24
With the doors sealed, Bolton sat at the boardroom table, listening to the private brainstorming session with the Red Commodore, Gail Carrington, Jackson Firth, and the fleet’s two best stringline engineers.
The five military haulers had been stalled in space for six days now. Crew morale had plummeted. Though the Redcom had twice given rallying speeches across the fleet-wide intercom, he had offered them little reason to hope. The search continued for the end of the outbound stringline that would guide them to Hellhole, but so far they had no luck.
When Carrington spoke, Bolton flinched at the vehemence in her voice. Until now, Lord Riomini’s observer had watched, but made few comments, and she surprised them all by unleashing her ire. “You were placed in command of this operation, Red Commodore. You carry the expectations of the Constellation as well as the personal support of the Diadem herself. Your ineffectiveness reflects badly on Supreme Commander Riomini—and I cannot allow that. In a crisis, a true commander does something, even if it’s not the right thing. You have done nothing, Redcom, nothing at all.”
“I’m holding this meeting to weigh our options.”
“You’re moving too slowly!”
Escobar spoke in an acid tone. “Thank you for your opinion, Ms. Carrington. Perhaps you would like to present me with a miracle solution?” He stared at her, and she stared back. Bolton could smell the tension around him.
“Find the other end of the stringline,” she demanded, “the one that leads to planet Hallholme. It’s out there, somewhere. Take risks. Venture farther. Obviously, it isn’t here, so we need to range wider, expand the search across a greater volume of space.” She gestured to the two engineers, who huddled down in chairs on the side of the table as if wishing they could be invisible. “The alternative is to sit here and rot.”
“Or starve,” Bolton muttered.
“Chances of finding the other end of the stringline are small, Redcom, but it is possible,” said the thinner of the two engineers, whose hair was pure white, though he did not appear to be old. “Based on the location of Substation Four, we can make projections.”
“But there is some risk,” said the other engineer. “The substation was destroyed at least six days ago, possibly seven. Without the collimation anchor, the iperion concentration close to the severed ends will have dissipated. Finding a trail that is only a molecule thick in all this open space is very unlikely.”
“A small chance is preferable to no chance,” Carrington said.
“But if we wander from our position, then we truly will be lost,” Bolton pointed out. “How will rescuers find us?”
Carrington didn’t try to hide her anger. “There are no rescuers. The stringline segment is severed behind us! The Constellation could never reach us without some sort of specially outfitted long-range ship. We can’t expect any help from Sonjeera. We have only ourselves.”
“What about General Adolphus?” one of the engineers suggested.
Gail Carrington glowered around the room. “The success of the mission is paramount, but failure is not acceptable under any circumstances. Better that we are lost without a trace than captured by the enemy. We cannot allow these ships to fall into the General’s hands.”
Escobar sounded defeated. “So we expand our search, keep our scouts wandering the emptiness ’round the clock in hopes of blundering onto the stringline?”
“As each day goes by, we’ll have to range far because of the continuing dissipation of iperion,” said the white-haired engineer. “If you want an expanded search, it would be best to disperse the five stringline haulers to cover as much volume as possible. Equip our fighter craft with detectors, send them out to comb space in ever-widening circles. Given enough time and ships…”
“Can’t we just draw a straight line to planet Hallholme?” Escobar asked. “We know where the path should be.”
“Not a valid assumption, sir,” the engineer said. “Substations rely on gravitational curves, ripples in space-time to route the iperion path for the most efficient stringline travel. With Substations Three and Four gone, the existing iperion line could have wandered far afield.”
“We are between systems with no landmarks,” added the second engineer. “We’re already marooned. If we don’t find the stringline in our search, the effort could put us in a far worse situation.”
Escobar laughed at that. “Worse? If we just sit here, we will surely die. A small chance is better than nothing.”
Noticing the change in the Redcom’s mood, Bolton said nothing. He saw merit in Escobar’s caution as well as in Carrington’s more aggressive position. Out here in deep space, in an unexpectedly disastrous situation, there were no easy answers.
Gail Carrington did not look satisfied. “After cutting the line, General Adolphus must think he’s safe. But if we locate the stray end of the stringline, then we can crash down upon him.” Her hands clenched into tight fists. “And make him pay for his crimes. I would like to bring the General’s head to Lord Riomini myself.”
“First we need to find the stringline,” Bolton said. His stomach fluttered. He thought of Keana, how he had been a poor husband, doing a miserable job of watching out for her. When they’d married, he’d been aware of her naïveté and impetuousness. Bolton believed he had a solid head on his shoulders, while the Diadem’s daughter often went off on flights of fancy, embracing causes but not really knowing what to do with herself. In a way, he had found it endearing; he was not a perfect man either.
After he learned that she had been trapped, and possibly brainwashed, on Hellhole, he wanted to be there for Keana, to save her and show her that he still supported her. Now, however, it looked as if he himself, and all the members of the Constellation fleet, were the ones who needed saving.…
“Then we range as far as necessary and devote all our resources to the search,” Escobar said. “We’ve got to find the path.”
25
Ten days should have been long enough for Sonjeera to hear at least an initial report. Knowing the old Commodore’s son, the Diadem expected Escobar would have been quick to crow about his victory.
Michella did not like to wait for anything. As a child, she had been impatient and easily frustrated over trivial matters, anxious to receive a toy or a favorite dessert. She wanted everything right away, and that was how she felt now.
Nevertheless, not even a Diadem could overcome the laws of physics. Stringline travel was extremely fast, but not instantaneous. Four days for the Constellation fleet to reach Hallholme, and four days for a message drone to return. But she had already allowed two extra days. Escobar Hallholme, or at least Bolton Crais, should have been more attentive.
At this very moment, she imagined that the attack force was consolidating its hold on planet Hallholme; they should have captured or killed General Adolphus and seized the new DZ stringline hub. Her loyal soldiers were probably rounding up the thousands of hostages she would punish here in a massive show trial.
But she hadn’t heard anything.
Selik Riomini met her out in the palace horp stables where she was feeding the animals. Unable to disguise his concern, he said, “The fleet had explicit orders to send us an initial report upon their arrival. Gail Carrington is always more reliable than this.”
His female bodyguards remained outside the stable doors to give them privacy, but Michella had no doubt they were eavesdropping. The new lead bodyguard, Lora Heston, perked up when Riomini mentioned Carrington’s name. Sound-enhancer implants in her ears? Probably.
One of the horp stallions stretched its long black neck over the railing to gobble an apple from Michella’s open palm, then snorted for another. The impatient creature reminded the Diadem of herself, but she was not amused by its behavior.
“Nothing should have gone wrong,” she said with a sour frown, “but this is General Adolphus. Are you sure Redcom Hallholme was sufficiently prepared?”
“I’m sure he did not underestimate the General, Emin
ence.” The Black Lord was careful to stay back from the animals to keep his dark uniform unsoiled. “Yesterday, I dispatched a message drone to demand information. As soon as I hear any word, I will inform you.”
The horp continued to pester her for another apple, but she pushed his round snout away. She hated not knowing what was going on. To distract herself, Michella reached into a bucket for another apple, ignored the black stallion, and moved to the next stall to give the treat to a white horp broodmare. This animal was her favorite, because the mare demanded nothing, merely waited while Michella fed her as much or as little as she wished. In the other stall, the black stallion made importunate grunts.
“On to other business, Eminence.” Riomini brought out a sheaf of documents. “As we discussed, I developed a punitive strike on another Deep Zone world, which will serve as a warning to the rebels.” He spread the papers out on a bale of hay that served as a makeshift table. “I also have electronic files, if you prefer.”
“Just give me a summary.” She had already decided to let him do as he wished, give him a chance to prove his heroism and leadership abilities to the Constellation. Either way, Michella would benefit: Based on his own performance, Selik would crown himself the next Diadem or remove his name from consideration. “And which planet have you chosen?”
“The most opportune target is Theser, as explained in my plan.”
“Theser?” She looked at the documents, read a summary of the attack plan, and flipped to an astronomical chart on the next page. “Quite an obscure frontier world.”
“Everything in the Deep Zone is obscure, Eminence.” He smiled. “I have already begun gathering my strike force, twenty-three warships, two military stringline haulers.”
“Don’t waste Constellation resources on grandstanding.”
“Necessary insurance, Eminence—not grandstanding. Theser is the best choice for several reasons. The planet is a kind of technological oasis, a source of innovation and engineering advancement. Those high-tech industries might be vital to the General’s plans. And Theser is holding one of your loyal territorial governors as a political prisoner.”
Michella tried to remember the names of her Deep Zone governors and which one had gone astray. “Who?”
Even Riomini had to check his notes. “Marla Undine.”
“Undine? Oh, I had almost forgotten about her. Yes, rescuing her would make for good propaganda. Yes, we can claim our strike is in response to the governor’s illegal arrest. By all means, grind Theser into dust. This whole mess should have been over by now.”
* * *
After yet another day with no word from the Constellation fleet, the Diadem was significantly worried. The public had begun to whisper about what might have gone wrong, so she issued instructions for continued patriotic rallies, asking her citizens to pray for the troops engaged in battle.
When Riomini arrived at her private chambers, she could tell by the gray cast to his features that he bore grave news. “I know why we have heard no word, Eminence. The stringline has been severed. Planet Hallholme is cut off from Sonjeera.”
She fumed. “And what of our fleet? Are they returning?”
“No sign of the five stringline haulers.”
“Do you think Adolphus is responsible?”
“No, for the simple reason that the substation wasn’t destroyed until after our fleet had flown past. The General would never have been so sloppy.”
She felt agitated. “Our warships are still on their way, then. They can hammer the enemy defenses, even if they can’t send a message home right away.”
“My thoughts exactly, Eminence. The General will be defeated.” He fidgeted, as if expecting her to change her mind. “However, this makes my attack on Theser even more critical. Not only will we punish another rebel world, but we can also seize the Theser stringline terminus and ride the General’s own network to planet Hallholme. From there, we will reinforce the Constellation fleet.”
She could see the eagerness in his eyes. “But if you take so many ships, won’t that leave the Crown Jewels poorly defended in the meantime? The Army of the Constellation will be stretched too thin. Now that Deep Zone tribute payments have dried up, we may see some unrest here as well. It’s a time for strength.”
“Not to worry, Eminence. I will bring in all the reserves from the Lubis Plain shipyards.” She could see the eager flush on Riomini’s face. “We cannot let this opportunity slip through our fingers.”
She knew he was right. “Very well, Selik. When can you be ready to launch for Theser?”
He answered without hesitation. “Immediately. Of course.”
26
Ishop Heer stood in the busy air terminal building with his bookish-looking assistant, reviewing details before they each left on their next assignment. So much to do, another assassination, as well as tedious paperwork.
His family’s seven centuries of legally imposed banishment from the noble ranks would end soon, and he had to make certain to take care of every detail. He had his lists, and could always count on Laderna Nell. Such an efficient woman. Though he found it unnerving sometimes when she took brash actions on her own without telling him until afterward, he did not usually disagree with her decisions.
When Laderna first discovered the ancient criminal insult that had ruined and stripped Ishop’s family, she had eliminated the first person on their list of assassinations—Lady Opra Mageros—without even asking him. Once Ishop learned the details from the moldy historical archives, he fully supported her plans, and together they relished working their way through the list.
Sometimes, Laderna was so attuned to him, he felt as if she could read his mind. Knowing her feelings of attraction toward him, he had allowed himself to become her lover—in a celebratory sense, whenever they crossed another name off the list. Somewhat gangly, Laderna had red hair and a long neck, and she drank too much kiafa, which made her frenetic and edgy at times. She was not the sort of woman he considered attractive, but she had an earnestness that he found appealing.
However, her increasing feelings for him were becoming disturbing. And now when he looked into her brown, almond-shaped eyes, he detected a softness toward him.
“Be careful on this mission, boss,” Laderna said. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Surely she knew their relationship was all business, despite the sex? She was intelligent enough to understand all the intricate clockwork of the overall scheme and not allow silly schoolgirl emotions to wreck the smooth-running machinery.
The two of them stood out of earshot of the spaceport crowds, near a ventilation fan that provided a background drone. “Watch yourself, too.” He let a smile play around his mouth. “Genealogy can be dangerous work.”
That morning they had made love in a secondary office that he maintained on a backstreet. Now, to wish her luck as she departed, he gave her a lingering kiss. When she walked away, she looked back and smiled, then strode across the terminal building to board a shuttle.
He was heading out on his own assignment, murdering a member of one of the three remaining families on the list. Laderna had wanted to join him in the task, insisting it was her turn, but she proved so much better at meticulous research than he was. And although she could kill people when necessary, he was better at it than she was. Each of them had a particular set of skills.
During his years of service to the Diadem, Ishop had grown comfortable with murder whenever it was necessary. So far, Michella had asked him to eliminate five troublesome political and business rivals, and with Laderna’s help he had murdered eight others for his own purposes, crossing one name after another off his list.
Those victims were personal, descendants of the nobles who had stripped the Osheer family of wealth and prominence. Seven centuries did not make the wound any less raw to him, even though he would soon be allowed to reclaim his noble title.
Justice had been a long time coming, but he and Laderna were almost finished with their li
st. First things first.
* * *
Ishop completed his task without complications, as usual. He had plotted the careful “accident” of a dropped sheet-crystal windowpane onto the unsuspecting businessman Tann Ciarli. Ciarli wasn’t much of a noble; his family’s influence had waned significantly from when they had participated in the ruin of the Osheer family in the distant past. The man also beat his children, according to reports.
Ishop had hoped for a well-choreographed spectacle, with the toppling sheet crystal decapitating Ciarli, but the sharp pane had tumbled in the air and broken in half, making a butchered mess of the victim. Not the finesse he would have liked, but a success nevertheless.
When he met Laderna at the redstone townhouse they shared, her eyes shone as she presented him with her discoveries as well. He found the archival details far more interesting than the story of killing yet another guilty noble.
“Plenty of colorful details, boss,” she said. “It really helps paint the picture of your ancestors’ tribulations, how they were caught up in political machinations, lost the game.”
Since learning of his family’s long-ago disgrace, Ishop had become fascinated by his history, wanting to learn more details about why they had been exiled to the backwater Crown Jewel planet Ogg. Heading there to study civic records, Laderna had sifted through old files, reconstructed the history, connected the dots, and now proudly presented him with the full story, including names and dates of the people involved, the failed attempts to thwart schemers that had taken everything from the Osheer family, the alliances and trumped-up legal documents and court cases that stole Ishop’s heritage.
“In hindsight, boss,” Laderna said, “your ancestors were naïve, didn’t safeguard themselves against their enemies. I think they were surprised when they were buried under the avalanche of plots.”
Ishop read the new report: A group of treacherous nobles had gathered valuable planetary assets for themselves, then conspired to manufacture false charges against Lord Elman Osheer. Sensing a plump fruit for the picking, they had brought about Elman’s disgrace, maneuvering the Council into issuing a censure that stripped his family of noble titles for a period of seven hundred years, while they divided up the spoils.
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