Sun King (The Void Queen Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Wallace

  She kissed him again, this time with a promise of more to come. When she pulled away, McGowan was scowling, but Broderick didn’t look perturbed, and neither did anyone else. The Scandians smirked, Capp was all toothy grin, and Catarina winked when Tolvern looked her way.

  There was another awkward moment as the rest of them settled onto saucer-like chairs, and Tolvern stood looking around, wondering if she was supposed to stand throughout it all, but then a seat rose to the perfect height. She gave thought to her intestinal fortitude before she sat down. The gurgling had stopped, thank God.

  “Now,” Drake said, “we come to it at last.”

  His voice held a solemnity, almost a reverence, in keeping with the Hroom prayer room.

  “A harvester ship is waiting in Persia,” Drake continued, “and seven more under construction on the surface. There’s an excellent chance that another harvester has already entered orbit—perhaps more than one. I don’t need to tell you what it means if they all get up.”

  Murmurs at this. Dark looks, worried expressions.

  “We have all of our forces here, gathered and ready to attack,” Drake said. “This is our big chance, our only chance. If we don’t stop the enemy here, if we don’t utterly destroy them, there will be eight harvester ships in orbit. Too many for us, too many to stop them from breaking out of Persia and shattering our fleet in the process.”

  A hollow feeling ate at Tolvern’s gut, and this time the sensation couldn’t be attributed to strange Hroom cuisine.

  “And if that happens,” Drake said, “all civilized people, humans and Hroom alike, will face certain extermination.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  A chill trickled down Catarina’s spine as she listened to the admiral’s pronouncement. Horror and fear mixed with a stirring resolve, a righteous anger that rose in her breast. And it was at that moment that she knew she had changed. Somehow, at some point, she had become a part of this.

  There was a time when Albion’s wars had seemed distant, abstract. Let them fight, let them win or lose, kill or be killed—she hadn’t cared. She was the queen of the void, on her way to settle her own planet far from the control of the kingdom.

  But the word “extermination” brought the hammer down on the last of those feelings, what hadn’t been wiped out by the past year of warfare at the helm of Void Queen. The Scandians had thrown their lot in, the Singaporeans, the Hroom.

  Is that why Drake brought you onto the general’s sloop? To show you that even the Hroom are fully committed, so you should be, too?

  No, she thought. There was some other reason. Or at least, that wasn’t the only reason.

  “I wish we had more time,” Drake continued. “We could send damaged ships to the Viborg yards, or at least complete emergency repairs here, if we had a few weeks, but every moment we delay increases the likelihood of more harvesters reaching orbit. I’m giving you all twenty-four hours to complete repairs, and then we jump into Persia. One ship after another, as fast as we can get them through.”

  “Whoever jumps first had better be ready for a fight,” Olafsen said. Longshanks said something that made Olafsen grunt and nod. “Bloodaxe will be the first through, the first to fight.”

  “I have no doubt you’d inflict some blows,” Drake said, “but I need you at full strength for what comes next.”

  A diplomatic answer, Catarina thought, although the Scandians didn’t look satisfied.

  “I gave Captain McGowan certain parameters and asked him to draw up a plan for our jump into Persia,” Drake continued. “He’ll present it now.”

  McGowan rose stiffly to his feet, straightened his uniform, and turned to the Hroom general. “You claimed there was a viewscreen in this room, but I see nothing of the kind.”

  Catarina fought down her irritation. “Can’t you just tell us? Do you really need visual aids?”

  McGowan returned a look of lofty disdain. “There are scores of ships—can you hold all of that in your head?”

  She stared back. “Yes, probably.”

  “Well, then. Why don’t you come and make the presentation, Vargus?”

  “Why not?” Catarina started to her feet. “I’ll put you right in the thick of the action, just as you like it.”

  Capp snorted, and Olafsen grinned. Tolvern raised an eyebrow.

  “Captains, please,” Drake said. “General, the screen?”

  Mose Dryz reached into his robe and pulled out a hand computer the shape of an elongated egg. He stroked a long, slender finger over its surface. The shrine folded into the wall, leaving a smooth surface that suddenly showed a visual representation of the various ships spread out around the jump point.

  “Your own computer can now interface with it,” the general told McGowan.

  Maybe in theory, but it took McGowan an awkward few minutes until he could get it to work, and he muttered something about needing a good tech officer. When Capp asked if she could help, however, McGowan waved her away.

  “Dreadnought goes through first,” he said, “followed by Void Queen and Blackbeard. Then the mercenary frigate Pussycat, followed by the five Scandian blackfish.”

  “About time,” Olafsen said, “but I hate to send other men in my place. I’ll be on Bloodaxe—when does she jump?”

  “We’re sending across a small force of ships that can take abuse,” McGowan said. “The thickest shields, but not always the biggest guns. Once we have these through, we’ll bring through missile frigates, followed by another force of cruisers. And then we’ll start with your star wolves.”

  McGowan continued his presentation until he had all of the ships through. Typically, his own ship, HMS Peerless, came through at the end. It wasn’t a bad strategy to guard the departure jump point, as well as the arrival, and Peerless was probably the strongest ship in the fleet after Dreadnought and the two battle cruisers. Yet surely it was obvious to one and all that McGowan would be the last to jump into danger.

  “At that point, we’ll divide into four task forces,” McGowan continued. “The two women—that is, the captains of Void Queen and Blackbeard—will head up one force. Dreadnought will anchor the second. I will lead a third group of ships from the helm of HMS Peerless, together with a powerful collection of warships, including the Scandians.”

  “To be held in reserve, naturally,” Tolvern said. Her tone was innocent. “To throw into the fray when and where you’re needed.”

  McGowan nodded. “Precisely.”

  Olafsen turned to the admiral. “I thought you said you needed us held for a bigger fight. Something like that. By the gods, I don’t want to be held in reserve.”

  “Believe me, you’ll be fighting,” Drake said. “If I’m right, and there are multiple harvesters aloft, plenty of Scandians will fight and die.”

  “Yes, yes, I like that,” Olafsen said. “Glory to one and all. Someday children will learn of our heroism at their fathers’ knees.”

  “If there are any children left to hear the tale,” Catarina said. “Winning the fight is a prerequisite to any tales of blood and glory.”

  “You do your part, Vargus, and by the gods, we will do ours. Even if we have to serve under this one.” Olafsen hooked his thumb at McGowan. “Will he do his part? That’s what I want to know.”

  McGowan huffed. “Will I do my part? What if you or your friends pull another incident like what happened at Merkur? Slip your leash and attack too early?”

  “That will never happen.”

  Catarina thought McGowan was onto something. She’d seen the Scandian lack of discipline on multiple occasions.

  “Can you guarantee that no ships will run from the battlefield?” she asked. “Like Son of Odin did during the battle for the Odense orbital platform?”

  “We’re more disciplined than that now,” the marauder captain said with a thrust of the chin. “You can count on us not to do anything stupid.”

  “You’re more disciplined because you’ve been flying under Albion command,” Drake said. “No
body respects your fighting prowess more than I do, your bravery in battle, and the overall contributions of the Scandian fleet to this war. We can’t win this fight without you, but let my officers do what they do best, and that is command.”

  Olafsen consulted with Longshanks. There was passion in the words, but no slamming fists or shouting, which was a good sign.

  “I would rather fight under this one,” Olafsen said with a nod in Catarina’s direction. “She’s a woman, it is true, but she’s brave enough, clever enough, and I know she wouldn’t leave us aside or sacrifice us unnecessarily, either.”

  “Thanks,” Catarina said. “I think.”

  “No,” Drake said. “You will fight under McGowan’s command. When the time comes to call in the reserves, I need your wolves on hand.”

  Olafsen grunted and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stubbly beard. It seemed like acquiescence, although who could be sure?

  “What about me?” Broderick asked. “Where is Sledge in this fight?”

  McGowan zoomed in on the final task force. “Here, leading a fleet of cruisers, destroyers, and corvettes. A fast attack force to hunt down escapees, to throw into battle when one of the other fleets is about to be overwhelmed.”

  “Another reserve force?” Broderick asked, tone doubtful.

  “They’re all reserve forces,” Drake said. “Damaging a harvester is one thing, but destroying it another thing entirely. Good ships and crew will die in this fight. The fleets will need to concentrate and disperse as needed.”

  Broderick gave a curt nod. “Understood.”

  “I brought a handful of nuclear torpedoes,” Drake added, “which I’ll share out. But they’ve been of limited effectiveness so far, and they’re few in number. This battle will be won with conventional firepower, if it’s to be won at all. We’ll need to hit, hit hard, and hit repeatedly.”

  “James?” Tolvern said. “Um, sir, I mean. Once Blackbeard and Void Queen form a joint task force, which one of us will be the commanding officer?”

  “You are the ranking officer, but Vargus’s ship is in better condition at the moment.” Drake hesitated. “Why don’t you make that decision by consensus? But decide before you leave the ship.” He glanced around. “That is all. Dismissed.”

  #

  Catarina and Tolvern lifted the hems of their long, drape-like robes as they stepped into the sweating room. A platform jutted from the other side of the room, and a pair of Hroom sat on it with their legs tucked underneath themselves.

  Catarina might have felt self-conscious about undressing in front of strangers—Hroom or not—but Tolvern had just shared a hilarious story of sticking her backside into the wall of the ship’s bathroom. She suppressed a laugh at the thought, and began to shrug out of the robe.

  “Wait,” Tolvern said, stopping her. “We’re supposed to say a prayer to the god of higher consciousness before we enter.”

  “I’m not particularly religious,” Catarina said with a smile. “Baptized in the Albion Church, of course, but it’s been fifteen years since I attended services.”

  “Perfect, then you won’t be offended if I pray to a Hroom god.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the time you were almost sacrificed to the Hroom god of death?”

  “It never hurts to hedge one’s bets. Not to mention offending the religious is often a bad idea.” Tolvern said this last bit with the barest of nods toward the pair of Hroom relaxing in the heat.

  Tolvern took a ladle of water from a bucket next to the door and poured it over the brazier of hot coals, which steamed and hissed and sent clouds billowing into the air.

  “Take a deep breath,” she instructed.

  Catarina obeyed, and Tolvern started the prayer.

  “Glorious being of higher thought. With gratitude, we thank thee for the gift of sentience. To be aware, to think and dream. To sense the old gods. To rise above the beasts and partake of the feast of consciousness. To recognize beauty, to feel love, and to share compassion with all living things.”

  “That’s not so bad,” Catarina said. “Seems like a god I could get behind.”

  “Most Hroom deities are not so warm and fuzzy. And their followers are fanatics. The only good thing that came out of our attack on Soltum is that we broke the power of the priests. Hopefully, those dumb cultists will let the Hroom people breathe and live again. But it was ugly business from beginning to end.”

  Tolvern had been speaking lightly, but her tone took a dark turn at the end, and something twisted on her face. A flicker of pain and doubt. Catarina put a hand on the other woman’s arm.

  “War is always ugly business, Jess. You did what you had to.”

  The women shed the robes and stuck them on hooks before climbing to the opposite end of the platform from the two Hroom, who were meditating or relaxing, or whatever it was they did in this place.

  “I’ll be honest,” Catarina said as the two women took their seats, “I don’t much like taking orders, not even from Drake.”

  “Starship captains don’t rise to command because they lack confidence in their leadership ability.”

  “I suffer an especially bad case of . . . whatever it is,” Catarina admitted, “and it has got me into trouble in the past.”

  “How so?”

  “For one, if I hadn’t been so blasted ambitious, hadn’t assembled all those ships and colonists, I’d have never been roped into this war in the first place.”

  “Whatever brought you into the ranks, you’re good at it. Can you really just leave it all behind?”

  “I can and I will. Once this war is over, I’m on my way, and I’m taking my goods with me. I’ve got a planet to settle and a grand duchy to establish.” Catarina hesitated. “You know I respect you, but I don’t want to step into your shadow. We both have experience in this war, and our ships are equal.”

  “But I’m a true navy captain,” Tolvern said, “and you’re a recent recruit who just told me she wants to . . . well, jump ship. I should be in charge of our joint fleet.”

  “That sounds like McGowan logic to me, only he’d find a way to throw in a lot more insults.”

  “He’s a jerk, but he’s not an idiot. In this case, he would be right. Minus the insults, that is. The command should be mine, and Blackbeard the flagship.” Tolvern shrugged. “It should be. But I’m inclined to hand you command.”

  “This isn’t about the battles in Nebuchadnezzar and Persia, is it? I read the logs—you made bold strategic decisions, and your fleet fought hard and well.”

  “No, it’s not that. My confidence was shaken by so many losses, of course it was, but I’ve had a chance to think it through, and I’m at peace with my decisions.”

  “In that case?”

  “It’s McGowan.” A half-smile crept over Tolvern’s face.

  “McGowan? What’s he got to do with it? He’s going to find a way to stay out of the fight until the last minute, then charge in and claim victory.”

  “Or flee for his life when the battle is lost.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And are we going to let him get away with it?” Tolvern asked.

  Catarina started to respond, but her mind quickly found the devious path that Tolvern had already forged.

  “You mean to bait him into fighting,” Catarina said. It was not a question.

  Tolvern got up and poured another ladle of water on the hot coals, which brought approving hums from the Hroom. She settled back onto the platform and wiped sweat from her face and neck.

  “He’s not fond of either of us, but he especially doesn’t like you,” Tolvern said. “You were his fiancée, after all, and—well, this is his spin on it, anyway—you did it under false pretenses.” She nodded. “Putting you in charge will spur him into action.”

  “If only it were that easy. Don’t underestimate McGowan’s desire to keep his hands clean and his ship spotless. And there’s also the matter of Drake holding him back. So long as McGowan’s in the reserve fleet
, he has an excuse.”

  “You may know McGowan better than I do,” Tolvern said, “but I know my husband. James will give McGowan autonomy, the same as he’s giving us. A general strategy, and then we’re on our own. If McGowan wants to fight, he’ll find a way to make it happen.”

  “We’re still back to my first point,” Catarina said. “Seeing me in command isn’t going to do it. Not by itself. We need something more.”

  “I’ve got an idea for that, too. McGowan and I have a video conference scheduled as soon as I’m back on Blackbeard. I lost falcons in the battle, and he’s carrying their replacements in his hold—we need to arrange a shipment. Also, we have an engineering discussion about plasma containment fields where my chief engineer needs advice from McGowan’s. Somewhere in all of that, I’m going to plant a seed.”

  Catarina was intrigued. “Go on.”

  “During the call, I’m going to mention the king of Albion. Casually, offhanded, but in a way that will get McGowan thinking.”

  “What does the king have to do with anything?”

  “The king’s wife died, you know,” Tolvern said. “He’s a widower, and not an unattractive man. He’s only got two children so far, and there’s pressure from the nobles to marry and do his duty.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? That I . . .? That’s not my game at all!”

  “I’m not suggesting you actually marry the king. Heavens, no. But McGowan won’t know that. Isn’t that pretty much what he thought you were all along? A social climber?”

  Catarina thought it over, and believed that Tolvern was onto something. In fact, Catarina had been a climber, at least while she was under her mother’s tutelage. Her mother had concocted a family history and maneuvered Catarina into a betrothal with Edward McGowan, which collapsed when he found out the truth about her pirate father.

  “So I’ll drop a rumor that the king is intrigued by you,” Tolvern said.

  “And how would you know that? You just happened to be talking to the king? McGowan will never believe that.”