The Hand did not own a space the way her grandfather did. He had no more physical presence now than when he’d been a youth. He just didn’t care who owned a space, certain in his reasoning and his authority.
Damien was first out of the room, followed by the elderly man he’d introduced as his political aide, and the imposingly attractive woman he’d called his bodyguard. Grace was behind them, though she kept herself to the slow pace decorum required.
She felt more than saw her bodyguards fall in behind her as she followed Damien into the hallway and didn’t, quite, shout after him.
“Lord Montgomery.”
He stopped, fast enough that his bodyguard almost walked into him. She had a sudden flash of memory, of the first time she’d stopped him in the university hall to ask him out. The same sudden, jerky halt, as if he hadn’t expected to hear the voice speaking to him. A tiny hint of the awkward youth, sneaking through the terrifyingly self-assured man.
“Yes, Commodore McLaughlin?”
The words were formal, the voice cold, but there was something in his eyes as he met her gaze. Something reminiscent of the hope in his eyes that first time he’d stopped like that for her. Something that made the heart of the woman in charge of a star system navy unexpectedly flutter.
“I will have all of the requested data ready this evening,” she told him, resolving that she’d make very sure her people had it together. “If you would like to go over it with me, I believe I can break my evening open.”
Everything she said was true, and there was real value to having the opportunity to present her people’s data to Montgomery in a quieter setting. Part of her also very much wanted to just… talk to Damien. Away from the crisis, away from the titles and the uniforms.
“I will need to meet with the skippers of the Last Stand at Baghdad and the Liberation of Mars before I make further plans,” he told her calmly. He coughed sharply, and some of the ice flowed out of his expression.
Unless she was severely mistaken, the bodyguard had just subtly elbowed him.
“That should only take a few hours,” he continued after a pause. “I suspect it would be valuable to go through the data with a native guide. I will have my staff contact yours.”
“Of course, Lord Montgomery.”
Chapter 14
“So, Julia, are you trying to cause trouble?” Damien asked sardonically as the shuttle cleared the docking bay, headed back to Duke of Magnificence. “Given our history, I’m not certain that putting Commodore McLaughlin and I alone in a room together is going to look good.”
“Why does that matter?” Christoffsen replied before Amiri could answer. “Your reputation is not going to be a factor here. No one is questioning your authority.”
“Yet,” the Hand pointed out. “I’m not sure the McLaughlin has quite separated the boy he knew who defied him from the Hand who can command him. If he thinks I’m sleeping with his granddaughter that lack of separation could cause us problems.”
“Damien, boss,” Amiri interjected, “we really don’t know what’s going on here yet. Your connections with the McLaughlins may be our only chance to find out the truth of what’s going on in Sherwood.”
“I haven’t so much as traded holiday cards with Grace in four and a half years,” Damien pointed out. “Exactly what connection am I supposed to be playing on here?”
“You went to school with her, trained with her, and dated her, for years,” Christoffsen replied. “Most people still consider that a connection some decades later, let alone four years.”
“Besides,” Amiri continued with a grin that Damien knew was trouble, “did you see her come out after you? Doing her best not to give the impression of a star-struck schoolgirl and failing miserably?”
“I am… reasonably certain you’re exaggerating,” the Hand replied. “Mostly because I know you were following me, not watching the door behind us.”
“Touché,” his bodyguard admitted. “Seriously, though, what she’s offering is actually valuable, and her knowledge of this system and its politics could save us a lot of trouble. Not to mention, on a completely unrelated note, the both of you clearly want to sit down and catch up, and this is a justifiable excuse.”
Damien looked at Amiri flatly.
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be micro-managing my social life,” he pointed out.
“She’s not,” Christoffsen assured him, looking far too amused. “She’s just pointing out that it’s clearly your duty to throw yourself on that unexploded redhead for Mage-King and Protectorate.”
#
By the time Damien returned to the Duke of Magnificence, the captains of the two Martian destroyers that had been assigned to provide security in Sherwood had reported aboard. Jakab’s people had slotted them into the conference room near Damien’s observatory office, and they were waiting – surprisingly patiently for people used to being the master after God of their vessels – when he and Jakab arrived.
“Thank you for your patience,” he told them as he took a seat at the head of the table. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive so promptly.
“We've got two million tons of warship to provide security for a system with forty-two million tons of their own ships,” Mage-Captain Ann Bonaventure, commander of the Last Stand at Alamo replied. “John and myself are hardly, ah, busy.”
Captain, not Mage-Captain, John Arrow agreed with a sharp nod. He was a bulky man of average height, almost plump. He was also the first Royal Martian Navy ship commander Damien had ever seen who wasn’t a Mage, capable of jumping his ship and fighting her amplifier himself. It said volumes about his competence.
“We’re decorative,” he said crisply. “More of an embassy than a real patrol posting.”
“I don’t necessarily agree with your assessment,” Damien pointed out. If nothing else, the destroyers carried four Mages each to the Sherwood Patrol ships’ three. In an emergency, they could bring help faster than anyone else. “Nonetheless, you’re right that your mission here can be abandoned without great risk. I have tasks for both of you.”
Bonaventure and Arrow came as close to attention as they could while sitting, both officers utterly focused.
Damien brought up a star map of the sector.
“I have officially declared the Antonius system,” he highlighted the star, eight light years from both Míngliàng and Sherwood – and twenty from the next closest system, “under Martian protection and ordered the regional militias to withdraw from that system. Captain Arrow.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“You will take the Dreams of Liberty to Antonius, where you will take over security for the system,” Damien ordered. “You will also carry a message from me to the Míngliàng Flotilla force in the system – they are to withdraw to a three light year radius of Míngliàng. The same restriction,” he noted as he saw Arrow’s concerned expression, “has been imposed on the Patrol. I want to avoid further incidents until I have established the truth of events.”
“I understand, sir,” Arrow said calmly. “What are my duties in the system itself?”
“Once you have seen to the withdrawal of any and all militia ships in the system, you will be fully in charge of system security and peacekeeping until we can get you reinforcements,” Damien told him. The stout Captain swallowed hard, but nodded.
“I don’t plan on leaving you hanging for long,” the Hand assured him. “Captain Bonaventure.”
“My lord?” the Last Stand at Alamo’s commander replied.
“I’m sending you first to the base at Corinthian and then onto Nia Kriti. You’re to commandeer warships, under my authority, from both commands,” Damien instructed. “We still have yards under construction at Corinthian, so I don’t think we can take more than half of their destroyers – but that’s still four more ships to back up Captain Arrow until you can pull the cruisers from Nia Kriti.”
“All of them, sir?” she asked. “That’s a lot of firepower.”
There
were, according to Damien’s update, twenty-four destroyers and eight cruisers at the Nia Kriti Navy Base, with responsibility for almost a third of the Fringe.
“Admiral Medici will understand,” Damien promised. “He once saved my life. I’m sure he’d love to add to the ledger.”
“Yes, my lord,” Bonaventure said calmly. “But…”
“Captains, understand this – right now, I have grounds to believe that both Míngliàng and Sherwood are engaged in a shadow conflict attacking each other’s civilian shipping,” the Hand said grimly. “I want enough firepower in place to be able to defeat both their fleets. Combined, if necessary.”
“Nia Kriti is also a long way, sir,” she pointed out. “It will be three weeks before I can return with Admiral Medici.”
“I know,” Damien admitted. “But it’s closer than any of the Core Worlds, and not all of them have a full cruiser squadron. Ardennes would have been better before Commodore Cor’s mutiny, but that station no longer has any more ships than Sherwood. Admiral Medici is our best option.”
“Then I’ll get him for you, sir,” Bonaventure promised.
“I’m more concerned about you, Captain Arrow,” Damien told the other commander. “Do not hesitate to commandeer transports to send as couriers. I will either be here, in Antonius, or in Míngliàng until this situation is resolved. We should be able to reinforce you inside forty-eight hours from either system, depending on the speed of the freighter you send.
“If we’re evicting the regional militias, then responsibility for the system falls on us,” he reminded his three Captains. “And what point is His Majesty’s Protectorate if we fail to protect His people?”
#
“Status report,” Kole Jakab requested as he returned to the command chair on his bridge. The Mage-Captain hated the meetings he got dragged to along with the Hand. When Damien wanted or needed his advice, he’d give it, but he was no fan of the politicians and local jokers-in-uniform the Hand tended to meet.
“We have a fifth frigate on the scopes, the Alan-a-dale,” his XO, Mage-Commander Larry Bruce, reported. “Just back in from a patrol to Antonius, they’re reporting no issues or incidents. The pair of frigates on trials are doing live fire laser testing, which is always entertaining to watch, and Sherwood Orbital Three is having traffic congestion.”
“And that last is important why exactly, Commander Bruce?” Kole asked dryly.
“Because it’s the most exciting thing happening in this system, skipper,” Bruce replied. “If these people are plotting a war, boss, they’re being damned subtle about it.”
“Wouldn’t you be, with a Hand in the system?” the Mage-Captain asked. “The Commodore’s people were supposed to reach out to schedule a meeting with Lord Montgomery. Any word yet?”
“Rain?” Bruce asked, glancing over at the bald young woman running coms. “I got the summary, but give the skipper the details.”
She nodded, turning away from her console to face her senior officers.
“I spoke to Commander Arrington,” Lieutenant Rain reported crisply. “They’ll be forwarding the black box data from the Maid Marian and Robin Hood in about an hour. He figured it would take them another couple of hours to pull together the data for the Wil Scarlet and the two ships out of system, and an hour to get a full update from the Alan-a-dale once she docks.
“He thinks they’ll have everything together by about twenty hundred hours Olympus Mons Time and suggested the Hand and Commodore meet for a late supper on Sherwood Orbital. The Commodore apparently has an apartment and office on Ring One.”
“The Hand’s schedule is fully open,” Kole noted. No one on his staff needed to know any of the undercurrents being discussed amongst Damien’s personal subordinates. “We’re here until Commander Renzetti returns, so if a late supper works for the Commodore and her data analysts, book it in.”
“Yes, sir,” Rain confirmed, turning back to her console.
Kole turned to Bruce. “Larry, notify the Deck Officer to have a shuttle prepped to take the Hand over for a twenty hundred hour meeting. Probably just him and Special Agent Amiri, but check with Agent Amiri on the level of protection she thinks is necessary.”
Bruce shook his head.
“You realize that the Hand is more dangerous than any bodyguard we can send with him, right?”
“He’s still only got one set of eyes, Larry,” Kole said. “Hand or not, he’ll still die if someone shoots him in the back – and I am not going to be the one explaining that to Desmond Michael Alexander!”
Chapter 15
Grace Alarie McLaughlin was the Commodore of the Sherwood Interstellar Patrol. The uniformed commander of an entire planet’s spaceborne defenses, answerable only the Governor. She was meeting with a senior representative of the interstellar government that included her world, to face harsh and dangerous accusations against the military force she commanded.
She was also, at this moment, utterly convinced that she was an idiot. Despite the weight of the meeting she was supposed to be having with Hand Montgomery, she found herself nervously waiting for his shuttle to arrive like a teenager on a first date.
Fortunately, if Sergeant Gibbons could tell, the big Patrol non-com was pretending otherwise. Grace very carefully did not turn around to see if her bodyguard was smirking. She’d learned the gradations of the soft-spoken man’s smirks over the last year and didn’t care to see which one was on display tonight.
Finally, Montgomery’s shuttle locked to the docking collar and promptly disgorged Damien – accompanied by a pair of women, one the tall brunette from the meeting and the other a lanky blond whose Marine uniform seemed inappropriately tightly cut to Grace’s eyes.
“Lord Montgomery,” she greeted him, stepping forward and offering her hand. Shaking his, she noticed the long black gloves he wore. Most Jump Mages wore gloves of some kind, as did any formally trained Combat Mage – both professions came with necessary runes being carved into your palm – but she’d never met anyone who wore gloves that went up to their elbows.
“Commodore McLaughlin,” he replied with a slight nod of his head. “I do appreciate your willingness to assist in this matter.”
“If you’ll come this way, I have all of the files prepared in my office,” she told him. She met his gaze and he smiled, the lines stretching all the way up into his eyes with a spark that brought back warm memories.
“Of course, Grace,” he said softly. “Lead the way.”
They made it through the station with small talk about nothing in particular. Their professional discussions couldn’t be held in public, and if there was a personal discussion to have… well, that was even more private.
Reaching her office – which Grace was suddenly very aware was connected to her station-side apartment – she turned to face Damien again. The gravity was ever-so-slightly noticeably heavier here at the outside of the rotating ring, which had to be the reason for her fast-beating heart.
“I’ve had my steward prepare dinner,” she told him, glancing towards the bodyguards. “I’m sure we can make more for Agent Amiri and…?”
The Special Agent smiled and winked at Grace.
“Corporal Williams and I will join Sergeant Gibbons, I think,” Amiri told them. “Between the three of us, I think we can manage to scare up some food and keep anyone from interrupting your meeting.”
Gibbons’ smirk expanded and Grace tried not to glare at her bodyguard.
“That seems reasonable to me, ma’am,” he agreed. “You don’t want to have to explain the difference between hydrogen and antimatter to us security types. We’ll keep things under control out here while you two sort through the files.”
“Of course,” Montgomery allowed, though there was… something to his voice suggesting this was a surprise to him too. “After you, Commodore?”
Hoping the assorted subordinates couldn’t see her nervousness, Grace opened up the door and walked into her office. Her steward had set up a small table with
two chairs and covered trays of food, in a spot where both of them could see the wallscreen, exactly as she’d instructed.
The door hissed shut behind her and Grace inhaled sharply at the realization that, for the first time in over four years, she was alone with Damien Montgomery.
#
Damien took one of the seats at the table, trying to conceal his own awkwardness. The last time he’d been alone with Grace McLaughlin, it had been the last night before she left Sherwood on a jump ship – and they’d spent it in bed together.
There was enough hesitance to her taking her own seat for him to suspect she was feeling a similar awkwardness. With everything going on, with the fate of two star systems on the line, it was bitterly amusing to him that their own personal history was clearly high in both their minds.
“You wanted to walk me through these files,” he finally said. “Was there anything specific you wanted to show me?”
“A few things,” she confirmed. “We should eat, the trays will only keep food warm so long.”
He was willing to let her set the tone of the evening for now. He doubted Grace was planning on outright lying to him, so the clues, if any, would be in what she didn’t show him as much as what she did.
Laying aside his gloves and removing the tray, he stopped as the smell of mint marinated lamb chops and asparagus wafted up – the same meal they’d eaten on their first date almost eight years ago now. He arched an eyebrow at Grace and was gratified to see a hint of a blush wash over her cheeks.
“I did not specify a menu, if you’re wondering,” she said quickly as she laid aside her own tray cover. She saw the runes on the backs of his hands and wrists – runes no other Mage would have – but clearly chose to focus on the mundane. “Kyle is a fantastic cook, though. It looks delicious.”
A few bites in and Damien could not argue. Grace took several bites of her own food and a sip of her wine, then tapped a few commands. The wallscreen lit up with the new seal of the Sherwood Interstellar Patrol – the encircled bagpipes and eagle of Sherwood split by crossed swords, with a trio of stars on either side of the blades.
Voice of Mars (Starship's Mage Book 3) Page 10
