Alarm of War v-1

by Kennedy Hudner

  “I apologize, Ma-am,” she told Captain Grey. “I didn’t realize until just now that this is a job interview.”

  Grey’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Perhaps you should explain, Lieutenant.”

  Emily paused to take a long sip of her wine, thoughts racing through her head. “‘The task of the Home Fleet is to protect Victoria and the Queen from any dangers, domestic or foreign,’” she quoted from the Fleet Manual. “And history is rife with examples that the greatest threat to a monarchy is from domestic sedition and treachery rather than attack from the outside, although that happens a lot, too.” She took a very deep breath. She was about to be really clever, or finish her career with a bang.

  “You are worried that Second Fleet — Admiral Skiffington — is getting so powerful and so popular that he might subvert the government, perhaps by force, perhaps not. Admiral Skiffington has so much power and favor that he can pretty much hand pick whoever he wants, so I would guess that you have been fudging reports on promising new officers in order to keep them in Home Fleet.” Emily paused. “You want to give yourself a better chance in case this ever turns into a shooting war. This” — she waived her hands around to indicate the dinner — “is a job interview to see if I am more interested in advancing my career or protecting the Queen.”

  She stopped. I can’t believe I just said that.

  A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Grey’s mouth. She shook her head and combed her fingers through her hair, then tilted her head up to the ceiling. “I think you should come in now,” she said.

  The door to Captain Grey’s office opened. Emily stood up automatically. Vice Admiral Alyce Douthat walked briskly in. Emily saluted.

  Douthat waived her back into her seat. “At ease, Lieutenant. This is a social occasion, after all.” She sat down, smiling warmly at Emily and Captain Grey, reminding Emily of her plump little grandmother.

  Emily had loved her grandmother, but never entirely trusted her.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I join you and Julie for desert, Emily,’ she said. “Julie has a chef who makes the best chocolate mousse tort this side of Darwin.” She patted her ample stomach. “If it weren’t for him, I’m sure I’d still be as thin as when I was before my children, but we all have to make sacrifices, don’t we?” She turned to Captain Grey. “And do you think your steward might find an espresso? I’d kill for a good espresso.”

  They sat silently for a moment, Admiral Douthat and Captain Grey smiling at Emily and Emily sitting in numb shock. The steward came in and set down desert plates and espresso. After he left, Admiral Douthat took a bite of the chocolate mousse tort and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Amazing,” she breathed. “Somehow he makes it better every time.”

  “He’s mine, Admiral,” Grey smiled. “You can’t have him.”

  Douthat snorted, took another sip of her espresso and turned to face Emily.

  “And you, Emily. You are a very insightful young lady; this is a job interview, though I must say that you surprised us a little by recognizing that fact. And you’ve passed with flying colors. Now the question is, do you want it?” She was smiling, but her eyes were shrewd and probing.

  Unexpectedly, Emily felt a surge of strong emotion, like she had the day her father hugged her at her college graduation. The past few years had been difficult. Endless hours of study, helping care for her mother, watching her be slowly taken by her illness. Then working in a mindless job with no hope of advancement, and the risky choice of joining the Navy. And now this, the totally unexpected chance to watch history being made, from the inside.

  “Oh yes,” she said softly. “I want it.” Then Admiral Douthat startled her by suddenly leaning forward. “Do you now work for or report to anyone in Second Fleet?” she asked harshly.

  Emily felt a flush burn through her cheeks. “No, Ma-am, I do not!”

  Admiral Douthat exchanged a long look with Captain Grey, then tilted her head to the ceiling. “Merlin!”

  “Yes, Admiral?” the computer voice replied.

  “Assess veracity of the last statement by Lieutenant Emily Tuttle.”

  A pause. “There is a ninety nine percent probability that the statement by Lieutenant Tuttle is true. I note that she is demonstrating signs of stress. Her heart rate has increased to-”

  “Stop.” The Admiral nodded and patted Emily’s hand. “Welcome to the Home Fleet, Emily Tuttle. It won’t always be easy, but it will be the most important thing you’ll ever do.”

  Emily blinked. “What would you have done if I hadn’t accepted?” she asked.

  Admiral Douthat gave her a level look. “This isn’t a game, Emily. We are taking risks here. If you hadn’t accepted, you would have been mustered out immediately and discharged from the Fleet. However, we wish you no harm. There is a small college on Cornwall that is looking for a history instructor. You would have been given an excellent reference and the job would have been offered to you. You’d have a better chance at a career there than you would have had on Christchurch.”

  Emily studied her evenly, then, without turning her gaze, called out, “Merlin!”

  “Yes, Lieutenant Tuttle?”

  “Assess veracity of the last statement by Admiral Alyce Douthat.”

  Douthat’s eyes widened and she shot Emily an appraising look. Beside her, Captain Grey snorted in amusement. “I told you, Admiral!” Admiral Douthat pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully.

  “There is a sixty percent probability that the statement by Admiral Douthat is true,” Merlin reported.

  “Close enough,” Emily said. “Now what?”

  Douthat smiled grimly. “Now, Emily, we do what the Home Fleet has always done: We protect Victoria and the Queen from all dangers, foreign and domestic.”

  Chapter 23

  P.D. 952

  A Message

  In Victorian Space, on Space Station Atlas

  The man didn’t bump into him, Hiram noted, but rather stepped in front of him. And then stopped. They were on the main promenade deck of the Atlas space station. It was dinner hour and the promenade was crowded with sailors, constructions crews, retail clerks, Fleet bureaucrats, contractors and God alone knew what else, all going home or on their way to an evening meal.

  Without consciously thinking about it, Hiram took the man in at a glance, noting the bald head, the slight Oriental fold to the eyes, the weathered skin, and the radiating sense of…he groped for moment, trying to define it. Stillness. Yes, that was it, a pervading sense of stillness. And with that, he knew. He placed his hands together as if praying, then raised them to his forehead and bowed slightly.

  “There are many paths to the Light,” he intoned in greeting.

  The shorter man’s eyes widened fractionally, and then he put his hands together and bowed in return. “And each man must find his own,” he replied. He looked up, smiling. “Are you a follower of the Light, then, Lieutenant Hiram Brill?”

  Hiram shook his head. “No.”

  The man inclined his head. “Then you are both observant and well mannered, in my humble experience a rare combination from Victorians, and a most welcome surprise from a member of the Victorian Fleet.”

  Hiram smiled inwardly at the pleasant delivery of such a pointed insult. So you don’t like Victorians much, eh? And yet you are here, and you specifically sought me out. He let his mind wander for a moment, his face going blank in what Cookie liked to call his “Village Idiot” look. The Light was a society of reclusive religious orders located on Canaan. All worshiped the same god. They lived simply, in thousands of small towns and villages scattered across their world, forbearing large cities. Curiously, those among them who did not become full time monks usually became scientists and engineers, so their level of technology was among the highest in the human universe. Pirates had raided them in the early years, and once the Tilleke Empire had tried to conquer them. The Light had suffered terribly, had learned their lesson and built a military force capable of protecting them
selves. The last pirates who had gone into their sector looking for easy plunder had been utterly destroyed, save for one small ship, which had been allowed to escape so that it could spread the word: Leave us alone…or die.

  To offset their limited military force, the Light was rumored to have a far-flung network of spies, moles living on every inhabited world who kept on eye on everyone because anyone could someday pose a threat. They were also great explorers, believing that the study of the Universe was a direct homage to God.

  So why would someone from the Light — and an intelligence officer if Hiram’s suspicions were right — come all this way to see a lowly lieutenant in the Victorian Fleet?

  The answer was simple: They wouldn’t.

  Hiram blinked. The man from Canaan was watching him intently.

  “You bring me greetings from my mother’s sister, Cornelia, but you are here because you need to see my superior, Admiral Teehan, the director of Fleet Intelligence,” Hiram said matter-of-factly.

  The man’s eyes twinkled with delight, like a teacher who has seen a student solve a particularly difficult problem.

  “Your aunt said that you would understand this,” he said warmly. “That makes it so much easier. I am Jong. I have a message for Admiral Teehan.”

  Admiral Teehan made little effort to hide his displeasure. “For years we have asked for help from the Light, but you always refused. When we asked you about new research projects by the Sultenic Empire, you refused. When we couldn’t find the pirates raiding the old trade route between Sybil Head and the Dominion, you refused. When we heard stories of the Dominion building a new colony, you refused. Now you come waltzing in and say that you have something urgent to tell me.”

  Jong did not reply, but merely handed a data stick across the desk. Teehan frowned. “What’s this?”

  “Many years ago the Light placed an acolyte on Darwin, in one of the resorts that caters to the needs of offworlders who wish to meet together discreetly. Our agent was a waiter. He became over time a trusted employee of the hotel; they used him to serve food at these meetings. A year ago-”

  “A year ago?” Teehan snapped. “Something happened a year ago and you’re only telling us now? You people really take the cake, you know that?”

  “Admiral,” Jong said, a hint of weariness in his voice. “If we have offended you in some way, I deeply apologize. We are giving you this information because we think it may be very important to you. When we first received it, we were not sure of its import, but now with the Tilleke preparing for war, we think you should see it and judge for yourselves.”

  Teehan did not look happy, but took the data stick and inserted it into his computer. A video appeared, but it was immediately clear to all of them that the camera was defective. There was no audio at all. The left side of the picture was washed out, a scratchy white glow instead of a normal image. In the right side of the picture was a spotted image of a tall man. He wasn’t in uniform, but everything about his erect posture, powerful build and authoritative stance screamed “soldier.”

  “This is Admiral Omar Hassan al-Bashir,” Jong explained. “He is a member of the Royal Family. He is important in Tilleke society, a favorite of the Emperor’s, a personal friend of Prince RaShahid, and considered by the Light to be one of the foremost military strategists in the Tilleke Empire.”

  Despite himself, Teehan was grudgingly interested. “Okay, so who’s he meeting with?”

  Jong sighed. “We don’t know. The camera was built into our agent’s glasses. In fact, the lens was the camera. But, as you can see, it didn’t work properly.” He waived one hand in a vague circle. “This is all we have.”

  “You are wasting my time, Mr. Jong,” Teehan said irritably. “This is nothing. A speck of information totally out of context. This is a picture of a man who might be on vacation for all I know. This doesn’t tell us anything we need to know.”

  Jong’s composure cracked a little. “Surely you do not fail to see the implications of this, Admiral.”

  “What implications?” Teehan asked coldly.

  “They are not subtle, Admiral.” Jong glanced at Hiram. “Even your young lieutenant here sees them, don’t you Lieutenant?”

  Hiram didn’t answer, but leaned forward to study the image. Hmmm… Behind Admiral Omar Hassan al-Bashir there was a man standing up against the wall, hands folded in front of him. He was staring straight at the camera, which meant that he had been watching the waiter very closely. A bodyguard, probably. A special bodyguard for a member of the Tilleke Royal Family. Hiram suspected that if he enlarged that portion of the picture he would see the tell-tale surgical scars on the side of the man’s head, marking him as one of the Creche-born Savak, the Emperor’s personal guards and storm troopers. The Tilleke Royal Family were an incredibly small minority in a sea of lesser born Freemen and slaves. They were ever mindful of their personal security. They traveled only with Savak bodyguards, surgically altered and behaviorally conditioned from birth for absolute obedience to the Emperor.

  Deeply xenophobic, haughty, convinced of their own innate superiority and with a profoundly enlarged sense of personal space, the Tilleke traveled little. They were virtually prisoners of their own culture. They were uncomfortable being in close physical proximity to someone other than another member of the Royal Family. Vacationing in Darwin was unthinkable. Simply walking through a crowded spaceport, eating in a restaurant, even walking on a busy street would push a member of the Royal Family into a claustrophobic anxiety attack. So if al-Bashir had been in Darwin, it could mean only one of two things-

  “Brill?” Teehan prompted impatiently.

  Hiram snapped back, a little disoriented. “Sir?”

  “Our good Mr. Jong says the implications of this are obvious. Do you see them?”

  “Well, there are two things, sir. Uh…actually three, I guess.” He felt the old familiar fear start to pulse, the one that haunted him whenever he was put on the spot. A prickle of sweat broke out on his scalp and his stomach lurched. Not now, for the love of God. He took a deep breath. “Jong is right that al-Bashir is a very senior officer within the Tilleke Naval Fleet. What’s more, he is one of their Royal Born. The fact that he’s on Darwin meeting in secret could mean that either he is plotting against the Emperor, or has been sent there by the Emperor to plot with someone else. But see here?” He pointed to the Savak bodyguard in the picture.

  “If I’m right, that is one of the Savak, the Emperor’s personal guard. He uses them as guards for all of the Royal Family, and is rumored to use them as special storm troopers. The Savak are loyal to the Emperor.” He frowned. “No, that doesn’t really describe it. The Savak are more than loyal. There are reports that they have been surgically and psychologically conditioned so that they must obey an order from the Emperor. If that Savak guard thought al-Bashir was betraying the Emperor, he would report him, if not kill him outright.”

  “So you think al-Bashir was there plotting with someone else?” Teehan asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Plotting what?”

  Hiram shrugged. “We only know two things.” He held up a finger. “First, whoever he was with isn’t part of the Victorian government. If they had been, you would know about it.” A big assumption, Hiram knew, one that opened up other doors that he didn’t want to even think about. “So that means that Tilleke is plotting with someone outside of Victoria, which means we could be the target.”

  He held up a second finger. “Second, it’s serious, whatever it is.”

  Teehan frowned slightly. “And you know that how, Lieutenant?”

  “Two reasons, sir. The Tilleke hate to travel. Al-Bashir would only leave Tilleke for something of the utmost urgency. But the real reason is that Jong did not debrief his agent to get more information.” He turned to Jong. “Could not debrief him, am I right?”

  Jong nodded. “Sadly, you are correct, Lieutenant Brill.” He turned to Admiral Teehan. “Our agent was murdered minutes after he left the
glasses at a dead drop. It was made to look like a robbery.”

  Teehan slapped the table in frustration. “It’s not enough!” he said.

  “Al-Bashir met with someone a year ago. That’s all you have. Maybe if you had let us know sooner, we could have investigated, but after a year…” His voice trailed off.

  Later, Hiram walked Jong back to the shuttle bay deck.

  “Your Admiral will not follow up on this, I fear,” Jong said.

  “No,” Hiram said.

  Jong sighed. “I will report to the Abbot.”

  “I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? You obviously have no love for Victoria.”

  Jong smiled thinly. “No. Victoria scorns us for everything we hold dear. Worse, Victoria scorns everyone else for not being Victorian.”

  “But you’re here,” Hiram insisted.

  “Yes,” Jong acknowledged ruefully. “It is the lesser of two evils. Victoria is arrogant, pretentious and proud. Victoria ignores us when it can and when it cannot, sneers at us. But for all of that, it is tolerant. Prejudiced and unpleasant, but tolerant.

  “The Emperor Chalabi is not tolerant, Lieutenant. The Emperor demands to be worshiped. He will not abide conflicting loyalties. And he thinks it his destiny to rule the entire Human Universe. We have watched the Emperor for a very long time. We know him all too well. There will be no room for the Light in his universe.” He stopped and faced Hiram directly. “You need to understand, Lieutenant Hiram Brill, there is no room in the Emperor’s universe for Victoria, either.”

  They continued walking, then Jong spoke again. “Do you believe in God, Lieutenant?”

  The turn of direction didn’t really surprise Hiram; every conversation he’d had with his aunt eventually turned to God. “Let’s just say I have questions,” he replied.

  “What do you believe in?”

  Hiram thought for a moment. Thought of his fears and his quests, his longing to belong, always feeling like the outsider looking in, his inability to see the politics swirling around him when he was only searching for some objective truth. Always searching.