Throam snorted air through his nostrils, as if he thought the very idea of the threat was a joke. Caden felt his body tensing.
“I mean it, Throam. We’re a couple of hours out from Meccrace Prime. I want you back in counterpart mode, with your head properly in the game.”
“Yeah, and I want your head in the game too,” said Throam. “None of this ‘oh my childhood feelings’ bullshit.”
“Good.” Caden managed to utter it through clenched teeth. “Guess we’re on the same page then.”
He turned and stormed out of the quarters, letting the argument hang in the air.
• • •
Betombe shifted uncertainly in his seat. He had expected a debrief, certainly, but something was not quite right.
He looked to his side, and saw that same uncertainty mirrored in Laselle’s expression.
Fleet Admiral Bel-Messari had travelled to Laeara just for this meeting. That was unheard of, even to Betombe.
Bel-Messari conferred quietly with his aides and adjuncts around the head of the large, solid wood table. Holos were being passed back and forth.
This is no debrief, Betombe thought.
“Shall we begin?” Bel-Messari said.
Those who were still standing took their seats, but Bel-Messari waited a full ten seconds more before speaking.
“Admiral Groath Betombe; you are the same officer entrusted by Commander Operations with the planning and execution of Operation Seawall. Is that correct?”
“I am, Sir,” said Betombe. “You know that already, of course.”
“Indeed I do.” Bel-Messari gave him a smile which contained precisely no humour, affection, or good will. “However, it’s a relevant fact. It needs to be reflected in the record.”
Betombe felt Laselle looking at him. He could imagine what her face looked like; by this point, she too would know that this was not a debrief.
“Of course.”
“Given that role, is it correct to say that you adopted full responsibility for the operational orders encompassed by Seawall?”
“That is correct, yes.”
“And do you accept that Seawall was an abject failure?”
Betombe was silent.
“No, not a failure. A disaster. A complete catastrophe. Admiral Betombe?”
“It was… not what we expected it to be.”
“Are you aware that of the sixty battle groups you took to the Perseus arm, we have had recent contact with only thirty-eight?”
“No, Sir. I was not aware of that.”
“How do you think that might be explained, Admiral Betombe?”
“I think the Viskr are already under attack,” he said. “We found an unknown—“
“Ah yes, this mysterious ship you fought at Blacktree.”
Bel-Messari touched his holo, and the raw sensor footage from Love Tap began to play on the room’s wall displays. It showed the dark, massive bulk of the intruder fleeing from Blacktree’s atmosphere, missiles and slugs slamming against it as it rose into high orbit.
“Need I say more?” Betombe said. He waved his hand at the screen opposite.
“Well, yes,” said Bel-Messari. “You really should. Commander Operations would very much like to know why you made first contact in the way that you did.”
“In the way that I did…?”
“We don’t know who this ship belongs to. Yet you took it upon yourself to attack it with full force.”
“They were already fighting with the Viskr. With our own planetary defences!”
“Did you make any attempt to contact the vessel, prior to attacking it?”
“No, I did not. But—“
“Commander Laselle. Please read out the transcript of the command logs from Love Tap. The time index is marked for you.”
Betombe and Laselle looked at each other. He could see she was as surprised as he.
“In your own time, Commander.”
Laselle looked at the holo before her, found the correct lines, and read aloud.
“Admiral Betombe: I do not intend to allow that craft to finish whatever it was doing in Blacktree’s atmosphere.
“Commander Laselle: We don’t even know what that was, why it’s here.
“Admiral Betombe: It’s clearly hostile. Blacktree’s own ships were firing on it when we arrived.”
“That’s enough, Commander. Thank you.”
Laselle pushed the holo away as if it carried a contagion.
“Admiral, did you consider at any point that the visitor might have been fired upon first?”
“No, that was not a consideration.”
“Did you comply with the provisions of the Navy’s first contact protocol?”
“No, I did not.”
“Can you account for your various lapses in judgement, Admiral Betombe?”
There was a pause.
“Am I being asked to provide a deposition?”
“You are, yes. I think we can all agree that this discussion will likely be moving to a more formal environment. But that will be for a later date, and right now I need something to take back to Commander Operations.”
“Then I respectfully decline to answer that question.”
“I really think you ought to reconsider that, Betombe.”
“No offence, Admiral, but I was commanding fleet operations on the Perseus arm when you were still learning your way around a helm. I don’t need to explain my decisions to you.”
“I’m rather afraid that you do,” said Bel-Messari. “But don’t worry. You can have some time to think about how you want to proceed.” He pressed the comm panel in the table. “Send him in, please.”
Betombe and Laselle craned their necks to look behind them as the doors opened, and in walked the corpsman from the Love Tap sickbay. He had the bearing of a man who wanted nothing more than to turn around immediately and leave the room again.
“Please take a seat, Doctor.”
The corpsman did so, and gave Betombe an apologetic look. Betombe understood at once: the corpsman too had submitted his own report, as per regulations. And he had been a little too honest.
“Can you tell me, Doctor, what was Admiral Betombe’s medical condition when Love Tap arrived at Blacktree?”
“Yes, Sir. He was… he was fine. Up and about, on the auxiliary command deck. Giving orders and, well, running the ship.”
“And would you say he was medically fit to do that, at the time?”
“I had no reason to think otherwise.”
“No reason.” Bel-Messari smiled again, that same cold and humourless smile. “Please refresh my memory: why exactly did Admiral Betombe visit your sickbay?”
“We took some damage to the main bridge before leaving the Gousk system, and the admiral was injured before the deck was evacuated.”
“And what was the nature of that injury?”
“He hit his head, Sir.”
“He hit his head. Very unfortunate. And I understand he lost consciousness for quite some time?”
“He did, Sir, yes.”
“But that wasn’t the only occasion, was it?”
“No. He also lost consciousness after the battle with that… thing.”
“And…?”
“And drifted off prior to entering the Hujjur system.”
“During that time, did you re-examine Admiral Betombe under a scanner, to ensure he was medically fit to command the Love Tap?”
“No, Sir, I did not.”
“Did you want to?”
The corpsman stole a sideways glance at Betombe. “Yes, Sir. I asked him, but — sorry Sir — he said no.”
“In your opinion, was Admiral Betombe competent to command the Love Tap during the engagement with the unknown ship?”
“I can’t possibly answer that,” said the corpsman. “I’d need much more data.”
“More than the data you had when you failed to relieve him from his duties on medical grounds?”
The corpsman stayed silent.
/> “I will take that as a ‘yes’. Just one more question: do you think it likely that Admiral Betombe was concussed while commanding the Love Tap and its battle group at Blacktree?”
The corpsman shifted in his chair. “I would have to say yes.”
“So: despite the fact that he probably had a concussion, Admiral Betombe’s fitness for duty had not been established at the time that he resumed command of the Love Tap, because you — the ranking medical professional — had insufficient data.”
Bel-Messari went quiet, and looked at Betombe expectantly. Betombe felt like a mouse caught in the gaze of a hawk.
“This is completely over-the-top,” he said. “Command knew what information we had when the order was given to hit the border worlds.”
“Let me remind you, Admiral Betombe: twenty-two battle groups unaccounted for.”
“The data from the listening posts—“
“Twenty-two battle groups, still waiting to be found. One might imagine that a veteran of the Perseus conflict would have scouted the target systems before committing those units.”
“Eyes and Ears assured Commander Op—“
“The conflict with the Viskr is possibly salvageable,” Bel-Messari said. “But we have no idea what the consequences will be following your attack on the unknown ship at Blacktree.”
“Ideally, the consequences will be that they never come back.”
“And maybe they won’t. But had you established meaningful communication with them, it might be that one of our colonies would not have been nuked.”
Betombe was silent again.
“Do you know how many people were killed on Blacktree, Admiral?”
“No, I do not.”
“Neither do we.”
Betombe felt a hand on his, and looked down. Laselle had placed her hand over one of his tightly balled fists, and she squeezed gently.
“As of this moment, Admiral Betombe, your command status is rescinded. Until such time as a full hearing can be convened, you are grounded from all naval operations.”
Bel-Messari gave him that dead smile once more, and Betombe could do nothing else but smile back emptily.
• • •
“Were you on Mibes?” Lau said.
“I was, yes. How did you know?”
“Because it’s been all over the holos, and the capital was on fire.”
“Oh, right. Yeah that was us. Sort of.”
“That’s why you haven’t come home yet?”
“Mibes is just a small part of it, Midget. We’re fighting a war on two fronts.”
“Two? I thought it was the Viskr attacking us.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Well that’s what the news said.”
“Listen, I can’t really tell you anything. I have a feeling it would put you in danger.”
“Yeah yeah. You’re not coming home, are you?”
“Afraid not. Something came up.”
“Something always does.”
“I want you to get out of town. Go to the countryside somewhere, both of you. Lie low, and if you see Maber Castigon skulking about, you run and you don’t look back.”
“Maber? What in the worlds would he be doing on Damastion?”
“He’s killing Shards,” said Caden. “Every one of them so far had testified against him after Ottomas. He might try to get to me through you.”
“I don’t think that’s very likely. Anyway, if he’s an ex-convict and a fugitive, surely port control wouldn’t let him put down on Damastion?”
“I really don’t think they’ll stop him — they haven’t at any of the other worlds he’s killed on. And I wish you’d take this seriously; the man is deadly.”
“You… you really think he’ll come here?”
“I don’t know, Lau. But he could.”
“We can just stay with friends—“
“No, get out of the town entirely.”
“You’re very insistent, Ugly.”
“There’s something else. Something moving in the background. It might be you can’t trust the people around you any more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Like I said: I can’t tell you much.”
“You haven’t told me anything.”
Caden reached out and touched the hologram, hoping that Lau would follow his instructions. If he ignored them, who knew if they would ever talk again.
“We’re about to make our final jump,” he said. “Tell her I love her. And make sure you do what I said.”
• • •
Disputer emerged in the heart of the Meccrace system, elegant and graceful, her transition into normal space cushioned and stabilised by the local gate. She headed for Meccrace Prime, and the security of the Eighth Fleet’s mustering point.
On the command deck, Captain Thande nodded along as Caden explained what he planned to do.
“How long do you expect this to take?” She asked.
“I’m afraid I have no idea. Eyes and Ears should have moved her already, but she might not want to leave. If she doesn’t, she could make this difficult.”
“I’m sure you have your ways.”
“None of which will work if she chooses to hide from me. Or if the enemy have got to her first.”
“The enemy,” Thande said. “Still not sure exactly who you’re talking about.”
“There are people out there who aren’t what they seem,” he said. “Humans, acting against the Empire. We don’t know why yet.”
“Like the ones you fought on Woe Tantalum? The ones we transferred to the Vavilov?”
“Like them, only more active. More dangerous.”
“I don’t like the sound of that one bit.”
“You and me both. Are we in range for comms with traffic control?”
Thande repeated the question for COMOP.
“We have a channel,” he said.
“Good. I need to know if a man named Gordl Branathes has reached the surface.”
“Stand by… the query has been sent.”
“Gordl Branathes?” Thande said.
“He’s an Eyes and Ears monitor. Long story.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
“He may be one of those people I mentioned.”
“Response received: yes, Gordl Branathes cleared the Arrivals desk at the primary starport almost an hour ago.”
“Shit. There’s not much time. Captain, I’m going to need to borrow one of your shuttles for a little while.”
“Help yourself.”
— 16 —
Tenebrae
Sayad Idiri had been giggling to himself for some time, but Borreto could hear the stress in his voice as clearly as he heard the warning bleeps from the holos. The pilot was only giddy because he was so very nervous.
He had a perfect right to be nervous.
“Worlds,” said Borreto. “That one was fucking close, Sayad.”
“I know,” Sayad laughed. “We. Are. Going. To. Die.”
“Only if you let us. Get a grip.”
Sayad fell silent, and nudged the Leo Fortune gently to starboard. A rock the size of a frigate rolled by, less than a hundred metres off their port side and just above their plane.
“How are we doing?”
Borreto twisted to look back over his shoulder, and saw Castigon was hunched in the small entryway that joined the main compartment to the cramped flight cabin. He held himself steady by gripping the edges of the bulkheads.
“Oh, fine. Lovely place you brought us to.”
Castigon ignored the comment. “Any idea how long?”
“Nope,” said Sayad. “Not a clue. This is harder than I’m making it look.” He giggled again.
“I’m sorry about the route we have to take,” said Castigon. “But seeing as how this bucket only has second generation stealth plating, it’s a necessary precaution.”
Borreto chose to let the insult against the Leo slide, at least for now. He had a feeling that se
vere punishment waited patiently somewhere in Castigon’s future anyway, and he was happy to leave him to it.
“Asteroid belts are not my cup of tea,” he said calmly.
“They’re nobody’s cup of tea,” said Castigon. “That’s why Altakanti was installed out here.”
“What exactly are you hoping to get from an Imperial listening post?” Borreto asked.
“Information of course,” Castigon said.
“Yes, but about what?”
Castigon looked at him with that deathly expression he wore so often.
“Never mind. None of my business.”
“Quite right.”
Prayer called through from the main compartment. “You sure they won’t detect us?”
“As long as Sayad only uses the manoeuvring jets, there’s nothing to detect. It might take a while to get close, but as far as the folks at Altakanti are concerned we’re just another rock.”
“How close is close enough?” Borreto asked.
“Close enough for me to get there by EVA.”
“You really are insane.”
“People keep telling me that,” said Castigon.
“Listen, if you go getting yourself killed, how am I going to get paid?”
“I’m not going to get killed. I’ve done things like this before. In fact I’ve done much more dangerous things than this.”
“You’re ex-military, aren’t you?”
“The longer I know you, Captain Borreto, the less discreet you seem to become.”
“I should just stop asking questions, shouldn’t I?”
“Make that the last one.”
Borreto fell silent. He watched Castigon propelling himself back through the main compartment, floating in the empty space, pulling himself along the hand bars with practiced ease.
Definitely a military background, he thought. This guy is a lot more dangerous than he seems, and he seems pretty fucking dangerous already.
Prayer moved around Castigon, giving him space to start pulling on the EVA suit she had taken out of storage for him. A glove floated away, and she snagged it before passing it back to him.
“Let me know when you’re done,” she said. “I’ll check those seals for you.”
He nodded, and carried on.
She moved up towards Borreto.
“You okay Boss?”
Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars) Page 51
