by Jay Allan
Khaled just looked back at his visitor, thinking about his old CAC ally. Old An had been a pain in the ass at times, and grouchy always, but he had been a good man…and he deserved far better from the government he’d spent a lifetime serving. Trent had characterized the report as unconfirmed, but he’d never have mentioned it unless he knew it was true. An Ying was dead. And if Trent was right, Khaled would be soon as well. Unless he took action now.
“I want to offer my sincere thanks to Mr. Vance…and to you for making such a difficult and dangerous journey to bring me this news.” Khaled didn’t know what he was going to do yet, but he appreciated the chance to choose for himself…even if it was only a choice between committing high treason or meekly accepting disgrace and execution. He stood up. “Let me get you back to your ship. I don’t imagine time is on our side right now.” Khaled’s rank allowed him the prerogative of having unexplained visitors, but if he was the target of a purge, it was possible he was already under enhanced surveillance. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to put Trent at further risk or cause any blowback on Vance. He owed them both, and Ali Khaled paid his debts.
“Thank you, Lord Khaled.” Trent rose and offered a slight bow before turning toward the hatch.
Khaled stepped alongside. “I will walk you to your ship.” And once I see you safely on your way, he thought grimly, I will go see Admiral Abbas…we have much to discuss.
“Admiral, I know this is a shock, but I felt an obligation to inform you as quickly as possible.” Khaled was sitting across a small table from the Caliphate’s number two naval officer. His demeanor was as calm as it had been with Trent, and every bit as fake as well. His iron control was overpowering his fear and rage at the moment, though the prospect of a group of assassins on the way to execute him was sobering, to say the least.
Abbas glared back across the table. The admiral had an incredulous look on his face, but there was doubt there too. He’d known Khaled for more than thirty years and, while he and the Janissary commander didn’t particularly like each other, they did have a sort of mutual trust and respect. Abbas certainly took anything Khaled said seriously. But he was getting this news second hand, and he had a harder time accepting that the Caliph would act so precipitously against him and the other officers on the list. The fleet admiral was a member of the hereditary nobility, and he had a different perspective than Khaled, who had been born in the gutters of New Cairo.
“Lord Khaled…” - there was skepticism in Abbas’ voice, but Khaled could hear concern as well...even fear – “with all due respect, don’t you think the word of some Martian spy is a very thin pretext for believing something of this magnitude?”
Khaled nodded almost imperceptibly. “Indeed admiral, your concerns echo my own.” He paused for a few seconds, staring hard at Abbas. “Yet, I find it very difficult to simply disregard a warning of this type from Roderick Vance. You fought in the First Imperium War from beginning to end. Did you ever find him to be anything less than totally committed to aiding us? Was any of his intelligence ever inaccurate?”
“No.” He paused. “But when we were facing the First Imperium, Vance’s own survival was on the line. I wouldn’t have expected treachery then.”
Not entirely true, Khaled thought with mild disdain. Abbas had been quite vocal about his reservations early in the war. He’d questioned Vance’s intelligence many times…and each time the Martian’s information had been proven to be absolutely accurate. But now wasn’t the time to win debate points. Khaled might command the Janissaries, but Abbas was in charge of the ships carrying them. He hadn’t decided himself what he wanted to do, but without the admiral he had no real choices. He could remain and face whatever was coming, or he could take a small transport and skulk out of the system. That was no choice at all…Ali Khaled would do many things, but sneaking out of the system and leaving the rest of his senior officers to face death wasn’t one of them.
“Admiral…I understand your doubts, but I submit that Mr. Vance’s warning cannot be dismissed out of hand.” Khaled looked around him as he spoke, an involuntary response. Privacy was crucial…they were essentially discussing the possibility of committing treason. Constant surveillance was a fact of life in the CAC, both in the military and in civilian life. But Khaled had to trust Abbas. If the fleet admiral didn’t know a safe spot on his own flagship, they were screwed anyway. “What do you propose we do?”
Abbas opened his mouth and closed it again. He didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t imagine throwing away a forty year career and a lifetime of allegiance to the Caliph on the word of a foreign spy. But he knew it would be too late if he waited. By the time he had proof of the purge, all would be lost. “I don’t even know if the fleet would accept treasonous orders.” Abbas was well-loved by his crews, but he’d be asking them to abandon country and family, to go rogue, become a force without a country…just to save him and a few dozen other officers. “Most likely we would have dissension. It could come to civil war in the fleet.” The Alliance had faced similar situations during their rebellions. Abbas remembered well how he had laughed at such folly and wondered how the Alliance commanders could have allowed it to happen. Now he felt suitably chagrined. “Can you be sure the Janissaries will follow you down such a path?”
Khaled inhaled deeply. The question demanded a thoughtful answer, not a quick, ego-based response. “Most of them…yes.” The reservation in his voice was obvious. “All? No. It is possible there could be fighting among the Ortas. But I am certain I can retain control of the corps.”
“I cannot guarantee the response of the fleet with such certainty. So, even if we decide to take drastic action, we cannot be sure of success. We may achieve nothing beyond being arrested by our junior commanders and delivered to our assassins in chains.”
“Many of those officers are themselves on the list, admiral.” Khaled spoke slowly, matter-of-factly.
“If they believe any of this, Lord Khaled.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m not even sure that I do.”
The two sat silently for several minutes, each deep in thought, each trying to reason out a course of action that made sense.
“What of our families, Lord Khaled?” Abbas spoke softly, as if raising a topic he’d rather forget.
He’s leaning toward doing something, Khaled thought. He’s only worried now about what will happen to his family. “I have no family, admiral. My mother died when I was 12, so overworked and poorly cared for, simple influenza killed her.” Years of indoctrination were peeling away inside Khaled, and bitterness and anger long buried were re-emerging. “I have no one else. My father I never knew. Whether he was one of my mother’s employers who raped her or some vagrant on the streets of New Cairo who seduced her, he was long gone before I was born.” He breathed deeply, a defiant look taking over his face. “My family are my Janissaries, admiral.” After another pause: “Including 11 men on that purge list.”
Abbas sat quietly, looking across the table at Khaled, seeing the anger in his face. He felt his own fury rising as well. Decades of loyalty were being repaid with treachery. The injustice of it tore at him. “Very well, Lord Khaled.” He spoke with resignation. He’d made a decision. “I am with you. How do you propose we proceed?”
Khaled sighed with relief. “First, we must choose the men on the list we know best…the ones we truly trust. Then we…”
“Admiral Abbas, this is Commander Qin on the flag bridge, sir.” Qin sounded nervous. Bothering the fleet admiral when he’d left specific instructions not to be disturbed took considerable courage. “I am sorry to interrupt you, sir, but we have unscheduled ships transiting through the warp gate. They are broadcasting diplomatic IDs.” Qin paused, listening to something in the background. “Incoming message, sir. They say they are a delegation from the Caliph here to congratulate us and welcome the fleet back to friendly space.”
Abbas didn’t answer…he flipped the lever to mute the comlink. “Well, Ali…” - his voice was softer,
friendlier – “I’d say the odds of Mr. Vance’s warning being accurate just increased exponentially.” He sighed. “The relevant question is, what do we do now?”
“What can we do?” Khaled’s voice was dark, without hope. “We’re out of time.”
Abbas stared back at the Janissary commander, his eyes blazing. “Almost out of time. Almost.” He flipped the comlink back on. “Commander Qin, shut down all incoming frequencies except fleet battle coms. And jam those ships.” His hands were on the table, curled up into fists. “Immediately. They are hostiles.”
“Ah…yes, sir.” Qin sounded confused, but there was no doubt, no hesitation in Abbas’ tone.
The admiral looked over at Khaled, who was nodding, his morose expression gone, replaced by an iron stare. “And commander…” Abbas paused, but only for an instant. “All capital ships are to load missiles and prepare for immediate fire.”
Chapter 19
AS Pershing
Transit + Three Minutes
Wolf 359 System
Augustus Garret sat in the center of Pershing’s flag bridge, his eyes focused like lasers on the main battle display. His staff were at their posts, bathed in the eerie red light of the battlestations lamps.
The fleet was blasting hard into the Wolf 359 system, moving at 0.08c. Garret expected the enemy to cut and run, and he was determined to send as many of the bastards as he could to hell before they had the chance to get away. He had a reasonable expectation of finding enemy ships here, and he knew he’d just be facing them somewhere else if they got away. Another system, another battle.
He’d sacrificed maneuverability for speed, and that meant running the gauntlet past whatever defenses the enemy had waiting just beyond the warp gate. At 8% of lightspeed, his ships wouldn’t be able to make any quick vector changes. “Scanner teams…report any contacts immediately. Even a twitchy feeling in your leg.” Every detection resource in the fleet was on full power, straining to make contact with anything that lay ahead of Garret’s speeding warships.
“No contacts yet, sir.” Tara Rourke sat bolt upright at her station, her own eyes glued as firmly as Garret’s to the display. Garret could hear her heavy breathing from 3 meters away.
Not that we’d find well hidden defenses anyway, he thought…not at any appreciable range. If the enemy had deployed a belt of laser buoys or stealth missiles, the weapons would be at minimum power, doing their best imitation of empty space.
Garret remained silent, his mind considering and reconsidering the tactical situation. The enemy had been here in force two months ago; that was a certainty. If they hadn’t had a significant fleet, Admiral Davis wouldn’t have lost contact. But anything past that assumption was pure guesswork. Garret didn’t think the enemy would want to abandon the shipyards unless they were sure they faced a stronger force, so he expected a fight of some sort. That was an educated guess, at least…perhaps even a probability. But if he was right about the enemy’s limited naval strength, he didn’t think they’d stay around for a death fight with his fleet. They’d turn tail and run, save what they could.
“Warp gate scanners detected, sir.” Rourke’s voice pulled him from his deep thoughts. “Two minimum, admiral.”
“Very well.” Ok, he thought, one thing is for sure…whatever enemy forces are lurking in the system, they know we’re here. At least they would when the lightspeed transmissions from the scanner buoys reached them…wherever they were waiting.
“Commander, confirm missile team readiness.” Garret had gone through the warp gate at red alert, and he had no idea how long his crews would have to remain at that high state of readiness. When an alert went on for too long, the edge began to wear off. He frequently ordered spot checks and diagnostics, more to give his crews something to do than because he was concerned about equipment status. Those who haven’t experienced it tend to think of space combat as fast, explosive. But it is mostly a test of endurance, of stamina and the ability to remain focused despite exhaustion, fear, and boredom.
“Yes, sir.” Rourke passed the order to the fleet with a tiny smile on her face. She knew very well why he issued it. Most of the veterans receiving the directive knew as well. Still, the make work would help them stay focused…even as they realized that’s what it was intended to do.
The flag bridge was quiet as Pershing and the rest of the fleet moved deeper into the Wolf 359 system. There were no transmissions…from Arcadia or from the shipyards. Garret hadn’t really expected any, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.
“Captain, sporadic unidentified contacts.” Rourke spoke loudly, the edginess obvious in her voice. “AI projection, 87%.” She turned to face Garret. “Laser buoys, sir.”
Garret quietly exhaled. It shouldn’t be a surprise, he thought. We knew they took the shipyards, and there was a damned production line there building the things. The x-ray laser buoys had only been deployed against the First Imperium…no human ship had faced an attack from one. But they’d all seen the deadly power of the new weapon system.
“Calculate range and projected firing point.” His voice was crisp, professional. Garret almost relished combat now. It was something that came naturally to him, and when his mind was occupied with battle, he didn’t think of…other things. “All angel dust launchers, prepare to fire.” The anti-laser reflective particle interdiction system had been commonly called angel dust since before Garret had stepped aboard his first space ship. The clouds of tiny metallic particles were highly effective at dispersing the strength of a laser blast…if they were positioned correctly. It was a difficult system to use, requiring an odd combination of mathematical acuity and clairvoyance. Lasers moved at lightspeed, making it impossible to react to a shot once it was fired. Angel dust crews tried to guess when and where an attack would come from. If they were right, they could aim the torpedoes to intersect the laser’s path, providing excellent protection to the targeted ships. If not, their efforts were fruitless. The clouds of angel dust would float pointlessly in space, while the deadly spears of light ripped into their targets.
Garret didn’t know if they would work at all this time. There were x-ray lasers on those buoys, and the normal reflective materials would be nearly useless against them. General Sparks had revised the payloads of the angel dust torpedoes to increase x-ray reflexivity, but the new system had never been tested in combat conditions.
“Yes, admiral.” A few seconds later: “Angel dust crews at full readiness, sir. Should I lock in the AI firing plan?” The fleet tactical computer calculated a recommended pattern to counter its expectation of incoming fire. Most commanders tended to utilize the AI plan. But Augustus Garret wasn’t “most” commanders.
“Negative.” Garret was staring at his screen, hastily entering revised parameters. “Upload these revisions.” He swiped his finger across the screen, sending her the file. They’re going to fire early, he thought to himself…they know how powerful these weapons are, and they’ll be anxious.
“Multiple additional contacts, sir.” Rourke was getting excited, and it was showing in her voice. “Fleet units, admiral.”
“Very well.” Garret sat motionless, feeling almost nothing. Have I really become so cold and efficient, he thought, that I can’t even feel a wave of fear before battle? He knew the answer, but he wasn’t ready to accept it. Not yet.
“Fire laser buoys.” Liang’s voice was hoarse and strained. He hated going into a fight buttoned up in the acceleration couches, but he didn’t have any choice. Goddamned Garret, he thought. Liang hadn’t expected the Alliance admiral to come charging recklessly through the warp gate at 8% of lightspeed. Liang had to build some velocity, and he had to do it quickly.
“Yes Admiral Liang.” Commander Horace-103 replied immediately.
Dammit, Liang thought…they all sound the same. His crews weren’t all Shadow warriors, but most of them were. It wasn’t easy to crew a bunch of warships…veteran spacers weren’t exactly sitting around reading want ads, and the Shado
w personnel filled a lot of chairs. They were completely competent…better, probably, than his other personnel. But they creeped the hell out of him.
Liang was stunned when Stark first told him of the Shadow plan and even more so when the Alliance spy came right out and offered him command of the fleet. The former CAC admiral had spent almost ten years confined in Alliance Intelligence headquarters, living in extremely plush conditions, but virtually a prisoner. Li An had sworn to execute Liang after his failures in the Third Frontier War, and it had been a source of humiliation to her that she’d been unable to do so. Even with Liang under lock and key, Li An had made two credible efforts to get someone on the inside to do the job for her.
Stark had taken Liang in and protected him mostly to piss off the old bitch, as he called Li An, but when he conceived the full extent of the Shadow plan, he knew he’d need a trained naval commander. He didn’t kid himself…Liang was no match for Garret, but he wasn’t a fool either. He was capable and experienced…and the most trustworthy candidate Stark was likely to find, being motivated as he was not just by greed, but by the near certainty he’d be killed if Stark withdrew his protection.
Liang had been doubtful the plan was possible, but Stark insisted it would…and he had accomplished everything he’d set out to do so far. His army was occupying worlds throughout Alliance space, and his machinations had brought the Powers to the brink of open war. Liang shook his head as lay half-crushed in the acceleration couch. Stark truly is a genius, he thought.
“We’re getting damage reports back from the laser buoys, sir.” Horace-103 in the same relentless tone. “Moderate effectiveness only, admiral. The Alliance fleet seems to have had great luck in positioning its angel dust torpedoes.”