by David Weber
“Eighty light-years won’t get you to Manticore,” Charles said, frowning in feigned thought.
“No, but it could get you within forty or fifty light-years of Yeltsin’s Star,” Weiss said.
“You mean like somewhere in the middle of nowhere, where no one’s ever thought to look,” Charles said, nodding. Not only was Weiss falling right into step on this, but he was even filling in details Charles now wouldn’t have to bring up himself. Perfect.
“Exactly,” Weiss said. “And if the other arm—or another arm; at this point we have no idea how many there are—goes all the way to Irrlicht, it would come out a good three or four light-hours out from the system. Plenty of distance to ensure even those transient miners never notice the energy spike when the Manties come out.”
“Yeltin’s Star,” Charles said with just the right touch of sudden understanding. “Of course.”
“Of course what?” Weiss asked.
“I’ve always wondered why the Manties bothered to open contact with Grayson in the first place,” Charles said. “And why they then went to such lengths to make allies out of them.”
“Possibly because they’re damn good fighters,” Weiss said wryly. But his eyes were distant and thoughtful. “Interesting idea, though.”
“Regardless, I daresay this is something you need to get back to the Empire with immediately,” Charles said. “Enjoy your voyage. I presume you’ve brought my fee for the information? Possibly with a bit of a bonus included?”
“I have it, yes,” Weiss said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are we in some kind of hurry?”
“What do you mean?” Charles asked guardedly.
“I mean you seem anxious to get your money and send me on my way,” Weiss said.
“I’m not anxious about anything,” Charles protested, putting a bit of subtle discomfort into his voice. “I’ve given you everything I have. I want my money; you want to lay this out in front of the Emperor and collect your commendation. Nothing mysterious about it.”
“But you haven’t given me everything,” Weiss countered. “You just said you could show me the data on the Manties’ anti-pirate operations running out of the Irrlicht system.”
“Oh, well, I can’t show you all the data,” Charles hedged. “Technically, that belongs to a colleague of mine.”
Weiss sat up a bit straighter. “You never mentioned any colleagues,” he said, his voice suddenly ominous.
“It’s all right—I’ve known him for years,” Charles hastened to assure him. “In fact, I’ve recently made him my partner.”
“Really,” Weiss said, his tone not mollified in the slightest. “This is not something you should be springing on me, Charles. Not here, and certainly not now.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” Charles said apologetically, suppressing both a shiver and, paradoxically, a sly smile. If Weiss was upset at this revelation, he could imagine how Mercier was reacting to it as he eavesdropped on the conversation from upstairs. “But there’s nothing to worry about. He’s hardly going to betray us. Not a Manty in the middle of Peep territory.”
“He’s a Manty?”
“A disaffected one, of course,” Charles said. “Come now, Herr Weiss—where else did you think I’d gotten all my data on Manty ship movements?”
“Yes, of course.” Weiss paused, his narrowed eyes those of a cutthroat spades player trying to read his opponent. “This complicates things a bit.”
Charles felt a stirring in his gut. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.
“But it should still work,” Weiss said, as if thinking aloud. “After all, two passengers can be transported nearly as cheaply as one.”
“Hold on,” Charles said, pressing back into his chair. “Two passengers?”
“Of course,” Weiss said. “As you said, this news has to be taken to the Empire at once.”
“So take it,” Charles said. “Give me my money and go.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Weiss said coolly. “We need to make sure nothing leaks out to the Manties before we’ve found the Andermani terminus. Unfortunately, that means you and your colleague will have to our guests for awhile.”
“And if we refuse?” Charles asked.
Weiss’s expression went diplomat-impassive. “I hope you won’t make me insist.”
Charles looked down at the Andermani’s waist, as if only just now noticing the subtle bulge of a hidden weapon.
Mercier was also armed. Would he be willing to use his pulser against a foreign diplomat? Charles didn’t know, but he had no intention of finding out the hard way. “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “All you want us for is to help you find the Andermani terminus?”
“That’s all,” Weiss assured him. “Once we’ve found it, we can start sending cruisers of our own through and start our own quiet survey of the thing.”
“And you’re not going to be convinced of all this until you do that?”
“Let me put it this way,” Weiss said. “Until we are convinced, you don’t get paid.”
For a moment Charles gazed at him. Then, he exhaled a long sigh. “Fine,” he said. “But bear in mind that Herr Mercier and I are now on the Andermani clock, and we charge by the hour.”
“Then we’d best be going, hadn’t we?” Weiss said, standing up. “Go collect your friend, grab your data chips and any personal items you want to bring along, and let’s get to it. My car and driver are waiting down the block.”
Mercier, to Charles’s relief, played his part perfectly. He came downstairs at Charles’s summons, accepted his new position as Charles’s colleague without flinch or glare, and even added in a bit of verisimilitude by telling Weiss that his task upstairs had been to watch for possible StateSec lurkers. He accepted the offer of a trip to the Andermani Empire with just the right degree of surprise, followed by the right level of reluctant agreement.
But Charles wasn’t fooled. Mercier was furious, and Charles had no doubt that he would be hearing about it the minute he and the Peep were alone.
Fortunately, that minute was likely to be a long time in coming. Weiss made a number of quiet calls in German from the car, and instead of going back to the Andermani embassy the driver took them directly to the spaceport. A diplomatic pinnace was waiting, the pilot giving them barely enough time to get settled in their seats before lifting and heading out to the orbit where the embassy’s three ships were parked. Charles made a private bet with himself that they were headed for the larger and more luxurious consular ship, and promptly lost as they instead swung in close beside a courier boat. Apparently, Weiss and Ambassador Rubell had decided speed was more important than comfort.
The courier’s captain had already begun his own preparations, and in less than an hour they were underway, heading for Haven’s hyper limit at nearly six hundred gravities. They had barely left orbit when Weiss called for lunch, and he, Charles, and Mercier settled down to a surprisingly but gratifyingly well-laid table.
Charles ate mechanically, his full attention on Weiss’s smoothly casual interrogation of Mercier and the Peep’s equally casual and surprisingly good answers. Either the colonel was a far more competent StateSec agent than Charles had realized, with the training to make up—and remember—answers on the fly, or else he’d spent the entire trip since leaving the rendezvous house working out a detailed cover story for himself.
Regardless, his performance seemed to satisfy Weiss’s curiosity, both the personal and the professional aspects. When lunch was over, he offered his guests a game of cards. Charles accepted; Mercier pleaded fatigue and headed aft to their quarters.
With Mercier gone, Weiss’s casual probing now shifted targets. But Charles was an old hand at this, and even with his mind split between Mercier and the card game he was able to answer or deflect everything Weiss threw at him.
Finally, as the afternoon lengthened toward dinnertime, Charles realized he couldn’t put off the confrontation any longer. His twice-daily millil
iter of antidote was due soon, and he needed to leave himself at least a little time beforehand to talk Mercier out of whatever quiet rage or suspicion the other was nursing.
As on the Ellipsis, the courier boat’s captain had assigned the two passengers adjoining berths. Charles keyed his door open, and with only a little trepidation walked inside.
Mercier was waiting for him, lying on the narrow bunk with his arms folded behind his head. He seemed perfectly relaxed, but as Charles looked into his eyes he had the sudden image of a snake lurking in the dust by the side of the road waiting for an unsuspecting traveler. “I came for my drink,” Charles said, deciding to try pretending nothing had happened.
“Did you, now,” Mercier said, his voice a perfect match for his coiled-snake eyes. “What makes you think I’m going to give it to you?”
“What did you want me to do?” Charles countered, glancing reflexively around the room. But Mercier had had more than enough time to sweep the place for bugs. “He wanted proof, and I could hardly show him data I didn’t have.”
“And so you throw that little grenade into my lap?”
“You don’t know the man, remember?” Charles explained patiently. “You’re a stranger and a renegade, and you could hardly be expected to turn sensitive material over to him just because he asks nicely. That buys us time, and with enough time we can reach Irrlicht and not have to show them any data at all.”
“Is that what you think will happen?” Mercier asked. “That was your plan?”
“That was my improvisation,” Charles corrected. “Improvisation is what happens when plans actually hit atmosphere.”
“Let me tell you what I think.” Leisurely, Mercier pulled himself upright off the bunk. “I think you deliberately engineered this little trip, including the part about getting us off Haven without giving me any chance to contact my people. I think this was your plan from the very beginning: a way to get you out of reach of the retribution you knew will come crashing down on your head if the plan fails.”
“So I escape from Haven and then die twelve hours later?” Charles demanded. “How does that gain me anything?”
“I don’t know,” Mercier conceded. “I still don’t believe for a minute that this was Weiss’s idea.”
“Then you need to credit him with more intelligence,” Charles said. “And while you’re doing that, I suggest you look past your emotional haze and realize that this is the best possible thing that could have happened. Now, instead of Citizen Captain Tyler having to bear the whole brunt of the scheme’s execution on his own, we’ll be on hand to cover any holes and tweak any glitches at the Andermani end. It couldn’t have turned out better if I had engineered it.”
“You talk well, I’ll give you that,” Mercier growled. But the rattlesnake look in his eye was starting to fade. “Fine—we’ll play it your way. Not that I’ve got much choice at the moment. But let me just throw one more item into the mix.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out his flask. “I have only enough of this stuff to last another month. That’s a trip to Andermani space at courier boat speeds, a trip back to Haven, plus a couple of weeks in the Irrlicht system for the scheme and its aftermath.” He raised his eyebrows. “If the job takes any longer than that, you’re going to die.”
“I understand,” Charles said. “But as Citizen Secretary Saint-Just himself said, only with great risk comes great reward.”
Mercier gazed at him in silence another minute. Then, his lip quirked in a sardonic smile. “You’re a cool one, Citizen,” he said. “I could almost wish you were on our side.”
“I am on your side.”
“Only for the moment,” Mercier said. “And only for that hundred million Solly credits.”
Charles shrugged. “Read your history, Citizen Colonel. For the moment, and for profit, is how most wartime alliances are made.”
“But ideology is why a warrior is willing to die,” Mercier countered. “People like you never understand that.” He gestured contemptuously and started unscrewing the flask’s cap. “Go get your water. I’ll measure out your dose.”
* * *
The trip from Karavani to Irrlicht took four weeks at the Ellipsis’s top speed. Citizen Captain Tyler spent most of the trip rereading his orders, drilling his crew for the task ahead, and brooding.
A suicide mission, Citizen Secretary Saint-Just had called it when he’d first offered Tyler the post as Ellipsis’s commander. Certain death, but a death that would bring the war with the Manticore Royalists to a sudden and victorious end. Tyler had accepted without hesitation; for, after all, death in the service of People’s Republic was the highest goal any of her men or women could aspire to.
But he’d had these past four weeks to study the strategy, and to think about the possibilities. Citizen Navarre’s plan was both cunning and brilliant, and it was indeed likely to end in Tyler’s own death. And Tyler was still willing to give his life for his nation.
But if the Ellipsis could achieve its goal and yet survive, would that not be even better?
The more he’d considered the question, the more he’d decided that it was neither a violation of command nor ethics to try to achieve that end.
Which was why the Ellipsis was no longer in the Irrlicht system, as ordered, waiting for the Andermani to come in response to Citizen Navarre’s tale of an unknown wormhole terminus in their territory. Instead, he was moving with the deliberate slow clumsiness of a light freighter through the Mischa’s Star system, heading on an intercept course toward a small convoy of Andermani freighters.
And as they flew toward destiny, he wondered at the strange name of this ship he’d been given.
Why Ellipsis? It was a question that had occupied much of the ship’s officers and crew in their idle moments, first during the trip to Karavani, then during the hasty refitting from their tender after all that damage to their alpha nodes, and finally during the longer voyage to Irrlicht. Was it the fact that its namesake grammatical mark, three periods in a row, was an indication of something unseen or otherwise not there? But the ship had had that name long before Citizen Navarre had been brought aboard.
Unless Citizen Secretary Saint-Just had had Navarre and his contraband Solly stealth system waiting in the wings the entire time. A man as brilliant as Saint-Just should never be underestimated.
Perhaps it was the word itself, derived from the ancient Greek for falling short. Not that the Ellipsis would fall short in its duty, but that it was named with the confidence that the Manty defenses that were the mission’s original target would fall short in their efforts to stop it. Or perhaps it was the dots of the grammatical mark themselves, that in the aftermath of the Ellipsis’s success the galaxy would connect the dots in a way that led away from Haven.
But that was vain speculation, a waste of the People’s time and energy. What mattered was not the ship’s name, but that its captain and crew would go down in history as the saviors of the People’s Republic.
The convoy was well within missile range now. Not only that, but its escorting heavy cruiser, having been completely taken in by the fake transponder and People’s Commissioner Ragli’s fluent German and expertise in all matters Andermani, was already starting to reposition itself to accept this “lost” newcomer into the convoy’s flight pattern.
“Prepare to launch missiles,” Tyler ordered, feeling his lips pulling back into a tight smile. The first salvo would target the escort, hopefully disabling it before it could respond in any significant way. The second attack would target the largest of the convoy’s freighters.
“Citizen Captain, we’re nearly to identification range,” the sensor officer warned. “Estimate three minutes to tag point.”
“Thank you, Citizen Lieutenant,” Tyler said, feeling the glacial calm whispering through him, the single-minded focus that made for both a good naval officer and a good patriot. The multiple layers of the Ellipsis’s false identity would fool the Andermani only so long, after which the People’
s ship would be close enough for the cruiser’s sensors to penetrate the sheep’s clothing and detect the wolf lurking beneath it.
But the Andermani would hardly be expecting an enemy ship to come this deep into its territory. In fact, the cruiser’s captain was so arrogantly confident that he was even flying with his sidewalls down. By the time he realized the truth, it would be too late.
“One minute to tag point,” the sensor officer announced.
The tag point was only an estimate, of course, and it wouldn’t be smart to push the numbers too far. Tyler counted down the seconds, watching the screen for any hint that the escort might have realized something was wrong.
The theoretical timer was down to fifteen seconds when Tyler decided it was time. “Fire one,” he ordered.
It was beautiful, in the way that space combat was always beautiful, particularly when taking down a warship from an anti-democratic regime like the Andermani Empire. The missiles shot from Ellipsis’s tubes, their wedges flashing into existence as they bore down at a thousand KPS2 acceleration on the cruiser. There was a balance-point moment as the cruiser’s captain belatedly saw his death approaching and tried desperately to get his sidewalls up in time.
The missiles won the race. Their warheads overwhelmed the point defenses and burst into brilliant swathes of X-ray fire that slashed across the cruiser’s hull, burning through electronics, bulkheads, and human flesh alike. The cruiser’s wedge flickered and dropped in strength as its alpha nodes went, then dropped again as one of its fusion bottles went into emergency shut-down.
For a moment Tyler considered seeing if a second salvo would finish it off completely. But he had a limited number of missiles, and there would be much bigger fish to fry soon enough. “Fire two,” he called.
It wasn’t nearly as soul-satisfying to attack an unarmed freighter as it was a warship. But it was still spectacular. The lone missile shot smoothly into the gap between the freighter’s stress bands and sent its energy burst directly into the rear alpha nodes. And since a typical freighter didn’t have any beta nodes, that meant the wedge went down completely, leaving the ship dead in space and its crew and cargo helpless against another attack.
