“They wouldn’t believe us, if we told them,” he muttered. “They didn’t believe the king started the war.”
Yasmeena entered, looking as unflappable as ever. “Your Grace, you have a meeting at four o’clock. You asked me to remind you.”
“Thanks,” Peter said. He glanced at the terminal. He had just enough time to splash water on his face and eat something before the meeting. And then . . . He wondered if he’d be able to go home, or if he’d be sleeping in the office. Again. His wife was practically a stranger. “Do you want to forget next time?”
“I thought I got paid to remind you,” Yasmeena said. “Not reminding you costs extra.”
“In more ways than one,” Peter said. If something came up and he missed the meeting, people would understand. Most people would understand. But if he was late because he’d forgotten, or he couldn’t be bothered attending, it would be a different story. People would think he was losing his grip. They’d start bringing out the knives. Probably literally. If the king had assassinated his father . . . “Damn it!”
Yasmeena blinked. “Your Grace?”
Peter rubbed his forehead. “Sorry,” he said tiredly. “Not your fault. Just . . . I’m angry.”
“I understand,” Yasmeena said. “Do you want me to cancel the meeting?”
Yes, Peter thought.
He scowled at the window, looking out over the towering skyscrapers that dominated the city. He lived a life of unabashed luxury. He could order everything from a six-course meal from the finest restaurant on the planet to the services of any number of escorts and no one would say anything. Not openly, at least. Still, they’d notice if he gave himself over to sybarite luxury. And . . . he knew his duty. He couldn’t put it down, not until he had an heir. There were some possible candidates among the next generation, but none were ready. He couldn’t rest until they were.
No wonder so many of us go off the rails, he thought. We have so much, and yet we can’t do anything with it.
“No,” he said, turning to face her. “I’ll see him when he arrives.”
The orders were remarkably vague, for something drawn up by Grand Admiral Rudbek. William read them carefully, noting just how many weasel words and CYA paragraphs had been written into the document. The grand admiral hadn’t drafted the orders himself, naturally, but he would have signed off on them before they were sent to William. His staff had known the grand admiral wanted to avoid any further blame. They’d done a damn good job.
But they also gave me the leeway to ensure the mission is carried out properly. William disembarked from the shuttle. And the fleet train to make sure I can continue chopping away at their worlds, perhaps even hitting Caledonia itself, without having to fall back on a naval base to rearm.
He keyed his wristcom as he headed to his cabin. “Staff meeting, twenty minutes,” he said. “Contact the newly assigned squadrons and inform them that I want their commanders to attend too.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Yagami said.
“And make sure they know that we’ll be leaving within the next few hours,” William added. He’d ensured the fleet was prepped for a rapid turnaround after he’d returned from Rosebud, but there would be problems if he didn’t make it clear they would be leaving. The crews wanted shore leave. Hell, the officers wanted shore leave. “I don’t want any delays.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
William closed the channel as he stepped into his cabin, hastily removing his dress jacket and replacing it with his daywear. It wouldn’t look perfect, but his officers were smart and experienced enough, now, to know that it was better to be good than merely look good. He snorted as he splashed water on his face. They wouldn’t care if he commanded battles in the nude, as long as he won.
He sat at his desk, his eyes widening as he saw the single message from Scott. His brother’s message was encrypted, with a civilian code that had been cracked long ago. The message path showed that it had passed through a dozen StarComs, bouncing from station to station until it had finally reached William’s terminal. A dozen chances for it to be intercepted and read . . . William let out a long breath. It hardly mattered. The encryption might be broken, but there was no way to pull the true meaning out of the text. Unless Scott had fallen into enemy hands . . .
Kat wouldn’t betray him, he told himself. But the mere fact he’s connected to me might betray him.
The message opened at his touch, without even a pretend-delay for decryption. William scanned the words, his lips twitching as he read the bitching about entry procedures at Caledonia and the risk they posed to free movement of goods. Scott had always specialized in running banned goods to people who wanted them—goods they wanted, at least in part, because they were banned. William suspected that was the real thrill. He’d tested a few things that had been banned on his now-dead homeworld when he’d joined the navy. They’d been decidedly unimpressive.
He picked out the important phrases among the chatter. He met Kat. She agreed to meet. They don’t know where. Not yet. He’s still in orbit, waiting for my reply.
William sat back, thinking hard. Kat was a . . . conscientious naval officer. She’d sided with the king, at least in part, because she took her duties seriously. If he sent her a message that hinted he might be coming in her direction, she’d do . . . what? Tell the king? Prepare for attack? Guess his target and lay an ambush? She knew him well enough to guess which world he might attack; she didn’t know, really, that he hadn’t chosen the target. Or . . . did the king have spies watching the fleet?
He took a moment to compose the message. Scott couldn’t remain at Caledonia indefinitely, not when he’d be burning money for no return. But . . . William sketched out the encoded words, asking Scott to stay close. They’d be able to link up, once William reached Fotheringay. And then . . . William studied his hands. There would be no end of problems in actually getting Kat and himself together. He didn’t think they’d be easy to overcome, but they could do it.
The intercom bleeped. “Admiral, the meeting is about to begin,” Yagami said. “I—”
“I’ll be there.” William cut him off. “Give me a moment.”
“Aye, sir,” Yagami said.
William finished the message, wrapped the code phrases in meaningless drivel, and sent it on its way. The king’s counterintelligence specialists shouldn’t be able to pluck meaning—the wrong meaning, that is—from the words. They’d probably be reassured by the very basic encryption, if they bothered to think about it. William hoped that was true. Scott was probably under close observation. A smuggler would hardly be considered a paragon of loyalty, not as long as he needed money. The king’s people would fear being outbid by the House of Lords.
But Scott is doing it for me, William told himself. He’d always been able to depend on his brother, even though he’d never really trusted the man Scott had made of himself. He won’t let me down.
He put the question aside and stood, brushing down his jacket as he headed to the hatch and stepped through. The superdreadnought was humming with activity as her crews prepared to leave the system, crewmen and yarddogs hurrying from compartment to compartment as they finished the repairs and stocked up on everything from missiles to fresh fruit and vegetables. They looked young, so young, and it was hard to believe that many of them had fought in the last war. William felt his heart twist again. People were not meant to live so long.
And you shouldn’t be complaining, he told himself sarcastically. The average lifespan on his homeworld had been very low, even before the Theocracy had turned it into a radioactive nightmare. You’d be worse off if you were dead.
The holograms were waiting for him as he strode into the briefing room, overlapping each other as they turned to face him. William glanced from face to face as he walked to his seat and sat down, silently giving them his blessing to sit too. He knew most of them from the last few months. The ones he didn’t know came well recommended. Home Fleet was no longer the shambolic wreck that had barely won th
e Battle of Tyre. It was one of the best-trained fleets in the known universe, and perhaps the best equipped.
“We’re taking the offensive,” William said. His words hung in the air. “We’re launching a strike into the heart of enemy territory.”
He was careful not to name the target. He’d planned to keep it to himself until they were deep within enemy space. The king’s agents, if they heard his words, would believe that Caledonia itself was the target, an assumption that should keep the king’s ships pinned down long enough for William to strike, then hold position. If nothing else, the king and his fleet would be reacting to William for a change.
“This time, we’re going to make them jump,” he said once he’d outlined what little he could reveal. They’d remain annoyed at the secrecy, but they’d understand. “If they come after us with a small force, we’re going to kick its ass. If they come after us with a large force, we’re going to make them wear out their equipment chasing us. Simple. Deadly.”
He smiled. Complex plans were asking for trouble. “Any questions?”
There was a pause. No one spoke. “To your ships,” William said. “We leave in five hours. And I want to be ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
FOTHERINGAY
William had feared, more than he’d ever admit to anyone, that something would go wrong during transit. Fotheringay was nearly three weeks from Tyre, even if they pushed their drives to the limit. Grand Admiral Rudbek and Home Fleet—the remains of Home Fleet—had worked hard to conceal the fleet’s departure, but there were limits to how much they could do. Sooner or later, someone would notice that officers and crew who should be on shore leave were nowhere to be seen. Or someone would be puzzled, then alarmed, when they sent a message to their relatives on naval service and received no reply. He was relieved beyond words, as the fleet approached its target, that nothing had gone spectacularly wrong.
Which means they could be lurking in cloak, ready to spring an ambush, he thought coldly. Kat could be baiting a trap if she guessed my target.
He scowled. The House of Lords had been generous. They’d given him four superdreadnought squadrons, although one of them was composed of ships snatched out of the repair yards or hastily yanked out of the naval reserve and pressed back into service. Their training wasn’t the best, but he’d drilled his crews hard during the journey in hopes of smoothing out the worst of their imperfections. Kat would find herself outgunned, unless she threw the king’s entire fleet at him. And, if she did, the war would practically be decided overnight.
“Admiral,” Yagami said. “Emergence in five minutes.”
William nodded tersely. There were no orders to be issued, not now. His crews knew their duties. They were already at battlestations, counting down the seconds until they encountered the enemy. For some, it would be their first taste of combat. William could feel the mixture of anticipation and fear as they braced themselves, relishing the challenge even as they accepted the prospect of dying in the next few hours. It had been a long time since William had felt anything of the sort. He knew that he could die too, but . . . He shook his head. The only thing he could do was wait.
And brood, he thought. Scott had left Caledonia, according to the last report. He was going to another world, then heading back to the king’s capital. It was a shame William hadn’t dared suggest he go straight to Fotheringay, but the risk was simply too great. They’d just have to hope they could meet up once William invaded Fotheringay and occupied the system. It will be interesting to see how quickly the king responds.
He glanced at the starchart. Fotheringay was just over a day from Caledonia, assuming the king’s forces set out at once. He’d have some of his ships on QRF duties, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, but the majority of his fleet would be stepped down. QRF duties put so much wear and tear on the equipment that the king wouldn’t need William’s forces to attack to lose the war. And yet, Kat couldn’t send anything less than three or four superdreadnought squadrons herself. William would have sold his soul to run into two enemy superdreadnought squadrons. Four against two would hardly be an even match.
“Emergence in ten,” Yagami said. “Nine . . . eight . . .”
William leaned forward as the countdown reached zero. The display lit up, revealing a handful of starships and orbital installations surrounding Fotheringay. They’d come out of hyperspace too far from the planet for a meaningful blockade, ensuring the enemy warships and freighters had a chance to run before his ships entered weapons range. William knew there’d be armchair admirals questioning the wisdom of allowing the enemy a chance to flee, but he knew what he was doing. His ships would have plenty of room to maneuver or jump back into hyperspace if they were flying into a trap.
He felt an odd little pang as the fleet shook down and glided towards its target. Fotheringay wasn’t anything like as developed as Tyre or Caledonia, but it was on the way. Given time, and a little more investment, it would join the first-rank worlds . . . or would have, if he wasn’t about to devastate the system. He watched the enemy ships forming into a ramshackle line of battle, torn between respect and contempt. He outmassed them so badly that he could fight with both hands tied behind his back and still come out ahead. They should have run. They knew, didn’t they, that their world would be treated gently? He was damned if he’d bombard civilian targets to force the planet to surrender.
But they don’t want to seem cowards in front of the watching world, he thought. He’d seen enough of that when he’d been an adolescent. People too foolish to back down, preparing to fight while secretly hoping someone with authority would come along and put a stop to the fighting before it got out of hand. There’s nothing to gain by getting themselves blown to atoms.
He glanced at Yagami. “Send the surrender demand,” he ordered. “And reduce speed.”
If Yagami was surprised at an order that was odd, to say the least, he didn’t show it. “Yes, sir.”
William waited, wondering if the enemy ships would see sense and run. They honestly had nothing to gain from fighting, nothing at all. They’d be better off slipping into hyperspace and lurking at the edge of the system, raiding his fleet train and waiting for relief to arrive. But they were too stubborn to retreat. They were colonials, just like him. The thought brought him no peace. He’d been too stubborn, once upon a time, and then he’d grown up. And he wasn’t sure he liked the man he saw in the mirror.
“Admiral, the enemy fleet is locking weapons on our hulls,” Yagami said. “I—”
He broke off as red icons flared into life. “Missile separation! I say again, missile separation!”
“The point defense is to engage as soon as the missiles enter range,” William ordered. “Hold the decoys back, for the moment.”
Yagami’s back stiffened. “Aye, Admiral.”
William wanted to grin. Yagami wasn’t practiced at hiding his emotions. He thought his admiral had made a bad call. Or, worse, that he’d deliberately allowed the enemy ships to take a shot at his hulls. But the enemy missiles weren’t modern missiles. There weren’t even very many of them. A few hundred warheads weren’t going to get through the point defense web, let alone the shields. The salvo was impressive for such a small cluster of ships, but wasn’t good enough to stop a single superdreadnought. They’d need to fire upwards of a thousand missiles, backed up by decoys and remote targeting systems, to have a fighting chance.
And they didn’t know we were coming, he thought as the enemy missiles closed on his superdreadnoughts. They could have pre-positioned missile pods if they’d known.
He watched as the enemy missiles flew into his point defense network and evaporated. They just weren’t advanced enough to survive, not long enough to get to his ships. The enemy ships fired a second, much-reduced salvo, then opened vortexes and jumped into hyperspace. William was almost relieved. The brief engagement hadn’t ended in slaughter. Hell, they’d have done more damage by forcing him to expend missiles than anything else. His lips
curved into a smile. His fleet had won without having to exterminate the enemy.
“They’re gone,” Yagami reported. “They could be going anywhere . . .”
“What’s important is that they’re not here,” William said. He watched the remainder of the orbiting freighters fleeing in all directions, then turned his attention to the planet. “Raise Fotheringay. Inform them that they have a choice between surrender, with their installations garrisoned until the end of the war, or watching helplessly as we take out the installations before withdrawing.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Yagami said.
William nodded as the range closed, hoping that someone smart was in command of the planet below. He understood the urge to fight, but the worst the planet could do was little more than kicking and scratching on the way to the gallows. Still, there were enough stories about what had happened at Tarleton, ranging from the believable to the frankly insane or easily disprovable, for him to worry about the planet’s future whoever won the war. It didn’t help that he couldn’t stay. If Quist changed sides, William would have to take his fleet there.
“Targets locked,” Yagami said. “Ready to fire on your command.”
Don’t be a fool, William pleaded silently. Give up. Surrender. You’ll live. Your planet will live.
“Admiral, I’m picking up a response,” Yagami said. “They want to speak with you.”
“Put them through,” William ordered.
A face appeared in front of him. William studied the planetary leader curiously, noting the telltale signs of genetic enhancement and modification. The man was a little too perfect, just like Kat. He had light-brown skin, and his dark hair was strikingly bold, cut in a pattern that had been fashionable a few decades ago. It probably was still fashionable on the planet below. The colonials had made a big deal about not following fashions set by Tyre.
Debt of War (The Embers of War) Page 24