Jacob stared at the former High Seat for a moment more, then sighed. He thought back to his reaction to von Clarence’s mission to San Marcos, and the comparison was acutely uncomfortable. “You aren’t the only one who needs to apologize, I guess. I haven’t exactly tried to see things from your perspective either.” Then he glanced at Al-Kesh, who was dry washing his hands again. “And I guess I should thank you, Mr. Al-Kesh. It takes a brave man to step between two idiots to calm them down.”
Al-Kesh smiled and sat back in his seat. Von Clarence cleared his throat, obviously trying to reassert his bluff façade. “Well then, High Admiral, is there anything we might be able to do to contribute to your plans? Even if we aren’t aware of most of them, we might in some way be helpful—after all, I trust our efforts weren’t too disruptive last time?”
“No, they were not.” Jacob thought for a moment. “Right now, we are mostly waiting for the other shoe to drop. The Oathbound might need to be prepared for an evacuation, if it comes to that.” He paused. “And I need a letter delivered to a particular person on the surface. I think it would mean more if it was delivered by you, and perhaps Nathan Maxwell.”
Al-Kesh raised his eyebrows in surprise, and von Clarence snorted. “From High Seat to postman. I suppose into every life a little change must come.” Then he blinked when Jacob’s expression remained serious. “Wait, you’re not joking.”
Jacob shook his head. “The letter is to a young man named Samuel Tsokashi.” The name brought silence and no small measure of understanding. A few media outlets had managed to capture a few images of Ship Handler Tsokashi’s widow and grieving son on Tiredel. Tsokashi’s last request had been a letter, and Jacob had made sure to fulfill that promise. It had cost him several hours to find the right words, and he still wasn’t quite sure he’d done it right, but perhaps a visit from a former High Seat might make up for the lack of his fluency with words.
Von Clarence studied Jacob for a moment, and then he nodded. “Very well. I will do my best to keep my ears open for details you could use, and anything I hear will make its way to your desk immediately.” He paused. “And the letter…I will gladly see to that personally.”
Al-Kesh wrung his hands. “I’ll take charge of the preparations for evacuation. I have some experience with the need to leave a home at a moment’s notice.” His voice grew bitter at the end, and von Clarence glanced at him with concern. The Rigannin survivor waved away his friend’s worry and continued in a more normal tone. “Where would they be going?”
Jacob brought up a map and pointed to a star well back from the border. “I was thinking Hasbre might be a good location. It’s a bit of a backwater, but it’s not right on the border with the Frontier, and they would have infrastructure where they could set up new habitats. At the very least, it would take a lot less to settle than all the rock and ice here.” He shrugged. “That, and their lack of defenses wouldn’t be such an issue anymore. I’m sure they must be tired of facing an Oduran assault fleet every year or so.”
“I would imagine.” Von Clarence’s tone was dry enough that Jacob had to smile. When the High Seat continued, Jacob could hear a gruff appreciation in his words. “Shareed and I will get to work, then, and leave you to your schemes.” He eyed Jacob carefully. “If you have any further need of us, I hope you will not hesitate to rely on our services.”
With a silent prayer he would never find himself in such dire circumstances, Jacob nodded. “Of course, Mr. von Clarence.” He stood, and extended his hand with a bit more sincerity this time. “Thank you very much for coming.”
Von Clarence and his friend shook his hand and turned to leave without further comment. Jacob stood there staring after them for a while. It was a curious little incident, and likely not one that would effect the coming battles, but Jacob did wonder how it would change things in times to come. What would the universe be like, he wondered, where he and von Clarence would actually be friends?
Then he remembered the image of the High Seat’s face while Al-Kesh had described the experience at Galbun, and Jacob had to fight a chuckle. He turned back to the work on his desk with renewed good humor. There was still far too much to do, and far too little time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Sir? There’s something you need to know.”
Jacob groaned. He’d just managed to stagger into his own quarters for a bit of sleep after several hours of reports, authorizations, and official requests. After climbing and conquering the mountain of paperwork, he’d hoped for just a short while before the next catastrophe hit, but Captain Martino would not have called him over the speaker in his quarters for something could wait. “I’m here, Captain. What’s going on?”
“A ship just arrived in system, Sir.” Captain Martino’s voice lost any hint of apology as he continued. “Sensors report the ship is a heavily modified version of the Equestrian-class transport.”
Jacob’s hope of sleep vanished instantly. Nearly half of Carmichael’s ships had been Equestrian-class. “Is it inbound? Any sign of reinforcements?”
“No, sir. They’re far from any ship traffic and seem to be trying to skirt the system. We already have three frigates on an intercept with them.” Captain Martino’s voice grew thoughtful. “Maybe they’re here as a scout?”
“Not with standard merchant sensors, at least. Besides, by the time they’d get a clear picture of all of our forces, our patrol would reach them.” Jacob paused when an idea struck to him. “Do you know if we’ve picked up any unusual message traffic from the surface? Any signals directed toward the area where the scout came in?”
“Well, Sir, I haven’t…” Martino stopped, and surprise colored his next words. “Communications just reported a broadcast from an unknown transmitter on Tiredel. Looks like you were right.”
Jacob smiled. He’d wondered how Carmichael’s spies had planned on sending their information home. It was just like the separatists to arrange some kind of information pickup. “Relay my orders to those frigates. Tell them not to approach the ship too closely, but try to get a piece of their signal if they can. Their priority is to make sure the separatists don’t throw a missile at anything before they leave.”
Captain Martino paused, and then spoke carefully. “Sir, you don’t want them to engage the enemy?”
“Not this time, no.” All of Al-shira’s efforts to spread misinformation would be useless if the spies’ reports never made it home. Jacob hated to let one of the murderous traitors go, but if it helped him take down the bastard in charge of them, he was willing to do it. Soon enough, the ship would be reporting most of Jacob’s fleet had just left, and that he wasn’t expecting a strike against the system. Carmichael was going to be getting an earful of disinformation specifically designed to lead him—and his Oduran allies—into a trap.
Jacob smiled at the thought as he leaned back into his bed. “Keep me informed if anything changes, and let me know if we get enough of the transmission to break their encryption. High Admiral Hull, out.”
“The transmitter was basic, off-the-shelf material, something nearly anyone could have had access to.” Al-shira looked more than unhappy with that fact, as her expression showed despite the lack of detail in the hologram transmission. She shrugged. “We likely won’t be able to get much out of it, other than the fact our little spies are cleverer than I’d thought. If I had anticipated this sort of thing, we might have gotten a copy of their codes to use.”
Jacob tried to keep his voice reassuring. “Don’t worry about that, Al-shira. Espada got a solid chunk of the data they sent. I’ve got the code-breakers working on it now, and I doubt a bunch of separatists have created something a good Navy programmer couldn’t break.” He grew a bit more sober. “Are there any indications they’ve picked up on our plan?”
“Not yet. We’ve just heard the standard chatter from them—trying to figure out what our operational plans our, keeping a close eye on how many supplies are going out to our ships, that sort of thing.” Al-shira
paused. “One thing they are rather curious about are the details for some of the refits we’ve been doing on the older ships. There have been several attempts to gain access to data on the Hunter-class destroyer schematics, and at least one agent was nearly caught trying to break electronic security on some of the databases that store information on the Eagle itself.”
“Huh.” Jacob frowned a little, wondering what the efforts could mean. “Do you think they are trying to get aboard and sabotage them?”
Al-shira shook her head. “Nothing like that in the works. None of their agents has tried to find employment off-world or to infiltrate the nearest shipyards or anything like that. They more just seem to want to know what those ships are capable of.”
“Interesting.” An idea occurred to Jacob, and he smiled. “What if Carmichael and his group aren’t actually looking for that stuff? What if the Odurans are putting them up to it?”
Al-shira blinked, and then she smiled as well. “You’re right. Since Tiredel, they’ve been very concerned about what our destroyers could do; at Kryshaen, the Eagle certainly made an impression on them. They are probably starting to get worried about what our ships might do to them in a stand up fight.”
Jacob chuckled. “Well, I guess that would be a valid concern. Keep the agents you know about away from anything that might compromise our security on those fronts, and we should be fine.” Then another idea came to him, and his smile grew more malicious. “Of course, if they just happened to run across a few hints we’ve been upgrading our cruisers as well…”
Her laugh was beautiful to hear. “I’ll make sure they get that much information and no more, then.” Al-shira tilted her head to one side. “You’ve gotten more devious since they promoted you, High Admiral.”
“I’d like to think I’ve learned from the best.” Jacob gave a half-bow, and Al-shira snorted.
“Not exactly the type of compliment a woman likes to hear, but I guess I’ll take it, Ironsides.”
Jacob winced and straightened up. “Well, I guess I earned that one. Is there anything else, Naomi?”
“I will be sure to let you know.” Al-shira paused. “Take care of yourself, Jacob. I get the feeling things are going to start getting very ugly, very soon. You have a habit of putting yourself right in the middle of that sort of thing.”
Overcome by a rush of emotion, Jacob remained quiet for a few moments. When he spoke, he was careful to keep his words firm. “I will, Captain Al-shira. You should take care as well. Intelligence work can be dangerous, as I recall.”
“Not dangerous enough for me.” Al-shira’s smile returned, and she saluted sharply. “Until next time, High Admiral.”
Jacob returned the salute and then closed the transmission. He looked back at his desk, where the reports from at least fifty officers waited for him. Stifling a groan, Jacob went back to his paperwork, and wondered when the next shoe would drop.
The message was a brief one, sent on a wide range of bands across the entire star system of Tiredel. It had arrived via message drone, appearing with the same startling suddenness all riftjumps shared, and Jacob had been alerted to its arrival soon enough he’d been able to watch it within the privacy of his own cabin.
It began without preamble, showing the seal of the newly-formed Collective of San Marcos—a starfield in the background with crossed swords over a fire at the front. Not the most subtle image, but accurate enough for a bunch of fanatics. Then the seal faded, and Jacob clenched his teeth tight enough to hurt when he recognized the three people in the image in front of him.
Joseph Carmichael was dressed once again in the elegant finery he had previously worn. Apparently military life had already grown less interesting for him, because he no longer wore any of the decorations he had given himself the last time. His attitude and bearing were no less arrogant, however. “This is a transmission of the San Marcos Collective to the people of the Celostian Union. Your treacherous attacks on a peaceful delegation to your space have not gone unnoticed—nor has your hostility toward other, peaceful powers in the region.”
“To that end, I, the Governor of San Marcos, have entered into an accord with the nearest and most powerful of those nations—the Oduran League.” Carmichael paused to allow the effect of that rather expected betrayal to sink in. Then he gestured to another of his companions, who stepped forward in an obliging fashion. “I have here a representative of that august assembly of nations to confirm the alliance between our two great peoples.”
Jacob knew the man from his Intelligence briefings. The Oduran wore hair down to his shoulders, drawn back into a tail, and his features were rather unassuming. He wore the purple and grey uniform of the Oduran military, and the rank badges on his chest indicated he was a high-ranking officer. The Intelligence section had managed to confirm he hadn’t really earned any of his numerous awards, however; they had mostly been guaranteed to him by virtue of being President Sessor’s oldest son.
Boris Sessor smiled with strained gratitude at the chance to speak. “The Oduran League is happy for the chance to unite with the people of San Marcos. Together we will put an end to the continued depredations of the Celostian Union.”
His lines delivered, the Oduran officer stepped back, and Carmichael turned to the pickup to continue his speech. “The Oduran military, as part of the nature of our partnership, has decided to support us with one of their great battlefleets. United with our own powerful forces, we are more than a match for any fleet the Union might send against us.”
The image cut away from Carmichael, which had to have annoyed him to no end, to show an enormous fleet of ships. Jacob recognized the forty or fifty modified Celostian freighters that made up the San Marcos forces, but they were dwarfed by the number of Oduran vessels drifting over their planet. There were dozens of frigates, corvettes, and destroyers, and at least thirty cruisers as well. Yet it was the hulking shape of three Oduran dreadnaughts—two of them Banner-class vessels and one Troll-class ship— that caught Jacob's horrified gaze. Where had the Odurans pried those ships loose from?
With that brief glance, the image returned to Carmichael and his cronies. “To take command of this great fleet, we have appointed a noble soul, whose efforts to secure the Union against treachery and tyranny were regrettably not enough to prevent this situation. She has come to us at great personal risk, but is more than willing to pay the cost for the chance to defy the dictatorial intentions of the nation and Navy she once served. Admiral Ilyena Yeseti will now lead our forces to battle, and you can be sure of her resolve.”
Yeseti, now dressed in the brown and green of San Marcos, stepped forward on cue. Her smile was bright and mocking; she was disgustingly secure in the power she now wielded. “To my former comrades in the Celostian Navy, I encourage you to submit to Oduran authority and to cease your attacks on the peaceful peoples of this universe. We will not tolerate your aggression and shall respond in kind if you make any attempt to defy us.”
Then Yeseti’s smile faded into a hateful snarl. “And to your supposed High Admiral, Jacob Hull, do not suppose we will allow your naked ambition and arrogant provocations to continue. You will be brought down and destroyed unless you surrender yourself to the Oduran League and the Collective of San Marcos to be tried for your various war crimes. Resist, and you will only cause the deaths of those fools loyal to you. Surrender, and you might enjoy seeing them left in peace while you pay the price for your pride.”
Carmichael made a gesture, and Yeseti stopped. She glanced at the Governor, then stepped back, allowing Carmichael to regain center stage.
He smiled. “As you can clearly see, our power has grown. Our resolve is fixed, and we are not afraid of any retaliation by your brutal leaders.” He turned to the camera, and seriousness replaced his near-gloating. “It is our hope our disagreements can be resolved without violence, but if it comes to that, then the consequences will be on your own heads.”
“Governor Joseph Carmichael, honored of San Marcos, out.”
“Did you just see that, Naomi?” He knew his voice sounded cold, but he couldn’t help it. It was all he could do at the moment not to start pounding on the bulkhead in rage.
“Yeah, I saw it.” He heard keys tapping in the background. “That was probably actually both Yeseti and Sessor’s son in the transmission. They were both acting too normally and consistently with their profiles for anything else.”
“What about the warships? They had three dreadnaughts.” His mouth went dry again at that image, and Jacob shook his head. Eagle could do a lot of things, but facing three dreadnaughts with an entire swarm of cruisers to support them was not going to be easy.
Al-shira tapped away at her console for a few more moments before she replied. “All three are consistent with Intelligence profiles of active Oduran ships. The two Banner-classes look to be Tamerlane and Obudai, both of which are known to still be active. We thought they were still stationed at the Oduran capital. Sessors probably sent them to escort her son to their new alliance partner. The Troll-class looks like it is the Wilson, recently still thought to be decommissioned.”
“They must have activated her before we hit Kryshaen, then.” Jacob brought up the image of the Oduran fleet again. “Are all of those cruisers real too? They can’t have sent that much of their strength for this assault.”
“It looks like they have.” There was more tapping in the background, and then Al-shira sighed. “We have at least five fakes in the bunch, and I don’t doubt there are a few more, but most of those cruisers are real enough. I’d say thirty Oduran cruisers and near to fifty San Marcos freighters to back them up.”
Eagle (Jacob Hull) Page 26
