by Jay Allan
She paused a few seconds, her eyes fixed on the general’s. He looked a bit uncomfortable, and she waited until he was about to speak before she continued.
“But I will offer you proof, General, at least of my ability to deliver peace with the Confederation, and to obtain financial aid from them as part of an expanded and ongoing relationship.”
The general’s tension level eased slightly, his look of skepticism replaced by one of curiosity. “How can you do that, Minister?”
“Allow me to introduce you to another of my allies. Ambassador?”
Alexander Kerevsky walked into the room from the small antechamber. Despite the dust and debris that seemed to be everywhere in the capital, the Union representative was dressed in his finest, looking as though he was about to meet the highest authorities.
Which, as far as Sandrine and her supporters were concerned, he was.
“General Riennes, Minister Chromas, it is a pleasure to meet you both. I believe we’ve crossed paths before, General, though we were never formally introduced.” Kerevsky turned his head slightly, toward the third person standing around Ciara, and he nodded. “Minister Velechaun, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure is mine, Ambassador.” Velechaun was the first to respond, but the others followed almost immediately.
“Ambassador Kerevsky, it is a surprise, and a great pleasure to see you here.” Riennes looked for an instant as if he might extend a hand, or bow slightly, or something. But in the end, he just managed a tense smile. The proper greeting for ambassadors in the middle of a coup was a matter of some question, especially when it appeared the diplomat was somehow involved in the change of government underway.
“Ambassador, I have heard much about you, and I am pleased to finally meet you in person.” Adrienne Chromas was an exceedingly charming woman, who exhibited an aura of kindness and moderation. It was all fake, of course. Ciara found Chromas a bit offputting, though she knew in many ways the Sector Nine supervisor was almost a mirror image of herself.
There was a short, awkward silence, and then Riennes spoke. “Ambassador, I apologize for the directness of what I am about to say, but I do not believe time and circumstances offer us any useful alternatives. Minister Ciara has suggested…no, I’d say rather more than suggested, that the Confederation would provide material assistance to her new government. Is this the case?”
Kerevsky looked back at Riennes. “General, I hope you will appreciate that I am going to answer you as honestly and completely as I can. I am a diplomat, and in my position, I have certain powers, certain discretionary assets I can employ on my own authority. I have—and I trust you will keep what I am about to say in the strictest confidence—advanced approximately one million Confederation credits to First Citizen Ciara for use in…securing the new government. I have prepared a dispatch to Megara, which I will send as soon as I am able to ensure a safe passage, recommending that the Confederation government authorize me to negotiate a new treaty with the Union, one that provides for a lasting peace between our two nations, and also for ongoing financial support, both in the form of direct subsidies and also in promoting investment in the Union by private Confederation industry. My people have never wanted to be an enemy of yours, General, and a Union government seeking peaceful coexistence and cooperation has always been our fondest wish.”
Riennes didn’t answer immediately. Ciara watched, trying not to let her nerves show. Kerevsky hadn’t offered anything truly substantive—save for revealing that he’d provided moderate funding to her operations—but she hoped it would be enough. After all, if the ambassador had promised anything more substantive, it wouldn’t have been believable anyway.
“Very well, Ambassador, your honesty is…refreshing. And it enhances your credibility in my view. If you are prepared to offer your personal assurance that you will pursue your stated requests with all your power and influence…” He turned toward Ciara. “…I believe I am prepared to offer my full support.”
“As am I,” Chromas added, before Kerevsky could respond.
The Confederation ambassador stood where he was, looking a bit uncomfortable, but otherwise completely steady. “I offer you my full assurance, General…and Minister, that I will do everything in my power to see that the Union receives all the economic support it needs to revitalize its economy.”
Ciara was relieved as she heard Kerevsky’s words. She’d managed to tape the proceedings, of course, despite her strictest assurances to both the Confed ambassador and her prospective Union allies that all surveillance systems had been deactivated. She vastly preferred persuading Riennes and Chromas to throw in with her…but she also believed in backup plans. The tapes would be more than enough to ensure both of her guests met an unpleasant end if Villieneuve retained power and saw them. She hoped to avoid blackmail, but it didn’t hurt to have a little something close to the vest.
Kerevsky would be angry, too, if he found out. He’d been extremely reluctant to get so involved, but she’d managed to persuade him. She liked the idea of extorting her ally and lover even less than she did her other two guests, but she knew she would do what she had to do. She was close, so close, to absolute power. It was like a drug, and irresistible addiction. She would do anything to attain it, to feel its warm embrace.
Even sacrifice those closest to her.
General Riennes bowed his head forward and removed his hat. “First Citizen…I am yours to command.”
* * *
“Fleet Admiral…your loyalty will not be forgotten. Montmirail is in the hands of madmen, the planet infested with traitors, and we must do whatever is necessary to cleanse our beloved Union.” Gaston Villieneuve turned toward the other figure in the small group of three. He was still weak, and he’d given up trying to count the number of separate places on his body that hurt. But he had more important things to deal with just them…like holding on to his power. “Yours as well, Tia. I am quite impressed by the number of Sector Nine agents you have brought under your wing, especially when many at the highest ranks of the agency have descended to disloyalty and treason. You will both find me most appreciative and grateful.”
“You are the rightful First Citizen of the Union. If we allow failed revolutionaries to seize power, killing thousands of innocent civilians in the process, what are we? Not a government, certainly. You have my loyalty, First Citizen, as always, but I must ask one thing of you, your solemn assurance that when we have defeated the traitors, you will do all that is necessary to clean house, to root out every disloyal official, every would be rebel. The rot must be ripped out, root and branch to ensure the future.” Tia Salamanca was particularly vicious, even for a career Sector Nine enforcer, and it showed in her tone. Villieneuve had already promised her the top position in the agency once the coup was crushed, but he’d also made a mental footnote to get rid of her once he didn’t need her anymore. She was too brutal, too smart…she could be a threat one day. And Gaston Villieneuve had promised himself, once the current crisis was over, he could cut off potential dangers at the root.
Villieneuve stared back at the Salamanca, his eyes narrow, his look one as frozen as space. “I can promise you, Tia, with absolute sincerity, that when this is all over, every conspirator, every sympathizer, every Union citizen that has failed to do his or her duty to deter and defeat the traitors, will rue the day they were born.
The word ‘justice’ had never had a darker, more threatening sound.
“Very well, First Citizen.” The admiral spoke before Salamanca could respond. “I wish my first suggestion could be to blockage Montmirail now, to trap the treachery there, and to begin the cleansing at once. But I’m afraid that is impossible.”
Villieneuve knew that already, but hearing it from his cohort truly made it hit home. He had a disadvantage in the capital system, at least at that moment. Ciara had surprised him with her resilience, and her pure audacity…though he was sure Kerevsky had also been involved somehow. It had taken all he could
muster not to order the admiral to blast the Confed ambassador’s ship to atoms, but the last thing he needed was trouble with the Confeds, at least while he was dealing with the insurrection.
Besides, the ship was sitting under the guns of the orbital forts…and Villieneuve didn’t control those.
But once he’d crushed Ciara and her followers and reestablished himself in uncontested control of the government, he would see the Confeds were repaid for their interference…not matter how long it took.
“I am inclined to agree with you, Admiral, that the intelligent move now is to pull back and organize. We must rally support among the military and on the other worlds.”
“We will have to leave the system at once, First Citizen. It is shameful, perhaps, but that traitor, Riennes, has managed to gain control over the system defenses, both the fortresses and the patrol fleet. Our forces here are inadequate to guarantee your safety, much less to attack and destroy the traitors, as I would like. The future of the Union is in our hands, and there is no room for carelessness, for unnecessary chances. We must go and rally the battle fleets, ensure that none of the heavy units, or as few as possible, fall into the hands of the conspirators.”
“Indeed, Admiral. I agree entirely.” It galled Villieneuve to be chased away from his capital, but his instincts had rarely betrayed him before. He didn’t have enough strength in the Ghassara system, not to be sure of victory. He had to move first, and quickly. The struggle for power would ultimately hinge on who secured control of more military assets.
He liked to think he would easily secure all the fleet’s heavy battle units, but he stopped himself. He couldn’t underestimate Ciara again…and General Riennes had contacts throughout the navy. Some unit commanders would likely declare for the new government.
His first thoughts had been of quick fixes, of crushing the rebels, exterminating any who supported them. But the fight before him would be longer, more difficult than that. The situation had gone beyond a coup, beyond the machinations of groups of plotters and troops moving about in the dark. Things were about to get ugly. Very, very ugly.
The Union was about to erupt into civil war.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
CFS Dauntless
Ettara-Mordlin System
Year 322 AC
The Battle of Pharsalon – “Barron’s Choice”
Barron stared at the display, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the enemy ships approaching his position. He could see Chronos’s forces as well, clearly beginning a run for the transit point. If it hadn’t been for the flanking force, a good number of them would have made it out, Barron was sure of that. They would have paid—heavily—but they’d have salvaged a force in being, lived to fight another day.
But now they were doomed. A few ships might make it through, but the fleet as a fighting unit would be destroyed, and with it, any hope the Hegemony had of resisting the enemy invasion.
Any hope the Rim had, too. There’s no way we can face this enemy alone…
His head ached, a pounding pain, like a drum behind his temples. He’d saved his own force, all except the three ships remaining in the system. There was time to pull them out as well. He could leave Ettara-Mordlin without losses, and while part of him rejoiced at the lack of casualties, it made him feel somehow…dirty…to flee without harm when the cream of the Hegemony fleet was about to be obliterated.
He watched the enemy forces, analyzed their vectors. They’d been coming in on a line toward his ships, but they’d adjusted their course as his forces had withdrawn, and now they were moving several light minutes in-system from the point. Barron felt a surge of anger, a resentment that his force had been dismissed as a threat. Admittedly, his ships had run, and only three remained in Ettara-Mordlin. His trio of battleships was hardly a threat to the enemy, at least by any conventional standards…though pride surged out from the depths of his thoughts and asserted that three of the best battleships in the Confederation navy were a threat to anyone.
His mind rehashed the rules of engagement, the orders the Senate had given him. Clearly, the situation warranted action. His ships were on the flank of the enemy flanking force, and though the bulk of his force had transited, they’d gone through at minimal velocities. They could reverse their vectors very quickly and return…if Barron sent for them.
But he was forbidden to engage. There was no leeway, no latitude. If he attacked the enemy flanking force, he would do so in direct violation of the Senate’s orders. Worse, the officers who obeyed his commands would be equally guilty. The rules of engagement had been published throughout the fleet, and every ship commander, every bridge officer, would know any order to attack was mutinous. Barron might throw his career away to do what he believed was right. He might even risk spending the rest of his life in a military stockade…or worse. But how could he do that to his people? They were loyal, devoted. If he ordered them in, if he asked them to follow him, he doubted one in a thousand would refuse. He told himself their actions would be their choice, that they had their own free will, but he didn’t believe that was really true. Not in this case.
And yet, would he be serving them by allowing the Hegemony to be defeated? He had no doubt now, the Rim would be next…and that it would fall. The families, the loved ones of all his spacers, they would die, or become slaves. If anything was worth fighting for, wasn’t preventing such a fate?
He was silent, deep in his own tortured mind. And then he made his choice.
“Atara…Repulse is closest to the transit point. They are to send a shuttle through with orders for the fleet to return at once at maximum possible speed…fully prepared for battle.”
“Yes, sir!” He could hear the energy and excitement in her voice. There was no mistake, at least, that Admiral Atara Travis was a willing participant in the mutiny about to take place.
He turned and looked at the approaching enemy ships. If he plotted the right vector, he could catch them just as they were forming up to meet Chronos’s escaping ships. The enemy was vastly superior in technology, but Barron’s ships would have the positional advantage, at least at first.
And he would make it count.
There was only one problem. He’d have some real force when the rest of the fleet returned, but until then, he had to make three ships count.
“Atara, Dauntless, Repulse, and Indomitable are to set a course for 135.208.360, maximum thrust.”
“Yes, sir!” Travis repeated the command into the comm with withering assertiveness. She was in her battle zone, the place he’d seen her so many times. She was ready to fight.
And so was he.
“Repulse reports shuttle away. Forty seconds until transit. All ships are on the specified heading at full thrust.
Barron felt the feral side of him taking control, pushing away the warning signs, even as the intellectual part of his brain screamed about the absurdity of leading three ships forward, unsupported. The rest of the fleet would be close behind, of course, and his tiny advance guard would have some surprise on its side. But it was still a wild risk.
Fighters, I need to get squadrons into space. Assuming they can scramble in time.
“Atara, scramble…”
“Admiral, I’ve got Jake Stockton on your line. He reports his fighter drill is underway on all three ships remaining in the system. All squadrons are in the bays and ready for launch.”
“A what? What drill?” But even as he spoke the words, understanding dawned.
Barron was stunned, although he realized almost immediately that perhaps he shouldn’t be. He was violating orders himself, and he’d never known an officer to be as liberal on interpretations of commands as Jake Stockton.
Though, technically, running a drill isn’t a violation of anything…
And it meant he had over two hundred fighters ready to go.
He felt a wave of relief, gratitude that he had officers like Stockton serving under him, men and women who thought for themselves, showed initiative. Eighteen squadrons o
f bombers would vastly amplify the combat power he had available until the rest of the fleet returned. It wasn’t enough force to meaningfully hurt the enemy either. But just maybe, it was enough to buy the time he needed until the rest of his ships could return.
He turned toward Atara, and he said, “All squadrons…launch. Their orders are to attack.”
He took a deep breath, and he repeated the command.
“All squadrons…attack!”
* * *
“High Commander Hellerax…we’re picking up three ships inbound from the jump point. The force that remained there during the battle has mostly withdrawn, but now the remaining vessels appear to be moving toward our flanking force.”
The Highborn commander turned, glaring across the control room toward the Thrall officer. “That is absurd. What could three of the human vessels possibly hope to accomplish?” But even as he spoke, he saw the ships coming on himself…and, seconds later, small clouds of dots appearing in front of each.
His first thought was to turn to face the approaching ships, to destroy them and then come about to engage the enemy’s main force even then approaching. But there wasn’t time. If he turned, he would sacrifice the advantage of his longer-ranged weapons, and he would give the enemy main fleet time to make a run through his line, to get more ships out of the system.
And he was there to ensure the Hegemony fleet died where it was.
“Three ships, and whatever cluster of miniscule craft appear to be launching from them, cannot possible]y be a threat to the flanking force. All ships are to continue as per the existing plan, and to prepare to engage the small enemy force with rear batteries if it continues to close.”