Britlot smiled again, showing his features to best advantage. Tanna Renntol was one of many women who’d been drawn by his wavy blond hair, dazzling eyes and charm. To the old Britlot. “You know the Rear Admiral’s rep, Tanna, we’ll get it all. It could have been us out there.”
“Fortunes of war, Mart. Imagine, with only his section, he fought an entire Combine fleet. He’s a hero.”
“Yeah, while Second Fleet had convoy escort duty.” Recollection of his parents’ fate lessened the bitterness. Someone needed to guard the convoys.
The temperature rose as the room filled; the exchangers could not meet the challenge, and the air slowly grew stale. The door to the inner rooms opened emitting Commodore Taglini, Captain Martok and Captain Benteel.
Renntol and Britlot stood with the rest as Commodore Taglini made his way to the podium. “Gentlemen, Ladies, your attention, please. It is my pleasure to present Rear Admiral Knerden.” The room remained at attention as a tall thin man in Confederation uniform entered. He took the podium without thanking the Commodore. He looked out over the assembled officers.
All available officers from the space dock, from damaged vessels receiving repairs, and from replacement crews had been called to the briefing.
“Gentlemen, Ladies, be seated.” A rush of sound rose then died as the assembled officers sat and adjusted their chairs. The Rear Admiral continued to gaze from officer to officer, his face grim. Suddenly he smiled. “Good of you to come. I’m just back from a place called Plillinth—some of you may have heard of it.” The room resounded to laughter. “Well, we showed the Combine something there that they’ll remember for a long time.” Cheers broke out and the iron-grey-haired admiral smiled again, his eyes alight with pride. “So, without further ado, let me tell you about it.”
Silence fell, and he spoke to a rapt audience. Britlot sat as enthralled as the rest, for the Admiral engaged the imagination with his words. Knerden’s attention to detail allowed Britlot to follow the course of the battle in his mind, and his eyes drifted off to nowhere in particular as he ‘saw’ the Confederation squadrons change a situation of dire threat into one of victory. Briefly his eyes refocused and, to his surprise, he saw Commodore Taglini frowning. He wondered about it briefly before the web of words caught him up again.
Spontaneous applause greeted the end of the story and the Admiral basked in it and then held up his hand.
“Thank you. It’s good to see high morale in Second Fleet and in Support. I know you would like to be back out on the frontier, but I have come to tell you that you are where you are needed.”
Faces sharpened, and the officers waited with expectation. Then came the unexpected.
“Intelligence reports that the Tlartox have voted against renewing the Treaty of Tlenfro. Even now they prepare their fleets for war. So there you have it, Gentlemen and Ladies, there will be war. A second front.”
And that was no good news, Britlot thought. No one smiled any longer.
Rear Admiral Knerden’s gaze wandered over those assembled. Their grim looks reflected his own. Good. Every officer needed to realize the seriousness of the situation. The Confederation required time to build up for a two-front war. These officers would have to buy it.
Victory, though difficult, would come. Eventually. And glory would abound for the strong. He smiled inwardly.
“Questions?”
Britlot had a mind full of questions, but he wasn’t about to put them to a Rear Admiral. A pall of silence settled over the room until one man stood.
“Captain Martok?”
“Sir, do we have a time frame?” Martok’s black brows were the terror of many a junior officer. When he frowned, they joined together into one straight ridge of hair that foretold disaster for someone. They now stood in that straight line.
The Rear Admiral remained unaffected. He gave Martok a wry smile. “That is, naturally, the question.” He relaxed slightly behind the podium. “Our best minds believe we have, at most, three years. The Empire prefers to get what it wants cheaply. They remember Tlenfro and won’t want to risk a repeat. They will need time to reorganize, gather their strength and the wherewithal for a major campaign. Our agents tell us that the vote caught their military off-guard.”
Commodore Taglini recognized Knerden’s strategy, and nodded appreciatively as the mood in the room lightened. It was a subterfuge, though, he knew. The situation three centuries ago differed sharply from that of today. Three hundred years of peace, even if at times an uneasy peace, had disappeared and they would lose planets. Taglini watched the Rear Admiral as he wound up.
“Therefore, Gentlemen, Ladies, your task is clear. You must repair our damaged ships quickly. We shall need every hull we can get our hands on.”
Knerden allowed his gaze to linger on each officer for a moment, and they rewarded him with the minute stiffening of the spine. “You must impress upon your people the gravity of the situation without letting them know the classified aspects of this briefing. Let it slip that we are going on the offensive on the Combine front to put an end to the enemy’s ability to wage war on us. It will be an all-out effort.” Seeing the nods of understanding and acceptance, the Rear Admiral ended it. “Thank you for your attention.” He smiled. “Now back to work. Remember, the Confederation counts on you.”
The assembled officers stood to attention; Commodore Taglini dismissed them. Bravo II’s command staff remained behind as the others exited.
As the officers left, Taglini led the group into a smaller room where Knerden waited. Tension hung in the air, but the Rear Admiral had relaxed. Taglini opened a wall cabinet and brought forth a bottle of Tsliristi wine and glasses. The others gathered about the situation table.
With a faint sigh of regret Taglini pulled the cork and poured the wine—too good for this Rear Admiral. Amber liquid soon filled each glass. He replaced the cork. The station officers looked at each other and waited until Rear Admiral Knerden finally reached for his drink.
“Gentlemen,” Captain Benteel, as junior officer, proposed the toast, “I give you the Confederation.”
“The Confederation!”
They replaced their glasses on the table.
“Sit, Gentlemen, Lady.” Knerden pulled out his own chair and the others followed his lead.
“Well, sir, you certainly got their attention, and ours. The efficiency of the repair dock will improve,” Taglini said.
Knerden gave a small laugh. “Now, Tag, you and I both know that your dock is the most efficient in the Confederation. We all know what my tour represents.”
Yes, a morale booster before the darkness to come. Still, Bravo II was off the beaten path, and the three wondered what else brought about Knerden’s appearance. No one wanted to ask the question, and they all sat sipping wine.
Finally Captain Benteel broke the silence. “Sir, you didn’t come all this way just to tell us to work harder.” Flag rank intimidated her, though she had been in Fleet almost as long as had the Rear Admiral.
Knerden smiled disarmingly. The man had charm, she had to admit, and she wondered why Taglini disliked him. “No, Listra, I didn’t. I’m about to dump another job into your already overworked hands.” He pulled a datastick from an inside pocket. “I have orders here to have you begin preparing and recommissioning vessels from Mothball Fleet C.”
A shocked silence endured until Captain Martok took the plunge. “That bad, sir? Class-Cs are 150 years old. They’ll stand no chance against modern Tlartox frigates and cruisers.”
Knerden fixed him with a stare. “You heard me in the briefing, Captain. We need every—and I stress every—hull we can lay our hands on.” He relaxed and smiled. “But I don’t think you need worry. They’ll simply replace the Class-B recommissions and regular Fleet vessels on interior patrol and convoy duty. Then our front-line fleets will be brought up to fighting strength and can take the war to the enemy!”
Taglini rubbed his heavy jaw, feeling the bristle of whiskers. He should have shaved aga
in before the briefing. He considered. Knerden sounded confident yet, in reality, Tlartox raiders would enter Confederation space and attack convoys guarded by the outmatched Class-C vessels. The old ships would fight, but they would die. In fact, with such a preponderance of weight on the Tlartox side, the Class-C recommissions would need to take their place in the battle line. Taglini glanced around, and knew the others had similar thoughts. Surely the Rear Admiral must know this. Either that or he lived in a world of his own. Knowing the man, Taglini couldn’t decide which was the more likely. Perhaps Knerden just didn’t care.
Martok paled. He picked up his glass and emptied it in one draught. He foresaw a slaughter. As a cadet, he had served in a Class-C trainer. He knew their shortcomings. He closed his eyes, then opened them in time to catch the Rear Admiral’s fierce gaze. Subdued, he nodded. They might have to recommission them, but the Rear Admiral would have to order the inadequate vessels and their crews into battle. He might even have to command a squadron of them, though Martok doubted that.
“Sir, we’ll give you those ships in the very best shape we can,” he promised.
“The very best,” Captain Benteel echoed.
“Thank you,” Knerden looked pleased, even eager. “I’m counting on that.”
The eager look had Commodore Taglini’s stomach jumping nervously.
CHAPTER 3
TLARTOX HOMEWORLD
Shads Efdur led the small group down a narrow alley. “This way. Hurry,” he called quietly. They vaulted a fence into a small backyard and crouched as land cruisers roared by just up the street.
“In here.” Shads pulled open a door leading to a cellar. Ange slipped in, weapon in hand, followed by The Master and Strel. Shads pulled the door closed and hit a switch. A dull light came on. The musty, cobweb-filled space had the appearance of a place long abandoned. Against a wall stood a pile of old boxes; the floor was dirty.
“This way.” Shads pulled on a box in the second row and it slid out and about as if on well-greased hinges, which it was. Dim lights lit the tunnel beyond, and the four quickly moved through the hole and into it. Shads turned off the cellar light, slipped through the hole and pulled the box back into place. He locked it.
The four crouched as they walked the hundred-meter tunnel, avoiding the low ceiling and condensation-slick walls. The stale air spoke of long disuse. Ange snarled as he slipped and acquired a layer of muck on his shiny grey forearm. A quiet hiss from Strel quieted him. They walked on.
None too soon, the end of the tunnel appeared and Shads worked the hidden lock. The hatch swung open and the four stumbled into a cold room, not unlike the cellar they’d come from. Shads closed the hatch and a small light lit the area. At least this room had a clean smell to it. Air circulated. Stairs rose into the shadows and Shads led the way up.
“Relax. We’re safe now.”
“That’s what we thought about the meeting place,” came Strel’s rejoinder. “Hunters everywhere. Had we arrived ten minutes earlier ...” He didn’t need to finish the thought.
Shads shuddered at the memory. The sound of gunshots had echoed from what should have been a safe house. With friends trapped, they had run. It hurt. He opened the door at the top of the stairs, and a worried looking Nallin greeted him.
“What’s happened? You’re not supposed to be here.”
That annoyed The Master. “We are here because there is danger.” Nallin should have recognized the obvious. “The hunters discovered our meeting place. We lost friends tonight, Nallin. We have to curl up for a time.”
“Here?” Nallin looked shocked. “But there are four of you. We aren’t set up for this.”
“Oh, for Tlar’s sake, shut up.” Shads had had enough. “We’re tired and dirty. After we groom we’ll have a discussion, see what needs be done.”
“How many did they get?”
“We don’t know that either. We’ll find out soon enough.” Shads didn’t want to talk about it. He recalled the gunfire, shots from two different types of weapons. The heavier thuds came from the weapon Miz carried. She would fight to the death, he knew. He wanted to yowl his pain to the moon.
LORM, CAPITAL CITY OF LORMAR
Relnie Fronel decided she could get used to this, the good life. The warm sun shining on her, a cool drink in her hand, and Lemm working in the garden: a dream come true. And not once in the past month had he looked to the stars with the longing that marked the first few months of his retirement.
She turned her head to watch him tending the catrii. The catrii proved the point. They needed constant attention to thrive in these latitudes and Lemm wouldn’t have planted them had he any ideas of leaving. His long fingers gently rubbed the reddish leaves; the physical irritation would bring on the magnificent blooms. He had such lovely long fingers. She smiled at the thought.
Fleet had had them for the better part of thirty long years. Finally her turn had come and brought with it the joy she had always known would be hers.
“Dad!”
Lemm’s head came up, and he broke into a wide smile. The smile faded, and Relnie twisted to see their daughter, Colli, worry on her face.
“What is it, Colli?” Lemm asked.
“The comm. They say it’s urgent.”
Lemm’s eyebrows rose and he stood, wiping his fingers on his pants. Relnie came around in her chair and stared as Lemm strode into the house.
“Colli?”
“It’s Fleet, Mom.” Colli made her way through the peas, picking a few pods as she approached. Beautiful and blonde, she took after Lemm’s side of the family.
“What does Fleet want with Lemm?” She couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice.
“I don’t know, Mom. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They just said it was urgent.” Her calm eyes regarded her mother.
Relnie’s mouth tightened. “If your father thinks that I’ll stand for this, he had best think again.”
“Why not wait and see what Dad has to say, before we get upset?” She handed Relnie a pea pod. Together they opened the pods and ate the sweet morsels.
Relnie picked up her fruit juice from the table, found her hand shaking, and put it down again, untouched. She saw that Colli had noted the warning sign.
“I’ll take a few pods in to Melsie, Mom. She can be a real tyrant when she wants. Was I ever that bad?”
Relnie laughed. “Bad? That sweet little girl?” She fixed Colli with a sharp gaze. “You, on the other hand, were a terror.”
Colli’s eyes rounded. “Surely not that bad?”
They laughed together.
“Thanks, Colli.”
They saw Lemm appear.
“Melsie is waiting.” She wasn’t fooling anyone and, when she passed Lemm, he let her know.
“Getting while the getting is good?”
“Like you taught me, Dad, staying out of the line of fire. Shields up, old man.”
“That bad?”
“That bad, Lemm,” Relnie replied, having overheard. “You promised me.”
He tried to take her hand but she pulled back.
“I waited twenty-five years for this Lemm. You could have retired five years ago on a full pension, but you had to stay, ‘serve Fleet’ was how you put it. Well, while you were doing your duty I was doing mine. Raising the children you only saw occasionally; keeping them from worry while you battled the Combine; trying to keep from worrying myself.” She took a further step back when he tried again to take her hand. She would not be mollified. “I’ve had enough, Lemm.
“I watched while you made the estate into a fortress, busying yourself with things military, even if you were no longer a part of it. Do you think I like these walls?” She gestured at the tall walls surrounding the large garden, blocking the wind, blocking the sight of the neighbors. “And when you finished that, you stocked the house, planning for what disaster I don’t know, operating as if on a military campaign.” She almost smiled at the memory. Almost.
“But I thought you’d gotten over it
when you took up gardening with such passion.”
“Relnie, they need me.”
“I need you, Lemm. I need someone.” The last sentence a threat she never believed herself capable of. And he took it stoically, a final blow. “I don’t know who you asked, what favors you called in, but if you go, that’s it, Lemm.”
“Finished?”
“I hope not, Lemm, I hope not.”
“Listen carefully, Relnie, I didn’t call anyone. I’m happy here. They called; they need me.”
“My God!” Relnie put her hand to her mouth. “When will we start hearing? Those poor families.”
“You never cease to surprise me with your quickness, Relnie, but I don’t believe we lost a major battle with the Combine. I think the grapevine would have let me know before official word came my way.” He looked so grim.
“The Tlartox!”
“That would be my guess.”
“And you have to go?”
“They gave me no choice: Article 487.”
“Bastards.”
“It may come to nothing, Relnie. But I need to know that you’ll wait for me. I won’t spend a day longer with Fleet than is absolutely necessary.” His eyes pleaded with her.
“You’ve never lied to me, Lemm.” She wanted so much to believe him.
“And I won’t start now.”
The sun was warm on her back, yet she shivered. “How much time have we?”
“Three days.” She heard the sorrow in his voice.
“Then let’s do as much as possible in three days.” She had never been one to fight hopeless battles.
Lemm’s slow warm smile returned. “There’s something upstairs I could use help with,” he said.
Relnie heard the huskiness in his voice and followed his gaze to their bedroom window. She returned his smile, took his hand and led the way back to the house. The good life meant taking what you could when you could.
Ghost Fleet Page 4