by Eric Thomson
After fifteen days alongside, the orders to sail, complete with coordinates in interstellar space and a time-date group for the rendezvous came as a relief, not only to Dunmoore but just about everyone in the task force. Liberty on a starbase became stale quickly and until peace broke out, real furloughs, long enough to visit a planet with breathable air or even go home and visit families they only half-remembered after years in space wouldn’t be granted.
The night before Task Force Luckner left Starbase 30, Admiral Singhal hosted a formal reception for Dunmoore, her captains, and the officers who weren’t standing harbor watch in the officer’s mess. Simultaneously, 3rd Fleet’s coxswain hosted Luckner’s chief petty officers in the senior enlisted mess. By all accounts, the chiefs had a better time, but everyone appreciated the sincere effort.
An abstemious Dunmoore felt no pain the next morning when her ships released moorings and moved off, though some officers standing watch seemed worse for wear. How Luckner’s chief petty officers fared after their reception would forever remain a mystery.
— Forty-One —
“What the hell is that?” Holt stared at the image of a sleek civilian starship trailing CSS Terra.
Both vessels had emerged at the precise coordinates a little over three hours after the given rendezvous time.
“Transponder has it as the liner Equinox Nova, of the Black Nova Shipping Company,” Yens replied.
“Damn space brothel,” Sirico muttered in a disgusted tone. “Let me guess, his nibs the SecGen and his posse prefer traveling in luxury instead of the Commonwealth Navy’s flagship.”
Holt gave him an amused look.
“Might I infer you don’t enjoy fancy passenger ships, Thorin? I thought you were a man of the galaxy, with a taste for the finer things in life.”
“I am, but I lost the urge to travel in high-end civilian liners. Back when I was a freshly promoted sub-lieutenant, I hitched a ride on one of Black Nova’s fancy oversized yachts so I could reach my new ship before it left on a three-month patrol in the badlands. Paid by the navy, of course, since it reassigned me after my ensign cruise and there was no other transport available. How shall I put this politely? The crew included some of the most arrogant, snobbish sods I’ve ever met. Looked down their noses at the navy and treated me as if I was an annoyance rather than a valued passenger. And don’t get me started on the people who travel in those space brothels.”
“Why do I think your trip included a love affair gone wrong?” Major Salminen asked in an innocent tone. “Rich older woman. Young, impressionable, and penniless junior officer. It’s an old story.”
“I was neither impressionable nor penniless. Just so you know.”
“All right, folks.” Holt raised a hand. “Save it for the wardroom.”
He glanced at Emma Cullop’s hologram, hovering by his elbow.
“You can cancel battle stations now.”
“Shall we open a link with Terra or wait for them to call us?”
Holt turned to Dunmoore, sitting in the CIC’s second command chair.
“Commodore?”
She was saved from having to answer by the signals chief.
“Sir, Terra’s commanding officer is calling for Commodore Dunmoore.”
“You want to take it in my day cabin?” Holt asked.
Dunmoore stood. “Sure. Why don’t we both do that?”
“You have the CIC, Mister Sirico.”
Seconds after Dunmoore settled behind her former desk, the primary display came to life with the face of a dark-complexioned, heavy-set, bald man in his late forties. Intelligent eyes beneath thick brows met hers.
“Commodore Dunmoore. I’m Oliver Harmel, Terra’s skipper. I’m placing Terra and Equinox Nova under your command.” He spoke in one of the deepest voices she’d ever heard.
She inclined her head to acknowledge his words.
“Welcome. This is Ezekiel Holt, my flag captain, as well as Iolanthe’s commanding officer.”
“Captain Holt. A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Why are you traveling with a civilian liner?” Dunmoore asked.
For a moment, it seemed as if Harmel wanted to roll his eyes but restrained himself at the last second.
“After the SecGen’s aides inspected my VIP facilities, they decided a more suitable starship would transport the civilian delegation. The government, therefore, chartered Equinox Nova. Her captain, Steffan Ricker, is a reasonable fellow and understands the concept of taking navigation orders from a naval vessel. I did, however, put a company of Marines aboard, along with three of my officers and a handful of enlisted, to make sure there are no misunderstandings.”
“Is either ship carrying Armed Services flag officers?”
Harmel nodded once.
“I have Grand Admiral Shkadov, Lieutenant General Daetor Pelc, the deputy commandant of the Marine Corps, Lieutenant General Macmillan Devereux, the Army’s assistant chief of staff, Vice Admiral Kallie Bogdan, the deputy chief of naval operations, and Commodore Janya Lemmone, the grand admiral’s senior aide-de-camp. The deputy service chiefs also brought their own senior aides.”
“Admiral Shkadov left the service chiefs at home?” So much for seeing Admiral Nagira again. “I suppose he figured it would be best, just in case things go pear-shaped. And they’re in Terra you said?”
“Yes, sir.” Harmel hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Just between you and me, none of them wanted to be cooped up with a bunch of politicians and civil servants in what General Pelc’s aide calls a space brothel.”
Holt snorted with amusement.
“That’s precisely what my combat systems officer called it just now.”
“I’ve been aboard, to meet the SecGen and Captain Ricker. The term is apt, though only if one compares it with the most expensive establishments. Not that I know what they look like on the inside. Not on a captain’s pay and certainly not on an ensign’s pay, which was the last time I was looking for adult entertainment.”
“Are your passengers—” She paused, searching for the right word. “Unobtrusive?”
“Very much so. The flag officers’ section is separate from the rest of the accommodations, with its own dining, entertainment, and physical exercise facilities, as you’ll shortly see. The grand admiral invites you and your flag captain to come aboard Terra at two bells in the dog watch for a meet and greet, followed by a supper in the flag officers’ dining room. I’ll be there as well. Dress of the day is fine. Our guests have been wearing shipboard uniforms since we departed Earth.”
Dunmoore chuckled.
“Out here, our daily wear is battledress, but Zeke and I will change into shipboard uniforms.”
Harmel let out a rueful sigh.
“One of the many things I miss from my days chasing boneheads. Terra is a magnificent beast, but frigates are more fun. What I wouldn’t give for command of a Voivode class right now.”
“When we reach Aquilonia, you should talk with Gregor Pushkin while the diplomats are discussing the shape of the negotiation table. He has the first of them, Jan Sobieski, and considers her a pocket cruiser.”
“Since I plan on inviting your captains to dine aboard Terra at least once while we’re there, I’ll ask him about his ship and live vicariously for a few moments. But back to business. I assume your flagship navigator will be giving us instructions?”
“That would be Lieutenant Astrid Drost and yes she will, within the hour as a matter of fact,” Holt replied. “Along with the commodore’s orders which are quite simple. We will adopt a spherical formation with you and Equinox Nova at the center. I trust the civilians can keep in formation.”
“No complaints so far. I’ll say one thing for Black Nova. They don’t stint on maintenance. That liner’s engines are perfectly tuned.”
“Excellent.” Holt glanced at Dunmoore. “Anything else, sir?”
“No. You, Captain?”
Harmel shook his head.
; “I’ve said my piece, and we’ll see you in a few hours. Cheers!”
“Until then.” The display went blank.
“I would hate his job right now,” Holt remarked. “Even though he says his passengers are unobtrusive, that many stars in my ship would keep me as wary as a Sister of the Void in a tavern.”
“At least he’s not burdened with the politicians and bureaucrats.”
“Small mercies. But we’re now burdened with their protection.”
Dunmoore shrugged. “A very minor thing. Captain Ricker will respect my orders with absolute precision because his employers do not want the Secretary-General of the Commonwealth mad at them.”
“Indubitably.” He jumped up. “I’ll see that the hangar deck crew prepares the pinnace. Any preference for pilot?”
“None whatsoever. I’d fly us myself, but apparently, commodores can’t get away with it the way captains can.”
“I won’t say a word.”
“Terra’s hangar deck NCO will notice, and unlike yours, he answers to a captain who’s not under my command.”
“Harmel technically is for this mission.”
“Assign one of your pilots, Zeke. If I feel an irresistible urge to take the controls, we’ll do it far from the prying eyes of our head of state, our commander-in-chief, and the deputy chief of naval operations.”
**
Fifteen minutes before the appointed time, Iolanthe’s pinnace, with Petty Officer Third Class Gus Purdy at the controls, nudged through the force field keeping Terra’s shuttle deck pressurized and settled at the center of a lit circle. The space doors closed and a Marine quarter guard under the command of a natty lieutenant in full dress uniform marched out, followed by a bosun’s mate with a silver call in hand.
While they formed in good order perpendicular to the pinnace’s aft ramp, Captain Oliver Harmel appeared to greet his guest in person. He was as massive as she’d imagined, a tall, broad slab of a man, easily bigger than Chief Petty Officer Guthren. His physique matched his deep voice and more.
The pinnace’s ramp dropped, and when its upper edge touched the deck, the bosun’s mate raised his call to his lips, and a trill filled the air just as the Marine officer ordered his troopers to present arms. Dunmoore walked down the ramp, raised her hand to her brow in salute, and asked, “Permission to come aboard?”
“Granted,” Harmel replied, returning her salute. “Welcome, Commodore.”
With the formalities concluded and the guard shouldering arms, Holt followed Dunmoore and saluted as well.
“Captain Holt. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you.” He looked around at the cavernous hangar and nodded appreciatively. “Almost as big as ours.”
“This is the secondary, for administrative shuttle movements only. The combat hangar is one level down. You’ll find it much larger.”
Dunmoore nodded.
“I remember it well. We flew fighters from the combat deck when Terra was a carrier.”
Harmel noticed Dunmoore’s pilot wings for the first time.
“You were part of Terra’s fighter group?”
“For a brief time, long ago. Turned out it wasn’t what I wanted as a naval career.”
“Would you enjoy visiting the officer’s accommodations deck and see what’s become of your former cabin?”
Dunmoore shook her head with a rueful smile.
“Thanks, but no.”
“Then I’ll take you to the flag officer’s section for your meeting with Grand Admiral Shkadov.”
“Does that include me?” Holt asked.
“It certainly does.”
After walking along a bare corridor and up spiral stairs, they passed through an open airlock giving onto a part of the ship with a very different atmosphere. One of quiet contemplation and genteel comfort rather than the austere functionality of a warship’s working sections. The bulkhead paneling and decorations weren’t overstated but conveyed that this was a place reserved for the Fleet’s top leaders.
Harmel stopped at a door bearing a blue insignia with five gold stars joined in a circle at its center.
“Grand Admiral Shkadov’s day cabin.”
He touched the gray panel to one side, and the door slid open without a sound.
“Please enter.”
— Forty-Two —
Dunmoore, with Holt at her side, marched in and stopped a regulation three paces in front of a large desk dominating the compartment. Both saluted in unison while she said, “Commodore Dunmoore and Captain Holt, Task Force Luckner, reporting to the grand admiral as ordered.”
“At ease,” a low, raspy voice replied. “And sit.”
When she relaxed, Dunmoore caught her first glimpse of the Commonwealth Armed Services’ commander-in-chief. He was a man in his late seventies with iron gray hair. Hooded eyes beneath black brows and an aquiline nose dominated his narrow face. Those eyes studied them with an almost eerie intensity as they complied.
“So. You are the masterminds behind the mission that resulted in this Brakal becoming the Shrehari dictator and suing for peace. Or perhaps I should say the missions since he claims his rise to power started when Iolanthe destroyed his strike group’s forward operating base. Well done. Well done indeed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dunmoore replied.
“Admiral Xi informed me you proposed the attack on the Shrehari home system, Commodore. And while you were only acting as Task Force Luckner’s commander. Surprisingly bold, both the idea and voicing it even before you knew you would take over from Kell Petras. Admiral Nagira speaks highly of you, and I can see why.”
Since his statement did not call for an answer, she merely inclined her head.
“And you, Captain Holt. Your commodore’s reports are full of praise for your work in both commanding Iolanthe and acting as her flag captain. Your promotion and appointment seem well deserved.”
“Sir.”
“You’re probably wondering why I summoned both of you here, and while we must discuss arrangements, most of the details will wait until we reach Aquilonia. What I really want is to hear your story first hand, starting with your raid on Brakal’s FOB and ending with that spectacular attack on his empire’s home system. Call it an old man’s conceit. I want to know how a young commodore and her raiders accomplished what my entire fleet couldn’t do in a decade of war — make the enemy ask for terms.”
Dunmoore spoke for more than an hour, nudged along here and there by Holt who remembered minor facts that escaped her and prodded by Shkadov’s penetrating questions.
“So you know this Brakal from long ago and spoke with him on a few occasions. Interesting. That your paths would cross so often and in such a manner almost makes one believe in karma or the intervention of divine beings. I will be interested to see his reaction when you enter the meeting room as head of the SecGen’s military escort. Considering we’ve not told him the name of the officer responsible for both raids, it will be a surprise.” He checked for her reaction, then asked, “Do you speak Shrehari?”
“Some, though my accent probably grates on Shrehari ears.”
“I’m more interested in Brakal’s unfiltered reaction when he sees you. Let me know what it is.”
“Of course.” She hesitated. “If I may ask, sir, Admiral Singhal informed me Admiral Xi nominated Task Force Luckner for a Commonwealth Unit Citation, and we were curious whether that went anywhere.”
A faint smile softened Shkadov’s ascetic features.
“That was the next item on my agenda. Secretary-General Lauzier approved the unit citation. He asked that I present it in his name before we arrive in the Cimmeria system, so your people may display the device on their dress uniforms when you escort him to meet Brakal. Congratulations. It is well deserved.”
“That’s good news, sir. My spacers and soldiers will wear it with pride. When, where, and how would do you wish to make the presentation?”
“The when is once we’re done here, which is in a few minutes. The
where is in the flag section’s common room and the how is simple. Captain Harmel is even now linking Terra with your ships so we can broadcast my giving you the citation in front of the deputy service chiefs and Terra’s senior officers. That way, your crews can witness the presentation, and we can be on our way to the armistice talks once you’re back aboard Iolanthe. I’m sure your onboard fabricators can make enough copies of the device for everyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
A soft chime sounded, then one of the day cabin’s doors opened to admit a stocky, black-haired, middle-aged woman wearing a single star on her collar and an aide-de-camp’s twisted gold braid on her left shoulder. Her brown eyes briefly rested on Dunmoore before turning to Shkadov.
“Sir, the deputy service chiefs, and Terra’s senior officers are assembled in the common room. The video pickups are live, and we’re linked with Task Force Luckner.”
“Thank you, Janya. Commodore Dunmoore, Captain Holt, meet Janya Lemmone, my long-suffering senior aide.”
Both stood, and Dunmoore extended her hand.
“Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Lemmone’s grip was firm, almost testing. She turned to Holt. “Captain.”
“Sir.”
“If you’ll follow Janya, I’ll be along in a few moments.”
Lemmone led them down the paneled passageway and through an open door into what resembled the main room in a starbase officer’s mess. All conversation ceased when the aide announced them.
She introduced Dunmoore and Holt to the assembled flag officers and their aides one by one, after which Captain Harmel did the same with his department heads. Moments after they took their assigned positions in front of a rostrum bearing Terra’s insignia, Lemmone called the room to attention.
“Grand Admiral Shkadov.”
The commander-in-chief of humanity’s military forces entered with an energetic stride that belied his age.
