by Chris Hechtl
“They are serious? Warmongering … is he asking to get his ass kicked?” Senator Russell demanded. “Again? Like once wasn't enough?” he growled. “I know we should have pressed for his relief,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, other way around,” Senator Falconi replied. He looked over to where Senator Mayfair was quietly fuming. Well, not quite quietly, he thought, he could see the color in her cheeks and was fairly certain it wasn't from the glass of wine she'd been drinking when the news had been broken to the media. It was way too early in the morning to be drinking wine, but he wasn't going to tell the woman that.
“All we can do now is hope and pray he's got enough forces to do the job,” Russell said, taking a belt of his whiskey.
“Amen,” Avery echoed, drinking the toast as well. His was juice however. “I think we need to have a working breakfast. We can come up with a common line. Then we can hammer it when we do our next round of speeches with the media. If it is a good enough meme, it will be picked up and we'll gain supporters,” he said.
“I know. I'm tempted to be a part of the I-told-you so crowd though,” Senator Mayfair said, setting her glass down. “But I know that's a trap. If he's going on the offensive with blood in his eye and we're wrong, it'll make us look like we cried wolf,” she said.
“True,” Russell said slowly, nodding. He patted his belt line. “I'm up for some Neobuffalo steaks and eggs. Anyone else?” he said, rising to his feet.
“Now that you've had your morning mouth wash, I suppose so,” Avery said rising out of his seat as well. “I'd planned on my morning workout, but I think all things considered I'll have to pass today,” he said. “There is always tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow. As bad as things are, there is always light somewhere,” Cheyenne said, eying the rising sun in the distance. She turned to the others. “I'm not a big fan of a heavy breakfast. I'll have some toast and coffee though while we work out this meme you mentioned,” she said, nodding to Avery.
“Okay,” Avery said, rolling his shoulders. “I was thinking we split the difference. Cautious, but supportive of the troops,” he said.
Russell nodded thoughtfully. “A good start. Also smart,” he rumbled as they made their way to the Senate dining room.
Chapter 41
The emperor strode into the conference room and stopped to stare at the assembled admirals and minister of war. “This had better be good,” he growled.
“I hope it is. I was in a delicate conference handling the latest budget,” the prime minster said as he entered behind the emperor. The emperor turned to look at the duke. The prime minister didn't see him; he just went to his seat. He flared his coattail and then took a seat quickly.
The emperor pursed his lips as his face formed an expressionless mask. There had been a subtle change in the administration as of late. A lack of … deference to his position. He wasn't certain if he liked it or not. There was little he could do about it however. He'd been tempted to make an example of someone, but his wife and mother had advised him to hold back.
Even raking one of them over the coals with a good verbal reaming seemed out for the moment. He needed these people he reminded himself as he took his seat at the head of the table. “All right, we're here; what happened this time?”
“We've received a fresh courier, Sire. This one brings news from Admiral De Gaulte. Fresh news,” the praetor began. He used his implants to activate the holographic projector in the room. The lights dimmed as the projector warmed up and came online with the preprogrammed data.
“Apparently, Admiral De Gaulte ran into the enemy at B-97A. They were routed,” he said.
“They were … he fell back on Dead Drop?” the minister of war demanded.
“How? With what forces?” General Levot demanded.
“A slip of the tongue I'm afraid. To clarify, it was the enemy that was routed in this case,” the praetor explained. He saw the general's good eye widen slightly then narrow in speculation. “But not without considerable losses on our part,” he explained, nodding as he turned to face the emperor fully.
“But he won,” the emperor said.
“Yes, he won. But again, we took losses. He has gone into pursuit. His message that he was going into Protodon caught up with the battle message since it had been waiting in Dead Drop for a courier to carry it to us.”
“What sort of losses?” the prime minister asked.
The praetor turned to him but his OPS officer took over. “Every capital ship took some damage during the engagement—some more so than others. He also lost the Eighth Destroyer Squadron. There are other losses, most noticeably in the fighter and bomber wings,” Vice Admiral Post said, taking up the narrative from the praetor.
“The Eighth Destroyer Squadron? You are talking about the entire squadron?” the prime minister asked, staring at them in shock.
“Yes sir,” the admiral replied.
The prime minister sat back. He frowned pensively.
“Continue,” the emperor growled, flicking his fingers for them to get on with the news.
:::{)(}:::
The empress frowned thoughtfully. “He lost an entire squadron? All of them? What are we talking about, eight ships?”
“Yes, that's what the reports say. I watched the video. It has been a while since I was in the navy but it is impressive, much like the engagements that were fought during the Xeno war and before,” Pyotr said as he undressed.
“But he won. So, what's the problem?” the empress asked as she worked on removing her makeup.
“Those bunch of old women in the Admiralty, that's what. They don't see it as a win. Technically, it isn't. He managed to chase them out of the star system and bounced them out of B-95a3 for good measure, but he took losses in doing so. And now Second Fleet and that damn Neochimp has fallen back on Protodon,” he snarled as he tugged his boots off.
His wife glanced at him in the mirror and pursed her lips. She forbade her first instinct from telling him to call a butler to help him get them off. Instead she looked away when he started to turn his head to look at her. “They are concerned. Do they have a right to be concerned?” she asked carefully.
“Some. But a win is a win.”
“But the cost?”
“Was heavy. But the morale impact should be good.”
“True,” the empress said as she wiped at a spot of makeup on her face. “What about the children?”
“I was wondering when you'd get around to asking about them. No, they are fine,” Pyotr stated. “At least for now. Nary a scratch.”
“Good,” she said.
He snorted. “You said that almost like you meant it,” he said, eying her.
“I did, to some degree,” she said, turning to face him. He saw the challenge in her look but didn't want to face it so he looked away. After a moment she frowned as if a thought occurred to her. “Did any of them distinguish themselves in combat?”
“No. There was no mention of that. I didn't check in-depth. I know there are messages from them; there always are. And messages to their significant others,” he said.
“Not Catherine. She's bucked the system and refused a paramour,” the empress stated. “I know you and your mother have tried to fix her up. She's such a willful child,” she said shaking her head.
The emperor frowned slightly. He was wise enough not to mention that his latest wife wasn't that much older than his eldest daughter.
“Ready for bed?” he asked instead.
“Just about,” she said, slipping into a sheer silk kimono. She belted the waist band and rose in a graceful motion that she'd been taught. The kimono slipped slightly off one shoulder. She saw a spark of interest in her husband's eye.
Men, she thought as he took her in his arms and kissed her. So easy, so predictable, so fun to control she thought as their hands wandered.
:::{)(}:::
Princess consort Marina Stuart finished reading the first message from her husband. She frowned despite what her
mother had taught her about frown lines. She had to admit, she was not happy about the threat to Adam. She sucked in a breath as she replayed the message. She then contacted her family, but she knew that there was little she could do.
Actually, nothing, nothing at all she thought as she left a voicemail with her parents. She frowned, toying with the phone. If Adam died, heaven forbid, her power would die with him. That had always been a threat, but the risk had been worth it before. Now she wasn't certain since she was so close to the seat of power that she could taste it. To lose it now … well, most of it. She would be a regent to their children, but if Catherine lived they would not inherit.
She closed her eyes. If her husband died, it would most likely be a death sentence for her and her children. One way or another they'd be shuffled off or killed off. She shook her head. There wasn't a damn thing she could do about it either. She hated feeling helpless. It wasn't in her nature to allow herself to be in the state she was currently in.
She therefore prayed that if her husband should die, that his siblings would die as well. And to facilitate her prayers, she made plans to do something about the siblings that were still on Horath. It wouldn't be easy, not with the emperor's guard watching over them like hawks, but it would have to be done.
Her family would help to some degree she thought as she finished readying herself for bed. The duvet and covers were already pulled down. She unbuttoned and let her robe slip off, then draped it on the chest at the foot of the bed.
She frowned as she laid down and pulled the blankets up. Killing them would take time and patience. If they missed … and it would have to be carefully handled. Her family had contingency plans in place already, but she wasn't certain how up-to-date they were. Perhaps it was time to find out? Her frown intensified before it smoothed into a neutral expression. But what would work best would be to have the emperor do it for her; she reminded herself as she settled into bed and used her implants to shut the lights off. She nuzzled her pillow and then closed her eyes. Yes, the emperor she thought as she let her mind drift.
:::{)(}:::
The praetor shook his head as he went over the battle once more. Vice Admiral Post and Vice Admiral Newberry were present, as was Duke Rico, the minister of war.
The news of the battle of B-97A was starting to make the rounds in the seats of power on and over Horath. Most were taking it as face value. They are initially glad of the win; it was a vindication of their hard efforts and proof that the federation could be beaten. But the losses and reported damage sparked a concern in the praetor, one he shared with others it seemed, he noted, eying the two vice admirals and the duke.
Coupled with the report of cracks and inferiority of their hardware makes, heightened the level of concern. Cyrano's last report of White falling back on Protodon was also a concern. They were all well aware the Neochimp would have stocks of supplies to draw on, plus reinforcements waiting there.
The news of battle damage had finally gotten the emperor around to sending more substantial back up to Dead Drop. He had signed off on sending four battle cruisers, four cruisers, and a squadron of destroyers to the star system with orders to meet up with the Retribution Fleet and swap out with their worst damaged ships.
That had been the selling point that had gotten the emperor to sign off on the praetor's plan. And heaven help the Duke of Gaston if he got cute again and diverted them for his own ends. Imperial Intelligence was well aware of his shenanigans, which meant that the praetor and the emperor were as well.
He shook himself. He needed to focus on the here and now, he reminded himself.
“Cyrano is good. He's wily, damn good at being tricky. Believe me, I know. He'll game it out, all the angles. The problem is, he's also a worrier,” Admiral Post growled.
“Granted. But in this case that's a good thing. If he waded in like your cousin or mine, we'd have another lost fleet on our hands,” the minister of war stated. He grimaced and took a sip of water.
“Yes, that is definitely true. My concern is, did he wait too long? If he did, he's going to get his head handed to him, and if that doesn't happen, he's going to have them dogging his heels the whole way back to Dead Drop. Possibly further,” the vice admiral stated.
“Not a nice thought,” the minister growled.
“No, no it's not.”
“But they have to have something to do it with right? Knock him on his heels? Force him back?”
“I don't know. But I've got this puckered feeling …” Malwin growled. “It won't go away, and I know when to listen to my gut.”
The minister looked at him for a long moment then nodded slowly. “So, what do you want to do?”
“I want to send him better reinforcements, not this harem scarem light shit. Get it into Dead Drop and have it ready when he needs to call on it. Not if, but when,” the admiral growled.
The minister sighed. “You know the emperor is going to pitch three shades of a fit over it right?”
The praetor grunted then nodded.
“I think a lot of people have been overlooking something else significant,” the countess murmured. All eyes turned to her. She played with her stylus, flipping it end over end. “Did anyone notice the numbers and size of the enemy fleet?”
“Yes …,” the minister said slowly. He glanced at the other officers.
“One of them was undoubtedly Queen Adrienne rebuilt,” the praetor said.
“You're talking about one of the battle cruisers,” Admiral Post said, looking at his boss. The praetor nodded. “And a couple of the other ships as well.” he turned to the countess.
“Okay, granted, some were refitted prizes. So, the question is, where did he get the other nine battle cruisers?” the countess demanded as her hand stopped. She continued to look at it. “Nine total of them, the smaller cruisers, the carriers, the other ships …,” she flicked her hand, letting the stylus roll away from her. “Tons and tons of material. No way they found it all floating around.”
The vice admiral turned to look at the minister and praetor then sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “New construction. He does have the keys,” Admiral Post said, looking around the room. “It's the only thing that fits.”
“Yes. Which begs the question, if they sent that much out on the offensive, what's guarding the star systems with the shipyards, their most valuable real estate?” the countess asked. She raised an eyebrow at the OPS officer. “Remember, Irons is also conservative and a defensive-minded officer.”
The praetor grunted like he'd been gut punched. All the back slapping and concern over the damage to the Retribution Fleet suddenly went out the window.
“Those are good questions. Questions your people should be looking into very carefully and quickly,” the minister rumbled.
“Oh, we are. But there is no such thing as carefully and quickly. Not in intelligence work. Quick and dirty usually means breakage and high risk. The risk can mean not getting any data at all,” she warned.
“So, what are you doing about it?” the minister asked.
She glanced at him then shrugged. “I passed orders for intelligence assets in the area to penetrate the enemy space to gather INTEL. To also pass on any knowledge they obtain. To pick up ships and personnel, news, and anything we may use to help build a better picture of what is going on over there. But, it isn't enough. And we still have the problem of getting it here,” she said, stabbing a manicured fingertip into the table top.
“Pi sector to Sigma is a long route. I'm not sure we can afford a year or more delay between information. To date the most up-to-date information we've gotten has been from the Retribution Fleet,” the countess admitted. “If Admiral De Gaulte can't get in and hold Protodon, they'll slam it shut again making it even harder to pry them out, even with a massive showing from Home Fleet.”
“And we still need to get the emperor to sign off on sending them,” the minister said.
“Yes. I'm used to working with long-range data sets that are o
ut of date. It is a part of the trade, a price we pay I suppose you could say,” the countess stated. “But the enemy has faster ships. That means they can communicate faster than we can. They've got A.I.; we do not. We need to continue to redress our differences and make up the lost ground.”
“Suddenly it's a race?” Admiral Post asked.
She looked at him with a slightly pitying look. He blinked, face turning into a cool mask. “Of course it is. One we have to win if we wish to survive and continue expanding.”
“Right now I'm more concerned with survival,” the praetor admitted darkly.
“Right. I'll continue to explore ways to get information out. I don't know if it is worth the risk of sending a ship in direct. At this point I highly doubt it. We'd just be signing the crew's death warrants and handing their ship over to the enemy.”
“Yeah, let's try not to do that again, shall we?” the minister drawled, sitting back in his chair. “I know Malwin and I have taken enough heat from that as it is.”
“I know. The only safe way in is through Pi, but we're not even certain of that. If they have sown up the other side, it means any ship that comes into their sector would be required to heave to and be boarded for inspection.”
“And if their cover isn't good enough, they are blown.”
“Exactly,” the countess said with a grimace, “which means no spy ships, no hidden compartments, no cool tech toys. We should be able to insert operatives in as passengers on unsuspecting ships. Either as singletons, pairs, or small groups. But again, they'd be cut off with no tech and no way to get word of what they found out to us.”
“Except the long way. They'd have to what, build off the fifth column groups created on each planet? Daisy chain messages and personnel on them?”
“With the high risk of the chain being intercepted, monitored, or cut,” the countess stated, “with little or no feedback. Any feedback would risk exposure of two links in the chain,” she explained. The praetor winced.
“Do we really think it is worth the investment? That this war will drag on for decades or more?” Admiral Post asked. “You know, we could be jumping at shadows.”