Last of the Chosen (Spirit of Empire, Book One)

by Lawrence P White

  “Me, too.”

  Stven went back into the net where he joined M’Sada in his calculations. “Do them carefully, my friend. You’re going to have to make the next one manually,” he said.

  “Manually! Carefully? I have no idea what the AI is doing. Computing a jump this far inside a system is completely beyond me. I feel like a pupae.”

  They waited as long as they could, but they had no idea of the range of the Chessori mind weapon. The closest Chessori were two days away when Stven called Gortlan. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be. You have to start it. Only I can finish it. It’s a safeguard.”

  “Ready, M’Sada?”

  “Go for it. We’re on track. I’ll execute in half an hour.”

  To the AI, he issued two simple commands. “MANUAL OVERRIDE.”

  “MANUAL OVERRIDE ACCEPTED BUT NOT RECOMMENDED.”

  “SHUTDOWN.”

  There was no further communication from the AI. It took him a while as he floundered around in a net that had suddenly lost its brain, but he found M’Sada. “Need any help?”

  “Nope. Just keep the net functioning. I need to hit the jump point precisely. And watch your breathing. This is not a good time to get excited.”

  “Okay. I’m going to check on the rest of the ship while you do the flying.” He began the laborious process, almost like swimming, as he transitioned through the net, checking on the most important subsystems. First came the power plant. Without it they had no hope. All indications were satisfactory. He stayed for a while to make sure, then went to Life Support. He discovered all the circulation fans dead and got them going again. Atmosphere quickly came back to normal. Please don’t fart now, he told himself. He really needed M’Sada at the controls, and the poor guy just couldn’t suffer the pain it caused him. He went back to the power plant, it was okay, then he went to weapons. Tarn was holding the gunnery net together, and the gunners did not have to go to manual control. He checked shields, and they were fully charged and ready.

  “Counting down,” M’Sada called.

  Stven swam back to the bridge to keep an eye on the jump. The jump point was reached, and M’Sada executed. Now they just had to wait. The jump would not be long, so he stayed.

  The jump ended. “Where are we?” M’Sada demanded frantically as he looked for anything nearby that they might hit.

  “I’m looking! I’m looking!”

  Their frantic efforts were unnecessary – they had not come out of the jump near anything that would kill them. This time. The next time might be different.

  Stven mentally relaxed and joined M’Sada in a search for other ships, but they had reached interstellar space and were alone.

  “Okay to fart now?” he asked with a chuckle.

  “No! I’m not leaving. You’ll screw up my settings. I’m working on the next jump.”

  They jumped again some four hours later. By then Stven was exhausted from holding the net together. “I never really appreciated what the AI does for us,” he said.

  “Let’s just hope the whole thing comes back. I’m going to set up another jump just in case it doesn’t. Why don’t you start running some tests on the AI?”

  “Gortlan’s doing that. I’ll help with the jump.”

  When the AI finally finished rebooting, it came back fully, and they set course for their next stop. After the next jump, they both took a time-out. Stven looked at M’Sada. “We need some training, buddy. I don’t want to go cold into that again.”

  M’Sada was busy preening his long antennae. “I found it interesting.”

  “Sure. You got to do the easy part, the flying. I had to take care of the ship.”

  “Let’s go find out how good a job you did.”

  Krys and Tarn were in the galley, almost finished cleaning up. “What happened?” Stven asked in alarm.

  Krys just kept working. Tarn struggled to hide his laughter as he helped her. “Looks like the auto-chef was preparing a banquet for a hundred. At least we can get around now. Krys was locked in her room until just a little while ago.”

  Stven’s neck drooped. “Lots more practice,” he mumbled.

  Chapter Fifty-two: The Lost Squadron

  Commodore Elotch M’Dama absently preened his whiskers with his upper hands. An Empire squadron commander, he was assigned to Aldebaran Sector where he reported to Admiral Seeton.

  He was a Schect. His bulbous, multifaceted eyes gave him a 360 degree view of the room so he didn’t need to face the two humans, but he had learned that humans were more comfortable speaking to him if they felt he was looking at them directly.

  Across a low table, Admiral Seeton and Governor Veswicki sat in comfortable chairs in the admiral’s office. M’Dama’s body did not suit itself well to chairs.

  “Refreshments?” Seeton asked him out of courtesy. A smile glinted in his eyes; they knew each other well. M’Dama returned the smile in his own way, with a few clicks of his sharp, serrated mandibles. It was well known that humans could not tolerate the eating habits of the Schect.

  “I believe I’ll pass on that, sir,” he replied.

  “Very well. We’ll get down to business then. I don’t believe you’ve met Governor Veswicki?”

  “I have not, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Governor.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Commodore. You come with high recommendation.”

  “And your reputation precedes you, Governor. Or should I call you Admiral?”

  “A good question, Commodore. As you probably know, I’m not exactly welcome in my old sector. I don’t recognize Struthers’ authority to remove me from office, so I’m still the legitimate governor of Triton Sector, but it will be a long time before I return, if ever. At the moment, I wear the uniform when it suits my needs, and I play the politician when appropriate. My presence here in Aldebaran Sector is strictly unofficial.”

  “I understand, sir. You wage your battles on many fronts, all of them unofficial. You know I’m behind you or else I wouldn’t be here.”

  “You know we’re resisting the Rebel takeover?”

  “I’ve heard rumors, very quiet rumors. I’m glad to hear it from you personally, sir.”

  “Supporting me places you in grave danger.”

  M’Dama bowed. “I stand by my oath, Governor. Need I say more?”

  “No. We, too, stand by our oaths. Where our principles will take us is not clear at this time, but we begin with resisting the Rebels. We’ve established a plan, and you are part of that plan.”

  M’Dama bowed again. “Your words please me, sir. I will help in any way that I can.”

  “These are unusual times, Commodore, and we have an unusual mission for you. The goal we are working toward may be a little more comprehensive than you’ve heard. We’re not just organizing here in Aldebaran Sector, we’ve made considerable headway in other sectors, as well. We’re keeping a low profile for the moment, though I fear we’ll be forced to show our hand in the next year or two.

  “Our focus at the moment, and yours, is Orion Sector. We believe it is among our list of supporters, but we’re getting conflicting reports from there. Admiral Korban, Sector Commander on Orion III, is well known to Admiral Seeton and myself, and we have strong reason to believe he’s on our side, but the last two courier ships we sent to him have not returned. We’re going to send a stronger force to ensure success.”

  “So you’d like my squadron to pay him a visit?”

  “We would, but not directly. We want to get a feel for what’s going on in Korban’s sector, not just at his headquarters. We’re thinking that some stops along the way might be beneficial. We’d like you to test the waters in a couple of outlying systems. Depending on how that goes, you might decide to return here directly, or you might decide it’s appropriate to continue on and pay a visit to Korban. We’d really like you to meet with him, but only if you believe he’s of the right persuasion. Do you understand my meaning?”

  If staring had been possible for M’Dama
, he might have stared at Veswicki. Instead, he rose up from the floor to pace on eight hands while his upper hands continued a refreshing preening. He finished with his whiskers and moved on to his antennae. Old smells had to be removed to make room for the new, and it was a never-ending process. His multifaceted eyes continued taking in everything in the room. When he turned back to Veswicki, he said, “This sounds more political than military.”

  “Normally I would agree, but in view of the two missing couriers, strength will be key. No one would be foolish enough to take on a full squadron, so there shouldn’t be any fighting, but there might very well be some posturing.”

  “Against our own men?”

  “If they are our own. I no longer classify the Rebels as our own.”

  “Is it possible that Korban joined with the Rebels?”

  “I consider that extremely unlikely. However, it is not at all unlikely that he is no longer the Sector Commander. He might even be dead. If so, who’s in control? We need to know.”

  “Has he sent any of his own couriers to you?”

  “If he has, they have not gotten through. In our last communication with him, he informed us that he’s in serious trouble. The new governor of Orion Sector has made inroads in the outlying districts, though not on Orion III itself. Korban is too strong there, but he cannot hold out for an unlimited time.”

  “What exactly do you want from me?”

  “We want, first, to find out if Korban is in control of his sector. Second, if he is, we need to find out if he needs our assistance. We’re prepared to reassign a number of our own squadrons to him, squadrons we know are loyal, but clearly, we don’t want to send them if that means we’re just turning them over to the Rebels. You might discover other needs, as well.”

  “Have you constructed a cover story for my presence in Orion Sector?”

  “We have,” Seeton responded. “Smuggling is on the increase since the fall of the Empire. We’ve received reports of some serious operations out of Algnada, and the perpetrators may have expanded into Orion Sector. They’re not anywhere near Orion III, but it would not be out of the ordinary for you to officially request assistance from Sector Headquarters there if you’ve tracked them into the sector.”

  “Is this a real group?”

  “It is. We have no hard evidence that they’re moving into Orion Sector, but they could be.”

  “I like it, sir. It’s a completely natural cover. I have a couple of acquaintances out that way, fleet officers whose judgment I trust. One is, at last report, on Bvest, and the other is on Krandt. Those districts are close enough to Algnada to be reasonable stops for my squadron.”

  Seeton pulled up a holographic image from the table before him and made inquiries. The three worlds were, indeed, in reasonable proximity to each other. He turned to Veswicki and received a nod of acceptance.

  “Very well,” Seeton said. “Your official orders are to track the movements of these smugglers. We’ll send over a file with everything we have on them so you’ll be briefed. Just know that your real job is to get a feel for what’s going on in Orion Sector. It’s vital that we know if Korban continues to speak for the sector. Orion Sector is of great importance to our plans. We don’t want to lose it to the Rebels.”

  * * * * *

  Commodore M’Dama’s squadron lifted from Aldebaran I three days later and set course for Bvest. M’Dama gave thought to his orders as his upper hands idly preened his whiskers and worked their way back to the two long antennae extending from his head. The Empire was in turmoil, and turmoil spelled uncertainty. The loss of the two couriers sent to Orion III had him more concerned than he’d let on to Seeton and Veswicki. Was the loss of those ships a harbinger of things to come? Was civil war on the horizon? He suspected it was, and he suspected they thought so, as well. Why else would they need a full squadron to gather information?

  If it came to civil war, he knew he could not side with the Rebels. In the absence of Empire his oath was void, but his principles had not changed. The way the Rebels had come into power was wrong, and he would resist them in any way he could.

  M’Dama concluded that his squadron might encounter resistance, but what kind of resistance? Was he capable of taking up arms against other Empire ships, ships that might be manned by crews he’d served with during his long career? Might it come down to Empire fleets engaging each other? The thought sickened him, but it also forced him to focus on his beliefs. He could not take a stand against the Rebels by himself: to do so would place him on the same level as the Rebels. But Governor Veswicki had inferred that a new government was being formed to resist the Rebels. Knowing Admiral Seeton as well as he did, and knowing the reputation Governor Veswicki had built during his many years in Fleet Command, he believed the new government would have as its foundation the principles of the old Empire. He would not be acting alone if he was acting in support of their efforts.

  His body rested comfortably on a custom-made platform on the bridge of the cruiser. His normal duty station was in the Operations Center, the nerve center of the squadron, but his preferred place was on the bridge. He was a spaceman at heart, and he never tired of the details of navigating the stars.

  His upper hands had completed their work on his antennae and moved back to the short whiskers of his face while he considered. Seeton might be doing Governor Veswicki’s bidding, but the choice of squadron commander had been Seeton’s, and that choice had been based on more than just military skills. He had chosen a commander who might face grievous decisions during the coming months, and M’Dama’s beliefs were well-known to him and in line with his own.

  There had never been a case of Empire squadron fighting Empire squadron, not in all the long history of the Empire. There weren’t even tactics for doing so. Fleets and squadrons, if facing each other one-on-one, would be evenly matched. After all, they’d gone to the same schools. The outcome would depend on the abilities of the individual leaders of those men and ships. Was that one of the reasons Seeton had chosen him?

  Probably. M’Dama’s skills as a tactician were legendary, and he could say that with deserved pride. But equally important, M’Dama could be counted on to choose wisely and without hesitation.

  His upper hands stopped their grooming: he had reached a decision. His duty was clear. He would not seek confrontation, but his squadron would be prepared to uphold the principles of Empire if it was called to do so. It was back to battle school for him and his men. They would have to get creative if such a battle between evenly matched opponents ever materialized, but the creativity had to come before the battle, not during the battle. The simulators aboard his ships would get a hard workout on this voyage.

  He called his operations staff together. Several meetings later, he brought all ships’ captains aboard the cruiser for discussion. To his surprise, he did not encounter resistance. Most had already considered the idea. No one knew what was going to happen to the Empire, but everyone suspected it would come down to civil war, and not on a small scale.

  They began with what they knew, and they expanded on that knowledge to develop tactics against an opposing squadron of equal firepower. Two things became evident during the practice encounters: quickness of commitment, and a willingness to engage with his own cruiser immediately.

  Cruisers usually stood off from a battle, committing the smaller escort ships first and engaging its larger guns from a distance only when necessary. Against the usual adversaries, small groups of smugglers, a cruiser’s firepower was never needed.

  But against a full squadron, M’Dama quickly learned that the cruiser was key to the outcome. A squadron that was not ready, that had not fully committed to battle, would suffer immediate losses, and those early losses could be magnified by the awesome firepower of his cruiser. He could then concentrate the full firepower of his squadron against the enemy cruiser. He believed most squadron commanders would not be well prepared to conduct a battle on this scale.

  Nor did he kid himself. The l
osses, no matter who won, would be devastating to both sides.

  Well, that was the mission Seeton had set him on. It might not come to pass, and he desperately hoped it would not, but the reality of the two missing couriers was never far from his thoughts.

  * * * * *

  The visit to Bvest was enlightening. An old friend from the academy, Commander Agoda, had aged beyond belief. And he had been demoted from captain to commander.

  “Failure to swear allegiance,” he said quietly over refreshments at a local pub.

  “Allegiance to whom?” M’Dama asked.

  “The new order. What else?”

  “The Rebels have reached into fleet command?”

  “They have here. I hear it’s not so everywhere.”

  “Can you give me numbers? Has Orion Sector gone over to the Rebels?”

  “I don’t think so. I can’t give you numbers – I don’t know them. We have a new admiral here who has definitely sided with the Rebels. I hear he was recently promoted to that rank by the governor, then assigned here.”

  “By the governor! It’s Korban’s job to assign admirals.”

  “It is. Scuttlebutt has it that Korban’s hanging on by a thread and has had to make compromises with the governor. He’s choosing his battles, fighting those he can win and compromising on those he can’t. The governor is new, too.”

  “We just got a new governor in Aldebaran Sector, as well. I don’t think he’s made any headway at all against Seeton. It’s probably just a matter of time, though. The politicians hold all the power in the long run.”

  “Well, I can only say that Korban is fighting a holding action. To what end, I don’t know. Look what’s happened here, and we’re just on the fringes, not in the thick of things. Maybe that’s why he gave in to the governor in our case. I would imagine he’s in a pretty tough spot. How do you fight the politicians? We’ve sworn to do their bidding.”