The Emperor's Conspiracy

by William Zellmann

  “We are not helpless. Many of you know that we have been preparing to defeat the usurper. Many of you have been involved in our effort, and many more will become involved before the madman is defeated and the rim made safe.

  “But our preparations are not yet complete. The enemy is powerful, and the chances are excellent that we will be forced to let him occupy some of the rim worlds for a while. Nevertheless, our forces, under the leadership of Vice Admiral Val Kedron, hero of Haskins’ World, will prevail. Of that, let there be no doubt.”

  Cord carried on a bit more in that vein, preparing the people of the rim for the fight to come.

  The customers at the bar were getting excited. Comments such as, “Did you hear what the Emperor said about us?” and, “Imagine the Emperor taking off his robes like that!” In the hour after the broadcast, I heard only one negative comment; most of the patrons were flattered and honored by the emperor's visit, and determined to help Cord fight against “tyranny.” And none of them questioned why the Emperor hadn’t simply come to the rim with a huge battle fleet and destroyed Jonas.

  We used Haven City’s schedule aboard Valkyrie, and it was the middle of one ‘night’ when I went down to the galley for a late (or early) cup of caf. I’d filled my cup from the ever-ready pot and turned to sit down when I noticed Suli. She was sitting silently at a table in the far corner, nursing a caf of her own. Acutely aware of my unshaven, unkempt appearance, I forced a smile to my face, and moved to join her.

  Even in the middle of the night, she was achingly beautiful. Not a strand of that silky white hair was out of place. She wore a maroon robe. I couldn't tell what, if anything, she wore beneath it, but the wine-red of her robe, lighter red of her lips, and white of her hair and eyes framed the velvety blackness of her skin to perfection.

  “Good Evening, Admiral,” she began, and flashed me a blinding white grin. “Or should I say ‘good morning’?”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t know,” I replied. “But I suspect it's ‘good morning’. It’s mostly been morning before I get to sleep, lately.”

  The grin faded, to be replaced by an annoyed expression. “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Damn it, Admiral! Don’t you know we’re all depending on you? Are you going to be groggy from lack of sleep when Jonas shows up? You need a keeper!” The expression had gone from annoyance to exasperation.

  Sometimes my tongue has a life of its own. “Are you volunteering?” I asked without thinking. I immediately wished I could kick myself, and frantically cast around for a more innocuous response, without success.

  She flushed purple. Her eyes grew panicky for a moment, and then she regained her composure. She sniffed loudly, and then replied, “I’ve better things to do than babysit admirals!”

  I was still looking for an innocent topic. Somehow, whenever I was in her presence, everything seemed to take on sexual, or at least romantic, overtones.

  “I’ve wanted to tell you,” I said desperately. “You’ve been more than keeping your word. I’ve been watching. You’ve done very well relating to the rest of the crew.” This was true — and it hadn’t been easy for her. But she was forcing old prejudices down, and it was obviously growing easier. “Well,” I continued, “except for that one idiot, of course. You should have broken that arm.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Chief Erske? He treats me like a little sister now. For some reason, he’s appointed himself my protector." Her expression changed to one of puzzlement. “They all treat me like that. In fact, I think they follow me around when I go down to Haven. One night a drunk started giving me trouble, and suddenly four of them were there.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand it.”

  I shrugged. “They’re surprised and flattered that someone as gorgeous as you would treat them like shipmates. The ones that thought they had a chance with you made their pass, and you turned them all down gently. There’re no hard feelings. Oh, they still admire your beauty, but now it’s more the way a man can admire a work of art without lusting after it. As for the women, they see that you’re not competing with them.”

  “And the men are proud of you,” I continued. “To them, you’re almost a mascot: the most beautiful Astrogator in the Empire. They feel a proprietary interest. They’re glad that others admire your beauty, but anyone that tries to force himself on you will have a whole crew to deal with — male and female.”

  She shook her head, and that glorious mane of white whipped around her shoulders. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “I’ve been in space for ten years now, and no crew has ever treated me this way.”

  I shrugged again. “You’ve never treated a crew this way. You were always so worried about the paleskins pursuing you that you made yourself a target and a challenge. You never became more than a beautiful object to them, because you treated them like objects — objects to be feared and rejected in disgust.”

  She looked thoughtful. “You may be right, Admiral. If so, I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

  I chuckled. “No, you don’t. That hug and kiss when I got back from Thaeron did more for my reputation than I’ve done in forty years!”

  She looked puzzled and embarrassed. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  This time I actually laughed. “I know, and that’s why it’s so funny. Everybody on the ship knew about that kiss within ten minutes of it happening. I understand that there was a lot of discussion on all levels, but the final verdict is that you and I have something going, and the crew approves. You’ve turned a fat old trader captain into a romantic legend. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

  She flushed purple again. “No, no, it doesn’t bother me, but . . .” A panicked look began creeping onto her face.

  Impulsively, I took her hand in mine. “If you’d like, I can leak the word that there’s really nothing going on. I should have done it before. I’m sorry.”

  She was staring fixedly at my hand holding hers. I realized what I’d done, and snatched the hand away, muttering an apology.

  “No, no,” she said softly, “It’s all right. I mean . . . Oh!” She jumped up and ran out of the galley.

  I went back to my cabin, but not to sleep. Damn it! I wasn’t a horny teenager!

  By the time I ran into her on the bridge the next day, she was back in control of herself. She gave me a wink and a confident grin. “Don’t worry about leaking that word, Admiral. I wouldn’t want to interfere with a romantic legend.”

  I answered her grin with one of my own. “A fat old trader captain thanks you,” I replied formally, bowing. “But if you should meet another Frejan or something, and change your mind, just let me know.” I sobered. “And I’m sorry about touching you. I really wasn’t thinking. I hope you weren’t disgusted.”

  Her grin faded. “No,” she replied, “I wasn’t . . . disgusted.”

  Something had happened, though. In a strange way, we were more comfortable around each other, now. Why, there were times when I could talk to her for ten minutes without saying something completely idiotic. I still felt stupid and tongue-tied, but now I seldom had to flee in embarrassment. I began dropping in on the bridge when I knew she had the watch.

  A few days later, I had a visit from Shar. “Damn it, Admiral, either bed her or wait ‘til this is over. Having the Admiral showing up at all hours is driving my bridge crew crazy.”

  I could feel my face grow hot. “What do you mean? Who?” He merely looked at me with a skeptical expression.

  I started to bluster, but could see that it wouldn’t work. Finally, I sighed. “Is it that obvious, Shar?”

  He grinned. “The smart money is offering three to two, but the odds are starting to climb because you're so clumsy about it. The only reason they’re as low as they are is because you both obviously want it so much.” He waved a hand to forestall my excited denial. “Val, we’ve been friends a long time. This can’t go on. Please. You have enough to worry about. Put this thing on hold until this is over. Stay off the bridge.”
/>
  My face grew warm again. “I’m sorry, Shar. I hadn’t realized I was being such an old fool. I’ll stay away from her, I promise.”

  I tried hard to keep my word. I threw myself even more intensely into the details of planning and operations.

  Every ship and boat was now equipped with the radio transceivers, and we’d assigned one overall battle frequency and other, separate ones to different commands and forces.

  Harpy was back from Outback. Fearless’ damage had been surveyed, and the news wasn’t good. Her weapons systems could be repaired in fairly short order, as could her life support. However, the jump comp would be a major problem, and would take months to repair. Captain Vidsen had assigned Fearless personnel to replace shortages on Harpy, so Jamro had a full crew, and was spoiling for a fight. He and Bendo of Predator had become fast friends, though they’d only known each other casually on Thaeron.

  Chapter XI

  We were at a staff meeting, bemoaning, as usual, our lack of firepower, when Sri Bendo said, “I wish you could figure out a way to give us some of those boats, Admiral.”

  Jamro shrugged. “You mean those ridiculous armed miners?” he jeered, “Why would you want them? They’d just get in the way. Besides, where would you put them? A destroyer's boat deck is just about big enough for the gig and a couple of launches.”

  Bendo snorted. “You haven’t seen them in action. We wouldn’t have had a chance against them if we’d been fighting when we got to Outback system. They were driving our weapons comps nuts, not to mention our gunners. They’d have sliced us to ribbons.”

  Jamro looked at Bendo unbelievingly. “If you say so, Sri. As far as I’m concerned they’re no loss.”

  Bendo looked at me, grinning. “Admiral, d'you think we could arrange a small demonstration for the unbeliever, here?”

  In the end, Jamro took Harpy, with Bendo aboard, out to the asteroid belt, and the attack boats mounted a demonstration attack on a ship-sized asteroid, then a simulated attack on Harpy herself.

  Jamro came back an enthusiastic convert. He and Bendo burst into my cabin with Toms Tindarr in tow, demanding that we find a way to give the destroyers boat support despite their lack of jump capability.

  “Don’t you think I’ve wanted to do just that?” I replied testily. “But as you pointed out, destroyers don’t have large enough boat decks, and the boats don’t have jump capability. The best we can do is having the destroyers escorted by an armed tramp with a load of boats.”

  Jamro opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by an unexpected source. “I dunno, Admiral,” Toms Tindarr said, “’Pears t’me t’might be done.”

  I suppressed a snort of derision. “All right, Toms, how might it be done? The boats don’t have jump capability, and the destroyers don’t have space to carry them."

  “Weel noo,” he began “th’ boats don’ have jump motors, it’s true. But they do have big ol’ tractor generators. S’pose a dozen ‘r so clamped theyselves onter the hull an’ the destroyer jumped?”

  Bendo stared at Toms. “Do you know what would happen if those tractors failed in mid-jump?”

  Toms grinned. “Nope. An’ neither does ye, ‘cause ain’ nobody come back fum nullspace! But ye don’ unnerstand. I ain’ sayin’ the boat’s pilot gotta be in the boat durin’ the jump. Ye ain’ got room inside fer the boats, but I’ll bet ye got room fer the pilots.”

  “I get it!” I crowed excitedly. “You clamp a dozen or so boats to the hull, and the pilots go inside the hull for jump. As soon as the jump is completed, they climb back out, man their boats, and unclamp!”

  Bendo looked doubtful. “Space combat happens quickly. I wouldn’t want to be on the outside of a ship in a suit during a battle.”

  Toms snorted. “Yah? Think ‘bout it. Be safer’n bein’ inside ‘thout a suit! Les’n ye was hit direct, ‘course,” he added.

  Bendo still looked unconvinced, but Jamro was excited. Eventually, Toms agreed to recruit pilots for an experiment.

  A week later, Harpy hung in space near the main jump point for Haven system. I watched from Valkyrie. Three boats were clamped to Harpy’s hull. Their pilots were sealed in an unpressurized personnel lock. Harpy jumped. She would emerge a short jump away, reverse course, and jump back, simulating an attack. Predator was acting as a guard ship picketing the jump point. When Harpy emerged, alarms would sound, and Predator would go to battle stations.

  Who had the advantage, attacker or defender, had been a subject of debate in military circles for centuries. A crew cannot be kept at a constant state of alert. Thus, it takes time for a picket ship to assume battle stations and begin fighting. The attacker, of course, is already at battle stations when he emerges. However, it takes precious moments to spin down his jump engines and light off his inertial drives, which power his shields and weapons. In the meantime, he is vulnerable.

  So, several minutes might elapse between the emergence of an attacker and the start of battle. In many cases, the outcome of a battle depended entirely upon who was ready to fight first. There might be enough time for the boat pilots to come out of the airlock and man their boats. That was one of the things this test was to establish.

  The wait was nerve-wracking by the time Harpy suddenly appeared and Shar, standing next to me, mashed the button on the timer in his hand. In seconds, the airlock hatch swung open and three tiny figures swung out, and then paused, as they made sure that their magnetic boots were grasping the hull. In a strange slow motion shuffle, they approached the boats still safely clamped to the hull. A few more seconds, and they detached and swung toward Predator. It was almost a minute later that Predator’s shields went up.

  The boats had been in space for more than a minute and a half before the light announcing Predator’s battle-readiness flashed on and Harpy’s shields went up almost simultaneously.

  Shar and I exchanged glances. If that kind of performance could be repeated, those boats could completely change the face of space warfare.

  However, Shar looked at me without enthusiasm. “You know, Val, those boats are fast and incredibly maneuverable, but they’re also pretty damn vulnerable. One hit by just about anything, and they’re gone.”

  I nodded, sobering. “I know, Shar. But these pilots are like fighter pilots; the more dangerous something is, the more enthusiastic they get.” I shook my head. “I don’t pretend to understand it, but when Toms went looking for volunteers for this experiment, all of them volunteered, and more than half said they’d prefer to stay in the boats during jump.” I sighed. “I have to use them, Shar. They’ve turned out to be the best weapon I have. But I know that casualties will be high.”

  In any event, we’d demonstrated that Toms’ idea was feasible; destroyers could carry their own fighter escorts.

  Experimentation showed that a destroyer could play host to nine external boats, three attached near each of her three personnel airlocks.

  I'd kept my word to Shar. I stayed off Valkyrie’s bridge unless on duty, and my long, rambling talks with Suli had degenerated to embarrassed monosyllables.

  Things were coming together, though. We’d decided to leave five of the rim tramps unarmed, so that they could function as intelligence gatherers and as contacts for Cord’s extensive network of agents. The last of the others were in the shipyard now. Most of the existing mining boats were already armed, and more armed boats were being stamped out at the rate of several per day. We now had well over a hundred and fifty of the lethal little monsters, and were beginning to run out of skilled miners to fly them.

  My biggest problem now was Cord. Why do politicians always seem to believe that political power automatically makes them military strategists? The only thing that kept him from ordering me to attack Jonas at Thaeron was the damage to our only battle cruiser, Fearless. Thaeron was a fortified system, with defenses in depth. Our small forces would never even reach the orbit of Thaeron itself. Nevertheless, it was becoming more and more difficult to restrain Cord.

  I
didn’t have to restrain him for long. Jonas’ flotilla emerged in Haven’s system.

  There was no panic. We’d prepared and rehearsed for this day. It would take more than a day for Jonas to reach Haven’s orbit; by then we’d be gone.

  A grim Cord addressed the people of Haven from the palace, blanketing the commercial airwaves. “Citizens of Haven,” he began. “That which we have feared has come to pass. Traitors and mutineers have taken over the Fleet forces on Thaeron. They are attempting to seize the entire sector, and are now approaching Haven. Many of you have already made sacrifices, and many more of you have helped in our efforts to prepare for the coming battles. Now I must ask you to sacrifice even more. We are not yet ready to engage the enemy, and our forces must withdraw from the system.

  “But we are not simply leaving you defenseless, nor are we running away. A resistance force has been established on Haven, and other preparations have been made. All sector and planetary records have been copied from their host comps, and the comps wiped. All state and local officials have been urged to take the same precautions.

  “But you are all warriors, now, my people. Yours is a war of passive resistance. If you can inconvenience the enemy in even the smallest way without risking your life or health, do so. Do not give the enemy a moment’s peace. Do not cooperate with him except under threat of violence, and then do your best to sabotage your efforts. If an enemy soldier comes into your restaurant, make sure his food is inedible. If he brings his clothes to your laundry, return them stained and torn. Every little inconvenience, every irritation, is a victory for us. It distracts him from his main mission, seizing and holding the rim.

  “Admiral Jonas thinks rimworlders are uneducated, uncivilized bumpkins. You and I know better. Over the past twelve years, I’ve learned that the rim worlds don’t breed fools and weaklings. That’s for the inner worlds, the worlds that breed the Jonases of the Empire. The rim worlds breed tough, independent people; people who will not easily bow to tyranny just because a dreadnought brings it.