by Chris Hechtl
“We're going to do it?” Admiral Mueller asked eyes wide in surprise.
“Scout yes. They will just scout. If things go half as you expect, well, we'll see from there. I have my doubts, but as you said, we do need to know. And we could use the advanced warning. I doubt anything we leave behind will be able to get to us ahead of them though.”
“They are faster than us in hyper. That fast though?” Admiral Wong asked.
“Observational analysis tells us they have to be hitting the high gamma bands to make some of the deployments we've seen,” Cyrano stated. “They've got the full tech package. Remember that,” he stated as Admiral Wong whistled softly. “I can't emphasize that enough. They are for all intent and purposes the Federation Navy. Fighting them as you know is no joke. It is only going to get harder from here on out.”
“You honestly think so, sir?” Scott asked with a pensive frown.
“Based on observed actions yes,” Cyrano stated. “We know when they encountered us they pulled Second Fleet back but only to Protodon where they met up with Bismark and that other DN.” He tapped the controls on the table and a hologram of the two ships sprung to life as the lights in the compartment dimmed.
“I doubt they and the other ships we saw just happened to be there. Intelligence said Bismark was their heaviest unit. That meant she was most likely their flagship. It also meant she was most likely covering Antigua and raced to the rescue after they got warning of our coming through their ansible network.”
Scott frowned, crossing his arms and stroking his chin gently as he considered the strategic implications Cyrano was laying out. “To do that they either had to have additional capital ships to cover the system or confidence they could hold it.”
“Or both,” Admiral Wong stated.
“Either way, they drew from their Home Fleet before. What's to stop them from doing so again once they get word of what happened here?” Cyrano asked.
Scott stiffened and stared at him and then turned to Admiral Wong. The other man looked just as deeply disturbed by the implications of that statement as he felt.
~~~^~~~
Garth
Duchess Glennis Tucket reflected on the recent news with mixed givings. The arrival of the courier with news of the battle of Dead Drop two days ago was a relief. She hadn't been the only one to be excited that the enemy had been stopped and her home was safe for the moment. That had overpowered things until Captain Agnes Ozman had pointed out their own losses in the conflict and that the battle had been more of a draw than a win.
That grim report had sobered the Duchess as well as others who had availed themselves enough to pay attention. The captain had added salt to the wound when she'd pointed out Admiral De Gaulte's brutal honest assessment that he hadn't managed to inflict any appreciable losses on the enemy other than in their small craft.
There had been no mention of the destroyer Agnes had dispatched. None. Nor any mention of her orders for De Gaulte to fall back on Garth. She wasn't certain why. She didn't like it. Either the destroyer hadn't arrived or it had been destroyed before her vital information had been passed on.
Or, it might have yet to arrive she reminded herself. After all, according to the report the courier had been dispatched a day after the battle. The tin can might not have shown up for a few days afterward.
As much as it pained her, she knew she'd reacted hastily in her tantrum. Fear had induced it, and she was right to be afraid. Agnes had convinced her to dispatch another destroyer to the Bf994 jump point to watch for the enemy's approach. The ship had left within a day of the courier's arrival and had not returned.
Could the blasted destroyer that had been sent to De Gaulte have been lost? Could her crew have fled? She didn't see how. In order to get away, they'd have to pass De Gaulte's forces. It could have been lost, after reading the report of the courier's damage … the hyperdrive was one of the few things they couldn't easily fix. That courier's hyperdrive had been shot, and the ship was still laid up.
Should they send another? She frowned and then went through the report again and tried to tally up De Gaulte's forces. Would he divide them? Send her the dreadnoughts, please! If he had successfully beaten the Federation back on one front, surely he could spare them, right?
She closed her eyes briefly. She had to work with the captains and various officers who arrived as well as those who visited the planet while their ship was in the yard's hands undergoing what refit they could do. It was trying, oh so trying, but educational. She was building up a list of contacts for her and her husband's little black book.
She was also grateful that Agnes had to deal with them for the day-to-day, though a few of the captains outranked her. That was increasingly becoming an issue. She had made it known that Agnes was her choice for duty station commander. Any who tried to throw their weight around she offered to pull from their ship to assume command in the star system. That had gotten all to shut up. All but one or two.
Fortunately, she'd found ways around them too. Ways like sending them on to Dead Drop in the last batch of reinforcements just prior to when the Dreadnoughts had passed through. That beat having to arrange an “unfortunate accident” for them. Now she regretted that. Now she needed them. She scanned the report again. No sign of their arrival either? What was going on?
Last week their second orbital carrier fortress had come online. Agnes had been quite proud of the thing despite it being rushed and hurriedly put together. It housed a full fleet carrier wing of fighters, actually a bit more of them given that the fighters were mostly Raptors and emergency fighters. She had sent Captain Abernly a thank you bottle of wine as a gift for the blueprints. He had also provided the blueprints of rail gun platforms. They were relatively straight forward, and a dozen had been completed and tested, though command and control were going to be something of an issue for them according to Agnes. Half had been placed around each of the threatened jump points. Now she considered Agnes's idea to tow the completed orbital fortresses over to the Bf994 jump point.
She went over the numbers again but didn't like what she saw. In order to do it, they'd need every tug in the star system, and it would take a better part of a week to accomplish. It would also leave the Dead Drop jump point unguarded, something that probably wasn't as important but still was a bit scary to consider.
She frowned and then put the suggestion off for another time.
The yard was saturated with ships. Two former Clydesdale freighters turned CEVs had turned up recently to be refitted. She'd eagerly signed off on them. Agnes had agreed with her not to dive too deeply into the refit, instead just do a cursory one and outfit the ships with fighters to defend the star system.
The industrial centers on Garth and in orbit were in full swing. They were producing parts for ordinance, Raptor fighters, ship parts for the yard, plus everything needed to support their growing defensive line. And, somewhere along the way she'd managed enough to export to Dead Drop.
She had added the need for additional parts and supplies as well as ordinance to the bill she was sending back home. It would be hefty, and she had her accountants keeping tab of it all for future review with the Treasury. Frank damn well better come through on his end she thought. One way or another there would be a comeuppance for her expenditures she vowed. That included all the lavish parties and soirees she'd been forced to throw for the crews she thought darkly.
Along with the additional supplies she had sent a missive impressing on Cyrano the importance of not fighting on his doorstep but pushing the enemy even further back. She had tried to keep the veiled threats to a minimum. She knew the man knew what he was doing and what his fleet was capable of. Still, the occasional prod might get him moving in the right direction.
As long as it didn't get him to over-commit and get reamed, she thought before she shook herself.
And, if they did their jobs as she expected them to they'd keep the Federation at bay. Better the battles be fought in Dead Drop or Bf994 rather than
in Garth where a loose missile could ruin her day she reminded herself.
Still, it was prudent of her to dust off her evacuation plans.
Chapter 10
Horath
Emperor Pyotr Ramichov listened to the lords drone on with half an ear. He usually didn't mind the dinner parties. They were a good place to get in subtle digs and look for cracks in his enemies that he could exploit, but at the moment, his attention was elsewhere. There had been a rather striking servant that had caught his fancy ever so briefly. He wondered if his wife or mother had set him up.
They liked to do that, to tantalize him with a look and then pull back. He frowned thoughtfully.
“Thinking deep thoughts, my lord?” Duke Zilo Pardoll, the minister of internal affairs, murmured. Irazabeth tapped Pyotr on the toe to get his attention.
“Eh?”
“Sorry, were you using your implants, sire?” the duke asked as he picked up his wine glass and took a sip.
“No, just woolgathering I guess,” the emperor said with a shrug. “It has been a long series of days,” he said. “I'm sorry I haven't been as attentive as I should be,” he said to his wife.
She smiled politely, but she knew exactly where her husband's attentions and mind were on. She'd set it up as a distraction to keep him off balance during the party.
“Do you think they'll do it? Get the job done?” the duke asked, setting his glass down carefully. “De Gaulte?”
“He has enough weight of metal with him to the job,” the empress murmured. Ever since a quarter of the fleet had left, her husband had been insufferable, raging about being outmaneuvered. But she'd managed to turn it around, get him to think of it as a win. In sending the fleet out, they'd identified who wasn't quite loyal to them. They'd also managed to light a fire under the House of Lords to get them to push for more funding to get the rest of the refits completed and to double their industrial base.
And it had worked. They were far ahead of schedule in industry now, but behind where some muttered they should be if they were going to tangle with a pocket of the Federation.
Her husband had taken on the confident air that the navy could get the job done. He'd started to act a little more relaxed and complacent that the fleet under De Gaulte's leadership would be enough to turn the tide. “They'd damn well better be or heads will roll,” the emperor growled, cutting into her own thoughts.
She frowned ever so slightly. He really shouldn't let himself go like that, though he had every right to be on the war path should they fail. And he was right; De Gaulte was rapidly running out of second chances.
“There had better not be any more surprises. We need a win.”
~~~^~~~
Princess Catherine Ramichov heard her father's growl and statement. A hush descended on the guests as they listened to the emperor promise wrath for failure. And he meant it too, she knew. Cyrano was good. She didn't want to see him go, but he did indeed need to pull out a win. He needed to do something or his days were numbered. His own family might eliminate him just to keep him from further embarrassing them she knew.
She glanced over to Marina. Her sister-in-law of her late brother Adam still wore formal black mourning clothes. It was a reminder to others of her status. She had a right to it, but Catherine wondered if the woman was milking the situation. She noted Marina's younger sister Vashti Stuart sat on the woman's right. The young girl didn't hide her disdain for the princess.
And that was remarkably stupid but typical of a teenager. The girl would need to learn to control her emotions better if she was to survive in the court. But she wasn't the only one Catherine had to contend with. She'd caught the occasional baleful look from many of the inner family. Many didn't like her sudden elevation and some whispered that she'd somehow deliberately contrived the destruction of Arkangel in order to achieve it.
Which made others fearful or at least respectful of her so she let the rumors lie as they were. So long as they served her, she'd leave it be.
Clearly though, Marina was upset by the sudden change in status. Suddenly her potential children were no longer in contention to inherit. That put her off the crosshairs of some but also outside the protection of others. It also put her in the crosshairs of a few who might want to clean them up as loose ends.
She knew that Marina could easily have a sample of Adam's DNA, quite possibly even his sperm if she was wise enough to save it, impregnated in her. But that would open up a can of problems that the other woman was hopefully wise enough to want to avoid at the moment.
Catherine wondered briefly if it would be worth talking to Marina, perhaps extending a hand again and offering some semblance of protection. It didn't have to be sincere, but it might get the other woman to relax and tie her to her side.
Or, it could make the other woman even more suspicious of her intentions she reminded herself. Besides, she didn't like Vashti. The teenager was impulsive enough to do something stupid that they'd all regret. No, perhaps it was best to keep her distance, at least for the moment.
She turned her attention back to her father and schooled her expression along polite attentive lines as she had been taught.
~~~^~~~
Jezebel Pardoll Ramichov, the dowager empress, noted her granddaughter's look. She too covertly looked at Marina and Vashti. Something would have to be done about them eventually but discretely.
It was a pity; Marina had been shaping up to an impressive empress in waiting. She had a level of patience that the older woman appreciated. She had also known to be very careful to keep Jezebel on her side.
“So, Catherine, have you started dating again?” she asked, throwing the question out there to distract her son before he went on a rant.
Catherine blinked as did her father and stepmother. Irazebeth opened her mouth to protest but caught her mother-in-law's slight shake of her head and kept quiet to watch.
“No. I haven't had much interest in dating, and I'm rather busy with some of my duties now that I am no longer needed to testify in the House of Lords, grandmother,” Catherine said with a nod to the duke as well as others at the table.
The duke smiled politely and nodded back in return.
“Well, we do need to see to your needs, my dear,” her grandmother said, maliciously twisting the knife ever so slightly. “Your single status does offer the opportunity for the family to make ties to another, an alliance.”
“I believe that was attempted before. I was not in favor of it,” Catherine said with a tip of her head to her grandmother. “I am not certain I am in favor of it now,” she said with a slight hint of steel in her voice.
Irazabeth blinked mentally at her daughter-in-law's tone. No one came out in the open in opposition of Pyotr or his mother. Catherine must have been testing the waters to see how far she could get.
“Well, we don't need to worry about your love life, dear. Just a basic agreement might do for the time being. Even an engagement might work in our favor,” the empress said as she looked at Pyotr.
Pyotr frowned thoughtfully at the change of subject. He could see it was a sore subject with his daughter. Well, that was too bad; he now saw it as an opportunity to bring her in line.
But, therein was a problem. If he did marry her off, it would bring a male from another family, a competing family into the line of succession. With just the right maneuvering, they could derail his plans and his family's hold on the reins of power and take over. He couldn't allow that.
“It is something we might consider, in due time of course,” he murmured, playing for time.
“It is something to consider, son. Do think about it carefully,” his mother said.
He frowned and then shook himself. “No, I'm not going anywhere. For the time being, her status is fine as it is. She is after all a serving officer,” he stated, firmly putting the matter down.
“Ah,” Jezebel said softly, very much aware of what that meant. She suddenly realized that her son didn't want anyone to inherit. And if someone did,
it would be male. She was privately amused but also resentful of his patriarchal thoughts. He was so obvious now.
She considered if he had an idea to clone his body. It was possible now, though she might prevent it. He might also consider transferring his consciousness into a computer system, though that was fraught with risk, and they had yet to perfect the tech involved. She also knew that most of the lords would not accept an A.I. for an emperor. One of the things about being mortal was the opportunity to fail and for others to rise.
“If you are so wedded to your career, perhaps it would be in the best interests of all for you to step down and abdicate your position as heir in favor of another,” Duke Franklin Lloyd Tucket, Duke of Garth and the current prime minister, said with silken smoothness.
Catherine frowned and cocked her head as if to consider the option. After a moment, her expression changed to a moue of regret. “I'm afraid my sense of duty wouldn't allow it, my lord,” she murmured.
“I could order it. After all, we have enough heirs at the moment,” Pyotr stated. “Joseph might be young but I believe his Marine training would be a good foundation of discipline he'd need when he changed to a political science track at the University,” he stated.
Vashti gasped slightly. Marina's arm moved. Most likely she had put her hand on her sister's in order to restrain her from saying anything further about her being passed over so blatantly.
"Joseph is rather young to throw into the arena, dear,” Irazabeth said with some teeth in her tone of voice. Jezebel frowned and then shook her head subtly.
Catherine didn't like being talked about like she was a piece of meat or as if she was expendable. She knew better than to say anything though. She also knew not to look appealingly at her grandmother or mother-in-law for support. Any sign of weakness could be fatal.