Voice of Mars (Starship's Mage Book 3)

by Glynn Stewart

  The captain looked around at his crew and nodded once, firmly. “We’ll send it under Code Omega,” he told them.

  The recording froze.

  “While Captain Arrow was recording his message to us, the Alan-a-dale was closing with the Dreams of Liberty,” Rhine noted. “The Alan-a-dale engaged her from the maximum effective range of her own lasers, significantly outside the effective range of the Dreams’ laser weaponry or amplifier. Sensor records from the Rains at Sunset confirm that the Dreams of Liberty was badly damaged in the exchange that followed his transmission, and was destroyed less than five minutes after Arrow sent this message.

  “By that point in time, the Alan-a-dale was undamaged, but out of range to successfully engage any of the eleven freighters fleeing the system with missiles or lasers. All of them made it to Antonius-Míngliàng Jump One. So far as Captain Vang is aware, the Alan-a-dale did not follow them.”

  Damien looked at the screen, now frozen on the tactical plot of the Alan-a-dale’s approach.

  “How is that even possible?” he demanded. “We know where the Alan-a-dale was, and where she was going…” he paused, and looked over at Amiri. “Julia, would we have enough information for you to confirm where she jumped?”

  Before Julia Amiri had joined the Secret Service, she’d been a bounty hunter – a terrifyingly good one. One of the reasons for that had been that she’d learned a skillset few outside the Hunters ever even knew existed – the ability to judge where a ship had jumped by the energy signature.

  He’d seen it work, but she’d never managed to teach anyone else. Personally, Damien suspected that the Trackers possessed their own unique Gift, related to but distinct from that of regular Mages – and quite likely more related to his own Rune Wright abilities.

  “We had the full sensor suite online investigating the Mistletoe Solstice,” she said slowly. “We should. Damn it, Damien – I should have thought of that then.”

  “We weren’t being paranoid enough,” Damien said grimly. “Confirm it for me, Julia. If that was the Alan-a-dale – and I have no reason to doubt Captain Arrow – then Governor Wong will demand Captain Wayne’s head as the price of peace.

  “And I do not have the slightest issue with giving it to him.”

  Chapter 27

  Special Agent Julia Amiri sighed as she shooed the last of the crew out of the room. The tactical department techs in the Duke of Magnificence’s secondary sensor control room wanted to be helpful, but for something like this she really needed privacy.

  The room wasn’t big, just large enough for four techs to run a backup set of consoles if something happened to the Combat Information Center. Its main value for her, right now, was that it had full access to the sensor logs, and a full set of surrounding screens.

  She brought up the moment that the Alan-a-dale­ had jumped, and studied it for a long moment in the standard tactical plot sensor overlay. There wasn’t actually much of an energy signature when a ship disappeared. To most scanners, the ship was there one moment and gone the next.

  With a keypress on one of the consoles, Julia split apart the layers. Thermal. Visible light. High wavelength radiation. Low wavelength radiation. Seventeen different bands of electromagnetic radiation all told.

  Then gravity measurements. The notoriously unreliable ‘thaumaturgic signature’ scanners. Tachyon and neutron scanners.

  Twenty-five layers, each overlaid and separate, and Julia smiled. It had been years since she’d really dug into Tracking a starship. She’d tried to train people when she’d joined the service, but only a handful of her students ever really got what she was after.

  Montgomery had come closer than many, but he’d lacked the time to study then. A year’s effort had produced a grand total of three Trackers for the Protectorate, and she’d begged Alaura Stealey, the Hand who’d brought her in from the cold, for a field placement.

  Some of those had involved Tracking, but then she and Montgomery had ended up on Ardennes, and she’d realized the Mage-King’s most magically powerful Hand needed somebody to watch his back.

  But now, she hunted the patterns. No single layer revealed anything. A first glance, in fact, showed nothing. Carefully, her tongue between her teeth, Amiri set out reorganizing the layers, hunting the patterns she knew were there.

  It wasn’t a fast process. But when it was done, she would know if it truly was Captain Wayne who’d murdered the miners at Antonius.

  #

  “Governor, I owe you my apologies as well as my condolences,” Damien told Governor Wong quietly. “I honestly did not believe that anyone would be willing to attack a Protectorate warship – or to commit an atrocity of this scale. We failed your people.”

  “The crime was Sherwood’s,” Wong said flatly from the wallscreen in Damien’s office. “I have ordered Admiral Phan to complete a full mobilization of the Míngliàng Security Flotilla. The Patrol has become a clear and present threat, and I will deal with it.”

  “This is no longer your jurisdiction,” the Hand continued, his voice still quiet. “The Protectorate assumed responsibility for Antonius’s safety. We now have responsibility for its justice as well.”

  “Twenty-five thousand of my people were murdered, Lord Montgomery – an atrocity, as you say. An act of war I will not allow to pass.”

  “You speak of acts of war as if you are a sovereign nation, Governor,” Damien replied, remembering saying the same words to Governor McLaughlin with a chill of déjà vu. “You have no authority to wage war using the MSF, Governor. You have the right to ask for Protectorate assistance, and we are already in motion.”

  “If you were going to save us, then my people would not be dead,” Wong snapped. “Your intervention has only weakened us. Only cost lives. I question your true loyalties, Montgomery!”

  If they had been in the same room instead of speaking over the screen, the anger that flashed through Damien could easily have had… dangerous consequences. As it was, he was glad his hands weren’t visible in the image being sent to Wong, as fire encased them and incinerated his gloves as he breathed deeply to control himself.

  “Three hundred and fourteen Martian Navy personnel died to protect your station and your ships,” he said coldly. “Had your three destroyers been there, the result would have been no different – there would only have been more deaths. I will not permit you to start this war, Governor. I will relieve you first.”

  “And if I refuse to be relieved?” Wong demanded. “If I refuse to bow tamely to the child of my enemy that the Mage-King has sent me? What will you do then, ‘Lord’ Montgomery?”

  “You would leave me a choice between executing you or expelling Míngliàng from the Protectorate,” Damien told him. “Most likely, I think I would neutralize the MSF as non-lethally as possible. Expending those resources, however, could easily prevent me from seeking justice for your people!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I speak for Mars,” Damien thundered, raising his voice for the first time and watching the Governor flinch backwards. “I am the Hand of the Mage-King, and I will do whatever I must to stop this war. I speak for Mars,” he repeated. “Will you listen?”

  Governor Wong met his glare for a moment of silence.

  “Then speak,” Wong ordered.

  “I have grounds to believe that at least one Captain in the Sherwood Patrol has gone rogue,” Damien explained. “The Duke’s tactical department have confirmed, with the data from the Dreams of Liberty, that every time your people have a confirmed frigate encounter they can identify, it was the Alan-a-dale. I believe Captain Wayne, as the acting second in command of the Patrol, attempted to murder Commodore McLaughlin – with the intent of using her murder, along with the attacks by apparent Míngliàng vessels, to trigger a war between your systems.”

  “Wait, apparent Míngliàng vessels?” the Governor interjected. He appeared to be at least partially playing for time.

  “We’ve reviewed the scan data we have,” the H
and told him. “Comparing it to your actual ships and the data you gave us, the attacks on Sherwood shipping appear to have been carried out by someone with ships that have been heavily modified to appear as MSF vessels to even relatively close inspection. They faked up uniforms and armor for a boarding operation I’m now convinced we were intended to find footage of.

  “Governor, someone is trying to start a war between you and Sherwood. The identification of the Alan-a-dale is the first solid lead we have – and we know Captain Wayne killed your people.

  “Give me time,” he begged. “Give me time, and I will bring Captain Wayne to justice for the crew of the Processing Facility. I will find his sponsors, and whoever is tarring your world’s name. If Michael Wayne is guilty, he will pay for his crimes.”

  “And in what world do you think he is not guilty?” Wong demanded.

  “I don’t,” Damien admitted. “But I am the Hand of the Mage-King, I cannot leap to conclusions without evidence. Given that I now know someone is using disguised ships, I cannot convict without more data.”

  “I understand your concern,” the Governor finally admitted. “But my people need to see action. My dead deserve justice.”

  “I will bring them justice,” Damien promised. “All of the dead, Governor – Sherwood’s. Míngliàng’s. The Navy’s. I will see justice done – starting with Captain Michael Wayne.”

  He shook his head, glancing at his computer screen. “If you must be seen to do something, Governor,” he noted, “there are still freighters scattered from here to Antonius whose safety is in question. I will partially release the operational restriction on the MSF to allow you to collect those ships safely.

  “But if you take your ships to Sherwood, Governor, one way or another, the Míngliàng Security Flotilla will cease to exist,” Damien promised. “Do you understand me?”

  “You have seventy-two hours,” Wong finally conceded. “If you have not brought me Michael Wayne, or conclusive evidence of his innocence and someone else’s guilt, by then, I will do what I feel is necessary.”

  A text-only message flashed up on his screen – from Amiri.

  The Alan-a-dale jumped to Antonius. Wayne did it.

  “What?” Wong asked, as Damien stared at his Tracker’s message.

  “I just received that ‘more data’ I mentioned,” he said quietly. “We will be leaving for Sherwood momentarily, Governor. I think we can give you both justice and satisfaction.”

  #

  Damien entered the Duke’s bridge to find it a scene of chaos. Officers were rushing around the normally calm room, passing datapads and electronic messages back and forth in a flurry of activity.

  Jakab spotted him after a moment, and dodged past an Ensign half-running towards Commander Rhine with a patient smile.

  “Apologies for the atmosphere, sir,” he told Damien. “We were expecting to be in orbit for several days, but given the news out of Antonius I ordered us moved to full combat readiness. We are fueled and ready to deploy anywhere you want us, sir.”

  The Mage-Captain’s competence – and foresight – reassured the Hand, who glanced around at the chaos and noted the familiar patterns of a ship preparing to clear orbit. A civilian ship would have fewer personnel, but the chaos and patterns would be much the same.

  “Well done, Captain,” Damien finally said. “We’ll need to be under way as soon as physically possible. How long?”

  “One hour to jump distance,” Jakab replied instantly. “Where are we headed?”

  “Sherwood, Mage-Captain,” the Hand told him. “We need to arrest Captain Wayne, and he should have been recalled by now.”

  “Understood, sir,” the Duke’s commander agreed. “I’m assuming we’ll be entering the system at battle stations, then? Just in case.”

  “Yes,” Damien confirmed. “We’ll go in fully armed and watching for trouble. I don’t expect to have to destroy the Alan-a-dale, not when she’s surrounded by the rest of the Patrol, but it may be necessary.”

  “Unless the rest of the Patrol tries to protect her, sir, she is no match for the Duke,” Jakab said confidently.

  “I trust Commodore McLaughlin,” the Hand told him. “If Wayne tries to fight, the rest of the Patrol will be with us.” He paused, considering for a moment as he studied the simulacrum at the center of the bridge. “Include me on the jump rotation, Captain,” he ordered finally. “I have a bad feeling about this, and I want to be in Sherwood now.”

  Chapter 28

  Grace McLaughlin’s office aboard the Robin Hood was just large enough to get a good solid pace going. Twelve steps one way, twelve steps the other, looking at the tactical plot one way and out the skylight into space the other.

  She was angry with Damien. Angry with Míngliàng. Angry with whoever the traitor in her own ranks was. None of these were particularly actionable angers, which left the commanding office of the Sherwood Interstellar Patrol pacing her office impotently.

  A status report on her desk informed her that the Nottingham and the Lionheart had completed their abbreviated work-ups. Both frigates were due to rendezvous with the rest of the patrol in orbit in under an hour, bringing her available force up to six frigates.

  The last she’d heard from the Defender Yards was that she’d have the Loxley and the Newstead Abbey online in six hours. Neither would be fully crewed or even, honestly, fully functional. But they’d have missile launchers, lasers, ammunition and – thankfully! – Jump Mages.

  Finding those had been a pain, and she wasn’t sure the head of the Jump Mage program at the University of Sherwood City’s Thaumaturgy department was ever going to speak to her again. She’d scooped his best professor and three un-graduated students to man warships.

  Guilty as she felt about that, the situation had her worried enough that she’d done it anyway. Sherwood had less than eleven thousand Mages in two billion people. While a normal ratio for a MidWorld, and higher than many Fringe worlds, it was still fewer than a Core World. The Royal Martian Navy had access to the Sol system with its million-plus Mages. She had whatever she could scrape out of a University classroom.

  But, unless her math was wrong, Montgomery’s courier ship should have been back hours ago. The Alan-a-dale was also overdue, though that could easily have been the civilian courier ship she’d hired to deliver the recall notice missing a connection and having to chase the frigate through a few jumps.

  FN-2187’s absence worried her. The courier had been supposed to short-stop shipping from Antonius, though that wouldn’t start showing up as an impact for a day or so yet given how much slower freighters were than a Navy courier.

  Even with delivering Montgomery’s orders to both colonies, the courier should still have returned twelve hours ago. That kind of schedule slip she might expect from a civilian freighter but, again, not for a Navy courier.

  The thought that she and her Patrol needed a Navy babysitter was why she was angry. Intellectually, she knew that Montgomery sitting on the Míngliàng Security Flotilla with a battlecruiser but sending a courier to watch her Patrol was about as much trust as the Hand could extend.

  That didn’t stop her feeling that a man she’d once loved and was still very much interested in had told her he couldn’t afford to trust her. She could understand why, but it still hurt.

  Grace stopped at the skylight, staring out into space at Sherwood Orbital. The Robin Hood was far enough away she couldn’t see the damage where someone had tried to kill her and Montgomery. Even she could see how all of the evidence pointed back to Sherwood. All the answers led home.

  Accord had promised her an update that evening, as it was still a little over twelve hours away. She was tempted to call and demand to know what lead he’d found worth following.

  She turned and paced back to the tactical plot, studying the positions of her ships. Six ships. Thirty-six million tons of warship – twice what Míngliàng had. The new warship order she’d been warned about would hugely increase the MSF’s strength, but once sh
e had all nine of her ships together – assuming the Alan-a-dale­ was just late – she’d still have the edge.

  An icon flared on the tactical plot. A jump flare!

  “Bridge, this is McLaughlin,” she said crisply. “Identify that ship.”

  “Working on it, ma’am,” Lieutenant Jason Anderson, the officer currently on watch replied. “We’re receiving a transmission – it’s the Alan-a-dale.”

  Grace sighed. At least she was down to only one overdue ship now, but she’d hoped it would be FN-2187. The missing courier was really starting to worry her.

  “Tell Captain Wayne to get his ship into orbit ASAP,” she ordered. “He’s to refuel and be prepared for immediate deployment.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Anderson replied. “I have a note in their message that they need missile resupply – they had completed live fire exercises while they were out.”

  “He did what?” Grace said flatly while searching her memory. She had to have ordered him not to do that. Given the suspicions already laid against the Patrol, missing missiles were the last thing she needed… but she hadn’t actually ordered him not to carry out any exercises. She’d just assumed Wayne wasn’t an idiot.

  “They conducted a live fire exercise,” Anderson repeated. From his tone, he’d heard enough of the rumors to guess why his Commodore was irritated, and didn’t want any of it to spill on him.

  Grace sighed again.

  “I will discuss that with Captain Wayne later,” she conceded. “Please organize a refueling ship and a collier, Lieutenant.” She paused, a moment of pure paranoia striking her. “And Jason,” she said very, very quietly, “I want you to personally verify how many missiles they transfer.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Live fire exercises are a single salvo, Lieutenant,” she reminded him. “I want you to confirm for me that the collier only loads one salvo. If Wayne fired more than that, I need to know.”