Inwards Bound (The RIM CONFEDERACY Book 13)

by Jim Rudnick

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Sir, we have established the one system that the RIM ship appears to be coming from, Sir. And it’s system R17, Sir,” the helmsman on the Paladin said. His voice as always was very deferential, and as always, he was very militarily polite. On the bridge of the destroyer, his captain and the man who ran the Noriega group of planets, the dictator Noriega, sat behind him. But as per orders, when the dictator was on the bridge, he was the one that all were to respond to.

  Noriega nodded and turned to the captain. “And how much should we trust this, Captain?” he asked.

  Seated in the chair reserved for him alone, in his plain khaki uniform with all those patches, he took another big bite of the sandwich a steward had brought to the bridge on a tray. He’d helped himself after which the rest of the bridge crew had waited until he told them to go ahead. It was a triple decker sandwich with layers of bread, meat, cheese, and big ripe slices of a purple pepper.

  “Sir, I believe that we can at least trust the veracity of the decision that it must be R17. We’ve spent more than five weeks off Memories, watching the ship appear from inside Warlord space. And while we can’t track their Barony Drive like we can scan for our own TachyonDrive—it looks like that is the system, Sir. Will take a couple of days to get there, but should be fruitful, Sir.”

  “Better be, Captain. Or else,” Noriega said between chews, and he gulped down his bottled juice. He looked up at the view-screen on the bridge wall and said, “Plot a course to this R17 system—sidebar with details.”

  The XO behind the captain complied immediately. The system appeared. It had a normal G3 sun with seven planets in orbit. Two of same, the sidebar on the view-screen noted, were in the Goldilocks zone where life could occur. According to Gallipedia, there was life on both—but no sentient life. One of the two had no moons, but the other, inward or closer to the sun itself, had a moon and a ring of asteroids as well in the same lunar orbit but not much more.

  The captain read the information on the sidebar as the rest of the bridge did, and he wondered if that was at all important. The RIM ship, a frigate, came out of this system once a week now and would arrive at Memories. Then a half hour later, it yawed and jumped, using its Barony Drive, out of Warlord space and into the RIM Confederacy. Five times, they’d had a frigate there too, watching, and all five times they’d made calculations by hand as they used to in the old days to try to determine where the frigate had come from. And R17 seemed to be the place.

  “With your permission, Sir,” the captain said, “I’ll have the helm take us to R17 for a look-see? As it’s not within any real Warlord realms—it’s plain free space, Sir, so there is no reason not to go, realm-wise, Sir.”

  The captain wouldn’t, of course, ever just have done that on his own. He had to ask. He wondered if his peers would think that having the captaincy of the Paladin, which meant not being able to do anything, was a great career move. But then he didn’t much care. With more ships in the Noriega group than any other Warlord had, he was happy to have a captaincy, but he so hoped that the dictator wouldn’t be along on more missions.

  “Without a doubt, Captain—make it so. And it is still within the old Pentyaan Oligarchy space, so it is our own area to explore and to keep out any intruders too. That is a fact, Captain,” the man beside him said between bites of his big sandwich. “And, Captain, I want on my tablet—before the end of today—a plan on what we should do when we get there. Search? Fight? I want your options—best-case and worst-case options too,” he said.

  The captain said, “Wilco, Sir,” and he got to work on his console and tried to ignore the loud chewing sounds from a few feet away.

  #####

  The CN Roc popped into normal space in low orbit over Tunander in the middle of the afternoon and was immediately challenged by the landing port authority. On the bridge, the man in the captain’s chair was Admiral Magnusson, who nodded to his Ansible officer, and the ship was granted landing access down to the planet’s landing port. Moments later, the destroyer was going down to the landing port and had been assigned a landing pad close to the Crimson I.

  “Ignore it,” Magnusson said as his Ansible officer was beginning to turn to let him know the Crimson I was trying to contact them.

  The Ansible officer replied, “Wilco,” and the ship continued to go down tail first. The landing took all of nine minutes, and as she settled, there was another chime from the Ansible, and once again, his officer turned toward him. “Sir, it’s the Crimson I again—they want us to know that we’re expected to come over for a meeting ASAP?”

  As she looked at him, and he realized he had no idea what her name was, but that was because as a brand new admiral, he still hadn’t as yet chosen his own bridge crew. He smiled at her. “Officer …” he said, looking at her.

  “Sir, I’m Lieutenant Gould—Ansible officer first class with my certs all done and accredited for, Sir,” she said.

  There was pride in her voice, and he heard that loud and clear. He also knew that to be certified in the Ansible order was a difficult task with more work than reward.

  He nodded to her. “Here’s what I’d like to say on that—for the whole bridge to listen to, if you all please,” he said, and everyone stopped working except the officer at the helm who was closing down ship-wide systems.

  “We represent the Caliphate Navy here. So we are an entity unto ourselves. We will most likely work with the duchy on the Crimson I and even the Baroness’s team when they get here. But we answer to no one. Polite, military protocols—but no obeying any kind of orders. From anyone. Got that?”

  In unison, the bridge crew responded, “Wilco, Sir.”

  “Lieutenant Gould—notify the Crimson I that we’ve just arrived and are settling in. But that in a couple of hours, if they would like to come over for a visit, we’d be glad to have them as guests.” His look was one of calm collected leadership—at least he hoped it was.

  His Ansible lieutenant did her job, and in moments, she looked back at her admiral. “Sir, they will be here in one hour—and I was told to tell you that it is Captain Sander who will be here, the leader of the RIM Confederacy mission to Warlord space, Sir,” she said.

  Figures that they’d try to remind me that someone else is the leader here, he thought. But that was not entirely true—I, as the Caliphate admiral, am in charge of my own realm’s mission here. Will have to remind Sander of that.

  After the normal flow of reports and landing routines, there was a chime from the Roc’s AI.

  “Notice that there are visitors on the landing deck, seeking entry to the ship. Three humans identified as Captain Sander, his XO, Rostrum, and Major Stal, a Barony marine. We await their authorizations to allow entry,” the AI announced and waited.

  Bram and Alver he knew, and the XO was from the Scavenger ship and the Memories battle with the defeated reaper aliens. He knew they’d won that one, but he still had no opinion of her, so there was more to learn.

  “Allow them entry, have them escorted up to my ready room here on the bridge,” Magnusson said to the AI. He nodded to his XO and said, “Comm to you.”

  He went over to the door and into the ready room. In a few minutes, the door reopened, and in walked Captain Sander, his XO, and the marine major. They all nodded to him, as he hadn’t gotten up from behind his console. They also noted there were only two other chairs. Bram took one and gestured for his XO to sit in the other, and Alver stood at ease behind the chairs.

  “You’re an admiral now, Magnusson?” Bram said.

  Okay, that sets the tone, he thought. “I am an admiral, yes, in the Caliphate Navy—and as only a captain, I would expect you to follow military protocol and to address me as sir. Got that, captain?”

  Bram stared at him and then nodded. “Absolutely true, Admiral. My apologies, Sir,” he said, his words clipped.

  Okay, that’s out of the way, Magnusson thought. “You asked to see us, Captain. What can we do you for?”

  Bram
nodded and then leaned forward. “We have a complete report to tender for your use—it’s our mission details over the past few weeks. We expect that the Baroness’s team—on the BN Gibraltar—will arrive tomorrow. The meeting with the Tunander—he’s the local warlord dictator who has the four planets the report covers—will be in three days. Realm-wide holidays have prevented us from getting to that level, but it will happen soon. The Jannah offer is also in the report for your consideration, and as we all know, they will choose from your offer or the Baroness’s offer to become a subordinate realm under their membership in the RIM Confederacy.”

  He stopped then, but Magnusson said nothing.

  Bram continued. “There is, however, a ‘fly in the ointment,’ as they say, and it too is covered in the report, but it’s about this other warlord, Noriega. He has called us both—the Tunander and the RIM—out and has stated that he will not allow any kind of dealing between us. Or, we will face the wrath of the other three warlords. Sounds like a threat to me, Admiral. Have you any opinion on that?”

  Magnusson looked at Bram and half-smiled. “I do. I think that they have a lot to learn. Anything else?” Being short and curt seems to be the way to go, he thought. The major’s stare is a bit over the top, but then he reports to Sander. Magnusson’s smile broadened. “Then thank you. If any more information becomes available, then do let me—rather, let the Caliphate representatives here know,” he said.

  That got nods from them, and he waited. Eventually, the captain across from him saluted first. Magnusson answered with his own salute, as formal as ever.

  #####

  “Admiral, we’re getting landing pad number eleven, Ma’am,” the helmsman said as he’d been instructed to do.

  Admiral Vennamo nodded and said, “Fine … set her down, Lieutenant.”

  As she watched the planet beneath her slowly spin to port, the Gibraltar tipped up so her aft went down first as always. Now, the ship looked out toward the Milky Way galaxy and its huge swath of stars. First lay the big black—as it was called by all—the wide swath with very few stars in it that separated the arm of the galaxy where the RIM lay from the next inner arm. More than three thousand lights the big black was, and it took years to cross it with TachyonDrive engines. It took seconds with the Barony Drive, and she wondered if, in the near future, there would be more trips across the big black just to see what was there or who was there.

  She didn’t dwell on that, but she did have a small tinge of wistfulness about that idea. She’d love to pilot the Gibraltar there herself. Another time and another realm, she thought and grinned as she tried to forget about exploring new vistas.

  A few minutes later, the Gibraltar set down, perfectly too, she thought, and she tried to button up her console but a flashing icon had already appeared on her monitor. She ignored it for a few more minutes as she was signing off on a report, but then she clicked the icon. There was a meeting request with Captain Sander for later that day. He’s a captain now? she thought. Boy, things change. She hit the accept button and then looked after a few more reports, and finally she was done.

  Being the Barony admiral did have its perks, she thought as moments later she was entering her quarters. Her quarters were big with three rooms—a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living room She spent more time in the living room area than in any of the other rooms. She dropped her sidearm on the couch and smiled. Even though she wore a stunner, she’d never used it, and now as the admiral, she’d probably never use it in the future either. With all of the guards always around—Provost guards from the ship, marines, and even EliteGuards when there was Royalty aboard—she’d be the last one to draw a weapon. Probably should drop the wearing of same, she thought, and she decided that was exactly what she’d do. Picking up the holster, she marched it over to the wall unit and tucked it up high on the topmost shelf. Done.

  After her shower, she looked at herself in the mirror. Single, Caucasian female of indeterminate age, she thought and snickered. She was thirty-nine, but only her personnel file said that. In her youth, her brown hair had been many other colors, but brown suited her now and her hair reached just to her collar. Her eyes were brown too, and she thought her nose was a bit to thin. As she disliked jewelry, she wore no earrings in her ears.

  Instead of accessorizing with jewelry, she chose to accessorize with technology. She always had a PDA on—that was her one big addiction. Always the latest, the best, and the most expensive. That’s my mantra, she thought. It allowed her to be in touch, but she was able to do it with style and flair. Her pupils were dilating, she saw, as she thought about the latest one she’d seen in a shop back on Station One over Juno. Very, very expensive but still an admiral’s pay-band is up there too, she thought as she tried to rationalize the purchase.

  She continued her mental observation. Thin but not overly so. Ample in the areas where a woman should be ample and low body fat due to my gym workouts every other day. Definitely a catch for any man. Too bad I’ve not met a man who I think is a catch ... always too wrapped up in their careers. She signed.

  She smiled as she finished brushing her hair. “Right,” she said to herself. “Clean new uniform, and I’ll take four Provost guards with me over to the Crimson I. Should be enough to make a statement. Being an admiral isn’t enough it appears.”

  She labored through the next few hours on the bridge, finishing reports. She did raise an eyebrow at the latest xeno team report on the recent Issian and Praix tour of the wreck off Ghayth. She noted the one thing she would have gone to first—the technology behind the bridge door security—had as yet not been broached to the Praix. Would have gone there first to find out how they teleport a missile or projectile aimed at the bridge door thousands of miles into their arctic secure storage. That would be my first real mission. But not the Xeno team, she thought and sighed.

  At her station, there was a small chime, and an icon flashed to let her know she now had only fifteen minutes to get over to the Crimson I, which lay nearby. “Not a problem,” she said as she closed off a final report and gave the comm to her XO, Lieutenant Commander Nodal Drouhin. He was a career XO. He never wanted to move up, and he never would, which she knew soon after meeting the man on the Gibraltar years ago. He was happy being number two, and his attention to detail was amazing—part of the reason she had so much time to herself was his overall love of the ship and all that happened on same.

  She smiled at Nodal and said, “Take it easy while I’m off ship, XO.”

  He shrugged at her, looked down at his console monitor for a split second, and then back at her. “Admiral, I’ve more than one hundred forty items in my INBOX, so I think I’ll be a busy sailor for a while.

  There wasn’t even a hint of frustration or anger in that answer. In fact, he sounded more like he was proud that he was so busy. Typical career XO, she thought, and she smiled back at him as if to commiserate with him. But she knew he’d not want his INBOX any emptier either.

  She left the bridge, went down the curved corridor to the lift, and then down to Deck One via the lift. Once she reached Deck One, she headed to the ramp down to the landing port tarmac. Her four Provost guards were there already, and they fell in behind her as she moved down the ramp and over the macadam to the Crimson I. A duty officer and a couple of marines met her there. “You’re right on time, Ma’am. Please follow me to the meeting room,” one of the marines said. It took a few more minutes, but she was eventually sitting in front of Captain Sander, and she smiled.

  “Captain, first let me congratulate you on your promotion. You are, I think, the first Issian captain anywhere on the RIM,” she said. Her congratulations were sincere. While he had been under her authority in the Barony Navy just a few months back, as he was a friend of Lord Scott—rather Duke d’Avigdor now—he’d been often under his direct command. She’d never really gotten to know Bram, but it looked like that was going to change.

  He smiled at her and nodded too. “Admiral, yes, thank you so much for those kind words.
I was floored myself when I was asked to captain the Crimson I, and I just hope to rise to the occasion. Might I also offer up that I hear very good things about your own abilities from others I know over at the Captains Council as well.”

  She nodded back. The Captains Council was the group of all Barony Navy captains, which she met with once a month to handle various Barony Navy matters. With now almost thirty ships in the navy and six more on order, including two new Supra destroyers from the Seenra, the Barony Navy was growing.

  She looked at him and now raised an eyebrow. “So, Bram, if I might—what are we doing here in Warlord space?”

  He nodded and passed over a hard copy of the full report on what the Crimson I had been able to investigate so far. ”I’ll forward the file to your tablet over on the Gibraltar too,” Bram said. He then recapped the latest information for her, and he made sure he covered the Noriega situation in depth, including the demands, threats, and everything he assessed as important enough to insure against.

  “This Noriega—do you think that if either the Caliphate or the Barony does get Jannah to leave the Warlord space, that he or he and the other warlords might attack the RIM? Or Jannah? Or this Tunander Coalition even?”

  He looked away for a moment to seemingly think on that, but then he turned back to face her. “I think that Noriega knows that starting a war with the whole RIM is a suicide mission. But, I do think that if he can find a way to hurt Tunander or Jannah directly, he’d take it in an instant. The warlord is, without a doubt, so full of himself and his power that he thinks no one can do anything but obey his commands. At least that’s how I see it, Admiral. He’s a warlord to always have a watch on is what I think is good advice here.”

  She focused on what he said at the closing and nodded. Good advice indeed, she thought. “And I must ask—who is here on the Roc to do the pitch to Jannah?”

  Bram knew she asked that because she wanted to know who her competition would be would be. Bram also knew she was more interested in other developments than getting Jannah to join the Barony. Bram looked at her and smiled. “The Roc brought the newest admiral in the Caliphate Navy—Admiral Magnusson. Yes, that Magnusson,” he added quickly.