The Emperor's Conspiracy

by William Zellmann

  “I am asking for your personal parole,” I resumed. “I’m asking each and every one of you to give me your word as an officer and gentlebeing to make no attempt to escape, and to control your hotheads to keep them from doing anything stupid. Is there anyone here who feels that he or she cannot extend that parole?”

  A tight group of three men and two women stood. The senior was a Lieutenant Commander. “You were lying on Thaeron and you’re lying now!” he proclaimed. “These others may turn coat, but we will not betray our Admiral!”

  There was much groaning and rolling of eyes. Evidently, these were not the most popular officers aboard. I turned to Rigslan. “Captain,” I asked politely, “Do you think that you could find a few volunteers to escort these officers to the brig?”

  “Of course, sir,” Rigslan replied. He turned to the group, and over twenty hands went up even before he asked for the volunteers. He selected ten, and for several minutes confusion reigned in the crowded room as the five were hustled out. Order slowly returned.

  I yawned. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s been a rather long day for me, with the battle and all.” Chuckles rumbled through the group. “Let me see. It’s the middle of the night for me; but it’s . . . late morning for you?” I looked to Rigslan for confirmation and he nodded. “All right,” I continued. “We’ve been here a long time. That tape was over two hours long, and I talked for . . . well, too long.” The chuckles turned to laughs. “Knowing how long that tape runs, I made arrangements for food to be prepared and served. I suggest we adjourn this meeting for, say, an hour. In addition to food, this will give you a chance to absorb and discuss what you’ve seen and heard here.” I opened the door and signaled the servers waiting outside. A benign chaos ensued as the senior officers fought their way out of the wardroom and headed for the senior officer’s mess and the junior officers began jockeying for seats.

  Captain Rigslan approached, rescuing me from officers besieging me with questions. “Perhaps you’d care to join me in Cap . . . uh, my cabin, Admiral?” He looked embarrassed and old.

  “I’d be delighted, Captain,” I replied.

  Chapter XIV

  Captain Bon-Lor’s cabin was luxurious, but a total mess. A number of empty liquor bottles littered the room, which smelled of alcohol and stale body odor. Captain Rigslan stopped suddenly just inside the door, and whirled to me with an oath. “I’m sorry, Admiral,” he began, “I haven’t been in this cabin since we arrived in this system. I had no idea . . . If you don’t mind; perhaps we could go to my cabin?”

  I nodded, and he led me farther down the passage. “Surely Captain Bon-Lor wasn’t always . . . that way?” I asked. He opened the door to a neat, smaller cabin. Pictures of a gray-haired woman and a variety of children and adults adorned the bulkheads. He ushered me to a seat, and an orderly brought us sandwiches and caf.

  Rigslan’s head came up. “Oh, no, sir! Captain Bon-Lor was always very meticulous, and only a social drinker. This started after your . . . visit to Thaeron, Admiral. The Captain became irritable. After meetings with Admiral Jonas, he was frequently in a rage. He seldom came to the bridge, and when he did, he smelled of alcohol. But he was a good officer until then, sir.” Rigslan looked me in the eye. “I guess he realized that we were on the wrong side. But I don’t understand it. For a while, it was a toss-up aboard, which side to join. The Captain could’ve swung opinion either way. He was the one that chose that we follow Admiral Jonas.”

  I shrugged. “I was told that Relentless was in the same orbit as Nemesis, and slightly ahead of her at the time. Perhaps the Captain thought that not choosing Jonas would risk the destruction of his ship.”

  Rigslan straightened. “Of course! That must be it. He felt that to save his ship he had to betray his duty. That’s why he was acting so strangely.” His tone turned puzzled. “But why didn’t he just surrender to you this morning?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Now that you are in command, you’re going to find that Captains must often make difficult decisions. Moreover, there is no one with whom to discuss them. Nor can you explain them.”

  Rigslan’s tone became bitter. “I won’t be in command long, sir. Just until your prize crew takes over.” He sighed. “Then I can watch my career self-destruct.”

  I could feel the flush of anger suffuse my face. “How dare you? How dare you feel sorry for yourself? You're an adult. You made your choices. But most important, you’re in command. You have no right to self-pity!” I waved toward the door. “There are more than three thousand people out there who are frightened and confused. They are your people, Captain. And they need your help. Bon-Lor abandoned them after Thaeron, and now you want to abandon them again to wallow in self-pity!”

  Rigslan jumped as if slapped. I continued, “Qualified or not, selected or not, you are in command. If your people see you mope around, worrying about your own career, they will cease being disciplined Fleet troops and become a frightened rabble. Damn it!” I shouted, “I don’t want to have to order my troops to open fire on these people one day just because Captain Rigslan abandoned them!”

  He flushed, but his gaze was level. “I was good once,” he said quietly. “I was a good officer. Maybe I could be one again. My apologies, Admiral.”

  I looked at him appraisingly. He had been a good officer, once, or he’d never have made Commander. “Would you mind some unsolicited advice, Captain?” I asked.

  He looked embarrassingly grateful. “Of course not, Admiral. I’d appreciate it. I admit to being a bit lost.”

  I shrugged. “This crew has been leaderless for a long time, certainly longer than they deserved. You have to take command. Give orders and act as though the thought that they might not be obeyed would never occur to you. No matter how busy you are, take the time to dress down a man who shirt isn’t pressed, or a woman whose hair is unacceptable. The crew must believe that you see everything, and know everything. Don’t explain your decisions, and don’t accept excuses. Accept input only from those on your staff, but don’t let them begin thinking that they get a vote.”

  I sighed as I continued, “If you have any friends among the crew, you’ll have to give them up. Command is a lonely position.” I shrugged again. “As far as what you should do immediately, I’d suggest you find out if any of your people have legal training. If so, put them in charge of counseling the rest of the crew.

  “We’ll be putting you aboard a disarmed ship as passengers and prisoners. Your people won’t have anything to do except sit around, complain and worry for a long time. Nevertheless, remember, the weapons on that ship may be disabled, but the comp’s memory banks are fully functional. Assign research tasks to teams, with the expressed purpose of helping your people defend themselves against charges. Or think of something else. Your one and only job is to keep hope alive. Keep them busy and motivated. Don’t let them fall into the trap of self-pity or desperation.”

  I looked directly into his eyes. “It’s a big job, Captain. It may be a hopeless job. Nevertheless, you have to try. Over three thousand lives depend upon it. You're not retired or fired yet, Captain. If you must go out, go out trying, with your head held high; don’t just slink out the back door.”

  Rigslan had slowly straightened. By the time I finished, he was straight as a rod and I could see some of the young man with high hopes that once had been. “Thank you, Admiral,” He said in a quiet, dignified tone. “You've reminded me of some things I’d forgotten. Including my own capabilities. I think I’ll be all right, now.” With a final sip of his caf, he stood, ramrod straight. “I believe the hour is up, Admiral. Shall we go surprise my crew?”

  I grinned. “Why not?”

  There was no trouble as the shaken crew of Relentless was exchanged with that of Fearless, though I understand there were some tense confrontations when crewmembers from the two ships encountered each other. Finally, Fearless, with an escort of armed tramps, boosted for the jump point and Bolt Hole.

  Meanwhile, cleanup efforts
continued. Though Relentless appeared to have taken little serious damage, she had numerous hull leaks, and the tramps’ projectiles had been more effective than it appeared. Forty of Relentless’ crew had been taken to Fearless’ sickbay with wounds and decompression injuries. Twenty-four, including Captain Bon-Lor, were dead. Blood and body parts had to be cleaned up, and the ship set right. Vidsen lost no time beginning work.

  Our own losses were fourteen boats and three rim tramps, with all hands. Only one of the tramps hadn’t blown up. She drifted airless, almost cut in half by Relentless’ lasers. Her entire crew was dead. We recovered the bodies, and put a beacon on the hulk to prevent collisions. Then we nudged her into an orbit that would eventually take her into Gamma’s sun.

  We were involved in recovery of bodies from the debris of the attack boats when Shar pulled me aside.

  “Admiral,” he began, “I want to remind you that it might be considered polite to inform the people of Gamma about the battle and its result.”

  “Damn!” I exclaimed, “I’d completely forgotten about that.”

  “Shall I set a course for the planet, Admiral?”

  “Gods no! It’d take us a week or more to get away again. Besides,” I added, “I detest ceremonies and such nonsense.” I thought frantically. “I’ll just record them a message. We’re far enough out that the time lag would make two- way conversation practically impossible anyway.”

  Shar grinned. “If you say so, Admiral. I’m not sure it would be the Viceroy’s solution, though.”

  I chuckled. “I’m sure it wouldn’t. But I’m just a fat old trader captain, not a Sector Viceroy. If he wants speeches and ceremonies, he can come back and make them himself.”

  Shar looked at me skeptically. “How long do you think you can get away with that ‘fat old trader captain’ nonsense?”

  I grinned. “Hopefully, long enough to end this ‘Admiral’ nonsense and make it true again.”

  His skeptical look didn’t change. “This is Shar you’re talking to, remember? You love every minute of this ‘Admiral nonsense.’ And you’re damned good at it.”

  My face grew warm. “C’mon,” I growled, “Let’s go write up a message that’ll keep me out of trouble with Cord.”

  Several hours later, I found myself staring into the glowing eye of the camera. “People of Gamma,” I began. “I am Vice Admiral Val Kedron of the Rim Worlds Fleet. It is my great pleasure to be able to inform you that today; the Rim Worlds fleet attacked and captured the Empire Fleet battle cruiser Relentless. Relentless is the ship that has been holding you prisoner and hostage.

  “Unfortunately,” I continued, “time and battle damage prevent me from visiting Gamma to deliver this happy message in person, and the distance from the battle site to the planet creates a time lag that prevents two-way communication. By the time your reply to this message reaches my present location, we will be gone. I sincerely regret the impersonality of this one-way announcement, but I’m afraid that I have no choice in the matter. I hope that those of you with broadcast facilities will distribute this message to the people of Gamma.

  “I doubt that Admiral Jonas can spare the forces to again menace Gamma. We expect him to concentrate his forces at Haven. He has lost two destroyers and a battle cruiser. He is in retreat, and soon, we will pay him a visit at Haven and put an end to this treason and mutiny.” I sighed before I continued, “I’m sure that Viceroy Cord will soon be in contact with you. But now, I must be on my way. There is much to be done. Thank you for your kind attention.”

  The glowing eye faded, revealing Shar standing behind it, grinning like an idiot. He put his palms together and raised them to his cheek. “My Heeeero!” He gushed in falsetto.

  I shot him a threatening look. “One of these days you’ll go too far, and I’ll forget that I’m just a fat old trader captain in an admiral suit.”

  The message sent, we finished cleaning up the loose ends of the battle, and returned to Bolt Hole.

  Cord was delighted with the results of the battle, but not as happy with what had occurred afterward.

  “Admiral,” he fretted, “You purposely avoided going to Gamma. Your return here wasn’t that urgent.”

  I made no apologies. “Sir, if I’d gone to Gamma, It would have been days before we could get away again. Probably longer, once Valkyrie’s crew got liberty on-planet. I had no intention of being trucked around as the duty hero for a week or so.”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Admiral, you’re an excellent battle commander, but you have absolutely no concept of the political side of an Admiral’s job.” He waved a hand to signal a change of subject. “Now, tell me about this rim tramp that got cut up, but didn’t blow up.”

  I shrugged. “Yes. It was too bad. She was Lubyloo, the ship that took Wil Tor’s commando to Thaeron. A good ship and a good crew.”

  Cord was staring at me. “Have you no sense of history, Admiral? I want you to immediately send a rim tramp with a load of boats to recover that ship, and transport it to Gamma.”

  I frowned. “Why? She’s damaged beyond economic repair; in fact, I’m not sure repair is even possible.”

  He sighed. “Someday that hulk will form the centerpiece of a museum devoted to the rim worlds’ struggle for independence. For now, I want every possible honor rendered.”

  In the end, we sent two rim tramps. While mining boats maneuvered the hulk of Lubyloo toward Gamma, the two tramps provided an honor guard.

  When they reached Gamma, the boats lowered the hulk to the surface, flanked by the two tramps. Then the boats moved back and landed facing outward, to form a guarding circle around Lubyloo.

  The whole thing was broadcast live planet-wide, and the landing field was crowded with thousands of onlookers, since Cord had sent along a tape that had been transmitted to Gamma even before the tramps had located Lubyloo. Cord’s instructions were remarkable.

  He began by telling of Lubyloo’s part in the commando raid on Thaeron, then her participation in the attack on Relentless, and her fatal damage.

  He followed his introduction with a series of instructions calculated to transform Lubyloo from a mass of scrap metal to a sector treasure. He instructed that an honor guard be recruited. Lubyloo was to be manned by at least two people at all times, and her colors were to be raised and lowered at the appropriate times.

  Her fusactors were to be powered down to the minimum required to provide lighting, heat and cooling, but were not to be permitted to go cold. Thus, Lubyloo would remain on the active list of the rim fleet. Along with the rim tramp escort, Cord had sent a ‘conservator’, whose job it was to inventory and remove the crew’s personal belongings for presentation to their next of kin. Then he was to evaluate Lubyloo and figure out a way to permit visitors to tour the hulk without chancing the pilfering of someday-priceless artifacts.

  In this message, Cord also coined the term by which the armed tramps have been identified ever since: Privateer.

  For over a week, people crowded the landing field trying to catch a long-range look at the heroic wreck. The encircling mining boats kept them at a respectful distance. There was really little to see, but the crowd never seemed to diminish much.

  When she was finally opened for tours, people streamed through her by the thousand. Collection points had been strategically placed at entrance and exit, and in less than a month, nearly a million crowns had been raised for construction of a Lubyloo museum.

  Meanwhile, back at Bolt Hole, there was much discussion of our next move. Only six weeks remained until our carefully timed attack on Nemesis could be mounted.

  Cord and Bendo wanted to attack the base on Thaeron. Shar and I thought it would be a waste of time, resources, and most importantly, lives.

  “But we could cut off his supply line,” Bendo protested.

  I shrugged. “He’s not dependent on that supply line. He’s been provisioning by requisitioning supplies on Haven, and he hasn’t been using any ammunition, aside from some for infantry weap
ons for his marines. When he does use his ammo, it’ll be against us. He won’t be able to restock. If we beat Jonas at Haven, we can simply go to Thaeron, announce that fact, and accept their surrender. No loss of life or ships. I see nothing to be gained by attacking a fortified system.”

  “And it is heavily fortified,” Shar added. “Everything from command-detonated mines to heavily fortified moons. It would take a full-scale attack, and even then, we might not win. Why fight an unnecessary battle?”

  In the end, we didn’t attack Thaeron, but I’m not convinced that we were persuasive. I suspect it had more to do with the relatively short lead-time to our attack on Nemesis and her companions. We were busy with plans and preparations for nearly the entire six weeks.

  Finally, all was in readiness, and Cord ran out of patience.

  He sighed. “All right, Admiral, are you going to tell me about it? I mean, I understand classified information, but I think I have a ‘need to know’.”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir, but I wasn’t sure about your staff. The last rim tramp left this afternoon, and no one else will be leaving this system until ‘R Day’. I can tell you now.

  “As soon as Jonas’ ships settled into a predictable orbit, a dozen boats and a single rim tramp went into action. The boats selected four asteroids of at least a kilometer in one measurement, and began nudging them into an orbit that will slingshot them around the sun and into a collision course with Jonas’s ships’ orbits.”

  Cord looked incredulous. “That’s it?” He said, “You’re guiding kilometer-sized rocks into positions where they could hit Haven? Are you insane? Even a minuscule error could wipe out all life on the planet!”