“There are other matters to discuss,” Duke Rudbek said. “But we believe they can wait.”
And see who comes out ahead, Peter thought wryly. Opening another front right now might be disastrous if things don’t go our way.
“I agree,” the king said. “And I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”
And if that wasn’t the most insincere thing you’ve said, Peter thought as leaving formalities were exchanged, I’ll eat my hat.
No words were spoken as Peter and his allies made their way back to the landing pad, where their aircars were waiting for them. Peter climbed into his, told the driver to head back to the mansion, and activated the security sensors. A handful of tiny nanotech devices had attached themselves to him, signaling back to . . . someone. Peter felt his blood run cold. The king’s security staff were paranoid, with good reason, but they shouldn’t have maintained their surveillance after he left the king’s hunting lodge.
He reached for his datapad and skimmed through the latest set of reports as the aircar flew back towards the mansion. Thankfully, no one outside the very highest levels of society had realized that the meeting had taken place. There were no crowds of angry protesters and media figures besieging the king’s gates. And yet . . . He read through the summaries and cursed under his breath. It seemed too much to hope that society would calm down in a hurry. Too many people were about to become unemployed.
And too many others are about to throw gas on the fire, he thought, sourly. One MP had introduced a bill to repatriate—deport, in other words—every foreign worker. But it had been so poorly drafted that the law would have demanded the immediate termination of people the corporations and the military needed. If we don’t get control soon, someone else will take control himself.
The aircar landed. He walked through a security field, feeling a little better when the three nanobugs were unceremoniously removed. They’d made his skin crawl, even though he’d known the feeling was psychosomatic. The bugs were too tiny to see with the naked eye, smaller even than flecks of dust or dead skin, a reminder of just why there were so many laws surrounding privacy. A person’s life could become public knowledge very quickly if they were targeted for surveillance. He didn’t want to think about how they might be misused.
“They were mil-spec gear, sir,” his security officer said. “I’d say they were top-of-the-line stuff.”
“I know,” Peter said. “Have you swept the mansion today?”
“Yes, and we have a continuous sensor watch,” the security officer assured him. “If you’d taken the bugs indoors, sir, we would have detected them.”
“Very good,” Peter said. He was no stranger to industrial espionage, as the corporations often sharpened their claws on each other, but this was a dangerous escalation. “Sweep the aircar, just to be sure, then send me a full report. I want to be sure we can keep these bastards out of our secure rooms.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer said. “I should point out, though, that it can be very hard to detect one that isn’t transmitting.”
“Yes,” Peter said. His skin itched. Was there a fourth bug? Listening quietly to everything he said, but waiting until he was back outside before it started to signal its master? The scanners would have picked it up, wouldn’t they? “Send a warning to the other corporations and politicians. Let them know what we found.”
He supposed that the nanobugs could have been left attached to him by accident. It was also possible that someone had been trying to please the king by acting without formal orders. But he didn’t believe it.
And then we will have to start a more serious discussion, he thought. And decide if we can formally vote to impeach the king.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
* * *
AHURA MAZDA
“The remainder of the convoy is safely under the planetary defenses,” Lieutenant Kitty Patterson said. “But their escort has been badly battered and requires reinforcements.”
Kat glared at the display. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, that their victory over the pirate base and the capture or destruction of enough material to put the pirates out of business for a very long time had been overshadowed by a convoy disaster. What had the idiots been thinking? They knew they were jumping into a warzone . . . hadn’t they? The latest update from the Admiralty had informed her that a full inquest had been ordered, but that could mean anything. The board might reach its conclusions only after everyone involved was safely dead.
“At least we killed one of their superdreadnoughts,” Commander Bobby Wheeler pointed out. “That’s a third of their capital ships gone.”
“Unless they have more,” Fran said. “If they had more ships . . .”
“Commodore, we would have seen them by now,” Wheeler said. “They wouldn’t be keeping anything in reserve. They’d be doing their level best to keep us hopping.”
“They’re succeeding,” Kat said. Her voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Lieutenant, how many supplies have been offloaded at Maxwell’s Haven?”
“Just the pallets assigned to the naval base,” Kitty said. “But they’ve put in a request for replacements, Admiral. A couple of the destroyed freighters were meant for them.”
She checked her datapad. “We could make up the losses by transferring supplies that were meant for us . . .”
“Perhaps,” Kat said. She rubbed her forehead. The political briefing Peter had forwarded to her was only a few hours old but was probably already out of date. It was starting to look as though the politicians were giving up. She was mildly surprised they hadn’t ordered the surviving freighters to return through the Gap immediately. “Fran, detail three superdreadnoughts to escort the remaining freighters here. See if you can stagger the details and make it look as though the escort hasn’t been reinforced.”
Fran smiled wolfishly, although it didn’t quite touch her eyes. “Aye, Admiral.”
“Wheeler, inform Maxwell’s Haven that they have two days to determine what supplies they wish to claim from the remaining freighters,” Kat added. “I’ll make my final decision then.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Wheeler said. He paused, significantly. “I should point out that the naval base has first call on supplies . . .”
“I know,” Kat said, cutting him off. “But they are already heavily defended.”
She sat back in her chair, feeling bitter. What had they been thinking? Hadn’t they thought to take a few basic precautions? God! The emergence zones had been far enough from the planet for the convoy to prove its identity long before the defenses could open fire. Some politicians were already talking about treachery and betrayal, but she suspected it was nothing more than incompetence. Standards had slipped since the war. A convoy CO who took security so lightly, during the war, would have been lucky not to be unceremoniously dismissed.
And my people had the same issue, she thought. I just didn’t realize that the naval deployments on the far side of the Gap would have it too.
“We have a problem,” she said. “What implications does this have for us?”
“The politicians are running scared,” Wheeler said. “Admiral . . .”
Kat held up a hand. “Leave the political implications out of it,” she said sharply. “This isn’t a debating club.”
She sighed, inwardly. Wheeler could get in real trouble if someone heard him talking so disrespectfully about their political lords and masters. She didn’t think he was entirely wrong—Parliament had made so many cuts to the military that disaster had only been a matter of time—but there was nothing to be gained by allowing him to throw away his career.
Not that it will matter, she thought. She knew that rumors were already spreading, despite her best efforts. Someone, somehow, had tipped off the insurgents. They were celebrating a great victory that, they claimed, had consumed more than ten thousand superdreadnoughts, even though there weren’t ten thousand superdreadnoughts in the entire galaxy! People are already talking about what it means.
Wheeler looked abashed. “Yes, Admiral.”
“The good news is that we do have a major tactical advantage,” Fran said. She tapped her console, adjusting the display. “Their missile warheads and penetrator aids have not advanced, unsurprisingly. And we scored more hits on their ships than we should have done, if their defenses had been up to our standards. My analysts believe that their superdreadnoughts are actually decaying rapidly, even if someone is supplying them with weapons, spare parts, and technical help.”
“And they will have problems replacing so many missiles,” Wheeler added. “Their fire discipline was appalling.”
“They wanted to kill as many freighters as possible within a comparatively short space of time,” Kat pointed out, gently. “But yes, you’re right. They’re not going to get those missiles replaced in a hurry.”
“They could have set up an automated factory,” Fran pointed out. “It isn’t as if finding fissionable materials is hard.”
“They’d have needed to use it to keep their war machine supplied, during the war,” General Timothy Winters stated. “I don’t believe they would have started making preparations to continue the war after their defeat, not until it was too late.”
Kat nodded. The Theocracy had refused to see the writing on the wall until her fleet was laying siege to Ahura Mazda itself. They’d certainly been unwilling to make preparations for an underground conflict, if only because they would have seen that as defeatist. There was something oddly foul about relying on one’s enemies to kill anyone who took a realistic view of the situation, but she had to admit the tactic had proved useful. She dreaded to think what Admiral Junayd would have done if he’d had a completely free hand. The war would have dragged on far longer.
“And the smugglers will be unable to replace their losses,” she said. She remembered the report on the missiles they’d captured from the pirate base and smiled. If the Theocracy wanted to arm itself with outdated missiles, she wasn’t going to stop them. “Their backers will have to either retreat or find them something more . . . traceable.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Wheeler said. “This may be the high-water mark for them.”
“Let us hope so,” Kat said.
She studied the display for a long moment. The enemy was running out of targets. Perhaps she could try to lure them into a trap? William’s idea of using decoys to fake superdreadnoughts might work, if the enemy was sensitive to losses. Or even using one real superdreadnought per system, with a handful of decoys. If the enemy had only three superdreadnoughts left, they wouldn’t want to face even a single superdreadnought. She was fairly sure that one of her superdreadnoughts could take two of theirs.
And even if we’re wrong, they’ll know they’ve been in a fight, she thought. They might win the battle, but lose the war.
Fran cleared her throat. “Admiral, I know you didn’t want to discuss politics, but . . . what happens if we’re ordered to withdraw?”
“We’ll deal with that when it comes,” Kat said. She could fudge a little, when her orders allowed her a little discretion, but a direct order to withdraw could not be disobeyed. The StarCom network she’d set up, with the best of intentions, would make it harder to delay matters. “Right now, we have too many other things to do.”
She looked down at the table. “I won’t deny that this . . . incident . . . has been a major blow,” she added. “But as Wheeler says, it may be their last gasp. We can weaken them, we will weaken them . . . If nothing else, they have to be hitting some pretty hard limits now.”
“I believe so,” Fran said. “I don’t believe that anyone, even us, could keep three superdreadnoughts running indefinitely without a proper shipyard.”
Kat forced herself to remain calm. “We calculated that the ships would be defunct by now and their crews dead of atmospheric poisoning,” she reminded her friend. “We need to be very careful about making assumptions.”
She looked up. “General, stay behind,” she added. “Everyone else, dismissed.”
“The disaster did bring a lot of rats out of the woodpile,” General Winters said. “We might even be getting a grip on the situation.”
Kat met his eyes. “Enough?”
“It’s hard to be sure,” Winters said, bluntly. “The real masterminds rarely show themselves openly, let alone take part in attacks. They have cannon fodder for that, Admiral. Young men who have no jobs, no wives, no hopes . . . they go out and they get themselves blown away while the real bastards continue to plot and plan. But right now, we are making rapid progress on blowing their networks wide open. They may already have realized that coming out of the woodwork has been a mistake.”
“Understood,” Kat said. “Keep the pressure on.”
“We will,” Winters said. “But Admiral . . . all this talk of withdrawal is making people nervous. Every man who signed up with us, every woman who went into one of the refugee camps . . . they’re all scared about what will happen if we withdraw. Will they be left behind to face their former friends? And believe me, Admiral, the enemy is using their fears as part of a propaganda exercise. We may see the stream of informers and volunteers begin to dry up if they’re allowed to continue.”
And so the politicians make life harder for us, Kat thought. Can’t they see beyond their noses?
She remembered the words she’d exchanged with her brother and scowled. The dukes were supposed to look to the future, but Peter was more interested in the corporation than in Tyre itself, let alone the Commonwealth. And the MPs were more interested in winning reelection than in winning the war. They’d vote for immediate withdrawal if they thought the action would please their constituents. She had no doubt they’d come up with a way to justify their behavior to themselves.
“All we can do is keep going,” Kat said. “And, if we are ordered to withdraw, to take our allies with us.”
Winters met her eyes. “The logistics will be hell, Admiral. Where do we put them?”
Kat shook her head, wordlessly. None of the liberated worlds would want a few hundred thousand more refugees. Taking them to the far side of the Gap wouldn’t be any better. She doubted that anyone would want them. There were too many horror stories about refugees who’d picked up bad habits.
“I’ll think of something,” she said. “General, I . . .”
Her wristcom bleeped. She keyed it. “Go ahead?”
“Admiral, you have a priority-one StarCom call,” Kitty said. “I’ve transferred it to your office.”
“I’ll be there in a moment,” Kat said. She felt cold. Normally, StarCom calls were planned ahead of time, but this one was a surprise. Was she about to be ordered to withdraw? Or . . . She’d find out soon enough. “General, duty calls.”
“I understand,” Winters said. “Good luck.”
Kat nodded and hurried down the corridor to her office. The marines standing guard outside saluted as she approached, although she was fairly sure they’d have preferred to be on the front lines instead. Pat had told her, more than once, that guard duty wasn’t his favorite duty. She made a mental note to ask for her guards to be rotated. Their skills would start to atrophy if they spent all their time inside the compound.
She stepped through the door and closed it behind her, then turned to the terminal and blinked. The Royal Crest was clearly displayed, just waiting for her to press her finger against the sensor and confirm her identity. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, put a note on her wristcom that she would be busy until further notice, then sat down at the desk and tapped the terminal. The king’s face appeared in front of her a second later.
“Kat,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“And you, Your Majesty,” Kat said automatically. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting.”
“It is of no concern,” the king said. “You’re hundreds of light-years away.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Kat said. She’d known officers and politicians who would take it as a personal affront if someone didn’t answer thei
r calls at once, even if they were on the other side of the planet. “I assume this isn’t a simple courtesy call?”
The king looked pained. “I’m afraid not.”
Kat studied him for a long moment. King Hadrian was only two years older than she was, and the recipient of enough genetic modification to ensure he’d have a lifespan of well over two centuries even without rejuvenation treatments, but he looked haggard, as if the constant battle to keep the political system from tearing itself apart was slowly grinding him down. He was as handsome as ever, yet . . . there was an edge to his expression she found worrying, as though he was reaching the end of his tether.
“There is a bid to start a phased withdrawal from the occupied sector,” the king said. His voice was grim. “You may find yourself ordered to pull your ships back to Maxwell’s Haven before too long.”
“. . . Shit,” Kat said. “Your Majesty . . . we might be on the verge of winning!”
The king nodded. “That’s my read on the situation too,” he said. “We cannot let everyone who died die for nothing. And yet, Parliament is on the verge of surrendering to their fears.”
“They can’t,” Kat protested. “I . . . I can try to convince them.”
“They’re not listening to anyone,” the king said. “Some of them genuinely believe that our economy is on the verge of collapse, some of them believe that whatever happens in the occupied sector doesn’t matter to us, some of them . . . some of them are more interested in battling for power than anything else. The political situation is a mess.”
“I’ve heard rumors,” Kat said. “And Peter talked to me . . . Is it really that bad?”
The king said nothing for a long moment. “Parliament has always been insular,” he said, finally. “And they have been historically unwilling to risk expansion beyond our solar system. The Commonwealth was my father’s brainchild, and you know how hard it was to get even the stage-three and stage-four colony worlds cleared for membership. It was almost impossible to get them to sit MPs from the Commonwealth worlds.”
Debt of Honor (The Embers of War) Page 30