by Jay Allan
He had long ago reached a higher level than he’d ever dared to expect, but he couldn’t deny that some part of him had always longed for the highest levels of fleet command. His first operation had been at Barroux, and he still carried the mental and emotional wounds from what he’d done there. But, even with those scars, he felt natural in command, as though he was where he’d always belonged. He knew he’d carry the guilt for what he’d done to his last days…but he also knew he’d do the same thing again if the situation presented itself.
His eyes dropped to the large screen at his station, the roster of his fleet scrolling slowly down. He had virtually all of the Union’s military strength in the Pollux system, formed up on the Confederation border. The massing of such a large force just a transit from Confederation space was a violation of the treaty, but that wasn’t his real concern. It was the fact that his fleet, for all its appearance of strength, wasn’t a match for the Confederation forces. Not even close.
There were battleships under construction in every available shipyard that could produce the big ships, but the first two years after the war had been spent holding the Union together—barely—and regaining control of dozens of breakaway systems. It had been barely six months since Villieneuve had truly gotten the rebuilding operations fully started, and, while that had been enough time to lay down the basic skeletal structures of forty vessels that would one day be brand new battleships…they were now just piles of newly forged steel.
The cold facts were simple. Denisov’s fleet looked as impressive as he’d been able to make it, but from a lack of modern battleships to the condition of his aging, and generally slow, escorts, it simply wasn’t ready to face the Confederation again. Even with an ally as powerful as the Hegemony appeared to be.
And, none of that even took into account the lack of experience of his mostly raw squadrons, or the fact that they were flying old fighters that couldn’t come close to matching the abilities of the latest generation of Confederation Lightnings.
There was something else, too, that nagged at him. He was wary of this Hegemony. He knew nothing about them, and he suspected Gaston Villieneuve didn’t know a lot more. The First Citizen was determined to see the Union returned to strength, to gain vengeance for the defeat that still choked in his throat like dust. Denisov felt the same way, longing to show that his beloved navy—now his navy in a way it had never been before—could indeed defeat their longtime enemies. But, he knew that time had not yet come, and he wondered if Villieneuve, so typically realistic and in control, had allowed his lust for revenge to turn to obsession, and in this critical moment, to shake his normally cold analysis. Was he ignoring the threat of the Hegemony to the Union itself, because he could see only joining with the invaders to crush the Confeds?
He knew he was waiting for the order to advance, for word that the Union was joining the Hegemony in its war against the Confederation. And, he dreaded it. He wanted to wait, to watch and see what happened in the conflict now going on, to keep a watchful eye, and deploy what forces he had to defend the Union border. He was more concerned about the Hegemony as a potential enemy one day than he was hopeful that it could be the ally needed to take down the Confederation.
He knew he’d have to obey the orders to invade if they came. Disobeying Villieneuve would be tantamount to committing suicide, but before that communique arrived, he had great latitude over his dispositions…and he had deployed the fleet defensively, prepare for the possibility of a Hegemony assault across the border.
If it didn’t happen, there would be no harm done. His fleet would have gotten in some maneuvers, exercises that could only serve to improve the effectiveness of his green crews.
But, if the Hegemony did turn out to be an enemy and not an ally…at least he would be ready.
As ready as he could be. Which wasn’t very much at all.
The Union wasn’t ready to fight the Confederation…and every tingling nerve that formed his instinct and intuition told him the Hegemony was a far more dangerous adversary.
* * *
“Master Raketh, I am sorry to disturb you, but we are receiving a communication.” The Kriegeri’s voice was sharp and crisp as it blared out from his comm unit. Raketh was in his retreat, doing a series of breathing exercises to center himself. He had been left behind in the enemy’s frontier system in command of the fleet units supporting ground operations and the logistical train and line of communications garrisons. It was a considerable command, and an important one, but Raketh wasn’t sure if he’d been given the position because it was a vital one and Chronos trusted him…or if he was being kept back from a frontline command because his own forces had failed to secure Dannith and its system on their first attempt.
“I was not expecting a message from Master Chronos.” Raketh stood up from his meditation position, and moved toward the desk. “You may forward it to my sanctum at once.”
“Pardon, Master, but the communication is not from fleet command. It is…” The Kriegeri paused, sounding nervous or confused, very unlike the elite officers assigned to such high positions in the fleet. “…Master, it is from another vessel, apparently a different Rim power than the one against which we are engaged.”
Raketh turned toward the comm unit, struggling to grapple with his own surprise. “Another power?” He’d known from the review of captured data that there were a number of nations of varying sizes on the Rim…but he hadn’t expected to encounter another one so soon.
“Yes, sir. They offer…cooperation…against the Confederation. It is a very unexpected development. We require your guidance and orders on how to proceed.”
Raketh was silent for a moment. This was a significant development. How he handled it would likely have a major effect on his future command prospects. He was near the pinnacle of the Hegemony’s system of genetic rankings, Number Ninety-Six. But, the fleet commander was Chronos, and that luminary was a member of the Council of Ten, ranked Number Eight among all sentients in the Hegemony. There were six other Masters in the fleet, also members of the First Century, and that meant Raketh had to choose his objectives carefully. He had no prospect of moving to command of the main invasion fleet, nor of becoming the second or third in command of that force. The rear areas and logistics assets were crucially important, but they could never offer the same chance for glory and advancement, at least not under normal circumstances.
But, dealing with a new contact, another Rim civilization to be handled…and subordinated. That offered substantial potential for enhancing his position.
“I will take the communique in here, Kiloron. At once.”
“Yes, Master Raketh. As you command.” The officer remained in his kneeling position for a few more seconds, then he rose and moved briskly toward the door. Perhaps half a minute after he left, Raketh’s headset crackled to life.
“This is Minister Pierre Vauchom, Grand Chief of Diplomatic Affairs, and a member of the Advisory Council of the Peoples’ Union. I come as ambassador to your people, and I bring you greetings and salutations, from the Union and from our illustrious First Citizen, the Honorable Gaston Villieneuve.”
Raketh sighed softly. He’d never been one for pompous, extended titles, or long, drawn out greetings. The Hegemony, thankfully, for all its rigid structure of rank, was blissfully devoid of such nonsense. Raketh himself was a Master, and a fleet commander, but in most cases, he simply went by his name, or his ranking. Ninety-Six was a bit less overbearing than grand chief of whatever, and at the same time, it was more descriptive of his overall standing in both society and the military. He was mystified by the illogic of the Rim governmental systems, and despite careful thought and analysis, he simply could not make sense of much of it all.
“With my sincere apologies for the haste of this request, and the lack of normal diplomatic process, I request permission to come aboard your vessel to discuss matters of the utmost urgency, addressing primarily your current conflict with the Confederation, which is my own nation’s
enemy as well.”
Raketh sat and listened for several more minutes, as the ambassador droned on, using a hundred words where five would have sufficed. Finally, the message terminated.
Raketh sighed softly, and then he activated his direct line to the control center. “Kiloron, prepare to transmit a reply.”
“Yes, Ninety-Six.” He listened for a moment while the officer responded, and a few seconds later, as the kiloron said, “Your channel is live, Master Raketh.”
The Master sat for a few seconds, trying to decide exactly what he wanted to say. Then, he tapped the small microphone extending from his headset, and he began. “Ambassador Vauchom…” Raketh repeated the name in the style the minister had used, though he found it a bit odd. The barbarians on the Rim—and to him, that was the term that best described what he’d seen so far, advanced technology or not—all seemed to speak the old imperial tongue, but the accents and colloquialisms were often difficult to follow. “…you may come aboard my vessel whenever you please. My only condition is that you must travel aboard a shuttle or other small craft, with your warships remaining in their current positions. I trust you will understand our need for caution pending our discussions. We are currently at war, of course, and we must operate under the required protocols.” He cut the line.
He had carefully avoided any diplomatic speech, particularly guarantees to offer the minister any sort of ambassadorial protections. He had no idea what he would do with the emissary, or exactly how he would respond to any entreaties. All he knew so far was that he didn’t much like the man.
* * *
“Welcome to my ship, Ambassador.” Raketh stood in the docking bay, as the Union ambassador stepped out of his shuttle and walked toward the Master. Raketh was flanked by ten fully-armed elite Kriegeri. It was a psychological display for the new arrivals more than any perceived need for security. One look at the Union ambassador told Raketh he had nothing to fear from the man, at least in terms of a physical assault. The new arrival’s two guards looked a bit more intimidating, but Raketh remained calm, unconcerned.
“Greetings…I am told your name is Raketh, but I don’t believe I know your title.” The man’s obsequious demeanor grated on Raketh, but he held back his anger and disgust and replied with respectful sounding words.
“I am Ninety-Sixth of the Hegemony, and fleet commander, Ambassador Vauchom…but my primary title is Master. You may address me as such.” Raketh paused for a few seconds. “I believe your people put more effort into extensive honorifics than mine.”
“Yes…Master Raketh…” The ambassador seemed somewhat surprised, but he was clearly trying to adapt. “It is a great honor to meet with you in person, and to be the first to engage with your great people.”
Raketh had briefly studied everything in the database about the Union, a collection of knowledge that consisted entirely of the files taken from Confederation ships and from Dannith. His data was spotty, but one that was clear. The two powers were bitter enemies. For that reason, he’d taken many of the descriptions with a heavy dose of skepticism, but his initial impressions of the ambassador had him wondering if he should increase his trust in the Confederation writings.
“Let us cut through the pointless diplomatic nonsense and come to the point. The Confederation is your enemy, is it not? And, you wish to take advantage of our conflict with that power to gain revenge, and to benefit from the downfall of your old adversary. Am I correct?”
The ambassador looked stunned. Clearly, he’d expected more diplomatic foppery, and likely a grand conference room as a setting to discuss matters…probably at great length. But, Raketh had no time or patience for such foolishness. His first impression of the emissary had been a negative one, and his second was no better. Coupled with what he’d read in the Confederation records, he already knew what he was going to do. His only reservation was acting without Chronos’s approval. Number Eight had left him in command at Dannith and the surrounding systems without explicit restrictions on his actions, but this was a significant decision, and certainly one that had not been anticipated when the fleet commander left.
“Ah…well, yes, of course my people wish to deal with the Confederation once and for all, but I would say we wish to aid you, to defeat the enemy together. I have brought data on our forces, which are currently massed on our border with the Confederation. Our fleet is powerful, and it is ready for action. Upon the signing of a treaty, we could move in a matter of weeks.”
“Yes, thank you for the data on your forces.” Raketh turned and nodded to one of the officers standing behind him. “I’m sure it will be useful.” The Kriegeri stepped forward and took the data chip from the ambassador. The Union emissary was a bit unnerved at the sight of the soldier moving toward him, massive in body, and seeming even larger for the implants projecting from his body.
“You will see how much we can add to your war effort, Master Raketh.”
“I think not, Minister Vauchom.” Raketh’s tone hardened.
“I’m sorry, Master Raketh, I do not follow your…”
Raketh interrupted the clearly disoriented Vauchom. “Certainly, you do. It seems, however, your people have an aversion to cutting to the heart of any matter. Allow me to instruct you thusly. I will offer your people a counter-proposal of sorts, along the lines of the same we extended to your Confederation rivals. Your Union is…invited…to join the Hegemony. Your society will be integrated into our own, and your people will be subjected to genetic testing and placed in roles in accordance with their standing. It is the Hegemony’s central role, to incorporate all of mankind into a single entity, one powerful enough to regain and exceed all that was lost with the fall of the empire.”
The ambassador’s face went white. “Master Raketh, I must object…”
“No, Minister, you must not. If an absorption of your people is to succeed without considerable…collateral damage…you will first have to learn respect for your betters. That lesson might as well begin now. I am Ninety-Six of the Hegemony, and, to put this in terms you will understand, product of chaotic and disorganized reproduction that you are, I am millennia ahead of you in terms of raw natural selection.”
Vauchom stood, silent, dumbfounded. And, Raketh could see the fear beginning to rise up in the Union emissary.
“I am an ambassador, Master Raketh. I am protected by diplomatic…”
“You are protected by nothing, Minister. Aside from the obvious fact that one of my station cannot be obligated to one of yours by any promise or warranty, you will recall that at no time did I extend any kind of diplomatic immunity or protections to you. I merely advised that you could land on my vessel.”
“This is outrageous. I demand that you allow me to leave at once.”
Raketh was amused. He’d often found that lesser creatures could generate a facsimile of courage that was, in actual fact, driven by fear. It had also been his experience that such displays didn’t last long.
“Hectoron, take the…Minister…and his guards and shuttle crew as well, to Master Carmetia. I believe she will find them useful in her ongoing intelligence-gathering operation.”
“Yes, Master Raketh.”
“No…no, you cannot do this. I demand you allow me to return to my ship.” It was an angry shout, and the last of Vauchom’s feigned bravery. A few seconds later, the ambassador howled pathetically, begging to be released, tears streaming down his cheeks. But, Raketh simply stood where he was, ignoring the prisoner’s outburst until the guards had dragged him far enough that his cries vanished into nothingness.
“Master, what shall we do about the ambassador’s ships?” The officer stood at attention, awaiting Raketh’s reply.
He was silent for a moment. Then, he decided he would send a message, one that could not possibly be misinterpreted. “Destroy them. At once.” The Union vessels had stopped at a distance their commanders no doubt thought was out of range. If nothing else, it was proof that the Union’s information on the Hegemony did not include
specifications for the rail gun primary weapons.
“Yes, Master Raketh.”
Raketh turned before the officer left. “And, Kiloron…I want the location and makeup of the enemy fleet on those data chips analyzed at once. Issue orders for the reserve formations to prepare to advance on my order.”
“Yes, Master Raketh.”
“And, prepare to send a courier ship to the main fleet. I will have a message for Commander Chronos within the hour, and I want it dispatched with maximum haste.”
“As you command.” The officer hesitated, waiting to see if there would be any other orders. Then, he bowed his head and marched off the landing bay.
Raketh stood where he was for a moment. He knew what he had to do. The Union was, by all accounts, the largest power on the Rim, though perhaps, since their defeat in the last war, not the most powerful. Still, crushing them would be a major step toward pacification of the entire galactic region.
Under normal circumstances, such an operation would wait until the Confederation was defeated, but, if the new enemy was kind enough to gather their entire fleet in one place, it seemed to Raketh it would be foolish not to take advantage of that. He suspected the intent of the fleet mobilization had been to impress him, to create a bargaining chip of sorts in the negotiations the Union ambassador had clearly hoped to initiate. Now, it would have a rather different result.
Still, whatever his thoughts, Raketh couldn’t commit the entire Reserve to such an operation, not without the approval of the fleet commander. He walked toward the hatch, bound for his quarters. He would send a message to Chronos…and he would be sure that, if the commander authorized his plan, the fleet units would be ready to go at once.
