by Eric Thomson
“Probably. Our unexpected presence must be thoroughly painful in light of what I figure was an attempt to track a notorious commerce raider. Besides, this isn’t the first time I convinced a Shrehari to back away and live to fight again.”
Holt chuckled.
“I remember reading the after-action report. Wouldn’t it be something if Brakal commanded that strike force?”
“What are the chances? We don’t even know whether he returned from beyond the black, let alone whether he’s operating in this sector. But I’m not about to call the enemy for a chat. Not this time. If Tarrant described Shannon O’Donnell of the privateer Persephone to the Shrehari and word spread through the Deep Space Fleet’s frontline units, it might allow Brakal or anyone who served with him back in the day, to connect our cover identity with this battlecruiser. Let’s see them off and leave the matter of their ultimate fate for another encounter.”
“So no impassioned discussion in Shrehari between the redoubtable Siobhan Dunmoore and whoever represents the Empire’s finest in the Hecate system?”
“I see you read the classified part of my after-action report on Victoria Regina’s final battle as well.”
“Every last word, Skipper. If I were you, I’d be itching to open a link and find out if their commander is an old acquaintance or the friend of a foe. Maybe someone who survived Tol Vakash’s quasi-destruction in the Cimmeria system.”
“No.” The sharp edge to her tone told Holt their conversation was over.
“Orders?”
“We wait here until we’re sure the Shrehari are heading to the hyperlimit and not coming around for a rematch. Then I want to speak with Carrie Fennon over a secure subspace channel.”
— Thirty-Eight —
“Why aren’t you pursuing?” Blayne Hersom asked in a faintly supercilious tone once Dunmoore gave him a thumbnail sketch of the brief, inconclusive battle. “Isn’t the Navy under permanent orders to close with and destroy the enemy?”
“Where possible. But they have the edge on us in terms of acceleration and top speed — our size has its drawbacks. And a stern chase is a long one, with no guarantee of ever coming into effective range. By the time we reach Hecate’s heliopause, they’ll be crossing interstellar space on a course we can only guess at.”
“Surely they’re headed back to the Empire.”
“Of course. If they burned through their ammo at the same rate as we did, the Shrehari commander will look to replenish sooner rather than later. But that doesn’t mean I can draw a straight line between Hecate and the nearest Shrehari outpost, and hope to stumble over them by sheer luck.”
Dunmoore fought to hide her impatience. She would have preferred to speak with Carrie Fennon first, but Hersom called while they waited for the Shrehari to reach Raijin’s hyperlimit and go FTL. Giving them the idea another ship might be waiting at the system’s edge was too much of a risk. Kattegat Maru could probably outrun a Tol and perhaps even a smaller Ptar, but she would never outfight either, not even with a battle-hardened Emma Cullop at the controls.
“Won’t the Shrehari come back, now they know we’re running something covert here?”
“Doubtful. That bunch was probably following us and not engaged in a reconnaissance mission. After being smacked on the nose by your orbital defenses and my ship, their senior commanders won’t be in a hurry to let anyone return. This system is too far from their sphere of control for comfort.”
Hersom nodded but nonetheless seemed unconvinced.
“I see. And what are your intentions?”
“I’ll stay near Temar until we’re sure the Shrehari crossed into interstellar space and won’t be back. Then, I need to find Baba Yaga and recover Kattegat Maru’s crew.”
The SSB man’s eyes narrowed in question for a moment, as if he was wondering why she had not yet mentioned the ill-fated freighter’s passengers. But the next words out of his mouth were, “How will you report this incident to your flag officer?”
“By stating the facts, so I can account for the generous ammunition expenditure. But I won’t go into details about your operation if that’s what worries you. I will pass off your stockade as a classified government installation we helped in a crisis, nothing more.”
**
“A damn shame we missed the fireworks,” Emma Cullop said after listening to Dunmoore’s description of the brief battle that sent the Shrehari packing. “Sounds like it was missile heaven for a few minutes. As a wise man once said, hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em often, right?”
“To the tune of almost half our missile reserves. Theirs too, no doubt. But I didn’t call you only to gloat over another inconclusive fight. The Almighty knows we’ve seen our share of those.”
As Dunmoore explained what hid on Temar and why Cullop’s face hardened until repressed fury blazed in her eyes.
“How can they do that?”
“I wish I knew, Emma. My immediate concern is finding a way of liberating Kattegat Maru’s former passengers before we leave this system, and then find her crew. However, until Blayne Hersom gets his target, he won’t let anyone go. Unfortunately, one of them reminds me of an old acquaintance from the Toboso incident, someone who might fit the profile of a fugitive from the SSB. Mikhail Forenza.”
“The Colonial Office cleaner? Why would the Bureau want him?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Zeke agrees on the resemblance. But that leaves me in a quandary. If I finger that man as Hersom’s target so we can recover the others, I might condemn an innocent to suffer. And even if he is Forenza, how can I, in good conscience, leave him to the SSB’s tender mercies? Not to mention that perhaps whatever he’s been up to might benefit the Fleet along with his own department. The enemy of my enemy, that sort of thing.”
A commiserating look extinguished the embers in Cullop’s eyes.
“Understood. How can I help?”
“I want Carrie Fennon to look at the image we took of this man and tell us everything she knows.”
“Certainly. I’ll put her on at once.”
“I’m sending the picture now.”
The young woman’s thoughtful mien replaced Cullop’s face shortly after that.
“Sir. I overheard your conversation. I hope that was all right.”
“Absolutely, Carrie. Your stake in this is as big as ours. Bigger, even. And yes, I will do my best to find your mother and her crew once we’re done here.”
“Yes, sir. I know.” Her eyes shifted to one side. “I see the man’s face now. He calls himself Mostar Quantrill, or at least that’s the name he gave for the manifest.”
“Where did he come aboard?”
Fennon’s cheeks suddenly took on the rosy hue of embarrassment. It made her appear even younger.
“We’re not supposed to speak of the ports we touch in the Unclaimed Zone, sir. Mother keeps those off the books, so we don’t get hassled by the Navy, or the Bureau or anyone else.”
“A man’s life is at stake, Carrie. I promise this will never make it into any official report.”
Fennon chewed on her lower lip while an air of indecision replaced her earlier embarrassment. Dunmoore knew better than to push and waited patiently until Carrie came to a decision.
“We picked Mister Quantrill up at an unregistered human colony two parsecs from Kilia,” she finally said. “A planet the inhabitants call Cullan. It’s a rough place, settled by folks who fled the Commonwealth. But they pay with high-grade precious metals and gems, and we’re one of the few merchants willing to travel inside the Unclaimed Zone. Mother says we often make most of our real profit there on any trip, the kind of profit that doesn’t go straight back into the ship’s operating account.”
Cullop chuckled.
“Or show up as taxable income either, I’ll bet. Most, if not all independent merchant captains engage in deals that stay off the ledgers.”
Fennon gave her ship’s relief captain a pained glance.
“What’s the expression I learned
from the Scandian soldiers? No names, no pack drill?”
“Indeed, Apprentice Officer,” Cullop replied with a delighted grin. “You’ll go far in this business.”
“Did you pick up any other passengers on Cullan?”
“Yes, sir, almost two dozen. But Mister Quantrill was the only one without a booking. He showed up at the landing strip unannounced, asking for a berth. But since he offered to pay handsomely, mother took him aboard.”
“Luggage?”
“As I recall, one bag, medium sized. I led him to his cabin.”
“Any other unplanned or unusual passengers during that entire run?”
Fennon shook her head.
“No, sir.”
Dunmoore sat back in her day cabin chair with a frown. Fennon’s revelations proved nothing beyond the fact that a man resembling a Colonial Office agent with deadly duties boarded Kattegat Maru on an unregistered human colony, one beyond the reach and authority of Forenza’s employer.
Perhaps the Colonial Office kept tabs on human worlds beyond the Commonwealth’s acknowledged sphere. Maybe it even interfered in their affairs. As Toboso proved, it certainly didn’t hesitate to do so on regular, registered, and completely legal self-governing worlds.
Now what?
“Was there anything else, Captain?”
“Not for the moment. Thank you, Carrie. Emma, take care you stay hidden while the Shrehari retreat, but see if you can make out their heading when they go FTL.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Iolanthe, out.”
— Thirty-Nine —
“What choice do I have?” Dunmoore spun around to face her first officer. “We can’t leave forty-four, if not forty-five innocents in the SSB’s hands. Be content I’m merely thinking of them and not the other detainees held on Temar despite a wee little legal doctrine you may remember as habeas corpus, which has existed for over a thousand years. I could shutter Blayne Hersom’s operation altogether and challenge the SSB to complain.”
A bitter laugh escaped her throat.
“Complain to the Admiralty that we fucked up an illegal rendition site? Good luck. I know flag officers who’d leak the SSB’s misdeeds to the media in a microsecond, and so does the Bureau’s senior leadership. The last thing they want is a public feud with the Armed Services.”
Holt, used to his captain’s moods, merely nodded. He’d voiced his objections in the usual way and now waited for them to temper her first ruthless, and some would say reckless impulse to right a wrong. It was a dance hearkening back to their days as captain and first officer of the corvette Shenzen.
“I’m just saying giving Hersom an ultimatum might not be the best idea if it’s your way of covering for a midnight raid by our favorite Scandian troopers.”
“That Shrehari incursion taught my friend Blayne he can’t afford to lose those orbital platforms. Yet we can destroy them at will. The trade-off is easy. If he refuses to hand over the detainees we want, I’ll send Tatiana to fetch them, covered by the Furious Faerie’s guns.”
“And once he reports back to his own HQ on Earth?”
“Then the Admiralty can decide whether it favors saving Commonwealth citizens from illegal imprisonment over placating a security service guilty of massive overreach.”
When she saw his mouth open to reply, Dunmoore raised a restraining hand.
“I’ll take that risk, Zeke. Otherwise, I won’t be able to live with myself. Besides, we don’t enjoy the luxury of time. Who knows what the idiot commanding Baba Yaga might do with Captain Fennon and her people. I don’t trust him — or her — to carry out Hersom’s instructions. There’s too much profit waiting for the unscrupulous out in the badlands, as Carrie so cogently pointed out.”
“Or you could give your conscience time off and point Forenza out to Hersom. What concern is it of ours if the Colonial Office and the SSB are playing games so long as it doesn’t affect the war effort? And if Forenza’s not their man, then we’ll still rescue forty-four souls from the Bureau’s clutches.”
Dunmoore gave him an unpleasant smile.
“The needs of the many, Zeke? You want to play that card with me?”
“It is a valid, if utilitarian outlook, Skipper.”
“You? A believer in utilitarianism?”
“After serving as your first officer in two different ships?” His mouth twisted into a rueful grin. “No. I learned better. When Doña Quixote is tilting at windmills, I’m better off making a credible Sancho Panza imitation. But despite your ill temper, my job is to challenge assumptions and plans. Remember — your first duty is to the mission; mine is to the ship and its crew. I daresay you were just as annoying a first officer in your day.”
“Probably even worse.” Dunmoore reached over to touch her desktop. “Bridge this is the captain. Open a link with Temar. I wish to speak privately with Blayne Hersom. His people shouldn’t overhear what I intend to say.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Lieutenant Magnus Protti, the officer of the watch, replied. “Wait one.”
“Do you want me to leave, Skipper?” Holt made as if to stand.
She waved him down again.
“Just stay quiet and out of the video pickup’s arc. I may need a witness for the defense at my court-martial.”
Hersom’s face appeared on her day cabin’s screen shortly afterward.
“Are you calling to say goodbye? With the Shrehari gone, there’s no reason for you to stay.”
“Not without Kattegat Maru’s passengers. Did you figure out who, if anyone, might be this dangerous individual your agency is so keen on detaining?”
Hersom hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking his head.
“No.”
“Then it’s clear you never will. The SSB may be many things, but I’ve never taken your lot for incompetents. Whoever sold you the information about a person of interest aboard Kattegat Maru was lying. And you know what? I think your source is none other than Enoc Tarrant himself. It’s a great plan. Make money by selling you false information, then arrange to get his hands on an abandoned ship and its cargo, both worth a lot of creds, with no danger of government reprisals. After all, he acted on SSB orders. How am I doing so far?”
Hersom’s smile, though not quite dismissive, nevertheless didn’t reach his eyes.
“Interesting theory, Captain. I confess some of our sources in the frontier regions are sketchy, and Tarrant has already shown himself to be less than reliable. But my colleagues will surely have vetted the information about our person of interest before tasking me with the abduction and detention.”
Dunmoore’s right eyebrow crept up to her hairline.
“Oh? Are your colleagues somehow blessed with infallibility? Of always separating fact from fancy, especially when the intelligence originates with outside informants? If they were, I daresay the SSB would run the Commonwealth by now. But you don’t.”
The first glimmers of uncertainty tinged Hersom’s expression.
“Face it. Your mythical target isn’t one of those forty-five, or you’d know. This is what you and your people do best, yet you’ve failed, and it wasn’t because of incompetence. The target wasn’t aboard Kattegat Maru when Tarrant’s pirates seized her. Maybe he left at Kilia and boarded a different ship. That being the case, hand everyone over and I’ll repatriate them, no questions asked or answered. I’ll make sure your cover and your reputation stay intact. Just as I made sure your installation didn’t suffer from Shrehari depredations.”
Hersom’s lips compressed into a thin line, annoyance writ large on his face.
“You won’t let go, will you?”
“No. We’re each responsible for the protection of Commonwealth citizens. You in the aggregate and I in the particular. This case is about the latter.” When Hersom didn’t immediately answer, she said, “I’ll repatriate them with or without your cooperation, Mister Hersom. My Marines will make short work of your ground defenses and guard contingent while my ship wipes out your orbital
s. And before you threaten retaliation, I’m sure the Bureau won’t be keen on publicizing such an incident by pushing for my removal from command and court-martial. Besides, the Fleet would probably tell your bosses to go pound sand. But I can propose a way of getting them out of your stockade and aboard my ship without shooting or betraying the fact an agency of their own government held them illegally.”
Hersom locked eyes with Dunmoore and held her gaze for what seemed like hours. It felt as if he was searching her soul for a lie.
“Good God, I believe you’re dead serious.”
“I’m as serious as an extinction level asteroid strike.”
“You realize you’re basically asking for my surrender.”
She shrugged.
“Semantics. I’m suggesting you declare the targeted individual isn’t among the forty-five. Let your agency find the informant and ask hard questions. I’d recommend starting with Enoc Tarrant if there’s anything of his operation left after I pay Kilia a return visit. Let me land my Marines and pretend to rescue Kattegat Maru’s passengers. No one gets hurt, nothing is destroyed, and you can tell your bosses about successfully ending an operation gone wrong because of bad intelligence.”
When she paused, Hersom asked, “Or?”
“Or I raid your stockade with live ammunition and take whoever I want, which might well include every single Commonwealth citizen in unlawful detention. Call it enforcing a writ of habeas corpus.”
**
“Let me see if I understand,” Command Sergeant Karlo Saari said after Major Salminen opened the floor for questions. “We’re to carry out a pretend raid on that stockade, grab the folks taken off Kattegat Maru, but no one else, and make it look real to them but not to the guards. Sounds kind of crazy, sir.”
“Why are you expecting sanity after all this time in Iolanthe?” Sergeant Major Haataja asked. “Didn’t you notice what we do starts at crazy and goes up from there? Be thankful this isn’t a shooting mission.”
Saari grinned.
“I am, Talo. I most assuredly am. And doing the SSB a dirty trick is always amusing.”
