“A rookie ship captain on a mission of this importance?” said Schooler skeptically. “We we’re thinking of transferring Captain Tynes, from the Vendetta.”
Pettigrew cringed inside. Wallace Tynes was a fine officer, but as a person, Pettigrew couldn’t stand to be in a room with the man for five minutes, let alone being stuck on a ship with him for over a year.
“Admiral Schooler, with respect,” Pettigrew said earnestly, “for a long term mission like this, working with a reduced crew and all, I think it’s important that the new captain be someone who is familiar with Tempest and her personnel.” He snuck a look at Tovar, pleading with his eyes for help.
“Ahh, yes, Admiral,” she put in. “Commodore Pettigrew has a good point. I’m familiar with Commander Nyondo’s record, sir. She would be an excellent choice.”
The holographic Schooler relented. “All right. Nathari, push through the paperwork. And now, I have to be leaving. There is a reception for the new Pontian ambassador at Koenig Manor this evening, and unfortunately I’m expected to attend. You know how I hate these diplomatic events. Pettigrew, I’ll check in with you again before you depart, and Nathari, make sure to go over that last thing with him, won’t you?”
“I will,” said Tovar as the image of Schooler disappeared. Pettigrew started to speak, but she immediately put up her hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. Checking something on the control panel of her desk, Tovar spoke without looking up. “He says he hates the diplomatic parties, but the truth is he gets a kick out of them.” Pettigrew sat quietly until Tovar looked up from whatever she was doing.
“There,” she finally said. “We can speak freely now. I just wanted to make sure we were alone. Not many people realize it, but if someone knows what they’re doing, they can kill the holographic visual feed and keep the audio channel open to eavesdrop. You can prevent that if you make sure to manually close the channel on your end.”
“That’s…” Pettigrew wanted to say, ‘That’s paranoid.’ What came out was “… interesting.”
Even though she was his superior, he had known Nathari Tovar for many years, and decided to take a chance on that familiarity. “Admiral, mind if I get personal?”
“Why, Chaz, I thought you’d never ask,” she teased.
He gave a quick smile, confident she was joking. “Seriously. We have a war going on. You are one of our best battle commanders, and Central Command has you here sitting behind a desk. What in the Ten Worlds is going on?”
Tovar stood and walked around her desk, leaning against the front of it as she crossed her arms. “Ever heard of that old saying about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer? I’m here so that Channa Maxon can keep an eye on me.”
“The Fleet Admiral considers you an enemy?” He had heard the rumors, but wanted to hear Tovar’s response.
“She doesn’t see me as a friend,” Tovar answered as she raised a hand and pointed to her short, bleached hair. “I support Empress Renata too openly for Fleet Admiral Maxon’s taste, and in her view, anyone who supports Renata is a potential enemy. In a way, I envy you this mission to Summit.”
“Envy a year inside a metal box in deep space?”
“A year away from the politics. A year away from a needless war. Oh, we will wear the Jangsuvians down eventually, but at what cost? How many ships lost? How many lives?”
“If you feel that strongly, you could pull a Leonardo Sanchez and resign your commission,” Pettigrew said, referring to the former Chief of Space Operations.
“Walk away? No thanks. Renata Darracott could have done the same thing, but she’s not a quitter—and neither am I. I won’t give Channa Maxon the pleasure of being rid of me—no matter what it costs,” she said, giving him a solemn smile.
“What was the last thing?”
“Thing?”
“Something Admiral Schooler wanted you to go over with me.”
“Oh, yes—that,” Tovar said, refocusing. “If and when you make contact with the aliens, we need you to ask them about something. Before they died, both Thomas Hoyt and his assistant swore that eight-hundred forty survivors boarded the alien vessel at Beta Corvi Three, but when they transferred to our ships at Tuonetar, we only received eight-hundred thirty-seven survivors. We seem to be missing three of our people.”
“And you think the aliens have them.”
“I don’t know, Chaz. You’ll need to ask—nicely.”
As he made his way back through Presidio Station to his shuttle, Chaz Pettigrew’s mind raced. A yearlong mission with half a crew under the command of a newly minted ship captain. Nursemaid mining vessels through almost 150 light-years of uncharted space. And finally, make contact with an alien species that may or may not want you visiting the Summit system in the first place.
It had all been so simple at Mannerheim.
5: Dialog
Koenig Manor
Esterkeep, Sarissa
“You look wonderful, Rennie. You look, well, like a queen,” her husband Karl said as she entered the large sitting room. Her long, sleeveless evening gown flowed gracefully as she did a quick spin for him. It was elegant without being gaudy, and blue had always been a good color to highlight her light skin and platinum hair.
“A queen? Really, my love, that would be a demotion,” she joked. “Everyone keeps insisting I’m an empress.”
Renata Darracott was an empress. For eighteen standard months now, she had reigned over the Sarissan Empire as Her Imperial and Most Celestial Majesty, Empress Renata—Defender of the Realm, Keeper of the Sun, Archon of the Empire, and so forth. It seemed that every week someone at the Ministry of Culture added a meaningless phrase to her title, as if any of it gave her real authority.
Empress Renata reigned but did not rule. Actual governance had fallen to the new First Consul, Fleet Admiral Channa Maxon, and her handpicked ministers on the Directorate. Still popular with the citizens, Renata had been relegated to a public relations tool, an icon of fashion and style but little else. She was like a child whose parents insisted she be seen but not heard. Maxon paraded her out from time to time—a holiday celebration here, an award ceremony there—enough to keep her face on the cover of the Fleet Admiral’s regime.
And of course there was the Imperial Wedding. The Directorate got a lot of mileage out of last year’s grand event. With over 300 million Net viewers across the Sector, it was one of the most viewed marriage ceremonies in the history of humankind. Almost half of humanity watched as the newly invested empress and handsome industrialist Karl Gideon said their vows. It was the stuff fairy tales were made of, and certainly the type of thing that the power elite found to be a useful distraction for the masses. Give the People bread and circuses: enough sporting events, entertainment scandals, and Imperial sideshows to keep them delighted and distracted, and they won’t be moved to look behind the curtain.
Karl walked over to his wife, embracing her. “You look very handsome this evening,” she said in between kisses. “You always look so nice in formal wear.”
“I’ve been getting a lot of practice lately,” he said sitting down with Renata on the sofa. “What is this, the fourth event this week?”
“More significantly, it’s the final event of the week—but an important one. Relations with the Pontians are just starting to normalize since the Commonwealth War, and it’s vital—”
“I know, I know,” he said, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry about me doing my part tonight. I guarantee I’ll charm the pants right off of the ambassador.”
Renata rolled her eyes. “No need to go that far. She’s an attractive woman, but don’t forget you’re a married man now.”
“Never,” he said, kissing her once again.
When they separated, her face was painted with concern. “Karl, I know all of this has been hard on you.”
He sat back and gave a small laugh. “It sure has. Grand parties and gala receptions can really take it out of a man.”
“You know wha
t I mean,” she said taking him by the hand. “Putting Gideon Universal into trust couldn’t have been easy. Extravagant parties and all, I know you would rather be out there building starships.”
He reached a hand to her mouth and placed his index finger against her lips. “Don’t start that again. Everything was spelled out very clearly to me before we got married. The Prince Consort continuing day-to-day management of one of the largest shipbuilders in the starhold would be a conflict of interest. I get it. It was the company or you. Just remember—I chose you.”
She smiled tenderly at him as he moved closer. Their lips were about to meet again when there was a knock at the Ryouta Room door, and they both froze. Karl shut his eyes in frustration, and Renata gave out a little giggle.
“Come in,” she said, composing herself.
Andrew Merritt entered the room. Karl once remarked that the chief butler of Koenig Manor was constantly turning up at just the wrong time, but Renata knew better. Koenig Manor would cease to function without Merritt. She fervently hoped that he would continue in their service when the couple moved to the new Imperial Palace, once construction there was complete.
“Sorry to intrude, Your Majesty, but the guests are starting to arrive.”
“Merritt, how many are we expecting this evening?” asked Karl as he rose and crossed the room to the liquor cabinet.
“One hundred-sixty are scheduled to attend, Highness.”
“The new place can’t be finished quick enough. We’re outgrowing Koenig Manor,” said Karl as he poured himself a whiskey. The Imperial Palace would be located on the north side of Esterkeep. Vast areas of land were being developed to accommodate not only the palace, but an entirely new section of the capital city—a district dedicated solely to the service of the Empress. The Imperial Ward would be a small town unto itself, but until then, Koenig Manor would continue to serve as the royal residence.
“Drink?” Karl offered to his wife.
Standing, she waved it off. “No, I still have some work to do before this evening’s festivities. Karl, do you mind handling things for a while on your own?”
“Not at all. Just let me have a glass of liquid courage to steel myself, then I’ll be off to be an ever so charming host.”
Before she could leave the room, Renata noticed a certain expression on Merritt’s face—one that she recognized.
“What else, Merritt? Out with it.”
“Well, ma’am, actually there is something, but it concerns His Highness. One of the early arrivals is Mr. Covington, and he has already asked multiple times if Prince Karl were available for a brief private audience.”
Karl didn’t turn around from the cabinet but instead refilled his glass.
“Tyrus Covington? Why is your private attorney on the guest list for a diplomatic reception?” Renata asked her husband. She had met Covington back when she and Karl were first dating and instantly disliked the man. He was a self-important windbag who liked to bore people by bragging about his many famous clients.
Karl faced Renata and marshaled a broad smile. “Tyrus is my guest. I invited him this evening. You know how Tyrus is—he likes to network.”
Renata’s eyes bore into her spouse as she remained silent.
“Rennie, it will be all right,” Karl said. “It’s not as if he’s a nobody. Tyrus Covington is one of the most prominent attorneys in Boutwell. He’s just looking for more off-world contacts, that’s all. Of course, if you think there will be a problem…”
Merritt cleared his throat and spoke up. “In a manner of speaking, Your Highness, there already is. Mr. Covington is being very insistent on seeing you, and some of the Kaskian Guards are concerned over his behavior. Frankly, sir, I’m afraid he may be somewhat inebriated.” The Kaskian Guards were the bodyguards of the Empress. If they said there was trouble, and Merritt said there was trouble, you could be damn well sure there was.
Renata’s nostrils flared as her index finger jabbed in her husband’s direction. “Karl, take care of this—take care of this right now! I will not have this man screwing up an important evening. Merritt, I’ll be in my study, and I am not to be disturbed.”
“Understood, ma’am,” the butler acknowledged with a slight bow as the Empress left the room, but not before giving her spouse another searing glare.
“Right now, Karl,” she said as the door closed firmly behind her.
* * * *
Thirty minutes later in her study, the Empress was in a video conference. Rather than the conventional holographic channel, this meeting was taking place via an old flat screen link. Merritt had introduced her to the low-tech system, a little-known Koenig Manor holdover from the days before the People’s Rebellion, when President McDaniel was in residence. The butler assured her that nobody else in the household knew about the setup, not even the chief of her Kaskian Guard security forces, Colonel Flood. Secrecy was important considering this meeting might be considered high treason by some.
“Nothing much ever happens here in Saovina,” the older man said as he smiled into the camera. “My ranch is about six kilometers outside of town. It’s quiet here, although I’ve been making a lot of trips over to Villanueva lately. That’s usually fun because I get to fly my helicraft. We’re in the middle of summer right now, and when it gets hot on Quijano, it gets really hot. Taking a spin in the sky is very refreshing.”
Renata grinned back at him. “It all sounds wonderful. Growing up on a frozen planet like Odessa, I think I would love your native world.”
“Well, I spend a lot of my time these days in meetings. I suppose one conference room is like all the rest, no matter what planet you’re on.”
“You told me one time that you were going to retire and just sit under a tree and read. It hasn’t quite turned out that way, has it?”
“Does anything ever turn out the way we plan?” asked Leonardo Sanchez. The former admiral was now the leader of the Reform Party, the main opposition group to the policies of the Sarissan government, which were technically the policies of Empress Renata.
Sanchez had resigned his Space Force commission three years ago, but a great deal had changed in the Renaissance Sector since then. After destroying its principal political and military rival, Gerrha, in the Commonwealth War, the Sarissan Union had transformed itself into the Sarissan Empire. The ‘Six Worlds’ became Ten, as the planets Basara and Haojing voted to join the starhold. In addition, the two largest former Commonwealth planets, Gerrha and Kition, had been subjugated by victories in space and an economic blockade. The Sarissan Empire now ruled nearly a quarter of all known human worlds.
“My sources tell me things on Gerrha are a mess,” said Sanchez, moving from pleasantries into substance. “Auric Banks was there last month. He says that we seem to control most of the cities, but in the rural settlements, it’s anarchy.” Banks had once been former leader Victor Polanco’s Chief of Staff and was now the number two man in the Reformist group. Renata remembered him from the old days—but not fondly. Sanchez continued with his concerns. “Many people in the countryside are still having trouble getting the basics: food, electricity, even clean water in some places.”
“Central Command briefs me once a week on the situation,” she said. “But I’m getting a blue-penciled version of the story. They pick and choose what information they share with me. Channa seems to be trying to control the planet through proxy warlords. She’s purchased the loyalty of a few former Gerrhan generals with money and titles of nobility and then turned them loose to run the planet.”
“At least the titles Maxon is granting aren’t hereditary,” remarked Sanchez.
“Not yet, but that could change. I understand this guy she appointed as the Gerrhan planetary governor, the Marquis of Beresford, is quite a piece of work.”
“Marquis of Beresford—hah!” Sanchez spat out bitterly. “There are so many people being made Counts and Countesses these days I can hardly keep track. How these people can be so easily bought is beyond me.”
The opposition leader tilted his head. “Forgive me for saying so, Your Majesty, but in one way or another you have assisted her in gaining each of those positions.”
Sanchez wasn’t being insolent, only truthful. It was as close to an ‘I told you so’ as the retired admiral was likely to get. “Yes, I know,” she admitted pensively.
“And now we have this damnable war against the Jangsuvians,” Sanchez continued.
The current conflict began with an incident on Vanth, a moon in the Boyajian system. A Sarissan mining outpost had been attacked, and Central Command had quickly proclaimed the Jangsuvian military as the aggressor. The Ministry of Culture followed up with a media blitz to whip up war fever, and Sarissa was in its second war in as many years.
“The more information I get on the Vanth attack, the shakier the story,” said Renata. “I still think raiders hit that base. It most certainly was not the Jangsuvians.”
Sanchez frowned. “It wouldn’t be the first time in history that one side fabricated an incident to justify a war. At least our allies on Earth and Threnn were smart enough to decline when the Directorate asked them to join us against the Jangsuvians.”
“I can tell you right now that Channa considered that a slight,” said Renata. “She has made a mental note, and I’m afraid once she’s done with the Jangsuvians that Threnn and Earth may be next on her list.”
He started to say something, hesitated, but then said it anyway. “Ma’am—Rennie—can’t you stop all of this? You realize it’s all being done in your name, don’t you?”
“Leo, believe me when I tell you that I want to stop it. I’ve tried to reason with Channa, but talking with her these days is useless. We have a weekly meeting here at Koenig Manor. She just smiles, nods her head, and then ignores me and does what she wants. You know all of those press statements I issue, the ones supporting the war?”
Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3) Page 5