Loralynn Kennakris 3: Asylum

by Owen R. O'Neill

  PrenTalien, caught out in his guess, answered his friend’s smile with his own. “Harry, you may have point. You may, indeed.”

  Z-Day +4 (Early AM)

  LSS Athena Nike, Outbound Station;

  Gamma Hydras, Hydra Border Zone

  Eleven hours later, the battlecruiser LSS Artemisia, with four destroyers and a trio of cruisers as consorts, translated through the Outbound junction and cleared into orbit. While the battlecruiser was still decelerating, her captain’s gig launched and fifteen minutes later out stepped onto Nike’s boat deck, not the battlecruiser’s captain, but Commodore Yasmin Shariati. She made her duty to the Blue Peter (the CEF Navy’s particular flag, which commanded the first respects of all who came aboard) and then swept down the ramp to meet Admiral Sabr, who was waiting expectantly for her.

  The commodore was as tall and striking as the admiral was short and ugly, which caused a good deal of good-natured ribaldry on the lower decks (where they were complemented Lo Gai’s tag of ‘Demon Gin’ by affectionately referring to his wife as ‘the Devil’s Dancing Girl’). As physically dissimilar as two human beings could well be, they were alike in being fierce, almost to the point of savagery, dedicated, honorable according to their lights, and extremely good at what they did.

  She greeted her husband in a high, pure carrying soprano that would have allowed her a fine career in the opera had she not taken out a letter of marque as a privateer instead, before accepting a commission in the CEF as commander of a roving cruiser squadron. Indeed, on less busy evenings, she was known to sing, accompanied by a quartet of her officers, and she did so to great acclaim.

  But neither operatic evenings nor even connubial bliss were on their minds tonight. Striding across the deck together, arms about each other companionably—his reaching high, her curving low—and talking rapid and confident tones, there could be no more doubt about what most had guessed the moment Shariati’s battlecruiser first appeared: the rocket had just gone up.

  * * *

  Admiral Sabr and Commodore Shariati foregathered alone on Nike’s flag bridge. This meeting was their private consultation; they would assemble their respective staffs later, but it was their habit to hash things out between themselves first. Addressing her husband across the omnisynth, she gestured at the data swirling and dancing through the display.

  “Look at this, now. I think they are using a new variety of gravitic shunt to mask their drive wakes.” She highlighted four areas of in the holographic volume. “These are where we obtained the best reads. You can see why Rhimer thought the Bannermans must have slipped out somehow, given his notions, but any way you look at it, it is odd. No amount of shunting could disguise battleships under these conditions, and there are none. What we were able to collect of the energy readings doesn’t fit either. But these signatures, however distorted, are certainly destroyers—the numbers are not consistent with a typical Halith task group. And see here—the histogram.” At her command, the omnisynth produced a plot of the estimated mass ratios of the detected drive wakes. It was clearly bimodal. “See what’s missing? Heavy cruisers—or battlecruisers. There ought to be more.”

  “What do you make of it?” Sabr was forming his own opinions.

  Shariati leaned back from the omnisynth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a carrier battle group. Perfectly absurd, of course.”

  “Quite absurd,” her husband agreed, amiably.

  The commodore favored her husband with a sidelong look and a familiar smile. “What do you know that you haven’t yet told me, dear?”

  “Adenauer’s CARDIV I sortied thirty hours before of the main body.”

  “Did they indeed?”

  “They did. Constance was on the spot. We believed it was to better distribute the mass loading through the node, broadening the available jump windows. To account for the monitor.”

  “The monitor—yes. I was informed of that.”

  Sabr allowed the dig. “This data’s what? Almost thirty-seven hours old?”

  “Closer to forty,” his wife replied, “when you account for the lag.”

  “Let’s compare then.” Together, they applied themselves to the omnisynth’s controls, and within a minute several timelines and their associated signature data were merged and correlated.

  “Ah,” they announced together. “CARDIV I, without a doubt.” It was the commodore who supplied the amplification. “So they used CARDIV I to decoy Rhimer off his station. And then returned together?”

  “I just wonder about that,” Sabr commented. “We don’t know if they actually jumped, do we? Shall I mention another factor of which you may not be fully aware?”

  “Do.”

  The admiral related the story of the fuel caper and the fictitious tanker fleet. “Individual commands are being informed by courier.”

  “Of course.” No other ear would have detected the note of semi-apology, but she did not take umbrage. There were professional limits, even between spouses. “So what are you thinking, dear? I know you have a good head for tactics.”

  “Destroying our refueling capability would cut off Joss’s retreat. They had to consider that in their plans. The fuel caper was to encourage them in those directions, by way of a red herring.”

  “Yes?” his spouse coaxed.

  “The logical option was to assign that role to the Bannermans. It’s the sort of mission they’re used to, and Callindra’s the favored place launch from. Keeps thing tidy too—no interoperability issues, that sort thing.”

  “But?”—uttered sweetly.

  Sabr looked over the traces and scratched the curling beard that grew almost to his eyes. “There is no reason whatever to assume the Doms intend to launch a strike against us with just a carrier force. They never operate carriers groups independently. It’s risky, it’s wholly against their sacred, infallible doctrine, and there hasn’t been a pure carrier battle in this century. Adenauer’s not the sort of man to suddenly be seized by originality.” He gave her a smile that was all edges through his beard. “Therefore, I conclude that is precisely what they are doing.”

  “Then this is still a raid. Aimed at destroying that ‘tanker fleet’.”

  “Exactly. They cannot hope to take the station with just carriers, though they might destroy the outer works, the fueling plants—make a mess generally. But it also means they don’t view this as an independent op. Trapping Third at Wogan’s Reef is their objective. Novaya Zemlya all over again.”

  “Quiet so. And if they have their hearts set on lighting up a tanker fleet, I think we should take pains to provide them with one. I hate to break anyone’s heart.”

  “If you can, by all means do so. Of course, if it’s that critical to them, CARDIV I might well be supported by a center force. Fire the magazines, as it were—the station and the fleet. In which case—”

  “It will have been nice knowing you, dearest”—giving his shoulder a familiar squeeze.

  “Likewise,” he replied in an affectionate growl. “But you have Joss’s orders. If it comes to that, it might be best to order Trafalgar back to Merope. She won’t be of great use to you, and the taxpayers would appreciate it.”

  The commodore laughed—a bright, ringing sound. “You know how I feel about taxpayers. And Jan RyKirt will mutiny if I so much as breathe any such suggestion.”

  “That is true, I suppose.” Lo Gai paused. “And while we are on the subject of potential mutiny, I must you inform that the Admiralty has issued strict orders that under no circumstances is Commander Huron to be risked in any engagement in which the odds are deemed unfavorable.”

  That elevated the commodore’s eyebrows to a surprising degree. “On what justification?”

  “Indications are that Captain Banner was severely wounded—perhaps even killed—at Miranda. In any event, taken out of action.”

  “Indeed, I heard something of that. One of your people—an ensign, wasn’t it?”

  “Ensign Kennakris, yes.” His inflection seemed
to give the name an unusual degree of significance, but he quickly moved on. “SECNAV greatly fears a similar mishap with Huron. There are hints, I am told, that the Doms’ propaganda organs are concocting a scheme to explain what happened to Banner, and should Huron become a fatality, they will surely credit it to him—heroic duel to the death, that sort of thing. Obviously, that would hand them a substantial moral victory and we are ordered to take ‘all necessary steps’ to ensure that no such thing occurs.”

  “Has Rafe been informed of these orders?” The question was accompanied with an arch look.

  “The occasion has not yet arisen, no.”

  “I see.” The melodically sarcastic tone eloquently expressed how much she appreciated having this small detail dropped in her lap. She’d rather Lo Gai had handed her a poisonous snake—she was fond of snakes. “Did SECNAV provide any guidance as to how far I am allowed to go in taking ‘all necessary steps’ regarding this matter?”

  The admiral considered. “Lethal force is clearly out of the question.” He stroked his jaw through the thick curls. “I believe maiming would be frowned upon.”

  “Oh, that narrows down my options, doesn’t it?”

  He gave her that knife-edged smile. “Well, it is in your hands. Do as you think best.”

  Chapter Two: The Die is Cast

  Z-Day +4 (PM)

  LSS Trafalgar, Outbound Station;

  Gamma Hydras, Hydra Border Zone

  “With the assets we have, ma’am, trying to maintain a CAP is basically a waste of time.” Commander Sonovia Harmon, Trafalgar’s fighter boss, waved her hand through the omnisynth’s holographic display.

  “Then there’s no point in trying to maintain one, is there?” Commodore Shariati looked across at Commander Harmon, observing her critically. She had transferred her flag to Trafalgar from Artemisia upon Lo Gai’s departure—an entirely prudent move, but not an entirely comfortable one. These were Lo Gai’s people and she didn’t know them well. Further, all TF 34 had been able to spare them were three cruisers, one heavy and two light, along with enough destroyers to provide a barely ample screen for the carriers. By all reasonable metrics they were badly overmatched by the approaching forces, and this wasn’t having a good effect on anyone’s temper. So Shariati had a distinct feeling Harmon was playing it a bit close to the vest with her temporary CO. They didn’t have time for that.

  “But ma’am, we also don’t have the recon assets to cover all the potential threat axes and our sensor net does not extend far enough to give us the reaction window we’d need to rely purely on interceptors.”

  “Then we would be well advised to make the Doms worry about us, instead of us worrying about them, wouldn’t we?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Harmon agreed with a twinge of alarm. The commodore had made her name in small actions; she was new to fighter ops and Harmon was getting a sinking feeling that she may not fully appreciate the difficulties involved. It was one thing to commit slashing attacks with a squadron built around a fast battlecruiser, and quite another to try it with the understrength task group they had, especially with slugs in it like their two frigates and the light carrier LSS Concordia.

  Commodore Shariati seemed to be reading her mind and smiled. “Don’t worry, Sonovia—I’m not suggesting we go entirely ‘jolly roger’ here—but if we can keep landing jabs, they won’t be able to get off a coordinated strike—you know how the Doms dote on that. Breaking up their arrangements early and often is our only real chance, isn’t it?” They had loaded all the latest data along with their assessments into a couple of hyperdrones and launched them to PrenTalien at Point Moira, but they knew they could not expect help from that quarter. They would have to fight this battle out themselves.

  “Certainly, ma’am.” Harmon looked beseechingly over at Commander Jagai DeCano, Huron’s successor as Lo Gai’s operations officer, who’d been left behind not only to lend his expertise but to act as a buffer between the officers of the task group and the commodore’s staff.

  “I agree, ma’am,” DeCano said. “But employing a cascading defense with strong attritional tactics”—essentially what the commodore meant by landing jabs—“requires assets we don’t have. Especially stealth frigates.”

  “Good point,” interjected Captain Dirk Bajorat, Shariati’s chief of staff, and both commanders breathed an inward sigh of relief. This mixing of staffs on the fly was a tricky business and Captain Bajorat’s willingness to offer the comment was a hopeful sign.

  Shariati nodded, her expression composed and withdrawn. “True, Dirk. Let’s get all the staff together and see what we have to work with . . .”

  * * *

  “That’s the size of it, ma’am,” Commander DeCano finished. “They can hit us with about twice our mass and strike power, on any of these three axes.” He highlighted each of them on the omnisynth. “That’s assuming they don’t have a center force with them. If they bring just two heavy hitters along, my assessment is that we’re all looking at early retirement.”

  Shariati rolled a stylus between her teeth. DeCano was right, of course, even if she didn’t much like his tone. Two battleships—DeCano’s heavy hitters—would ruin their whole day, which was why they needed to get ahead of the game now. The three-axis problem arose because the Doms could use the force they’d foxed Rhimer with at Callindra 69 to strike directly from there, which had the advantage of being able to hit them sooner. Or they might have returned to Novaya Zemlya with the Bannerman Fleet. That would allow them to attach those major capital ships DeCano was worried about.

  If they did the latter, the Doms had two further choices: bring the whole combined force to Wogan’s Reef and detach the carrier force to attack Outbound there, or split the carrier force off where jump fields linked the Novaya Zemlya transit to the Callindra 69 lane through another node that also connected with Outbound. For convenience, this gravitational complex was referred to as the NZ fork.

  Shariati didn’t believe in the first of those two options much at all. With the Doms’ advantage in numbers and throw weight, they would want to spread the CEF force to the maximum extent possible. Launching an attack on Outbound from Wogan’s Reef not only didn’t do that, it risked getting embroiled with PrenTalien. He might even be able to detach part of his fleet to catch them in a pincer between his force and Outbound’s defenders, which as far as the Doms knew, consisted of a fully constituted TF 34.

  No, the Doms wouldn’t run that risk. That left the other two options. She leaned forward on her elbows, scrutinizing the omnisynth’s volume, crowded with the latest situation assessment.

  “This is still the crux, isn’t it? This chokepoint here.” She used her stylus to circle a volume of space between the NZ fork and the Callindra 69 lane. It wasn’t a chokepoint in the physical sense, but an area where gravitational lensing allowed the phase wakes of a fleet on either transit to be detected. If they could cover it, they’d get an early read on what they were up against, on exactly which axis, and be able to arrange their defense accordingly. If the attack was overwhelming, she had her sealed orders, which she had not shared with anyone, and would not before absolutely necessary.

  Her staff nodded as one, though none to them—from the intel officer to the chief of logistics to the young jig who was her very temporary and nearly invisible flag lieutenant—looked happy about her bringing it up again: DeCano and Harmon most especially. Dirk Bajorat was keeping his thoughts to himself, as per usual.

  “Yes, ma’am,” DeCano said, his tone shaded with frustration at having to recap an argument he’d thought was settled. “But as we said before, we don’t have a way to surveil it. If we detach Artemis and Callisto, and support them with Janus and Ixion, I wouldn’t give much for our defense net if the Doms do get a punch through. And I wouldn’t give anything for them if the Doms put ‘em in a tight spot. Frankly, I don’t like dividing our forces to that degree—not with what we’re up against.”

  What the operations officer was being less than frank a
bout, Shariati sensed, was his strong philosophical objection to sending their people on a suicide mission, which was what this amounted to. Maybe not for Callisto and Artemis—the two destroyers were fast and would give a good account of themselves in a scrap—but certainly for Janus and Ixion. The frigates were old, thin-skinned, light on the bite, short-winded and, most of all, slow. They were of no use to her if she had to execute her sealed orders, and not much more in defending the station. They could be invaluable as reconnaissance assets—but only if she was willing to sacrifice them.

  The commodore nibbled her stylus delicately, her dark violet eyes shadowed. Lo Gai could order it—and she had no doubt he would—but coming from her, it was more likely to seem merely callous. She couldn’t fight this battle with his people believing she considered them no more than expendable pawns—fine words and cogent arguments would get her no more than grim-lipped obedience and she needed much better than that. She set the stylus aside.

  “Well, then. I think we know enough about what we don’t have. Let’s focus on what we do have.” Half the faces in the compartment looked as if they expected a homily on the value of surprise. “What we have”—she smiled as she prepared her surprise—“is a ‘tanker fleet’, although it exists purely in the Doms’ mind.” Shariati’s smile might have been decorated with feathers, but none of the staff were quite sure of the ill-fate canary’s identity. “We can position this ‘fleet’ wherever we like, to funnel the Doms’ assault along a vector of our own choosing. If they are attacking strictly with a carrier group, that should be quite diverting for them, as their fighters won’t be much use against the station, and by not tying our force down here, we retain tactical mobility.”

  She directed her attention to the staff intelligence officer, Lieutenant Irene Varis. “Lieutenant, I’d like the Doms to think we are doing everything we can to give them the impression the tankers are cozied up here, when ‘in fact’ they are moving to a ‘rendezvous’ with Admiral PrenTalien. Do you think you can do that?”