A Choice of Treasons

by J. L. Doty

  “Hell no,” York snarled. “I just stopped a coup. The emperor’s trying to negotiate a treaty, and I intend to help him get it signed.”

  “Good,” Tzecharra said. “We’ve taken a vote, and as long as you support the emperor, we’re throwing our support behind you.”

  York leaned back in his seat completely at a loss. “I’ve just assaulted Mare Crisia, killed I don’t know how many of our comrades. I’m going to go down in history as one of the worst traitors that ever lived, and you’ll take orders from me?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is unanimous among your captains?”

  “Yes.”

  York ran numb fingers through his hair. He couldn’t trust her completely, would have to deploy her in such a way she could help him but not betray him, if that was her intent. “Okay, Captain,” he said. “But there won’t be any more voting. We’re navy. I give orders, you take them.”

  “We understand that.”

  “Very good. Commander Gant is my navigator. Get the coordinates we’re headed for from her and meet us there.”

  CHAPTER 42: ONE BIG PARTY

  York stopped in his cabin to change his uniform, but as he yanked off the AI uniform he noticed blood oozing through the bandages on his side. He put on his navy blacks to conceal any blood that might seep through the material, then popped a kikker in his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of trate. He also removed the contact lens hiding his chrome-steel eye and the plast skin covering the scars. For what he was about to do he had to look the part.

  York had had the marines rig a makeshift conference table in empty One Bay, which was now badly crowded. At his instructions the marines seated the emperor and the Admiralty Council at the conference table. Around them were ringed about twenty members of the imperial senate, along with the empress, Aeya, Add’kas’adanna, Theara, Rhijn, Thring, and an old churchman York didn’t recognize. About them all Palevi had placed twenty marines with visible sidearms. York had given them all copies of Theara’s treaty more than an hour ago, and copies had been transmitted to the Kinathins through Add’kas’adanna.

  As the lift doors opened York confronted absolute chaos and the sound of several dozen voices shouting angrily. He saw one middle-aged man waving a copy of the treaty over his head while shouting at a younger woman, his face red and flushed. Among the nine admirals two were out of their seats, leaning across the table, arguing heatedly with Soladin. But amidst the tumult Abraxa sat calmly, a faint smile marking his otherwise placid features. When York stepped from the lift with Harshaw and Sab’ach’ahn in tow, Abraxa was the first to notice him. His smile deepened, and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Palevi bellowed, “Captain on deck,” though even his parade-ground best didn’t carry above the din. But as York, ringed by marines, marched toward the table, the crowd parted and the voices died.

  Edvard stood to confront him, suspicion and distrust written in every line of his face. Cassandra stood supportively behind him. With York’s marines forming a ring about the three of them York bowed carefully. “Your Majesty.”

  Edvard spoke softly, though there was steel in his voice. “If you’re after my throne I’ll fight you for it. With my dying breath I’ll fight you for it.”

  York shook his head. “I don’t want your throne, wouldn’t make much of a king in any case.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I want justice.”

  Edvard shook his head. “Justice is a rare commodity, Captain, and often expensive.”

  “Then again, maybe I just want revenge for my murdered crew. Maybe I just want to kill a lot of god-damn senators and admirals and a king or two.”

  Edvard paled. Cassandra stepped between them and spoke softly. “Captain, I know you’re not the blood thirsty maniac your reputation purports.” She turned to Edvard. “And you, Edvard. When you get to know him you’ll trust him as I do. For now, you must trust him through me.” Again she looked at York. “They’ve kept him in solitary confinement, given him no news or information. He knows only what I’ve been able to tell him in the last few minutes. What do you need?”

  York met Edvard’s eyes and lowered his voice. “I’m told, Your Majesty, that as Duke de Lunis, the tenth duke, you’re officially a member of the Admiralty Council, though you don’t customarily attend their meetings. But you can call for and convene such a meeting. Will you do so now?”

  “Why?” Edvard demanded.

  York held up a copy of the treaty. “Before this day is out, every member of the Admiralty Council is going to sign this . . .” Edvard lifted a skeptical eyebrow, and York grinned at him. “. . . at lease every member that’s still alive.”

  Edvard frowned, then his lips slowly curled up into a grin that matched York’s. “I begin to think they just might.” He turned to the table, pulled a chair out, pulled another out next to it and looked at York. “Won’t you join me, Captain?”

  Cinesstar’s hull drummed as a grenade exploded on G deck. Soladin demanded, “What was that?”

  York smiled at him. “We still have some AI to kill.”

  “Captain,” his implants said in Jakobee’s voice. “Fourteen ships have broken away from Home Fleet. They’re headed this way and we’re still too far inside heliopause for up-transition.”

  York keyed his implants. “Stand by all main batteries. And tell Tzecharra to do what she can to help us. I’ll be on the bridge momentarily. And get ready to force us into up-transition if I give the order.”

  He turned to the empress. “Your Majesty, will you come with me?”

  As he and the empress stood, Add’kas’adanna stood with them. They left everyone in a stunned silence.

  Jakobee was ready for him, had a full sit-map on one of his screens. Home Fleet was sitting on the edge of heliopause, between Cinesstar and the safety of Tzecharra’s ships. Tzecharra was already in position half way between Home Fleet and the Kinathin Armada but not in a position where she could help Cinesstar.

  “Gant, compute a transition hop. We’ll have to run through Home Fleet.

  “McGeahn, put Her Majesty on an open channel to Home Fleet.

  “Your Majesty, please tell them who’s on this ship, who they’ll be killing if they burn us. Tell them I’m taking orders from the emperor, and that we’re about to make a transition jump out past them. If they want to know why, make up whatever you want.”

  The empress sat down next to McGeahn. In just a few seconds she was looking at a screen and talking heatedly into a pickup.

  Gant said, “It’s going to be sloppy, sir, but I’m ready.”

  “Your Majesty?” York asked.

  She looked at him, frowned and said, “They know, but I don’t know if they believe.”

  “Power priority to shields,” York ordered, then he gave the order for up-transition. Cinesstar’s hull groaned, and he felt the familiar tickle in the back of his mind as she fought her way into transition.

  “Down transition in six seconds . . . five . . .”

  York watched the power drain jump as a warhead detonated somewhere nearby.

  “. . . four . . . three . . . two . . .”

  The shield power suddenly redlined and a nasty gravity wave rolled through the ship. Cinesstar down-transited prematurely with every reading on York’s screens overloaded.

  “Gant, I want a scan on our nearspace. McGeahn, get me—”

  “Incoming,” Gant shouted, and before York could react Jakobee dumped all Cinesstar’s power to her shields. The hull kettle-drummed as a large warhead detonated just astern and the power drain to the shields redlined.

  “Drive, all ahead full,” York demanded. “And what the hell was that?”

  “Sir, Captain Tzecharra on three.”

  McGeahn had already put Tzecharra on one of York’s screens. Tzecharra didn’t wait for York to ask. “Six more ships have broken away from Home Fleet—that’s a total of twenty—and they’re fighting among themselves. From what I can t
ell eight of them are attempting to burn you and the rest are trying to intercept what they throw at you. You’re out past Home Fleet, but still short of where I can protect you. Keep headed this way while I try to put more ships between you and them.”

  York was absorbing the scan summary on his screens while listening to Tzecharra’s words. The ships that had broken away from Home Fleet were spread out in a free-for-all. He watched three of them go out under big warhead flares, wasn’t sure whose side they were on, didn’t really care at that point. “Keep a close eye on all those ships,” he told Tzecharra. “Try to identify those that are helping us, finish off those that aren’t. But don’t trust any of them.”

  He turned back to his screens. “Cappik, status.”

  The engineer’s face appeared on a screen. “Starboard’s finally shot, Captain, Centerline’s running well though a little ragged, and Port is fully operational. I can still give you full combat status. Only limitation will be reduced drive capability in both sublight and transition.”

  “Jakobee?”

  “We took very little hull damage, sir, and weapons stations are ninety-two percent operational. Ordinance reserves stand at thirty-three percent, sir.”

  “Gant?”

  “It was sloppy, sir, but we’re just outside of heliopause, and just outside of Home Fleet’s defensive perimeter, though still within their targeting range. And the Kinathins have down-transited at one thousand AUs, well out of anyone’s targeting range. More ships have broken away from Home Fleet and joined the free-for-all, though no one’s throwing anything at us at the moment. We’re still on the edge of heliopause, but we’re far enough out that I can give you a much more accurate transition vector.”

  “Good. Set it up.”

  Tzecharra sent four of her ships into short transition hops. The system’s gravity well perturbed their vectors and they down-transited in a random spread around Cinesstar. But one of them was nicely positioned between her and any danger from Home Fleet. Tzecharra knew what she was doing.

  “Captain,” McGeahn said. “I have a Commander Barrett, commanding H.M.S. New Hope of Home Fleet. He says he’s placing his ship under your command.”

  “Tell him to take his orders from Tzecharra.”

  “Captain Ballin.” Tzecharra spoke from one of his screens. “One of those Kinathin warships just up-transited and it’s coming our way.

  “Hold your fire,” he told her. “Fire only if fired upon.” He glanced quickly at Add’kas’adanna. She stood impassively in the background, seemed to understand his doubts and nodded at him as if to say, Yes, you can trust us. He wondered if he could.

  He stood. “I’ll be down on Hangar Deck with our royal guests. Keep me informed of everything. Mister Jakobee, you have the bridge.”

  York eased his way quietly into the crowd surrounding the conference table. It wasn’t hard to remain anonymous, with senators and admirals competing in a continuous shouting match. A gray-haired fellow, with unkempt hair and wearing a sloppy, rumpled suit and old-fashioned spectacles, gained the upper hand in the contest of voices. “Damn it,” he shouted. “This treaty is an opportunity that no sane person would pass up. Two hundred years. We’ve been fighting this war for two hundred years and we have an opportunity to end it. Finally, we can . . .”

  York stopped listening to the words, paid more attention to the man. Senator Tycho Marin had an orator’s voice, with a simple home-spun style, though his delivery was clearly practiced and quite polished.

  Captain. Jakobee’s voice in his implants. That Kinathin matched velocity, cut drive and dropped shield power one hundred thousand kilometers off our bow.

  York keyed his implants. “Do likewise, Mister Jakobee. Then use sublight drive only, ease forward slowly, drive to a position fifty thousand kilometers off that Kinathin’s bow. Then stand by. And tell all stations to maintain full combat status and readiness. And tell Cappik those shields could be needed on a moment’s notice.”

  An eerie stillness had descended up Hangar Deck. A small circle of space had opened about him as if he was dangerously radioactive, and everyone stared at him silently. Slowly they edged further away from him, opening a clear pathway to the conference table and Senator Marin.

  Captain, we’re in position, and as soon as we got here that Kinathin started forward, coming slow, shield power down.

  York keyed his implants again, and with his eyes locked to Senator Marin’s he said, “Steady as she goes. Don’t alter our position, course or status. Keep those shields unpowered but ready, and do not fire unless fired upon. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.”

  Aye, aye, sir.

  He turned to leave. A path to the lift suddenly opened in front of him and he started forward.

  “Captain.”

  York stopped at the sound of Marin’s voice, turned to face him and nodded politely.

  “As I was saying,” Marin said, “we’ve been fighting this war for two hundred years. Don’t you think you could spare a little time to help us end it?”

  York looked around the room carefully before answering. “We have not been fighting this war, Senator. I and my crew, and people like us, have been fighting this war. And it’s we who have been dying for people like you and those I see around me here. And I think we are no longer prepared to do that. So, if, as you say, you have an opportunity to end it, then I suggest you do so. Because I intend to end it one way or another before this day is out, and in my rather naive view of life, I wonder if I might do so simply by venting all of you to space . . .”

  The silence that followed York’s words was complete and unbroken. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go continue fighting your war.” He turned, and with Add’kas’adanna, Sab’ach’ahn and Palevi in tow he headed for the lift.

  In the lift the deck seemed to tilt crazily beneath York’s feet. Add’kas’adanna caught his elbow and steadied him against a bulkhead. When it was clear he wouldn’t collapse she released him, stepped back and looked at her hand, at a bright, red smear of blood on her fingers. “You must take better care of yourself, Captain.”

  His vision had started to constrict, and she stood at the center of a halo of diminishing sight. “Treason is a dangerous business.”

  She nodded. “Kith’ain is the most dangerous business of all. But when it calls we must answer.”

  “I don’t know anything about kith’ain,” York growled, and he took a moment to catch his breath and let the pain recede. “By the way. You’re not a prisoner here. You and Director Theara are my guests. You’re not allowed free rein of the ship, and you’ll be escorted at all times, but you’re free to go, though at the moment I don’t have alternate transportation to offer you.”

  He looked at Palevi. “You understand me, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Add’kas’adanna looked at him carefully and grinned, a rare gesture for her. “Did you know, Captain, that kith’ain is much more than honor and reputation. It is often a challenge that can mean life and death, and sometimes a contest in which the players struggle to acquire obligation. It is a game, Captain, of debt and indebtedness, and for one who claims to know nothing of kith’ain, you appear to play the game quite well.”

  The lift doors opened. The marine standing guard on the bridge glanced in, frowned. “You okay, Cap’em?”

  Palevi turned on him. “Get a medic up here for the captain.”

  York added, “Make it Kalee, and tell him I need a kikker. And get out of my way.”

  The marines ducked aside as he strode onto the bridge, trying to hide the fact he was ready to collapse. The bridge was unnaturally silent as he dropped into the couch at the Command Console. “What the hell’s going on? Pay attention to your duty assignments. And Jondee, put Director Add’kas’adanna at a console and open up a channel to that Kinathin.”

  “Uhhh . . . captain . . . sir . . . uhhh, Mister Jondee is dead.”

  York took a deep breath and let it out slowly, tried to make sure he held onto reality. />
  “Captain.” It was McGeahn. “That Kinathin is hailing us, uncoded transmission.”

  “Put him through to me, and copy both sides of the conversation to Director Add’kas’adanna’s console.”

  The Kinathin that appeared on York’s screen showed about as much expression as a block of stone. “I am Councilor Ard’dha’sit. And you are?”

  “York Ballin. Captain, commanding H.M.S. Cinesstar.”

  The Kinathin nodded. “You are holding Director Add’kas’adanna as a prisoner on your ship.”

  It was time to gamble. Add’kas’adanna and Sab’ach’ahn had given him hints, but any understanding of the Kinathin psyche was guesswork. “You have lost Director Add’kas’adanna? Have you also lost Director Theara?”

  The Kinathin’s face hardened. He looked ready to spit nails into transition. “There is kith’ain debt—”

  York cut him off. “Not I, nor any of my people, owe you, or Director Add’kas’adanna, or any Kinathin, kith’ain debt. So don’t speak to me of kith’ain debt. Add’kas’adanna and I are enemies. We’ve fought, and I have been victorious. But she’s not a prisoner here, she’s my guest, and free to leave when she chooses.”

  York thought if Ard’dha’sit grew any angrier he might sprout gun turrets in place of ears. York continued. “If you wish to discuss the matter, you’re invited to join me aboard my ship. The articles of truce will pertain. You may bring whatever retinue you wish, though no armed troops will be allowed. Your safety and that of your retinue is guaranteed by me, and will be my responsibility.”

  Ard’dha’sit nodded coldly. “I will have my shuttle prepared.”