She scowled at him. “Stop referring to me with such familiarity,” she snapped irritably. “We are not friends, nor are we equals.” Carriger saw him bristle at the frank appraisal of their relationship, but it just annoyed her further. “You are my subordinate, Dothern, and an occasional amusement. But you’ve been putting on airs far above your station, trying to insinuate yourself into places you don’t belong.” Carriger paused, letting her words sink in. “You are useful to me and offer some occasional distraction but that is all. If I feel you are no longer useful to me, you will be cast adrift.” Her eyes were hard as flint.
“I have only ever looked out for your interests, Carriger,” Dothern told her, his tone sulky.
“You seem to think I am your dutiful, submissive mate,” she retorted, getting angry, but keeping herself under control. “And you look to my interests because I hired you to do so. Stop acting as though you are my soul mate or that you’re going above the call of duty. You’ve been doing exactly what I pay you to do.” Her voice was cold and angry now, but her posture was relaxed and calm.
The male wolf stood there, shocked. Then he gave a small bow. “I understand, Councilor. Forgive my presumption.” His voice was icy.
She glared at him, bringing up a comms display. “Don’t sulk, Dothern. It’s not an attractive trait.” The screen activated and she shooed him away. “Thank you for bringing me this information. Now go so I can decide what to do with it.” When he didn’t move she let out a ferocious bark, leaning toward him.
He didn’t flinch but he did turn away, ignoring the councilor’s admonition. On padded feet, he stalked out of the suites. Carriger had the distinct impression that he had been able, the aide would have slammed the door behind him.
“Males,” she muttered in disgust. Pressing a few controls, she readied herself to record a message for the rest of the council. Dothern annoyed her with ever increasing frequency these days and she knew she’d erred by taking him to mate and even more when she’d done it more than once, but she didn’t know what to do about it at the moment. He did have a nose for gossip and the brains to sort out the useful tidbits. Grimacing to herself, she resolved to try and figure out how to sort out this whole sordid mess. Putting the aide from her mind, she began to record.
Sebastian Chakrabarti grimaced as his comms panel lit up on his desk, indicating a message was received. He walked over to the desk from where he’d been standing by the armorglass port, staring out at the black beyond and pressed the control.
A display popped up, the face of Carriger Hroth was frozen in place, staring at the vid pickup. He frowned in curiosity. The lupusan had been slightly huffy with him upon the return of the trade delegation; it was jealousy, Chakrabarti was certain. The trio had been treated like heroes among the rest of the council, having secured such a beneficial and binding trade agreement. Hroth had done well on her end; getting those warships into the fleet, keeping morale up by showing that the government was committed to the safety of the citizens by publically releasing the fact that the council had personally funded the construction of those corvettes. It was a masterstroke, truly, one that he heartily approved of and supported. He’d pitched in his share of credits for the order of ships and he knew that Arathos had paid in as well. Kly, unsurprisingly, was more truculent. It took a truly amazing amount of browbeating by the other council members and even threats to out him as the only member of the admin council not to pony up the credits to S-Int and the other news agencies to finally get him to capitulate. He grumbled about socialist tendencies of his fellows and blackmail, but he made the requisite payment.
Sebastion pressed the command and the message began. “Greetings, Councilor Chakrabarti, from the Outer System. So that woman did what she claimed against critics and other opposition and made a damned huge plate of steel. If things work out, in a few months it’s actually going to be a thriving community and a place where we can put up a proper set of council offices. I know we’re all attached to the ones at the orbital, but it’s something to think about.”
And it was, he though. The current ones were nice, certainly, but he’d been feeling antsy for a while. Not that he wanted out of his council position, he just wanted to be away from those offices.
She continued. “But I’m not sending this message for small talk. I have it from a reliable source that Heb is looking for assistance from us. Military assistance. The news came in on an FP ship, so Samair is going to get the news shortly. I can tell you though all of her military resources are tied up here at the gas mine or at the shipyard. You need to convince the others to send a delegation and some ships. If we can truly make a friend of Heb it will only be to the good. FP has been making runs there for months. We need to get some sort of military presence there, even if it’s only a few ships. Even just a symbolic gesture will generate so much goodwill for us. More trade opportunities.” She leaned forward slightly, looking straight into the vid pickup. “Don’t let the others on the council drag their feet on this.”
The lupusan sat back in her seat. “I’ll send a follow up message later today with my scheduled update. I urge you and the rest of the council not to drag your collective feet on this, Sebastian. Eventually, Samair is going to shake a ship or two loose and we’ll have lost a golden opportunity. I await your reply.” And the message ended.
She’s right, he decided. This was a golden opportunity, but one that wouldn’t be available for long. And First Principles wouldn’t sit on this for long. Tamara Samair would find a warship from somewhere, build one if she had to and ship it out of the system (in pieces if that was what it was needed to capitalize on this).
Better to ask forgiveness, he thought, squaring his shoulders. Typing a few codes into his comm system, the face of Commander Reshi Dharvhan appeared on the display. She was a hawk-faced woman with a long nose and hard features, olive skin similar to his own, with hazel eyes, also the same color as his own. As they should, since she was the daughter of his sister.
The other councilors had whined about nepotism when he’d secured the position for his niece as one of the commanding officers of one of the new corvettes, the Spirit. He didn’t have a problem with the complaints; it was true. He had used his connections to get her the command. Sebastian knew she deserved it and could handle the pressure; it would be a stepping-stone to greater things. Reshi could do the job; she had received glowing fitness reports from Colonel Gants and her direct superior, Commander Paxton, from the tactical section. Reshi Dharvhan was a bit junior to be the commander of one of the new corvettes, he was willing to admit that, but what was the point of having power if it couldn’t be used to give a leg up to someone who deserved it every so often?
“Commander,” he said genially, nodding in approval. “Those new planets suit you.” He gestured to her collar.
Her hand reflexively went to that collar, her fingers touching the gold rank tabs. The woman’s eyes, normally cold as steel, softened and just for an instant, she actually displayed a look of embarrassed pleasure. “Thank you, Uncle Sebastian. And I appreciate any assistance you put forth to get them.”
“Nonsense!” he said, waving a hand. “I did very little; I made a few calls. You were the one who did all the work. Believe me, Reshi, if I didn’t think you could do this, I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”
She nodded solemnly. It wasn’t as grave as all that, but he may have spent a fair amount of political capital to secure this command for his niece. Reshi was determined not to let him down. Her face slid into its usual mask. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Not that it isn’t wonderful to see you.”
“Of course. To business then. What is your ship’s status?”
“We’re docked at the orbital, taking on food and spare parts. I’m having the consumables and fuel topped off as well. We’re about to go on a system-wide patrol over the next month.” She didn’t even need to check a schedule, she already knew. “I expect to be here another thirty hours or so.”
“I need y
ou to expedite your resupply. You’re going with Lobo, Verix and Firelight to Heb. We’ve got a cargo freighter already on route, but if you can leave within twelve hours, your ships should be able to catch her by the time it makes the hyper limit.”
Reshi looked to the side. “Kara?”
“Yes, a load of machine parts for a factory complex they want to build,” Sebastian replied.
She blinked slowly, returning her gaze to the main com screen. “Uncle,” she said, “I’m confused. That’s not a very valuable cargo. Why does Kara suddenly need a four-ship escort?”
“Well, there are pirates, my dear,” he said sardonically. At seeing her ready to explode, he continued. “But we’re sending a small flotilla to Heb to try and bring them closer as neighbors and potential trade partners.”
“But four ships? They’re needed here for system defense.” She clearly wasn’t on board with this idea.
“What if I told you that you would be in command of the flotilla?” His eyes glinted with mischief.
“Me?” Reshi almost squeaked. “Two weeks ago I was the assistant tactical officer on the Leytonstone, now you want me to command my own squadron?”
He nodded. “You’re of my blood, Reshi. I know you can handle this responsibility.”
She looked at him intently for a long moment. “But these ships are needed here. Public outcry over losing four ships from the defense fleet is going to be terrible.”
Sebastian shrugged. “I know. But we’ll end up recalling half of your… squadron within a couple of months. We just want to prove to Heb that we’re serious. And on the homefront, with First Principles’ new warships available and the other five corvettes from the new squadron in space and on patrol, we should be able to weather it.”
Reshi sighed, then she frowned. “So I’m to lead a squadron, escort the Kara and set up a picket in Heb?”
“That’s the long and the short of it.”
“Who’s going to negotiate with the locals?”
He just stared at her and blinked incomprehension. “Well that is the job of the senior ship commander, my dear, is it not?” He saw her blanch and had to struggle to maintain his composure. “I know that public speaking and other such related courses are required at the Academy.”
Sebastian shook his head as she got herself under control. It took her a moment, but Reshi rallied. A glimpse of the captain she might some day become peeked through the fear, well, jitters, really. “I understand, Councilor. I’ll make you proud.” She didn’t sound quite as confident to his well-trained and practiced ear, but she was holding up well.
However, his own control finally broke and he burst out laughing. “My dear, I’m teasing you!” he said, as he slapped a hand down on the desk in front of him and she grimaced. “But, I have to admit, seeing how you rallied so quickly after being told such a large responsibility was landing on your shoulders only makes me more sure of my decision to make you commander of that ship. I’m now wondering if I should leave the negotiations to you. My niece, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
She glared at him but couldn’t keep the pleased smile off her lips. “I’ll do it if you need me to, Uncle. But perhaps I might argue that since this is my first command, and this is such an important case, that someone with more experience be brought along to at least start the negotiations, before you throw me to the wolves?”
He laughed, taking pity on her. “Very well, my dear. I shall accompany you on this mission, but only as a chaperone. You shall do all of the work and I shall stand back and beam like an incredibly proud uncle.”
General Typhon snarled and let the datapad slip from his fingers and drop to the desk. He wanted to hurl the offending device across the compartment and get the wonderful crash as it shattered, but he refrained. He had indulged such passionate impulses before but his supply of irreplaceable Federation gear was dwindling so he was forced to curb those impulses. When he had left the Federation, he’d loaded his ships with tools, food, ammunition, weapons, but with the exception of one small parts fabricator for the assault shuttles on the heavy transport, he didn’t posses the industrial capacity to make things like new datapads. Many times over the years of his self-imposed exile he’d cursed his short-sightedness. He couldn’t pass the buck; he was the general, this trip into exile had been into exile so he was the one who should have thought to acquire at least one industrial replicator. It was a common regret, one that he’d berated himself over for decades. He’d started to cook up a plan for a raid into the fringes of the Federation to try and secure one.
There were cons as well as the obvious pro, of course. He’d been gone from the Federation for over two and a half centuries. The border worlds might still have the same planets spinning about the various stars, but the worlds would be different: the people and most importantly, the defenses. His own ships were solid, well-cared for, but they were over two hundred fifty years old and there were some things that needed a yard to properly address and service. The crews and engineers had done their best over the years and Illuyanka still ran well, but problems had been building up over the years. Cracked braces, worn out computers, degraded plasma conduits, all of it worked on and patched and when possible, replaced with parts taken from prizes and reconditioned to work with Federation tech. Typhon put a hand on his desk. His ship had taken a pounding on the raid in Seylonique and now badly needed to put in for a refit. Illuyanka’s hull had numerous breaches, her shields damaged, which dropped the light cruiser’s hyperspeed to Red level Six. Red damned level six. It was a complete disgrace. His most impressive warship was slower than cargo ships loaded down with swag. There were only three places he was aware of in local space that could handle the overhauls: Seylonique, Ulla-tran, and one of Verrikoth’s shipyards. None of those were particularly attractive options and it was entirely likely his ship would come under fire at any of them.
The processed metals and other trace materials looted from the mining and extraction station back in Seylonique would certainly help. The hull damage could be patched and new conduits made to replaced the damaged ones. But the shields and more importantly the generator nodes were still damaged and the engineers would need to rebuild them. From scratch. That was several months of work, which would leave Illuyanka sitting at a maximum shield strength of fifty-eight percent until then. Hyperspeed would be restricted to the top of the Red levels of the hyperspace rainbow for six to eight months.
And then of course there was the sabotage of HT-626. The holes had been patched and the big hangar doors rendered functional again, but the real damage had been to the assault shuttles carried within. All but seven of those assault craft had been heavily damaged, most in ways that were not cheap, easy or quick to fix. Commander Luurr, who had just barely managed to convince Typhon his life should be spared, was busy cannibalizing parts from some of the shuttles to get others online. Four more shuttles were nearly ready, which Luurr managed to get done by the time the small fleet reached the hyper limit and there were two more that would need a few minor replacement parts to get operational again. The rest would need full teardowns and rebuilds, weeks more of work would be required, with the small parts fabber running full blast the whole time.
And for all the years that he had been in exile and while Illuyanka had been his terrible swift sword, Typhon still thought of himself as an infantry officer. The troops and their assault ships were his greatest weapon. The warships were simply the means to get boots on the ground.
He’d redirected the corvette Byvennot to the nearby star system of Heb. Once one of the cargo ships unloaded here, it would follow, bringing enough fuel to restock Byvennot’s bunkers. Hopefully, the corvette could get the locals there to cough up materials and other sundries needed for repairs. Typhon wasn’t too confident on that score; Heb wasn’t a very high tech world. He’d raided there a century ago and the Dog Soldiers had done well for themselves. Maybe they would get lucky again.
Kozen’ck sat straight in his chair, his antennae dro
oping in exasperation. “So Chakrabarti takes four of our fleet corvettes to Heb on an open-ended timetable, leaving us to explain things to the citizens in a time when pirates might show back up here at any time,” his mouthparts clacked, “and now you want to send another ship out of the system?”
Kly and Arathos nodded in agreement. They were a strange pair; the powerful, youngish lupusan and the pudgy, balding, slightly over middle-aged human. Their policies and politics were vastly different, save one: they wanted to keep control of the star system with themselves, with the council. On nearly ever other issue, however, they fought, sometimes bitterly. But something must have happened on that trip to Ulla-tran. It wasn’t as though they were fast friends, arms over each others’ shoulders telling off-color jokes, but clearly something had changed. The fact that the two were coming to the Triarch together to present this plan clearly underscored its importance.
“Yes,” Kly replied after a gesture from his colleague. “I, rather, we, feel its past time to send an official Seylonique-flagged vessel to Bimawae and get some proper scans of that alien ship. We’ve been lookin at the same pictures on the news for months now.”
“You haven’t been back for long enough to be offended by the repetition of those sensor readings and digitals, Harmon,” Kozen’ck pointed out.
But the portly councilor shook his head. “But don’t you see, Triarch, I’m not offended. I’m intrigued! I’m fascinated! A truly alien species, one the likes that either of our peoples haven’t discovered in over a thousand years! And this just drops into our backyard! I for one think that this is something we should investigate.”
“And he convinced me,” Arathos put in, as the seemingly enraptured Kly paused for breath.
A Greater Interest: Samair in Argos: Book 4 Page 46
