by Evan Currie
“Aye Skipper,” Ray Little said from the pit, where he was casually directing the ship while keeping an eye on the surrounding vessels.
They had most of their usual line of battle, minus the Odysseus, along with a few Priminae tugs that were peeling off now that they’d transited out of the stellar corona. With those in the clear, he was looking at empty black between the convoy and the heliopause.
“Smooth sailing,” he said softly, not really speaking to anyone as he made a few micro adjustments to the navigational vectors to adjust for slight variance in the position of the system’s larger planets from their records.
Roberts turned away from the helm and walked back to his command station, tapping out a command without sitting down.
His orders were on the captain’s display, and he couldn’t help but glance them over again as he thought about what was to come.
He was privy to the details of what the Imperial Recon team had likely managed to get off the Priminae ship, and could read between the lines easily enough. The commodore and the admiral clearly felt that something big and bad was coming down the line and likely to hit them right in the teeth if they weren’t ready.
Well, that was fine. He was all in favor of being ready.
The situation with the Odysseus, however, was preying on his mind. Unlike most of the squadron, Roberts had been allowed over to see just what the fuss was over. He was still trying to wrap his head around it.
Everything they’d seen over the years had seemed insane in the moment, of course, so perhaps this was just one of those things that would inevitably become part of his daily lexicon, but for now Roberts had real, serious issues with getting his head around the revelations the commodore had brought to him.
Odysseus itself, or himself perhaps, was one thing; having seen the . . . entity with his own eyes, he could reluctantly accept what seemed to be reality there. That the ship had somehow become incarnated as a young boy with a fetish for antiquated armor and pink eye shadow . . .
Okay, frankly, if he were to admit it to himself, and only to himself, Roberts had to admit that the pink makeup bothered him more than the idea of the ship having an incarnate soul. He would not say that out loud, especially not to anyone outside the service, as it might be viewed (might, hell) as being prejudiced against certain groups of people.
However, it wasn’t that—it really wasn’t. Or he hoped it wasn’t at least. Sometimes it was hard to tell what even your own thoughts were.
The color simply insulted his sense of professionalism.
Particularly the glitter.
He was a little scared what precedent Eric would set for the Navy going forward this time, of course, but he doubted that they were going to wind up with a whole fleet of sentient starships, so, if nothing else, any impact would likely be limited to the Odysseus.
What the hell is it with that man, anyway? Roberts wondered.
Apparently, if there was anything weird in the galaxy, Eric Weston would trip over it, fall into it, and then pick it up and take it home for adoption.
Better him than me.
The two big Heroics and their eight escort Rogues began the long slog of a climb out of the gravity well of Ranquil Prime, accelerating steadily as their powerful reactors spun up to full strength and they began warping space for the open black.
The formation was carefully observed by nearly every scanner in the system. Even allies were wont to keep an eye on any source of that much sheer destruction sailing through their territory. With no untoward happenings, however, nearly a day later the group of ships made the heliopause and the official safe distance from which they could transition out.
With their orders set, the Bell, the Bo, and their escorts vanished in a flash of tachyons.
Behind them they left an uneasy peace, fragile and waiting for the hammer blow that seemed certain to come.
CHAPTER 6
Imperial Space, World Kraike
Jesan Mich walked with a careful and practiced cadence, his capped boot heels echoing sharply off the bonded stone floor beneath him. He was approaching the Imperial seat of power in the sector, which was firmly in the front of his mind with every step he took. None of the direct Imperial family would be present, of course, but in his experience that meant it was even more important to watch his step.
The extended cousins who were entrusted with duties in outer sectors were often quite touchy about the positions they held for reasons he was cognizant of, since he was one of those distant cousins himself in some ways. Granted, his position was earned more by merit than theirs, but blood played true just the same, and Jesan was too aware that if he’d been born a little closer to the Imperial throne, he would likely be in command of the Home Fleet and not an outer sector fleet.
Being appointed to a perimeter sector should, in theory, have been a statement of trust in their position and the quality of their work. In practice the move was often perceived as a sign of a general lack of competence. Getting the idiot cousin as far away from real power as possible and all that.
He was one of the few who understood that wasn’t the case as a general rule, since perimeter sectors had to run much more autonomously than the core worlds. He had worked his way up the fleet ranks the hard way, putting down spots of violence all over the Empire at least as often in the core as the rim worlds.
Rim lords and ladies, however, could get extremely touchy with people like himself coming into their fiefdom with an Imperial note of authority and throwing their weight around.
He paused in the entry arc, silently waiting to be announced as all eyes in the large vaulted room turned to see who was standing there. In his lord’s finest, Jesan waited perhaps a few seconds longer than he should have before he rotated his head just slightly to pin the nearest acolyte with a glare to melt steel.
The man paled and immediately stiffened to attention and hit the announcing chime.
A few moments after the room fell entirely silent, the acolyte spoke up. He didn’t use an amplifier for his voice; one wasn’t needed. The room was designed to channel and amplify sound from specific places such that everyone in the room could hear anything said from those points with perfect clarity.
“Announcing Her Imperial Majesty’s representative, Lord Jesan Mich.”
The announcement was soft, steady, not yelled in any way, but everyone in the massive room heard it all the same. Jesan stepped formally into the chambers of the local seat of government and bowed precisely ten degrees forward from the hip as he looked to where the sector governor was watching him.
Jesan was well aware that the governor wasn’t going to like what he was about to do.
“You may approach, Lord Mich,” the governor said, gesturing him forward with a tired sort of look.
You think you know what’s coming, but I’m sorry to say you have no idea, Jesan thought grimly as he walked up to the podium for presenters and appeals to the governor.
He wasn’t there to appeal.
Jesan handed off his Imperial note and attached orders to a runner, who passed them along to the governor.
“Very well, Lord Mich,” the governor said, looking the two documents over. “These all appear to be in order. What actions are you here to inform us of?”
Jesan fixed his gaze on the governor, not looking around to any of the other faces turned in his direction. “I believe, Governor, that you would prefer if this were made a private matter.”
“We do not have time for this,” the governor growled. “Some of us have work to accomplish. Present your position or leave.”
You asked for it, Jesan thought, considering the man a fool. It would have lost him only a few moments to quietly ascertain what Jesan wanted, and the results of not doing so were wildly unpredictable, since he had no idea what was coming. Still, it wasn’t Jesan’s problem anymore. He’d made the appropriate gesture.
“Very well, Governor,” Jesan said crisply. “I am here to inform you that I am deploying the sector fleet t
o a forward action.”
The governor snapped his head back as though Jesan had somehow managed to reach out and slap him. Murmurs of shock rapidly built around him, but he ignored them as he kept his focus on the governor.
“I don’t believe I heard that correctly,” the governor said, leaning forward with a dark look on his face.
“I am very much afraid you did, Governor. Events in Oather space have conspired to require my full attention, and that of the fleet as well.”
Exclamations of protest erupted all around him, but none of those voices mattered. Jesan didn’t care what local officials thought; they were important only in their small local spheres. None of them had any hint of authority that could impinge on him. They were no threat.
The governor, however, was another matter. In practice his own authority was equal to that of the governor. Jesan was, in many respects, a governor himself, only a mobile one. His primary area of authority was over fleet jurisdiction, which, in theory, put him slightly above local governors. But since he rarely had the luxury of building long-term support in a given area, that was offset somewhat by the local governors’ network of influence.
“That,” the governor said softly, silencing the talk, as his location was one of the acoustic sweet spots that brought his voice to every ear in the room, “would seem to be, at best, precipitous, Lord Mich. At worst I would say it is a panicked overreaction.”
Jesan tensed, but forced himself not to react to the jab.
“I would say that it is moving to eliminate a potential problem with alacrity,” he said instead, smiling thinly. “The Oathers have recently altered their tactics and capabilities in surprising ways, and this inclines me to end this situation immediately.”
“That’s fine, Lord Mich, but the whole sector fleet? That seems somewhat extreme.”
“The more force that can be brought to bear on the issue, the quicker we can resolve it and move on to more important business,” Jesan said calmly.
The governor frowned but said nothing.
“But our worlds will be left without protection!”
Jesan barely glanced aside to see who had shouted that, then refocused on the governor without acknowledging the loudmouth.
The governor sighed. “While he spoke out of place, the Honorable Nierey has a point, My Lord.”
“Every world has its own guard fleet,” Jesan said simply. “If those are unable to temporarily secure your worlds, then I must question whether you have been properly investing as per your agreement with Her Majesty’s family.”
The governor flushed, but surprisingly didn’t look away from Jesan’s gaze.
“I assure you, My Lord,” he said tersely, “my Guard Fleet is to the full requirements of the law, and beyond.”
Jesan inclined his head and opted not to question the governor about the fleets of other worlds. He rather knew what that answer would be and, while it might be satisfying to put the screws to some of the “honorable” gentlemen in the room with him, it would be counterproductive at the very least.
“I have no doubts, Governor.”
The governor’s lips twisted. He certainly recognized the position his administrator’s mouth had put him in; however, it was too late to change what had been said. He sighed and finally tipped his head to Jesan.
“We stand informed of the fleet deployment,” he stated. “I will forward your decision to the core worlds with the next dispatches.”
“Of course, Governor.” Jesan once more bowed the precise ten degrees required by protocol. “I will take my leave, then, the sooner to return the fleet to your jurisdiction.”
“As you say.”
Jesan retreated from the room, victory under his cloak, but now the real job would begin. He had barely exited the hall when he grabbed his ship communicator and called his adjutant.
“Ferin, has the fleet finished preparations?” he asked as he walked.
“Very nearly, My Lord.”
“How long until we can deploy?” Jesan demanded, increasing his pace.
“Within the day, if it is urgent,” Ferin said. “Is it?”
“Not such that I want to increase chances of any losses, but yes,” Jesan said. “I would be clear of the Oather sector and on to my normal duties as quickly as possible.”
“I will ensure that the fleet understands that, My Lord. I believe we will be able to deploy the fleet by tomorrow.”
“Excellent. See to it,” Jesan ordered, closing the connection before any response could be uttered.
The time for talking was over.
Thank the Makers.
“Navarch?”
Misrem looked up from her work as the adjutant stood in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Orders from the fleet lord,” the adjutant told her. “The fleet is to deploy within the day.”
The navarch sighed, nodding tiredly. “Understood. Thank you. Dispatch the news to my sub-commanders, Adjutant.”
“As you will it, Navarch,” the man said before vanishing back out the door.
Misrem stared at the open door for a time, thinking about what the orders meant. She’d been expecting them for some time, of course. Jesan had given her more than enough warning of his plans. Her squadron was well ready to deploy and could be under way within the hour if that was what the orders stated.
This would be their third encroachment into the anomaly’s territory, and this time it would not be a follow-up investigation or a probe with intent.
They saw our tails twice. Misrem wondered if that would make the enemy overconfident or not.
She wasn’t sure just what they knew of the Empire, whether they had any idea of the size of the Imperial Fleet. It was possible they actually believed that her squadron was a significant section of the Imperial order of battle.
That seemed unbelievable, however. Based on what her people had retrieved from the Oather ship, it seemed like her squadron would represent a very sizeable portion of the enemy’s order of battle, so it was not impossible that they might make such a mistake.
She didn’t know, couldn’t imagine really, what it would be like to see an Imperial sector fleet bearing down on you if you thought a single squadron was impressive.
She smirked, imagining looking into her enemies’ eyes upon their fatal discovery.
The Piar Cohn was a fury of activity as the import of the orders sunk in to everyone, but Aymes simply sat confidently in the center of the hurricane and looked bored.
Internally he was anything but, but he refused to show that to the crew around him.
The fleet lord’s orders were expected, of course, but they still shook everyone to the core. This would be the first major fleet action in . . . well . . . a long time. He’d have to check the records, but it certainly hadn’t happened in this sector in living memory, at the very least.
Unfortunately, it won’t be much of an action, assuming the intelligence is correct.
That was the real assumption, of course, but even if it was significantly off, Aymes couldn’t imagine that the full sector fleet would experience any serious losses. The fleet lord wasn’t doing this just to end a minor border conflict. No, the lord was making a point.
To whom, exactly, Aymes had no clue, but someone had clearly attracted the lord’s attention, and he could only presume that someone was about to be full of regret.
For Aymes and his Piar Cohn, it just meant that this mission would be ending and they’d be on to another shortly enough.
He had some sympathy for the Oathers, more than many of his fellows, but not enough to muster any true care for what was about to fall upon their heads. He did have some level of curiosity about the anomalous species and the changes they’d wrought.
So many things seemed to have spiraled out of control, all beginning with the first time we scanned that seemingly insignificant vessel.
Aymes would take some enjoyment in reading about their technology once the reports began making the rounds of the fleet commanders in a few
years. With a little luck, his ship might recover some interesting pieces of the tech before the fighting was over and give him a first-person look before some official from the core worlds of the Empire claimed it all for the empress.
New technology was rare in the Empire, as very few causes had been found to justify devoting many resources for research. No enemy had given the Empire a real fight in longer than he’d been alive, considerably longer in fact. By and large, the powers that be had no perceived reason to waste time improving what there was no need to improve.
Not until recently, that was.
The heavy new armor that had been retrofitted to his ship and many of the other ships of the fleet showed that the Empire was not totally hidebound in its ways.
There was something hopeful there, he supposed, though that might just be wishful thinking.
The Imperial sector fleet buzzed with action from the least of its ships to the fleet lord’s own itself, every vessel a flurry of activity as the final preparations for deployment were made. Stores had to be transhipped, first from the planet to the logistics vessels, and then in turn to each of the combat vessels. Fuel matter was dragged in from the outer belts of the system as well as positioned strategically for them to finish securing their cores on their way out of the system.
Dozens of light cruisers moved to the vanguard as the heavy cruisers provided the core of the formation being built around the Lord’s Own Dreadnought at the center. Destroyers filled out the remaining slots.
Working through the local planet’s night, the fleet was assembled and ready to move by the time the lord’s shuttle arrived and docked with the Lord’s Own Dreadnought shortly after local sunrise.
Lord’s Own Dreadnought, Empress Liann
Lord Jesan Mich casually looked over the preparations with a practiced look of mild disinterest.
He found that crews generally tended to get nervous if the fleet lord showed too much interest in their actions, so he did the best he could to allay those reactions, as they tended to cause mistakes. He was generally pleased with the progress that had been made.
