by Jay Allan
“Then you have decided to move against the Alliance?”
“I have. Though I would be more comfortable if your government provided more financial support. From what I have heard, the Red Alliance forces received considerable aid. You have been rather…vague…on this subject, Ambassador. I will need firmer assurances that our Union allies will assist us, both with funds and with supplies.”
Yes, and sadly, that fiasco in the Alliance pretty much dried up the well…
“I have already sent an urgent communique back to Montmirail to request that the Presidium authorize greater funding. I can personally guarantee that you will receive all the aid you require.” She knew she was full of shit on multiple levels. First, the Presidium had no idea she was dealing with the Krillians at all. And second, Villieneuve had been absolutely clear on one thing before she left. There was no money available, nothing except token amounts, personal gifts for key officials and the like. The kind of flood of cash that the Union had poured into the Alliance was a thing of the past, at least until the Union managed to conquer the Confederation or reorder its finances somehow.
But lying was part of her tradecraft, too.
“We have a tremendous stake in your victory, Great and Terrible Krillus. We are your partners in this endeavor.”
“Your assurances are most appreciated, Ambassador. The Holdfast has long needed a partner to aid us in asserting our dominance.”
If you were dominant, you wouldn’t need aid…
Krillus seemed to enjoy addressing her by her title…her cover title, at that. She’d told him to call her Desiree…considering the direction her tradecraft had taken her, a bit of informality only seemed to make sense. But in public or private Krillus called her “Ambassador” every time he spoke to her.
“I urge you not to wait, Great and Terrible Krillus.” That title was really getting old. It was stupid, juvenile…but there was no question the fool enjoyed being called that. “The Alliance forces are battered now, and much of what remains of their fleet is posted far from their space, along the Confederation-Alliance border. That situation will not last. When our war with the Confederation ends, their ships will return…and my intelligence confirms that they are building new vessels at a breakneck pace.” That was a lie—sort of, at least. The Alliance was trying to build ships as quickly as possible, but their industry and supply chains were in an absolute shambles following the civil war, and from what she’d heard, Vennius was having fits trying to get things operating smoothly again. It would be some time before new Alliance battleships would see service. She doubted the ability of the Krillians to actually defeat even a weakened and distracted Alliance, but anything that occupied the Confederation’s new ally was worthwhile.
“I have no intention of waiting, Ambassador. I am Krillus, the lord and master of all space. When I choose to strike, I do so with blinding speed and overwhelming force.”
“So I have heard, Great and Terrible Krillus. Your reputation extends as far as Montmirail and the halls of the Presidium.” Actually, just about all she’d heard of in the way of military exploits was Krillus sending his fleet to put down a rebellion on one of his farming worlds. By all accounts, the rebels were armed with agricultural tools and a few ancient guns, and yet they’d sent Krillus’s soldiers fleeing back to their orbiting troopships. In the end, the great “conqueror” had ordered the rebel world nuked from orbit and declared the whole thing a glorious victory.
The Alliance warriors are going to tear his people to shreds when they concentrate. But they will need to deploy forces to do it, and those ships will have to come from the front.
If luring the Krillians into a war they couldn’t win was a way to weaken the main Confederation defensive line, so be it.
* * *
“This is the third report of activity along the Krillian border, Your Supremacy. We can no longer ignore the threat. We must respond immediately.” Cilian Globus was clearly concerned about the scouting report. Vennius had rarely seen the normally calm and meticulous Commander-Altum so agitated. But he understood, and, truth be told, he felt the same way.
The Alliance was weakly held. Its fleets had been ravaged in the desperate fighting between the Gray and Red factions, and even the reconciliation and re-amalgamation of the two sides left strength levels lower than they’d been in forty years. Then, Vennius had dispatched more than half the fleet—the better half in terms of ships and crews—to the Confederation, to honor his promise to Tyler Barron. That was fully in accordance with the ‘way,’ at least as that Palatian code of conduct was evolving as things moved into an era of cooperation with other nations.
“I, too, am concerned, Commander. I am reluctant, however, to divert significant forces from our other frontiers. We have many enemies. To overreact to a perceived threat from one is to expose ourselves to another.” Vennius hated feeling so weak. Palatian culture was almost entirely based on maintaining strength. It had derived from the shame of a people who had been held as slaves by offworlders for a century, and Vennius still felt the calling deep inside him, despite his recognition of the need for change.
“It is true that we are surrounded by potential foes, Your Supremacy, yet I daresay many fear us far too much to risk our wrath.” Vennius sighed softly, trying to keep it to himself. Instilling terror in its neighbors had been deliberate Alliance policy for fifty years, but now he saw the other side of that dynamic. Hatred was fear’s companion, and he was less willing to ignore other threats than Globus.
“We need better information, Commander. We must know if the Krillians are truly preparing for war, or if they are just posturing.” There were ways to uncover such information—supply manifests, internal ship movements, alert levels—but once again Vennius realized the folly in his people’s disdain for espionage. The Alliance had an intelligence service, of course, but careers of that sort were considered mildly shameful, and the spy agencies always struggled to attract the best and most capable recruits.
“Agreed, Your Supremacy…yet, I still urge you to consider some level of strengthening of the border patrol forces. We have three systems on the Krillian frontier and, while all of them are at least moderately fortified, they lack significant fleet support.”
Vennius knew his officer was right. He’d deployed most of the ships remaining in the Alliance to the garrison the more recently-acquired planets and to patrol the borders with the Unaligned Systems, with whom the last several wars had been fought. The Krillian border had been calm for thirty years or more. It was weak. But Vennius didn’t know where he would get the ships to reinforce it.
“I agree with your assessment, Commander. Unfortunately, I do not see where we can find the forces for an increased deployment, not without creating another weak point elsewhere.”
Globus hesitated for a few seconds. Then he said, “Perhaps we should recall ships from the expeditionary force.” Another pause. “Not all, of course. Honor demands we stand by our new allies. But perhaps we could reduce our commitment by a moderate amount.”
Vennius shook his head. “No, Commander. The Confederation was in far greater danger when we faced the rebellion of the Red faction, and yet they sent us their best commander and newest warships. I will do no less.”
Globus looked uncomfortable. He seemed like he was going to respond, but he remained silent.
“You may speak freely, Commander. You are a courageous and honorable man, and should always feel free to say anything to me.”
“Yes, Your Supremacy…it is just that…” He paused again. “Sir, I am concerned about the forces dispatched to support the Confederation. Honor indeed demands that we support them, and yet, I can’t help but think…” His words trailed off into silence.
“Continue, Commander.”
“Well, sir, we have had reports that the Confederation is about to launch an attack against the enemy pulsar…and other rumors that the Union is close to developing a system to move that weapon. Either way…can we leave our ships to b
e lost in a suicidal battle, one with no real hope of victory?”
Vennius understood Globus’s discomfort. His concerns could be perceived as cowardice of a sort. But the Imperator had known the commander for decades, and the last thing he would call Cilian Globus was a coward.
The Imperator didn’t reply, not right away. The way demanded honor, and to falter in support of the Confeds now would be a terrible blight. And yet, no tenet of the way was more sacred than the defense of the homeland. The words “never again” were sacred to the Palatian people, and he could imagine no worse failure, no greater crime, than for an Imperator to stand by and allow the Alliance to be endangered from outside.
“We are Palatians, Globus. I do not accept that we must choose between endangering the Alliance or failing in an honor debt. We will mobilize every vessel that can fly…damaged units awaiting repair, units from the mothballed reserves, even private ships of the great families, anything that can carry a weapon. And let the word go out…all Palatians are called to arms. The retirees are already reporting for duty. Let us find ships for them to fly. Let us create fleets as if from nowhere. The Alliance will stand, Cilian, not because we recall our newest and best ships, but because we are Palatians, all of us…and no enemy can overcome us, not as long as we remember who we are.”
Globus looked encouraged, and Vennius knew his words had served their purpose. He believed them himself, to an extent. But the doubts and concerns were still there, and he knew, if he was pushed to the last recourse, he would have to reconsider pulling ships from the forces sent to aid the Confederation.
If fate forced him to choose between sources of shame, he would take disloyalty and failure to honor a debt to an ally, he supposed. What he would not, could not, do was become the Imperator who lost the Alliance, whose leadership brought his people back to bondage and misery.
* * *
“You see, Ambassador? I am a man of my word. The might of the Holdfast is with us, and the border lies just ahead. It is time…time to embark on our glorious conquest.” Krillus and Marieles were alone, or as alone as anyone ever got with the moderately paranoid monarch. She’d gotten used to having sentries in the room during moments that would traditionally have been more private, and she’d come to realize, whatever she thought of Krillus, his elite guards were well-disciplined…and seemingly utterly loyal.
“It is impressive, Great and Terrible Krillus…” She was having a harder time suppressing her sighs as she addressed him by his title. It seemed particularly ridiculous when the two were…almost…alone, but the Holdfast’s absolute monarch seemed to enjoy it, even when his regalia were set aside, and he was covered by no more than a white satin sheet. “…a far greater display of might than I had imagined.” His forces were actually a bit disorganized to her eye, but the fleet was larger than she’d expected, both in numbers and tonnage. Krillus had always struck her as an utter fool, but now she realized he’d done fairly well at driving his economy to build warships.
“I am pleased you decided to come with the expedition.”
“As am I.” She hadn’t decided, exactly. It had been clear Krillus wanted her to come, and she didn’t dare risk upsetting the operation she’d worked so hard to set into motion.
“I feel much better having you close.” A pause. “Have you received any update on our aid shipment from the Union? I have taken your word, my dear Ambassador, that it is coming…but I will feel much better when the first ships arrive.” There was a hint of menace in his voice, or at least she thought she picked up on that.
“I have not…but that is of no consequence, Great and Terrible Krillus. You will receive all I have promised, and more.”
“I am sure I will, Ambassador.” Her internal warning system flared up. There was definitely something there. Not anger, not exactly…
“Great and Terrible Krillus, apologies for disturbing you…” The voice blared from the comm unit next to the bed.
“Speak, Admiral.” Krillus was still staring at Marieles, and again, there was something…different…in his expression.
“We are in position. We can begin transiting at your command.”
“Excellent. You may proceed, Admiral. Bring the fleet to battlestations, and begin transit at once.”
“Yes, Great and Terrible Krillus.”
Krillus smiled at her, but somehow it only made her feel edgier. He stood up, turning toward one of the guards. “My valet…now!”
The sentry nodded, and turned sharply toward the door. He slipped into the next room and returned a few seconds later with a woman carrying an elaborate uniform.
“I must go now, my dear Ambassador,” he said, as he gestured to the valet to begin dressing him. “I must lead my forces to victory, as my illustrious great-grandfather did.”
“I will come with you…”
“No.” His voice had changed again. There was coldness in the single word, strength. “You shall remain here, where you are safe. There is no chamber on this ship better protected than these quarters.”
“Great and Terr…”
“I shall send for you if I require your presence…and, of course, you will advise me at once if you receive any updates from Montmirail regarding the promised aid.”
She stared at the half-dressed dictator, struggling to keep the surprise from her face. She’d taken him for a fool, the foppish descendant of a long-dead conqueror. But now she saw something different. The fool was gone, to an extent at least, and in its place she saw hints of strength, determination. And a darkness she hadn’t noticed before.
“See that the Ambassador is safe, and that she receives any food or drink she requests.”
She watched Krillus speaking to the guard, while the valet slipped the elaborately-decorated coat over his shoulders. As she listened, she realized she had underestimated her mark.
“The ambassador is to have access to me at any time of the day or night if she receives any communiques.”
“Yes, Great and Terrible Krillus.”
Suddenly, she realized Krillus would not be so easily bluffed. He’d been insistent about the aid shipment—the convoy she knew didn’t exist—and now she realized just how serious he was about it. She was unsure, uncertain what to do. A wave of fear crept into her thoughts.
She’d come aboard as a foreign dignitary, a spy, perhaps even a courtesan of sorts…but now she realized she was none of those things.
She was a prisoner.
Chapter Fourteen
Priority One Communiqué
General Lisannes, please be advised that I am en route to your sector at maximum possible speed. We will discuss strategies for dealing with the disturbances on Barroux and the other worlds of the sector when I am there. Under no circumstances are you to undertake any operations prior to my arrival. – Ricard Lille, Special Governor, Barroux Sector
In Planetary Orbit
Barroux, Rhian III
Union Year 217 (313 AC)
“General, all ships report ready to commence assault.” The aide stood at attention, his combat fatigues neatly pressed and spotless, despite being crammed under his body armor. Emil Lisannes was a stickler for detail, the kind of officer who would carry around a white glove to conduct spot inspections on unsuspecting subordinates. His officers knew that well, and they made sure they were the image of military perfection whenever they entered his premise. Even right before a combat drop.
To be fair, Lisannes’s forces were sector security battalions, hardly real soldiers…and they certainly weren’t Foudre Rouge. But the general, assigned to such a backwater post after even his well-connected family had been unable to extricate him from his third military debacle, was sure they were more than enough to handle a bunch of factory workers turned into jumped up rebels.
“Very good.” Lisannes paused, his eyes darting down to the tablet in his hands. “One more thing, Captain.” He took a deep breath, rereading the communique from Ricard Lille. Then he handed the tablet to the officer. “You didn’
t receive this until we had already landed.” He stared at the captain. “Do you understand?”
The aide looked back, clearly nervous. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
Lisannes nodded. “Then let’s get this started. I want the landings hitting ground at planetary dawn over Barroux City. By nightfall, I want these traitors in custody…or face down in ditches.”
“Yes, sir,” the aide responded, with rather more enthusiasm than he’d shown for hiding clearly important communications from a senior official.
Lisannes stood still for a moment, his hand resting on the pistol at his side. He’d read the communique half a dozen times. He’d never heard of this Ricard Lille…and he should be familiar, at least, with the name of someone placed highly enough to take sector command. The fact that he had no idea who Lille was suggested one thing. He was Sector Nine. And if Sector Nine was handling the situation in the Barroux Sector, he was in trouble.
Deep damned trouble.
The odds were 50/50 this Lille would have him shot within an hour of arriving. His family wasn’t going to be able to save him again, certainly not from Sector Nine. He had only one choice. He had to land his forces and pacify Barroux…in direct violation of Lille’s instructions. Maybe, just maybe, that fait accompli would be enough to pull him out of the fire.
“Let’s go, Captain. It’s time.” He reached down and grabbed his helmet from the table. Then he walked across the room, toward the door.
* * *
“Bring those crates forward, Citizen.” Remy Caron stood on the rocky plain, surrounded by wreckage and debris. He’d ordered every building within five kilometers of the compound destroyed, leaving the last remaining stronghold of Union power on Barroux standing alone, exposed, a shard of defiant stone and steel, stark against the faint predawn light.
“Yes, Remy.” The rebel forces—he supposed they were all rebels now—had no real organization, no ranks or titles save for the term “Citizen” they used to address each other. But Remy was one of the movement’s leaders now, through a sequence of events he still couldn’t fully understand. He’d resisted the responsibility at first, but then he’d come to like it, even to crave it. He’d only wanted to secure a reasonable future for his family, but now he found himself consumed with rage at the Union officials, at the hell they had inflicted on the people of Barroux for almost two centuries.