Eagle (Jacob Hull)

by Debenham, Kindal

  Mirov grimaced. “Especially since the enemy now knows precisely how vulnerable we are. The first thing Yeseti would offer any Oduran envoys on San Marcos would be the details of our deployments and the limited extent of our resources. I would not be surprised if that information encouraged the Odurans to strike much sooner than before—and with a forward base provided by the separatists, they could very well be here tomorrow.”

  Jacob nodded slowly. “We’ll need to be on the alert for that possibility. Admiral Siddiqui, we may need to adjust the positions of our scouts, given the damage Yeseti might have caused. They also need to be aware the enemy might move any day now.”

  Siddiqui drummed her fingers on the table in front of her. “The orders will be sent out immediately, High Admiral.” She glanced back at the image of the border, frowning. “It would be easier if we could somehow find out what plans the enemy is making. Even a small picture of their intentions could make the difference.”

  “The officers in Intelligence will be working to regain that information, Admiral, but it will be a difficult process.” Jacob tried to keep his words patient. It was difficult, especially as he felt those same frustrations so clearly himself.

  “Intelligence is working on it?” Borgens snorted. “I doubt they’ll get far. Even if Yeseti didn’t slip her own people in throughout the department, she’ll see their agents coming. She knows all their procedures, all their tricks—hell, the woman wrote half of their operations manual. How are they going to get around that?”

  “A good question, Admiral Borgens, but perhaps a better one would be if they should try in the first place.” Admiral Mirov’s voice was stronger, and his expression grew more optimistc. He was on the edge of saying something, but then he paused for a long moment, apparently deep in thought. Jacob was about to prompt the man with a question when Mirov finally spoke again.

  “We’ve been thinking about ways to discover the plans of the enemy and ways we can avoid weakening ourselves. What if we shift our focus to ways we could make the enemy change those plans to something we can anticipate?”

  Jacob frowned. “What do you mean, Admiral Mirov?”

  Mirov gestured toward San Marcos. “We know the separatists and Ilyena Yeseti have agents scattered throughout the fleet. We know they will intercept much of our communications, and they can prevent us from gaining a similar advantage. What if we deliberately supply them with false information to present them with a false view of events?”

  “Like what we did before the attack on Kryshaen?” Jacob looked back at the star map and thought it over. The idea appealed to him, a bright light in a dark room. Then reality intruded. “It would be very difficult to pull off that kind of deception, Admiral, especially against someone who has resources we don’t know about.”

  “Well, we do know none of us are traitors, don’t we?” Borgens looked around at his fellow officers. His expression betrayed a stubborn kind of determination. “We can outsmart Yeseti if we need to. Perhaps we can develop a code outside of the normal encryption to send each other false messages. That way, should Yeseti and her rabble manage to listen in on our traffic, we can present a false picture of our plans to the dear, treacherous woman.”

  Siddiqui tapped one finger on the table, her expression thoughtful. “We may have another conduit for information as well. We believe the separatists intend to expel their dissidents and send them to Tiredel, correct?” When the others nodded, Siddiqui continued. “Were I in their frame of mind, I would assume Tiredel would be the center of the plans against them. It would be simple to send spies among the refugees.”

  Jacob thought it over. “That would make sense. How would we be able to tell the difference between a refugee and a San Marcos spy, though?”

  The other officer smiled. “As some have taken great pains to explain to me, a volunteer militia and a military officer are two very different people in terms of professional behavior. Perhaps the same principle might apply to espionage?”

  Borgens began to chuckle, and even Mirov’s solemn expression cracked into a small half-smile. Jacob filtered the amusement from his own voice as he answered. “I believe you may be correct, Admiral Siddiqui. Perhaps we can use those amateur spies to our own advantage. What information should we feed them?”

  “Perhaps information about our reserves? Or additional refits ordered by the new High Admiral?” Borgens leaned forward and laced his fingers together in front of him. He raised one white eyebrow. “False news of transfer orders or disruption throughout the Union might also help. We could very easily tempt them into feeling overconfident, or convince them we are stronger than they expected. It might be a useful tool to use against them.”

  Jacob felt confidence flood him as he looked around at the other officers. He nodded. “All right. Let’s get a set of signals together and agree on a strategy for how we will go forward.” Then he paused and smiled. “By the end of this, maybe we’ll even have a way to keep this next war from starting. We’ll have to see.”

  Two days later, Jacob was sitting in the command center, pondering over his next destination. His original operational plans would have called for him to go to New Manassas. There, he would have been able to coordinate with Admiral Mirov to set the trap for the Oduran forces. With one sharp victory, they could have ended the war.

  Now, with Yeseti on the loose and Al-Kesh’s warnings echoing in the back of his mind, he was no longer sure. The other admirals had already departed, each with their own mission. Siddiqui went to Erad, both to coordinate with the local militia and also to begin her part of the deception campaign. Admiral Borgens would soon join her after a quick stop at Celostia to organize his own part of the ruse. The two admirals would also begin increasing the defenses there, hoping to guard against an Oduran strike.

  The only question now was where to position the Eagle. Did he value the chance to work with Mirov at New Manassas more, or the need to reinforce Tiredel? It was times like these Jacob sincerely regretted letting Al-shira leave. She had good reasons to go, but he was starting to realize more and more how much he missed her insight during times such as this one. Her perspective, he was sure, would have been clearer than his own.

  He was still wavering between choices when he was jarred out of his thoughts by a blinking light on his command console. It was another message from Captain Martino. Jacob pressed the button, praying his flag captain wouldn’t be giving him more bad news.

  “Sir, a message drone just arrived from Tiredel.” The utter seriousness of Martino’s voice ruined Jacob’s hopes. “I think this is something you’re going to want to see. It’s on channel four-fifty.”

  Jacob sighed. Punching in the frequency, he blinked as the projection unit activated and the image of a man appeared in the air.

  Wes Carmichael was a slender, athletic-looking man. He might have been considered handsome by some, but there was a tangible sense of contempt in his features, as if he was constantly repressing the urge to sneer. The smile with which he began his transmission was sly and cunning, and his words were colored by a petulant defiance Jacob immediately associated with the would-be aristocracy of the Celostian Union.

  “I, Governor Wes Carmichael of the San Marcos Collective, address the nearby citizens of the Celostian Union and their scheming, tyrannical masters.”

  Jacob blinked, and he had a sinking feeling in his stomach as those words registered. The Celostian Union had a post such as governor, but Carmichael had not been recognized as such—and there was no such thing as a Collective in the Union’s power structure. Carmichael was declaring separation, and doing so in a way that was irrevocable. Even as those realities assailed Jacob, Carmichael’s recording continued.

  “We have decided our people have endured the plots and subversion of our inherent rights long enough. The corruption of the Celostian Union, the dictatorial aims of many of its officers, and the foolish and decadent lifestyles of its people are no longer tolerable to us. We have decided to set ourselves apart f
rom such catastrophic failures on the part of the Union, and as such, we now declare ourselves an independent power in the Frontier.”

  Carmichael leaned forward, his eyes glittering with hatred. “Be aware that no violation of Collective space will be tolerated. Our valiant defense forces will punish any attempt to spy on our world with lethal consequences, and we remain as prepared as ever to resist and repel invasion by outside interests. Though we wish only peace, we will not be subdued or ignored.

  “Further, we will no longer tolerate the insidious lies of the emissaries sent by the Union to undermine and sabotage our freedoms. Those who have allied themselves with the petty dictators and corrupt officials of the Union will be banished from our world.” Carmichael smiled, though there was no laughter in the twist of his lips. “You may rest assured every effort will be made to make their journey comfortable and humane—which is far more than such treachery deserves. There is no need to offer them any aid or relief, because their fate is only what they deserve for betraying the cause of the people out of a misguided sense of loyalty to a failed and broken system.”

  Carmichael straightened and made a contemptuous gesture. “Finally, to the supposed High Admiral, Jacob Hull, we know of your intentions to destroy this people, and we stand ready to repel you. Do not take our words lightly. You may have managed to subvert the Navy and gain control of the weapons you hope to use against us, but we will not allow you to destroy our freedom. Your petty tactics and false words will not deter us from following the cause of the people. Governor Carmichael, out.”

  Jacob watched the image disappear, clenching and unclenching his hands. Those last words might as well have come from Admiral Yeseti’s mouth. She was there, helping pull the strings on this little conspiracy, and he knew now they would meet in battle. Whatever Carmichael’s warnings, the separatists were itching for war—almost daring the Navy to attack—and that kind of bravado would lead to greater provocations until Jacob was forced to move in.

  Of course, that didn’t even take into account what Carmichael had planned for the “traitors” he’d exiled. Al-Kesh had been correct after all. The San Marcos government was instituting a purge. His mind filled with the image of Tiredel, still swarming with Oathbound refugees. They would need another spot to house even more people, this time from San Marcos, and he doubted the Oathbound would have the resources or the room to share. Where was he going to send the people who would seek refuge on that frozen iceball?

  Yet even as he pondered those words, Jacob saw his console light up again. He touched it, and Captain Martino spoke quickly. “Sir, we have another message from the same drone. It’s from Tiredel this time, and was apparently broadcast in response to Carmichael’s transmission. I’m sending it to you now.”

  Jacob looked to his projection unit, and another figure appeared. It was a woman, one who stood with a highborn dignity no Celostian could have managed since Maxwell abdicated the Regal Seat. She was only a little older than Jacob, but her eyes spoke of more hardship and experience than anyone her age should know. When she spoke, her voice was soft, but unyielding.

  “This is Paz Banks, leader of the Oathbound, to all ships and entities in Tiredel space. I am addressing the recent message sent by the San Marcos Collective.”

  Jacob’s eyes widened. Paz was the oldest daughter of the former Oduran president. He’d heard she’d assumed leadership of the refugees following her father’s illness, but she’d never spoken like this before. Could this be the moment the former Odurans turned back to their old ways? He leaned in closer as she continued.

  “The Oathbound were offered our place in Tiredel as a gift by the members of the Celostian Union, and it is a gift we have cherished. We offer, in turn, that same gift to all those who are in need. If there are any refugees—from San Marcos, the Oduran League, or elsewhere—who seek a place to live, our arms will be open to you. We will welcome you, and share with you our home.”

  Then she paused, and determination flared in those eyes. “We hold to our Oath, to the end of our lives. Paz Banks, out.”

  With that simple phrase, the transmission ended. Jacob’s eyes widened. Carmichael already disliked the Oduran refugees, out of either political calculation or paranoia. How would he react to the Oathbound once they started harboring the political outcasts of San Marcos as well? It was going to be a nightmare, exactly the situation Al-Kesh had predicted. If San Marcos reacted before the Navy could secure the area…

  Cursing himself for not acting sooner, Jacob looked at the nearby officers of the command center. “Lieutenant Alvarez, get in touch with the Communications Center. Tell them to prepare a messenger drone immediately for transit to Celostia. We have a few things the High Seat needs to hear. Lieutenant Urschel, notify Captain Martino and the rest of our task force that we are leaving New Vermont as soon as possible. Our destination will be Tiredel.”

  Both officers bent to their tasks immediately, and Jacob looked back to the projector. He worked the controls to display both Carmichael and Paz Banks side by side. For a long moment, he studied them, trying to work out in his mind what he was seeing. On the one hand was a pacifist refugee, on the other, a power hungry tyrant. Which would history judge the fool for their words today? More importantly, which would live to write that history?

  He tried to ignore the grim question as he started to give the orders that would prepare his fleet for departure, but it lingered in his mind long after the chaos had begun.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Eagle made the riftjump to Tiredel, and Jacob cursed under his breath.

  He was already in the command center, watching the projection unit display the situation throughout the rest of the system. Tiredel was moving through its slow orbit, still surrounded by a host of Oathbound ships. En route to the planet was another cluster of craft, made up of a batch of newcomers the indentification systems tagged as unknown.

  Jacob worked the controls to focus in on those ships. They looked like leftover colony ships, so ancient they were barely spaceworthy. Despite their age, the ships had to be nearly the size of a dreadnaught, and had been built with massive numbers of inhabitants in mind. Several thousands of people could easily have fit aboard each of them with room to spare. If the Collective had been efficient about packing people in up to the airlocks, there could be many more.

  Trailing those fragile ships was another flotilla of craft. These ships had started life as merchant craft, but they had undergone extensive modification. Each had several visible missile launchers set into their hulls, and quite a bit of effort had gone into refitting the ships with armor. There were nearly a dozen of the craft, and as Jacob watched, another dozen riftjumped into the system.

  He pointed at the armed merchantmen. “Lieutenant Boggs, get me an analysis of those ships. I want to know everything there is to know about their capabilities, their crews, and anything else you can think of. Lieutenant Duvreau, contact the rest of the fleet and get us moving toward those refugees, immediately. All destroyers should move in first to protect the refugees from missile fire.”

  The officers bent to their tasks, and soon details were flooding the projection. At the same time, the wireframe models representing the eight destroyers that had escorted the Eagle to Tiredel leaped out ahead of the fleet to rush to the aid of the civilians. Satisfied, Jacob turned to another of his officers. “Lieutenant Urschel, do we have any intercepted communications from the Collective ships?”

  “Yes, Sir.” The officer tapped away at her console for a few minutes. “They have been alternating between threatening the refugees and threatening the Oathbound on the planet. Apparently the refugees were forbidden to riftjump anywhere in the Union, especially Tiredel. They were supposed to have been exiled into the Frontier, but they came here instead and aren’t listening to the San Marcos ships. Since they aren’t listening, the separatists have started to demand the people on Tiredel to refuse to give aid to the refugees, but the Oathbound have been ignoring the demands. Howev
er, they may…” Her voice trailed off, and then she looked up sharply. “Sir, there’s a new transmission from the armed ships. You should see this yourself, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Jacob waited impatiently until his personal projection unit activated. He blinked in surprise when Joseph Carmichael himself appeared in the image.

  The self-appointed Governor of the San Marcos Collective had taken on some military airs since his last transmission. His fine business suit and tie had been replaced with a green and brown military uniform, complete with a set of rank badges on his chest. He retained the same sly expression and cultured features as before, however, and the contempt in his tone set Jacob’s teeth on edge.

  “This is Governor Carmichael, aboard the SMS Griffon. I speak as a representative of the independent people of San Marcos, and bring a word of warning to the people of the Celostian Union—especially those who inhabit the world of Tiredel.” Anger filled Carmichael’s expression. “You have seen fit to give comfort to those who are our enemies. In doing so, you have shown yourselves to be equally as contemptible and underhanded as they are. Your continued presence in this system has been tolerated only by our goodwill, and by giving sanctuary to the traitors we have cast out, you have betrayed our charitable behavior. We do not intend to allow this support of our enemies to continue. You are to either turn away the refugees who approach your world and send away those you have already given shelter, or we will begin a campaign against you that will bring about your extinction.

  “You have been warned—and I urge you not to test our patience further. Governor Wes Carmichael, honored of San Marcos, out.”