He hid his disgust behind a mask as he studied the men in the cage. They were naked, weak, and helpless; their backs were covered with bleeding lacerations from where they’d been flogged. They’d been chained so heavily that they could barely move. The stench of piss and shit and blood hung in the air, revolting him. Clerics moved from man to man, whispering words of comfort in exchange for gasped confessions. The fallen would be redeemed soon enough, Admiral Zaskar knew, or they would be cast into the fire. He hoped it would be the former. His fleet needed those men.
“Admiral,” Moses said. The cleric looked pleased, even though blood stained his red robes of office. “These men have been redeemed.”
“Good,” Admiral Zaskar said, biting down a number of sarcastic answers. A man would say anything under torture as long as the words made the pain stop. The inquisitors had been experts at keeping a man in agony without inflicting permanent harm. He rather suspected the enthusiastic amateurs Moses had recruited wouldn’t have quite so much self-control. “How long until they can take up their duties?”
Moses seemed surprised. “They are ready now, Admiral.”
Admiral Zaskar looked at the nearest man. He was almost as still as a corpse. If he hadn’t been breathing, his chest rising and falling, Admiral Zaskar would have believed him dead. Blood trickled from his wounds and pooled on the deck beneath his bare feet. The whips had been designed to ensure that the scars didn’t heal quickly.
“That man requires medical attention,” he said curtly. “And so do the others.”
He turned away, allowing Moses to follow him. “Did they know anything useful?”
“They were seduced from the path of righteousness,” Moses informed him. “They thought they could find acceptance among the infidels . . .”
“Anything useful?” Admiral Zaskar cut him off, sharply. “Anything we might be able to use?”
“No,” Moses admitted. “But their stories do make wonderful cautionary tales.”
“Quite,” Admiral Zaskar said. They walked slowly down the corridor. “Make sure they have all the medical attention they need before going on duty. I don’t want them keeling over and dying while they’re on my ships.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Moses didn’t sound happy.
Admiral Zaskar kept his face impassive. Askew had brought them a great deal of medical supplies, as well as everything else. And yet the cleric would be reluctant to “waste” them on his victims. The Theocracy had had a shortage of both doctors and medical supplies, the latter caused by unreasonable production demands. It wasn’t uncommon for even serious wounds to go untreated because there were no supplies. Now . . .
We can’t have our engineers dying on the job, he thought coldly. And we don’t want them to think that they have no hope.
He rubbed his forehead in frustration. If only they had more engineers! It wouldn’t have been hard to train more, surely. Or . . . what had the Tabernacle been thinking?
“The remainder of the male recruits joined us eagerly,” Moses said. He sounded as though he was determined to change the subject. “It is a promising sign for the future, is it not?”
Admiral Zaskar shrugged. It was nice to think there were millions of Theocrats, held down by the occupiers, who would join them the moment the fleet captured the high orbitals. But he had his doubts. He was prepared to admit, in private, that the Theocracy hadn’t been the most . . . decent of occupying powers. Genuine recruits had been relatively rare. And, if there truly were millions of Theocrats on the liberated worlds, how long would it be before they were liquidated? The Commonwealth seemed to be oddly squeamish about such things—they had never retaliated in kind, even after Hebrides had been depopulated—but the local resistance forces had no such qualms. Admiral Zaskar doubted the Commonwealth would pretend to care if the refugees were simply slaughtered.
“Let us hope so,” he said finally. Moses might have become more and more certain that they were bound to win, but he had to keep a level head. The odds of ultimate victory were very low. “And the women?”
Moses coughed. “A quarter were the wives and daughters of our new recruits,” he said. “I’ve given orders to keep them isolated from everyone else. The remainder . . . they should be parceled out to the men.”
With one for you, no doubt, Admiral Zaskar thought coldly. But that will just make matters worse, won’t it?
“Award them as prizes for good work,” he said. “And make sure it stays honest.”
“As you command,” Moses said. “Do you wish one yourself?”
Admiral Zaskar shook his head, concealing his disquiet. His wife was somewhere on Ahura Mazda . . . if, of course, she was still alive. She’d been staying at her father-in-law’s compound. He hoped she was still alive, but he had no way to tell. If the unbelievers knew who she was, they’d have taken her by now. Or she might have simply been killed in the fighting. The battles for Ahura Mazda had been savage.
They stepped into an intership car, which whisked them back to the CIC. Admiral Zaskar glanced at the main display as soon as they left the car, just to make sure there was nothing hostile within the system. It looked empty, as always, but that was meaningless. If an enemy scout ship had found them, it would creep out as carefully as possible and whistle up a couple of superdreadnought squadrons. They’d have to spend the rest of their lives watching over their shoulders until the Commonwealth either withdrew or blew them out of space.
It has to be endured, he told himself firmly. There are no other choices.
Askew was sitting inside his office, drinking something that smelled like strong coffee. Admiral Zaskar felt a flicker of irritation, which he rapidly suppressed. It was annoying to have the younger man make himself at home without asking permission to enter, let alone sit down, but . . . they were dependent on Askew and his mysterious backers. Admiral Zaskar had pried as tactfully as possible, yet no matter what he said, Askew refused to name names. It was galling to depend on the kindness of strangers . . .
“I just got back,” Askew said, sitting up. He’d left the ship almost as soon as they’d reached their base. “I trust you had a pleasant few days.”
“There was work to be done,” Admiral Zaskar said dryly. Shore leave was an impossible dream. The asteroids simply didn’t have the facilities to give his crew a break. “And yourself?”
“I reported to my superiors,” Askew said. “They were quite pleased with your operation.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Admiral Zaskar said. “Did they have anything else to say?”
“Merely a suggestion that you should move to the next target as quickly as possible,” Askew said. “They would very much prefer you to keep the pressure on.”
“Duly noted,” Admiral Zaskar said.
He thought, fast. Askew hadn’t been gone for long. Four days . . . Assuming he’d spent less than two days in transit, each way, he couldn’t have gone very far. His tiny ship might be as fast as a courier boat, but still . . . there were only a limited number of possible destinations. And that meant . . . He sighed and gave up. There was no realistic hope of working out who was behind Askew with such limited data.
“That is our intention too,” Moses said. “God has smiled on us.”
“Quite,” Askew said. “Where do you intend to hit?”
Admiral Zaskar brought up a starchart, reminding himself, once again, that the tactical data was badly out of date. He no longer had access to the StarCom network or the small fleet of courier boats that had once carried data from one end of the Theocracy to the other. The enemy would have reshuffled their deployments as soon as they heard about Judd. It was nice to think they might not have yet heard about the attack, but he doubted it. One of their wretched ships had escaped, after all.
“Falladine, I think,” he said. “It has been trying to position itself as a sector leader, among other things. And that cannot be tolerated.”
Askew lifted his eyebrows. “It is hardly an undefended target.”
“No,�
�� Admiral Zaskar agreed. “But that is precisely why we should target it.”
He took a long breath. “We will depart in a day and head for a point near the target system, which will give us a chance to scout out the defenses before committing ourselves,” he added. “By that point, we’ll have a worthwhile plan to hit the system . . . unless, of course, the enemy is too firmly entrenched.”
“God will be with us,” Moses said.
“We dare not challenge superior enemy firepower,” Admiral Zaskar reminded him, once again. God wouldn’t help someone who made a fool of himself. “If the place is heavily defended, to the point where we cannot prevail without taking substantial losses, we will leave it alone . . . for the moment. I will try to find other ways to hit the target.”
He looked at Askew. “Do your backers want us to be daring? Or merely noisy?”
“They want you to keep the Commonwealth off-balance,” Askew said. “What do you have in mind?”
“There are two other worlds near Falladine,” Admiral Zaskar said. He nodded to the starchart. “Neither particularly important. One of them is really nothing more than a quasi-habitable wasteland”—his lips twitched as he remembered how the locals had practically welcomed the Theocrats as saviors—“while the other has long-term potential. I believe we should attempt to hit both worlds with smaller units. It will not alter the balance of power in any real manner, but it will irritate the Commonwealth.”
Particularly if they have to pick up refugees from the wrecked world, he thought. That would put another strain on their shipping resources, would it not?
“An excellent idea, if you believe you can pull it off,” Askew said. “And what if you’re wrong?”
“There is always an element of risk in war,” Admiral Zaskar reminded him. “But the alternative is merely sitting here until our life support fails and we die.”
“God will not forgive us for abandoning the cause,” Moses said.
Admiral Zaskar wasn’t so sure. They had women now. A small number of women, to be sure, but women nonetheless. They could set sail into unexplored territory and find a world to settle, using the remains of their starships for raw materials. A few hundred years later . . . who knew what would happen? Something of the Theocracy would survive, wouldn’t it?
He sighed inwardly. The clerics would never let him get away with it. They wanted to continue the war, whatever the cost. Who knew? They might even be right. The Commonwealth might indeed retreat from the sector, allowing them to reclaim their homeworld and start rebuilding. It wasn’t as if any of the other worlds had any real hope of taking their place.
“I like it,” Askew said. He made a show of clapping his hands. “I’ll be accompanying you, of course.”
“Of course,” Admiral Zaskar echoed. Whatever else could be said about the mystery man, he was no coward. Merely being on a Theocratic ship would be enough to unnerve anyone who lacked nerves of steel. Askew had nothing to fear from the ship’s commanders, but their subordinates might react badly to the infidel’s presence. “I look forward to having you on my bridge.”
He smiled as best as he could. “Do you have any news from the outside universe?”
Askew lifted his eyebrow, challengingly. It was a rare Theocratic officer who’d take an interest in such matters, not when even a hint of such leanings could blight or destroy a man’s career. Why, it was alarmingly close to suggesting there was value in such matters. But Admiral Zaskar stared back, daring the younger man to make an issue of it. The Theocracy could no longer afford to ignore the outside universe.
“I have a news breakdown,” Askew said finally. “And a considerable number of updates from all over the Commonwealth. I’m afraid they do know about Judd.”
Admiral Zaskar nodded, tightly. It wasn’t a surprise.
“We’ll review them together,” he said to Moses. The enemy wouldn’t put their battle plans on the datanet, let alone broadcast them all over the galaxy, but the news might give him some insight into what the enemy were thinking. Were they gearing up to find his fleet and grind it into powder? Were they seriously considering abandoning the sector? Or something in-between? “We need to determine what they might be planning.”
“Of course,” Moses said.
Admiral Zaskar stood. “I’ll see you both later,” he said. “For the moment, I have a ship to inspect.”
“And plans to draw up, I imagine,” Askew said. “I’ll be in my cabin.” He walked out of the hatch, which hissed closed behind him.
Admiral Zaskar considered the younger man for a long moment, wondering again just who was behind him. He’d taken the precaution of having the man’s cabin searched while he’d been absent, but the searchers had turned up nothing of interest. Askew didn’t have anything that pointed to his homeworld, save perhaps for a datapad and a small collection of unmarked datachips. Admiral Zaskar hadn’t dared risk trying to read them. He suspected they’d be heavily encrypted.
And reading captured enemy datachips was impossible, he thought. They tended to erase themselves when we tried.
“I’ll be at my prayers,” Moses said. “I will pray for success.”
“Please,” Admiral Zaskar said. “The crew will appreciate it.”
He walked through the hatch and into the CIC. The crew were running a drill, supervised by the tactical officer. They’d shown a remarkable degree of improvement over the past couple of months, thanks to the combination of new equipment and better treatment. Admiral Zaskar promised himself that, if they ever did return to Ahura Mazda, they would treat people better. The endless oppression had probably cost the Theocracy the war. He understood the importance of keeping unbelievers firmly under control, but abusing their own people was dangerous and stupid.
And they hate us, he thought. He didn’t want to think about what had happened to a particularly unpopular cleric after they’d fled the homeworld. The ship’s doctor hadn’t been able to find all the bastard’s body parts. And eventually they turn on us.
He found himself mulling it over as he toured his ship from bow to stern, silently noting how efficient his crew had become over the last two months. He’d done everything in his power to encourage his people to talk and question, but . . . it hadn’t been easy. Too many questions were still a bad thing, according to the clerics. And yet . . . he’d heard the Commonwealth allowed its officers to question. And the Commonwealth had won the war.
If only we’d had more time, he thought, although he suspected that disaster had been inevitable from the start. Rumor claimed that the Commonwealth was growing stronger while the Theocracy had peaked out. Admiral Zaskar supposed the Tabernacle had decided it might be better to fight now, rather than risk war against a vastly superior foe at a later date. But they didn’t need to fight at all!
It wasn’t true, he admitted, if only to himself. The Theocracy had imposed itself on every world it had conquered, crushing their prewar institutions and grinding any resistance out of existence. Men had been forced to attend religious instruction, women had been stripped of all rights and forced to stay in their homes . . . children had been raised to be good little Theocrats, to the point where they believed they’d go to hell if they didn’t betray their parents. No one would want the Theocracy to occupy their world. Given a choice, the locals would have gone for the Commonwealth. The two systems simply could not coexist.
The galaxy wasn’t big enough for both of us, he thought as he gave orders for the fleet to set out before returning to his cabin. And one of us had to lose.
He sighed as he pulled up the planetary data for Falladine, Dorland, and Asher Dales. The data was out of date, of course, but he doubted things had changed that much. Asher Dales and Dorland couldn’t hope to muster resistance, even against a lone destroyer. He’d make them pay for betraying the Theocracy.
But tell me, a voice whispered at the back of his head, can you blame them?
No, Admiral Zaskar admitted. But does it matter?
He ran his hand through
his hair. No, it didn’t matter. Moses might believe they could win, that they could reclaim their homeworld, but Admiral Zaskar knew too much to believe it. The odds of victory were very low. All that mattered was revenge. They would hurt the enemy until their luck finally ran out and they died.
The Commonwealth will not have an easy time here, he thought. That, at least, I promise them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
ASHER DALES
“Captain,” Commander Patti Ludwig said. “We may have visitors.”
William looked up from his display. “Show me.”
Patti keyed her console. “Long-range sensors picked up an energy spike here,” she said, indicating a location two AU from Asher Dales. “It might have been a vortex.”
“Signal the planetary government, then order the remainder of the squadron to go into full stealth,” William ordered. An energy spike there suggested that someone was trying to sneak up on the planet. There was no reason for a friendly visitor to come out of hyperspace so far from Asher Dales. It would be grossly inefficient. “Launch two stealth probes and then take us into stealth too.”
“Aye, sir,” Patti said. The lights dimmed slightly, warning the crew that they were now in stealth mode. “Stealth engaged, sir.”
William sucked in his breath as he studied the sensor readings. They could be overreacting. It could be nothing more than a false alarm. But the survey of the system, in both realspace and hyperspace, hadn’t given him any reason to think there would be many random energy flickers so close to the star. Asher Dales was surprisingly quiet for a populated star system.
His lips twitched. There was a scientist who’d claimed, apparently seriously, that opening vortexes into hyperspace actually weakened the fabric of the universe itself. His fellows had scoffed—of course vortexes tore holes in the universe—but the scientist had insisted that the human race would pay a price for its deeds. One day, hyperspace might start flowing into realspace and then . . . well, no one actually knew. But the scientist insisted that the phenomena might bring civilization crashing down in ruins.
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 17