by J. L. Doty
“Captain Darmczek expressed some reservations about such ships,” Sague said in his precisely worded, clipped manner.
He was hinting at something, and Charlie knew exactly what. Still looking through the window at the hulls he said, “I’ll bet he said they’re a complete waste of money, and used considerable profanity while saying so.” Sague grimaced as Charlie looked his way. “And I’m guessing you share his reservations?”
Sague frowned apologetically. “Not fully, Your Grace.”
“I suppose you’d have me build traditional warships.”
“There would be less risk in that, Your Grace.”
“And how many traditional warships can I afford to build, Mr. Sague?”
“Two, perhaps three, Your Grace.”
“And how would I fund such ships?”
Sague spoke hesitantly. “You would have to divest yourself of most of your other holdings.”
“Exactly! And the cost of building these?” Charlie waved a hand at the two small hulls.
“A tenth that of one of the larger classes of warship.”
“Precisely. And I can crew one with fifty men. And the operating expenses will also be a tenth that of a larger ship. And all one of these ships has to do is put a single transition torpedo in the gut of a larger ship to kill it.” Charlie too had his doubts about such small, under-gunned, under-defended warships, but he wasn’t going to let Sague know that.
“I’m sure Your Grace knows best. Do you wish me to build more of them?”
“No—I’m not completely crazy,” he said with a smile. “These are an experiment, so let’s see how they work first. After a little experience with them I wouldn’t be surprised if we learned a few things and modified the design.”
“Since stealth appears to be a key aspect of the design, Your Grace, I did take the liberty of making some modifications to your initial specification. For instance, we’re modifying the control system and drive to allow slow transition velocities. It should be possible to reduce velocity to only a few lights before down-transition, minimizing your transition flare and your visibility to your enemy. Certainly, such a small flare, even if noticed, might not be taken to be a dangerous warship.”
“Good thinking. I’m open to pretty much anything that helps us take out the Syndonese.”
“Exactly, Your Grace. And speaking of which, the Borreggan situation is proceeding nicely.”
Charlie had detailed the next step carefully with Sague. Any serious action he took against Goutain in the coming months would have to be covert, and for that he needed a base of operations unconnected with Starfall, the de Lunis properties, or the independent states. Sague had come up with the idea of Andyne, a large station in solar orbit around the Borreggan primary. It had been a commercial venture based on the assumption that the Realm and the independent states would expand in that direction, and there would then be a need for a station en route that could provide supplies and repairs for commercial shipping. But the expansion hadn’t occurred, the commercial venture went bust, and Andyne’s owners mothballed her a few decades ago to cut their losses.
Back then Sague had considered purchasing the station so he’d sent one of his agents to review its condition and assets carefully, but had decided against the purchase, seeing no way to recoup his expenses. But when Charlie started talking about a covert base of operations, Sague had recommended Andyne. So two months earlier Charlie had purchased the station for a hundredth of what it had originally cost to build, with the transaction brokered by one of Sague’s lieutenants, and Charlie’s connection hidden in layer after layer of corporate ownership. Since then Sague had been sending out people and supplies to reactivate the station. Aziz, through Hart & Delorm, had supplied armaments, both for the station’s defenses, and for supplies and repairs for warships that couldn’t contract for such in normal ports-of-call. In another month it would be fully operational as a station, and in another three as a fully functional shipyard. Though, as both Sague and Aziz were wont to remind Charlie, the cost of such an operation was stretching his financial resources to the limit. To which he replied, “What good is the money if we’re not alive or free to spend it?”
Roger, Seth, and Darmczek were already on Toellan getting armaments fitted to Charlie’s personal ship and the converted freighter. When Charlie caught up with them he was pleased to learn that, while the freighter would require a couple more months of work, his personal ship was nearing completion. It looked old and outdated, both inside and out, but was, in fact, filled with the most advanced and up-to-date systems, and Aziz had given it some serious teeth, turning it into the equivalent of a midsized destroyer. When she was finished Charlie christened her The Thirteenth Man. He ordered Darmczek to command The Headsman and take it to Andyne-Borregga, while he took The Thirteenth Man to the meeting of the Ten.
Charlie’s return to Turnlee wasn’t much different from his exit three months earlier. Syndonese disguised as customs officials boarded The Thirteenth Man under the pretense of a standard customs inspection. They didn’t look closely at anything, merely harassed Charlie and his crew for a few hours before allowing them to proceed. However, in Almsburg he was given a suite of rooms that, while not the grandest, were still acceptable. Someone had helped Lucius understand that none of the Ten would appreciate seeing one of their peers treated inappropriately.
While Charlie’s servants were unpacking he sent a page with a note to Delilah requesting an audience. It was time for him to do some serious apologizing. The page returned in short order, the note unopened. “She refused to accept it, Your Grace.” He sent the page back, and again the page returned with the note unopened.
He used a different page the third time, and told him to say the note was from Dieter. The page returned with a note from Delilah. It had one word on it, a simple No.
Charlie wrote another note, carefully explaining how he’d mistaken her motives on Tachaann and apologizing for the mistake. He got another page and sent him along with instructions to say the note was from Rierma. The page returned in short order with another note from Delilah. It had one sentence on it. He read it and had to rack his brain for a moment to remember that the last sentence on his note had been, I was a fool, because it was clearly that which Del’s one-sentence reply was in response to:
Yes, you are.
Charlie went to see her. Two pretty young women met him at the entrance to her apartments. He was relieved when they offered him a seat in an elegant sitting room, and told him that the princess would be with him shortly. So he sat there and waited—for two hours he sat there and waited—while a constant parade of pretty, young women came to him at regular intervals to offer him a drink, or a pastry, or anything Your Grace might desire, and to tell him that Her Highness will be with you shortly. It took him all afternoon to realize she wasn’t going to be with him shortly, or any time soon, for that matter. He left, calling himself an idiot, realizing he’d gotten what he deserved.
It was a reception for the Ten, all of whom were finally present. There were perhaps two hundred people, sipping at glasses of wine and nibbling on finger food, jockeying for royal position, cutting deals, and cutting political throats. The one-hundred-day waiting period was now over, and the first meeting of the Ten would occur on the following day.
Charlie, Telka, Harrimo, and Rierma were discussing the unrest on Aagerbanne when Chelko joined them. Chelko was Faggan’s son and heir, newly occupying the de Jupttar ducal seat. Rierma had warned Charlie that, because of Lucius and Goutain’s involvement in the death of his father, Chelko impatiently wanted action now. Chelko was young, and ready to start a war that moment, though being the head of a minor house he didn’t have the resources to do so. In a sense he was merely an extreme example of the rest of them. Lucius’s stupidity and Goutain’s desire to rule the Realm had hurt Telka, Harrimo, and Rierma as much as Charlie, and that gave them commo
n cause.
“What about you, de Lunis?” Chelko asked. “Don’t you want to kill that bastard?”
It was plump little Telka who answered for Charlie. “Chelko,” the small woman said, “I think there is no doubt what Charlie would like to do, but he’s not fool enough to speak it aloud. And since he can do nothing at this time, especially since Theode has aligned with Nadama, I’d guess he’s smart enough to bite his tongue and bide his time.”
Cesare had once warned him that Telka liked to play the plump little scatterbrained woman, twittering and chattering, sometimes aimlessly. Cesare had also pointed out that when Telka had inherited the de Vena ducal seat, it had been a minor house, and through her leadership had grown into one of the three most powerful houses in the Realm.
“You haven’t answered my question, de Lunis,” Chelko demanded.
“I think Telka answered for me rather nicely,” Charlie said. “Combine the de Satarna, the de Maris, and the Syndonese forces, and we don’t stand a chance. What I wish to know is why we allowed Theode to usurp the de Maris ducal seat.”
Chelko said, “I wasn’t even seated.”
Tall, thin Harrimo reminded Charlie of Winston when she spoke. “Charlie, you know we cannot intervene in a matter that’s internal to House de Maris. It would give Lucius and Goutain the precedent they need to intervene in all our houses.”
Telka said, “There’s a good cause for you, Chelko. Get Arthur reinstated. We all know who he’d support.”
Charlie hadn’t realized Theode was behind him until he spoke in that nasally, whining voice of his. “What did you say? What did you say?”
Charlie turned slowly, and Theode stepped into the small circle of people with Gaida on his arm. While Gaida stared daggers at Charlie, Theode said, “You said something about Arthur, and reinstatement.”
Charlie looked at Telka, and realized that with her standing there facing him, she had known the two were behind him. He said, “I said nothing of the kind.”
“Yes you did. No one else would care about him. He’s a murderer.”
“Calm down, Theode,” Gaida said. She didn’t change the expression on her face. “It didn’t sound like Charlie’s voice.” She looked at each of them in turn, but got nothing.
Theode leaned close to Charlie and spit words in his face. “Don’t even think about it, because it’s never going to happen.”
He spun and practically dragged Gaida away.
Adsin took their place. “What was that about, Your Graces?”
Harrimo said, “Theode’s just feeling a bit insecure.”
Adsin turned to Charlie and looked him up and down. “Your Grace, it’s amazing how one’s circumstances can change in so short a time.”
Harrimo came to Charlie’s defense. “Yes, Adsin,” she said, snubbing him by not granting him any title, something he dared not do to one of them. “Many of us have had our circumstances change in a short time.”
Adsin ignored her and addressed Charlie with a smirk. “Tell me, Your Grace. How is our dear Admiral Santieff?”
Charlie had prepared for that question, though not necessarily from Adsin. Still, the fact that it came from Adsin told him how deeply the little snake was in Goutain’s pocket. It also told him that they had yet to realize that Santieff and his ship were missing. “Admiral whom?” Charlie asked.
Adsin frowned. “Santieff. Admiral Santieff, a high-ranking Syndonese officer.”
Charlie pretended to think for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ve met him.”
“But he was sent to pay you a visit.”
“Was he now? Well, I’ve had no visitors.”
Adsin turned and scurried across the room to Goutain.
“What was that about?” Telka demanded.
Charlie grinned at her. “I wouldn’t know. But I suspect that our dear Admiral Santieff, and his ship, and his crew, are all going to turn up missing, lost with all hands, as it were.”
A little later Charlie and Rierma were alone when an older woman, who happened to be passing by, leaned toward Charlie and whispered, “Don’t give up, Your Grace. She is angry with you, but her anger stems purely from her pride, not her heart. And she’s being watched closely, which limits what she can say and do.” Without another word, she walked on.
“Rierma,” Charlie asked, following her with his eyes. “Who’s that woman?”
Rierma followed Charlie’s gaze. “Ah, that’s Lady Carristan, lady-in-waiting to Delilah. It’s said she was more of a mother to the princess than Adan.”
In the hope of getting Arthur reinstated, Charlie wanted to propose at the meeting of the Ten that they open an inquiry into Cesare’s death. Both Rierma and Winston vehemently opposed that on the grounds that Charlie’s ducal estates were too weak to force the issue, he’d accomplish nothing, and might open up a precedent that would allow Theode and Gaida to interfere in de Lunis internal affairs. So Charlie swallowed his pride, tried not to think of his brother’s predicament, and kept his mouth shut.
The meeting of the Ten went off with only a few minor incidents. Chelko angrily opposed everything that Lucius proposed, and Charlie was pretty sure he’d say black if the king said white. There was nothing of significance on the agenda, though, so on Winston’s advice Charlie adopted a low profile and didn’t speak out on any issues. He voted his conscience on a few, voted with the majority on the rest, and tried to avoid establishing any visible pattern.
After the meeting, a page delivered a message that Lady Carristan wished to speak with him. Charlie followed the page to a sitting room and found Delilah there alone, though she stood looking the other way and was not immediately aware of his presence. But as the page closed the door she turned toward him, and he watched the look on her face slowly transform from a pleasant smile to a cold, expressionless stare.
“Your Highness,” he said.
With only the slightest movement of her lips she said, “Your Grace. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I was told to come here. I didn’t know you’d be here, and I don’t mean to upset you. That said,” he went on, moving a bit closer, “I’m not going to waste this opportunity. I’ve wanted to speak with you, to apologize for our last meeting. I erred badly.”
The look she gave him could have cut him in two. “Yes you did. And my schedule doesn’t allow me time to speak with you now.”
She walked toward him, toward the door actually, for he stood just within the threshold. She started to step around him, but he back-stepped and put his back to the door, blocking her.
“Do you detain me against my will?” she asked quietly, and he noticed her eyes glance upward right and left, a very cautious, furtive action.
“No,” he said, realizing she wouldn’t listen to him regardless of what he said or did. He stepped aside. She opened the door and left.
The next morning he departed Almsburg.
CHAPTER 18
SHAKEDOWN
“How’s our bogie now?” Charlie asked, seated at Turmoil’s command console.
“Coming in hard, sir,” Seth answered from the scan console. “Driving at just under two thousand lights, ranging at point-nine light-years. Closest intercept is four AUs, in a little over three hours.”
Turmoil was the first of the new hunter-killers. He’d taken her out previously for a shakedown cruise, and to experiment with new tactics: tracking and targeting on warships and merchantmen alike, attempting close approaches without being detected. They were still at the experimental stage, more playing at war games than anything else. They’d been detected once by a de Satarna cruiser and another time by a Syndonese frigate. Both had challenged them and demanded identity codes, then fired on them when they responded with silence and turned to run; Turmoil was good at running. After a month of experimentation he’d returned the hunter-killer to Sague for certa
in modifications, then another tenday of shakedown, and now it was time to see if they could do anything useful with her, though it still wasn’t yet time to start a war.
Charlie could see from her transition wake the incoming ship was big and fast, too fast to be a freighter. “Is she Syndonese, and is she a warship?”
“Too early to tell, sir. Can’t really read her signature at this distance.”
At least he’d gotten them to drop the Your Graces when he was commanding a warship. They were sitting about five light-years off Istanna, in the middle of the shipping lanes to Toellan.
“Can we intercept?”
At the helm, Roger answered, “Yes, sir. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Both Roger and Seth had been enthusiastic about the new hunter-killers, seeing all sorts of possibilities, where Darmczek and older COs had seen only weakness.
“Then do so.”
Charlie watched his screens as Roger firewalled the sublight drive, accelerating at well over ten thousand gravities. They’d tried this twice now, and both times the incoming ships hadn’t been Syndonese. Charlie wanted a Syndonese for a first target—test really.
“Sir, I’ve got a transition plan for you.”
Charlie looked at the summary Roger had sent to one of his screens. They’d up-transit perpendicular to the bogie’s vector, hold their velocity at two lights for a little over a quarter of an hour. Two lights should keep their transition wake and flares completely undetectable to a ship in transition, probably even to ships in sublight as long as they weren’t close.
“Eighty-one minutes to up-transition, sir.”
“It’s a good plan, Roger. Do it.”
Most of their time would be spent accelerating to, and decelerating from, transition. But Roger’s plan would have them directly ahead of the incoming bogie with time to spare.
Waiting, that was always the hard part, watching the minutes tick by. When they finally up-transited Charlie felt that little tickle run down his spine, then again when they down-transited. Then more waiting as they decelerated to kill their perpendicular vector, then more as they accelerated hard to build velocity along the bogie’s vector.
