In the Stormy Red Sky-ARC

by David Drake

  Daniel rapped out the final words with a vehemence that obviously surprised him when he stopped and realized what he'd done. He coughed and straightened.

  "Sorry, got a bit carried away, I'm afraid," he muttered.

  "Regardless, Senator," Adele said, "Captain Leary is correct in how the forces on Cacique behaved. The prime reason that Admiral Petersen sent a courier to Bolton was to countermand his previous orders and order Captain Varnell to rejoin him off Cacique immediately. Having judged the situation, Petersen feels that he wants all the force he can muster to prevent the RCN squadron from inflicting embarrassing reverses on his blockaders."

  "Since we are in control here on Bolton," Senator Forbes said, leaning forward slightly. "You think we can hold out against this Captain Varnell? Long enough for Cinnabar to get reinforcements to us?"

  Adele turned to Daniel and lifted an eyebrow. She thought she knew the answer, but it wasn't her place to speak for the military commander.

  "Yes, your Excellency," Daniel said, "I think we could hold out for a very long time. A planetary defense array can't be swept quickly at best, and the warehouses here on Bolton include several hundred additional mines which we could use to replace those the Alliance clears."

  He waved a hand dismissively.

  "But I don't intend to fend off Captain Varnell's squadron," he continued. "I have a very different plan."

  He smiled. Seeing his expression, Adele realized the first time the similarities between Daniel and Tovera.

  CHAPTER 21

  St James Harbor, Bolton

  Daniel was in the head of his space cabin when the summons came. He was wearing his commo helmet, but for this he wanted the big display.

  "Go ahead, R12," he said, tugging his trousers up as he ran—well, stumbled—toward the bridge. "Over."

  Whoever was on duty in the BDC rang the deep bong of Action Stations over the PA system. Hatches began to clang against their coamings, a process that would continue for some while since the Milton had been completely opened up to the pleasant day outside.

  "The heavy cruiser Treasurer Johann and the destroyers Z44 and Pigafetta have extracted approximately one and a half million miles from Bolton," Adele's voice stated. Communications algorithms which were designed to counteract the effects of sideband transmission and atmospheric distortion had the odd result of making her sound livelier than she would have been if she'd been giving Daniel a similar report face to face. "There are indications that at least a dozen more ships are following. Full data is being streamed in accordance with Alliance standard operating procedures. R12 over."

  Daniel threw himself onto the couch of his console; it synched automatically with his commo helmet and came live. "Roger, R12," he said. "We're awaiting developments here, out."

  He raised his buttocks and hitched his trousers the rest of the way up. They were still skewed and he'd misaligned the fly when he sealed it, but they'd do for now.

  You could say that this had been the most awkward possible instant for the Alliance squadron to arrive, but it hadn't really mattered. Action with the enemy was what an RCN officer lived for, and it was certainly what Daniel Leary lived for. He could've been just reaching the short strokes with the most beautiful woman in the human universe, and he'd still have run for the command console.

  Daniel grinned. I'd regret that more afterwards, though.

  Sun ran down the corridor, carrying with him the rigging suit that wasn't issued equipment for a gunner—or a Power Room technician, for that matter, which is what he'd been before he'd struck for the specialist rating. If the Milton took the sort of damage that required her crew to suit up, Sun was willing to trade its stiffness and weight for greater protection than an air suit would provide. He was a veteran who'd learned both how to find things that hadn't been offered to him and how to store them in the limited volume of a starship.

  The alarm continued to ring. Pasternak was a methodical man who didn't act without communicating his intent, but things could go wrong. "Power Room," said Daniel over the command channel as incoming ships continued to spill onto his display, "this is Six. Do not, I repeat, do not light the thrusters. We can afford a few extra minutes getting under way if it helps convince our Alliance friends that everybody down here is asleep. Six out."

  Senator Forbes entered the bridge on the gunner's heels. Daniel didn't grimace, but he certainly wished that his august passenger had joined Lieutenant Robinson in the BDC as she'd done in the past. Apparently Forbes had come to regard him as an associate, not just a glorified chauffeur. In many respects that was a positive development, but the start of an engagement with the enemy Daniel would just as soon have been left alone.

  He reached for his cursor to shut off the bell. Before he reached it, somebody in the BDC beat him to it. The hatches continued to ring through the cruiser as they closed, but the sound was almost restful to men and women who'd become spacers because they were ensorcelled by the thought of far worlds.

  "Is this what we're waiting for?" the Senator said. She stood beside the command console and stared at the display with a look of frustrated puzzlement. "They're coming, I mean, this Captain Varnell and his ships?"

  In truth, Daniel didn't have much to do at the moment besides gather information, and retailing that information to Forbes if anything aided his concentration. He glanced at her, smiled, and said, "Yes, your Excellency. The Alliance squadron has arrived, or anyway most of it has."

  After a moment's consideration, he displayed the data in the form of a Plot-Position Indicator centered on the Milton in harbor. Ordinarily one would use the PPI for lesser volumes and only when the ship was itself out of the atmosphere, but it seemed the most effective tool with which to lay things out for a civilian.

  "Here's their flagship, the Director Friedrich," he explained, highlighting the Alliance battleship with red. The dot was invisible at this scale, but the letters fri and three numbers identified the vessel even without calling up the full imbedded particulars.

  Captain Varnell's squadron seemed badly scattered, but Ponape was seven days distant, and they'd probably made long reaches to get here. The officers no less than the crews would be looking forward to liberty in St James City. Well, if things went as Daniel hoped, they'd get complete release from naval duties very shortly.

  "She's accompanied by three heavy cruisers—"

  More highlights, this time in magenta. The Johann and Eckernferde had extracted within ten thousand miles of the flagship, but the Arcona was a hundred thousand miles away, more distant than most of the freighters.

  "—and a squadron of originally ten destroyers according to the dispatches on the Zieten—"

  The highlights this time were pink. Adele would be pleased with how much I've learned from seeing her work.

  "—but there's only seven present now. I don't know if that means the other three were left on Ponape or if they're just a trifle later—ah, there's eight! And nine as well."

  Though he continued cheerful and smiling, mention of Adele reminded Daniel of her circumstances. He wouldn't need the recent examples of the R14 and R16 to inform him of what a heavy plasma bolt would do to a 90-tonne mine tender—but he had those examples.

  "But there's more ships than that," said Forbes. "The white ones."

  Then, hopefully, she looked from the display to Daniel's face and said, "Are they ours? Are we getting reinforcements after all?"

  Daniel's expression went instantly blank. The question was completely unexpected, as much so as if the Senator had suggested that they begin to pray to the Gods to grant victory to the forces of Justice and Cinnabar.

  It was rather fortunate that he was taken aback. If he'd understood from the first instant what Forbes was saying, he'd probably have blurted something in a tone that would have to be considered insulting.

  "Ah, no, your Excellency," Daniel said, carefully keeping his eyes turned toward the great holographic display. "The blush dots—"

  They weren't white, but
he might not have emphasized that if he hadn't been so appalled by the Senator's misunderstanding. Only desperation could have led her to such a ludicrous fantasy.

  "—are freighters travelling in company with Captain Varnell. There should be seven in all, six of them—ah, there's the other two and the last destroyer as well."

  He cleared his throat, still looking at the display, and continued, "Six of the transports originally carried materials for the base which Admiral Petersen constructed in the New Harmony system during the siege. They've probably been sent here to carry additional supplies to Petersen's main force which is now off Cacique, but I won't know that until I can examine their orders."

  "And the last ship?" said Forbes—evenly, but with a hint of cold displeasure. She had apparently sensed how Captain Leary really felt about her hopeful suggestion. "Since I believe it's colored blush, like the other transports."

  Daniel grimaced and met her eyes. "Yes, your Excellency," he said, "but it isn't a Fleet vessel or even under Fleet command. The Fifth Bureau, that is—"

  "I know what the Fifth Bureau is, Captain," Forbes said. "I've known what the Fifth Bureau was since before you were born."

  Daniel dipped his torso in what he hoped was a submissive gesture. It was as close to a bow as he could manage while seated at his console.

  "Just so, your Excellency," he said. "Guarantor Porra sends his inquisitors along with every expedition so that they get in on the ground floor, so to speak. My expectation is that this ship, the Oswestry, will be carrying the offspring of the locals whom the Alliance has installed as the rulers of New Harmony."

  "Rather than pro-Cinnabar leaders?" Forbes said, surprise finally overcoming her pique.

  Daniel shrugged. "That's what we would do on a recently . . ." he said, then paused.

  He gave Forbes a lopsided smile and resumed, "A world recently welcomed to the Friendship of the Republic, I should say. Based on what I've seen of Alliance practice, the people who had been ruling New Harmony in friendship with Cinnabar are now either dead or being tortured back on New Harmony. The Oswestry will be carrying hostages from the present ruling elite, much like the others whom we recently freed from the prison colony on East Continent."

  The Senator's nostrils flared. "I see," she said.

  Daniel looked at the display. The Alliance squadron was reforming. The ships would reenter the Matrix for a brief hop closer to Bolton. They could make the run in sidereal space, of course, but that would take days or weeks.

  They'd been reasonable in erring on the side of caution when they made their first extraction in the system, however, especially since there were merchantmen in the convoy. A navigation error that put a ship too close to the Planetary Defense Array would mean instant destruction.

  Daniel turned to Forbes again. He was embarrassed at what he was about to say, but he decided to say it anyway.

  "Your Excellency," he said, "I'm not a philosopher, I'm an RCN officer. It's my duty and my honor to carry out the Republic's policies, not to worry about whether they're correct in some abstract way. But I've seen what it's like on the edges, a long way from Cinnabar and Pleasaunce . . . and your Excellency? However much they may grumble, people are bloody lucky to be paying Cinnabar taxes and reporting to Cinnabar bureaucrats, because I've seen what the choice is. Bloody lucky!"

  "As you may have guessed, Leary," Forbes said, "the Senate doesn't concern itself with such abstract questions either. But I suspect you're right, and I'm pleased at the realization. Though it obviously doesn't affect our own actions."

  She coughed. "Having said that," she went on, "what do we do next?"

  "We wait, your Excellency," said Daniel, returning to the display. The Alliance vessels were vanishing into the Matrix; shortly they would reappear just outside Bolton's minefield, waiting for mine tender R12 to pass them down to the surface. "We wait for Lady Mundy to carry out her task, which she will do with the perfect competence she has exhibited in all her previous duties."

  And we'll hope that Adele and the spacers with her are lucky, Daniel thought. Because her skill guarantees success, but it doesn't guarantee survival.

  Above Bolton

  "Squadron Command, this is R12," Adele said, watching her screen coordinate the squadron which was appearing with the ships the Zieten's dispatches had led her to expect. "Bolton Control has changed its procedures. All vessels in your squadron will be passed into landing orbit together, then the array will be reactivated. Please confirm that you understand, over."

  Her sidebar list of Alliance ships as listed in the Zieten's dispatches was in white print. Those names were quickly turning black on a white background. Another blip appeared on the main display; the last name on the sidebar changed. All present, and no extra vessels. The number—whether less or greater—of vessels didn't matter, but it pleased Adele to have everything occur according to plan.

  "R12, this is Friedrich Signals," said the voice which had made contact by laser communicator when the battleship reentered sidereal space a few minutes before. "Hold one, please, I'm passing this up to Squadron Operations, over."

  The mine tender's bridge was cramped. Vesey was controlling the vessel from the signals console, a flat-plate display which left the command console and the vessel's only holographic display to Adele. Tovera sat at the third bridge station, her face placid and her eyes empty as usual.

  Adele had never been sure what her servant thought about. A spider's brain had no room for anything but a hunger to kill; were Tovera's thought processes that simple?

  Tovera looked up and smiled. Adele stiffened in shock, instinctively afraid that Tovera had read her mind. Though—

  Adele returned the smile wryly. It didn't really matter what Tovera knew or thought. She was a loyal dog; or perhaps better, a loyal spider.

  The R12 had been holding the usual 1 g acceleration. They staggered suddenly and began what would have been a tumble if Vesey hadn't caught them immediately.

  Adele frowned, wondering if they wouldn't have been better to give Vesey the command console and herself control the minefield from the signals station. The latter required complex work to be sure, but Adele was sure that she could handle it with the display of her little personal unit if she needed to.

  On the other hand, Vesey seemed perfectly comfortable at the two-dimensional screen. Her fingers moved with calm certainty across the virtual controls. She didn't, perhaps, make adjustments like a musician as Adele had often watched Daniel do, but she moved like a chess player confident in her game.

  Adele nodded approvingly, though the brief tick of her head would probably have gone unremarked even if the lieutenant hadn't been absorbed with her duties. The tone of the High Drive motors grew harsher, a feeling rather than an audible sound; the ship steadied.

  "PDA Control, this is Squadron Three," said a gravelly, forceful, male voice. The squadron ops officer would ordinarily be a full captain, but in the present case he might be a senior commander instead. "What's this about not dicking us around for half a day in orbit as usual? Has Commander Stemphill come to her senses, over?"

  Adele's smile was cold as a knife edge. "Squadron Three," she said, "I can't speak regarding Commander Stemphill. The present Defense Systems Officer, Commander Wohner, is responsible for the current SOP, over."

  The operations officer might be perfectly willing to accept his good luck and bring the whole squadron into the minefield without concern or further comment. On the other hand, he—or someone younger and smarter on the staff, or even Captain Varnell personally—might think twice about it. News that Commander Stemphill, whose punctilio was apparently well known in the squadron, had been replaced should allay any suspicions.

  As it did. "Roger, PDA Control," said the voice. "I'll be transmitting our course data in a couple minutes. But just to be sure, shut the array off right now. We've got civilians in this convoy, and the Arcona had a partial failure in her astrogation computer so she's running at half speed. Unless we want to wait for th
e cows to come home, we'll have to accept a greater margin of error than you'd usually get from a timber freighter, over."

  "Roger, Squadron Three," said Adele. "I am disarming the planetary defense array. No ships will be allowed to land until the entire squadron is present, however."

  She paused. The array was already on manual control, but there was no way for the Alliance ships to learn that.

  "The array is disarmed," she said. "R12 out."

  "Squadron out," said the voice.

  Adele took a deep breath. Vesey, who'd been watching her, said, "We're on plan, sir?"

  "Yes," said Adele. Vesey ranked her by virtue of a commission as well as command of the mine tender, but it was doubtful whether even Daniel's direct order would have caused her to act as though that were true. "We'll be getting their planned extraction point shortly."

  "I'm sorry about the trouble with the motors," Vesey said apologetically. "We refitted the High Drive in a hurry, and I can't hold either of the bow motors steady. I'd been operating with the starboard unit angled to balance the stern pair, but I've had to shut it down too. We can maintain attitude and acceleration with two motors if we have to."

  She smiled with a pride she wouldn't have shown in the long months following the death of her fiancé, Midshipman Dorst. "Since we have to, I should say," she added.

  "It only has to last for another ten minutes," Adele said. The humor of the situation struck her and she added, "Or even less than that if one of the Alliance ships calls what it thinks is our bluff."

  Tovera giggled. A moment later Vesey smiled also and said, "Just so, mistress. But I'll plan on nursing the motors for the entire ten minutes."

  They'd been lucky to get the R12 into orbit at all. Because of the necessary destruction of R14 and the suicidal foolishness of R16's captain, R12 was the only ship of her class on Bolton; she'd been undergoing a full refit when the Milton arrived. Though any ship could have been modified to control the minefield, the incoming squadron would expect a dedicated mine tender.