by John Carr
At first, Althene had tried watching Sauron using the bridge’s huge tactical display, which projected the view from outside the Fomoria onto the interior walls, ceiling and floor of the bridge. The effect was to place the bridge crew suspended in space above the Homeworld, and the view was spectacular... but the tactical display was cluttered with combat imagery displays and tactical readouts which could not be disabled, and looking at the Homeworld, overlaid with hundreds of target reticles as Fomoria’s computers identified her vulnerabilities, made Althene uneasy. In the back of her mind, she considered that as more days passed with no word from the battle at Tanith, the less she liked the view provided by the Tactical Display.
The bridge Communications officer, a Fifth Ranker named Boyle, keyed an acknowledgment to an incoming signal. Boyle had been transferred to the Fomoria from the Leviathan, and while he had perhaps shone aboard that battleship, he was still laboring to meet standards set by the Fomoria’s First Rank - and mercilessly maintained by its Second Rank.
“Ship-to-ship from the Damaris, Second Rank,” Boyle blurted out in a near total breach of protocol.
Althene sighed.”Permission to speak was not granted, Communications. Though at dry dock, we remain at combat-ready as one of only three capital ships in-system. You did not identify the sender of the message, only its source, and you addressed me as ‘Second Rank’, though a de facto promotion is in effect for whoever holds the conn in the absence of the Vessel Commander.” Althene’s fingers flashed briefly across her station pad, and Boyle went on to report. Again.
Boyle took the reprimand in stride. Staying aboard Fomoria was worth however much self-improvement was required to earn the berth. “Acknowledged,” he said, paused a moment, then tried again: “First Rank.”
“Speak.”
“Incoming ship-to-ship communication, First Rank. Vessel First Rank Mara Emory, commanding the Damaria, wishes to speak with you.”
Althene’s mood brightened immediately; Mara was an old friend. Ah, she thought, smiling to herself; girl talk!. “Put it through to the commander’s office.” With Boyle educated and the example thus set, Althene got up from the conn chair - her place taken instantly by the Weapons officer - and went into the office with the viewport. Sauron’s horizon filled the small, thick window, and she turned the small acceleration couch at the desk to improve her view of both the window and the commo screen.
“First Rank Adame of Fomoria, here.”
“Good to see you, Althene; how are you enjoying our enforced leave-on-station?”
“I’m more than a little bored with dry dock, but that’s SOP. And you?”
‘Actually, I’ve just returned from planetside. I met the most fascinating gentleman at Fleet HQ. He operates as a commerce raider against Imperial shipping, turned over something like eighty tons of rare foodstuffs last month, including some apparently spectacular coffee. His name is Hawksley. He really is quite attractive.”
Althene was puzzled. “I don’t recall any Fleet Ops dedicated to commerce raiding.”
“There aren’t,” Emory acknowledged. “He isn’t from Sauron. He’s just a human norm, from Burgess System.” She shrugged and smiled as she put down her cup.”But he’s good for fun.”
Althene was struck by the demeanor of her friend; Mara’s eyes practically twinkled.
“I also had a meeting with your CO about his new assignment,” Emory continued.
Althene nodded.”It’s ambitious, to say the least.”
Emory shrugged, her eyes saying even more as she answered: “Perhaps ‘bold’ would be a better word.”
Althene felt the danger, heard the warning: We are being monitored... Surveillance at some level had been a fact of life on Sauron since the founding of the colony; incredibly dangerous indigenous life-forms had made it necessary to keep track of people who might require rescuing at any second. Part of the Sauron cultural psyche was now an awareness of such surveillance, but not an indifference to it. So, like all humans, Saurons had developed numerous ways to circumvent such scrutiny.
“Indeed. I’ve observed that such considered boldness has always been one of his character traits.”
“Speaking of boldness, I wonder if you’ve the courage to join me aboard Damaris for dinner this evening.” Emory’s smoothness of tone compensated for her awkward change of subject. “My service staff fancy themselves the adventurous types, and with this uncustomary access to Homeworld foodstuffs they’re merrily ruining traditional dishes left and right.”
“I would be delighted, First Rank,” Althene answered.”Regretfully, I have no information on when First Rank Diettinger will be returning to Fomoria, and I am in command until - ”
The door to the office opened, and Diettinger entered. Despite her surprise, Althene’s first thought was: He’s still wearing the eyepatch.
Wordlessly, Diettinger moved around the desk and into the commo-scanner’s field.”Good day, First Rank Emory,” he said.”My Second Rank will be available to join you for dinner this evening. Please send a shuttle to collect her at - ” he turned to Althene - ”Eighteen hundred hours?” Althene nodded, silently, as Diettinger turned back to the screen. “Eighteen hundred hours, ship time. Fomoria out.”
Althene rose. “Welcome back, First Rank. I apologize that we were not prepared to receive your shuttle.”
Diettinger shook his head. “No apology necessary. Officially, Second Rank, I am not even here.” Diettinger sat at his desk and began calling up various screens on his console. Althene saw that all were astrogational referents, Alderson Jump Lines in and around Sparta System. More, different data flickered across the screen.
“May I be of assistance, First Rank?” Althene was an acknowledged expert in Jump Line navigation.
Diettinger’s remaining eye turned to look up at her from beneath his brow. He was silent for too long before answering with a slow, considered “No.” He returned his gaze to the screen. Thank you, Second Rank. Please resume the conn. I will relieve you in time for your appointment with First Rank Emory.”
Althene blinked at the console screen, puzzled. Diettinger turned to her. “Was there something else, Second Rank?”
“Ah . . no, First Rank.” As she turned to go, Diettinger’s voice stopped her at the door.
“You and Vessel First Rank Emory are old friends, are you not?”
“Yes, First Rank. We were classmates in Naval Operations training.” Before Althene could stop herself, she blurted out: “First Rank Emory specialized in Tactical doctrine, whereas my specialization was Strategic; hers warranted her receipt of a vessel command.”
“As did her other formidable qualifications, I am sure.”
“Of course.”
“You say your specialty was Strategic, Second Rank; yet, that rather understates the case, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I beg your pardon, First Rank?’
“Your file shows that you are a renowned historian; your thesis was an examination of the Peloponnesian War which caused several of your instructors to go back and review their own works on the subject.”
“Yes, First Rank.”
Diettinger nodded, seemingly satisfied, Althene began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. The vector this conversation is taking, combined with what was on Diettinger’s screen a moment ago, what is still on his screen, because he hasn’t changed it... What’s going on here?
“Do you have a copy of this thesis, Second Rank?”
“No, First Rank. However, I believe it is still on file with Nav Ops training.”
“Provide me with a copy of it before you leave Fomoria. Dismissed.”
“Yes, First Rank.” Althene left, still too confused about what she had seen on the First Rank’s screen to be flattered by his desire to read her thesis. She couldn’t decide which of the First Rank’s interests made less sense - his interest in a fifteen-year old examination of a three thousand year-old war, or in those charts he was studying. Charts of Alderson Jump Lines into and out of Sauron
System, not just of Sparta, as she might expect.
Althene was the sort of Sauron officer who, at the moment, could conceive of no possible reason for an interest in such information. Later, over dinner with First Rank Emory aboard the Damaris, an answer would present itself to her, and she would snap a wine glass stem before collecting herself and dismissing the thought as a patent absurdity.
II
Sauron could boast of many contributions to the advancement of human culture; cuisine was not one of them. The dinner enjoyed by Diettinger’s Second Rank, Althene, and her host, Vessel First Rank Mara Emory of the Damaris, would have been almost inedible had it been served to human norms. Generations of privation and hardship during the taming of the Sauron Homeworld had alone nearly killed the Sauron palate; genetic engineering had done the rest.
By necessity as well as design, Saurons could eat just about anything that had at least a nodding acquaintance with protein. There was even a rumor - wholly untrue - that Cyborgs could survive by eating rocks.
But taste is mostly a matter of smell, and while a Race of Soldiers might reasonably be expected to do without the niceties of ‘salty, sour, bitter and sweet’, they could not function without a highly developed olfactory capability. So while Saurons could eat rotten meat if necessary, they were able to do so more as a result of training than invulnerability to such a meal’s inimical bouquet.
As a result, Sauron “delicacies” were defined more by texture, psychology and appearance than by taste; the visual esthetics in serving Sauron cuisine were of great importance. Actual food from Sauron - as opposed to the nutrient rations that were standard fare throughout the Sauron Sphere - was prized far more as a physical link to that Homeworld than for any qualities of flavor. Truth to tell, very little of Sauron’s flora or fauna possessed any distinction in the matter of taste, and most of it was very well-suited to making a meal of any Sauron that might try to eat it anyway. Nevertheless, massive quantities of spices, chemical flavor and scent enhancers went into a Sauron chef’s attempts to evoke some response - any response - from the diner’s palate. Saurons had long since given up inviting any of their Secessionist allies to state dinners featuring their own food.
Althene and Mara waited as the steward took away the last of the service, brought both women coffee, then disappeared to his station. By virtue of its aroma, coffee was one of the few foods which Saurons enjoyed as much as human norms. The dinner conversation had begun with reminiscences of experiences shared, moved on to experiences related, and now flowed without interruption to experiences planned.
“Have you met First Rank Dannevar, of the Keegan?” Emory asked.
“Not yet. First Rank Diettinger was aboard Keegan earlier this week for a conference with him. He remarked, in the briefing later, that Dannevar seemed exceptionally qualified.”
“Your tone indicates there is something odd about that assessment.”
Althene paused to sip her coffee. “Only the word ‘exceptionally’. Diettinger is not normally given to such effusiveness.”
“He has mentioned First Rank Lucan of the Wallenstein glowingly enough in his report of the action at Tanith.”
Althene nodded. “Indeed; but under First Rank Lucan, the Wallenstein has never suffered a single casualty in combat. Ever. The reputations of ’The Phantom’ and his ship are thus something like a winning streak. I sometimes believe Lucan is so closely watched because of some secret wagering pool among the High Command.” She was startled to see her friend pale.
“I’m sure you don’t seriously believe our High Command regards Sauron lives so lightly,” Emory said evenly.
“No. Of course not. I simply meant that there is probably a team of statistical analysts who find First Rank Lucan’s performance to date problematic, at the least, when assessing casualty probabilities.”
Emory nodded, her look saying: An acceptable recovery, old friend.. .acceptable, and wise... She added: ”How would you compare First Rank Lucan’s combat style to that of First Rank Diettinger?”
Althene frowned. “I have never served with Lucan; but from my studies of his actions, I have observed that he leaves nothing to chance. That might sound like hyperbole, but it is not. I believe Lucan has the ability to absorb tremendous amounts of detail without it affecting his decision making capability, or without being overwhelmed by it. As a result, he is able to place the Wallenstein in the optimal position for any given action, much like a Chess Grand Master can perceive the ultimate outcome of a match several moves ahead of the resolution.” She shrugged. “And, obviously Lucan has also been tremendously lucky.”
Emory smiled. “You believe in luck?”
“You asked me to compare Lucan and Diettinger. ‘Luck’ is at the heart of any such comparison. But while Lucan’s command philosophy is aimed at prevailing by anticipating all possible events and their consequences - advantageous or otherwise - Diettinger’s method makes no attempt to predict or compensate for such variables; rather, he actually relies on them occurring, then exploits them to his own advantage. Anyone who has ever served with or under Galen Diettinger comes to believe in fortune, Mara. Diettinger is a master at what I call ’luck management.’ Thrown into a series of chaotic events, he is able to bend most, if not all of those events, to his purpose as they arise. It’s like that song we sang as children:
‘The universe exists in chaos
Man is the measure of the universe
The ultimate chaos of man’s existence
is the human endeavor called war
By mastering war, we master the universe.’
Diettinger has done just that; he has mastered chaos.”
“Then you consider him superior to Lucan as a commander?”
“Without doubt. Lucan’s method does not allow for variables, while Diettinger’s thrives on them, as well as on errors, his own or those of his opponent’s. Ultimately, Lucan must one day find himself in a position for which he has not prepared.” Althene took another sip.”Or, to put it another way, he will run out of luck.”
Emory cocked her head, half smiling. “I suppose it is only fair you should be so effusive in praising your commander; he has certainly shown no restraint in his assessment of your performance aboard Fomoria”
“I am honored.”
“Indeed, he has made a formal request that you be retained as his Second Rank for the upcoming invasion of Sparta.”
Althene almost lost her cup. “Invasion of Sparta?” Her features twisted into a snarl of disbelief, contempt, all about to explode into a diatribe against the absurdity of such a plan, when Emory’s unflappable gaze caught her, held her, calmed her.
Emory continued. “Yes. It’s an open secret that Vessel - now Fleet - First Rank Diettinger will command the operation. After the First Fleet has crushed the Imperials at Tanith, the only logical course is to press the advantage we will surely gain and end this war once and for all. One of the advantages, to the limitations on space travel imposed by the Alderson drive, is that no spy could send word of such an invasion without using a ship to do so; and, of course, no ship can leave Sauron System without clearance.”
Emory rose, pushing off towards her window one handed, while holding her cup. Beside the window, in the same position where Diettinger kept an antique embroidered sampler, Emory had a picture of her husband and their two children, a boy and girl. A band of black velvet ran diagonally across the frame’s upper corner, reminding Althene that all three had been killed during the Imperial retaking of Lavaca.
If Mara can find some comfort with this Hawksley, Althene reflected, then I can wish her well in doing so. I can even envy her.
“That will allow us a tremendous advantage in surprise when the operation commences.” She turned back to Althene, sad eyes saying more than her words told.
“Yes,” Althene agreed, realizing the truth. We are being monitored, even here. The steward? Probably, but not necessarily. A transmitter or listening device, hidden anywhere in the room or on the
wall outside. Maybe even in the frame of that picture... So the familiar dance began once more, as each strove to make her meaning clear to the other indirectly, in terms that would leave neither open to prosecution.
“Yes,” she repeated. “Surprise will be crucial. But surely the enemy will guess our intentions, don’t you think? They are not fools.”
“No. I should imagine, therefore, that speed and unpredictability will be of the essence. Diettinger is no doubt planning an operation which can be implemented immediately, and modified at a moment’s notice.” She turned to look at Althene.”He is like that, is he not?”
Althene felt a chill. Was Mara drawing her into a trap? “First Rank Diettinger’s capacity for innovation is well-known. It is commonly regarded as his greatest asset.”
“Dannevar and I have been told that, as commanders, we can both benefit from exposure to that quality. It has been suggested that we therefore keep Damaris and Keegan close-by Fomoria in the coming campaign.”
The ensuing silence deepened as Althene considered the implicit threat: Galen is under suspicion. Why is it that when he is in danger, he becomes Galen to me, while in the heat of combat, he remains First Rank, or at best, Diettinger? Well there is the obvious fact that I am in love with him, of course. Emory’s remarks indicated that she and Dannevar had been instructed to watch Fomoria, but for what? Is she warning me indirectly that she would take action, if necessary and instructed to do so? Or that Damaris would support Fomoria in any unorthodox decisions her commander made in the battle to come? Where, then, did that put Dannevar and the Keegan?
This is why we make such dreadful spies, Althene admitted. It’s the same reason why our food seems so bad to human norms. We can learn to mislead, even deceive, in battle, and at that only with much practice. But true subtlety eludes us. She thought about Diettinger - Galen. Well. Most of us, anyway. She decided to gamble on Mara Emory, her oldest friend.
