Her brother chewed his bite of beef casually. He waved his fork around. "We give the people jobs, my dear. Without us the ‘working poor,’ as you put it, would have nothing and would starve."
"No, without the corporations and merchants the people would keep more of their possessions and be able to rise to something better than themselves." It was an argument she'd heard rarely while in the Commerce Sector - such thoughts were considered sedition and resulted in prison or execution - but was common in the Federation, which was built on a free market economy. She had been surprised that ordinary people could rise to any position they worked hard enough to achieve in the Federation.
"Such a naive viewpoint," her brother said in a condescending tone. "How is the food?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Just like home," she admitted.
Her brother clapped. "I knew you would like it!" He turned to one of the servants. "Give my sister's compliments to the chef." The servant bowed and exited the room. "Now come, sister, tell me what you have been doing for all these years. Surely you haven't been flying a dirty starfighter at the edge of the galaxy the entire time."
It's not dirty, Selene thought, but then remembered the layer of dust she had wiped off the seat adjustment bar just the other day. Okay, maybe it was dirty, but she considered it well worn. "What do you care?" she asked.
He affected a hurt look. "You wound me, dear sister. Father may have exiled you."
"Disowned me, you mean."
"Yes, yes. But I still thought of you from time-to-time."
Selene snorted. She doubted his statement. How could she trust any word from her brother after the way he betrayed her trust by executing the employees of House Vivendi and her fellow pilots? Not to mention giving Emma to the Krai'kesh. But she decided to indulge him. "I enlisted right away in the Federation Navy. I served my time and chose to fly a dusty fighter at the edge of nowhere."
Frederick sniffed her statement. "What a dreadful experience. I am sorry you had to endure such crass conditions."
"I chose to endure them. And they were still better than the conditions most of your employees live in."
He ignored her accusation and took a sip from his wine glass. "Well, we will soon be back in civilization, my dear sister, and all will be well again. You'll see just what you were missing during your...sabbatical."
Selene chose to ignore his comment this time. "So you took over House Vivendi. How many more houses do you plan to take over?"
"Well, we're still finishing up the integration and consolidation efforts, during which time we'll remove redundancies."
"You mean kill those employees who are no longer useful."
He frowned. "We do not kill them. We lay them off."
"Same difference. When they can't support their family and starve you've as good as killed them."
Her brother waved his hand. "I cannot be expected to care about the welfare of all my employees, sister. I make decisions that are best for the house, not out of misplaced emotion."
"Misplaced emotion? You mean things like compassion and empathy. Yes, those are so very misplaced. Heaven forbid a corporation or merchant house care about the welfare of their employees."
"We care about our employees. But once they cease to become our employees we no longer have the manpower to continue caring for every one of them."
Selene shook her head. Arguing with him and over a decade of indoctrination at the hands of their father was going to get her nowhere. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood. "Thank you for dinner, brother, but I wish to retire to my rooms now." My prison cell, she thought. Three nights in her room had yielded poor sleep, low energy, and left her to dwell on her situation for hours on end.
"Leaving so soon?" he asked in a tone that bordered on a whine.
"Yes." Selene did not stop as she left the dining room. Her guards fell in behind her and followed her back to her room. She entered and waited for the click of the lock before stripping off her itchy, smelly dress and changing into something more comfortable. Within ten minutes she was asleep, dreaming of being anywhere but there.
Chapter 8 - Betrayal
A void portal opened in the space above the planet Pompero IV. The Independence emerged first, followed by the remnants of their fleet and the Black Fleet.
"Any hostile contacts?" Martin asked.
"Negative, sir. No target lock warnings or signs of Krai'kesh."
"Defense forces?"
"The sector fleet is in high orbit around Pompero IV, sir. They are moving toward us and launching fighters."
Standard procedure, Martin thought. "Admiral Grace Bellanca, yes?"
"Correct, sir."
"She was one of the supporters of us during the vote the admirals took trying to depose the Supreme Commander," Martin mused.
"Then it is likely she can be trusted, sir."
"Let's hope so. Keep an eye on them, though. Prepare to raise the shields at any sign of betrayal from them. How many of our ships survived?"
Zigana adopted a grim expression. "One cruiser, two dreadnoughts, three destroyers, four frigates, and five corvettes."
"So few. How many defectors?"
"It was difficult to tell, sir. Many ships were lost during the cross-fire or when the Krai'kesh emerged, so it is difficult to count how many traitor ships are still remaining."
"I feel like a damn fool. As soon as that commander told us only Victory Squadron had been destroyed I should have been more suspicious. I just didn't expect this." He should have. History showed that rebellions, coups, and insurrections had occurred throughout the Federation's history. It was not a new phenomenon. There were always parties ready to seize power for themselves and willing to die, and kill, for their goals. "Put me through to Admiral Bellanca please." He took a deep breath, preparing to deliver the news he never thought he would be required to.
The image of Admiral Bellanca appeared on the holo-display. "Admiral Rigsby, this is a surprise." She furrowed her brows. "Where is the rest of the fleet? Did you split up?"
Martin grimaced. "Admiral Bellanca, it is an honor to speak with you, but alas I come with grave tidings." He cleared his throat. "A few hours ago the Black Fleet and my own fleet were betrayed. Rogue elements within the Federation Navy engaged in coordinated strikes and sabotage attempts across the fleet. Several ships turned on us, while uprisings on other ships were put down. To make matters worse, the Krai'kesh also arrived and started attacking loyalist ships."
"I notice the Nightblade is not among your ships..." the admiral trailed off.
Martin swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment before re-opening them. "I regret to inform you the Nightblade was destroyed because of the first betrayal by said rogue elements. An explosive was set off inside the docking bay and then it was rammed by a dreadnought."
"And the Supreme Commander?" she asked.
"We were not able to locate his body or confirm his death, but we also were not able to rescue him. We were forced to retreat before search & rescue operations could conclude." Or even commence.
"So the Supreme Commander could be in enemy custody? Or dead?" She sounded shaken up. Is that how he sounded?
"I'm afraid so, Admiral."
She blinked rapidly. Was she crying? "Well then, we must press on. What is the next step?"
Martin hadn't thought that far ahead. Their retreat to the Pompero system had not been planned.
A beep sounded, followed by an icon appearing on the sensor display behind the image of Admiral Bellanca. "One moment please, Admiral." He turned to Zigana. "Who is that?"
"The Dauntless, sir."
"Good. Ask them to come aboard, please." At least the Eternals aboard that ship had survived. To lose three Eternals in one day would possibly be a bigger morale hit than even he could sustain. He shook his head. No, Dawyn was not dead, not definitively, not confirmed. He was resourceful. Surely he would have had contingency plans in place, right? He looked back at the admiral. "For now we are goi
ng to perform repairs and retrofit the remnants of our fleet. Then I'm going to contact Fleet Command and the president and inform them of the situation. We do not yet know if this is a widespread rebellion or whether it was localized to this one spot. We will have to proceed cautiously and use care deciding who to tell."
"Of course, Martin. You have the full support of my fleet, but I am hesitant to leave my sector undefended for too long."
"I understand, Admiral, but that seems to be what the Krai'kesh want us to do. Sit in one spot while they pick off our planets, and destroy them, one-by-one."
"The alternative is to spread ourselves too thin, isn't it?"
"Yes," Martin acknowledged. "I am going to recommend to the president that we begin evacuation of the surrounding sectors core-ward and focus our military assets on the more highly populated systems." I'm condemning millions of people to die, he thought. Not all the people would be able to evacuate and so there would be casualties - lots of them. But in this case the good of the many outweighed the good of the few.
"That will be a massive evacuation effort. Existing worlds could rebel against taking on so many refugees."
"I will leave that to the politicians. My job is to protect human lives and that is what I'm going to do, politics be damned."
"My fleet will, of course, render whatever aid we can."
"That is greatly appreciated, Grace."
The link closed. "They're recalling their fighters, sir, and moving back into orbit."
"Good. Open a connection to Fleet Command."
"Yes, sir." Moments later the Fleet Command logo displayed on the holo-display, followed by the image of a colonel. "Fleet Command, how may I direct your inquiry?"
"I need to speak to Admiral Hensen. This is Admiral Martin Rigsby." The Chief of Naval Operations was his first stop before moving on to the president and senate.
"One moment, please." The colonel sounded bored. The image muted for a few moments before returning. "I'm sorry, sir, Admiral Hensen is indisposed right now."
Martin grit his teeth. "Tell Admiral Hensen it is about the Nightblade and the Supreme Commander. Now."
"Yes, sir. One moment." The image muted again. A moment stretched into a few minutes before the colonel returned. "I'm patching you through to the admiral now, sir."
"Thank you," Martin said, though he wanted to tell the man off. To be fair, it wasn't his fault - he had relayed what the admiral told him to say.
Admiral Hensen appeared on the display seconds later. His bald head reflected the ceiling light. "Admiral Rigsby, my assistant tells me you have urgent news about the Nightblade and the Supreme Commander? I certainly hope this is important."
"It is, admiral. I regret to inform you that the Nightblade has been destroyed. The Supreme Commander is MIA."
Admiral Hensen blinked but remained silent. At last he spoke in an uncertain voice. "Destroyed? MIA? Admiral Bordekov was right."
An icy chill ran up Martin's back. "Admiral Bordekov?"
"Yes, she contacted me and told me the Supreme Commander was dead. I didn't believe her, of course, but now... What happened?"
"The Supreme Commander is missing in action, sir, not confirmed dead. But what occurred was that rogue elements within the Navy betrayed us. They were supported by the Krai'kesh."
"I see," he said. That wasn't the reaction Martin had expected. "This is disturbing." He didn't sound disturbed to Martin. "We must notify the other Joint Chiefs at once and call a meeting. A new supreme Commander must be selected."
"With respect, sir, the Supreme Commander is not confirmed dead. We cannot select a new one."
"An interim Supreme Commander is what I meant," Admiral Hensen amended.
A little soon to be replacing Dawyn, Martin thought. "I understand, sir."
"I will be in touch. Where are you located?"
Something inside Martin compelled him to lie. "Deltar II, sir. We're badly damaged and affecting repairs before moving on." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zigana jerk his head up.
"Good. Maintain your position while I arrange the meeting with the Joint Chiefs and the admiralty." He paused. "Thank you for your service, Admiral."
Martin nodded. "Of course, sir." He waited until the link closed before looking at Zigana. "Send a probe to Deltar II."
"Sir?"
"Just do it, Zigana. I have a theory but I want to test it out first."
"Yes, sir. Would you like me to connect you with the president now?"
"Not yet. I suspect I will have one chance to contact him and I don't want to tip my hand."
Zigana gave him a puzzled look but nodded.
"Will you ask Captain Edgerton to come to the bridge, please?"
"Of course, sir"
Martin occupied the next several minutes reviewing repair and re-supply reports and signing off on requisition forms. He reviewed the after-action casualty reports. Too many men and women lost. For being a carrier they had lost most of their complement of fighters. They were like a shark with too many of its teeth shattered. He prayed they would be able to acquire more before long. But even more pressing than fighters was the need for pilots. All the fighters in the galaxy would be useless without trained pilots to fly them.
At last the door to the bridge slid open and Captain Edgerton, his wife, son, and Lieutenant Jamison entered.
"Heya, your admiralness," John said.
Martin sighed. "Captain Edgerton. I would have thought you would be more...morose...given the circumstances."
"Oh, about Emma?"
"And the Supreme Commander."
"I was, and still would be, if I thought they were dead. But I know Emma and Dawyn are both alive, so, no sadness, man."
"How can you be so certain?" Sure, Martin hoped Dawyn remained alive, but he had no proof.
"Well, the same commander who said Emma was dead also rammed his ass into the Nightblade and committed suicide so he's not exactly a reliable witness. As for Dawyn, he's been declared dead more times than I can count. There was this one time a mountain fell on him..."
"That was you, dear," Ashley interjected.
"...oh yeah, on me. Another time he drowned, another time he was flayed, another time..."
Martin held up a hand. "Okay, I get it. He is resilient. But can he survive in the vacuum of space?"
"If he's unprotected, no, but my guess is he had some trick up his sleeve. That man always has a contingency plan."
"Well, let us hope he comes back to us soon. I'm afraid the rogue elements have already begun to pounce." He left unsaid the full details of his suspicions.
"No doubt," Ashley said.
"What did you want to speak to us about, Admiral?" Ethan Edgerton asked.
"I need someone to perform a reconnaissance mission to the system where Emma and the other pilots of Victory Squadron were last seen. We need to find out the full extent of what happened there and whether they are still alive. Can you do that?"
"That aligns with what we were already planning to do," Ashley said. "Bringing our daughter home is our top priority now."
"And it is a mission I would not hesitate to stand in the way of." Not that he thought he could contain them against their will if they had their mind set on finding her.
"What else did you want us up here for, chief?" John asked.
Martin looked around at the bridge crew members. He didn't suspect any of them exactly, but after what happened, he couldn't be too careful. "Join me in my quarters, please." He led them out of the bridge and through the corridors to his quarters. Once inside he shut the door. His quarters were regularly swept for listening devices, so he had a reasonable expectation they would not be overheard.
"What's with all the cloak and dagger?" John asked.
Martin surveyed the four in front of him. "Perhaps I am being paranoid, but with the number of defections to the enemy side I no longer know who I can trust."
"Even your own bridge crew?"
"Yes, even them. I fear there could b
e a second wave of sleeper agents waiting to strike until a second signal comes through or something of the sort. Call me paranoid if you will, but I cannot afford to be caught unaware again."
John adopted a thoughtful expression. "I mean, that's good and all, but you can't just push everyone away either, Admiral. Doing that will hurt morale among your fleet and possibly make the crew lose confidence in you. Believe me, we've been through this before and I know what it's like. Ash and I had to hide for one hundred years, never knowing who we could truly trust. We had some close calls and we went through some years where we didn't trust anyone and lived like hermits early on. But in the end we realized we had to be reasonable and let some people in."
"I suppose you're right. But while you're here, I need to warn you about certain individuals within the fleet that I believe may be part of this revolution. The first is one Admiral Bordekov. She claimed at the time she resigned her command but I believe now that may have been a sham, or that the trap which caught the Nightblade in its trap was orchestrated in response to the failed attempt by dissidents to oust Dawyn as the Supreme Commander. But it gets worse. When I discussed the defectors with the Joint Chief representing the Navy he did not seem as concerned as I expected and spoke of finding a replacement for the Supreme Commander position. I found that odd."
"That is odd," Ashley said. "So you think things could have escalated all the way to the high command?"
"It's possible. The Joint Chiefs are appointed by the senate, not by the Supreme Commander. We don't know how deep this conspiracy goes."
"Do you suspect the president?" Ethan asked.
Martin shook his head. "By all accounts he was attacked by the Krai'kesh. I doubt they would do that if they saw him as an ally. I will be contacting him soon, once I have more proof."
"How are you going to get more proof?" John asked.
"I told the Joint Chief of the Navy a different system that we were recovering in. I sent a probe to watch the system. If the Krai'kesh, pirates, or any other parties show up there I will have evidence to support that he was the leak, since he was the only one I told."
"Clever," Ashley said. "But that will tip your hand, won't it?"
Ruin: A Seven Stars Novel (Dark Tide Trilogy Book 3) Page 9