“Yes, sir.”
Jean dropped the channel and eyed his communicator darkly for several long seconds. The anomaly scanners on the hyper-beacons were small, relatively low-resolution things. Their purpose was to provide a warning, not any details.
Of course, the beacons didn’t have better scanners because anomaly scanners couldn’t provide details.
That lack, however, left the decision of what to do up to an old man’s discretion and an old man’s hunches.
He tapped the communicator, linking it into the shuttles’ transmitters and inputting a code that would have every Militia ship receive and retransmit his message.
“All Duchy of Terra Militia ships, this is Admiral Jean Villeneuve,” he said, his voice still level and calm despite the shiver running up his spine. “We have unknown incoming starships and I am declaring Case Zulu. All ships are to go to general quarters and return to Earth orbit.
“This is not a drill.”
#
By the time the hyper portal actually opened, Jean had managed to consolidate his fleet. Four super-battleships and two half-tested battleships hung exactly halfway between the shipyards and Earth, positioned to defend whichever came under threat.
The three attack cruisers of the Laian Exiles slotted into escort positions, along with a squadron of sixteen Capital-class destroyers. There were another dozen or so destroyers scattered throughout the system, and Tornado still orbited Earth, accompanied by Echelon Lord Kas!Val’s task group, but Jean needed most of them exactly where they were.
The hyper portal itself was a warning sign. The seventeen-and-a-half-million-ton mass of his super-battleships made up an organic shape two kilometers long and a kilometer wide, with flowing curves and protruding, tentacle-like nacelles and weapons mounts. They were A!Tol designs, so more elegant than Jean would prefer, but still functional and deadly.
To enter or exit hyperspace, those kilometer-wide ships generated a roughly circular hyper portal about ten kilometers across. There were larger ships in the Imperium, massive bulk transports and mobile yards, and they generated equivalently larger hyper portals.
The portal opening two light-minutes away from Earth was two hundred kilometers across.
“All ships, move to point Zulu-Alpha-Two,” he ordered, the portal, despite its size, matching neatly to one of his defensive plans. His fleet would cut the newcomers, whoever they were, off well before they reached Earth.
“What the hell is that?!”
Commander Hochberg was not normally given to swearing, but Jean saw exactly what his staff tactical officer had seen, and had to swallow a few choice curse words himself.
Twenty-one vessels had emerged from the portal. Twenty were cruisers of some type, long domed shapes that looked familiar but paled into insignificance next to their mothership.
The central vessel of the formation was at least twelve kilometers long and a quarter of that wide. A long beetle-like shape; his scanners showed that it positively bristled with weapons, fueled by dozens of antimatter cores.
“Estimate sixty million tons mass, but she’s moving at point five cee towards Earth,” Hochberg continued crisply after a moment. “Armament unknown, shields unknown…wait, I have deployment of parasite anti-missile platforms. At least thirty.”
“Admiral, I have Commodore Tidikat on the channel for you!” Chief Shang told him—and suddenly, Jean knew exactly why the cruisers had looked familiar.
“Commodore,” he greeted the Laian correctly. “Am I looking at what I think I’m looking at?”
“Twenty modern Laian Republic attack cruisers and a war-dreadnought,” the Exile said flatly. “We could probably take the cruisers, our capital ships outmass them two to one, but…”
“That war-dreadnought could wipe out a third of the Imperial fleet, let alone our Militia,” Jean replied. “They’re your people, at least theoretically, Tidikat. What are they going to want?”
The tall beetle like alien was even more inscrutable than usual, his jeweled eyes half-closed.
“There’s only one thing the Republic would send a capital ship this far out for, Admiral.
“Us.”
#
Zulu-Alpha-Two put the Militia force directly between the oncoming dreadnought and Earth, Jean put his fleet steadily, if not calmly, in the path of the storm and waited to see what the Republic commander would do.
“We’re well within our missile range,” Hochberg reported. “Flight time eighty seconds and dropping.”
“Their missiles are faster,” Jean reminded the Commander. “We’ve been in their range for a while. Fleet will hold position. Formation Delta-Charlie-Six.”
DC6 put the destroyers out in front of the super-battleships and deployed their anti-missile platforms. The Terran systems were inferior to the handful of old Laian systems humanity still had, and Jean could only imagine how obsolete they were compared to the drones available to today’s Laian fleets.
“Any communication from the Laians?” he asked Shang.
“Nothing. Radio silence so far. We’ve hit them with standard challenges, but they’re ignoring us.”
In about two minutes, the war-dreadnought was going to fly through Jean’s fleet, and that he could not allow.
“Put me on, Chief,” he told the NCO, then leaned into the camera.
“Unidentified Laian Republic vessels,” he challenged them, “I am Admiral Jean Villeneuve of the Duchy of Terra Militia. You have violated A!Tol Imperial space and the Sol Kovius Zone. If you approach within ten light-seconds of my vessels, you will have committed an unquestionable act of war against the Imperium and I will have no choice but to open fire.
“Identify yourselves or withdraw.”
The message was sent, winging its way across the void.
“All ships are to clear for action,” Jean ordered. “If they approach within ten light-seconds, target the dreadnought with everything we’ve got.”
His flag deck was deathly silent, but he could see the order go out on the screens. Across the fleet, the last few preparations that hadn’t been made swung into action as his ships prepared for a battle they could not win.
If they fought the war-dreadnought, they would die.
But they would die under the eyes of an Imperial flag officer with access to a starcom. The consequences of that would ripple across the galaxy. The tentative balance of respect and fear that kept the Arm Powers in check could easily break. Even as simple an act as the Laians having their embassies in several Arm Power empires revoked would have economic repercussions that would damage or even cripple the Republic.
And the violation of the Kovius Treaty would put the Republic in the crosshairs of the first among equals of the galactic powers. The Mesharom would not let that go unpunished, and no one was quite sure how powerful the galaxy’s elder race actually was.
“Forty light-seconds and closing,” Hochberg reported. “Sixty seconds to the line.”
“All ships report cleared for action. All launchers are loaded, all proton capacitors charged. The vessels with plasma lances report full plasma chambers.”
Manticore and Griffon, like the Thunderstorms before them, carried the crude-but-effective ripoff plasma lance Orentel had helped the humans design. It was a somewhat less-efficient weapon than the one carried by Tidikat’s three attack cruisers, but with a battleship’s power cores behind it, even the war-dreadnought would know it had been touched.
“Forty seconds to the line. No response.”
Jean waited in stony silence. There was nothing he could do now. He’d picked a battle formation that would give his people the best chance of weathering the hail of terrifyingly fast missiles the dreadnought could unleash, but even if they made it to range of their beams and lances, the Laians had better energy weapons too.
“Twenty seconds to the line. All vessels standing by.”
A part of the Admiral wondered if any of his people would blink. All of his Captains were well-enough briefed to know
the odds. Most of his ships were fast enough to run, to break and leave the rest of the Militia to face the hammer on their own.
“A Dawning of Swords is moving!”
“What?” Jean demanded.
The A!Tol battleship and her four cruisers escorts were indeed moving. Heading out toward the Militia with a very clear intent to join the battle line. There was a small chance that the Laian Republic could brush over blowing away the Duchy of Terra Militia.
But an Imperial Navy capital ship with an Echelon Lord aboard? No. If they fired on A Dawning of Swords, there would be war.
“Ten seconds to the line!”
“Stand by,” Jean ordered. Watching. Waiting. Just what would the Laians do?
“Dreadnought is breaking off!” Hochberg snapped. “Reversing course at point five cee, cruisers are following suit.”
Terra’s Admiral breathed a long sigh of relief.
“If they talk to Kas!Val, I want to know,” he announced aloud. “Otherwise, we wait until they try and talk to us.
“Keep the fleet at general quarters. I doubt this is over.”
#
The Laian ships withdrew, settling in at exactly one light-minute away from Earth with Jean’s ships and the Imperial contingent fifty light-seconds from them. Ten from Earth.
At fifty light-seconds, the Imperial and Militia ships’ missiles were in range, so Jean was grimly certain that the Laians were well inside whatever their missile range was—and he’d only know they’d opened fire seven or so seconds before the missiles hit.
So, his ships waited. Their Buckler antimissile platforms orbited in front of them while they watched the Core Power ships and waited to see what the Laians would do.
For over an hour, the three fleets orbited like that, the Laians continuing to ignore any attempt by Earth, Jean or Kas!Val to open communications.
It was an hour Jean spent in the command chair on his flag deck, refusing to so much as move. He couldn’t show his nervousness to the crew around him. Couldn’t vent to anyone. All he could do was wait—and be grateful that Bond had been an officer before she’d become a Duchess and knew better than to jog his elbow at a time like this.
“Sir, incoming transmission from the war-dreadnought!” Shang finally announced, the words landing like pins in the silence. “Standard interstellar protocol.” The Chief Petty Officer shook his head. “The same one we’ve been hailing them on for the last hour and a half.”
“Put it on, Chief.”
The image of a massive insect, bearing a strong resemblance to a Terran scarab beetle, appeared on his screen. Unlike any of the Exiles Jean had known, this Laian’s carapace was a dark red with gray and silver streaks, colors he had not seen on the Duchy’s new citizens.
“I am Kandak, the Two Hundred Eighty-eighth Pincer of the Republic,” the alien told them. The translator program carried no inflection or tone, and a quick glance noted that they were receiving the Laians’ translation rather than sending Kandak’s own speech and letting the Terrans translate it.
It was partly an insult and partly an attempt to avoid the Terrans reading Kandak’s emotions, Jean figured. The rank was important too, and his computer happily explained it quickly. A Pincer in the Republic’s service could be anything from a junior Admiral to a senior Captain, but there were exactly four hundred of them, and their ranking was by seniority.
As the two hundred and eighty-eighth of the four hundred, Kandak was too junior to command a division or squadron of capital ships, but a battle group based around a single war-dreadnought was about right.
The Laian was also junior enough to have been sent a long way from home on a what the officer had to regard as a low-priority, low-value assignment.
“I command Harvester of Glory and her escorts,” the Laian officer continued. “I have been sent by the Council of Priors to respond to reports that your race has stolen Laian technology. I am charged to bring home the rebels from Builder of Sorrows and the ships they stole.
“You will turn them and their ships over to me immediately or I will take them by force.”
The channel cut.
“Well that’s that,” Jean said aloud. “At least they’re asking politely, right?”
He shook his head as the half-forced chuckle ran through his bridge.
“Shang, forward that to the Duchess and Kas!Val,” he told the coms non-com. “Then get me a channel back to him. Let’s see if we can at least get everyone down from waving missiles around long enough to talk.”
A warning icon flashed up, letting him know he was recording again.
“Pincer Kandak,” he greeted the Laian officer. “I am Admiral Jean Villeneuve, commanding officer of the Duchy of Terra Militia.
“I can assure you that we have not stolen Laian technology. I would be delighted to assist you in arranging inspections of our old Laian warships to show you how they have been modified to prevent us doing anything of the sort!
“As for the rest of your mission”—he gave an expressive shrug—“I am not authorized to discuss any potential deal around the three cruisers of Laian construction in our service. You will have to have that discussion with my Duchess, Annette Bond.
“What I can assure you, however, is that no member of the Laian community in the Duchy of Terra participated in the Anshokar Rebellions. Not least, Pincer Kandak, because the Anshokar Rebellions were three hundred and ninety-six years ago and your species has a maximum life expectancy with even your healthcare of three hundred.
“Neither the laws of the A!Tol Imperium nor, as I understand, the accepted laws of interstellar jurisprudence permit the punishment of someone for the crimes of their ancestors two to five generations in the past, Pincer.”
Jean smiled. It was a false thing, more hostile than reassuring, but it was all he could force for the alien threatening his people.
“We will not surrender our citizens under threat of force for crimes they did not commit,” he said flatly. “We are prepared to negotiate acceptable proof that we have not stolen Laian technology, but that line is fixed.”
The message was sent and he leaned back. Fifty seconds’ light delay each way was enough to make communications a slow, agonizing process. It also, however, meant that he wasn’t at a range where the Laian dreadnought could simply wipe out his entire fleet with a single surprise salvo.
“What happens now, sir?” Hochberg asked quietly.
Jean looked over at his staff officer, who was suddenly looking very, very young.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, equally quietly. “But we appear to have short-stopped the actual attack, which means this is now a political problem.
“Which unfortunately means it’s now Duchess Bond’s problem.”
#
Chapter 14
The one part of the pregnancy experience that was living down to Annette’s original expectations was morning sickness. Except that it wasn’t always in the morning, and this bout had picked a hell of a time to strike.
Fortunately, Elon was actually around, and the source of her current discomfort was smart enough to know when to shut up and set up a portable holoprojector in the bathroom that would keep her updated on the developing affairs.
Once her stomach had finally settled, she took a seat back in her office and studied the situation.
“Rianne?” She summoned her secretary, who appeared with admirable speed. “How many of the Councilors are in Hong Kong right now?”
“About half, Your Grace.”
Annette’s Council was her brain trust, the collection of extremely smart people she used to help run the planet. Unfortunately, that meant she usually had them out around the world doing just that.
“Ping everyone who can get to Wuxing Tower in ten minutes or less,” she told Rianne Zhao Ha. “They’re to assemble in the Council chamber as quickly as possible. Elon will be there in ten minutes; I’ll join them shortly afterwards.”
Her secretary blinked in surprise.
�
��What will you be doing, ma’am?”
“I’m going directly to Wuxing Tower. Once you’ve got the Councilors in motion, I need you to contact Sol starcom. I need a channel to A!To by the time I make it to the Tower, Rianne.
“This is Imperial politics, which means today I speak for someone else—and I’m not going to do that without A!Shall knowing just what the hell is going on!”
Zhao Ha swallowed.
“The Empress, my lady?”
“I will not commit the Imperium to war without A!Shall at least knowing enough of what’s going on when she has to go in front of the Houses and tell them what happened!”
#
A!Shall was the Empress of some two-hundred-plus worlds and the unquestioned mistress of twenty-eight species. She was a constitutional monarch, her powers bound by a series of documents written across two thousand long-cycles—roughly a millennium, as humans tracked time.
She was advised by a tricameral legislature: the House of Races, the House of Worlds and the House of Duchies, who wielded what humanity would call the powers of purse and legislation. Justice and the military, however, ended with her.
A!Shall was also the smallest adult female A!Tol Annette had ever seen, barely matching the Duchess of Terra in height. Annette wasn’t a tall woman, and she was very used to being overshadowed by the A!Tol she met.
From what she understood, A!Shall was still quite young to be Empress—and Empress was not a strictly hereditary position.
“Annette,” A!Shall greeted her after the functionaries had finally connected them. Even for A!To’s Imperial bureaucracy, live starcom communications were uncommon—they required something like three quarters of the capacity of the massive interstellar communication relays—and those from dukes and duchesses rarer still.
They’d managed to pin down the Empress of the A!Tol with surprising speed.
“The shadows of the currents tell me this is not a call for warmth,” the Empress continued. “What has happened?”
“A Laian war-dreadnought and her escorts have entered Sol,” Annette said crisply. “They have demanded that we surrender the Laians who accepted Imperial citizenship and the cruisers they brought with them.”
Terra and Imperium (Duchy of Terra Book 3) Page 12
