“Very good, Melliman. Check and see if Admiral Tuuneo has arrived, and if he has, request permission for me to talk to him in one hour.”
“Will do, sir. Anything else I can get for you?”
Something in the tone of her voice set off an annoying alarm in the back of Frye’s mind, an alarm she had set off several times since Vinita’s death. He knew Melliman was only trying to be kind to him, but there was a tone of, well – He shut that thought off. “Nothing else for now, AOCO, thank you.”
Even as she signed off, Frye felt a momentary conflict of emotions about Melliman. As his Aide-of-Commander and most trusted subordinate, she was invaluable. But the fact that she was attractive, unmarried, and apparently unattached, added a new dimension to their relationship which Frye had never before given any thought to. Maybe he was just being overly sensitive, reading things in her words and actions which had no significance except that which he gave them.
With a flick of his wrist he turned on his microspooler and waded into the overnight reports, starting, as Melliman had suggested, with the status reports on the Matthews system. If there was unusual activity there, he had damn well better know about it before his presentation of the plan to Bridgeforce.
What he read startled him. In addition to an increased number of freighters entering Matthews system, the UCS agents in place reported the arrival of several Sondak garrison ships.
“Melliman, get in here.”
“Yes sir.” Moments later she entered his office and stood before him.
“Sit down and tell me what you make of these reports from Matthews.”
“Hard to say with any certainty, sir,” Melliman said.
Frye would have been hard pressed to miss the eagerness in her voice. “But you suspect something?”
“Two things actually, sir. Either Sondak is reinforcing the Matthews system in preparation for an attack, or they are getting ready to evacuate their military forces and concede the system.”
“Conceding the system to us seems a little extreme, doesn’t it AOCO? What would they gain from that?”
“Consolidation of their forces, sir, and a shortening of their supply lines.”
“And a blow to their morale,” Frye nodded.
“I suppose so, sir. But if I were their commander, I would rather take that blow now than later.”
“Why?”
“Because I think it would be easier to overcome now.”
Frye valued his Aide-of-Commander precisely because she told him what she thought in a way that few of his previous AOCOs had been willing or able to do. Yet neither of her choices made as much sense as they should have. Reinforcing the Matthews system would cost Sondak an investment in personnel and equipment they could hardly afford after the losses they had suffered. Conceding the system, especially its principal planet, Reckynop, with its established lightspeed service base, could be an irreparable blow to Sondak’s morale, especially their military morale.
There had to be another answer, but the report offered no clues, and Frye could not pull a reasonable explanation off the top of his head. Better to let it sink in, he thought.
“Look for another reason, Melliman. And if you think of one, tell me immediately. I have a feeling we have missed something. That will be all.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The look on her face was one of controlled disappointment, but Frye knew she would come up with a list of other possibilities. She understood strategy better than half the admirals and commanders he knew, and she was proud of that understanding. Melliman would sift through the accumulated data until she found other answers.
Frye turned to the rest of the overnights and scanned them for any information which might affect his attack plan. Aside from the continuing requests from his task-force leaders for permission to hold their extended positions rather than regroup, there was little in the overnights of immediate consequence.
The task force leaders would have to be dealt with firmly. If they hesitated too long in following his orders, they would surely throw off the timing for the attack. On the other hand, Frye thought with a quiet smile, if his own subordinates did not see that the next logical objective was to regroup and strike in an unexpected place, then perhaps Sondak would not see that either. Suppose Sondak had some plan for a retaliatory strike? That could certainly explain a buildup in the Matthews system, and confirmation of that theory could give the U.C.S. the advantage it needed to –
“Admiral Tuuneo on the vidphone for you, sir.”
“Yes, sir,” Frye said as he turned on his vidphone.
“Are we ready, Commander?”
“I believe so, sir. But there are a few things I would like to talk to you about before I present my plan.”
“Any time you’re ready, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir. I will be there shortly.”
Frye gathered his plan and the supplementary information he had accumulated, then gave Melliman an urgent message for all the task-force leaders, telling them to execute his orders without delay. As soon as he was finished, she cocked one of her bright auburn eyebrows at him. “A question, Melliman?”
“No, sir. Just a sudden thought. Suppose Sondak’s actions in the Matthews system are a ruse of some sort? We have no positive information that those garrison ships are full of troops, and none about what those additional freighters are carrying. I mean, sir –“
“Suppose you see what else you can find to support that idea, AOCO. You might just be headed in the right direction.” Frye gave her an approving smile. “But now I have to find what direction Bridgeforce wants to take this war.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Leri Gish Geril paused and stared as Sondak’s most recent ambassador squirmed in his protective suit. Humans, Leri thought, good-for-the-worst humans. “By what right does Sondak plan to expropriate our methane? Or doesn’t it think it needs such a right, Ambassador?”
“Please, Proctor,” the ambassador’s voice droned through the translator. “Sondak would never do anything to – “
“Lies ,” Leri said calmly. Then just as calmly she generated a little oxygen, mixed it in the dual chambers behind her gills, sparked her teeth, and spat a small fireball at the ambassador.
It gave her little joy when the human jumped and uttered some untranslatable word. Humans rarely gave joy to anything. The skittery little aliens were too busy lying, cheating, fighting, killing and propagating their irritatingly powerful race to find much joy in anything. No wonder they were fun to play with.
“What you have told me, Ambassador Fushtig, is that your military has determined that it needs billions of cubic hexameters of methane which it can use for your short-range fighters. Consequently, your scientists determined that just such a quantity of methane was available in the surface of our atmosphere. How convenient.”
Fushtig had rather bravely resumed his position directly in front of Leri, and when he spoke, the translator indicated no signs of fear in his voice. “I assure that no such thing happened. Your planetary council has been exporting methane for centuries and – “
“At a controlled rate.”
“Exactly. We only wish your assistance in increasing that rate of export within safe guidelines for all – “
“A two-thousandfold increase is hardly what we would consider safe.”
“But, Proctor, we have presented the data to your own experts and they have indicated – “
“They are still analyzing it.”
“But they have indicated that their preliminary study confirms our findings.”
Leri took a deep breath and pursed the membranes at the end of her tubular mouth. Fusthig tensed, but held his ground and stared back at her through the clear faceplate of his helmet. Leri blew a steady series of little fireballs over his head. To the ambassador’s credit he did not flinch this time until the twentieth almost grazed him.
“Stop it!” his voice screeched through the translator.
“Why?” Leri asked.
“Will you stop pirating our methane if we tell you to? Of course not. You control the process as you always have. You control the stations. Your technology makes it all work. Why do you bother to ask our permission or pay us at all? Why do you not just take all you want and be done with it?”
They both knew the answer to that question, but Leri wanted to hear this ambassador’s response. His predecessors had recited Sondak’s fair-trade policy by rote – complete with self-serving revisionist history of their assistance to Cloise. Their crude tale of political and economic entanglement also amused her. That it was at least half true annoyed her.
“I don’t know, Proctor,” Fushtig said. “It would certainly be simpler than negotiating with you. And as you say, the advantage is ours.”
Leri gulped and burped in quick succession, a sure sign to anyone who knew her that she was both amused and angered.
“Not totally,” she said. Her next fireball consumed Ambassador Fushtig who struggled only briefly before his suit exploded.
“You will have to break that habit,” a mildly disappointed voice said behind Leri.
“I know. I know. But you must admit that these humans are a most irritating race. Yet I suppose you are right, Ranas, if only because they are beginning to grow suspicious.”
“And impatient with us,” Ranas added.
“So they are, my love. So they are.” Leri started her personal music, lowered the meditative curtain, and shut herself off from Ranas and the ambassador’s charred remains. Then she curled her long, narrow body into a tight coil. It was time to pray for Fushtig’s soul as duty required.
Leri was in no way convinced that individual members of the human race had souls. They might have a collective soul as the Verfen did, or they might be altogether without souls like those pitiful aliens who called themselves the Oinaise. But she refused to offend the Elett by not following the dictates of her religion. Better to pray for the soul of a creature with none than to risk having to serve that soul in the eternal seas of the hereafter.
In the middle of her prayers Leri shuddered with pleasure and immediately changed to the litany of delight. Her time had come. She shifted her coils to form a shallow bowl shape and sung her joy to the gracious Elett, asking their blessings and their love.
Moments later she gave birth to a clutch of daughters. As the last of seven squirmed free from her body, Leri was filled with maternal happiness. Yet she knew in some deep, intuitive way that one of these guplings of hers had an ambassador’s soul. That knowledge tempered her joy.
◊ ◊ ◊
“Captain Mica Gilbert, reporting as ordered, sir,” Mica executed a perfect salute and stood at rigid attention in front of Admiral Stonefield. Despite the fact that he had known her since she was a child when he had been her father’s first commanding officer, she had never felt comfortable alone in his presence.
“At ease, Captain. Have a seat. There is no need for you to be so formal.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mica said carefully, making sure that her posture was straight and correct in the oversoft chair in front of his desk.
Admiral Stonefield laughed. “You always were a strange girl, Mica, but I suppose it’s in your blood – your father’s, I mean. It’s the Gilbert independence mixed with military discipline, I guess. Makes for an interesting combination.”
Mica resented the casual way he criticized her and her father, but she smiled and said, “The family traits have been commented on before, sir.”
“Yes, I’m sure they have. You know your father’s coming back here, don’t you? Of course you do. But did you also know that he has requested that you join his staff?”
The surprise shifted her face before she could catch and suppress it. “No, sir. I didn’t. I thought that – “
“It is against regulations, Mica. At least it usually is. But in this instance, as in all instances of war, regulations get set aside for the good of the service. How would you feel about serving under your father?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” Mica hesitated. Admiral Stonefield knew she would like nothing better. Why was he asking such a stupid question? “Serving under my father would be an honor and privilege that I dared not even dream about. But if it would cause problems, I, uh –“
Stonefield snorted. “Let me worry about the problems. If you think you could serve under your father as well as under any other officer, that is all that matters.” He looked at her sternly for a moment, then smiled. “However, there is another complication in this matter.”
“Sir?”
“Commander Rochmon has also requested that you be transferred to his staff. His chief communications officer will be moving to CENFLEET as soon as we can replace him.”
That information did not surprise Mica. Rochmon had told her he might put in a request for her, but knowing the ways of the military all too well, she had decided not to think about that until it happened. Now she had two opportunities, both of which greatly appealed to her.
“Well, Mica? Which would you rather do?”
Something in Stonefield’s tone made her pause before answering. Her first choice by far would be to serve under her father. But perhaps – “Which would be better for the service, sir?” she asked quietly. “Isn’t that really the question?”
Stonefield smiled again. “An excellent question, Mica, one which I am not sure I can answer. However, I don’t expect you to answer it either. Unless you have some serious objection, I am going to have you assigned as communications officer for Cryptography Headquarters. That’s where the service needs you the most at the moment. Later we might need you elsewhere.”
Mica knew she had given the correct response, but that did not alleviate the sense of disappointment she felt. Under any other circumstances she would have jumped at the chance to serve under Rochmon. Now, well, now she almost wished he had not asked for her.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, as she rose from her chair and pulled herself to attention.
“That’s not all, Mica. Please, sit down.”
What else could there be? she wondered as she sat back down and returned Admiral Stonefield’s even gaze.
“There is something we need for you to do for us.”
The look on the admiral’s face put her immediately on the alert. “We, sir?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes, Captain, we – the Joint Chiefs. We want you to serve in a dual function on Commander Rochmon’s staff.”
“In what way, sir?” Mica was not sure she wanted to hear his answer.
“As honor trustee,” he said without inflection.
Mica was shocked. To be an honor trustee on Rochmon’s staff meant that she would be spying on them for the Joint Chiefs. Surely they didn’t suspect that –
“Perhaps I should have prepared you for that,” Stonefield said as he looked steadily into her eyes, “but I see by your expression that – well, never mind. Rest assured, Captain, that we in no way doubt the loyalty of Commander Rochmon. However, the surprise attacks have caused the Joint Chiefs to question whether all the necessary information about the Ukes has been getting through to him, and thus to us. As communications officer, you will be in an ideal position to monitor what goes in and out of their headquarters. Should you detect anything suspicious, anything at all, you are to report it directly to me - if, of course, you accept this duty.”
There was no way she could refuse it, not in time of war. Yet Mica wanted to with all her heart. Even if Stonefield said Rochmon was above suspicion, he would still expect reports on everyone in Cryptography. Everyone. Rochmon included. She would be spying on all of them.
“I understand the difficulty of your position, Captain, but I must remind you that we are engaged in a war, a war which we are by no means guaranteed of winning. Under such circumstances, we are all called upon to do things which are onerous to us.”
“Yes, sir,” Mica said as evenly as she could. There was no way out of the dilemma. An age-old military tradition which she had been introduced t
o on her first day in StarFleet Academy dictated that she accept. “What are the procedures?”
Even as Admiral Stonefield explained exactly how she was to report to him and what criteria she was to use, Mica’s stomach churned with ugly anticipation of what she had agreed to do.
◊ ◊ ◊
“Get closer before you fire.” Commander Zupanch’s voice was calm as she attempted to direct her fleet, but inside she felt the sharp anticipation of loss.
The Uke launchship was already spewing flight after flight of attack ships through her thin defense net. Commander Rankin and Graczyski’s defenders might stop a few of the Ukes, but Zupanch knew they would be hard pressed to do more than offer token resistance.
Half of her fleet consisted of hastily trained civilians flying station shuttles and personal craft with crudely mounted rocket launchers and industrial pulse lasers. Rankin’s fleet was almost totally civilian. Yet Zupanch refused to give in to her feelings. She had argued as well and as hard as she knew how for an alliance with Sondak – knowing for decades that Cczwyck could never adequately defend itself. Now it was too late. If they lost, they lost, but at least they would defend their home with every resource they had.
“Watch out! Here they come!” a voice crackled over the transceiver. “Hundreds of them!”
“Maintain formation and speed, and prepare to fire on my command.”
Zupanch recognized the voice of one of her spacecorps leaders and sought for an instant to remember his name.
Then in front of her, Tiernan’s viewscreen filled with the scenes of battle. Rockets exploded in ephemeral rosettes of color against the bright backdrop of stars. Flashes of orange light erupted from the sides of the Uke launchship.
A babble of voices filled with terror and triumph vibrated the speakers. One ship crippled. A scream of anger. Another ship gone. Then another. Then ten. Then thirty.
Through the chatter of commands and the cacophony of reports in Tiernan’s battle center, Zupanch heard someone sobbing.
Cries of panic preceded the desertion of several civilian ships. They were quickly joined by several more, despite orders and curses for them to stay.
Double Spiral War Trilogy Page 5
