Hudis had a fleeting image of the thin waiter with thick glasses and receding hair who had hovered over the tables. “Well, which is it, have we been infiltrated or are you going to murder three people because you think they might be spies?”
Inger eyed him with barely restrained distaste. “If you put it that way, Citizen Secretary, yes, I am going to murder three people because I think they might be spies.”
“Do you have any evidence they are spies?” Hudis pressed.
Colonel Inger steepled his fingers in front of him. “I have no evidence they are not, Citizen Secretary. Do you?”
“And the fourth?” Hudis asked testily. “You said there were four?”
“The fourth is a soldier in the Dominion military. He was assigned to escort our admiral and his staff. He knows that they were here. He may not know who the Cape Bretons are, but he will certainly know that there was someone from Tilleke here.”
“One of ours, then!” Hudis said sharply. “We don’t kill our own people!” Colonel Inger stared at him expressionlessly. How can a man with this much power be so naive? Inger wondered.
“No,” ordered Hudis. “Send him back to Timor, under guard if you must.”
“And the others, Citizen Director?”
“Take care of them as you see fit,” Hudis snapped irritably. There was never really any question about it. Nothing could be allowed to risk Family Reunion.
Colonel Inger bowed and left. Hudis poured himself a small cognac and stood by the window. After several minutes of watching the ocean and sipping the smooth liquor, he felt his shoulders loosen and his mind slow its ceaseless darting about. War has a way of letting the Colonel Ingers of the world reach a prominence and stature they could never achieve in peacetime, he mused. In peacetime, we keep our predators restrained, hobbled. But the chaos of strife nurtures them, exhilarates them. Makes them…ambitious. He turned away from the window and poured a second cognac.
How ambitious? We’ll need the good Colonel Inger for some time, Hudis thought to himself. But afterwards?
Chapter 13
P.D. 951
The Spy
On Darwin
The waiter with the thick glasses waited stoically until his shift ended. Soon now, very soon, they would come to kill him. Or not. But if they did, he could not run, could not try to escape. The Abbott was clear on that point. “You must live long enough to drop your package, Reuven, and then you must wait,” the Abbot had instructed all those months ago. “This is the terrible risk, I know, but if you suddenly disappear then they will know that they have been discovered and all will be undone.”
But the shift ended without incident. He changed into street clothes and walked several blocks to the harbor, to a bar he drank at two or three times a week. It catered to locals, not tourists. It was dark and noisy. One or two of the regulars waived at him. The bar tender nodded in silent recognition and passed over his usual beer without a word. He took it and sat at his usual corner table. In the middle of the table was bowl of peanuts and dried fruit. And a small, flickering candle.
This is why he chose this bar. If he were ever caught with a candle in his room, questions might be asked. Someone might take note and wonder. But here every table had a candle; it was the owner’s attempt at creating an illusion of intimacy. And so he sat, beer in hand, staring at the dancing flame. And in his mind he recalled the Three Doctrines:
The First: God beckons. Our task is to seek the Light.
The Second: There are many paths to the Light. All are difficult. A man must strive.
The Final Doctrine: Death in search of the Light is not death.
His name was Reuvin. He was a Devote from the planet Canaan, sent to Darwin years earlier to spy on the Dominion agents there. For four years he had watched, listened and reported things of little consequence. Then several months ago there had been a meeting with a man The Light knew was a prince of the Tilleke Royal Family. The others were unknown, but clearly from different nations. Security at the meeting had been very tight, preventing Reuven from learning its purpose. He waited. Eventually he learned there would be another meeting. New instructions had come from the Church. Urgent instructions. And now here he was, about to make his final drop.
He stood and walked to the bathroom at the back of the bar. No one else was there. Moving quickly, he went to the waste bin, which was half full of discarded paper towels. He reached into it, groped around and then withdrew a paper towel wrapped around a hard object. He hurriedly unwrapped it, fearful someone else might enter. He withdrew a pair of black glasses with thick lens, identical to the ones he was wearing. He removed his glasses, wrapped them in the paper towel and replaced it at the bottom of the bin. Putting on the new glasses, he returned to his table.
The relief he felt was almost palpable. He had done it. His mission was over. He sipped his beer unconcernedly, not bothering to look around. They were there or they weren’t. God has a plan for us all. Then, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he spread his hands out toward the candle flame and swept them back towards his face. “There are many paths to the Light,” he murmured softly. “And each must find his own.” A deep feeling or serenity and peace flooded through him. He had done all that had been asked of him.
Now let them come.
Chapter 14
P.D. 952
Intelligence Briefing
On Space Station Atlas in Victorian Space
Lieutenant Hiram Brill took a deep breath, stood and walked to the podium. “Good morning,” he said. No matter that he had given briefings twenty times before, he could still hear the tremor in his voice. His audience, the ten senior admirals of the Victorian Fleet Council, stared at him stone-faced. The senior admirals for the Home, Second and Third fleets were there. Home Fleet was permanently stationed in Victorian space; Second, the largest of the three, was assigned to patrol the border with DUC; and Third on a constant series of “courtesy visits” to the other inhabited sectors, a not-so-subtle reminder to everyone that Victoria was the biggest, badest military power in the known universe.
In addition to the Fleet admirals, there were the commanders for Logistics and Personnel, Operations, and Intelligence. The meeting was chaired by Admiral Giunta, the First Sea Lord. Ten admirals all together, staring at one lowly lieutenant.
“Today’s briefing concerns recent developments between the Tilleke Empire and the Arcadian sector,” Brill continued. “As you know, five months ago Emperor Chalabi declared that unless Arcadia sold Tilleke ziridium at heavily discounted rates, he would deny Arcadian freighters transit rights to pass through Tilleke space. Although this is in violation of the Darwin Accords, the Emperor…”
“We are well aware of the history! Tell us something we don’t know, Lieutenant,” snapped Admiral Skiffington, head of Second Fleet.
Brill’s face flushed. He darted a quick glance at Rear Admiral Teehan, head of the Victorian Intelligence Bureau and his ultimate boss. Teehan placidly returned his gaze.
“Of course, Admiral,” Brill said more calmly than he felt. “Under protest from the League, the Emperor has not closed the shipping lanes to Arcadia, but within the last four weeks three Arcadian freighters have disappeared.”
“Yes, yes, we know that, Lieutenant,” Skiffington growled. “Do you have anything new to add, or is this briefing a waste of our time?” He swiveled in his seat to look at Admiral Teehan. “Really, Jeffrey, it’s bad enough that you’ve sent a lieutenant to brief us, but this is old news.”
“Give the boy a chance, Admiral,’ Teehan replied evenly. “There’s more.”
“And the Lieutenant is here at my express order, Admiral.” Admiral Giunta stared coldly at Skiffington. There was a spark of tension in the room. There was little love lost between the two men. Everyone knew that Admiral Skiffington wanted Admiral Giunta’s job as First Sea Lord, and had been actively lobbying with members of the Legislature to get it. Giunta nodded at Brill. “Continue.”
“W
hat has not yet been made public is that tomorrow the Arcadian ambassador will formally protest to the League and petition the League to impose civil and military sanctions against the Tilleke Empire for piracy.”
“Well,” said Vice Admiral Alyce Douthat, Home Fleet, in a mischievous tone, “that should get a reaction from the good Emperor.
“This is obviously a job for Second Fleet,” Admiral Skiffington declared. “After all, Second Fleet has more combat experience than any other Victorian unit.”
The Home and Third Fleet admirals bristled at that remark, but before they could say anything, Brill spoke again. “Forgive me, Admiral, but there is something more. When the Arcadian ambassador makes his request, he will also announce that Arcadia and the Dominion of Unified Citizenry have entered into a mutual assistance pact. Starting immediately, all Arcadian freighters crossing Tilleke space will be escorted by DUC military vessels.”
“Well, well,” muttered Vice Admiral Katherine Penn, Third Fleet. “Isn’t that interesting?”
“That is preposterous,” Skiffington fumed. “Why would Arcadia look to the Ducks, for Christ’s sake! Why wouldn’t they come to Victoria? We’ve got the best fleet and we’re closer.” Left unspoken was that the Dominion had only been involved in one military confrontation in the past few years and had lost to Admiral Skiffington himself.
“Maybe it’s because the Arcadians don’t like us very much,” suggested Vice Admiral Penn. Arcadian freighters had to pass through Victorian space in order to reach at least six of its markets. The Darwin Trade Accords prohibited any tax or tariff on goods being shipped through any Sector, but it did allow for customs inspections. The Victorian Legislature promptly passed a law requiring that all shipments passing through Victorian space be inspected for contraband, hazardous materials and prohibited goods. Victoria had a limited number of customs inspectors, however, and inspection delays could tie up a valuable freighter for four or five weeks. To avoid that, shippers usually offloaded their goods at special customs warehouses, owned either directly by the Victorian government itself or specially licensed private businesses. The slow inspection process meant that a shipper was forced to keep a lot of his goods in Victorian warehouses for weeks, sometimes months. And the warehouse fees were steep. Very steep. The Arcadians had complained for years of the high storage fees, to no avail. Victoria was the central shipping nexus, and it shamelessly exploited it.
“No, I don’t suppose they do,” Admiral Giunta remarked dryly. “But this development means that we will have Duck war ships passing through Victorian space on a routine basis.” He paused, absently toying with his pen. “Kathy, I want you move Third Fleet to Windsor and replace the Second Fleet there.” He shifted to look at Admiral Skiffington. “I want Second Fleet brought back to Victoria and placed in deep orbit around Cornwall. If we need to take action, Second Fleet will be our primary strike force.”
Vice Admiral Skiffington nodded in agreement, smiling broadly.
“Admiral!” the Third Fleet commander protested, “there’s no reason why Third Fleet can’t handle this. From what we know of the Tilleke navy, we-”
Admiral Giunta held up a hand to forestall her. “That’s the problem, Kathy. We just don’t know.” He turned to the head of Intelligence. “Jeffrey, how current is our information on Tilleke technology?”
Rear Admiral Teehan frowned. “It’s not current at all, Admiral. Our latest information on their military technology is at least seven years old. Every time we’ve sent agents in to spy on them, they disappear. No reports, no information. And we have not been able to observe any tests or weapons trials. We know they have a huge development program based on the materials they’ve bought from others, but we just do not know what they have done with it.”
Admiral Giunta turned back to Vice Admiral Penn. “That’s the problem, Kathy: we don’t know what we are up against. Second Fleet is bigger, with newer ships. If there is a shooting war, I want Second Fleet there first.”
Penn frowned, but said nothing. Beside her, Admiral Skiffington looked thoughtful. “If I may, Admiral,” he said pensively. “I know I can come on a little strong about Second Fleet’s abilities sometimes-”
“And all the time I thought you were shy and introverted,” Alyce Douthat said in mock astonishment. A dry chuckle sounded around the table.
Skiffington smiled in wry acknowledgement of the well-deserved sarcasm. “I’ve never been one for hiding my light beneath a bushel, I’ll admit that, but Bob makes a good point. We’ve never fought the Tilleke. The fact is, we don’t know what they have, what their tactics are, how good their command and control is.” He looked at Kathryn Penn, then back to Admiral Giunta. “It might be best if we detach a small covering force to picket Windsor and send the rest of Third Fleet with me to Tilleke if the balloon goes up.”
Giunta was astonished. Oliver Skiffington was not known for this degree of caution. A big, burly, energetic man, Skiffington’s favorite saying, drummed into every Second Fleet officer, was: ‘When in doubt, be bold!’
“I will not give up command of Third Fleet and make it an adjunct unit of Second Fleet!” Vice Admiral Penn said sharply.
“Of course not, Kathryn,” Giunta assured her. “I’m sure Oliver wasn’t suggesting that. I do like the idea, however, of sending as large a force in as we can.” He smiled. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There is a very good chance nothing at all will come of any of this.”
No one really believed him.
As they were all filing out the door, Admiral Douthat caught Teehan’s elbow. “Jeffrey,” she murmured. “I don’t want this to sound like I am as offended as Oliver put on, but why are you using Lieutenant Brill to brief us? Isn’t he a little junior for this?” She smiled to take any sting out of her implied criticism.
Teehan nodded. “Normally, yes.” He pursed his lips and breathed heavily though his nose. “Remember five months ago, Emperor Chalabi demanded Arcadia practically give them free ziridium?” Douthat nodded. “Yes, well, the very next day our good Lieutenant Brill sent his superior a memo outlining what he considered to be a highly likely outcome of that demand. His superior sat on it until the second Arcadian freighter disappeared last month, then sent it on to me. Felt a little sheepish, I imagine.”
“Sheepish?” Home Fleet said inquiringly.
“Brill had laid it all out, you see. The Arcadian rejection of the Emperor’s demand, mysterious disappearances of Arcadian ziridium freighters, the Arcadian reaction to that. Did an analysis of Emperor Chalabi’s personality, the history of friction between the two Sectors. Nice little piece of work. The thing is, you see, he even suggested that this would be the perfect opportunity for one of the lesser Sectors to cement their supply of ziridium by providing military transport to Arcadian vessels while in Tilleke space.”
Douthat raised her eyebrows in surprise. “He actually predicted the Dominion would offer military escorts?”
Teehan chuckled. “No, not that good. Actually, he guessed it would most likely be Cape Breton, but I won’t hold that against him. I showed the report to Admiral Giunta, who told me to bring young Brill along for the briefing.”
“Well,” Douthat said slowly, “all honor to young Brill. And what does the prescient Lieutenant Brill predict will happen next?”
Teehan grimaced. “Yes, well, that’s the thing, you see. He says Tilleke will invade Arcadia. Quite emphatic about it.”
“Oh, crap!” said the Commander of Home Fleet.
Teehan gave a ghost of a smile. “From the mouths of babes, eh?”
Outside, Admiral Skiffington was walking with his newly appointed aide, his son, Lieutenant Grant Skiffington. The Admiral saw that his son was frowning. “What’s the matter?”
Grant shook his head. “I don’t know, I mean, what happens if the Tilleke do attack. We have no idea what we’ll be up against. Admiral Teehan said-”
“Teehan’s an old woman, afraid of his shadow,” Admiral Skiffington said dismissively. “
Don’t worry, Second Fleet can take anything the Tilleke throw against us. Our ship building and design is years ahead of the Emperor’s.”
“But you just said you needed Third Fleet,” his son protested.
The Admiral was a little disappointed, but tried not to show it. “Every situation is an opportunity,” he explained patiently. “If the Tilleke attack Arcadia, I’ll see to it that Third Fleet is put under my command. At the end of the day, not only will I defeat the Emperor, but Third Fleet will be mine for good.”
Grant Skiffington digested this thoughtfully. The Admiral saw the expression on his face and barked a laugh.
“Always remember, son: Victory goes to the bold.”
Chapter 15
P.D. 952
In Victorian Space
It was during her third month aboard the missile cruiser New Zealand that Emily discovered she could be a devious bitch…and enjoy every minute of it. But before she got there, she was in constant torment.
Her chief tormentor was a short, fat, balding, cheerful lieutenant borrowed from the Destroyer Cape Town. He was the instructor for the twenty new Tactical officers aboard the missile cruiser New Zealand. His name was Alexander Rudd, and as he stood at the podium in the Training Room, he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He sweated. His cheeks were always flushed and he constantly mopped his brow.
How did this guy ever make it through Camp Gettysburg? Emily wondered in bemusement. Sergeant Kaelin would have eaten him alive.
Lieutenant Rudd unbuttoned his tunic and wiped his face. “Okay, listen up. Welcome to the Home Fleet. This is kiddy school for new Tactical officers. For the next three months, you will learn about basic tactics, weapons load outs, combat maneuvers, use of weapons and decoy combinations, and combat under a variety of scenarios, from one-on-one skirmishes to task force size engagements. For the next month or so, each of you will be the “captain” of your very own destroyer.” He smiled. “Your first task is to name your ship. Once you have done that, I want you to select a weapons load out, arm your ship and prepare to attack me.”
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