by David Weber
For a moment Tyler considered seeing if a second salvo would finish it off completely. But he had a limited number of missiles, and there would be much bigger fish to fry soon enough. “Fire two,” he called.
It wasn’t nearly as soul-satisfying to attack an unarmed freighter as it was a warship. But it was still spectacular. The lone missile shot smoothly into the gap between the freighter’s stress bands and sent its energy burst directly into the rear alpha nodes. And since a typical freighter didn’t have any beta nodes, that meant the wedge went down completely, leaving the ship dead in space and its crew and cargo helpless against another attack.
Again, Tyler was tempted. Bigger fish, he reminded himself. Bigger fish. “Helm, veer off,” he ordered. “Full acceleration, minimum-time course to the hyper limit. Com, give me transmission.” He considered. “Make it a tight focus,” he added. “Keep my uniform out of sight.”
He got acknowledgments from both stations. Adjusting his expression into a cool, stern mask, he touched the transmit button. “That was your first and only warning,” he intoned. “The next time we discover an illegal arms shipment on its way to our enemies, we will blow the culprit, its escort, and the rest of the convoy out of the sky.”
The commander of the crippled cruiser was starting to sputter a reply when Tyler cut off the transmission. “Time to hyper limit?” he asked.
“Three hours twenty minutes,” the helm replied.
“Good.” Tyler took a minute to study the long-range displays, searching for anything that might be able to catch the Ellipsis before he could escape from the system. But he’d planned his attack carefully, and there wasn’t a single thing the Andermani could throw at him.
And with that, all he had to do was take the Ellipsis back to Irrlicht and wait.
He smiled as he once again swept his gaze over the long-range displays. Citizen Navarre’s plan had indeed been brilliant.
Now, with a single violent stroke, Tyler had made it even better.
* * *
The Hase made one stop, at one of the outlying systems of the Andermani Empire, after which the plan had been to head directly to New Berlin. To Charles’s surprise, though, they had barely reentered hyper-space when Captain Forman announced they were making instead for Mischa’s Star.
He wouldn’t give any reason for the sudden change in course. Neither would Weiss.
It was another two days to Mischa’s Star. Weiss was on the bridge with Forman when they exited hyper-space, and Charles contrived to have a question to ask the attaché that coincidentally required him and Mercier to be there at the same time.
The first thing he noted as they emerged back into n-space was that the Hase’s course wasn’t taking them toward the inner system. The second was that the course they were taking seemed to lead to a small group of freighters a couple of hours’ travel inside the hyper limit.
The third was that, whatever had happened here, the Andermani were taking it seriously. Seriously enough that they’d sent both a military repair ship and a seven-million-ton Seydlitz-class superdreadnought to the scene.
And not just any Seydlitz-class superdreadnought.
“Derfflinger to courier boat Hase,” the clipped voice of the huge warship’s traffic coordinator came over the Hase’s com. “You are cleared for approach. Follow the prescribed vector; a pinnace will meet you at your parking slot to pick up Attaché Weiss and your passengers.”
“Acknowledged,” Forman said.
Charles looked at Mercier, noting the grim edge to the other’s standard poker face. Whatever had happened, the Peep was just as much in the dark as Charles was.
Casually, Charles walked over to Weiss’s side. “The Derfflinger is Herzog von Rabenstrange’s ship, isn’t it?” he asked.
“That’s correct,” Weiss said. His voice and manner were as grim as they’d been for the past two days, but Charles could hear a touch of pride beneath the concern. “You won’t have known this, but he’s been my patron for most of my governmental career.”
“Really,” Charles said with feigned surprise. Of course he’d known of Weiss’s relationship with the Andermani duke. It was the reason he’d picked Weiss as the point man for this operation in the first place. “He’s, what, fourth in line for the throne?”
“Third,” Weiss said. “More than that, he’s a cousin and close confidant of the Emperor. That’s why I sent word directly to him as soon as I returned from Karavani.”
“And he asked us to meet him here?”
“Actually, he asked us to meet him at New Berlin,” Weiss said. “But events have dictated otherwise.” He gestured at the screen. “A merchant convoy was attacked here a few days ago, its escort badly damaged and one of the freighters disabled.”
“They were attacked here?” Charles asked, his stomach tightening. Was this some bizarre coincidence? “What was it, pirates?”
“Apparently not,” Weiss said. “The attacker was running a false ID code, but the escort’s captain believes it to have been a Manty heavy cruiser.”
Charles shot a look at Mercier. There was nothing in the Ellipsis’s orders about attacking Andy merchantmen. Or of leaving Irrlicht at all, for that matter. “That seems . . . strange,” he said.
“At the very least,” Weiss agreed. “I understand that the admiral will be briefing us personally once we’re aboard.”
“I’ll look forward to that,” Charles murmured, and wandered away from Weiss again.
What in hell’s name was Tyler playing at?
* * *
The pinnace was waiting precisely where the traffic coordinator had said it would be, and arrived alongside the Hase within minutes after the courier boat dropped its wedge. Half an hour after that, their black-uniformed Totenkopf Marine escort ushered the three visitors past two similarly uniformed Marines into one of the Derfflinger’s conference rooms.
Three men were waiting at the table, all of them resplendent in Andermani naval uniforms. At the head of the table was Rabenstrange himself, flanked by his intelligence officer, Commander Chiro Schmidt, and a man in a captain’s uniform whom Charles didn’t recognize. All three Andermani were looking grim, but the captain’s expression carried an additional edge of shame and smoldering anger. Spread out strategically around the walls were another half dozen armed Totenkopfs.
“Herr Weiss,” Rabenstrange said gravely as Weiss led the party into the room. “It’s good to see you again, Lyang.”
“And you, My Lord,” Weiss said, just as gravely, “though I would have preferred happier circumstances. May I present my guests: Charles Navarre of the Solarian League, and Thomas Mercier of the Star Kingdom of Manticore.”
“Welcome aboard the IAN Derfflinger,” Rabenstrange said. His gaze flicked across Charles, evaluating him in that single glance, then settled onto Mercier. “Your countrymen, Herr Mercier. What exactly are they up to?”
“I don’t know, My Lord,” Mercier said, his voice pitched even darker than Rabenstrange’s and Weiss’s. “And with your permission, may I state that they’re no longer my countrymen. I fear the Manticore I grew up on no longer exists.”
“Perhaps,” Rabenstrange said. Clearly, he was a man who didn’t jump lightly to conclusions. “We shall see.” He gestured to his right. “This is Commander Schmidt, my intelligence officer—” he gestured left “—and Captain Vien of the IAN Eule, the ship whose convoy was attacked here twelve days ago. Captain, perhaps you could give our guests a brief summary of those events.”
Charles listened in fascination and ever increasing horror as Vien detailed the disguised cruiser’s approach, its sudden attacks on him and the freighter under his care, and the mysterious warning the attacker had given before fleeing the system. By the time a copy of the transmission was played, with the visual proof that the attacker was indeed Captain Tyler and the Ellipsis, it was such a complete lack of surprise that Charles didn’t need to worry about his face giving anything away. Mercier, he was certain, was in equal control.
Protocol, Charles knew, required him to allow Weiss the opportunity to speak first. But the other remained silent, and after a moment Charles cleared his throat. “I suppose the first and most obvious question is whether we’re certain the freighter was not, in fact, carrying any armaments.”
“What difference does that make?” Vien snapped. “For Manticore to attack an Andermani vessel carrying any Andermani cargo within Andermani borders is a blatant act of war.”
“Captain,” Rabenstrange said quietly.
With a visible effort, Vien regained control of himself. “My apologies, Admiral,” he said. He paused. “And to you, as well, Herr Navarre.”
“The fault was mine,” Charles said, ducking his head and trying furiously to come up a more politic way to get to the point he’d been trying to make. Tyler’s irresponsible action had been way over the line, but there was nothing Charles could do about that now. What he could do was use the occasion to help solidify the tentative conclusion that the mysterious attacker was, indeed, a Manty. “I’m simply trying to find some reason for the attack, rational or otherwise. May I ask the freighter’s name?”
“The Krause Rosig,” Rabenstrange said. “And since you ask, it was carrying machine parts, farming equipment, electronics, and foodstuffs.”
“The Krause Rosig,” Charles repeated, frowning in thought. “Thomas, wasn’t there a Peep arms freighter in that last intelligence report that was supposed to be flying with an Andermani ID and the name Crossroads?”
“I was just wondering about that,” Mercier agreed without even a fraction of a second’s hesitation. “Its real name was the Overland, as I recall.”
“Right,” Charles said, turning back to Rabenstrange. “Krause Rosig—Crossroads. I wonder if this could have been an honest mistake, My Lord, with the Manties either garbling the report of the arms freighter’s name or the convoy list.”
“An honest mistake, you say, Herr Navarre?” Vien demanded. “A military intrusion of Andermani space, an honest mistake?”
Charles winced. “Another poor choice of words on my part,” he said. “My apologies. I’m simply trying to make some sense out of this.”
“There is one other possibility, My Lord,” Weiss spoke up hesitantly. “Perhaps the Manties were concerned about security in the matter which I recently reported to you.”
“Yes.” For a moment Rabenstrange eyed his protégé. Then, turning to Vien, he nodded. “Thank you for your time, Captain,” he said. “You may return to your ship now. As soon as Commander O’Hara and her investigators have finished examining the damage, I’ll give orders for your repairs to be expedited.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Vien said. Standing, he saluted both Rabenstrange and Schmidt, nodded to Weiss, then strode past the Marines and left the room.
Rabenstrange turned to Schmidt. “Commander, perhaps you’d be good enough to take Herr Weiss and Herr Mercier to the duty mess down the hallway and offer them some refreshment. While you’re there, have someone assign them quarters. We’ll be leaving within the hour.”
“Yes, Herr Herzog.” Schmidt rose briskly to his feet and gestured toward the door. “Gentlemen?”
“As for you, Herr Navarre,” Rabenstrange added, “I’d like a word with you in private, if I may.”
Mercier flashed an unreadable look at Charles as he stood up, but made no comment as he followed Weiss and Schmidt from the room.
The door closed behind them, leaving Charles and Rabenstrange alone with the six Marine guards. Apparently, Charles mused, this was what passed for privacy with a member of the Andermani royal family. “How may I help you, My Lord?” he asked.
Rabenstrange pursed his lips. “You can begin by telling me what exactly you’re up to.”
Charles frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You’re a Solly, or so you claim,” Rabenstrange said. “Yet here you are, involving yourself in matters the Solarian League has unequivocally stated are none of its citizens’ business.”
“Yet many of my fellow citizens are so involved,” Charles pointed out. “The shipment of contraband Solly weaponry which Herr Weiss observed in the Karavani system is merely one proof of that.”
“Granted,” Rabenstrange said. “Which brings up interesting questions of its own.” He leaned back in his chair. “For example. You alert Herr Weiss to this shipment, and in adequate time for him to witness its arrival. Oddly enough, it happens that the Manties also learn about it, also in sufficient time to send a ship to destroy it.”
“As Herr Weiss has no doubt informed you, I have certain sources of information,” Charles reminded him. “As to the Manties’ timely arrival, I expect Herr Weiss’s report has given an explanation for that.”
“Yes, it did,” Rabenstrange said. “Information which I note also came from you. The question thus becomes whether all this valuable information came to you or from you.”
Charles shook his head. “You give me far too much credit, My Lord,” he said. “I merely glean interesting bits of information out of the vast collections gathered by others.”
“Perhaps,” Rabenstrange said. “I also can’t help noticing that you seem to be playing both sides of this situation.”
“I don’t understand,” Charles said carefully.
“Allow me to lay it out for you,” Rabenstrange said, the temperature of his voice dropping a few degrees. “You send Herr Weiss to Karavani with the express intent of betraying to him a supposed deep Manty secret. Yet only moments ago you actively defended those same Manties in this attack upon Andermani sovereignty.” His eyes narrowed. “So are you with the Manties, or against them?”
Charles shook his head, a bit of relief seeping into him. Rabenstrange had the right idea, but was a comfortably safe distance from the actual truth. “I’m on no side but my own, My Lord,” he assured the admiral. “I’m simply a businessman, trying to wrest a small profit from a vast and uncaring universe.”
“And how is this profit to be made?” Rabenstrange asked.
“I was hoping to rely on Andermani gratitude,” Charles said. “If I’m right about—” he glanced at the nearest Marine “—the matter of which you’ve already heard, I have no doubt the Empire stands to reap substantial economic benefits.” He waved a hand. “All I wish for my services is a small finder’s fee.”
Rabenstrange smiled faintly. “And this small fee would amount to . . . ?”
“As I said, I would rely on Andermani gratitude.”
For a long moment Rabenstrange gazed thoughtfully at him. Charles held the other’s eyes evenly, putting every bit of honest capitalistic sincerity into his face and body language that he could. “The courage of your convictions does you credit,” the admiral said at last, his tone carrying a faintly mocking edge. “Does your colleague share that same purity?”
“Hardly,” Charles conceded. “Herr Mercier’s motivations are so complex that even I sometimes have trouble following them. But I can handle him.”
“I hope so,” Rabenstrange said. His eyes flicked to the Marine directly behind Charles. “If we do have to take over that duty, Herr Mercier will regret it. So, very likely, will you.”
“Understood, My Lord,” Charles said, and the shiver that ran up his back was completely genuine. The Totenkopf Marines had a reputation that extended even to the League’s normally oblivious public. “Will that be all?”
“For now, yes,” Rabenstrange said. “If you wish, you may join the others.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Charles said, standing up. Now came the equally tricky task of convincing Mercier that he hadn’t used his time with Rabenstrange to betray their mission. The Totenkopfs might be able to take down the StateSec man if he got out of line, but probably not before Mercier did the same to Charles. Nodding to Rabenstrange, he turned toward the door.
“One more thing,” Rabenstrange said from behind him.
Charles turned bac
k. “Yes?”
And froze at the deadly look on the admiral’s face. “Who are you?” Rabenstrange asked softly.
Charles felt a fresh surge of adrenaline flood into him. “Herr Weiss has already told you that,” he managed, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m Charles Navarre of the Solarian League.”
“I don’t think so,” Rabenstrange said. “In his dispatch Herr Weiss expressed a certain lack of clarity concerning your identity. I therefore took the liberty of doing a more extensive search than he was capable of with the limited resources at his disposal. Including variant spellings, there are approximately one hundred and thirty thousand Charles Navarres on the League’s citizen lists.” He paused. “None of them appears to be you.”
And suddenly Mercier was the least of Charles’s worries. “There must be some mistake.”
“No,” Rabenstrange said flatly. “There isn’t.”
Charles grimaced. When the big lie doesn’t work, as the old saying went, try mixing in just enough truth to wash it down. “All right, you’ve caught me,” he said with a sigh. “My real name is Charles Blake. I’m an investigative journalist, writing for the Star Universal and affiliated sites under the name Rufus Perry. You may have read some of my reports?”
“No,” Rabenstrange said again, just as flatly. “Can you prove this?”
“If you mean do I carry ID in that name, no,” Charles said. “Working undercover this way, I can’t take the chance someone will stumble across something that compromises my identity while I’m on a story. I can of course give you references, but they’re all on Earth or other League worlds, which means they aren’t going to do either of us much good at the moment.”
“Mm,” Rabenstrange said. He was clearly still a long way from being convinced, but at least he no longer sounded ready to offer his Totenkopfs a little exercise. Maybe he had heard of Rufus Perry, even if he hadn’t read any of the columns. “And this story you fed Herr Weiss?”
“One hundred percent true, My Lord,” Charles assured him. “I’ve been sensing something funny about the regions in question for a long time. When I finally figured out what was going on—” He let his lip twitch. “Let’s just say journalism is a tough game, and the scars are starting to show. It occurred to me that quietly presenting this to the Empire instead of laying it out in front of a bunch of jaded readers who couldn’t see the longer picture if you silk-screened it on their corneas might allow me to retire with grace and a certain degree of comfort.”