"It went off the deep-radar. I believe it was brought aboard an enemy vessel."
"Did Commodore Laperriere expect this to happen?"
"I—I suppose she did, sir. She knew the capabilities of the aliens firsthand, Admiral, and knew that we couldn't fight them. I didn't believe her at first, and was prepared to bring the Duc about to—"
"Your defense of Commodore Laperriere is most touching, Captain, but—"
"Begging the admiral's pardon," MacEwan said quietly, but forceful enough to stop Hsien in his tracks. He looked up at Barbara MacEwan, standing straight upright again. "If the admiral pleases, there's something I would like to clarify."
She seemed intent on clarifying, whether it pleased him or not. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed in front of him.
"Go ahead, Captain."
"I'm aware, sir, that the commodore risked her career and her reputation by electing to withdraw from Cicero. At the time, most of the officers in her command questioned the wisdom of just picking up and leaving. Still, when she gave the order we assumed that she knew port from starboard, and executed it.
"Well, sir, as we were pulling out from Cicero she gave the order that no one was to change course or even come to the aid of another ship in the task force, even if we received contrary orders—even if they came from her. She had just come face-to-face with aliens capable of taking her place, capable of taking anyone's place. A handful of these aliens had infiltrated Cicero and came very close to taking control of it, and no one noticed. The High Lord's Champion, or whatever he is, was there, and they still managed to take control. I still don't know how she knew what to do, or how she managed to get control of Cicero long enough to evacuate it; but she saved several of His Majesty's ships and a few thousand of his subjects because she was willing to sacrifice her career to do it.
"The career and maybe even the life of Commodore Laperriere may not mean a damn thing to you, sir, but I give you my solemn oath as an officer in His Majesty's Navy, that the commodore is the reason I and my command are present at all to follow your orders. If it pleases the admiral."
The last sentence conveyed the impression that Captain MacEwan didn't really give a damn whether it "pleased" the admiral or not. It was clear she was both convinced and committed; and her willingness to stand up to the Admiral of the Red was evidence that he should take her story seriously.
Given his recent experience at Adrianople, he couldn't do otherwise.
Hsien took a long time to look her over. At last, he said, "Your comments are noted, Captain MacEwan. Given your experience at Cicero, then, how would you advise we proceed, now that Adrianople is lost?"
"I wouldn't venture to say, sir."
"Off the record, Captain. I have to defend the Solar Empire. How would you suggest I do it?"
"Sir." MacEwan again stood up straight, and looked Hsien in the eye. "If my experience is correct, Admiral, I would say we cannot defend anywhere, and that if the enemy came in-system, we might do no better than to cut and run. Sir."
"If we run from here, won't they simply follow us?"
"I suppose they will, Admiral."
"Then, what you're suggesting makes no strategic sense. It's not an alternative."
"Then I thank God I am not an admiral, sir."
"Captain on the bridge."
Following habit, Georg Maartens glanced at the chrono above the pilot's board as he came down the short gangway to the center of his bridge. It showed end of jump to be just under two minutes away. His ship was about to emerge, as ordered, at Thon's Well System. Thon's Well was a dim red primary with no habitable worlds and four large gas-giants; its only importance was its location, at convenient jump distance from two large naval bases at Denneva and Oberon.
Other than its location, there was very little to recommend Thon's Well System; Maartens didn't remember ever being there before. He had no idea why his command had been ordered there, but he knew enough to follow orders—and here they were, or nearly so.
"All systems at optimum, all hands at Quarters, sir," his new exec said, as she handed him the current status comp. He took the pilot's seat and glanced quickly at status then took a moment to give Pappenheim's first officer a long look.
Commander Suzanne Okome had proved herself to be an able officer during her first months aboard his ship, but Georg hadn't quite gotten used to her yet. A new second will always put his or her stamp on the departments under an XO's command—duty rosters, battle readiness, ship discipline—and Okome had gotten right to it, quickly winning the respect and trust of the ship's other officers and crew. It had been a good choice, though one he'd have rather not made . . . except that his former "first" had turned out to be—
Best not to think about that, old man, he told himself.
"Is there something wrong, Captain?" she asked.
He realized his expression must have betrayed something, and forced a smile. "No, nothing at all, Commander. Everything looks shipshape."
"Jump minus a minute-and-a-half, Skip," his navigator said, without turning.
"All departments report."
"Engineering reports green," the watch engineer answered.
"Comm is green."
"Helm is green, awaiting normal-space control."
"Nav is green; reporting jump target within oh-point-oh-oh-oh-three of designated destination space."
"Gunnery online and ready, Captain," Okome added, standing at his side.
"Good." It was a formality; he would've had warning well in advance if some system was amiss, but the pre-end-of-jump report was part of regs, especially during wartime.
With all that was happening, regs were at least something to hang on to. "You may proceed."
The chronometer counted down. There was tension on the bridge, as always: Faster-than-light travel was still imperfect and there was always a chance that the ship could emerge in a gravity well, or in atmosphere, or even fail to emerge at all—but, with the knowledge that the Empire was at war with an enemy of unknown power, entering a system where the enemy might already be present, made the tension even worse.
No one aboard the Pappenheim had ever seen war until just a few weeks ago. Just before they left Corcyra, Maartens had received orders for his little squadron to jump to their present destination—Thon's Well, a small outpost system fifteen par- sees from Adrianople, where they'd originally been headed. There was a conclusion to be reached, but Georg Maartens didn't really want to reach it.
"Half a minute, Skip."
"Defensive fields powered up and ready to come online, sir."
Maartens looked aside, nodding at Okome as she said it; they would go up as soon as the Pappenheim made transition.
The last seconds ticked away. The navigator, having received the go-ahead, began transition to normal-space; the utterdark gave way to silver streams that rapidly resolved themselves into stars. The pilot's board began to make sense of incoming signals and the comm officer worked double-time to sort out broadcast traffic.
"All squadron vessels reporting arrival, Cap'n," the comm officer said.
"Will you look at that?" Maartens said, to no one in particular, as the board began to fill with transponder codes.
In addition to four capital ships at each of the two jump points, each of the four gas giants had a small orbital station that managed traffic through the atmosphere. A squadron was deployed at each station, and Pappenheim's pilot's board recorded the names of the capital ships and IDs for the support vessels.
Orbital Three: the Prince Rupert-class carrier Xian Chuan, the same class as the Duc d'Enghien; with two top-of-the-line Mandela-class starships—the ship-of-class Mandela and the Nasser; and four Broadmoor-class starships, the Admiral Anderson, Edgerton, Casian and Tsing Liu. The flag was aboard the Mandela, with Admiral Kevin Stark, based at Denneva. He was the senior officer on-station, as the Gibraltar did not seem to be in Thon's Well System.
Orbital Four: four Emperor Ian-class starships—the Emperor Cl
eon, Emperor Alexander, Empress Patrice and Empress Louise. This was the newest sixth-generation ship design being built at Mothallah shipyards, mostly replacing Broadmoor-, Malaysia- and Wallenstein-class ships. But not all, Maartens thought to himself: Pappenheim was a Wallenstein-class ship. The Emperor Ian, the ship of its class, was Erich Anderson's ship; his many-times-great-grandfather was the famous Admiral Kerry Anderson who won at Aldebaran during the Six Worlds' Revolt. Anderson's command was out of Oberon.
Orbital Five: three Hang-class ships—Xun Hang, Su Hang and Fei Hang—and a half-dozen zor ships. Maartens didn't recognize the classes, but the tonnage info made them out to be the equivalent of sixth-generation starships. Fei Hang had the squadron flag; Maartens didn't recognize the name of the commander, and wasn't sure where it was based.
Orbital Six: several more zor ships. And among them . . .
"Lieutenant," Maartens said, turning to his comm officer. "Confirm that ID." He jabbed a finger at a point in the air where the transponder showed the name Nest HeYen.
A twenty-centimeter cube near Maartens' finger went blank and then redrew; Nest HeYen code appeared again. "That's accurate and correct, Cap'n."
"That's the zor fleet flagship, and it's showing a Twenty-one." "Twenty-one" meant a representative of a head of state—it corresponded to the number of guns for a salute, or the number of sideboys needed to receive someone from that ship. The High Lord of the zor—or someone representing him at a very high level—was aboard that ship.
Maartens rubbed his chin, wondering what it meant. "Comm the flag. Request permission to approach for refueling. Pappenheim sends." He looked at the pilot's board: His command had formed up—Tilly, his sister ship, was a few hundred kilometers to port and a few ship-lengths behind, while the merchanters Oregon, Fair Damsel and Reese had taken up positions in a ragged clump aft. His tiny fighter platform, the IGS exploratory carrier Bay of Biscay, brought up the rear. HaKale'e and Kenyatta, two of the four first-raters occupying the volume near the Adrianople jump point where he'd just emerged, hung nearby, menacingly large.
"We're directed to Orbital Six, Cap'n."
"Where Nest HeYen is?"
"Aye-aye, sir. And there's something else on incoming comm." The comm officer looked back at his board and then turned to face the captain. "I have a Priority Twenty-one message for you, sir, directly from Nest HeYen."
Maartens swiveled his chair around. "I didn't quite read that, Lieutenant. Did you say that we had a message from the flagship?"
"Aye, sir. The message has an official comm-seal with the cadency mark of the High Lord himself."
"What does the message say, Lieutenant?"
"It's an invitation to come aboard as soon as we reach our anchorage, sir, for an interview with the High Lord himself."
"He's aboard the flagship in person?"
"That's what the message says, Cap'n. The High Chamberlain requests permission to come aboard Pappenheim to brief you."
"Me?"
"Yes sir. The message requested you by name."
Maartens rubbed his chin, wondering what to make of it. "They're awaiting a reply, I assume."
"Yes sir. I haven't acknowledged receipt yet, if you want to hold off."
Maartens flexed his hands and then formed a pyramid. "No, that won't do any good. Acknowledge receipt and invite the High Chamberlain aboard. Commander"—he continued to Okome without pause—"assemble the right number of side-boys and get an honor guard to the shuttle bay. Get clearance for our ships at Orbital Six, and let's get our dress blues on and find out what the High Lord wants."
He stood, and he and his exec walked toward the lift. "You have the conn," he said to the engineering watch officer already headed for the pilot's seat.
The question of why Pappenheim and Maartens's command was receiving this honor was still hanging in the air when the High Chamberlain of the High Nest came aboard. His gig traversed the short distance from the Orbital Six station to Pappenheim's hangar deck as soon as Maartens' ship achieved parking orbit. Nest HeYen was nowhere in sight, but the board showed her under way toward the Adrianople jump point.
The High Chamberlain was accorded twenty-one sideboys, acknowledging the honor with alien dignity by altering his wing-position slightly. He and the four other members of his entourage waited for the ceremony to be complete, and then followed the captain and his exec to the ready-room without further explanation.
"I am curious, ha Chamberlain," Maartens said, settling himself into his chair. Okome remained standing to his right, comp in hand. "To what do I owe the honor of an interview with the High Lord?"
"You have . . . some knowledge of our current situation."
"I can't imagine what."
"I am sure you can," T'te'e HeYen said, placing his wings in a different position. He sat at the end of the conference table in Pappenheim's ready-room on an extruded perch; the four other zor formed a sort of honor guard and stood behind him. "You have had some experience with the esGa'uYal."
"The vuhls."
"Just so."
"Very well," Maartens said, placing his hands before him, palms down, on the table. "I will help in any way I can."
"The High Nest appreciates your cooperation."
"Perhaps you can answer a question for me: Why have we been ordered here to Thon's Well System?"
"That is easily answered. The High Lord has concluded that the esGa'uYal will attack the fleet here, se Captain. After many months of skepticism, even the Imperial Admiralty has begun to take such pronouncements seriously."
"Why would the enemy be interested in Thon's Well, ha Chamberlain? There isn't anything here worth attacking."
"At the moment there is, se Captain: several eights of ships."
"Only because the High Lord and the emperor ordered them here. If they hadn't come, the enemy wouldn't attack here."
"Or . . ." the High Chamberlain answered, letting his claws extend for a moment and then quickly retracting them as if he'd suddenly taken notice, ". . . the reason they will attack here is because we have given them a reason."
Maartens took a breath. "You're playing chicken with them."
"We are drawing them to this place, if that is what your metaphor signifies. Yes we are—and it is part of a pattern the High Lord understands but I do not. The Eight Winds blow where they will, se Captain, and I cannot alter them and neither can you."
"No, but I can't help but telling you, sir, that I consider it foolhardy at best. We would be better suited to defend something"—he waved a hand—"something like a naval base."
"Such as Adrianople?"
"Such as Adrianople," Maartens agreed.
"Adrianople has fallen to the esGa'uYal, se Captain. The walls of that fortress were insufficient to keep the invaders out. Five days ago a squadron arrived there and was nearly transported to Ur'ta leHssa."
T'te'e HeYen let that sink in for a moment. The human captain had been in transit when the fleet of Admiral Hsien was nearly captured at Adrianople; obviously he had only just now heard that the base was taken.
Knowing what the enemy could do was little solace. esLi regarded the ignorant more gently, who did not know how they would die . . . Except that this naZora'e was not of the ignorant ones: he had faced the esGa'uYal with the avatar of Qu'u.
The consequences of the esGa'uYal seizure of Adrianople were clearly going through the captain's mind. If Adrianople cannot protect against the Deceiver, he would be thinking, what place can?
"ha Chamberlain," Maartens said after several moments, folding his hands before him on the table. "I can't hope to understand the grand pattern of things, but I'm prepared to do my duty here or anywhere else His Imperial Highness sends me. But forgive me for being curious."
"Curiosity is a trait beloved of esLi, se Captain."
"Then you wouldn't mind answering a further question or two before I meet with the High Lord."
"It is my purpose for being aboard the Pappenheim," T'te'e replied, hoping he'd rendere
d the ship's name sufficiently well to avoid giving offense—though he knew humans tended to place less stock in such things than the People did.
"Excellent," the captain replied, placing one hand palm-down over the other and leaning forward. "ha Chamberlain, tell me about Qu'u."
The Chamberlain's wings changed position as Maartens said the name. The other zor shifted his own position nervously.
A hit, Maartens thought to himself. A palpable hit. Send a "Well done" to Gunnery Section.
"Qu'u was a legendary hero of the People," the Chamberlain answered, after a moment. "You are a student of our culture?"
"No sir, not hardly. But it seems as if I've heard quite a bit about the legend recently. And I don't mind telling you, ha Chamberlain—and I won't mind telling the High Lord in person—that I don't much like seeing a friend of mine mixed up in that legend against her will."
"I do not quite understand your meaning."
"I suspect that you do, ha Chamberlain," Maartens answered. "I am certain the High Lord wishes to consult with me on just that subject. Do not dissemble with me: I have too much data now.
"Point: Jackie Laperriere, a friend and commanding officer, experiences first contact with our alien enemy—'the servants of the Deceiver,' as you would say." He extended a single finger, pointed down toward the table, and added a finger for each point.
"Point: Before the Imperial Navy can court-martial her for doing the wrong but smart thing for abandoning her post, she gets transferred to your authority.
"Point: She next finds herself aboard a merchanter named the Fair Damsel, which, incidentally, is now under my command. She gets as far as an open port outside the Empire, called Crossover. That's the last anyone's seen of her.
"From what I understand, she's following some ancient legend involving Qu'u and the sword called the gyaryu. Since it was taken from Cicero several weeks ago, I can only assume that you've sent her off after it, somehow convincing her that she is Qu'u.
"And my last point, sir—" Maartens took a deep breath before continuing; the High Chamberlain's wings moved ever so slightly, as if he knew where Maartens was going with this.
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