Cornelius was now aware of the impatient people behind him trying to get a word with the preacher and then move on to the rest of their day. He guided Katlyn by the arm and moved her down the walkway and out to the sidewalk.
“I like him,” said Kaylyn, looking back at where the preacher was still greeting people coming out of the church.
“We can come back if you like,” said Cornelius, nodding his head. “Sunday after next.”
Katlyn looked disappointed for a moment, then nodded her head. “Because you got drill next weekend.”
“No reason you can’t come by yourself” said Walborski with a smile. “Be good to establish our presence with a minister, in case we need the kind of help they can give.”
“You fucking asshole,” yelled a voice from the sidewalk ahead. “How dare you show yourself in my neighborhood?”
Cornelius looked over, his face reddening as he looked at the man he hated most on this world. I can’t help it if I’m not much of a soldier, he thought, looking at the face of the First Sergeant. The man had slurred his words, and was obviously drunk. On a Sunday morning, was Walborski’s next thought, until he saw the Church of Satan symbol on the front of the man’s shirt, hanging from a gold chain.
“I asked you a question, you fucking maggot,” yelled the man in a slur, stomping up to the pair. “What the hell are you doing in my fucking neighborhood, you shit licking excuse for a man.”
“I would thank you to not talk that way in front of my wife,” said Walborski, his own temper rising against his better judgment. He was sure the man could take him apart in a second. He was also sure he wouldn’t back down with his wife here.
“I don’t give a damn about the slut,” roared the part time NCO, pushing his face into Walborski’s. “The fucking whore chose you as a man, which just goes to show that she’s not only a slut, but a stupid slut.”
That was all that Cornelius could take. He swung a fist at the man, hoping that maybe the First Sergeant was drunk enough that he would get hit before he knew it. No such luck, and the Top Sergeant blocked the blow easily, then hit Cornelius in the chest with what seemed like a sledge hammer.
Cornelius fell to the ground, hard upon his back, looking up at the angry drunken face of the part time NCO that thought he wasn’t worth the meat he came wrapped in. Katlyn tried to pull the man away, but he flung her around with a strong arm, then pushed her stumbling away. The Top Sergeant then kicked Cornelius once in the buttocks, then again in the arm. The second kick hit proper and Walborski cried out as a bone in his arm snapped.
“Get up, you son of a bitch,” yelled the militia First Sergeant, bringing his leg back for another kick. “Get up, you sorry excuse for a soldier.”
Cornelius tried to get up. He wanted to hit the man with all his strength, knowing that he would just get knocked down again. The Top Sergeant started to move his leg forward in a kick when a hand landed on his shoulder and spun him around.
“Who the fuck are you?” yelled the drunken Top Sergeant. “Oh, the fucking preacher. Well, I’m going to hurt your Christian ass too.”
The top brought back his fist and the preacher hit him in the face with a hand that was a blur. The Top Sergeant went down, falling into the churchyard grass to lay still.
“Are you alright, son,” said the preacher, kneeling down beside Cornelius, while Katlyn came and knelt on the other side.
“Where did you learn to lay out a man like that?” asked the farmer, sitting up and cradling his arm.
“I forgot to tell you,” said the preacher with a smile. “I was a Ranger officer.”
“That explains it,” said Cornelius, looking back over at Katlyn. “Rangers don’t wear battle armor. It gives them away. So they get augmented instead.”
“And once a ranger,” said the smiling preacher, “always a ranger. Now let’s get you some medical attention.”
“What about the First Sergeant?” asked Cornelius, looking over at the now snoring man.
“Don’t you worry about him,” said the preacher. “I’m sure the militia will have a slot somewhere for another private.”
* * *
Gabriel Len Lenkowski had enjoyed his job as Chief of Naval Operations. Of working with the Fleet, and in particular with this Emperor. But the Emperor was gone, and he knew little about the son who was now first in line for succession. If he was still alive, that is.
The Admiral looked out over the city as he walked along the roof of the Hexagon, the military headquarters for the Empire. The huge office building stood almost a kilometer in height, dwarfed by the many megascrapers of the city. It outdid any of them in girth, more like an Arcology than an office building. And it extended under the earth for several more kilometers, ending in the bunker like shelters that were proof against all but heavy kinetic rounds or warheads in the gigaton range.
“You ready to launch?” he asked the crew chief as soon as he entered the shuttle that was waiting on the landing platform.
“As soon as you strap in, sir,” said the senior CPO who chiefed the Admiral’s personal craft. “You of course want your usual position?”
“Of course, chief,” said the Admiral, walking past the crewman to the cockpit hatch, which opened at his approach. Len slid into the chair next to the pilot and strapped himself in.
“Welcome aboard sir,” said the pilot, a young Lt. Commander. “Wish the circumstances were better.”
“Me too, Sally,” said the Admiral, trying to force a smile on his face that would not come. “Me too. Just get me up to the Valkyrie pronto, and we can get this business over with.
The pilot nodded, checked a few indicators, and took the ship up on grabbers. The Admiral looked to the side at the huge city that just the other day was in the middle of a millennial celebration. Supposed to last a whole year, thought the Admiral. There had been events planned out for the entire T-year, to culminate in the Imperial Athletic Games that would have brought maybe a billion people to the planet. Instead we have a yearlong period of mourning for an assassinated Emperor.
The shuttle passed over Peal Island, the nine hundred square kilometer land mass at the mouth of the bay. Down there was the primary academy for training officers of the fleet. Len was scheduled to make a commencement speech for this year’s graduating class, those who had spent their four years of classroom studies and were preparing to go on field studies. He wondered how the war the Emperor knew was coming would affect that graduation. The fleet would need more officers, and soon, and many of those young men and women might have to get on the job field training, in a shooting war.
The island and the surface of the ocean dropped behind and below as the ship moved into space, pulling the gravities needed to go directly to geosynch and the ship waiting for the Admiral. He trusted the Captain of that ship, as he trusted the Admiral of its task force. He could not force them to take the risk that he knew he must. A risk to both free an innocent woman, and get military necessary production back on schedule.
The forward port hanger of Valkyrie was ready for him, with a full Marine honor guard and gathered ship’s officers to pipe him aboard.
“At ease,” he barked as he stepped from the shuttle onto the deck of the hanger. “Thank you for the welcoming committee, Captain Mathers,” he said to the blond commander of the vessel. She tilted her head, then led him to the flag bridge he would occupy for this short mission. The bridge was occupied by a full complement of officers, even though there would only be two battleships involved in this day’s events.
“I’ll be on the bridge,” said the Captain to the Chief of Naval Operations who had been commandant when she had graduated from Peal Island five decades before. “We are ready to do whatever you feel is necessary sir.”
“With no hesitation, Connie?”
“None at all, sir,” said the small trim officer. “If you want that damned wanderer destroyed we will be obliged to do it.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” said the CNO with a smil
e. “I appreciate this, Connie. Now get her under way.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said the Captain, snapping to attention and giving a salute, then spinning on her heel and walking from the flag bridge.
“We are under way, sir” said one of the officers sitting a station on the lower level.
“Odin is also under way,” called out another officer.
“Thank you,” said the Admiral, plopping back in the elevated chair that allowed him a total view of the large bridge. He couldn’t even feel the twenty million ton superbattleship moving, which was not surprising, given her well-tuned compensators. He looked over at a wall repeater which showed the fifteen million ton battleship that was Valkyrie’s consort on this impromptu mission.
“Ten hours to hyper limit,” called out an officer.
“Incoming message for the Admiral,” said the com tech from her position on his level.
“I’ll take it in my day cabin,” said the Admiral, getting up from the chair and heading for the exit that led to the Admiral’s cabin on all capital ship flag bridges. One of the advantages of standardization, he thought as he headed into his cabin.
As soon as he took a seat at the desk in the cabin he activated the com with his link, and was unsurprised to see the image of Ekaterina Sergiov, the head of the IIA, appear.
“So,” said the woman with a slight accent of her home world, St. Peiter, coming through her educated overlay. “You are in space.”
“I don’t see that I have any other choice,” said the Admiral, the slight touch of fear in his chest. He was doing this on his own, and the consequences could be grave. “I failed my Emperor and my friend. I can’t allow the search for a scapegoat to hurt the Empire. And what are your findings.”
“She is innocent,” said the head of Imperial Intelligence, her face troubled. “I have told that to my counterpart in IIB, and he will do nothing about it. He will not say it, but I think you are correct, Len, my friend. He needs a scapegoat, and is not willing to admit that he was caught with his pants down.”
“Hell, we were all caught with our pants down, Kate,” he said to the woman he had once been married to, in what seemed a lifetime before. Before their careers had pulled them apart. “I feel like I have betrayed Augustine myself, as if I launched that missile that tossed him and the Imperial family into that damned star eater.”
“We all failed the Emperor,” said the chief spy of the Empire. “At least we have admitted it on behalf of our two agencies. That damned McGregor would not admit to any failings. His Bureau must maintain a perfect record, even if we both know it doesn’t have one.”
“Did you try him again?” said the Admiral, knowing what the answer would be, but hopeful nonetheless.
“Yes,” said the woman, her angry eyes glaring into the screen. “He said it was a criminal investigation, and so in his jurisdiction. And warned me to keep my agency out of it. When I asked him about what proof he had, he said he didn’t have to have any. He could hold her indefinitely.”
“And sabotage the efforts of the Donut Project to get the Fleet what they need,” said the Admiral in a growl.
“How far are you willing to go?” she asked, her eyes showing her concern for an old friend and lover.
“As far as I have to,” he replied, slamming a hand down on his desk. “We’ll be eight light hours from com link to the capital, so they won’t be able to contact McGregor. I really don’t expect much resistance. But whatever they give I will push back, and harder.”
“I’ll back you up,” said Ekaterina with a nod. “You know that.”
“I know,” said the Admiral, feeling his eyes moisten. “And I’m sorry I failed you in the past.”
“No need,” said the spy master with a smile, her own eyes glistening withheld tears. “We both got what we wanted out of life. And we parted as friends. What more could we ask?”
“True,” said the Admiral, holding back his own tears. They both sat there in silence for a moment. “You watch your back,” he finally said to the chief spy.
“My back is watched,” said Ekaterina. “You do the same. There will be people after your hide.”
“This is my office for the duration,” said the Admiral with a chuckle. “If they want to try for me they’re going to have to come through the Fleet to get me.”
“I just hope it doesn’t result in civil war,” said the woman, her eyes narrowing. “That’s something we surely can’t afford, especially now.”
“We have the Fleet and the Army on our side,” said the Admiral, the image of a civil war also in mind. “I think it would be very short, if it came to that. Not that I want that to happen. But I also cannot let things proceed the way they are. McGregor is in the Lords’ pocket. No doubt. And I cannot let him proceed with what he is doing. That project is just too important to the safety of the Empire.”
Well, be careful,” said the chief spy. “Remember, we all felt that the Emperor was safe in the hands of the Fleet. It only takes one assassin in the right place to make all the security in the world useless.”
Ekaterina broke the link at that, and the Admiral thought of what she had to say for a moment. The sense of guilt came back to haunt him. The Fleet had failed to protect their Emperor. Even worse, a trusted member of the Fleet had killed the Emperor and most of his family, as well as fellow officers and spacemen. It was a blot on the honor of the Fleet, and to his personal sense of honor. But I’ll be damned if I let it lead to even more dishonorable actions.
The Admiral lay down on the bed that was provided with the cabin, ordering it through the link to set itself to his personal comfort level. His brain was in turmoil, but his link projected the deep delta waves that placed him into an immediate slumber. The link woke him up at the same time the slight nausea of hyper translation would have done the same.
“We’re in hyper I Admiral,” came the voice of Captain Connie Mathers. “Mission proceeding according to plan.
“Thank you, Connie,” replied the Admiral, getting up from the bed, smoothing his uniform, the wrinkles falling away. “I’ll be on the flag bridge.”
The officers and ratings all jumped to attention as the Admiral walked onto the second level of the flag bridge, his eyes tracking onto the large holo tank in the center of the room. He waved a hand, sending everyone back to their ease, wondering again who had come up with the silly custom of men and women stopping their important work to stroke the ego of some bastard just because he entered their line of sight.
The holo displayed the whole of the supersytem, from the black hole in the center to the seventh star out in its lonely orbit. All of the planets were indicated with vector arrows and numbers that signified speed of orbit and distance from the flagship. He thought through his link and his personal view of the holo changed, zooming in on the flagship and her consort. Their vector arrows appeared, and the line of the hyper I limit showed behind them, the line of hyper II ahead. The mission profile was to jump each hyper as soon as they got to it, staying below point two light relative velocity, until they jumped to hyper VI. Then it was a least time accel/decel profile to the target, popping out of hyper VI directly into normal space. Of course the target would know they were coming, and would also know they were Imperial Fleet vessels. With luck they would not think anything of it.
The Admiral went to his seat and sat, brooding on his thoughts and waiting for time to pass. The ship in time jumped up to hyper II, then III, then along the line up to VI. At this point the vessels went into an acceleration profile, two hundred and fifty gravities just a little under half way there, then two fifty decel the rest of the way. All this time the Admiral thought about what he was doing, having doubts, thinking through possible consequences, knowing that if the Emperor were still alive he would not have this problem thrust upon him. Augustine would have handled the situation with a word. Even Sean would have handled the situation. Of that the Admiral was sure. Because Sean was his father’s son, above all else.
But Sean is not h
ere, thought the Admiral. Someone had already made an attempt on the Prince. And they might have made further attempts on his life since the news had come from Sector Four. Of course Sean was now protected by the Fleet. But the Fleet had failed his father, mother and brothers. The only family member in direct line was a child who would be too easily manipulated. So that left the problem square in his lap.
High Grand Admiral Len Lenkowski, Chief of Naval Operations, had sworn an oath when he entered Imperial Service, to defend the Empire against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Intentional or not, the act of Director McGregor of the IIB was hurting the efforts of the military to prepare for a war they were sure was coming. Parliament might not agree with that assumption, but the Emperor the Admiral had sworn to serve was sure of it, and that was good enough for him.
“Translating back to normal space,” came a call from the nav officer on the ship’s bridge.
Damn, thought the Admiral as the nausea struck. What happened to the time?
The ship slipped through the iris that was filled with normal space, away from the strange space of hyper. They were slowly coasting, moving at a mere six hundred kilometers per second.
“Range to target four hundred twelve thousand kilometers,” came the voice of the navigator again.
Almost a perfect translation, thought the Admiral. Eleven minutes at current speed, though the ship was now piling on deceleration so she could come to a stop just short of the small planet.
“Imperial warship Valkyrie,” came the voice over the com. “This is Purgatory control. What are your intentions?”
“Don’t answer that,” said the Admiral to the staff. “Let them sweat for a moment. Tactical. Target all laser and particle beam systems of the task force on their defensive weapons. Distribute targets between Valkyrie and Odin. All Marines to assault shuttles.”
The confirmations came back quickly, the plan being set into motion by an experienced team.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 Page 11
