The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars Book 7)

by Jay Allan

  The med team had set up their equipment right next to the comm station, and they were already running their tests. Once they gave the clearance, he could issue the go ahead to ditch the breathing gear, which would make everyone a lot more comfortable.

  “We should have a direct line on Repulse in another ninety seconds, sir.”

  “Very well.” Rogan took a deep breath, feeling almost lightheaded for a second from the oxygen-rich mixture he was inhaling. He watched as the comm technicians finished their setup, and then he waited for Repulse to come around in its orbit far enough to establish a connection.

  He’d counted down to twenty-four when he heard it.

  “General Rogan!” The voice was wild, out of control, thick with every emotion from excitement to stark terror.

  “What is it?” He spun around, pulling out a small tablet and pulling up a location on the caller.

  “Sir, you need to get here. Now!”

  He turned his head, looking off to the southwest. The lieutenant on the comm was about sixty meters from his current location, hidden right now by the crest of the hill.

  He jogged over toward the designated location, and as he did, he saw a crowd forming, Marines and technicians alike standing in a rough line, all of them focused on…

  Rogan stopped, frozen, his eyes fixed on a small cluster of…people?

  They were very short, and they seemed to be hunched over. Long brown hair hung down from their heads.

  Then Rogan realized they weren’t as short as he’d thought at first…they were bent over. No, they were on their knees…right before the cluster of Marines at the front of the growing crowd.

  My God…people…

  Rogan swallowed hard, still trying to convince himself he wasn’t hallucinating.

  They had come looking for old tech.

  But they had found…is it even possible?

  Could they really be…descendants from survivors of the Cataclysm?

  Chapter Twenty

  Hall of the People

  Liberte City

  Planet Montmirail, Ghassara IV

  Union Year 219 (315 AC)

  “I want to thank you again for accepting our invitation. It’s an honor and a pleasure to host our neighbors as friends.” Villieneuve stood in the vast reception room, smiling at the half dozen emissaries from the Collective. The cavernous chamber was one of the few of such magnificence to survive the orgy of destruction that had accompanied the revolution and Villieneuve’s march back to power.

  He was clad, as he always was in public, in a factory worker’s drab garb, but he’d donned a fresh set for the occasion, new and clean and devoid of the tears and stains that scarred so many the outfits he’d worn since the revolution.

  “We are equally honored, Minister Villieneuve…” The ambassador, dressed in significantly more opulent formal attire, paused. “…though I must say that we were somewhat surprised at the invitation.”

  Villieneuve maintained his smile. He understood the diplomat’s hesitation, and the meaning behind the man’s restrained words. The Union had bullied its weaker neighbors, imposing harsh trade terms on them or conquering them outright. The Collective was the largest and strongest of the remaining entities, with about thirty inhabited worlds…though habitation along the Periphery tended to be modest, and the Collective’s capital world had fewer than two hundred million inhabitants. That was miniscule by comparison with Union planets like Montmirail.

  “Mr. Ambassador, I can only apologize profusely and with all sincerity for the actions of the old government. The Union was founded with the purest of intentions, but I fear it fell from its path long ago and, I daresay, became a bully in international relations. I can assure you, the People’s Union will in no way follow in the footsteps of its predecessor. We seek only harmony with peaceful neighbors…and the strength to resist those who would threaten us.” A pause, then: “And, I’m just ‘Citizen’ Villieneuve, Your Excellency. We’ve dispensed with the structure and titles of elitism in the new Union.”

  The ambassador had an uncertain look on his face. It was no secret that Villieneuve had been a high-ranking member of the old government of which he spoke—though he was pretty certain the ambassador couldn’t know just how at the center of things he’d truly been.

  “I work now,” Villieneuve continued, “to build a new future for my people…and to wash away the guilt and pain I bear from my participation in the old government. I fear I wasn’t in a position to change the Union’s ways, yet I was also too weak to take a stand by resigning my posts. I shall take that shame to my grave.” He cast his eyes down as he spoke, impressing himself with the intensity of his false remorse.

  Villieneuve watched as the ambassador’s expression softened. He felt a rush of satisfaction. It never ceased to amaze him the degree to which people could convince themselves to believe what they wanted to believe. The Collective had long lived in fear of its larger neighbor. The thought of a friendly relationship was a seductive one, and clearly the ambassador had allowed that to cloud his judgment.

  “We are very pleased at the prospect of improved relations…Citizen Villieneuve. I congratulate you, and your people, on the steps you have taken. You are to be praised. The unrest in your nation could have led in a much darker direction.”

  “Indeed, it could have, Mr. Ambassador. I can only hope that our continued efforts will keep us on the path to peace and prosperity, for our billions of workers, and for our neighbors and friends.”

  “We of the Collective certainly share that hope with you, Citizen Villieneuve, and I can state our sincere and fervent hope that our future is one of friendship.”

  Villieneuve smiled and nodded. A few seconds later, he allowed his expression to shift to one of concern. “There are many challenges ahead of us, I fear…”

  “Challenges?”

  “Yes, Ambassador. It’s a travesty that past Union governments have behaved badly toward the Collective and the other nations on the Periphery. We all face the same threat, after all. We should have been natural allies rather than cold war adversaries.” Villieneuve didn’t mention the fact that the Union’s “cold” war on its frontier neighbors had gone hot several times, resulting in more than two dozen systems being annexed over the past two decades.

  “What threat do we share, Citizen Villieneuve? Without any intent to offend, I must state that we have long considered the Union itself to be the greatest danger to our sovereignty.”

  “That’s understandable, Ambassador. As I’ve said, the actions of the government of the old Union were indefensible. Yet, I fear the rational concern Union actions may have caused your nation helped to hide the true danger posed not by us—certainly not now, at least—but by the Confederation.”

  “The Confederation?” The Ambassador seemed surprised at Villieneuve’s words.

  “Of course, Ambassador. Even in the dark years, when the Union was perceived as a menace to you, it also insulated you from the Confederation’s expansion. They are a nation that exports propaganda, stories of prosperity and peaceful intentions, but the reality is quite different. Their prosperity is built on their utter disregard for their workforces. Billions of workers toil in unsafe factories, living in abject poverty as their labors help to build the vast wealth of the industrial princes and the oligarchical families that rule through the sham of their Senate.”

  “We have had limited contact with the Confederation. They are far from us, and the Union lies astride almost every route to their space. We have never considered them a threat.”

  “For the very reasons you just stated, Ambassador. Because the Union always lay between you and them. But, it’s no secret that the Union has been weakened, that we are more vulnerable to Confederation aggression than ever in our history…and, if the People’s Union is conquered by the Confederation, how long do you think the Collective and the other Periphery nations would remain independent? If we’re defeated, your fates will be sealed. You will all fall under Confedera
tion control, sooner or later.”

  The ambassador looked back, a puzzled look on his face. Villieneuve knew he wouldn’t bring the Collective, or any of the other Periphery nations, over to his side immediately. There was too much history of Union aggression. But he was sure he’d get there. He could feel movement even now, doubts in the ambassador’s mind that hadn’t been there moments before.

  He had time, some at least. But when the moment came for the next phase of the struggle, he intended to have the entire Periphery behind him…and, with any luck, they would face a Confederation riven by internal dissension. The Union had always relied on brute force against the Confeds, but now it was time for finesse.

  Time to end this century-long conflict once and for all.

  * * *

  Villieneuve read the report for the second time. Lille had been aggressive from the instant he’d arrived on Dannith…very aggressive. He’d grabbed a suspected Confederation operative, one he seemed to believe he had a chance to subvert. Villieneuve wasn’t so sure about that, but Lille was no fool. If he couldn’t entice the captured agent to support Sector Nine…

  The People’s Protectorate, you fool…you have to remember that.

  If he couldn’t get the agent to switch allegiances, he’d still get useful information out of her. And no one matched Ricard Lille’s ability to dispose of an asset that had no further value.

  He reached over and tapped a few keys on his keyboard, bringing up another, highly classified, report. His intel from inside the Confederation was spotty, and only partially reliable. His resources were fewer than they’d been in the days of Sector Nine, and he’d deployed almost all of what he did have to Lille’s and Marieles’s operations. But the report seemed reliable, and it concerned him greatly. There was a naval task force in Dannith’s system, far larger and more powerful than anything he’d expected to be there, especially since the post-war demobilizations.

  The Confeds had decommissioned dozens of ships since the war ended…just as he’d suspected they would…as he’d counted on them doing. The peace party in the Confederation was strong and energetic even without his assistance, and despite his own troubles, he’d managed to continue to exert influence in the Senate. It was difficult to bully or entice Senators to undertake actions viewed as disloyal or treasonous, but it was relatively easy to encourage them to be more aggressive about things they wanted to do anyway. The Confederation navy’s budget had been slashed on three separate occasions, and it was now barely eighty percent of what it had been before the war. Thousands of veteran spacers had been retired on half-pensions, and their return to the civilian workforce, coupled with the millions of workers laid off as military production fell from a breakneck pace to almost nothing, had impacted planetary economies throughout the Confederation.

  The Confeds didn’t face an economic depression anywhere near as severe as the one he was still struggling to overcome in the Union, but Confed citizens weren’t as used to deprivation either, and there had been unrest on a number of worlds. That all played into his hand perfectly, making it easier for his creatures in the Senate to push for yet more diversion of funds from the military budgets to social programs and civil spending designed to boost the economy…and quell the angry population.

  Villieneuve had spent the year after the ceasefire concerned that the Confeds would reinstate hostilities. Though he knew the Confederation well enough that he wasn’t surprised at their willingness to stop the war as they had, he was still relieved when the ceasefire turned into a treaty, and the Confed forces pulled back into their own space.

  Tactically, it had been a huge mistake, and in terms of long-term strategy, it was even more foolish. The Confeds had thrown away a chance to establish a level of dominance that would have eliminated the prospect of future wars. They could have made themselves almost invulnerable, but instead they had given him a chance to salvage the Union, to rebuild its strength and continue to scheme…and to prepare for a day when he could seek vengeance for what he knew perfectly well had been a defeat, however much his propaganda specialists might call it a draw that the Union had accepted to achieve peace.

  Now, his concerns of renewed war before he could have the Union ready had faded away. The greatly-reduced Confed navy was still stronger than his battered forces, but not by enough of a margin to mount a credible invasion threat. And the Alliance, now allied with the Confederation, had seen its own forces devastated, first by civil war, then in combat at the Bottleneck…and finally in their vengeance-driven conflict with the Krillians. In the long-term, the Alliance, bolstered by the annexation of the Krillian systems, would be more powerful than ever, but for the immediate future, they had significant rebuilding to do before they could project meaningful offensive power far beyond their own borders.

  He had time…but not an unlimited amount of it. He had to make things happen before his adversaries became too powerful to match. A league between the Union and the nations of the Periphery would help. If he could bring the Collective in, he was sure the others would eventually follow. The entities on the edge of human habitation were small and weak by the standards of nations like the Union and the Confederation, but combined together, they would be a significant factor in any future conflict.

  Still, that wouldn’t be enough. League forces might just offset the Alliance, but there was little chance of the Union regaining its advantage over the Confeds. He had to do everything possible to weaken the Confederation, even to destabilize it. It has been months since he’d sent Marieles to Megara, and the reports he’d received suggested she had made some progress expanding on the influence he’d established in the Senate. But her mission was a colossal one, and he knew he’d have to give her all the support he could if she was to have any real chance of pulling it off.

  Perhaps Dannith is a start on that…

  The fleet concentration in the system was out of the ordinary, and Villieneuve doubted the Confederation Senate knew what was going on there. Most likely, it was Confederation Intelligence…possibly overstepping their authority, and very likely trying to keep it as quiet as so massive an operation could be.

  It seemed odd to him, coming as he did from a system where the intel agencies had almost free rein, but the Confeds didn’t operate that way. Gary Holsten had been continually hampered by Senatorial oversight and other restrictions that had handicapped his agency’s efforts to match Sector Nine. It was an unavoidable aspect of republican government, one he fortunately didn’t have to deal with in his own operations. Still, it told him Holsten must have a good reason for taking such a risk.

  They must be on to Ricard…

  That greatly increased the danger his friend faced. Lille was a survivor, but if Confederation Intelligence had sent an entire naval task force to the system, it didn’t bode well for Lille getting very far on his mission. He’d be spending most of his time avoiding capture, and trying to preserve his operation from Confed attempts to crush it. That would interfere with expanded efforts to locate old tech artifacts.

  But, maybe we can still gain an edge from this…

  His fingers moved across the keyboard, pulling up a blank screen and then typing a set of new orders. Orders for Desiree Marieles.

  Villieneuve understood the Confeds…he’d spent his entire adult life trying to devise ways to defeat them. Whoever sent a naval task force to Dannith had to be highly-ranked, probably Gary Holsten himself.

  If it was Holsten, he’d pushed his authority to the absolute limits. The Confederation Intelligence head had stuck his neck out on this one…and Villieneuve was more than ready to chop it off if he could.

  He finished typing the orders, and then he hit the send button. His system was highly secure, and no one but his personal AI would see what he’d written. The computer would encrypt the message, and see that it was sent to Marieles, looking very much like normal diplomatic comm traffic or personal correspondence…anything but what it was, instructions to see that the right Senators found out about
the naval concentration at Dannith, and that they responded as he knew they would.

  Holsten had been a worthy opponent over the years, especially considering the difficulties he’d had to bear working in the Confederation’s system. But now, he’d made a rare mistake, he’d exposed himself.

  And Gaston Villieneuve had every intention of taking advantage of that fact to destroy his rival.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CFS Repulse

  Zed-11 System

  Year 315 AC

  “Commodore!” The officer’s voice was shrill, uncontrolled, not at all what Sara Eaton had come to expect from her crew.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” Eaton’s voice was hard, expressing her displeasure with the lack of discipline in the officer’s voice without actually saying anything about it.

  “Commodore…General Rogan reports the landing party has encountered…” The officer paused.

  “Encountered what?” Eaton was getting very impatient.

  “People, Commodore. They’ve found people.”

  Eaton was taken aback by the report. Her mind raced to accept what she’d just been told. She’d been ready to find every manner of artifact, even some still active and attacking her people, but encountering live humans…

  “Put General Rogan on my line, Lieutenant. Immediately.”

  “Yes, Commodore.” A short pause. “The general is coming, sir. He stepped away from the comm station for a moment.”

  A few seconds passed, then: “Commodore?” It was Rogan, and as soon as she heard his tone, she knew something significant had happened.

  “What’s going on down there, Bryan?”