***
“But sir, it’s urgent!”
“Fine. What is it?” demanded Caerwyn. Thinking, this had better be good! Ever since he’d been appointed Steward of the Empire, and taken control of its financial, political, and military concerns, he hadn’t been allowed to sleep more than three hours at a time without some kind of interruption.
Worst of all, most matters deemed ‘urgent’ were not actually worth waking up for. Sure there was starvation in the Callisto Colonies—hard to care about a tiny group of politically impotent pioneers. And the Kalyke System was in terrible financial trouble—what else is new? And Renora remained in a state of unspeakable chaos—that’s Zane’s mess, not mine. And, of course, the Imperial Assembly still couldn’t agree on anything—big surprise there… It was excruciatingly hard for Caerwyn to marshal even a little concern for such issues. When what really mattered was still out there, waiting to be determined. I have the job of the crown but not the title, he thought miserably. But once he won his war against the fugitive queen, and convinced the Assembly to elect him monarch, then he would truly be king. And the Empire could be made great once more.
“Intel Wing has intercepted several dispatches from Kalila Akira’s fleet,” said Fleet Admiral Sergei, his Minister of Strategy. Caerwyn had appointed an entire cabinet of ministers to advise him as Steward. Though, truth be told, their advice proved worthless more often than not.
“What do they say?” asked Caerwyn, suddenly not feeling so tired. For once he’d been awoken for news that actually mattered. If his spies had indeed intercepted Kalila’s plans, he could foil them and crush her rebellion!
“All of the intelligence indicates Kalila is mustering her forces against Olympia. Her fleet is already on its way, our listening posts confirm that her vanguard has been sighted!”
Olympia? That’s one of my most loyal systems, thought Caerwyn. Does she think she can intimidate them into changing sides? Olympia boasted a large population whose primary industry was agriculture. Surely she wouldn’t brazenly attack Olympia, would she?
“What do you recommend?” asked Caerwyn.
“We have to defend Olympia at once!” said Sergei. “Say the word and I’ll order the fleet to assemble and protect our citizens.”
Caerwyn considered it for a moment. “Order the fleet to assemble,” he said.
“Very good—”
“But not at Olympia,” Caerwyn added, much to Sergei’s surprise.
“What do you mean?” the Minister of Strategy looked extremely confused.
“If the fugitive queen has organized her forces to attack us, then that means she has left her core worlds undefended,” explained Caerwyn. “That presents us with an opportunity to strike a terrible blow against her, much worse than she can do to us at Olympia. In trying to bite our tail she has exposed her throat!”
“But several systems depend on Olympia for food,” protested Sergei. “If the supply lines are disrupted, even temporarily, it will cause hysteria and starvation on some of our loyal planets!”
Excellent, thought Caerwyn. Not only is Kalila offering to draw first blood—which, with the proper spin, will let me crucify her in the eyes of the Imperial public, she has also left her dearest systems vulnerable to attack. When she strikes us first, and women and children are starving because of it, then it will seem like justice when I conquer and cripple her planets. Caerwyn felt himself grow excited at the very idea. But he had to pitch it to Sergei in a different way; he understood that he must pretend to care about the lives that would be lost at Olympia and other places when the supply-lines were disrupted.
“Yes, Kalila is showing us her true colors,” said Caerwyn. “Which is why we must defeat her and her forces as quickly as possible, and put a swift end to this war. Sergei, you’re my Minister of Strategy, what do you suppose will end this war in our favor the quickest?”
“If her base of support withdraws or changes sides,” said Sergei, after considering it for a moment.
“Exactly,” said Caerwyn. “And by moving her fleet against Olympia, there’s no way she can race them back to her core systems in time to defend against our attack. Not if we attack from the proper position.”
“That is so,” Sergei admitted.
“And if Kalila’s forces attack Olympia, it will be easy for us to spread the news to the Imperial public and reveal her as a bloodthirsty conqueror. Surely you must see the wisdom in allowing a few to die so that many more can be saved?”
Sergei looked partly persuaded. Caerwyn needed his Ministry of Strategy to sign off on this course of action so that, if it went badly, he could give the man the entirety of the blame. Of course, if it went well, then Caerwyn would gladly take the credit.
“Think about it,” said Caerwyn. “If we move our fleet to defend Olympia, we are letting her choose the engagements. She can fight us when it is most favorable to her. But if we take the battle to her, and hit her where she’ll feel it most, that will change the game.”
“There is strategic value to your plan, but collateral damage will be extremely high.”
“Yes, it will,” said Caerwyn, pretending to be sad about it but actually counting on that very thing.
“I’ll send word to Olympia, warn them to prepare what defenses they can and begin evacuations,” said Sergei.
“No, don’t do that,” said Caerwyn, thinking it would be better if the system was as unprepared for Kalila’s attack as possible. That way he could pretend he didn’t have advance knowledge of the attack—so no one would question him for refusing to defend the system. And, even better, if Olympia was taken unaware then the catastrophe would be that much more one-sided and bloody. Which would intensify Kalila’s image as a ruthless monster, capable of anything. Generating sympathizers for Caerwyn’s cause. He’d gladly surrender all life on the planet, despite how loyal it was, if it meant he could finally have his throne—the throne he deserved—and an end to Kalila and her petty insurrection.
“Sir?” Sergei looked at him incredulously, clearly not understanding why the Steward of the Empire had just ordered him not to warn one of their most loyal systems that it was about to be attacked by the enemy. Effectively guaranteeing an unnecessary degree of slaughter.
“If we send a warning to Olympia and they begin organizing their defense and start launching evacuations, then no doubt word will get back to Kalila and she’ll realize we’re onto her. She’ll abandon her attack and return her fleet to her sectors of space and then, when we try to attack her core worlds, we’ll have to contend with her fleets—possibly resulting in our defeat—and to add insult to injury she would then be able to paint us as the aggressor in this conflict,” said Caerwyn. “No, there must not be any warning sent to Olympia.”
Sergei bowed. “As you command, Steward.”
“Now go and organize our forces at once,” said Caerwyn. “We must pluck the apple while it is still ripe!”
“Yes sir. I will mobilize our forces to their most strategic location, from there we can strike any number of Kalila’s core worlds.”
“Excellent. See that it’s done right away!” The gauntlet is down, time to make her bleed.
***
“Dropping into Tybur System in two minutes,” said Alex.
“Stay on course nice and steady,” said Calvin. “We need to look like business as usual.”
“I understand,” hissed Alex, he sat in the pilot’s seat not because it was his shift but because he needed to be at the comm. Ready to respond to any hails they might receive once they dropped into the system. To be perfectly honest, Calvin was surprised they hadn’t heard anything from any outposts, listening posts, passing patrols, or traffic controllers. Just ghostly silence.
“Do our scans show anything new?” asked Calvin.
“Investigating that now,” said Rafael, adjusting the ops controls. As he did, Calvin stood behind him, looking out the window. Waiting for the blackness of alteredspace to be replaced by stars. He felt his heart f
lutter, beating rapidly, and he had to keep wiping his clammy palms on his uniform pants.
What is out there, he wondered. What is happening in the Alliance?
“I’ve got something,” said Rafael. “Wait a second, that can’t be right…” He double-checked the readings on the ops display.
“What is it?” asked Calvin nervously. He moved to stare over Rafael’s shoulder at the data output.
“Scans show that there are over five-hundred thousand objects in Tybur space,” said Rafael. “After accounting for natural solar debris.”
“Five-hundred thousand?” said Calvin. “They can’t be ships, can they?” No way, he thought, that just wasn’t possible. Even the mighty Dread Fleet, the biggest fleet in the galaxy, wasn’t two-hundred thousand strong.
“I don’t know what they are,” said Rafael. “It’s impossible to get a detailed reading, the scanning equipment on this cargo ship is below Imperial standards.”
“Cargo vessels only need sufficient scanning technology for navigation,” said Alex, seeming defensive of anything Rotham.
“Can you tell how big the objects are?” asked Calvin. Trying to get a sense of what the situation was they were about to drop into the middle of.
“Mass and volume readings seem inconsistent,” said Rafael, tweaking the ops controls. “It looks like the objects range from dozens of kilograms to thousands of tonnes. There could be even smaller objects but our scanners wouldn’t pick them up, not from alteredspace.”
“ETA, twenty-five seconds,” said Alex.
“Be careful not to re-enter normal space in the middle of those objects,” warned Calvin.
“I know, I’m setting us five million mc’s away from anything our size or larger,” said Alex. “And I’ve made sure to raise our navigational deflectors in case of solar debris.”
“Very good,” said Calvin.
“Fifteen seconds… Fourteen…Thirteen…” Alex counted down.
Calvin moved next to Rafael. “Status?” he asked.
“All systems show green,” said Rafael. Of course there were no weapons systems to protect them and no stealth to conceal them, so their greatest defense was the strength of their cover story.
“Good, keep an eye on those scopes.”
“Two…One.” Stars suddenly appeared through the window, piercing the empty blackness with a host of tiny white lights. “We have arrived,” announced Alex.
“Set standard flyby course and continue at usual cruising speed,” said Calvin. “Skirt the edges and make for the far side.”
“I will,” said Alex.
“Rafael, please tell me that we see something.”
“There are nine ships in wedge formation moving away from the planet, it looks like a patrol,” said Rafael.
“Stay the course,” said Calvin. “Remember, business as usual. Now, Rafael, can you tell us what the five-hundred thousand objects are?”
“I cannot identify what the composite materials are,” said Rafael, “but it looks like… debris.”
“Debris?” asked Calvin. “Debris from what.”
“Starship debris,” said Rafael. “And not a little of it. What I’m detecting… it looks like a few dozen ships. Ruined hulls with external blast patterns…”
“A fight,” said Calvin. So the Republic had attacked the Alliance. “Can you identify the make of the destroyed ships?”
“Not conclusively,” said Rafael. “Not with these scanners. But based on the images themselves, they look like the remains of Alliance warships.”
“Is there any Rotham debris?” asked Calvin. Imagining the battle that must have taken place here.
“Very little, if any,” said Rafael. “But I am detecting several ships of varied design in orbit around Tybur. Let me see if I can get a better scan…”
“The patrol has changed course,” announced Alex. “They are on an intercept course with us!”
“Hold steady,” said Calvin. “Whatever you do, do not change course.” He was pressingly aware, as they all were, that a single missile from any one of those warships could easily destroy their cargo vessel and there would be absolutely nothing any of them could do about it. Their best chance was to appear innocent and hope the incoming patrol believed their cover story and allowed them to pass.
“Scan of the planet confirms that there are Rotham ships in the system,” said Rafael urgently. “No fewer than thirty-seven Rotham ships are visibly in orbit around Tybur. And as for the patrol ships interdicting us,” he adjust the controls and took another scan. “Yep. Just as I thought. The patrol ships are of Rotham design.” He showed Calvin the computer’s crude projection of the incoming ships.
“Thorpian Attack Cruisers,” said Calvin knowingly. He remembered how easily such vessels had outgunned the Nighthawk when he’d fought them in Abia.
“Looks like Thorpians to me as well,” said Rafael.
“Still think your people aren’t militarily aggressive?” Calvin shot Alex a look. “What do you call that?” he pointed to the display which still showed a projection of an unmistakably-Rotham warship with a cloud of starship debris behind it.
Alex ignored him.
“So the Republic attacked the Alliance and slaughtered them,” said Calvin, a dark feeling of awe overcame him. And he wondered just how the Republic had managed to take the Alliance fleet unaware in their own space.
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Rafael, sounding alarmed and confused.
“What do you mean?” asked Calvin. “Sure there’s not enough debris here to represent the whole Alliance fleet but no doubt the same thing is happening to Io Major and TR 307, if not worse.”
“No, I don’t mean that,” said Rafael. “I’m not just detecting Rotham ships… I’m detecting human ships too. Fully intact. And not exchanging fire with the Rotham cruisers. Tell me that doesn’t look like a Whitefire Battleship.” A new image appeared on the display. Calvin had to admit, it did look like a human battleship.
“Could it have been captured?” asked Calvin.
“No I don’t think so,” said Rafael. “It’s not an isolated case, there are dozens of human ships in orbit around the planet and docked at the platforms,” Rafael added.
“Could they be cooperating with the Rotham?” asked Calvin, his lips barely able to form the words. No, it couldn’t be, he thought. The Alliance hates the Republic, they distrust them even more than they distrust the Empire.
“We are being hailed by the lead patrol ship,” said Alex.
“Moment of truth,” said Calvin. “It’s on you, Alex. Make them believe.”
“I’ll do what I can, now stay silent!” he hissed, pushing the button to accept the incoming transmission.
Chapter 24
Of all the Knights who remained loyal to the Akira family, Sir Reginald had been granted the tremendous privilege of commanding Rook Squadron. It was the first thrust in the war to restore the crown, a menacing force consisting of a dreadnought flagship, nine battleships, eleven destroyers, and six support ships. All of them were fast closing on Olympia System. Ready to do their part.
“ETA?” asked Sir Reginald. He sat in the command position of the ISS Renown, his heart beat quickly but he wasn’t nervous. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d held combat command several times during the Great War, when he’d served as a captain in the Imperial Navy. Though this was his first time commanding an entire flotilla.
“Rook Squadron is holding steady jump depth, all ships will arrive in Olympia System in approximately eleven minutes,” reported the chief navigator.
“Thank you, Mister Shaw,” said Sir Reginald.
“This vessel will arrive first,” said Lieutenant O’Hara, the ops chief. “But the others are only seconds behind.”
“Very good. Mister Matthews, please sound General Quarters.”
“Aye, sir,” reported the defense chief. A moment later the lights dimmed and the alarm could be heard resounding throughout the ship. Summoning all personnel to ba
ttle stations.
“Is there anything on our scopes?” asked Sir Reginald.
“No, sir,” reported O’Hara. “Not yet. However, the enemy fleet could evade detection if their ships are near enough to the gravity well of the star or any of the large planets.”
“The enemy ships could also be in alteredspace, still on their way to Olympia,” added Mister Klaus, the ops deputy-chief.
“Good thinking, Mister Klaus, you’d better keep a sharp eye on all inbound alteredspace signals.”
“Aye, sir.”
“As for you, Lieutenant O’Hara, keep scanning Olympia System. I want to know exactly where the enemy ships are deployed. Forward anything you discover to the rest of the squadron.”
“Yes sir.”
This is it, thought Sir Reginald. He was the tip of the spear that would be thrust in defense of the Empire. They must bring the rebels back into the fold and restore the balance. He owed it to his queen and his country and all that he loved to make sure he did his duty, and did it well.
At five minutes away, he ordered the squadron to clear for action.
“Clearing for action,” his defense chief acknowledged.
“The rest of the squadron reports, they have cleared for action,” said Midshipman Baudin, the comms chief. “All ships are ready to commence attack at your command.”
“Very good.”
At two minutes away, he ordered the beam weapons charged and missile-launchers loaded. “Standby to raise the shields, double-strength forward.”
“Aye, sir.”
“I want them raised the instant we exit alteredspace. Miss Baudin, relay that order to the rest of the squadron.”
“Yes sir.”
The closer they got, the more eager Sir Reginald became. It was all he could do to refrain from standing up and pacing about the bridge. He knew he needed to stay seated in the command position, strapped in like the rest of the bridge crew, and give every appearance of calm, collected control.
The Phoenix War Page 37