A Choice of Treasons

by J. L. Doty

  “About a half hour, sir. We’re about twenty-five hundred astronomical units out, and closing at six hundred lights.”

  “And no challenge yet,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “Decelerate to three hundred lights. Sound general quarters, watch condition yellow. We’re going in slowly, just to be safe.”

  Gant said, “New ETT is ninety-seven minutes, just under an hour, sir.”

  York returned to the captain’s console, sat down and stared at the data Rame was processing. On his screen he watched a pulse appear, then another, then a rapid staccato of overlapping pulses, one on top of another—then a pause, then more individual pulses at random intervals. It was the tempo, the pace and spacing and timing of the pulses, that haunted him. There was something familiar about it, something he should recognize, but just couldn’t identify.

  Time ticked slowly by and the signal grew stronger, but still its meaning eluded him. He looked at the navigational report on his console. They were three hundred astronomical units out and scheduled for down-transition in eleven minutes.

  “Decelerate to one hundred lights.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. New ETT is thirty-five minutes.”

  “Could be a little unstable,” Maggie said, standing behind him. She had been looking over his shoulder while he stared at the data. “This ship wasn’t designed to run that slow in transition.”

  York looked at her carefully. “Then please keep an eye on the helm yourself. I don’t want to inadvertently down-transit.”

  She looked at him carefully, and under normal circumstances might have made some sort of remark. But she simply nodded, “Aye, aye, sir.” She edged her way around fire control to the helm.

  York looked around the bridge, at Gant, Stara, Rame, Jondee, their various assistants. The cheerful mood of a few hours ago had vanished.

  “It’s the beat,” Rame said, staring intently at his data. “The way it comes in little bursts, then pauses, then comes again all of a sudden . . .” He gazed at it for another moment, then jerked upright and snarled, “Shit! Those are flares from transition batteries. That’s heavy bombardment.”

  Now that Rame had identified it York could see it too. “Watch condition red. Warn engineering we may need shield power and stand by for transition.”

  Nothing happened for a moment as they all peered around their consoles and stared at him in horrified disbelief. “Move, god damn it,” he shouted. “The feddies are hitting Aagerbanne. That’s a major engagement down there, and we’re stumbling right into it.”

  Jondee was the first to react. He slapped the alert switch on his console and the blare of the alert klaxon broke their paralysis.

  York barked, “Decelerate to eighty lights, and rig for silent running.”

  “Sir,” Maggie said. “We may not be able to keep from down-transiting at eighty lights.”

  He spoke carefully. “Miss Votak, take the helm yourself. Decelerate to eighty lights and do not down-transit. That’s an order. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t hide her vexation. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  He was going to try an old hunter-killer trick. The more velocity they had when they down-transited, the bigger the flare. But also each change in velocity dumped energy into the transition spectrum around them, energy an enemy could spot. The trick was to dump the energy in little increments then transit only when you had to.

  “Holding at eighty lights, sir,” Maggie acknowledged.

  “Thank you, Miss Votak,” York said. “Decelerate to sixty lights and do not down-transit. Jondee, get me Cappik.”

  “You’ve already got him, sir.”

  Jondee had anticipated him. Cappik’s face was staring at him out of one of his screens. “Chief Cappik, stand by to cut all power: gravity, shields, the works. When I give the command I want us all the way back to minimum idle. No exterior transmissions, no emissions of any kind. But be ready to give me shield power instantly.”

  Cappik gaped at him for a second, but he didn’t flinch or hesitate. “You got it, sir. Just give me the word.”

  “Holding steady at sixty lights, sir.”

  “Very good, Miss Votak. Decelerate to fifty lights. And do—”

  “I know, sir. And do not down-transit.”

  Jondee on allship warned everyone to stand by for weightless maneuvering. Cinesstar’s hull started to groan and creak. “Holding unsteadily at fifty lights, sir. We’re starting to experience discrete gravitational instability on some of the lower decks.”

  “I understand,” York said. “Decelerate to forty lights. And do everything you can to keep us from down-transiting for as long as you can. But if she does go into transition, hold as much sublight velocity as possible. Don’t broadcast our position by dumping energy. Mister Stara, tell your weapons stations to be ready for anything. But they’re not to fire without specific orders from you or me.”

  York’s stomach crawled up into his throat as a gravity wave rolled through the bridge. The drive started to thrum erratically, and the hull’s groans turned into shrieks.

  “Holding at forty lights. Serious gravitational . . . No . . . She’s transiting . . .”

  “Transition,” Gant screeched.

  “All stop,” York shouted. “Cappik, shut us down. Drones out on passive.”

  The deck gravity suddenly disappeared and York floated up in his straps. The hull echoed with the sound of the drone launch.

  “Miss Gant I want a situation map soonest.”

  “We’re two hundred and fifty-three astronomical units out, sir. Coasting at point-nine-three lights and closing. Dilation factor two-point-seven. We’re scanning our own nearspace now, sir.”

  Everything came to a sudden and complete halt, and they waited. York caught himself holding his breath so he exhaled slowly.

  “Clear to a hundred thousand kliks, sir.”

  York spoke calmly, though it wasn’t easy. “Very good. Go to long range.”

  That was an order he didn’t need to give. Gant and her assistants were already pulling in every bit of data they could, and as the time passed they all watched a frightening picture unfold on their screens.

  They’d blundered into a full assault on a major imperial installation by a Directorate armada. The Syndonese had come in with at least two hundred ships, and Fleet had met them with a like number.

  York had seen it before. It was impossible to marshal a force large enough to take an installation like Aagerbanne without detection. So it wasn’t uncommon for the enemy to be waiting for you with a like force. When that happened you could just withdraw, hope for a better chance on another day, or you could do what the feddies had done in this case, try to fight it out. Cinesstar had already missed the preliminary rounds: a little sparring for a few days while both sides tried to gage the strength and determination of their opponents.

  The Syndonese clearly outnumbered the imperial forces, even with support from Aagerbanne. It appeared Cinesstar had arrived just in time to see the real action. At the moment York and his ship were in no danger. But at their present sublight velocity it would take them just under two days to coast right into the middle of it, and all they could do was pray the Directorate finished the job before then.

  CHAPTER 24: AAGERBANNE

  When the guards brought in her prisoner Add’kas’adanna lifted her head slowly and looked into his eyes. They’d met only via the screens in their various command centers, and then only for a few brief minutes while they negotiated the terms of surrender. And he had shown no surprise that the Fleet Director herself had led the assault on Aagerbanne. He should have been surprised.

  His uniform was torn in places, burned in others, splotched with grime, but he threw his shoulders back and saluted her smartly, and all the while his eyes burned into her.

  She stood from her desk, returned the salute and looked him over carefully. This man was very much the imperial officer, a man who commanded troops and fought in battles, not one of their foppish holiday soldiers. When it had become
clear Aagerbanne would fall, their effete noblemen had evacuated the system, leaving this warrior to surrender.

  Add’kas’adanna pointed to a chair and spoke without malice. “Please, Admiral Sayalla. Sit and rest.”

  Sayalla nodded and sat down wearily. Add’kas’adanna turned to her guards. “You may go.”

  The guards saluted crisply and left.

  From a drawer in her desk Add’kas’adanna retrieved a bottle of slaeka, the whiskey made on her home planet. She poured some of the reddish liquid into two glasses, stepped around her desk and handed one to Sayalla. He nodded his thanks and sipped at it carefully. She put hers to her lips, and as was customary for the first sip, she took a healthy gulp. Then she returned to her desk and sat behind it.

  “You and your crews fought well,” she said.

  Sayalla shrugged. “Not well enough. We lost.”

  “You were heavily outnumbered. You couldn’t have fought better.”

  Sayalla’s eyes brightened. “But we could have, if I’d been allowed to fight my own battle.”

  Add’kas’adanna knew well what he meant, for even in her position as the Supreme Commander of Directorate naval forces her superiors constantly hampered her. Ninda and Kaffair wanted an obedient Fleet Director, one who kept her thoughts limited to military matters. Neither of them trusted a Kinathin breed warrior enough to bring her into his confidence. Ninda certainly didn’t want her to think for herself, to wonder why he had sent her with an entire armada just to hunt down an imper man’o’war. She smiled at Sayalla’s remark. “But we are soldiers, and that’s our lot in life. And like even the most common of soldiers, sometimes we can only wonder at the reasoning behind our orders.”

  Sayalla grinned. “Yes, though right now I’m wondering more about your orders than mine.”

  Add’kas’adanna looked at him carefully and took the bait. “For instance?”

  “Well now, I wonder why you chose Aagerbanne—we aren’t that significant, at least not militarily. We’re just big, and well equipped. And why send the Fleet Director herself? I’m sure you have better things to do.”

  He was baiting her, though there was no reason to conceal her purpose so Add’kas’adanna spoke openly. “I am, of course, here to find the ship Cinesstar and destroy her.”

  Sayalla nodded calmly, though he should have started, showed some surprise. “Of course,” he said flatly. “Though I wish we could have gotten her first.”

  Add’kas’adanna considered his words carefully. He hadn’t said, “. . . gotten to her first,” as if he wanted to rescue her. He had said, “. . . gotten her first,” as if he too had orders to destroy her.

  “Hmmm!” Sayalla continued. “The Directorate wants Cinesstar so bad they’re willing to send their highest military officer with an armada to get her. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what you and my superiors have got cooked up?”

  Did Sayalla believe the Directorate Central Committee and the Imperial Admiralty were conspiring in some way to do away with a single ship? Add’kas’adanna decided not to enlighten him. As long as he thought she knew more than she did, he might tell her something she didn’t know. In answer to his question she shook her head slowly. “That would not be appropriate, though I will confess I’ve not seen the exact wording of your orders.”

  Sayalla shrugged. “Shoot on sight—simple, straight from Admiralty Intelligence. You all want her bad, don’t you? Has her captain gone renegade?”

  Add’kas’adanna ignored his questions. “And you say you have no knowledge of her whereabouts?”

  “If I did,” Sayalla said, “I’d be going after her with everything I could muster. There’s probably a healthy promotion in store for the man who gets her, and certainly a nice reward.”

  Add’kas’adanna retreated into her thoughts. This was interesting and valuable information. She’d have to think carefully how to use it. Perhaps, with a little luck, and a deft hand, she might be able to learn why everyone wanted Cinesstar so badly. If Sayalla was telling the truth, then Cinesstar was nowhere near Aagerbanne, and to push further into the empire would only cost her needed ships and crews.

  She looked at Sayalla. “I will, of course, have to test you to insure that you’re speaking the truth. Nothing barbaric, mind you. Just some drugs, and a deep neural probe operated by a highly skilled technician. You should feel no pain.”

  “Thank you,” Sayalla said. “I appreciate the courtesy.”

  Ninda was a hard, unpleasant man, who made no effort to hide his distrust of Add’kas’adanna. Oddly enough, she reflected, when she had first begun working for him he could have trusted her implicitly. In accepting the appointment to his staff, kith’ain dictated she support him, even if she did not agree with him, even if she must compromise her honor. She had served him well through the years, and he had carefully advanced her through the ranks until finally—more through covert manipulation than anything else, she had later discovered—he had won for her the appointment to Fleet Director. She had been quite proud the day she became one of the five most powerful people in the Republic of Syndon, a member of the Central Committee of the Federal Directorate. But her pride was badly misplaced.

  She quickly learned the role he had chosen for her was that of a lackey, one who must support him in all things, without question, blindly. He used her as a goad to frighten those such as Zort: support me, Ninda implied to all who might oppose him, or I’ll turn the Kinathin loose on you. In that, he had cost her great honor, and by doing so he had broken the implicit pact between them, and she was free to seek her own honor, independent of his. It was ironic that his distrust of her, had forced her to become an untrustworthy associate.

  “Yes, yes,” Ninda said impatiently. “Abraxa wants them to succeed no more than we do.”

  Ninda should have been surprised at that information, so Add’kas’adanna was in a mood to take a slight risk. “But why does the empire wants them dead?”

  Ninda shook his head. “Not the empire. Just those old men and women in the Admiralty.”

  “Then why does the Admiralty want them dead?”

  “Because they might end this war, and that’s something none of us want, is it, Fleet?”

  “Of course not,” she said, but only because that was expected of her. “But how can one, lone ship end the war?”

  Ninda tone was insultingly condescending. “Ah, you Kinathins! You can see no solution but the military one, can you?”

  Ninda had always believed that about her, and she had never had reason to correct him. In answer she shrugged. “Shall I continue searching for this imperial ship?”

  “Yes,” Ninda said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “I doubt they’ve managed to cross into imperial territory yet. So it’s probably best if you keep up the pressure. I’d rather we caught them anyway, and we’ll consider the imperials insurance just in case they do slip through.”

  “As you wish.” Add’kas’adanna cut the circuit.

  She considered the blank screen for a moment. She wanted that ship, but not to destroy it. She wanted to question the ship’s occupants. She wanted to know how one, single ship could stop an interstellar war that had lasted generations.

  She looked at her screen, at the map drawn there, at the sequence of pinpoints indicating probable sightings of the imperial ship. Her captain had obviously been trying to break through the lines and get to Aagerbanne. And the timing of the most recent sightings mad it clear he should be only days away from approaching the system.

  She had a large number of ships assembled right in the path of that imperial ship. And there were reliable methods for finding a needle in a cosmic haystack.

  She came to a decision and keyed her implants. “Commodore Martak.”

  The reply came instantly. “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  “Tell the Fleet Captains there’ll be a command summit on my flagship in . . .” She glanced at her watch. “. . . one hour.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency.”

  York flo
ated into the brig and grabbed a handhold. Notay had the brig watch, and when York appeared she somehow stood up, locking her ankles under the console to keep from floating off the deck. She saluted slowly—in zero-G they were all careful to avoid sudden movement. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  York threw a salute back at her. “Mec. I’d like to see the feddie breed warrior.”

  “The weird one, eh?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Notay shrugged. “She’s weirdin’ out, sir. Don’t eat much. Don’t bathe. Gettin’ more fucked up every day. You better stay away from her, sir.”

  York nodded toward the cellblock. “I want to see for myself.”

  Notay was nervous. They were all nervous. They’d been coasting toward the battle for the last day and a half, watching both sides throw a lot of nasty stuff at each other, and not daring to use any energy to divert their course or slow their advance. York had watched from the captain’s console as the feddies took the outer reaches of the system, burning one imperial ship after another and advancing steadily. Cinesstar was just touching the edge of Aagerbanne’s heliopause when the battle turned to a route. The feddies gutted Aagerbanne Station with several large warheads, then systematically took out all military installations on the planet’s surface. After that most of the imperial fleet withdrew, retreating to the subsector headquarters at Sarasan. And Cinesstar coasted into the middle of an armada of Directorate warships.

  With so much sublight velocity left from their down-transition they should have passed right through the system in a couple of hours. But as luck would have it their vector drew them into the gravity well of a large planet. Cinesstar’s velocity prevented the planet from capturing them, but it swung them around into the plane of the ecliptic and killed a lot of their speed. They’d swung in close to the primary, lost more velocity there, and were now headed for the gravity well of another planet out near the edge of the system. According to Gant’s calculations they were going to lose more velocity in their swing around that planet, and get slung right back toward the center of the system. She wasn’t sure if they’d get caught again, or pass on through and out the other side. But at any time a feddie warship might detect the hot spark of their power plant, even though they were holding it to a bare minimum. The one thing they had going for them was the mess that remained around them. The battle had scattered hot debris all over the system, and there were hundreds of detectable fragments that would appear little different from Cinesstar on a scan report.