But if he could convince them of the value of the prize waiting for them in the palace, maybe he could overcome their reluctance. In fact, he might end up with all three forces in a race to the center of New Edinburgh.
But he couldn’t make final plans yet—there was a crucial meeting ahead. Vedet could talk to all the people he wanted, guess to the best of his ability about who might know what, but when his Loki liaison requested a meeting, that meant he was about to acquire information that was as solid as it got. Information that might be the center of his plan.
Even when he had been running Defiance Industries on Hesperus, Vedet had regularly met with Loki operatives. Corporate intrigue was at least as cutthroat as the military variety, and protecting the secrets of his operations was one of the duke’s most important duties. As a result of years of dealing with intelligence agents, Vedet knew they could be divided into two groups. The first group were professional bureaucrats who had moved into intelligence simply because they had found opportunities in that area. This group tended to be buttoned-down, efficient and quite willing to adapt their findings to the needs of their superiors. The second group were people who had been in intelligence their whole careers, individuals who might have been agents at some point and had risen to the ranks of management and administration. These people were a more wild-eyed group, given to investing their convictions in hunches and instincts and bristling whenever anyone attempted to do anything they interpreted as being told how to do their jobs. They had trouble believing that anyone could know more about their work than they did.
Vedet much preferred working with the former group; unfortunately, as soon as he met his liaison, he saw this woman was one of the latter. She wore a gray jumpsuit that looked like something a mechanic would wear, right down to the grease stains on the knees and elbows. Her brown hair was spiky, barely longer than a crew cut on top and shaved to mere stubble on the sides. She had enough sense of decorum to rise when Vedet entered the room, but she was up and down so quickly that Vedet could not be completely sure she had moved.
He sat across a metal table from the woman, leaning over the wood veneer that miserably failed in its attempt to make the table look slightly less utilitarian.
“You must be Colbin,” he said.
“And you must be Duke Vedet,” Colbin said in a drawling tone that made Vedet dislike her immediately, especially after her practically nonexistent nod to respect when he came in.
“What do you have for me?”
She smiled. “Right down to business,” she said. “I like that.”
Vedet waved a hand impatiently and didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ve been putting a package together. Now that we’re in-system, there’s certain people I can get a hold of that might have had problems getting messages to me, you know what I mean?”
“Go on,” Vedet said.
“So this is what it looks like from where we’re sitting. First, you’ve got a two-tiered defense, Silver Hawk Irregulars outside the city, planetary militia inside. To the surprise of absolutely no one, the palace is right in the middle of their formation. It’s the egg sitting in the middle of a big bunch of chickens, if you get my drift.”
“Sure,” Vedet said curtly.
“Then along with that you’ve got your minefields, your artillery bunkers and shit like that. I’m not claiming I’ve got a map of everything they’ve put down—the bastards have been awfully busy lately, and we don’t have enough eyes down there to watch everything. But I’ve got files that would give you a pretty good overview of what they’re trying to do and where they’re trying to do it. Tell me where to send ’em and you’ll have ’em before you leave the room.”
“Fine,” Vedet said.
“Now, that’s the definite stuff. There’s something else you should know about, though.”
Vedet gritted his teeth. “Tell me.”
“You know that Anson Marik’s on the planet, right? He came there to try to rally the troops, rally the people, be an inspiration, that sort of thing. Didn’t work out too well—people are pissed at him and would rather kick his ass than listen to him—but he’s still there. Captain on the sinking ship, right?”
Suddenly Vedet felt his patience for Colbin increase. He tried not to look too eager as he leaned farther forward. “And he’s still there. He’s still there, right?”
“You got it, Chief. But here’s the thing—the reports I received say he’s starting to get a little nervous. He sees which way the wind is blowing and knows that there’s a good chance if he sticks around he won’t be a free man, or even a living man, much longer. So he’s having second thoughts about making his last stand, and planning on maybe getting out when the getting’s good.”
“He’s leaving?”
“Easy, Chief, easy. I said ‘maybe.’ He hasn’t left yet, hasn’t decided for all I know, but what he’s doing is making a plan. You see, the way it works is, Anson and his people know that when push comes to shove they might want to leave the planet fast. So what they’ve done is set up a temporary DropShip port on the southwest side of town, really just a tarmac next to a big hangar. If Anson starts to panic, he’ll grab a few key members of his staff and haul ass to the tarmac, where a smallish DropShip will be waiting. They’ll try to get off the planet before anyone knows what’s happening.”
A feeling of peace settled over Vedet. He leaned back in his chair and smiled, knowing that Colbin probably found the expression unnerving. Assuming Colbin had any nerves.
He couldn’t have plotted a better course for this battle. The next steps were incredibly simple. In a spirit of openness and generosity, he’d share most of what Colbin just told him with the other commanders. Being intelligent men, they’d come to the same conclusion he had—that the southeast approach to the city was best. And he would leave that approach to them, so they could decide whether to charge into the streets or stay on the outskirts on their own. Because Vedet would not be there.
Duke Vedet and the First Hesperus Guards would approach Stewart from the south. He would go slowly, letting the battle come to him instead of forcing his army into New Edinburgh. He would let Alaric Wolf and Roderick Steiner pressure the core of the city until Anson Marik felt the heat and was forced to flee. Then, when Anson ran to his temporary DropShip port, Vedet would be waiting for him. Anson would never get off the ground and would fall quite easily into his hands.
It was perfect.
DropShip Vlad Ward
As Alaric sat at a terminal, reviewing the information from Duke Vedet, he decided he could trust it, for the most part—mainly because it fit with what he already believed would be the case. The formations of the defenders and the locations of the minefields and artillery bunkers were reflective of a solid, if unspectacular, understanding of military tactics. Alaric expected neither more nor less from the Marik troops, which gave the information the ring of truth.
He was not foolish enough to believe that he was looking at the whole truth. It was only logical to assume that Vedet was holding something back—or, on the off chance that the duke was showing all his cards, he was only doing so because he was playing another one of his games.
All of this—the information, the tactics, the gamesmanship—mattered little to Alaric. He knew what the general shape of this battle would be. As soon as he had finished off the last of the Silver Hawk Irregulars on Helm, he knew how Anson Marik would react. He would be looking for payback, and he would attempt to obtain it on Stewart.
Alaric expected the defenders to be more aggressive than they had been on other Marik-Stewart planets. He would be patient, waiting for their desire for revenge to make them do something foolish. He would find a place with space, get his troops in position and then goad the defenders into a slaughter.
To the north of New Edinburgh were rolling hills, to the west were grasslands. To the east and southeast were grassy fields and farms, perfect for wide-open fighting. Alaric would land a good distance away f
rom that area, make his way there and wait. He would fight the battle he wanted, and when it was over the Silver Hawk Irregulars would be shattered and the Marik-Stewart Commonwealth would be disintegrated.
He would use the intelligence from Duke Vedet to make minor adjustments to his plan, but the sweep—and the ending—would remain the same.
DropShip LCS Arm of Hesperus
Klaus Wehner was suspended in the middle of a small room, wrapped in a small cocoon attached to the walls. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep. In truth, it was difficult to stay awake. He had spent enough time in DropShips that he almost preferred sleeping in zero-gravity bags to beds stuck in gravity. In space, your muscles were free to relax completely instead of adjusting to the surface beneath them. You could relax your neck muscles completely without having your head droop. In fact, other than cursory work by the heart, lungs and brain, no muscles in the body needed to do anything. It was, in Klaus’ opinion, tremendously soothing.
But he couldn’t sleep yet. He had to go over the list one more time. Or twice. As Trillian’s aide, Klaus thrived on order, keeping careful records of what needed to be done when. In his other capacity, though, he could not write anything down, or record it in any way. It all had to be in his head.
The files had been intercepted and carefully edited, then passed along to the Loki operative aboard. He wished he could have changed everything—the Loki agents were good, and they had gotten a lot of information Klaus did not want to see in the hands of Vedet, Roderick and Alaric. But if he scrubbed information out of the reports and made them too weak, suspicions would be raised and his mission would fail. There were some things he had to let through.
He’d changed the time stamps on the data so no one would notice the delay. He had scrubbed the files clean so that his fingerprints, or any other sign of alteration, would not appear. He had wiped the drive of the noteputer he had used to make the change. He had packed a few essentials in a small knapsack tucked into the bottom of a footlocker. He reviewed his escape plan, step by step, right up until he was on the ground and on his own. Then he reviewed it again.
Then one more time for good measure.
Then he slept. He hoped he would dream something about his life after the invasion of Stewart, but he dreamed only of space and darkness interrupted by a few bright pinpoints.
24
DropShip LCS Arm of Hesperus
Stewart System
2 June 3138
Trillian always found that the relative inactivity of space travel gave her too much time to think, and this trip was no different. It was with a start one morning that she realized she had completely forgotten how normal people operate. She had some recollection of being able to talk to people simply because she wanted to talk to them, of going out spontaneously with friends because it felt like a good idea and because there were people she wanted to be with. People whose company she enjoyed. Back then, that was reason enough to get together with someone.
But now she couldn’t comprehend that way of thinking. How did you get together with people without a motive? Social time is when some of the very best positioning is done. Should you go out in public, you are seeing who other people are with and other people are seeing whom you have chosen to accompany. Every choice along the way has its ramifications. Take, for example, the simple act of going to dinner. Do you go somewhere expensive or cheap? A high-profile restaurant or an out-of-the-way, hidden spot? Do you choose a place you like, or cater to your companion? Who pays for the meal? When you walk in the door of the restaurant, who goes first?
Every choice, every move, has an implication. The minuscule analysis of every single move was like dating, but a hundred times worse. And with a far smaller chance of a happy ending.
She drifted slowly around her small room on the DropShip and tried to remember what she would have done in this situation, back when she was a different person. She had a dim recollection that she would find someone she liked to talk to and go to the grav deck, where they could have a nice long meal and good conversation. But what would she talk about now? She didn’t know about anything other than the war, and she was sick of talking about it. It seemed that whatever actions she would have taken in her old life did not apply to who she was now.
She should think politically, then. What alliance could she shore up? Was there anyone who had information she should know about? Anyone she should get to know better, or even meet for the first time?
She closed her eyes, shook her head and floated out of her berth. She would remember how to be different if it killed her.
She pulled herself through the corridors of the DropShip while sending a quick message to Roderick.
Come have a drink with me at Tennyson’s. Five minutes.
* * *
He got an answer back to her in less than a minute. Beats working, it said.
When she got to the bar, Roderick was waiting for her. It was a dark room with plain brown carpet and small round tables bolted to the floor, but it at least had a grand window showing millions of stars. With that sort of view, the room could have been a collection of cardboard boxes in which people sat to hold drinks poured into paper cups and still been one of the better bars Trillian had ever been in.
The gravity was comforting, and Trillian felt like jogging a few times around the room to work her leg muscles. Instead she smiled at Roderick and they found a small table in the corner.
“Thanks for coming,” she said. “Makes me glad you’re on the ship.” That had been another difficult job—convincing Roderick to ride on the same DropShip as Duke Vedet. From an efficiency standpoint it made all the sense in the world, but that didn’t mean Roderick wanted to be there. She had talked to him for a good half hour explaining that riding on the same ship as the duke didn’t mean he was admitting he was subordinate to the duke’s authority.
“No problem,” Roderick said. “At least, there’s no problem as long as you’re buying.”
“You got it.”
They ordered drinks and sat in silence for a time. Roderick seemed fidgety, staring at his glass while turning it this way and that. She kept looking at him briefly, trying to think of something to say, then looking away when nothing came to mind.
“So what did you want to talk about?” Roderick finally said.
“I don’t know. Nothing in particular. I thought we’d just…talk.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Roderick looked up from his glass and looked Trillian straight in the eye.
“Come on, Trillian. What is this really about?”
“Nothing!”
“You’re not working some sort of angle?”
“No.”
“You’re not trying to get me comfortable so you can ask me to do some horrible thing?”
“No!”
Roderick’s eyebrows were raised, his mouth pulled into a tight almost-grin. Then his face relaxed. “Okay. No ulterior motives.” He nodded. “Good.”
There was another moment of silence.
“Did you know Signus Wainright came out with another book?” Trillian said.
“Oh no. I thought he was trapped in The Republic.”
“Apparently he was trapped on the outside,” Trillian said. “Much to his chagrin.”
Roderick took a drink, and Trillian could see tension flowing out of his body. “What’s he raving about this time?”
“What else but the bane of his existence, the thing that has separated the man from a large portion of his readership? It’s all about the whys and whats of Fortress Republic.”
“Does he have any hard information in there?”
“No, not really,” Trillian said. “Plenty of guesses, though.”
“Any of them good?”
“I haven’t read the whole thing,” Trillian said, tapping an irregular rhythm on the table. “He’s got an interesting chapter about the Word of Blake, though, from what I hear. He thinks the Fortress might be the Word’s fi
nal victory. They’ve got Terra, and now no one can get to them.”
“Ah, the old Devlin Stone as a Blakist theory,” Roderick said. “Glad to see that one hasn’t died.”
“You’d think all the Blakists that were killed by Stone and his people would have put that one to rest.”
“Reality’s never been good at keeping a good conspiracy down.”
Then they were quiet again. Trillian desperately flailed for something to say—for a minute there, it had felt like a real conversation. But she was back to not being able to think about anything besides the war, and she didn’t really want to talk about that.
But Roderick did, apparently.
“This is going to end it,” he said after he swallowed some of his bourbon.
“The war?” she asked. Something in her gut tightened.
“The nation,” he replied. “The Marik-Stewart Commonwealth is going to be done as a nation after this.”
“After this war?”
“After we’re done with Stewart.”
“I guess that’s a possibility,” Trillian said slowly. She looked out the big window and took in the stars, one by one.
“It’s the way it is. There may be a few loose planets who cling to the Marik-Stewart name, or who carry on some illusion of independence, but it won’t be real. It won’t be a nation anymore.”
Something about Roderick’s voice annoyed Trillian. He sounded mournful, of all things. The knot in her stomach tightened, and burned, and shot bile through her whole body.
“Okay, fine, you’re breaking my heart,” she said. “Look, it’s going to be a win, and it’ll be a good one. You’ve got a genuine Marik nation here, and you’re about to put a good chunk of it under the Lyran flag. How is that a bad thing?”
“Is that a serious question?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“We’re eliminating one threat that may not have been a threat in exchange for building two new threats. What do you think Vedet’s going to do once this war’s over—go back to Hesperus? Give all the glory to the archon and live in her shadow? And how about Clan Wolf? Are they going to stay in their new occupation zone and turn themselves into a Warden Clan, happy just to sit around and keep an eye on their territory?”
The Last Charge Page 22
