“Hail both ships,” Damien ordered. “Inform them of my presence, and advise both the Patrol and the Governor that I expect to meet with Governor and Commodore McLaughlin immediately upon our arrival in orbit.” He paused.
“For now, let them choose the location,” he finished. Let the McLaughlin think he was in control. It might buy him some goodwill when things got complicated later.
It would be interesting to see what stories Grace spun when faced with proof her people were attacking civilian ships.
#
“Who did you say?” Grace asked her communications officer, staring in shock at the young woman.
“Hand Damien Montgomery has requested that you and the Governor meet with him upon his arrival,” Lieutenant Amber repeated. “He’s asked us to suggest a location – I’m guessing we leave that to the Governor’s office?”
“Yes, let my grandfather’s people handle that,” Grace agreed distractedly, her thoughts a whirl. She’d heard about Damien’s elevation – running a regional militia meant she was very up to date on the news and had what she thought was a near-complete version of the events on Ardennes – but she hadn’t expected to ever see him again.
If he’d followed a different path, he’d have been first on her list to ask to come home and join the Patrol. Instead, she’d assumed his path would forever keep him away from Sherwood – yes, the petition they’d sent to Mars had been likely to bring a Hand, but she’d assumed they wouldn’t send Damien.
She shook her head swiftly and focused back on Lieutenant Amber.
“Please confirm the location with the Governor’s Office,” she told the junior officer. “Have my shuttle prepped as well. We won’t be meeting aboard the Hood.”
#
“So, Commodore Grace McLaughlin?” Amiri said questioningly as they settled into the shuttle for the trip to Sherwood Prime. “Is this the Grace McLaughlin I think it is?”
“Would you believe me if I said it was a common name?” Damien asked, glancing at his three companions and wishing he’d been able to fly the shuttle himself.
“Wait, am I missing something?” Christoffsen interjected. “I checked Miss McLaughlin’s file – she’s roughly your age, but…”
“We went through our Practical Thaumaturgy and Jump Mage programs together,” Damien admitted with a sigh. “And before Julia decides to reveal all of my secrets, yes, we were… together. On and off for about three years.”
“And then you got on ships heading to opposite ends of the galaxy, considering the usual fate of lovers in Jump Mage programs?” the Professor asked. “And then you…”
“Became a Hand, and she came home and became the head of a military force we now suspect of waging a vicious pirate campaign against another star system,” Damien agreed. “I haven’t heard from her since I left Sherwood – I have no idea what she’s up to, or even really who she is anymore.”
“I hate to ask this, my lord Hand, but is your relationship going to compromise your judgment?” Christoffsen murmured.
“No more than the fact that my home system is involved in this godawful disaster will,” Damien answered grimly. “I don’t think so – but I also trust both of you to tell me if you think it has. You follow me?”
“I’m frankly honored that you trust my judgment so far,” the Professor replied. “I will let you know if I have any concerns.”
“And you know damn well I’ll tell you when you’re being an idiot,” Amiri finished. “I don’t expect you to listen to me, but I’ll tell you.”
“In this case, I probably will,” he told them both. “This whole mess is making me twitchy. I don’t think any of us are in direct danger, but watch your backs – and mine, if you please.”
“Watching your back is my job,” Amiri pointed out. “I’ll keep an eye on the Professor too – so long as he returns the favor.”
Christoffsen snorted at them.
“You two do realize that I am the least dangerous person on this shuttle, including the pilot, by an order of magnitude or so?”
#
In his time traveling through Sherwood Prime for school, and later living on the station as he tried to find a Ship’s Mage position, Damien had never actually seen the VIP docking zones at the ‘north’ end of the station.
Unlike the portions of the central hub he’d visited, the VIP zones had the silver-inlaid runes on the floor that provided artificial gravity on the warships of navies with enough Mages. The runes had to be regularly refreshed by a Mage, making them an expensive luxury almost anywhere in the galaxy.
Murals and frescoes of Earth and Sherwood forests covered the walls of the main lobby where he and his staff exited their shuttle. A greeting party, escorted by four burly young men in dark blue uniforms, waited for them.
Damien’s mental processing of his surroundings and the greeters stuttered to a complete halt at the sight of the woman in the center of the group.
Grace McLaughlin looked nothing like he remembered, and he would have recognized her instantly anywhere in the Protectorate. Her hair, worn long when they were younger, was now cropped short, barely past her ears, but still glowed with the deep red of the morning sun. She was still a petite woman, a bare few inches over Damien’s own unimposing height. The years had filled out her figure, but also added new lines around her eyes and a strange weariness in her eyes.
He knew that weariness. He saw it in the mirror every morning.
It took Damien a moment to recover from the unexpected impact of seeing her again. His only consolation was that she seemed just as taken aback, and he wasn’t sure anyone other than the two of them had noticed.
“Hand Montgomery,” she finally greeted him. “Welcome back to Sherwood. May I introduce my executive officer, Commander Liam Arrington, and the head of my security detachment, Sergeant James Gibbons.”
She gestured to a tall fair-haired man on her left first, and then to an imposingly bulky redhead on her right second.
Damien nodded to the two men, swallowed to make sure he could control his voice, and stepped forward to offer Grace his hand.
“Commodore McLaughlin,” he said quietly. “I appreciate the welcome. This is my bodyguard, Special Agent Julia Amiri, and my political aide, Doctor Robert Christoffsen. We are meeting with Governor McLaughlin I presume?”
“He arrived shortly before you did and was called into a remote meeting,” the Commodore told him. “He asked to pass on his apologies, and he will meet us in the conference room on Ring One his staff have arranged.”
“Of course,” Damien allowed. “Lead the way.”
With a smile that brought back fond memories the Hand immediately tried to repress, McLaughlin gestured for everyone to fall in around her. Damien ended up beside her as they followed the path marked out by the gravity runes through the hub.
“I have to admit,” she told him, “we weren’t expecting a response to our petition nearly this quickly. Our ship would only have reached Mars a few days ago.”
For a moment, Damien considered trying to pretend he knew what she was talking about, then remembered that the woman had always had a special ability to see right through him.
“What petition was that?” he asked softly. “I have to admit, Commodore, I am not here in response to any petition from Sherwood.”
Most people wouldn’t have noticed her half-missing a step. Grace had always had a certain… grace to her movements. She recovered from the stumble with enough poise that only years of intimate exposure allowed Damien to realize she’d been surprised.
“If you’re not…” she paused, and swallowed. “We sent a petition to Mars twenty-three days ago after we confirmed the destruction of the Sherwood Patrol frigate Wil Scarlet. We believed, and believe, that she – as well as a number of civilian ships – was destroyed by warships of the Míngliàng Security Flotilla.”
That was a whole new mess. Attacks on freighters were a large enough problem, but if one of the sides had started taking out vulnerabl
e warships, this was escalating even faster than he’d been afraid of.
“When you have a moment, have your people forward the petition and all available information to my ship,” he told her. “Since I’m already here, after all.”
“If you’re not here in response to our petition,” Commodore Grace McLaughlin said softly, “why are you here?”
“I think I should wait until we have the Governor present to discuss matters in detail,” Damien told her, “but I am here in response to a petition laid by Míngliàng’s Governor.”
Chapter 13
The conference room in Sherwood Prime Ring One was clearly set aside for the use of the planet’s Governor. Massive, hand-carved, wooden versions of the planet’s eagle and bagpipes held pride of place on two walls, and tapestries of each of the twelve major clans’ tartan covered the remainder of those walls, with the McLaughlin and MacLeod tartans flanking the wall screen that covered the rest of a third wall.
All the chairs had been upholstered in the McLaughlin tartan at some point in the last twenty-odd years, and the massive black Sherwood Oak table – a luxury item everywhere else in the Protectorate that remained the planet’s main export – had the eagle and bagpipes seal set into it in gold.
Another Sherwood Interstellar Patrol Captain and Commander, presumably the CO and XO of the other frigate in orbit, occupied one side of the table. Commodore McLaughlin and her XO joined them, a small hand gesture sending the guards to stand outside the door.
A single man and two women, all middle-aged and dressed in prim black suits with subtle tartan shoulder patches, sat along another side of the square table.
Damien gestured his companions to the side of the table closest to the screen, nodded genteelly to the officers and government officials, and crossed to the lectern tucked to the side of the wall screen. It momentarily argued with his wrist computer’s attempt to take control of the display system, but rolled over at the application of a Hand override code.
“Do we know when His Excellency will be joining us?” he asked softly, facing the table.
“He left his remote meeting four minutes ago,” the older of the suited women stated calmly. “He should be arriving about now.”
As if summoned by the aide’s words, the door to the conference room opened, and two young men in crisp black suits and sunglasses – with very obvious shoulder holsters – stepped through. They swept the room with concealed gazes and then stepped back out to join the Commodore’s guards.
In what was likely a hugely practiced movement, Miles James McLaughlin slipped between the two bodyguards as they exited the room, surveying the room with calm eyes as he stepped up to the table.
It had been over five years since Damien had seen the McLaughlin in person, at a family party he hadn’t been warned would include his planet’s ruler, and the years had not been kind to him. He looked worse in person than in any of the official imagery and videos, haggard and tired with deep lines carved into his face under his pure-white hair.
For all that, he still had the iron-backed posture of the Navy officer he’d been for a quarter-century, and his eyes were calm as he laid his hands on the table and leaned forward, effortlessly dominating the entire room.
“Damien Montgomery,” he said fiercely. “After you defied my orders to sign onto the Blue Jay, I never expected to see you again. Welcome home.”
“Thank you, Governor McLaughlin. The Hands of Mars go where they must.”
“Indeed. I appreciate the speed of your response to our petition, my lord,” McLaughlin replied.
Damien winced and slightly inclined his head.
“I apologize, Governor, but there has been a failure of communication,” he admitted. “Your petition has not yet reached my vessel. I am here in response to a different petition, one against your system.”
“I am afraid I do not know what you mean.”
“Sit down, Governor McLaughlin,” Damien ordered softly. “I am here because Governor Wong of the Míngliàng system has accused the Sherwood Interstellar Patrol of piracy and mass murder. When I left Míngliàng, they had confirmed twenty-one attacks, with a total of over two thousand dead. The vast majority of these attacks were on vessels in transit to or from the Antonius system that they share jurisdiction over with you.
“During the course of one of these attacks, a pair of Míngliàng Security Flotilla destroyers arrived at the jump zone, interrupting an attack. In response, the attacker destroyed the ship they were attempting to capture and engaged the MSF vessels.”
Damien tapped a command on his wrist computer, snapping up the most detailed imagery of the pirate vessel the MSF had fought.
“While the engagement while inconclusive, they did acquire significant sensor data of the pirate vessel,” he concluded. “While the data is insufficient to identify a specific vessel, its armament, acceleration, energy signatures, and mass are all consistent with a frigate of the Sherwood Interstellar Patrol.”
He met Miles James McLaughlin’s gaze levelly as the Governor’s face grew colder and colder.
“Your frigates are custom-built vessels,” he said gently, refusing to meet Grace’s gaze. “There are almost no other warships in the Protectorate that match them in size. I do not have a conclusive match against an individual vessel of the Patrol, but we have a high certainty that this vessel was a Patrol ship.”
“No Patrol ship has done any such thing!” Grace snapped, and Damien finally allowed himself to look at her. His ex-girlfriend was still sitting, but she’d leaned forward and her eyes were flashing with anger. “We have full data on where every Patrol ship goes, what every Patrol ship does. The black boxes record all of that, and we have no record of any vessel engaging the MSF!”
“You should let me finish, Commodore,” Damien told her gently. “I will admit, ladies, gentlemen, I set out from Míngliàng to Sherwood with the intention of impounding the Patrol until I could find the truth. Other events, not least the discovery of your own petition, have impacted that plan.”
He looked around the table. The Patrol officers looked horrified, the civilians angry. Grace McLaughlin was furious, and Miles McLaughlin was a frozen statue.
“I still see no choice, given the evidence I have received, but to restrict the operations of the Patrol,” he said bluntly. “A three light year radius of the Sherwood system should suffice to carry out your anti-piracy duties.”
“What about Antonius?” the second Captain, who hadn’t been introduced before Damien started dropping bomb-shells, asked.
“I am officially declaring Antonius under the protection of the Royal Martian Navy,” the Hand said flatly. “I will be redeploying the destroyers assigned to Sherwood to Antonius as an initial measure, and barring all regional militia ships from the system until the situation is resolved.”
“And what situation, exactly, is that?” the McLaughlin demanded.
“Míngliàng believes you are attacking them, and has evidence to that effect,” Damien told him. “I will want those black box downloads Commodore McLaughlin has mentioned, and I will want full emissions profiles on all of your ships… including the Wil Scarlet.”
“The Wil Scarlet was destroyed – by Míngliàng ships,” Grace snapped. “Did they mention that?”
“They did not,” Damien agreed. “Like you, they did not say anything about their vessels being engaged in a shadow commerce war. However, vessels we have near-conclusively identified as Míngliàng Security Flotilla ships attacked the Duke of Magnificence en route to this system. Combined with your petition and the destruction of the Wil Scarlet, I am suspicious of everyone.
“But I want the Scarlet’s emissions, Commodore, to compare to Míngliàng’s data. Because if the Scarlet is the vessel in their scans, an entirely new possibility arises.”
Damien sighed, looking at the scans of the ship that had attacked the MSF behind him.
“I will answer your petition,” he said quietly. “I will also answer Míngliàng’s petitio
n. As the first step to both, I will be restricting the MSF to a three light year radius of their system as well. Bluntly, I have grounds to be suspicious of you both.”
“And we are simply to acquiesce to these accusations and lies?” the older woman, presumably McLaughlin’s aide, demanded.
“Ma’am, I am the Hand of the Mage-King of Mars,” Damien said flatly. “I speak with his Voice, I act in his name. The information I am requesting could well prove you innocent. It could well condemn you. Refusal to provide it will condemn you.”
“We will provide all of the information you need, and restrict our operations as so requested,” Grace said bluntly. “As soon as the RMN takes over security of Antonius.”
“You don’t have the auth…”
“Yes. She does,” Governor McLaughlin overrode his aide. “Even if I disagreed with her, Commodore McLaughlin can adjust the operations of the Patrol as she sees fit.”
Governor and Commodore met gazes across the table, and McLaughlin nodded once, firmly, and turned his attention back to Damien.
“I allow this under protest,” he noted aloud. “And only because I understand that a presumption of innocence cannot apply on this scale. Understand, my lord Hand, that this will not pass without consequence.”
“I speak for Mars,” the Hand said very, very, softly as he met the McLaughlin’s gaze. “I will not permit a war to be fought under my watch, Governor. Let the consequences fall as they will. I speak for Mars,” he repeated. “Will you listen?”
“Aye, my lord Hand,” the Governor ground out. “We will listen.”
#
Grace had never thought she would ever see Damien so… cold. Not just to her, she’d caught a glimpse of personal warmth when they’d spoken in the corridor, but in general. The Hand had been harsh, if not necessarily unfair, and almost statue-like. Her grandfather had walked in, owning the room the way he always did… and then Damien had run over him like a rogue freight shuttle.
Voice of Mars (Starship's Mage Book 3) Page 9
