by TR Cameron
The ensign smiled. “You say tomato, Commander, sir.”
Cross laughed. The doors parted, and they entered the bridge of the Chicago. Unlike the Washington’s, which was all shiny metal and functional lighting, this was a study in understatement. The stations were arranged around the periphery of an oval with the entrance at one end. To the right Cross identified tactical, weapons, and engineering stations. To his left, communications, air command, and something else. Centered in the space three chairs were arranged in a small semicircle, and a single station was positioned in front of them for the helm officer. In the center chair with her back to him, was the short-cropped blond hair of Jennifer Roberts. She was on the fast track to Admiral, and likely would’ve already earned her stars if the opportunity to command the first Nebula starship off the line hadn’t paused her race to the top. To her left a man he didn’t recognize displayed a commander’s insignia. To her right, wearing an admiral’s work uniform, white from cap to boots, was the dark form of his mentor and sometimes idol, Captain— no, Admiral, Cross corrected himself again— James Okoye.
The officers had turned as the door opened, and Okoye walked around the trio of chairs and approached him with his hand outstretched. Cross gripped it warmly, resisting the urge to hug the old man. His resistance was unnecessary, as Okoye ended the handshake with a chest bump, then led Cross over to the captain and made introductions.
“We’ll be in the ready room, with your permission, Captain.”
“You have it, of course,” she said in an elegant accent.
“Ireland?” Cross asked.
“Wales, actually, but most don’t get even that close, so well done, Commander.”
They exchanged professional smiles, and he followed Okoye from the bridge.
Unlike his own, which was basically a conference table with uncomfortable chairs surrounding it, this ready room reminded him of the captain’s quarters on the Washington. It held a low table, several couches, and a bar in the corner. Okoye poured them each a glass, then sat down on a chair across from the small couch that Cross had claimed.
“As much as I would like to exchange pleasantries, Commander, we both lack the time for such a thing. I read the reports detailing the Washington’s exploits since my unfortunate departure, and, well,” he paused, seeming to search for words, “you’ve certainly been busy.”
Cross broke into a laugh, equal parts amusement and self-recrimination, and raised his gaze to meet Okoye’s eyes. “That’s one way to put it, Admiral. Another way to put it might be that I’ve made every mistake that a man can make, and still not find his ship shot out from underneath him.”
“Or at least not completely shot out from underneath him, anyway,” Okoye added, and both men laughed at that one.
“Before we go further, Cross, let me say this. I reviewed your decisions, and I’m convinced that in just about every case you made the optimal choice at the optimal time. Sometimes I might have chosen a different option, but my team’s assessment is that the outcome would have remained the same.”
“Your team?”
“I have the distinction of being the first admiral in charge of reviewing and improving our command corps,” Okoye explained. “The turnover the Xroeshyn have forced requires us to pay extra attention to the care and feeding of our new officers. Someone thought that would be a good job for me.”
Cross nodded his agreement. “That seems like an excellent task for you, Admiral. And I’m glad that you believe that the majority of my decisions were reasonable ones.”
“Most, but not all.”
He shivered inside at the words.
“You gambled a promising career on a toss of the dice, Cross. This time, it came out right. A roll with less luck, and you’d have faced court martial, imprisonment, and given that we’re at war, possibly execution.”
“How did you find out?”
“Admirals hear everything, Cross. While we may not all be as reactive as our subordinates would like, it’s rarely due to a lack of information. More often it’s due to a surfeit of it, in fact.”
“How many others know?”
“Enough to be dangerous to you. Your allies in the admiralty suggested that in this singular case, the result is so useful that we can overlook the means.”
He began breathing again.
“We burned a lot of capital for you, Cross. There’s not much left.”
“Message received, Admiral.”
“Good.” Okoye stood, stretched, and walked to the bar for a refill, bringing Cross a second glass.
“How are you coping with the losses of the Hanoi and the Seoul?”
“Should I lie down on the couch, Doctor?”
Okoye laughed, the rich baritone a welcome break in the heaviness of the room. “No, please don’t. But do answer the question.”
Cross shrugged. “I wish I could change the outcome without changing the decisions that led to it.”
“That,” Okoye said, pointing at him, “is a healthy attitude. Because your decisions were right, even though the outcome was beyond your control in both cases.”
“It’s harder than I thought it would be, Admiral.”
“Welcome to command, Anderson. It always is, and it always will be.” The older man stood and gestured to the door. “Now that the difficult stuff is out of the way, a tour of the Chicago and an excellent meal await us.”
Cross followed him from the room, a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying, now notable by its absence.
Damn. He’s good at this. The admiralty made the right choice.
For once.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Kraada Tak had neglected his duty to review the smaller churches under his purview since the start of the war. Thus, the unannounced arrival of the hierarch along with a team of his most trusted attendants and security to a small-town church was a shock to its personnel. As they entered the building, Kraada said a small prayer of thanks for the decentralized religion that allowed him to gather power and influence from even the smallest holdfasts of the Xroeshyn people.
He wasn’t there to tend to the needs of his flock, although he would’ve offered that excuse if asked. The local priest was more than adequate for that task.
He sat, drinking tisane kept hot by a beaming member of the church’s staff, and waited. Finally, the door opposite him opened, and she walked in.
Indraat Vray dropped to one knee, took his hand, and kissed his ring with a murmured, “Hierarch.”
“I’ve told you before, formality is unnecessary, Niece,” Kraada said, gesturing to the nearby chair where another cup of tisane rested on the armrest. “It’s been too long since I left the capital. I’m grateful for the opportunity to flee that pit of snakes.” He waited until she’d composed herself, then broached the matter. “You requested this meeting, so I presume you have something of great import to tell me.”
“Before I get to that, Uncle, how are you? I heard about the explosion in your office.”
“As your eyes can see for themselves, Niece, I am none worse for wear. And I will find those responsible.”
“Of course. And if you need assistance in dealing out justice, just say the word. Now for my official business. I wasn’t positive that official messages would reach you in a timely fashion, Uncle, and wanted to make sure you had the full story. Our attack on the colony went as expected and was entirely successful. The humans don’t appear to recognize when a sacrifice is the right choice, and risked a great number of personnel and ships to evacuate their settlers. The sensors we left behind recorded their efforts to enter a certain set of buildings, and then an unexplained explosion as we left the system.”
Kraada nodded. “You think it was a military base?”
Indraat nodded in return. “It had to be. It’s the only reason to risk so much to rescue so little.”
He steepled his long fingers, giving her a sleepy look with his eyes half-lidded, and said, “Of course, it’s possible that they simply va
lue the lives at risk, is it not?”
She gave an expressive shrug. “Anything’s possible, Uncle. However, at the second battle, they sacrificed an entire ship to prevent us from boarding. They aren’t entirely altruistic.”
“Humans are a conundrum. They could hardly be less like us if they were truly demons sent by the gods.”
“Perhaps that should be your new angle with the populace, Hierarch.”
“That’s an excellent idea. It also addresses some of the challenges I’m facing.”
“Challenges, Uncle? Something I can take care of for you?”
He paused, weighing his next words and seeking guidance from beyond. Receiving none, he spilled out his thoughts, “Do we have enough influence among our forces to convince them to disregard official orders in favor of alternate ones?”
Indraat took a deep drink of her tisane. “I’d say somewhere between five and six out of eight are dependable, Hierarch. With the right movements at the right time, we might secure the leadership of at one more eighth. However, there is a set of captains and crews that the religious officers report are unlikely to be swayed.”
Kraada grunted. It was better than he’d expected and worse than he’d hoped. “I suppose that if the gods had wanted it to be easy, they wouldn’t need people of our strength to accomplish their aims.” He rose, meandering around the room with one hand behind his back. While the other held his tisane, which he sipped as he walked. “If we cannot rely on taking full command in the field, I must somehow further increase my control over the military here at home.”
“That sounds right, Uncle. How can you accomplish that?”
“I have ideas on the matter, but I’d welcome your thoughts.”
Indraat put down her cup and leaned toward him—elbows on her knees and her head bent down in thought. “Working within the existing system, I see two points of weakness you could exploit. First, the communication between the home base and the fleet in the field. If you could somehow intercept those communications, control the content flowing back and forth, that would serve your goals admirably.”
“I also considered that. It’s a good idea. The problem lies in our inability to confirm how many of Drovaa’s people are reporting back by alternate means.”
“And likely in a very much more effective alternative means of communication than the one I’ve been able to piece together,” Indraat said, offering a frustrated sounding laugh.
“How did you get here, Niece?” Kraada had been wondering since her message, and had taken steps in case she had been turned. The bodyguards for this trip were his most elite soldiers. They were armed and ready to rush him to safety.
She smiled, looking somewhat embarrassed. “I may have exploited a former lover,” she confessed.
Kraada was so shocked that for a moment he didn’t respond, then he barked out a laugh—the first taste of real joy he’d had in some time. “This is a story I absolutely need to hear. Do tell.”
“The captain of the support ship Tourmaline Cloud was once close with me, Uncle. I had him assigned to service the Ruby Rain, then simply departed from my ship aboard his. It should trigger no alarms, because he was scheduled to return here for resupply. As long as my disguise was adequate as I left his ship, and holds up until I’m back, there should be no problems.”
Kraada nodded, then returned to the previous topic. “I see no safe method to neutralize Drovaa’s communications. The risk is too great. We cannot know his resources, and short of destroying all communication inbound and outbound, there’s no way to maintain control.”
Indraat nodded in agreement. “That’s one reason I moved on to the second option, Uncle. Which would be to find a pretext requiring the marshal to order communication silence. That would give me control of the fleet without fear of contradiction and allow me to pursue the battle against the humans properly.”
“That idea has promise, and is one that can be pursued as I look for other options. How do you suggest we accomplish this?”
“Breach the communication network security and arrange it so the blame falls on the humans.”
They both sat for several moments, sipping from cups gone lukewarm while considering the plan. Kraada broke the silence, raising his voice and shouting, “Skraan.” When the attendant rushed in, he ordered more tisane and plates of refreshments, including a sweetmeat that was a particular favorite of Indraat’s.
“Thank you, Uncle.”
“You’re welcome, Niece.”
“What are your thoughts toward solidifying control here?”
“I face two separate issues. First, Drovaa knows we’re no longer working in concert. He most certainly intends to increase his favor with the emperor to combat me. I may have made a strategic error in the past by not licking the useless figurehead’s boots a little more often, but one can only endure so much false prostration before losing restraint.”
“Would it be best just to eliminate Drovaa Jat?” She reached down, sliding a knife a few centimeters out of its sheath before letting it fall home again. “I feel confident that it could be arranged, Uncle.”
“I thank you for the offer. But it’s too risky at this moment. The lack of the emperor’s favor would work against me, making it unlikely that I could influence the choice of Drovaa’s replacement should he die from misadventure or suspicious situations.”
“I could make it look natural.” Her voice was even, her nostrils spread, and Kraada saw the predator that lived within his niece. Saw it, and approved of it.
“It also carries the risk of discovery during the act.” She shook her head at the lunacy of such a thing happening, but Kraada knew even the best could fall victim to random chance or the will of the gods. “It’s an option for later consideration.”
“So, then, what are your alternatives?”
“A variation of your own. We need something that will make Drovaa seem vulnerable, prone to mistakes, perhaps even uninterested in prosecuting this war. That’s a weapon I can use in the pulpit and in the emperor’s chambers to further weaken him.”
“Then my return home was fortuitous. I have a suggestion to offer along those lines.”
“Do you?” Kraada Tak raised a questioning eyebrow. “I look forward to hearing it after dinner, since I believe I hear our host coming to summon us. It wouldn’t do to disappoint the priest whose silence we depend upon.”
Smiling, she lifted her dagger again, and let it fall.
He laughed again. “No, Niece. He hasn’t outlived his usefulness yet in the same way that Marshal Drovaa has.”
As they stood, he gave her an amused look. “You never told me how you managed to sneak off the support ship, or how you plan to return to it.”
She looked slightly chagrined once again. “It’s rather undignified, Uncle. I was smuggled off in a box labeled ‘foodstuffs.’ I’ll be taken back on in a much smaller container marked as ‘munitions.’” Kraada’s laughter rang out again, and this time she joined in.
“Well, the latter is quite accurate,” he observed. “You are my secret weapon, and together we shall see this war executed properly. Woe to any that oppose us.”
Indraat met his eye and said, “So may it be.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
One day after meeting with Indraat, Kraada returned to the cathedral confident that his niece had her end of the plan well in hand. He awaited the right moment to begin his own, listening for the will of the gods while creating demon-inspired sermons for the coming weeks. He was finishing the first, to be delivered to all of his churches for the next holy day’s services, when his seneschal escorted a stranger into the room. The interruption, though expected, was an irritant.
“Hierarch, this individual,” disdain and revulsion dripped from Phraan’s voice as he spoke, “has a message to deliver to you.”
Kraada kept his gaze down, finishing his sentence. He sanded the ink and rolled up the parchment, before slowly dripping wax and imprinting it with his seal. Then he tapped it wit
h his finger. The combination of the symbol, the chemical composition of the seal, and his own DNA upon it would be enough to authenticate the document. Only after sliding it into an ornate tube for delivery did he look up. “Yes?” Ice radiated from his words.
“Hierarch Kraada Tak, you are summoned before the emperor. The meeting will take place at 1800 hours in the throne room.”
Kraada looked at him quizzically. “Your message is delivered. Why are you still standing there?”
The messenger shifted uncomfortably. “Do you have a reply, Hierarch?”
Kraada nodded at his seneschal, who replied for him. “The Hierarch’s reply is that you should depart while you can still do so, messenger.” With those words, Kraada’s attendant guards ushered the interloper from the room, and presumably from the cathedral.
When the seneschal returned, Kraada gave him a mock stern look. “Phraan, that wasn’t a polite way to treat the emperor’s minion.”
“Did I err in discerning your meaning, Hierarch?” The confident prim voice of his subordinate was always a source of entertainment for Kraada.
“Not at all. You were perfect. Vermin should be treated as inhospitably as possible.”
“We could certainly be less hospitable, Hierarch. Shall I have him killed before he can return to the palace?”
Kraada slapped his hands down on his desk. “That’s why I like you. Always thinking the matter through to its conclusion. No, we’ll permit him to live…for now.”
He stood with a sigh, stretched his arms and his wings, then drew a deep calming breath. “Somehow I imagine this meeting requires full regalia.”
“Will you take the mace, Hierarch?”
Kraada thought about it, allowing the possibilities to flit through his mind, then shook his head in regret. “No, I don’t believe they’ll allow me into the emperor’s presence with it. Unfortunately.” He brightened. “By all means though, have my guards bring it along. There’s no telling what mischief may occur after the meeting, outside the palace grounds.”