Debt of War (The Embers of War)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Her heart twisted as Scott McElney was shown into the compartment. He looked like William, close enough that she might have mistaken one for the other if she hadn’t known them both. There were ten years between them, if she recalled correctly, but it was easy to think they were twins. But then, they’d both had access to rejuvenation technology.

  “Admiral,” Scott said. He shook her hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Kat nodded, then gestured him to a chair. “And you,” she said. It wasn’t entirely true, but she would have welcomed almost any distraction. “I notice you’ve been bringing us more supplies.”

  “What little I could find,” Scott said. He looked up as the steward entered carrying two mugs of coffee. “Everyone who has military hardware these days wants to keep it.”

  “So I hear,” Kat said.

  “There’s a bunch of worlds that are trying to gear up their defenses as quickly as possible,” Scott added. “They’re not involved in the war, officially, and they want to stay out of it. They’ve placed large orders for ships and orbital defenses from Tyre, but the House of Lords is dragging its feet on actually meeting their demands. They think the ships will eventually end up being given to the king.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about it,” Kat said. “But I’d be astonished if the House of Lords actually sent the ships.”

  Scott smirked, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Me too.”

  Kat sipped her coffee. “And they probably need all the war material they can get for themselves these days,” she added. “They can’t fight wars with money.”

  “But you can’t fight wars without money either,” Scott said. “You do know the king’s credit has been dropping sharply, don’t you?”

  “No.” Kat frowned. “I never paid much attention to high finance.”

  “Shame,” Scott said. “You could have warned the king that his accounts are somewhat overdrawn.”

  Kat shrugged. Technically, the king had access to vast resources. Practically, the monies, supplies, and workforces on Tyre were denied to him. He had relatively little to live on, let alone fund the war effort. And yet, as long as there was a possibility he’d win the war, his creditors would be reluctant to pounce. If they tried to cut him off at the knees, he’d be sure to cut them out after he returned to Tyre.

  And if he loses, the creditors will be out of pocket anyway. Kat smiled coldly. Serves them right.

  She met Scott’s eyes. “It’s nice to see you again,” she said. “But I am a very busy person.”

  “You do know that you and William have quite a bit in common?” Scott reached into his pocket and produced a slip of paper, which he passed to her. “You’ve picked up some of his mannerisms.”

  “Quite,” Kat said.

  She unfolded the paper and read it quickly. Scott had written a single line. CAN WE BE OVERHEARD? Kat opened her mouth to respond in the negative, then frowned. Jenkins and his staff had been very intrusive over the past few weeks. They hadn’t eased off that much since she’d read him the riot act. Her blood ran cold. Would they have the nerve to bug her office? She tried to tell herself that it wouldn’t happen, but she didn’t know. They seemed to think their authority came from the king himself.

  “That’s a compliment,” she said evenly. She reached into her drawer and produced a pair of privacy generators. Pat had taught her, years ago, that one privacy generator could be spoofed, with the right equipment. Running two in unison made breaking through a great deal harder. Or so she’d been told. Pat wouldn’t have lied to her, but technology advanced in leaps and bounds. “There are worse people to learn from.”

  “Or to copy.” Scott watched her with unblinking eyes. “Or did he copy you?”

  Kat felt her ears pop as the conjoined privacy fields fell into place. “We should be safe now,” she said. The bugs would report that she’d used the fields . . . if, of course, there were bugs. She wondered if she should call a countersurveillance team from Marine Country. There was no way she’d be able to find them with the naked eye. “Why do you ask?”

  Scott looked unconvinced. “How do you know the generators haven’t been tampered with?”

  “There could be a bug in one generator,” Kat said. Pat had pointed that out to her too. It was the easiest way to subvert countersurveillance technology. “But the other generator will deal with it.”

  “And arouse suspicion in the process,” Scott pointed out. “How exposed are you, up here?”

  Kat’s eyes narrowed. “Scott . . . what do you want?”

  “I spoke to William, shortly before you attacked Perfuma and Rosebud,” Scott said. “He wants to meet.”

  “What?” Kat wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “He wants to meet me? Here?”

  “I don’t know where,” Scott said. “He seemed to think you’d have some trouble getting off the ship without being observed.”

  “True.” Kat shook her head in disbelief. “He, a senior enemy commander, wants to meet me, face-to-face? And secretly?”

  “Yes.” Scott flattened his hands. “I’m not sure how to work it. But he asked me to let you know so you could work on the problem.”

  Kat looked down at her pale hands. “I don’t know,” she said. “Could you bring him here? To the spaceport strip?”

  “Maybe.” Scott didn’t look very certain. “Getting him down to the planet without setting off a bunch of alarms would be tricky. Getting him back into orbit would be even harder. They’ve been tightening up entry and exit controls, even for people who just want to visit the spaceport. I had a couple of people held for questioning after they passed through the biotech scanners.”

  Kat grimaced. “And even if he did get down to the surface, arranging a meeting might be tricky.”

  “Yeah.” Scott shrugged. “Do you like running the Golden Mile?”

  “I never did,” Kat said. She felt an odd little pang for the days of her youth. “I was an officer candidate. We weren’t allowed to wear lipstick, let alone go on pub crawls.”

  “Spacers have far fewer restraints,” Scott said. “Going from pub to pub and drinking a beer is a great bonding activity.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Kat said. “Explaining a hangover to the officer on watch is also a great bonding activity.”

  She chuckled. “I could take a room at a hotel,” she said. It would be easy enough, if she was prepared to sacrifice her dignity. “But we might be watched.”

  “Perhaps,” Scott agreed. “I might be able to get him into the system. Or a system, depending. Would you be able to meet?”

  “Perhaps,” Kat echoed. She was the fleet’s commander. Normally, she could do whatever she liked. But with Jenkins and his colleagues aboard . . . she felt oddly exposed, even though she didn’t know if Jenkins was actively watching her. She could be paranoid. And yet, once she’d had the thought, it refused to go away. He might start asking questions and coming up with the wrong—or right—answers. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Scott let out a breath. “But he felt meeting was important.”

  “It would have to be,” Kat said. The idea of a fleet commander putting himself in a place where he could be kidnapped, or worse, would horrify anyone who took a moment to think about the possible outcomes. Kat could kidnap William, if he came so close. The king would certainly order her to kidnap William, if he knew. She let out a long breath, realizing that she was about to do something the king would see as treason. “And I assume I’m not meant to tell anyone about this?”

  “I believe not,” Scott said. “William wants you to keep it to yourself.”

  Kat nodded, slowly. “And if this gets out . . .”

  “Feel free to blame everything on me.” Scott laughed harshly. “I make a very good scapegoat.”

  “It won’t work,” Kat said. She knew she had enemies on the planet below. They’d take a hint of disloyalty and use it to brand her an outright traitor to the king. Admiral Ruben, wherever he was, probably wanted to
take command of the fleet. Again. He’d make sure the king heard the worst possible version of the tale. “You’re not a big enough scapegoat.”

  Scott pretended to cry. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  Kat glanced at the privacy generators, frowning. “If you can bring him here, or to wherever the fleet goes next, we should be able to arrange a meeting. And then . . . we’ll see.”

  The king really won’t be happy, her thoughts warned. And he’ll suspect the worst.

  “Understood.” Scott stood. “I’ll have to make use of the StarCom. Don’t worry. We have an unbreakable code.”

  “I hope you’re right about that,” Kat said. “And Scott . . . do you have an official story for this meeting?”

  “I came here to protest the detention of two of my people.” Scott gave her a droll smile. “And I really would like it if you pulled strings on my behalf. I can’t keep coming here if my people think they’ll be arrested at any moment.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Kat said. As cover stories went, she supposed it had the advantage of being reasonably simple. “No promises, but I’ll do what I can.”

  “As will I.” Scott stood. “William is looking forward to seeing you again.”

  “Me too,” Kat said. She held up the generators, ensuring he knew they were being switched off. “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. I’m sure His Majesty will understand.”

  Scott smiled wryly. They both knew the king wouldn’t understand. Or, perhaps, that he’d understand a little too well. Kat dismissed him with a nod, then tapped her terminal and searched through the files for Scott’s people. The arrest records were clear enough. They’d been arrested on the grounds they were traveling with forged papers. Their DNA had been linked to people who’d left Tyre before the Theocratic War. It was enough to get them held until the investigation was completed.

  And that could be a very long time, Kat thought. Scott has every reason to be annoyed.

  She keyed her terminal. “Kitty, get me a private line to Sir Reginald,” she said. “Put him through the moment he answers.”

  “Aye, Admiral.”

  Kat had to smile at her aide’s confusion. She knew Kat didn’t like Sir Reginald. The king’s fixer was an oily little man, someone who’d tried to bend Kat to his will. Kat grimaced. He’d be delighted to do her a favor, never realizing that she was using him to cover her tracks. Kat was sure he’d want something in return, but whatever it was, she’d deal with it.

  Right now, all that matters is arranging a meeting, she thought as she waited. And finding out, finally, what William wants.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  TYRE

  “You got here just in time,” Peter said as William was shown into his office. “You missed the meeting.”

  William had the grace to look embarrassed. “I did offer to attend via hologram.”

  “It’s important to touch base and press the flesh from time to time,” Peter said, indicating a chair. Face-to-face meetings were less comfortable than holographic conferences, but they did tend to be more honest. It was certainly harder to hide behind a mask without holographic filters. “That said, there was little real debate. Everyone wants to hit back as soon as possible. If not sooner.”

  “I know,” William said. He sat. “I believe the Grand Admiral was looking at a handful of options.”

  “War is too important to be left to the admirals alone,” Peter said. His father had said that from time to time. “There are political implications as well.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” William said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “There’s a decent possibility that Quist will switch sides,” Peter said. “We’ve had a number of meetings with their ambassadors over the past couple of weeks. Things were put back a little by the recent engagements, but overall . . . Quist has had enough of the king. They’ll switch sides if we meet their price.”

  He watched William narrowly. “What do you make of it?”

  “Quist is far too close to Caledonia for my peace of mind,” William said slowly. “The king could have a fleet there within a handful of days, perhaps less if he’s prepared to risk burning out their drives.”

  Peter nodded, pleased. “Quite,” he agreed. “The Grand Admiral raised the same concerns.”

  He scowled. Grand Admiral Rudbek had been a lot more assertive since the Battle of Perfuma, disrupting patron-client relationships that had been carefully built up over the past few decades. Duke Rudbek was giving him a very hard time indeed, pointing out that the grand admiral hadn’t put the interests of his family first and foremost. Peter understood the logic, but he also understood the importance of winning the war. Not, he supposed, that he’d do any differently if Falcone interests were challenged. His family would seek to remove him if they felt he wasn’t defending them properly.

  “He’s devised a plan to launch a feint at Fotheringay,” Peter explained. “That will, hopefully, keep the king from raiding our worlds while we gather the power to smash him flat. If Quist changes sides, as planned, you’ll be in the area with enough firepower to protect the population. Hopefully, that will convince the rest of the colonials that they can switch sides freely.”

  “Hopefully,” William echoed. “Is there any particular reason why Quist is switching sides?”

  “Economic damage appears to be the main reason, as far as we can tell,” Peter said. “The king is apparently placing huge demands on them, for relatively little purpose. Or so we believe. There are other possibilities.”

  William leaned forward. “It’s rare for a colonial to switch sides like that,” he said. “It would mean breaking their word openly. They’d be very reluctant to break their word unless the king broke his first. Did he?”

  “We don’t know,” Peter admitted. “Our spies have passed on all sorts of rumors, but, as you know, sorting the wheat from the chaff is a difficult task.”

  He scowled. He’d grown up among the highest aristocracy. He knew how easy it was for a rumor to mutate into something thoroughly absurd. He knew how easily a simple story could become something so complex that no one could make head or tails of it—or believe it, if they sorted the story into something reasonably comprehendible. The king was planning to sell the colonials to the highest bidder, the king was planning to turn Caledonia into his personal garden, the king was planning . . . Peter shook his head. So many rumors swirled around that it was hard to believe that any of them might be true.

  But something happened to convince Quist to take the plunge, Peter thought. William was right. A reputation for breaking their word would haunt them for the rest of eternity, particularly if they didn’t have a good reason for selling out for the best they could get. The king might still win. What happened on Caledonia?

  “You may find yourself being lured into another trap,” he warned. “If so, you have full permission to act as you see fit.”

  William looked surprised. “Your Grace?”

  “There were some people who wanted to blame you for losing Perfuma,” Peter said honestly. “But it was pointed out that you had asked for a third superdreadnought squadron, which was denied. And you did recover the world.”

  “After Kat abandoned it,” William said. “And then she gave me another bloody nose.”

  Peter nodded. “Right now, we don’t have time for a protracted struggle. Not again. We need you to take the fleet to Fotheringay and give them hell.”

  William lifted his eyebrows. “And if they choose to join us?”

  “Do what you can for them,” Peter said. “You have wide latitude. If you think you can hit Caledonia, feel free.”

  He met William’s eyes. “Did you hear anything from your brother?”

  “Not as yet,” William said. “I don’t know how easy it’ll be for him to meet Kat.”

  “Then proceed on the assumption she won’t be meeting you,” Peter said. “Admiral . . . we need this victory. We need it very badly.”

  “
I understand.” William stood and saluted. “I won’t let you down.”

  Peter watched him go, then looked down at his terminal. William couldn’t be blamed for his defeat at Perfuma and the bloody nose he’d been given at Rosebud, but the twin engagements had shaken public confidence. The economy had taken a serious blow. Minor, in the long run, but . . . right now, people were openly wondering if there was going to be a long run. Peter had read the projections. The defeats were minor, but collectively they posed a serious threat. There was a prospect, a very serious prospect, that the aristocracy, collectively or individually, would start serious talks with the king.

  And then we’ll discover, again, that neither side can make enough concessions to satisfy the other. In one sense, it was good news. There was no point in trying to debate the issue when the king would clearly never give them what they wanted, no matter what they offered him in return. In another sense . . . He scowled. If the damage got too bad, they’d either concede whatever the king wanted, and effectively lose the war, or simply watch helplessly as the economy collapsed anyway. This isn’t going to end well.

  He keyed his terminal, bringing up the latest reports. The intelligence officers had pointed out that someone was spreading rumors on Caledonia, but why? Were they trying to unseat the king? Drive a wedge between Hadrian and his colonial supporters? Or discredit the truth by broadcasting lies no one would actually believe? Peter was no stranger to the way things worked, but they were hundreds of light-years from Caledonia. There was no way they could figure out the truth until after the war was over.

  But there must be a reason for the fabrications, he mused. One could tell a great deal about what was really going on by what someone chose to lie about. If someone was spreading lies about the king selling the colonial worlds to the highest bidder . . . was the king actually selling some of the worlds? Possibly. And if the colonials knew the truth . . .