Helm sipped a bulb of coffee as she stared out at a black viewscreen. The jump point was as quiet as it had been yesterday and the day before and the day before that.
The coffee, on the other hand, tasted especially terrible. She would've had to add sugar and perhaps a little cream to make it taste merely bad. She smiled. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to drink anything else. What was it about naval officers and bad coffee? That was one tradition that stretched back to the days of sail.
"Sweep is clear, Captain," called out Junior Lieutenant Jerome Carter.
"Very well, 00D." The boy was good, but he was young. Earnest. Carter probably thought Clan Wolf was going to come pounding out of hyperspace any second. If he wasn't careful he was going to have a stroke. Then she'd have to train a whole new bridge officer.
Helm sighed. "Listen up, everyone," she said calmly. "We're a picket. That means we wait, and watch. Of course, I expect, I demand, absolute devotion to duty. But it has been more than four months since our brave soldiers halted the advance of the Wolves and Lyrans. Do not be spooked by the silence. Every day of that four months, every second, is a victory for the League."
"Yes, ma'am," said her people slowly, absorbing her words, nodding thoughtfully.
Helm smiled into her coffee bulb. There, that ought to do it. Now if they could just have a nice, quiet midwatch to think about—
Something flashed bright against the darkness of space.
"Jump,"sang out the petty officer at navigation. "I have EMP. She bears zero six three relative, one zero eight thousand klicks."
Helm pointed at her Boatswain Mate. "Boats. GQ."
Petty Officer Xia yanked the GQ alarm lever down and a panicked gonging filled the bridge. He reached for the 1MC and put the mike to his lips. Xia's deep voice filled the ship.
"General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands to battle stations. Set condition Zebra throughout the ship."
Even before he had finished, Helm raised her voice and said: "This is the Captain, I have the deck and the con." She glanced at tactical. "Get me a firing solution, now." She kicked off against a bulkhead, zipping neatly over to nav, where she grabbed a handhold and pulled herself down next to the quartermaster. "I want an ID on that bird as soon as she clears jump."
"Aye, aye, captain." Beads of sweat lined the quartermaster's upper lip.
For a moment the bridge was a tumult of noise as GQ watchstanders relieved their midwatch counterparts. Then the bridge was totally silent.
The silence was worse.
"She's clear," sang out the tactical action officer. Helm looked up at the screen. What she saw was a Scout carrying no DropShips, her white hull marked with a Marik eagle. Helm's mouth tasted like sand.
Painted on the Scout's bow was the name: "Pericles."
So she wasn't surprised when the GQ navigator reported, "I've verified her IFF." He looked up and his young face was chalk. "She's transmitting the proword 'canary.'" "World" Helm barked.
The navigator glanced down at his board. "Aitutaki."
"Radioman to the bridge," Helm barked. She didn't trust herself to speak. It was you who needed the pep talk, she thought bitterly, not your crew.
After the death of Thaddeus Marik, the Free Worlds navy had set up a network of JumpShips in the systems surrounding Atreus. These canaries were supposed to jump to Atreus if their home system was attacked. It wasn't as fast or detailed as an HPG transmission, but the appearance of a canary carried a message nonetheless.
In this case, that Clan Wolf was assaulting the world of Aitutaki.
The radio chief poked his head into the bridge. "Yes, Captain."
Helm swallowed. Her palms were sweating and her legs were trembling, but somehow when hervoice came out, it was steel. "I have flash message traffic for the Captain-General."
The radio chief swallowed, but nodded.
"Jump," called out the TAO. "Two one seven at one six two thousand klicks."
Helm turned to stare at him, her mouth hanging slackly open. Another jump? "Are you—" She almost said, "Are you sure?" but she was cut off by her GQ OOD.
"I've got another one at three five five."
"Four" shouted the navigator. "Zero four six at two five four thousand klicks."
Marion Helm reached down with a trembling hand to steady herself against the nav console. When she had been a young woman her husband had been killed in a hoverjeep accident. She still remembered the deputy sheriff standing at her door, the sick lurch of unreality as she listened to his words, the terrible heaviness in her stomach, her skin hot, her guts ice.
That's exactly how she felt now.
My God, she thought. How many systems are the Wolves attacking?
The House of Government Atreus City
Atreus
Free Worlds League
"Six, Your Grace," said Torrian Dolcat grimly, "including Atreus."
"Six," whispered Captain-General Jessica Marik. "Six?"
Philip reached out and touched her elbow, steadying her. It was all happening so fast. The phone had rung at two o'clock in the morning, jerking her out of sleep. She remembered the crisp voice of the watch officer: The Wolves are attacking.
A little shiver wriggled down her spine. That voice, those words would stay with her the rest of her life.
However long that might be.
And now she was standing here in the sitting room of the family quarters in her dressing gown with her husband, her real husband beside her, discussing the destruction of the Free Worlds League.
"lonus, Aitutaki, Manihiki, Escobas, Loyalty, and of course Atreus," said the head of SAFE.
Dolcat's sweating, thought Jessica. My God, I've never seen him sweat before.
The young man was still talking: "—starting to come in as our second-line pickets jump. In the other systems, Elementals have secured the jump point charging stations. Their DropShips are racing in at standard combat acceleration. They are not answering hails. They are not bargaining."
No bargaining, Jessica thought. Just conquest. She shook her head. "Six worlds."
The Wolves' first wave was no doubt intended to decapitate the League by capturing the seat of government. Worse, it would snap the spine of her realm, separating its spinward and anti-spinward halves.
Six worlds.
Could the Wolves really sustain a half-dozen separate offensives? Jessica had moved forces spinward from Tamarind- Abbey and the Rim Commonality, but she had not expected to defend six worlds at a time.
Dolcat cleared his throat. Jessica looked up. There's more.
The head of SAFE swallowed. "This is a coordinated strike, Your Grace."
"Obviously," said Jessica dryly.
"No, Your Grace. I mean this strike is coordinated with a new Lyran offensive. We've just received word they've hit three worlds in the Protectorate Coalition."
"Jessica," said Philip gently. "It's time to consider Chronos."
"We have your DropShip standing by," said Dolcat. "The ready JumpShip is prepped at the Atreus-Wendigo L4."
"Chronos.” Jessica whispered. Had it really come to that?
In ancient mythology, Chronos had been the king of the Titans. Fearing that his children would overthrow him, he swallowed them whole. But Zeus escaped. Eventually he was able to cut his father's belly open and his brothers and sisters emerged whole and unharmed.
Thus the Olympian Gods were reborn from the body of a tyrant.
The two men were silent, looking at her. Waiting for her to give the order. They were talking about abandoning Atreus. Relocating the capital.
Jessica raised her head, straightened her back. I am the Captain-General of the Free Worlds League. "No."
"Atreus is exposed, Jessica," said Philip reasonably. "We can't hope to hold it from a determined Wolf assault."
A dark chuckle escaped from Jessica. A determined Wolf assault. Was there any other kind?
"Oriente is well back from the front lines—" began Dolcat.
"I s
aid no," said Jessica mildly.
The head of SAFE drew a deep breath. "Your Grace. The Atreus assault force." He shook his head. "It's led by a Congress-class WarShip, the Rogue. We count three pocket WarShips, one belonging to the Wolf Khan himself. Enough 'Mech carriers to account for an entire galaxy."
"Jessica," said Philip. There was a note of pleading in his voice.
She had worked so hard to reform the League. Her false marriage to Thaddeus to gain the Marik name and the legitimacy it conferred. Using the Lyran war as a rallying point to bring her people together. The intense diplomacy, the many compromises.
And Atreus was the symbol of all that. If she fled Atreus, the League would splinter—and this time there would be no putting it back together.
She shook her head. "We can't flee Atreus in the middle of the night. We can't let that be the story of the Wolf assault."
"But-" began Dolcat.
"Oh, we'll leave," said Jessica coldly. "But first we need to change the narrative."
Clearwater Nature Preserve
Outside Atreus City
It was a cool spring day, the trill of a red-wing blackbird singing counterpoint to the soft gurgle of a brook. Fluffy white cotton from a stand of cottonwoods floated down through the air like lazy snow.
Samuel Bone had Clearwater all to himself. Most people were desperately trying to secure passage off the planet. Bone watched trails of fire and smoke mar the pretty blue sky as DropShip after DropShip filled with fleeing citizens lifted for space and the nearest JumpShip with an empty docking collar. The Wolves were coming, and no matter what brave noises Jessica made, Atreus was going to fall.
Bone wasn't worried about it. He'd already secured his method of transportation. His ride was willing to hold out quite a bit later than most commercial traffic. Bone had paid them well for their patience and they were used to unusual business requirements. They were the kind of people for whom the term "pirate point" wasn't just a euphemism.
He put his binoculars to his face, studying the wide cut in the earth where the little brook flowed. He wondered if a 'Mech could get through there.
If the news reports could be believed, the Halas bitch wasn't running. Bone hoped it was true. Clan Wolf would put a proper end to Jessica Halas-Hughes Marik. There wasn't a trick, a negotiation, an intrigue that would work on the Wolves.
Before coming here, Bone had met with his LIC handler face-to-face and had passed on everything he knew about the current situation, which was quite a lot. It was a dangerous move, but now was the time for dangerous moves. Besides, he was willing to bet that SAFE was so busy looking outside, they might miss a thing or two inside.
Bone's report would be carried out of the system via a commercial JumpShip traveling to Lyran space. When the courier reached his destination, a special command circuit would bring it to the Archon. At least that's how Bone would have done it. LIC didn't really tell him anything. It was badtradecraft to share any more information than was absolutely necessary with any one person in the chain.
Bone studied the trees and the brookthrough his binoculars. This little park was where the Wolves would come through. There was a civilian drop pad not twenty klicks to the south and the forest would cover their approach.
This was it.
Of course if he were wrong, he had his hoverbike. He'd make it to the action one way or the other. But he was almost never wrong.
The Lyran handler had offered to get him out, a reward for faithful service, but Bone had demurred. Jessica and the Wolves promised to be one helluva show.
And he had a front row seat.
Zdenekova Estate, Outside of Molfetta
Carrabesto, Gienah
Bolan Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
Melissa Steiner cradled a glass of white wine in her hand as she leaned over a stone balcony that looked out over the leviathan called Molfetta. After a long space journey, it would have been nice to stand outside on a beautiful summer day and enjoy the sun on her face, cool tendrils of wind toying with her hair, the smell of pine clean and sharp on the air.
But whatever pleasure she would have taken from that, Molfetta stole it away.
Molfetta was a monster. It was glass and steel thrust into the blue sky. It was ribbons of ferrocrete draped over the fertile land. It was noise and motion, the speed of hovercars and the steady clank of factories. It was pollution and production, corruption and cooperation, decadence and determination.
It was profit.
Which was what made the world a problem for Melissa.
She turned to Duke Stanislav Zdenekova. Duke Stan was a small, round man, not more than one meter seventy in height. His face was the color of cinnamon, and he was smiling faintly. Melissa couldn't ever remember him not smiling.
"I am sorry, Archon, but there are concerns about the new situation."
The new situation. A euphemism for her conquest of huge chunks of the Free Worlds League. "Once the new worlds are assimilated, business will double," said Melissa evenly.
"Business was fine here before the new situation," said Duke Stan.
And there it is, thought Melissa. In a province that feared and hated the Mariks, Gienah had cultivated commercial relationships with the Free Worlds League.
It was conversations like this that were the reason for Melissa's tour of the Bolan Military Province. Bringing new worlds into the Commonwealth was a great victory, but someone still had to make the adopted kids feel welcome, and let the older kids know they hadn't lost their place in the family.
Melissa decided now was the time to bring out her big gun. "Because of your expertise in dealing with League corporations, I've decided to administer the integration effort through Gienah." She smiled.
Duke Stan frowned, frowned, and looked away.
Melissa opened her mouth, surprised. That wasn't the reaction she'd expected. Billions and billions of kroner would flow into the province to bring the new worlds into the fold and Gienah would be in position to skim a healthy cut off the top.
"Stan?" She shook her head. "This will preserve your commercial relationships with the former League worlds."
Duke Stan snorted. "What about our commercial relationships with Gannett? And Helm? And Stewart?"
She blinked. "Over time the Wolves are sure to see the benefit of working closer with us."
"Oh, I'm sure the Wolves want to be closer," said Duke Stan bitterly.
Melissa straightened and set her glass down with a clink. When she spoke her voice was cold. "If you have something to say, Duke Zdenekova, why don't you say it?"
He turned to her, anger twisting the lines of his soft, friendly face. "You've brought the Wolves to our doorstep, Archon. What if they turn on us?"
"We are watching them closely," said Melissa placidly, "to ensure their attention remains focused rimward."
"They could turn easily enough," he snapped. "Attack Ideyld, Sheridan, or Amity."
She frowned. "Why those three worlds?"
"I can read a map!" he nearly shouted.
"And you think I cannot," said Melissa softly. For a moment the question hung in the air.
Duke Stan drew a deep breath and Melissa could see by the look on his face he realized he'd gone too far. "Archon, I didn't mean to—"
Melissa cut him off with a look. She held him silent for a long moment with those blue eyes. Well, she thought, I came out here to consolidate my rule. She leaned in to him. "What I am about to tell you will mean your life if it is ever repeated to another living soul," she whispered.
Duke Stan was suddenly very still.
"I have stationed tripwire units on Ideyld and Sheridan and Amity. Yes, the Wolves could turn and attack us." She turned to look out at the squalid wealth of Molfetta. "But it is a poor master indeed who does not plan for her pets' misbehavior."
The Grand Resort
Brotherhood Island
Amity, Bolan Military Province
Lyran Commonwealth
The beach was a sundrenched arc of white sand wrapped around a small bay. A coral reef shielded the bay, so its waters were calm and blue. Perfect for snorkeling or swimming or horsing around. On the beach, guests sprawled face down on towels, their bodies shiny with oil, the smell of coconut heavy in the air. Or they reclined in cabana chairs beneath giant beach umbrellas, clutching tall glasses of gin that sweated more than they did.
Beyond the beach there was a hotel, a silver tower of steel and glass that reached thirty stories into the perfect blue sky. There were pools, three of them, and tennis courts and bike paths and an English garden and a hundred meters away, IndustrialMechs were putting in a world-class golf course.
A man stood on the white sand beach and studied everything carefully. He was a tall, powerful man with bronze skin, a square jaw, and a face that made women look twice. But in the end it wasn't his face that won them over—it was his eyes, a dark, stormy blue that sent women searching for words like indigo and cobalt and pelagic.
Yes, he would have done just fine on the beach.
If he hadn't been wearing a crisp dress-gray uniform and polished black boots.
Landgrave Jasek Kelswa-Steiner turned his attention to the resort's vast parking lot. He raised a communicator to his lips and clicked the SEND button. "Execute."
There was a distant rumble, somewhere below the ground. Jasek felt the vibration in his legs. The lot's blacktop began to crumble as if a sinkhole were opening. A Storm Raider BattleMech painted in jagged gray and black urban camouflage emerged from the hole. Jasek knew it was walking up a ramp, but it still looked a demon arising from hell.
None of the guests standing in the bay, or drinking their gin, or browning in the sun, looked at the BattleMech. Not one. It was as if Jasek was the only one who could see it. Of course, the "guests" were not really guests at all. They were members of Jasek's Stormhammers.
Jasek nodded and clicked the communicator. "Excellent." Looked like the deployment plan would work.
A Bonfire of Worlds Page 9
