she murmured to him. “They need to pay for what they’ve done.”

  “They will,” he promised her. “Let me see you back to your boat.”

  * * *

  “To borrow your exec’s lovely turn of phrase again: Well, shit,” Eric Darrow said after Sikander finished explaining the whole Rihla Development revelation. They sat in Darrow’s office in the Aquilan consulate, joined by Nola Okoye and Amelia Fraser. The special commissioner was in the middle of packing, and several storage boxes had been hastily cleared out of the way for the meeting; Okoye, on the other hand, planned to remain in Mersin. As a permanent consul, she wasn’t part of Darrow’s mission, and the Aquilan diplomats had decided that Marid Pasha’s order of expulsion didn’t cover the local consuls scattered throughout Zerzura’s five major systems. Darrow blew out his breath and leaned back in his chair. “How confident are you about this information, Commander?”

  “I know that we just embarrassed ourselves by acting on a bad tip, but Ms. Pavon presents a convincing case,” Sikander answered. “I’ve got my intel specialists at work verifying the tax records in the planetary information systems to confirm the report. I don’t think they are going to find that someone made this all up to embarrass us. Besides, all the pieces of the puzzle fit.”

  “Hanne Vogt saw all of this, too? And brushed it off?”

  “Ms. Pavon came away with the impression that the Dremish aren’t in a hurry to jeopardize the relationship they’ve cultivated with Marid Pasha,” said Amelia.

  Darrow made a face. “Dremark’s Foreign Office isn’t afraid to double down on a risky bet—or cover up a mistake with a lot of angry bluster. I suppose it’s a sort of loyalty to their clients, but it’s one of the things I find especially trying in my Imperial colleagues.”

  “There’s something else you need to know,” Sikander said. “I’m not sure if the intelligence dispatches reached you yet, but we’ve confirmed that Otto Bleindel was at Meliya Station right before the bomb that destroyed Vashaoth Teh went off. It didn’t come up before our visit with Marid yesterday, but in light of what Elena Pavon told me about Dremark’s determination to stand by the pasha, it seems clear that Bleindel carried out the attack for his benefit.”

  “Human separatists weren’t responsible?” Okoye’s eyes narrowed, but she maintained her customary reserve otherwise. “The Meliya attack was the turning point in Vogt’s negotiations with Marid Pasha. Our sources in the palace suggest that the pasha was happy to draw out our little bidding war until the Velarans started asking him pointed questions about the Meliyan Human Revolution.”

  “Which the KBS might have conjured up out of thin air specifically to force Marid’s hand,” Darrow observed. “Damn! I see that our Imperial colleagues have been busy. Commander, can you prove that Bleindel was responsible for the bomb?”

  “All we can show is that he was there,” Sikander said with a small shake of his head. “We let the Velaran investigators know who they’ve got on their security vid. They may turn up something more.”

  The two diplomats and the two naval officers fell silent for a moment, each considering the situation. Sikander found himself gazing out the office window; the pasha’s palace gleamed in the distance, a fairy-tale castle that almost seemed to float in Dahar’s gorgeous sky. It seemed impossible to believe that such extravagant splendor concealed such ordinary greed—or, for that matter, that Marid Pasha’s sterling reputation as a hero and a reformer concealed such cold, calculating ambition—but the conclusion was inescapable at this point. The worst part of it all was that, as far as Sikander could see, Marid al-Zahabi might easily get away with it despite his promise to Elena Pavon. The pasha answers to no one in Zerzura, and the Dremish have given him the fleet he needs to defy any enemy beyond his borders … unless that enemy is willing to bring a fleet that would trigger Dremish intervention in turn. So what is left?

  Amelia sighed and said aloud what Sikander was thinking: “Okay. We know Marid Pasha is corrupt and we know Dremark’s been playing dirty. Now what?”

  “We have what we need to expose Marid Pasha’s corruption,” Okoye said. “We present our findings to the Caliph’s court. They’ll remove Marid al-Zahabi from power, and the new governor—who, by the way, may be very interested to learn about Dremish bomb plots designed to sour Velaran relations with Zerzura—will certainly revisit any deals Marid al-Zahabi made with the Empire of Dremark.”

  “I wish it were that straightforward, Nola,” Darrow said. “The problem is that Marid Pasha has all the popular support he needs to declare independence. By the time Terra orders his recall, he’ll be the head of a sovereign nation under Dremark’s protection. He’ll thumb his nose at the Caliph and go right on with what he’s been doing.”

  “I can’t imagine that Terra would go along with that,” Okoye said. “They’ll treat it as a local rebellion, not a legal secession. They’ll send a new governor with transports full of loyal troops to reestablish their authority.”

  “Except that Marid Pasha now has an ex-Dremish cruiser squadron that can face down any force that Terra could reasonably scrape together to subdue him,” Sikander pointed out. “And once the pasha secedes and makes his alliance with Dremark official, I’m sure the Dremish will be more than happy to expand his new fleet.” He’d assumed that the pasha wanted his expensive new fleet to challenge Aquila’s patrols in his territory and keep Zerzura safe for piracy, but if Darrow was right, then the Terran Caliphate was one of those external powers Marid wanted the power to defy. Checking our antipiracy efforts is only a side benefit for the pasha, Sikander realized. He looked back to Darrow. “Are we going to recognize Zerzuran independence, Mr. Darrow?”

  The special commissi
oner considered the question for a moment. “We’ll have to,” he said.

  “What? That’s crazy!” Amelia protested. “We’ll let Dremark pry a five-system sector away from the Caliphate and buy themselves a pirate king in Zerzura?”

  “Yes, it’s crazy,” Darrow said. “But, unfortunately, it’s our job to deal with the facts as they are, not as we’d like them to be. I can’t see a way to prevent the Empire of Dremark from winning this round of the great game. We’ll just have to make up the lost ground somewhere else. If the Dremish believe they can sponsor Zerzuran independence to gain a strategically located client state, well, they can hardly complain if we encourage the Caliphate’s Al-Ma’laf or Gurkani Sector to break away, too.”

  “Dear God,” Nola Okoye breathed. “You’re talking about the dissolution of the Terran Caliphate.”

  “That wouldn’t be our choice, but if the Dremish are reckless enough to begin carving up the Caliphate, we cannot allow them to gain control of the whole thing,” said Darrow. “We have to manage the disaster as best we can, and see to it that most of the Caliphate’s worlds remain in friendly hands. What other choice would we have?”

  Sikander shivered—that was the answer he’d feared when he asked about recognizing Zerzura. Aquilan diplomats and military planners had been quietly examining the possibility of a Caliphate collapse for decades as a sort of worst-case scenario. Most experts thought that it would precipitate a great-power war as younger, more vigorous nations fought over the Caliphate’s carcass. He’d never really imagined that the long-feared day might actually arrive, though. We four sitting in this office might be the only humans in existence who understand just how quickly disaster is approaching, he thought. Somehow they needed to keep Marid Pasha from following through on his plan to secede or find a way to drive a wedge between him and his Dremish friends, and they needed to do it now.

  “That’s it, then,” Amelia said. “We have to expose and remove Marid Pasha ourselves. We could be back here with all of Pleiades Squadron in three weeks. If we hurry, those Zerzuran cruisers won’t be ready for service before we return.”

  Darrow shook his head. “If Marid Pasha declares independence and formalizes his alliance with the Dremish before your squadron gets here—which I imagine he will, within a matter of days—then it’s just a quicker route to the same disaster. We can’t remove a declared Dremish ally by force without starting a war; we’d need the Terran Caliphate to do it for us, and as Commander North pointed out a few moments ago, the pasha’s new cruisers mean that’s not going to happen.”

  “What if…” Sikander began slowly, thinking through an idea even as he started to speak. It was audacious, unexpected, even reckless, but he’d promised Elena Pavon that he wasn’t going to let Marid Pasha’s crimes stand, and he’d meant every word of that promise. It could work, he told himself, as the idea crystallized in his mind. Elena’s investigation proves that confronting piracy in Zerzura means confronting Marid Pasha—it’s the only way we can bring those responsible for Carmela Día to justice. We’d have to move at once, and the diplomatic fallout might be too high a price to pay … but if disaster is inevitable anyway, then I’d just as soon fail while fighting to right at least one wrong.

  He took a deep breath, and finished his thought: “What if the pasha didn’t have a fleet?”

  20

  CSS Decisive, Dahar II Orbit

  Four and a half hours before Marid Pasha’s deadline, CSS Decisive warmed up her drive plates and prepared to break orbit above Dahar. Sikander would have preferred to use more time rehearsing the mission at hand, but orbital mechanics could be unforgiving. Finding a window during which Decisive, Dahar Naval Shipyard, and Dahar High Port—one arm of which served as the base of the Zerzura Sector Fleet and Dahar’s orbital defenses, such as they were—would all be in the optimal positions in their orbits forced him to dispense with several hours his people could have put to good use. If nothing else, a few hours’ break between planning and implementation would have been desirable, but in the fifteen hours since his conversation with Eric Darrow in the consulate at Mersin, he and his senior leadership had found little opportunity for rest.

  “Last chance to call it off,” Amelia Fraser said to him as they headed for Decisive’s hangar bay. “I figure we’re looking at sixty-forty odds that the Admiralty cashiers us both for this stunt, with at least a twenty-percent chance that we’re court-martialed and spend time in prison before they throw us out of the service.”

  “It’s my decision, Amelia,” Sikander said. “I recorded a message for Commodore Broward taking responsibility for this whole scheme. They might bring me up on charges, but you should be fine.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure that they’ll fire me for not stopping you, but I appreciate the thought. It’ll be nice to spend more time with my children.” They reached the hangar bay, and Amelia paused to offer her hand. “Good luck, Captain.”

  “And to you, XO,” Sikander replied over their handshake. “You’re the one who’s going to have to clean up the mess if I’m wrong about this.”

  “Don’t be wrong, then.” Amelia gave him a quick grin, then preceded him into the hangar bay. “Attention on deck!”

  Eighty-five Aquilan sailors divided into three detachments snapped to attention, standing in orderly ranks in the hangar. It was the only space inside the ship other than the mess deck that could accommodate that many people at once, and the group assembled here represented just over half of Decisive’s total crew. Each crewhand wore Navy battle dress, a mottled blue-gray urban-camouflage uniform reinforced by light armor panels, and carried a standard-issue mag rifle slung over his or her shoulder. In front of the sailors stood the officers assigned to command them: Lieutenant Michael Girard and Sublieutenant Olivia Haynes for the first group, Lieutenant Amar Shah and Sublieutenant Zoe Worth for the second group, and Sublieutenant Reed Hollister for the third.

  “At ease,” Sikander told them. The assembled sailors and officers relaxed their postures, turning their eyes to him. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, considering what he wanted to say—and, more importantly, what they needed to hear. “Good morning, everyone. I suppose you all know why you’re here.” A faint chorus of nervous chuckles rippled through the ranks; Sikander smiled, and continued. “I wish I could tell you that the battle dress and the small arms are just for show and that I really don’t think you will need them, but I can’t. There simply isn’t much precedent for what we’re about to do, and I have no idea how the other side is going to react. I hope to use the minimum amount of force needed to achieve our objective, and to that end I’ve issued instructions that all weapons are to remain set for nonlethal velocity unless we meet with armed resistance. Petty officers, make sure you check your squads’ weapons and verify the power settings after we’re done here.

  “Assuming that everything works as we hope and we reach our objectives, I wish I could tell you that I’m confident that we’ll be able to carry out Phase Two without a problem. I’m afraid that I can’t make that promise, either. We just don’t know enough about the condition of the target and the details of the systems we’re taking control of. That’s why we’ve made sure to include Jadeed-Arabi and Nebeldeutsch speakers in each detachment—we might need to stop and read the operating manuals in a hurry before we go any further.” That earned another round of chuckles. “But I am confident about this: Whatever it takes to get this plan to Phase Three, you have the adaptability, the resourcefulness, and the sheer professionalism to make it work. You are the finest crew I have ever had the pleasure of serving with, and I am supremely confident in your ability to meet and overcome any obstacle that arises today.

  “The spacers and ordinary citizens of this sector have suffered from brutal pirate attacks for years. They may not be our people, but they’re people who need our help. Pirates—and those who support them—are the enemy of all civilized nations. Today we’ve got one good opportunity to strike a blow for those who can’t.” Sikander
finished with a fierce grin. “So let’s make the most of it!”

  A raucous cheer broke out as the sailors assembled in the hangar bay shouted out their approval. Amelia waited a moment for the cheers to die down, and then called out in a high, sharp voice: “Boarding parties, attention! Boarding parties, to your boats!”

  The sailors grabbed their gear and weapons, and headed for Decisive’s small craft: both of the destroyer’s sturdy VO-8 Cormorant orbiters, and the lighter launch. All three would be standing-room-only, but there was no help for it; Sikander just didn’t know if circumstances would allow multiple runs, so he had to send everyone over at once. He turned to Amelia. “Well, time to be on your way, XO. Take care of my ship—not a scratch!”

  “Not a scratch, I promise. Watch yourself over there, Captain.” Amelia saluted, and then hurried out of the hangar—her place today would be on Decisive’s bridge.

  Sikander checked his own gear once more; he had a mag pistol holstered at his hip, but he’d decided not to carry a rifle to make sure he didn’t forget that getting into firefights wasn’t his job today. He watched the sailors crowding into the ship’s boats, faces tense with worry or glowing with eagerness to meet the challenge of the unusual mission. Gunner’s mates and masters-at-arms generally kept up with their small-arms practice and had at least a little tactical training, but most of the force was made up of volunteers taking on a job for which they were essentially untrained. Rather like the Jaipur Dragoons at Bathinda, he thought, trying to keep the worry he felt from his face. I’m asking a lot of my people. They’re willing and I know they’ll do their best, but will it be enough?

  He remembered accompanying his father to his troops’ deployment area a few hours after the Blue Horizon was bombed. Two battalions of dragoons mustered at a disused airfield on the outskirts of the city—