“Signal the planet, as planned,” Kat ordered. “And inform me the moment they respond.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
The range closed rapidly. Kat watched, torn between a grim certainty the enemy commander was an inexperienced idiot and a nagging feeling she was flying into a trap. No sane board of inquiry would punish the enemy commander for retreating. Her lips quirked. No sane board of inquiry, which probably meant the poor bastard would be shot when they faced a panel composed of officers who hadn’t seen combat in years. The navy was generally good about ensuring that experienced officers handled court-martial proceedings, but there were limits . . . particularly, she acknowledged silently, if someone wanted to ensure the board came to the right decision.
“Admiral, they’re tightening their targeting locks,” Kitty warned. “I think . . .”
The display sparkled with red icons. “Missile separation! Multiple missile separations!”
Clever, Kat thought. Very clever indeed.
She smiled, humorlessly, as the range continued to close. In theory, the enemy had fired at dangerously extreme range. Modern missiles had more range than the missiles she’d used at Cadiz, years ago, but they had their limits. She was, technically, right at the edge of their range. Practically, however, she was impaling herself on their missiles, her own closing speed bringing her within their range. And they’d had missiles floating in space, increasing the weight of their opening salvoes . . .
“Open fire,” she ordered. “And bring up the point defense.”
She watched, coolly, as the enemy missiles slipped into her point defense envelope, the gunboats following them in. That was clever too, she acknowledged. The missiles were still operating at extreme range, unable to either evade her fire or hide their exact location, but they were providing cover for the gunboats. And she couldn’t ignore the missiles, either, unless she wanted to let them have a clear shot at her hulls. She wished, suddenly, that the navy had managed to work the kinks out of the starfighter concept. The gunboats wouldn’t have been so great a pain in the ass if she’d had gunboats, or starfighters, of her own.
The missiles started to evaporate, a handful surviving long enough to throw themselves against her shields. A shudder ran through the superdreadnought as she took a direct hit, shrugging the blast off with casual ease. Kat tensed, wondering if the enemy had figured out that Violence was her flagship. It shouldn’t have been possible, but the enemy knew everything about her ships. Neither the king nor the colonials had had time to start churning out new ships of their own. The enemy might just have figured it out.
She nodded to herself as the enemy ships scattered, firing a handful of shots as they cut and ran for deep space. That was smart too. They’d given the battle their best shot, their gunboats having done a bit of damage, and then retreated, cutting their losses while they were ahead. Kat was almost relieved she wouldn’t have to kill them, even though she knew she was likely to see the ships coming back at her when Tyre dispatched reinforcements. She glanced at the display, noting that the enemy StarCom was sending message after message in all directions. Tyre already knew she was here. They just needed some time to respond.
Unless they’ve sent their fleet to Caledonia already. That would be rather awkward.
“Admiral,” Kitty said. “The planetary defenses are opening fire.”
Kat gritted her teeth. “Target the fortresses only,” she ordered. “Fire at will.”
The superdreadnought heaved as she unleashed a full broadside. Kat frowned as the missiles raced towards their targets, hoping and praying that none of them slipped past the orbital defenses and struck the planet itself. The fortresses could barely move—their station-keeping drives were puny—but they crammed more point defense into their hulls than a superdreadnought. It was quite possible she wouldn’t manage to take them out before she ran out of missiles . . .
Although we could complete the plan without taking the planet itself, she mused. And that might actually work out in our favor.
She nodded, coldly, as one of the fortresses vanished from the display. She tried, hard, not to think about what the winked-out icon actually meant. The lucky crewmen would be dead, vaporized before they knew what hit them. The unlucky crewmen would die slowly, gasping for breath or freezing to death as the atmosphere streamed into the vacuum. Even the ones who managed to get to the lifepods wouldn’t be out of trouble. Kat had made it clear that her forces weren’t to engage lifepods directly, but automated targeting systems might mistake them for deadly threats. Hell, friendly targeting systems might mistake them for deadly threats.
“Admiral,” Kitty said. “I’m picking up a signal. It’s from Commissioner Kevin Rudbek.”
The planetary governor, Kat thought. She’d met him, in happier days. He was old enough to be her father . . . he and her father had been schoolmates, if she recalled correctly. The thought made her heart twist in pain. The war was going to destroy a great many friendships and families before it was over. The Rudbek Family would never forgive her. Poor bastard.
“Put it through,” she ordered.
A grim-faced man appeared in front of her. He was older than she recalled. For a moment, she honestly thought she’d made a mistake, that it wasn’t the man she remembered. And then she kicked herself. She’d been a child when they’d met, more than twenty years ago. Of course he’d gotten older.
“Kat,” Kevin Rudbek said. He’d always been kind to a young girl when he’d visited the estate. “Your father would be very disappointed in you.”
Kat clamped down, hard, on her emotions. “Kevin. You will surrender your orbital installations and military stockpiles at once, without further delay. If you do so, you and your personnel will not be harmed, and my fleet will retreat from the system in good order. If not, I will take the high orbitals by force.”
Kevin Rudbek met her eyes. “Do you think you’re doing the right thing?”
Kat ignored him. “Surrender now or face the consequences.”
“As you command,” Kevin Rudbek said. He sounded calm for someone who’d be disgraced when—if—he got back to Tyre. The Rudbeks would be looking for scapegoats. Kevin would fit the bill nicely, particularly if he’d been in command of the engagement as well as the planet itself. “I wish you joy of it.”
“Thanks,” Kat said. “My staff will take care of the details.”
She tapped the console, closing the channel. Kevin Rudbek’s image vanished. She’d won. She knew she’d won. And the second stage of the plan was underway. She’d been careful not to order him to give up or power down the StarCom. She needed him to scream for help.
I won, she thought, suddenly feeling as old as her father. The battle was over, and the plan was well underway . . . She had good reason to be pleased. So why do I feel so terrible?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CALEDONIA
The terminal bleeped, loudly.
Peter started, half convinced that something was badly wrong. He’d been so deeply asleep that he’d been dreaming, before the first bleep. He sat upright, his head spinning as he groped for the terminal. Yasmeena’s face appeared in front of him, looking as perfect as ever. Did she sleep? He was suddenly very aware that he’d never seen her sleep . . .
“What?” His voice sounded thick in his ears, as if he were still asleep. “What’s happening?”
“We just picked up a priority signal from Perfuma, Your Grace.” Yasmeena’s voice was brisk, efficient. “The system is under attack.”
“Perfuma?” It took Peter a moment to place the system. Perfuma. A Rudbek world, only a handful of light-years from Tyre. “How badly?”
“The report stated that the system was likely to fall at any moment,” Yasmeena said. “I don’t have a direct link to the naval communications network.”
Peter swung his legs over the side and stood. “Bring me some coffee,” he ordered. “I’ll be in my office.”
He grabbed his robe and pulled it on as he half stumbled towar
ds the door. It wasn’t fair. There was nothing he could do, not now, about Perfuma . . . but he had to be up and active anyway, pressing the flesh and reassuring people that everything was going to be fine. The enemy was light-years away, a few days from reaching Tyre even if they set out at once. He caught his breath as he walked down the corridor, pacing himself as best he could. He couldn’t afford to look agitated once the communications network started pinging. Everyone and their maiden aunt would want to have their say, damn it. And most were too important to be told to go back to bed and sleep it off.
And too many of them would be insulted if I refused to speak to them personally, Peter told himself as he walked into his office. A mug of steaming coffee was waiting for him. Peter practically snatched it off the desk and poured the hot liquid down his throat. The concoction tasted foul but jarred him awake. They all expect me to do something, and I can’t do anything.
He put the mug down and took his seat. The first messages, all marked urgent, were blinking on his terminal. He glanced at the headers, then put them to one side as he brought up the latest reports from Perfuma. They were coming in real time, more or less. The oddity puzzled him. Surely, any attackers worth their salt would shut down or destroy the StarCom. Hadrian was as dependent on the network as the loyalists, but there were limits. Sending real-time tactical data to Tyre surely pushed those limits to a breaking point.
Yasmeena entered, looking as perfect as always. Peter eyed her warily, wondering how she managed to look so elegant, not a hair out of place, when she had to have been woken in the middle of the night. He glanced at the timer, kicking himself for not looking earlier. It was 0436. He’d only had five hours of sleep, more or less. He scowled, wondering if going back to bed would be worth the political fallout. Didn’t he have someone who could press the flesh, hold hands, kiss babies, and do all the other pointless things he had to do to maintain his position?
Could be worse, he told himself. I could be an elected representative.
“You have forty-seven communications requests,” Yasmeena informed him. “Seven of them are from outside the priority list. Reporters, mainly.”
“Ignore them,” Peter ordered curtly. The media had probably hacked the live feed from Naval HQ if they hadn’t been tipped off by some staffer on base. They’d be in trouble for that when the dust settled. Reporters weren’t treated like tin gods during wartime. “Who’s on the inner priority list?”
“So far, no one,” Yasmeena said. “That’ll change.”
Peter nodded.
“What do we know so far?” The first reports would be vague, probably wrong, but they were better than nothing. “Who’s in command of the enemy fleet, and what have they done?”
Yasmeena frowned. Peter knew the answer before she put it into words. “Your sister, Your Grace,” she said. “So far she seems to have occupied Perfuma I and started to loot it.”
“Ouch.” Peter smiled, thinly. “And Perfuma II?”
“No word as yet,” Yasmeena said. “I daresay it’s only a matter of time.”
“I daresay,” Peter echoed.
He studied the starchart for a long moment, torn between irritation and amusement. The Rudbeks would look like idiots if they just let Kat loot their supply depots instead of destroying the supplies before surrendering. He could probably use it for political advantage at some later date. But, at the same time, it would make them all the more determined to push for immediate action. If nothing else, Kat couldn’t loot the entire world in a day. She’d need weeks to transport most of the captured supplies back to Caledonia. And if she moved on to Perfuma II, she’d need more ships, more time . . .
And she’d force us to act fast, Peter thought. Perfuma I belonged to the Rudbeks. Perfuma II was a colony world settled directly from Tyre, with a population that had representatives in the House of Commons. She might leave Perfuma II alone in the hopes we’d just let her get on with the looting.
He shook his head. That wasn’t going to happen. Kat had to know it. The supplies alone would make the king a far more deadly threat, if—when—Kat managed to get them back to Caledonia. Peter would be delighted if she left Perfuma II alone, but that wouldn’t keep him from insisting the navy take immediate action. If nothing else, the chance to undo her victory within a week could hardly be passed up. She’d made the loyalists look weak. Peter didn’t dare let that impression take root.
Not as long as we’re trying to convince the colonials to abandon the king, he told himself as Yasmeena’s datapad started to bleep. They don’t want to switch sides as long as it looks like the king can take revenge.
Yasmeena peered over at him. “Your Grace, Duke Rudbek is on line one,” she said. “He wants to speak to you.”
“And he’s on the topmost priority list,” Peter muttered. There was no point in trying to deny it. “Put him through, then bring me more coffee. I’m going to need it.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Yasmeena’s fingers danced over the datapad. “I’ll put him through now.”
Duke Rudbek’s face materialized over the desk. Peter wasn’t too surprised to see the telltale signs of an image filter. Duke Rudbek looked a little too good for someone who’d probably been woken only a few short minutes ago. It was possible the Grand Admiral had woken him first . . . no, probable. Peter made a mental note to insert more of his clients into the naval bureaucracy. It was imperative that he be among the very first to be informed of anything that might impinge upon his interests.
Which is pretty much anything and everything, he thought as he cleared his throat. I’ll be bombarded with alerts every moment of every day.
“Your Grace,” he said. “Thank you for calling.”
“Your Grace,” Duke Rudbek said. He made a slight motion to dismiss the formalities. “We have to recover Perfuma.”
“Indeed,” Peter agreed. There was no point in disputing that, although the temptation to play power games was overwhelming. “However, right now it isn’t a major problem.”
“The world is ours,” Duke Rudbek said. “And it must be recovered before its seizure causes more economic troubles.”
And that’s a very good point, Peter conceded. If Rudbek weakens and goes down, it’ll take a lot of others down as well.
“Very well,” he said. “I won’t oppose a push for immediate military action.”
“Good,” Duke Rudbek said. “And I think it’s time we started to take action against Caledonia ourselves.”
“Nothing has changed since our last discussion,” Peter said. “Or has it?”
“I don’t believe so,” Duke Rudbek said. “But we have to win this war before it kills us all.”
As everyone keeps saying, again and again, Peter mused. He rubbed his forehead. We have to win quickly, and it’s the one thing we can’t do.
“I look forward to discussing your tactical concepts at a later date,” he said briskly. An alert popped up in front of him. The remainder of the dukes and the senior political leadership were awake. Their staffers were laying the groundwork for a holographic conference. “Right now we have too many other problems to deal with.”
“I won’t stand still and let the king destroy us,” Duke Rudbek warned. “If I have to take unilateral action myself, I will.”
Peter ran his hand through his hair. It wasn’t easy being the youngest duke, even though he’d been an adult for nearly forty years. In hindsight, he should have pushed to be treated as a co-duke . . . as if that were possible. He couldn’t have been treated as anything other than the heir until his father had died . . . until his father had been murdered. He felt a hot flash of anger at the thought. Sir William’s brother was supposed to be on his way to Caledonia. If he reached the planet, if he spoke to Kat, if . . .
He put the thought aside and leaned forward. “We must fight this war as a body,” he said firmly. “We wouldn’t have gotten into this mess if we’d brought the king to heel long ago.”
“The king wanted power,” Duke Rudbek said. “And
we didn’t realize it in time.”
Of course not, Peter thought sarcastically. You had so much power that you didn’t understand what life was like to someone who had position, but not power.
“It doesn’t matter, not now,” he said. “All that matters is winning the war.”
“Admiral,” Grand Admiral Rudbek said. “I trust you slept well?”
William frowned, resisting the urge to rub his unshaven chin. He’d been fast asleep when the alert had arrived and, thankfully, his officers had resisted the urge to wake him until Grand Admiral Rudbek and the Admiralty needed him. William hadn’t taken part in the preliminary planning sessions, and thus the government would have decided what it wanted to do without his input.
“Well enough,” he said. His body was urgently reminding him that he wasn’t a young man any longer despite a string of rejuvenation treatments. It wanted him to go back to bed and sleep. “I assume you didn’t call to ask about my health?”
“No,” Grand Admiral Rudbek said. “The House of Lords wants you to recover Perfuma.”
What, personally? William smiled. Don’t they want me to take the entire fleet with me?
He sobered as he pulled up the latest report. They were still getting reports in real time, something that worried him. Kat’s too experienced a naval officer to leave the StarCom online unless she wants us to know where she is.
“I think they’re trying to lure us out of position,” he said slowly. One enemy superdreadnought squadron and escorts . . . a serious threat, yes, but not to Tyre. Perfuma wasn’t that important, not in the grand scheme of things. “If we dispatch ships to Perfuma, we run the risk of weakening our defenses here.”
“That may be true,” Grand Admiral Rudbek said. “However, you have your orders.”
William frowned as he pulled up the fleet lists and scanned them. The king couldn’t expect him to throw everything at Kat, could he? That was the sort of plan that even the rawest of greenie officers wouldn’t devise, unless they thought the sheer insanity of the strategy would make it work. But . . . William didn’t have to dispatch the entire fleet. Two superdreadnought squadrons and escorts would be enough to make short work of Kat’s force.
Debt of War (The Embers of War) Page 14