Manticore Ascendant 3- A Call to Vengeance

by David Weber

  “It could be,” Kane agreed. “We’ve been tracking mercenary movements and operations as best we could, focusing especially on post-battle repair and replacement purchases and looking for unidentified credit lines and payment deposits. Andermani ships have standing orders to make informal surveys of any system we enter, paying special attention to ships running questionable or suspicious IDs or seem out of place.” He smiled thinly. “A Manticoran warship in Silesia, for example.”

  “May I ask how long you’ve been hunting him?” Travis asked.

  “Actively, not until quite recently, I’m afraid.” Kane shrugged. “At the time he left Imperial service, his rumored activities were far enough from New Berlin that we decided he was someone else’s problem.”

  “Such as ours?” Clegg asked pointedly.

  “I’m sure there was no intent on the Emperor’s part to allow him to prey on others,” Kane said. “It was mostly that the distance made a direct response impractical. At any rate, later information suggested he might be assembling a force large enough to return and challenge the Emperor. That, of course, the Emperor could not permit.”

  “So you were sent to hunt him down,” Clegg said.

  “Exactly,” Kane said, nodding. “Recently we’ve heard rumors of a man matching his description having been seen in Silesia, so this is where I began my search.”

  “Hell of a haystack.”

  “True. But we’ve had some success. We’ve largely eliminated the larger systems as his base, and cleared most of the likely smaller ones, as well. But as you say, the Confederacy is a huge haystack. Any assistance you could give us would be greatly appreciated.”

  Travis looked questioningly at Clegg. “Captain?”

  “Are you invoking Special Order Seven?” she countered coolly.

  Travis winced. Special Order Seven: the one that permitted Travis or Chomps to effectively take command of the ship. Clegg had reportedly argued vehemently against it in her consultation with Locatelli and Calvingdell, and Travis was himself rather of two minds about it.

  The entire notion of Special Order Seven cut directly against the Navy’s entire tradition. It also seriously compromised the chain of command, which was vital to a ship’s efficient operation or even its survival. The idea of overriding his own commanding officer offered more ways to create dangerously untenable situations than he could count. Worse, while Clegg might have a thorny personality, she was obviously a highly capable, highly professional captain, while Travis was only a lieutenant commander.

  He didn’t want to override her. In fact, he himself had argued against Special Order Seven when Calvingdell first explained it to him.

  Because the Navy was right: command authority aboard a starship, especially one deployed far from home, simply could not be divided between two people.

  Clegg probably didn’t know that he’d felt that way, and probably wouldn’t believe it if he told her. But the truth was that he would much prefer offering suggestions to his captain and having her agree with him.

  On this point, clearly, she didn’t. Travis wondered how much of that was because this particular exchange was a bad idea in her coldly considered, professional opinion, and how much of it was because of her totally understandable resentment at being put in such a position.

  But whatever she might think, he had a job to do, and his superiors in Delphi had been very clear about the reasons he’d been given Special Order Seven. He might not agree with all of them, but he couldn’t pretend they hadn’t been explained to him in detail.

  “I suppose I am, Ma’am,” he told her. “But just—”

  “Then this is your show, Commander,” she cut him off. “Carry on.”

  Travis swallowed. It looked like she was even more pissed off by Special Order Seven than he’d feared. That did not bode well for the rest of the voyage.

  But it was too late to backtrack now. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said, turning back to Kane. “Captain, I take it you haven’t seen any of the communications Tamerlane had with our forces before the battle?”

  “That’s correct,” Kane said. “We have only the data the Star Kingdom released to the general public, which we obtained via our people in the Republic of Haven. No communications were included, between or among any of the parties.”

  “Do you have a picture of Gensonne I could see?”

  “Of course.” Kane pulled out a tablet. He punched a few keys, frowned at the result, then punched a few more. He did something with the screen, then reversed it and offered it to Travis. “The one on the left is his last picture before leaving the Empire. The other is a more recent picture from a Silesian security camera that is claimed to be him.”

  Travis felt his stomach tighten. The first picture was probably twenty years out of date. The second was blurry almost to the point of being unrecognizable.

  But between them, there was no doubt.

  “That’s him,” he confirmed, offering the tablet to Clegg. “That’s Tamerlane.”

  “I agree,” Clegg confirmed, peering at the images. “He’s aged pretty well, all things considered.”

  “The Emperor’s wish is that he not age much more,” Kane said grimly. “Thank you, Captain; Commander. At least we now know that we’re on the right track.” He raised his eyebrows. “Is there anything more you’d like to share?”

  “What are you offering in return?” Clegg asked.

  Kane’s lips puckered again.

  “I can give you our accumulated data on Gensonne and his possible Silesian connections,” he said. “Largely rumors and unsubstantiated pictures like that one, unfortunately. I can also include our assessments of where he and his mercenaries aren’t located, along with some of our credit and purchase data, though much of the latter is somewhat out of date.”

  “That would be very helpful,” Travis said.

  “Also very generous,” Clegg added. “Not to question your authority, Captain, but are you authorized to share all this information with us?”

  Kane smiled.

  “I hear two questions, Captain. The first is if I will be in trouble with my superiors for handing over Imperial secrets. The second, given Question One, is if you can trust my information to be accurate, or if I might give you useless or even falsified data.”

  “You have a blunt way of putting things,” Clegg said. “But let’s say those are my concerns. How do you address them?”

  “The first is quite simple,” Kane said. “I’ve been given an assignment—to locate Gensonne—and as long as I don’t put my ship and crew at unnecessary risk, I have wide latitude and discretion.” He shrugged. “It’s true that the Empire and Star Kingdom are hardly allies. But I can’t see how the location and activities of a common enemy could qualify as state secrets.”

  Travis suppressed a grimace. Though Countess Calvingdell might have a somewhat different opinion of what constituted a state secret. The post-battle debris analysis that had brought Casey to Silesia in the first place came to mind, as well as the data he and Chomps had stolen from Sei’s records.

  But the Andermani had clearly been on Gensonne’s trail far longer than Delphi had. Whatever trade they made here, Manticore was almost certainly going to come out ahead in the deal.

  “Your second question is a bit more delicate,” Kane continued. “Perhaps I could best express my position in the following way. Our most recent information lists the Royal Manticoran Navy’s assets at approximately twenty ships, including five battlecruisers. Tell me: how many of those ships would fall into Gensonne’s hands if he attacked again and forced a surrender?”

  Travis felt a shiver run through him. Gensonne had attacked with three battlecruisers, two of which had been destroyed in the battle. Even if he had a second or third tucked away somewhere in reserve, a successful capture of Manticore and the Navy could conceivably double the size of his fleet.

  And if he was holding a grudge against Gustav Anderman, the Empire might well be his next target.

  “I see your
point,” Clegg murmured. “You said we weren’t the Empire’s allies or enemies. However, we are someone’s potential shopping center.”

  “Well put, Captain,” Kane said. “You see now that we have strongly interlocking interests in this matter. I put it to you: what use would it be for me to deliberately offer you bad or useless information?”

  “Indeed,” Clegg said. “Thank you for your candor. How do we do this?”

  “I presume you didn’t bring your data with you,” Kane said. “I’ll therefore prepare a data chip you can take with you, and you can transmit your information to me after your return to Casey. Will that be acceptable?”

  “Yes, very acceptable,” Travis agreed. “Thank you.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” Kane said. “Oh, and if you have a full report of the battle, please include that as well. It could be useful to see if Gensonne has picked up any new tricks along the way.”

  “Of course,” Travis said.

  “Excellent,” Kane smiled. “And while the chip is being prepared, we should have enough time for a final cup of tea.

  * * *

  “No,” Clegg said flatly. “Out of the question.”

  “But I made a promise Captain,” Travis protested. “Our data in exchange for—”

  “I know what your deal was,” Clegg cut him off. “And I’m telling you that I will not release the full record of the battle to a foreigner.”

  “But it shows Gensonne’s tactics capabilities. They need that information before they go up against him.”

  “I’m sure it would be valuable to them,” Clegg said. “I doubt that it would be vital. The problem is that it also gives them details of our tactics. Plus details of our ships, our organization, our com patterns, our sensor capabilities—pretty much everything about us. Giving that kind of information to a foreign naval officer, retired reservist or otherwise, is not in the best interests of the Navy or the Star Kingdom.”

  Travis swallowed. Caught up in the moment back on the Hamman, the fact that those details would be in the complete files hadn’t occurred to him. “Captain—”

  “Stow it and listen,” Clegg growled. “Special Order Seven is a terrible idea, and you’ve just demonstrated why. With your lack of experience, coupled with your tunnel vision on this Tamerlane hunt, you completely failed to think through the logical implications of your blithe promise to a foreign officer. I strongly suggest that you rethink your position, Commander…because special orders or not, if you insist on overruling my considered judgment of what constitutes the Star Kingdom of Manticore’s vital strategic interests, there will be consequences.”

  With an effort, Travis unclenched his jaw. She was right, all the way up and down the line.

  But on the other hand—

  “Ma’am, you have a valid point,” he said, keeping his voice as emotionless as he could. “You’re right, I didn’t think through all of the implications.”

  Clegg raised her eyebrows. “But…?” she prompted

  “But Captain Kane gave us exactly the data he promised,” Travis continued. “Chief Townsend has verified that. And whether I screwed up or not, he’s expecting us to transmit the data we promised in return. If we renege on that promise—on my promise—we’ll risk losing any future cooperation with the Andermani, not just Kane but all the rest of them.”

  “The Andermani Empire is a hell of a long ways away,” Clegg said icily. “The odds that the Star Kingdom will need their cooperation for anything anytime soon strike me as pretty damn remote.”

  Still, Travis could hear a shade of new thoughtfulness in her tone. She’d seen the implications of giving Kane too much data; maybe she could also see the implications of annoying even a distant neighbor.

  “I’m not thinking of the Star Kingdome as much as I’m thinking about us,” Travis said. “What if we need them again before we find Gensonne? We still don’t have any clue as to why he picked Manticore to attack, and we desperately need to know that. The Andermani want him as badly as we do, and they’ve got a lot bigger navy than we do. If we want to take Gensonne off the board before he attacks us again, the best way to do that is to give them everything we—” He hesitated. “Everything we reasonably can. Captain.”

  For a long moment Clegg just stared up at him from her desk, her forearms planted on the arms of her chair, her eyes dark. “Fine,” she said at last. “Then I’ll just say one more thing. Special Order Seven is a bad order. But it is an order, issued by lawful national command authority. and if you insist on invoking it, as an officer of the Royal Manticoran Navy I’m bound to follow it. I’ll follow it under the most strongly-worded protest, but I will follow it. But know this.”

  She paused, and her eyes went even darker.

  “When we return to the Star Kingdom, I will make it my personal crusade to make sure that an officer whose judgment was sufficiently flawed to use his authority in this way never, ever finds himself in a position to do so again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. I do.” It took every ounce of strength for Travis to get the words out. But he did, and to his surprise his voice was even steady.

  “Very well,” Clegg said. A trace of respect might have flickered in Clegg’s eyes, but it was gone almost before it registered. “In that case—”

  “Excuse me, Captain,” Chomps spoke up.

  He was standing off in a corner of the office, busily working at his tablet. He hadn’t said a word since Clegg had hauled them in here, and Travis had assumed that he was simply keeping his head down and letting his superior take the brunt of Clegg’s broadside.

  But now, as the big Sphinxian looked up calmly in the face of Clegg’s glare, Travis realized that hadn’t been the case.

  “What?” Clegg demanded.

  “A thought, Ma’am,” Clegg said. “What if we edited out all of the RMN material? In other words, we cut out everything except the invaders’ attack and their defensive maneuvers. We don’t have to show anything of our own tactics.”

  “Except that those maneuvers will still be shown on Manticoran displays,” Clegg shot back, “which will be fed by Manticoran sensors and compiled and sifted by Manticoran CIC and bridge personnel.”

  “All of which can also be cut out,” Chomps said. “I can strip out the data on Tamerlane’s ships and build what amounts to a simulation. I can’t disguise our ability to collect and resolve data, not if we want to give him anything useful about the battle, but I can strip out every com protocol, every order, every ship-to-ship transmission, every weapon launch on our side. They’ll have to see our missiles coming at Tamerlane’s ships, but, really, Captain, I’m pretty sure they already have all of the performance specs on our missiles. It won’t be a complete read on the battle, but if we combine it with what Delphi’s been able to sift out of the debris and the customer lists we got on Saginaw, the Andermani will probably accept it as a good-faith effort to keep our word. And, as Commander Long says, it will put that information into the hands of the most powerful navy in the region. A navy that already wants Tamerlane’s head.”

  Clegg eyed him another moment. Looked at Travis; looked back at Chomps. “How long will it take you to make me a sample?” she asked.

  “I’ve got one right here,” Chomps said, stepping forward and handing her the tablet. “It’s only about three minutes worth—the idea didn’t occur to me until you brought us in here. The original record’s on the left; my scrubbed version’s on the right.”

  Clegg accepted the tablet, and with a final look at Travis settled down to read.

  Travis looked sideways at Chomps, but the other’s eyes were fixed on the captain. Briefly, he wondered if he dared ask Clegg permission to look at Chomps’s work over her shoulder, but knew instantly that would be a very bad idea.

  And so he stood at attention, feeling the sweat trickling down his back, for one of the longest three-minute chunks of his life.

  Finally—finally—Clegg looked up again. “Interesting,” she said. She fingered
the tablet a moment, sent another pair of hard-eyed looks at each of them, and then handed the tablet back to Chomps.

  “You’ll take this immediately to Commander Woodburn,” she said. “He will supervise the operation, and advise you of whatever proprietary data can and cannot be included in the packet. I will personally review it afterward, and if—if, I say—I am entirely satisfied with the end result, it will be transmitted to Hamman. Do you think you can get it finished before they leave the system?”

  “Easily, Ma’am,” Chomps assured her. “Probably even before we make it back to orbit.”

  “Then go.” She sent one final look at Travis. “Both of you.”

  * * *

  “Ten minutes to orbit,” Commander Woodburn announced.

  “Very good,” Clegg responded.

  Typically, a warship’s bridge was a quiet place, where extraneous conversation was very much frowned upon. At this particular moment, though, as Casey returned to Saginaw to resume their show-the-flag social events, her command deck was even quieter than usual.

  And Travis couldn’t help the feeling that everyone was staring at him.

  Which wasn’t exactly the case, of course. Aside from Woodburn and Clegg herself, no one on the bridge knew what had happened earlier in the captain’s office. Still, some of the others had undoubtedly picked up on the fact that Clegg was less than pleased with her tactical officer. No doubt the rumors about how he’d managed to blot his copybook this time were already flying.

  And that didn’t begin to cover what would happen when they got home.

  Travis had played the scene over and over in his mind, as he’d run the scene aboard Hamman over and over. Whatever his failings, whatever the consequences, he was still convinced he’d done the right thing.

  And if he was summarily kicked out of the Navy, at least he’d be able to look into the mirror and—

  “Ma’am,” the com officer said suddenly. “We’ve received a transmission from Hamman. It’s for you, from Captain Kane.”

  Clegg looked up from the message board she’d been reading, her forehead creased slightly. “Send it to my station,” she ordered. “Long? With me.”