Raven's Course (Peacekeepers of Sol Book 3)

by Glynn Stewart

  She smiled thinly.

  The Kozun weren’t going to get a starting point of “you pay us” to negotiate down from. Not while Sylvia Todorovich was part of the negotiations, anyway!

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Raven’s bridge was a quiet place. It was far from empty—the battlecruiser was on Status Two, which meant there was a shift and a half on duty—but what conversation was happening was doing so quietly and thoughtfully.

  It was Okafor Ihejirika’s watch and Henry wasn’t needed on the bridge at all. He had every faith in his tactical officer to handle matters unless things went very wrong, and yet he found himself drawn to the big command center and its detailed displays of the space surrounding them.

  “Ser!” Ihejirika greeted him, beginning to rise from the command seat before Henry waved him back down.

  “As you were, Commander,” Henry ordered. “It’s your watch; I’m just observing.”

  Suiting actions to words, he settled into the observer seat next to Ihejirika.

  “I haven’t seen any alerts,” he said quietly. “Anything going on?”

  “We’re all just sitting here, glaring at each other while the diplomats talk,” Ihejirika told him. “I’m guessing no one knows how long that’s going to go on for?”

  Henry chuckled.

  “Ask me later, once Todorovich has sent an update over,” he said. “Right now, I know as much about the negotiations as anyone else. I’d guess that we’re looking at a week or so, at the minimum.

  “No matter how cut-and-dried the situation seems to us, there’s always complications when nations sit down at the negotiating table. The distances mean a ceasefire isn’t even needed, so long as both sides are waiting to hear what happens here.”

  “It’s going to be a twitchy week,” Ihejirika admitted. “Everybody’s shields are up, but energy shields are more transparent to scanners than gravity shields.”

  From the inside, Henry’s people knew the exact magnitude of the gravity shear impacting the incoming light and radiation. They could reconstruct what happened outside easily enough. Those on the outside couldn’t see through the shear with any detail at all.

  “Are you poking at our neutrals and peace-bonded enemies, Commander?” Henry asked.

  “Not…yet,” Ihejirika replied. “Just watching energy signatures. But.”

  “But what, Commander?”

  “If we synchronize scanners with Glorious and adjust her position slightly, we can get clearer images of everyone else,” the tactical officer told him. “We won’t get perfect data right away, but a few hours of recorded sensor information should be enough for us to tell you anything you want to know.”

  “I’m listening,” Henry allowed.

  “We can also probably sneak some drones out, get more detailed closeups.”

  “Probably is overestimating our odds there,” Henry said calmly. “At least your odds of closeups.” He shrugged. “You could sneak drones out through the missile launchers, I suppose. Low-impulse magnetic launches; keep the drives turned off until they’re well away…you could hide them but you wouldn’t get any use out of them at a valuable range.

  “We wouldn’t be able to bring up drives or sensors until they were at least ten million klicks away, at which point they’re not adding much to your sensor take.” He shook his head. “There’s no point, Commander.”

  Ihejirika paused, considering his arguments, then sighed and nodded.

  “Fair. I’m just not used to having this kind of opportunity to get a close-up look at enemies and friends anymore,” he admitted. “I don’t think we’ve had this close a look at even a Guardian in a while—and these cruisers are post-war construction.”

  “I didn’t say don’t take a look,” Henry said. “Get that coordination with Glorious. See what we can do with our positions without drawing too much attention, and dig out every passive sensor we’ve got or can fabricate.

  “Point everything we can at the cruisers and the Guardians alike, and learn whatever you can. I want to know what Protector-Legate Half-Blue-Third-Red drinks in the morning. Do whatever you think can get us more data on what we’re looking at.”

  “Yes, ser,” Ihejirika said.

  “Just don’t get caught,” Henry finished. “We can do a lot with passive sensors, so let’s do that. But we don’t want to do anything that’s going to make Ambassador Todorovich’s job harder. Understood?”

  “Yes, ser,” the tactical officer repeated. “I’ve got a maneuver pattern already drawn up. Do you want to take a look?”

  “Are you confident in it?” Henry asked. “Because you’re the tactical officer, Em Ihejirika. I trust your judgment, but I’ll take a look if you want.”

  “I’m confident, ser,” Ihejirika told him. “But since you’re here, I won’t turn down a second set of eyes.”

  Henry smiled.

  “Good answer, Commander, good answer,” he said. “All right, show me your plan.”

  Eventually, Henry left his bridge crew in the process of setting up the maneuvers and analyses necessary for Ihejirika’s plan. He hadn’t had much to change on the maneuver pattern—and what he’d changed had only been optimizing.

  His crew were a well-oiled machine. Ihejirika, like many of his officers, was ready for the next step. Technically, however, the United Planets Space Force was at peace. That meant its officers were operating under peacetime promotion patterns—in the UPSF, a twice-yearly review.

  That review of his people’s files would be taking place on Earth in the next few weeks. That review could have three main results: deferred, promoted, held for formal board.

  There were other results, but the most common would be deferred or held for a formal board. The reports and files submitted had to mark spectacular actions and improvements for a promotion to be passed entirely on the recommendation of an officer’s immediate superiors.

  It happened, though, and unless simply being part of the Initiative was a black mark, Henry expected to see a lot of his officers and spacers getting well-deserved promotion notices in the near future.

  Ihejirika deserved his own XO slot or even his own destroyer. Iyotake deserved the XO slot on a carrier or his own battlecruiser. Everyone would ripple upward through the crew, and it was going to be a giant pain for Henry to deal with.

  And if he had to write those reports and recommendations again, they’d probably be even more glowing.

  He was allowing himself a rare grin when his internal network chimed to let him know he was receiving a communications request. He checked his schedule. He was supposed to be reviewing heat radiator reports at the moment, in preparation for meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Song to go over their usage rate of the thousands of the feather-like devices that covered Raven’s hull.

  Then Henry realized the request had the tags for an external contact and was being relayed directly to him by Moon’s senior deputy. It was a direct tightbeam radio from one of the Kozun cruisers…and that meant Henry knew exactly who was calling him.

  A mental command opened the channel, routing it to the holoprojectors over the desk in his office. He adjusted his own position so the recorder was picking him up clearly—and the commissioning seal and UPA flag behind him.

  That precaution proved unnecessary as Star Voice Kalad’s image appeared above his desk. She was clearly in her own office aboard her cruiser flagship, but she appeared to be alone.

  “Hi, Henry,” she said in slow English. “It’s good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you,” he agreed. “You didn’t seem to think it would happen when we last spoke.”

  “‘The falcon cannot hear the falconer,’” Kalad quoted at him. She’d acquired a taste for Yeats when he’d been teaching her English a long time ago. Back when he’d been the XO of the UPSF battlecruiser supporting the Kozun Vesheron.

  “You misestimated Mal Dakis?” Henry asked.

  “So it seems,” she said. “Star Commander Kan bore the burden of his failures
alone. I met with the First Voice.”

  Kan had been the officer in charge of the fleet that had tried to hold La-Tar against the Cluster and the UPSF. He’d died with his flagship, leaving Kalad in command of the fleet and stuck ordering a retreat she’d expected to cost her life.

  Now, the Kozun officer was silent for a moment. She was probably not only deciding what to say but how to say it in English.

  “The First Voice agreed with the decision to withdraw. I was commended for my wisdom and promoted, as you see.”

  “He is wiser than I had dared hope,” Henry admitted. A wise enemy was also a dangerous one, which wasn’t great for the UPA, but he’d live with that since it had saved his friend.

  “He fears you,” Kalad said. Those three words alone told him that she was confident in the security of their communication. That was not a phrase an officer of the Kozun Hierarchy should be using about the First Voice. “Not the UPA, Henry. You.”

  “I have no ill will for Mal Dakis,” Henry told her. “He knows that.”

  “Perhaps.”

  The channel was silent. It was an awkward silence, of friends who’d become enemies and weren’t quite sure what to say.

  “Your mate and child?” Henry finally asked. “They are well?”

  “They are,” she confirmed. “My mate…feared the First Voice’s wrath as well. But I am here…and Star Commander Kan’s name is…shit.”

  “Mud,” Henry corrected with an unforced laugh. “His name is mud is the metaphor you’re aiming for, I think.”

  “Shit fits better for Kozun culture,” she told him, her tone playfully prim for a few seconds before she turned serious again.

  “Tell me, Henry Wong. Is the Cluster truly prepared to accept peace?”

  “They never wanted a war, Kalad. Your people brought it to them, not the other way around,” he reminded her.

  “We…” She closed her eyes, struggling for a moment before continuing in Kem. “We would hunt vengeance across a thousand stars, as we did against the Kenmiri.”

  Henry took a moment to process that before shaking his head gently.

  “Then perhaps it is best for everyone that the La-Tar Cluster’s leaders are more forgiving than the Kozun,” he suggested, staying in English. He knew Kalad could follow it even better than she could speak it.

  “You have faith in them, then?”

  “If Oran Aval has come for peace, she will find it here,” Henry told his old friend. “If there is anyone here I doubt, my old friend, it is your people.”

  And the Drifters, but he wasn’t going to say that. Not yet.

  “We are here for peace,” Kalad insisted.

  Henry wished he could believe her…but he knew all too well that Kalad, friend as she was, was entirely capable of lying to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Rising Principle might have been using an electronic translator because their native communication involved color and scent changes too subtle for most Ashall species to even register, but their opening statement was brutally precise.

  Even Oran Aval remained silent as the Enteni laid out the impacts of the Kozun invasion. The war dead were one thing, but they continued on with the actions of the Kozun occupation. Retaliatory executions. Random home invasions.

  A long catalog of actions that Sylvia could only classify as war crimes—though she had to admit that neither the Kozun Hierarchy nor the La-Tar Cluster were signatories to Earth’s Geneva Convention.

  The room was silent after Rising Principle concluded their estimate of the costs of the Kozun invasion to the Cluster. It wasn’t an explicit demand for compensation, but the intent was clear.

  Aval finally leaned forward after a minute or so of silence and leveled her gem-blue gaze on Sylvia.

  “Neither accepting nor denying the Cluster’s clear demand for compensation, I want to understand what everyone’s starting position is,” she said in her calm Kem. “So, Ambassador Todorovich. What does the United Planets Alliance want here?”

  “We want the war to end,” Sylvia replied. “We want the Kozun to acknowledge that they invaded without provocation. We want to avoid being dragged back into conflict in this region by our promises to defend the various planets we have signed treaties with.

  “We will defend those worlds, but we would far rather see the Ra Sector flourish in peaceful trade.” She smiled thinly.

  “In a perfect universe, we would see the Kozun Hierarchy change,” she told Aval. “We do not acknowledge the transfer of authority by military conquest. By that standard, the vast majority of the territory the Hierarchy claims is illegitimate in our eyes.”

  She raised a hand before Aval could object.

  “That, Voice Aval, is not part of these negotiations,” she warned. “There are ways, perhaps, that the Hierarchy could come to an agreement with the UPA that would allow future treaties and trade, but the minimum starting point for that is peace with the La-Tar Cluster.”

  Sylvia would be delighted but surprised to be able to have that conversation with Oran Aval. The UPA’s government and the megacorporations now beginning to grow their trade networks in the Ra Sector would love to have treaties allowing trade into the Kozun worlds—so long as those worlds weren’t enslaved.

  “I see,” Aval allowed. “It is healthy, I think, for all three of us to know where the others stand as we begin these discussions. We all have our objectives and missions here, but we are all here to discuss peace.

  “In the interests of a good-faith demonstration of our intent, the Voices of the Kozun have ordered a unilateral cease-fire on our side. No Hierarchy warships will enter Cluster space until and unless I confirm these discussions have ended in failure.”

  “And what about the scout ships in the Satra System and elsewhere?” Sylvia asked.

  “The Satra System is a skip nexus outside the stars of the La-Tar Cluster,” the Kozun told her swiftly. “Whether it belongs to the Cluster should, perhaps, be negotiated instead of assumed, yes?”

  Sylvia held Aval’s gaze, neither of them so much as blinking.

  “But yes,” Aval finally confirmed. “All of our ships have been withdrawn a minimum of two skips away from the systems of the La-Tar cluster. We wish to avoid any potential misunderstandings that could undermine these discussions.”

  Sylvia took a moment to consider what Oran Aval had said—or more exactly, how she’d said it. She’d replied instantly, but she’d spoken about the system, not the ships. Raven and their Cluster allies had chased a corvette out of Satra, but was it possible Aval didn’t know about that?

  If she didn’t know, that suggested that Aval wasn’t being briefed on everything. That was a dangerous possibility. It meant that the Third Voice’s mission could be entirely aboveboard so far as Aval knew—and still a trap.

  “I can-will assure you that the La-Tar will-can-not launch an offensive of our own until these discussions are-can be completed,” Rising Principle told the Kozun. “This cease fire fate-time is-was mutual.”

  “That will help us all, I think,” Aval replied. “If we can keep our respective fleets at harbor, that gives us time to sort through the complexities of this situation and find a mutually acceptable agreement.”

  Rising Principle glared at her, a gesture that was even more intimidating from an Enteni as it required their mouth to be wide open.

  “I must admit, Voice Aval, that the situation is not particularly complex from my point of view,” Sylvia observed. “The question is not what happened but what the Hierarchy is prepared to do to guarantee that it won’t happen again.”

  “Our word is insufficient, then?” Aval asked.

  “Your word is drenched in blood.”

  The room was silent again and Oran Aval bowed her head slightly.

  “I believe we have all postured sufficiently for the opening events,” she told the other two diplomats. “I would like a chance to withdraw to my shuttle and review the information you have provided.”

  “None
of this should-could be new to you,” Rising Principle objected.

  “Perhaps not. Perhaps you have provided more detail than I had before. Perhaps I merely need to consider the opening positions you have presented,” Aval said calmly. “In any case, I suggest we adjourn for twelve hours and meet again then.

  “That will give us all time to consume the positions we face.”

  Sylvia glanced over at Principle. The Enteni probably needed the time to chill out. They were gifted at this and had acquired hard-earned experience assembling the alliance that had liberated their world, but they were still young.

  “I agree,” she said firmly. “We will all take some time to consider our positions and meet again in twelve hours. Rising Principle?”

  The Enteni finally closed their mouth and bowed their head in concession.

  “Good.” Oran Aval shot up to her feet. “I will return to my shuttle and rest there. We will speak again soon.”

  The Kozun contingent was halfway out of the room before Sylvia could say a word. She let them leave before exhaling a muted sigh.

  “That one has-owns no shame,” Rising Principle said grimly.

  “That is her job,” Sylvia warned them. “Whatever her morals or opinions, she has to negotiate the best deal she can for the Kozun.” She shook her head. “If I was in her position, you would say I have no shame.”

  They’d be wrong, just as Sylvia suspected the Enteni was wrong about the Third Voice. But that shame wouldn’t change the positions that Sylvia would present at the negotiating table.

  And if, as Sylvia suspected, the Third Voice was sickened by what had been done at La-Tar, Oran Aval wouldn’t let it impact her stances. Her duty was to extricate the Hierarchy from the war at a minimum price.

  Sylvia’s duty, on the other hand, was to make sure the Hierarchy paid so heavily to extract itself from the La-Tar Cluster that they would hesitate to launch another campaign of conquest.