‘Scholar Elsewise?’ asked Johnson.
‘I concur,’ said the Scholar. His eyes were on her.
There is a chance. You and I, Scholar, she thought. We can do this.
The tall man nodded, ever so slightly.
*
She means to trade herself, thought Elsewise. A possibility. If the Inner Belt force is led by a member of one of the ascendant lines, and that position was granted on the basis of such station then Celene could challenge. It was unlikely that anyone as high as a Celerion would undertake such a mission, too long away from the courts and too exposed. A successful challenge would not only leave her in charge of the fleet, more importantly, her interpretation of events would have to be accepted. Base, as they knew it, might survive. That motivation he shared with her but another was paramount. The Ships must have time to negotiate the Outer Passage. Days, if his projections were correct. To gain that time any sacrifice was warranted.
‘Identity is critical,’ he said to Celene. Here he bowed to her expertise. Celestene D’Auvinery Celerion, ‘the little witch’ as she was more widely known in the courts of the Inner Belt before her disappearance, had executed an intricate series of manoeuvres culminating in the ruin of six ascendant lines, six of the seven lines that had brought down the Auvinery succession centuries before. Her death was thought to have been the trigger. Her reappearance would be considered by many to be more momentous than any development on a far off Passage world.
‘Stand them off, Commander. Establish a dialogue,’ ordered the small woman.
Johnson lifted his blind eyes toward her voice.
‘I need to assess their leadership and intent,’ said Celene. ‘It is my job.’
That she had explained at all showed her respect for the gentle man. She would be back in the mode of the courts now, Elsewise knew, a mode that she had excelled in. Constant vigilance required for survival, unremitting calculation pitched at exploiting competitors. Her bitter laugh had signified the transition. Base would never have a more committed protector or a more ruthless one. ‘Colda times ten’ she had told them.
‘Oulte turn and relay for the Commander. Alizane form up with the Rangers.’
She marshals her forces, scant as they are, thought Elsewise. I must be ready to play my part.
‘Sorry, Oulte. I have to ask you to stay up there longer. You three Rangers and Alizane are all we have at the moment,’ apologised Johnson.
‘Yah, well at least you got the best,’ said Oulte. ‘Besides, my arse is already part of the chair. A little longer won’t make much difference. Now I know how the scouts feel.’
‘Commence,’ ordered Celene.
‘Close to hailing distance Oulte and relay my comm,’ said Johnson. ‘Maintain that distance. Fall back as they approach until you are beneath the satellites.’
*
The satellites? Something there, an earlier thought, worried Celene. It didn’t take and her mind went on. What was her enemy trying to achieve? Surprise might have caught craft in space, allowed the elimination of part of the force the intruders believed to be under the control of the Houses. A dangerous force. You don’t know how dangerous, she told her enemy. Trahern’s Group could take out this squadron, she had no doubt of that. Probably whatever else they had waiting behind the Passage also. If they gave him room. If they went for him in space. No, better to have most of the Guard’s craft on the ground, protected by the satellites but locked up on the planet. Perhaps that was what the enemy hoped to achieve.
Another plan came to her, one that would not require her unmasking. Destroy this Inner Belt squardron. Blame it on the Ships. A glorious battle, both sides lost to a man, or whatever. Any wreckage from our craft explained as those we lost while trying to give aid. No wreckage from the Ships because there never is. They could have been made for this! Two problems solved. No retribution from the Inner Belt for defying this squadron, no censure for allowing the Ships to use the Passages. Better than my other plan.
‘Draw it out. Be as obtuse as possible,’ she advised Johnson. Time, they would need time for the Ships to pass and for the Group to return. The craft inbound from the first contact could be diverted to take the orders to Trahern.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Johnson.
‘That’s perfect,’ she replied.
Light laughter drew her eyes to the men around her, Chalkley with his one good leg stretched out in front of him, big Steamsetter with his head in his hands, old Thomas half twisted in his seat to take in his commander’s face. The commander smiling good-naturedly back at men he couldn’t see.
Her excitement faded. Where do I think that I am? she chided herself. Her new scheme would require total destruction of the Inner Belt force to succeed. No word could leak out. Survivors would have to be eliminated, fugitives hunted down and killed. Not by these people.
Johnson lifted his hand for silence. ‘Ready Oulte?’
‘Ready Commander. We are in range.’
‘Inbound craft please identify yourself,’ said Johnson.
No answer.
‘I repeat. Inbound craft please identify yourself. Be advised that you are entering a controlled sector.’
‘Make it official,’ said Celene when he released the comm button.
‘This is an Inner Belt request. Identify yourself,’ he repeated. ‘Failure to identify will be met with force in accord with Inner Belt procedure.’
‘Isolate the comm. Secure channels to our craft,’ Celene demanded of the techs in the interval. ‘Redirect that incoming craft from our Battle Group to the limit of transmission on the Passage side.’ She couldn’t send him back to Trahern, not yet. The Inner Belt approach could have been designed to flush such a messenger. ‘Elsewise. Will they be aware of the Group and its mission?’
‘No,’ answered the Scholar. ‘They will have intercepted my report but it does not contain detailed speculation on Base’s response.’
Only that you did not believe that we would be able to stop them, thought Celene. However, that warning could be construed by the Inner Belt as a House ploy to cover action in the sector.
‘The message sent by Commander Quartermaine alerting the Arm would have arrived after this unit left Adrienne,’ continued the Scholar. ‘That intelligence may have been sent after them but at the speeds the Ranger advises, it would have not caught up. I recommend that every effort is made to preserve this ignorance.’
Celene stared at the tall man. You do not want to jeopardise your precious Ships. He held her eye until she turned away. Lucky for you that Base’s survival is tied up with theirs. I care nothing for them.
‘Send the Gold to buzz them,’ she ordered.
‘Specialist!’ objected Johnson.
‘Failure to identify themselves not only makes our resistance blameless it makes it compulsory. Alizane, buzz the leaders.’
Squadron command should have responded by now. The delay signifies consultation. Who? What more? ‘Techs. Do you detect any others?’
‘We don’t even have them yet. Only our own craft. These images are relays from their sensors.’
‘Oulte, send your wingmen wide,’ she ordered.
Indrawn breaths brought her attention to the screen. Close, the Gold was going very close. Good, that will ruffle them. ‘Come away slowly, show them your tail,’ she directed. Affront, indignation. Any reaction would be helpful. Who are you?
‘This is the IBSN. Remove your craft from our path.’
Celene bent to Johnson’s ear and whispered.
‘Please pulse your ID codes for confirmation,’ the blind commander repeated loudly. ‘Decelerate and hold until you receive further instructions.’
They would have to decelerate soon in any case or overshoot Base. Now it would look as though they were following orders.
‘Enough of this foolishness. Prepare for transfer to IBSN command. Stand down your interdiction systems and - .’
‘Cut him off,’ whispered Celene. ‘Ask who commands. Insu
lt him.’
‘Identify yourself,’ demanded Johnson. ‘You ask me to believe that navy personnel intend to take over the duties of a Passage Guard? Talk about foolishness. Who is in command?’
Almost as good as Quartermaine. He is enjoying this, thought Celene.
‘This is Commodore Summers of the Eighth Expeditionary Fleet. Obey or face the consequences.’
Celene whispered again.
‘Do you command, Commodore?’ asked Johnson. ‘I would not like to waste my words on a subordinate.’
‘I speak for this fleet.’
There! He did not claim command. Even in his anger he fears to offend someone. Someone of much higher station. ‘Keep pushing,’ she said.
‘Well Commodore, I command in this sector. So comply or ‘speak’ your ships out of my space.’
‘You defy the Inner Belt?’
Celene breathed more words in Johnson’s ear.
‘I am the Inner Belt as far as you are concerned,’ stated Johnson. ‘My authority has been set for millennia, supported by society, recognised by the ascendant lines. This sector is not subject to the sway of passing military, no matter how imposing. The Trading Houses just learned that at their cost. Our charter is directly with the rulers of the Inner Belt. Simply put, I do not recognise your authority, Commodore.’
They waited for a response.
‘Do you recognise mine, brave commander?’ A new voice from the Fleet.
There! More of a taunt than a question. Finally, the real power behind this enterprise, thought Celene.
‘And who might you be?’ asked Johnson.
‘Comach Donnellian.’
You left out the Fitz-Gerald, Comach. The bastard line. The seventh. Now she understood. He’s come for me. The rest is an excuse. Yet he would destroy it all to finish me. We shall see. She lent back down to Johnson’s ear.
‘Base serves the Inner Belt. We are honoured with your presence,’ said Johnson repeating the words she whispered.
‘You do not query my identity?’
‘Of course not, Sir.’
‘And you will follow my orders and accord my subordinates the respect they deserve?’
‘I will kiss the Commodore’s saintly arse if you so desire,’ answered Johnson.
That should please the Donnellian, thought Celene.
‘The Commodore may have to forgo that pleasure for a while,’ said the ascendant. ‘We have more pressing concerns. You mentioned conflict with the Houses. Please elaborate.’
He is stalling? Why? He can’t trust anything Base may say. We could be under the control of the Houses. Intelligence. He is waiting to hear from his agents. Lammas was one but there would be others. Lammas! She checked the screens. Soon they would be in range of the satellites. There could be a relay. The satellites! She rolled her hand in a signal to Johnson to continue then remembered that he couldn’t see. Be sharper, she told herself. ‘Tell him about the Rim. Stretch it out. Nothing about the Group. He thinks that you are Quartermaine. Don’t disabuse him of that notion.’
She straightened and stepped away, motioning the Scholar over. She collected the other men’s attention with her eyes. Her plan was set but so extreme that she would need to ease the others into accepting it. ‘The Donnellian intends to destroy Base regardless of what is said or done. How do we stop him?’
‘Sit behind the satellites, wait for Trahern,’ answered Steamsetter.
Good. He has been thinking this through. ‘Has Lammas been to the satellites?’ she asked.
Thomas shifted under her gaze, shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.’
‘Assume that the satellites are compromised,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Where does that leave us?’
‘Toasted, like the Box if compromise means control,’ said Chalkley.
‘He knows that I am here,’ she said to Elsewise. ‘He will be prepared for a possible challenge. A warrant or decree to negate my rank.’
The tall man nodded.
‘But kept closely on him and not widely known, certainly not outside of his advisors,’ she continued.
The Scholar knew what she was proposing. ‘An attempt is warranted in the present circumstances but it must occur before his intelligence arrives,’ he warned.
She admired Elsewise’s reasoning. As ruthless as her own. Succeed in removing the Donnellian and her challenge would also succeed. Fail and the immediate destruction of all of Base would be triggered, taking with it the location of Trahern’s Group. Either way the Ships would have the time required to negotiate the Passage. As long as no word was passed from Base.
There was one other person that shared the Scholar’s motivation. ‘Give me the Gold.’
*
Take out a heavy cruiser? Sure, as long as the shields aren’t up, thought Alizane. Attack an Inner Belt squadron? Not so sure about that. Do it to save the Ships. Sure. Sure. He was saying that a lot lately.
Finally something worthy of all your work, Nata. His teacher would have liked the Ships. That was one of the things he had wanted to share when he came back from the Gap. Maybe another time. Maybe soon. This was the path, nothing had ever felt so right.
The talk sounding over his comm from the Command room washed over him as he swung through a great arc to bring his craft around.
‘We can not attack. We have accepted his authority,’ said Johnson.
‘All you did was to promise to kiss an arse,’ said Celene. ‘If it still exists after this you can do so.’
The Specialist was in fine form. Sharp as a Ship she was.
‘I can not order this,’ objected Johnson. ‘It damns Base.’
‘Lose surprise and Base is lost! This hesitation may have already warned him,’ countered Celene.
‘Would you respond to an aggressive act?’ The Scholar’s calm voice. ‘I suggest that you order a repositioning of the satellites.’
‘Alizane,’ demanded Celene.
She means for me to proceed. Yes, I am going, Specialist. Orders mean nothing to me when the Ships are involved. You should know that by now.
He completed his arc and accelerated, the conversation relayed from the comm room flowed along with him.
‘The satellites are not responding,’ reported one of the techs.
‘Enough?’ asked Celene
‘Yes,’ answered Johnson.
‘They are deploying fighter craft.’ The tech again. ‘Shields are going up.’
‘Steamsetter!’ called Celene.
‘More craft will aid the Gold. They block the larger ships’ fields of fire. I have seen his tapes. Saturation coverage would be the only way to stop him. The shields will be limited to beam and particle screens. They can’t have anything heavier going with the other craft so close. He can punch through.’
Thanks big man. Good to know that you think I can fly. Alizane triggered his own comm. ‘Oulte. You may have to come in behind me.’ If the Ranger could fly the Rim he could find his way through this crowd. One crash might not do it. ‘Your wing men too.’
Alarms screamed. Beams were lancing towards him. He slipped the attack easily and then was in amongst them. Now I’ll show you how a Ship can fly.
‘Gold,’ called Steamsetter. ‘Trahern flew into a ridge on the Rim, banked but way too fast for the turn. Used his cannons to keep him clear. If you can get under its shield a cruiser might be big enough for that.’
‘Thanks again, big fella,’ said Alizane. He’d heard about that pass. It would be interesting to see if he was as good as the Grey. ‘Sounds like everything is going my way. Just one more detail. Which ship am I going for?’
*
Everyone turned to her. Even Johnson’s blind eyes sought her out. One chance. That is all we have. Celene focused on the monitors. Alizane was already deep in the enemy’s array. Moving so fast and intricately that the screens had trouble displaying his trace. Too fast for Trahern’s manoeuvre, Celene thought. The Gold was right. The Rangers would have to follow him to their deaths to ins
ure that the destruction included the Donnellian. One shot at one ship. Which one? Five heavy cruisers, three frigates. He could be on any one. The dots of the three Rangers disappeared into the melee.
Not the lead cruiser. To obvious for one from the Inner Belt. Inherent caution would place him elsewhere.
Not the rear either. Because of his pride.
The formation flattened, the explorer slipping out to the side as the big warships came forward.
The frigates are too far out, nothing to do. He must take a role.
Two cruisers moved to bracket the Gold’s progress.
What does he wish to achieve? What will increase his standing back in the courts? What was worth coming so far? To shoot down individual fighter craft from a cruiser? No glory in that, embarrassing actually. To destroy Base, House occupied or not? He will get the credit for that regardless. What makes this epic?
‘The explorer,’ said Celene. ‘He is there.’ Come for me. Ready to hunt her down if she tried to flee. In the fastest, most modern ship. In the ship that had been safely tucked up inside the diamond throughout the long days of the boring approach. ‘I am sure.’
*
Now you are talking, thought Alizane. Three tight flights of fighters were closing on him from behind, trying to confine him to a single vector. He rolled back into them, firing at the two cruisers as he spun. His first shots. They flared harmlessly on the shields of the mighty craft but drew a response. A response that decimated their own fighters. He came back through the wreckage to whip past the cruisers, their guns silent as they took in what they had just done.
Clear of almost all the enemy he arced up toward the explorer. Don’t run, just hold there for me. If the explorer bolted he would never catch it.
‘Donnellian. Celestene D’Auvinery Celerion greets you.’ The Specialist’s voice.
That’s a surprise, Alizane thought and then he was there. Not as hard a turn as the Grey’s but at greater speed and with a narrower window. Fast and sweet, like a Ship, he told himself.
*
The screen lit with energy then faded back to the dot display. One dot less. The one that mattered. ‘Cease all hostilities,’ ordered Celene. ‘I hold rank here. My command is the voice of the Inner Belt. I repeat, cease all hostile action. Celerion commands.’
The Return of the Grey Page 58
