“Good.”
He turned to Haykuz. “I bring personal greetings from your sire. He wishes you to know you have brought pride to the family and he looks forward with pleasure to being able to welcome and congratulate you personally.”
Haykuz flushed with embarrassment and pleasure, but shook his head. “That will never be possible unless we can prevail here. I was forced to speak with circumspection over even a closed diplomatic holocon channel, but the danger is enormous. We need your leadership to—”
The special envoy put his hand on Haykuz’s shoulder and nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. Believe me, I could read your meaning quite clearly and I have been studying the situation to the best of my ability during the long coast in. We will see about dealing with it shortly, and you will have a role to play. Prepare to carry even more responsibility than you have so far.”
He turned to Nuvaash. “I suspected you would be present as well, Vice-Captain. I counted on it, in fact, and so did not voice such a request. No need to advertise my interest. I bring a message for you as well, Vice-Captain, from your superior.”
“Admiral e-T’maa, the chief of Naval Security?”
“No, Nuvaash, your real superior. This is the message: We are the arrows of destiny.”
Nuvaash swayed unsteadily for a moment. As practiced as he was at never showing his reactions and at being prepared for every foreseeable eventuality, he had never anticipated this. The special envoy knew his personal activation code. The special envoy!
“Our fiery trajectories extinguish the darkness,” he answered, and the special envoy nodded. Nuvaash saw Haykuz staring from one to the other in confusion and the special envoy turned his gaze to him again.
“Here is the first of the responsibilities you must carry from now forward, Haykuz. You must never reveal what you have heard in this room, or what you will hear shortly. Vice-Captain Nuvaash is an undercover agent of CSJ.”
Haykuz turned to Nuvaash, his eyes wide. “The secret police? A Co-Gozhak provost? You?” Then he turned back to the special envoy. “Then you must be one as well?”
The special envoy smiled broadly and shook his head. “Oh, no. I am exactly what I appear to be: an official of the Khap’uKhaana, a diplomat and bureaucrat. More often than not, the policies we recommend to the Executive Council run counter to those of the CSJ, sometimes diametrically so, but our principal goal is the same: survival of the Cottohazz. We usually differ as to how that is to be accomplished, but occasionally we agree even on that. When the commandant of CSJ, Field Marshal Lieutenant e-Loyolaan, learned of my mission here to K’tok, he made available the services of the one agent he knew to be well-placed.”
The special envoy turned to Nuvaash again. “Very well-placed, although it appears largely by chance, as this was not your assignment.”
“Entirely by chance, Honorable Special Envoy. Chance dictated I was rescued from the wreck of the uBakai flagship and thus captured, chance dictated I would share a needle capsule with the Human intelligence officer Atwater-Jones, and chance helped those two coincidences move me to my current position.”
The special envoy nodded. “Your commandant is curious how it was that you survived the destruction of the flagship and yet the object of your surveillance, Admiral e-Lapeela, did not.”
He seemed to be waiting for an answer, and Nuvaash remembered what his friend Cassandra had said during the Board of Inquiry. “I am not at liberty to discuss that,” he said.
“Of course, I understand,” the special envoy said. “The less I know about your former mission the better, at least for now.”
Nuvaash relaxed a bit. He did not wish to lie, but he also did not think telling the special envoy the truth—that he, Nuvaash, had executed his former commander—would help them build a relationship of trust.
“Now, Nuvaash,” the special envoy said, “begin by telling me what you know about the Guardian Te’Anna, and then your assessment of these three Human admirals.”
“Perhaps I should tell you about Bitka as well, Honorable Special Envoy.”
“The missing Human ship captain? Is he important?”
Haykuz laughed, and then gulped his laughter down when Nuvaash and the special envoy looked at him, nearly choking on it and turning a shade of purplish red. To Nuvaash’s surprise, the special envoy smiled.
“Perhaps you had better tell me.”
Gordo Stevens knew something was rotten when Jake Goldjune offered to come up-needle for a face-to-face but wanted it on Highstation, not Olympus Mons. Highstation was part of Jake’s command—K’tok Base Area—not Gordo’s First Combined Fleet, so maybe it was a turf thing, or wanting the home field advantage in whatever negotiations were going to take place. That made sense, but he didn’t buy it. He thought it was because Jake didn’t want to be anywhere near his brother Cedric, the CNO. But why? Gordo knew not to ask, though. As long as he could pretend it was just a turf thing, taking the meeting was not a deliberate act of insubordination. Once he knew what Jake wanted, then he’d decide what to do.
It was funny—a month ago he’d never have agreed to this. Too politically dangerous. He’d have gone to the CNO right away. That had changed, though. It wasn’t just careers and pensions at stake anymore. Gordo understood that. It was hard getting used to, and he wished things could get back to business as usual, but he didn’t see how. It was like navigating without a chart. He hated it.
The Marine lance corporal led him to the meeting room Jake had reserved and showed him in: a small room, and Jake was the only other one there. He rose from his chair and extended his hand, but his expression remained serious. Never any false bonhomie from Jacob Goldjune, and Gordo liked that.
“Gordo, thanks for taking this meeting. I know you must be busy as hell.”
“I am, Jake, but I figured this must be important for you to come up here and want it face to face. Are we on the record or off?”
“On, but the record is going to stay sealed for a while. You’ll see why and I won’t keep you in suspense. I am going to fulfill a wish you expressed a few days ago.” Jake squinted and turned aside, then said, “Yeoman Saud, have the lieutenant commander join us.”
The door opened and the officer entered.
“Jesus Christ, Jake! He looks just like Bitka. Where’d you find him? Hey, what have you got going here?”
“Not what you think,” Jake answered. “He doesn’t look like Bitka. This is Lieutenant Commander Samuel Bitka, in the flesh.”
Gordo looked at him and shook his head. “Bullshit! Not fucking possible. How did he get here? Magic?”
“The Guardian Te’Anna brought him.”
“Bullshit. My people scoured every inch of her ship.”
“He was disguised as the third Guardian. Even fooled me, but I watched him take the disguise off myself. Damnedest thing I ever did see.”
“The hell you say.” Gordo stared at Bitka again. He didn’t just look like him, he had that . . . attitude. Maybe more so. Shit, it really was him, wasn’t it?
“Well, Bitka, you fucked me over again. My financial advisor said not to sell my Simki-Traak stock, said only suckers sell when the price is low, said it was sure to bounce back. Now this news your crew brought back—hell. Simki-Traak and all the other old houses are stone cold dead, aren’t they?”
“Possibly so, sir.”
“Yeah, and there goes my retirement. Guess I’ll have to keep wearing this uniform until they kick my ass out, which might not be that long once the CNO gets wind of this meeting. So, you’re probably going to fuck me one last time. Is there a reason for this meeting, other than to torpedo what’s left of my career?”
“Bitka’s got some ideas, but he needs some things I can’t give him,” Goldjune said. “You can.”
“Uh-huh. God, I’m afraid to ask. Okay, what do you need, Bitka?”
“Sir, I need twenty-four Mark Five fire lance missiles, and a light cruiser with working fabricators and a good EVA team. I understand USS John Fitzgerald Ke
nnedy might be available.”
Gordo looked at Bitka for a while. He’d known young lieutenants and lieutenant commanders who could stand there and talk to a vice admiral without fear or bluster. Some were academy-educated whiz kids who knew they were destined for stars themselves. Others were just dumb fucks who didn’t know any better. Bitka sure wasn’t the first type and Gordo didn’t think he was the second, either.
“Is that all?” he asked with sarcasm.
Bitka shifted his weight and looked down before replying. “Well, sir, there’s also a CPO named Joyce Menzies, recovering from reconstructive surgery on USS Mercy Island but due for release. She was my CPO-Weaps on Puebla. Hell of a missile monkey. I could use her, too, if you could arrange it.”
“Missile monkey, huh? I assume you two are aware the Fitz doesn’t have a coil gun so it can’t shoot those Mark Fives.”
“’Course we are,” Goldjune said with a smile.
Legally, this was entirely his call. He was the fleet commander and he didn’t have to ask permission to move one ship in his command or shift around a few missiles. It was Bitka’s presence that made the situation potentially explosive—Bitka’s along with the CNO’s. This wasn’t something the CNO had to be told, but it was something he would want to be, since he was right next door in Olympus Mons. Why was his brother Jake reluctant to let him know? For that matter, Gordo wondered why he was himself reluctant to bring the CNO in on this. Probably because of all those private meetings between the CNO and Senator Ramirez y Sesma, and a sudden silence from him about how Gordo was to prepare for the coming fight. He didn’t like what that added up to.
Gordo looked at the other two officers and knew he was standing on the edge of a cliff. The thought scared him, but he was also getting really, really tired of being scared of all this political bullshit.
“Well, my ass is really hanging out here, but you got it, every bit of it, provided the plan makes any sense.”
“Happy to hear that, Gordo,” Jake said. “May as well let you know, I’ve got some class-A composite-armored ass coverage for you. Open your commlink and I’ll transfer it.”
Gordo felt a tingle and squinted up the incoming document. Then he laughed.
“All military forces in the system are officially called into Cottohazz service? What the hell, Jake, you could have saved me some sweat by just telling me up front. You just want to see me squirm in the hot seat?”
“The truth is, Gordo, I wanted you to have the chance to do the right thing on your own. You did.”
“So, who is this leatherhead e-Lotonaa?” Gordo asked, ignoring Goldjune’s compliment.
“Never met him before today but he’s got some starch in him, and he knows his mind. I think we could have done a lot worse.”
Gordo nodded. Maybe so. They sure weren’t getting what he would call decisive direction from the CNO. “Okay, Bitka, tell me what that devious mind of yours has come up with.”
“Oh, actually sir, there is something else I need.”
Goldjune started laughing then. “Yes, and it’s only a couple billion dollars worth of Navy hardware he’s going to blow up in the process. You’ll love it, Gordo.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Two days later, Outworld Coalition Naval Headquarters Complex, the planet K’tok
30 September 2134
“A senator, huh?” Sam asked as Cassandra sank into the armchair across from him in the field-grade officers’ lounge. They were the only two there. Sam hoped it stayed that way.
“Are you jealous?”
He thought about her question for a while, really thought about it, examined what he felt and why, and then shook his head. “I would have been before, but not now. So why did I ask? I guess it surprised me is all. A senator doesn’t sound like that much fun.”
“How do you know how much fun a senator can be behind closed doors?” she demanded, but it sounded false to him, sounded defensive.
“You willing to live your life behind closed doors? You’re a private person, Cass, but not out of shame, and not to cater to someone else’s shame, either.”
She looked away before replying. “You are going with the fleet.”
“Sort of. Vice Admiral Stevens appointed me his Tac boss. I’m taking your pall Nuvaash along, found him a berth in the N-2 shop.”
“I thought you didn’t trust Nuvaash.”
“Well, I trust him enough for this. We need a good liaison with the Varoki fleet elements, and he knows their ships’ capabilities better than anyone else around. We’re heading up-needle this afternoon, but I’m bound for a light cruiser, the Fitz. I’ll shove off this evening. The rest of the fleet—what there is of it here—starts accelerating tomorrow. We want the point of contact to be as far from K’tok as we can get, and with as high a closing velocity as we can manage.”
She looked at her hands folded in her lap and the silence grew.
“Bow-on Bitka,” she whispered.
“Bullshit. That’s not who I—”
“Don’t lie to me!” she snapped, suddenly turning on him, eyes intense. “For God’s sake don’t lie to me about that. Not now. That’s exactly who you are. You think I don’t know how your mind works? All these different schemes you’re working on, all these different forces you and Stevens are trying to assemble . . . It’s not to put P’Daan off balance, not to bluff him, not to confuse him or trick him into some elaborate mistake. You aren’t fencing with him. Your plan is simply to smash him, any way and every way you can. You see, I’ve been studying the logs and archives on the Fourth Battle of K’tok, the climax of the last war. I know what your attack plan was.”
“Commodore Bonaventure commanded,” Sam said quietly.
“Yes, but it was your plan. His log says as much. And what was that plan? Drive into the heart of the uBakai fleet, fight your way right through it, and come out the far side, doing as much mayhem along the way as you could. You probably don’t know much British naval history, but in 1666 one of the largest naval battles in history took place, in the English Channel between the Royal Navy and the Dutch. Part of the outnumbered British fleet was all but engulfed by the Dutch fleet at one point, seemed to be swallowed up by it, but then emerged from the far side, erupted out having fought their way through in fire and thunder. They won a victory so remarkable the poet John Dryden wrote about it in one of his masterworks, Annus Mirabilis, the Year of Miracles. One verse has always stayed with me. I understand you’ve developed an appreciation for poetry.”
“One poem, anyway,” Sam answered.
“Well, here is another for you:
Our little fleet was now engaged so far,
That, like the sword-fish in the whale, they fought:
The combat only seem’d a civil war,
Till through their bowels, we our passage wrought.
“He could have been writing about Fourth K’tok. That’s you, Bitka: through their bowels. You won’t nibble at the edges of the Troatta fleet, will you? You aim to gut it.”
Sam felt a coolness wash over him, a calmness and clarity which once would have been alien to him but, since deciding to turn himself over to K’Irka on Seven Echo Highstation, had come with greater frequency. “There’s no other way.”
She looked up into his face, her own forehead creased in distress. “There’s no other way for you. That’s who you are, Bitka. Don’t pretend it’s not, and for God’s sake, don’t be ashamed of it.”
Don’t be ashamed of it. That was an interesting way to put it. Was he ashamed? No, not really, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the notion, either. But that didn’t change the truth of what she said.
“Yeah, I know you’re right. I guess I’ve known a long time, ever since the Third battle of K’tok, not the Fourth.”
“Where you destroyed the uKaMaat salvo cruiser,” she said.
“You have been doing your homework. Well, you always were thorough and methodical.” Sam stood up. “Time for me to exhibit the same qualities. I have
three staff meetings before I catch the needle. I’d hoped we’d have a chance to talk more, get some things said. I guess that’s going to have to wait. Maybe I can put your mind at ease on one score. I won’t be with the main fleet. I have another job, and it doesn’t involve even getting into the line of fire.”
Cassandra shook her head and stood. “No plan survives contact with the enemy. In my experience, most don’t even survive contact with reality. I don’t count on you coming back this time, Bitka. Hope sometimes makes things harder, not easier. I did listen to your holovid diary.”
“What did you think?”
She closed her eyes. “Heartbreaking, to be perfectly honest.”
Sam shook his head. “Didn’t mean it to be. Well, I was a long way from home, frightened and lonely, and there were some things I hadn’t worked out yet. By the time I had, there wasn’t as much time to do those entries.”
“Or as much need,” she said quietly.
“Or as much need,” he agreed.
“So, let me at least say this much to you, Bitka. Of course, I love you. Of course, I do. But I am not certain I am in love with you, and I am even less certain we could manage to build a satisfactory life together.”
“Satisfactory?”
Her brow creased in anger. “Oh, don’t be an ass, Bitka! That’s the way I talk, as you very well know, and you also know exactly what I mean: a joint household in which we would both feel happy and satisfied and fulfilled.”
Sam couldn’t keep from smiling. He hadn’t said it to set her off, but he really did love to see her angry—preferably not at him. Anyone who thought the warrior spirit was incompatible with femininity had never see Cass under a full head of steam. Boudicca must have looked like this, exhorting her Celtic warriors to charge the hated Roman legions, or Joan of Arc getting ready to take back another French city from the Limies.
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