A Rising Thunder hh-13

by David Weber

  Kolokoltsov nodded once again, lying back in his chair and thinking hard.

  It’s a pity Rajani didn’t shoot himself months ago, he thought sourly. Of course, Kingsford probably would’ve shot from the hip, too, if he’d been in Rajani’s position and known what Rajani knew at the outset. Even if that’s true, though, he’s clearly a wiser and more cautious man these days. The question is, is he wise enough?

  “All right, Fleet Admiral,” he said finally. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. As you say, there are political aspects to this that lie outside the military’s purview. My colleagues and I will have to consider those aspects before we can decide whether or not to pursue the strategy you’ve sketched out. I’ll try to get that decision for you as quickly as possible. In the meantime, however, I’d like you — and perhaps Captain Gweon — to produce a more detailed strategic plan. One that shows us what forces you’d contemplate using, where and how you’d employ them, what the logistic requirements would be, and all of that sort of thing.”

  “I’ve had Admiral Jennings, my chief of staff at Battle Fleet, working on the concept for several weeks, Sir. I’m pretty sure we could have what you’re asking for in no more than a few days.”

  “Good.” Kolokoltsov stood and extended his hand across the desk, indicating the end of the meeting, and Kingsford rose and gripped the hand.

  “I won’t say I’ve enjoyed hearing what you and Captain Gweon had to say,” Kolokoltsov continued. “I do, however, appreciate the clarity with which you both said it.”

  * * *

  “So how did it go?”

  Captain Caswell Gweon looked up from his martini with a smile as the extremely attractive red-haired woman slid into the chair on the other side of the small, private table.

  “Fine, dear. And how was your day?” he asked with a smile.

  “Boring, as usual,” she replied. “And don’t change the subject.”

  “It’s known as small talk, dear,” Gweon pointed out. “The sort of thing people who are seeing one another seriously or, oh, I don’t know, engaged to each other, tend to do when they meet.”

  “Point taken,” she admitted with a smile, then leaned across the table, cupped the side of his face in the palm of her right hand, and kissed him with a thoroughness which drew at least one laugh of approval from the bar’s other patrons.

  “Much better!” he told her with an even broader smile of his own. He looked around the dimly lit bar, as if seeking the person who’d laughed. Nobody confessed, but several people smiled at him, and he shook his head, then waved one of the waiters over.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Would it be possible for us to get one of the private booths?” Gweon produced a credit chip which somehow magically teleported into the waiter’s hand.

  “Oh, I think we can probably arrange something, Sir,” the waiter assured him with a brilliant smile. “If you and the lady would follow me, please?”

  Gweon stood and pulled back his companion’s chair, then offered her his arm as they followed along in the waiter’s wake. He showed them to a large, comfortable booth in the rear of the attached restaurant — one with first rate privacy equipment.

  “Will this do, Captain?”

  “It looks perfect,” Gweon said approvingly. “If you could, please let us have a few minutes before sending someone to take our order? We’ll signal”—he indicated the panel on the table—“when we’re ready.”

  “Of course, Sir.”

  The waiter bowed with another smile and departed.

  Gweon watched him go, then ushered his companion into the booth, seated himself opposite her, and activated the privacy equipment. They were instantly enclosed in a bubble which allowed them to see the restaurant around them clearly, but prevented anyone else from seeing in. That bubble was also supposed to be impervious to any known eavesdropping equipment, but Gweon pulled a small device from his pocket, laid it on the table between them, and activated it.

  “And how wise is that?” his companion asked a bit sharply, and he shrugged.

  “I’m the head of one of ONI’s main sections, Erzi, and I’ll be a flag officer in another couple of weeks. Rank hath its privileges in the SLN, including the use of officially assigned anti-snooping equipment while necking with my fiancée. Trust me, nobody’s going to find this remotely suspicious unless they’re already suspicious for some reason. In which case, we’re already screwed and might as well not worry about it.”

  “I hate it when you get logical this way,” she complained with a pout, and he chuckled.

  He sat back, surveying her, and reflected that he could have done far worse for a control. Erzébet Pelletier was every bit as smart as she was attractive. She was also athletic, and a pleasant armful in bed. Not only that, they got along well, and he knew she genuinely liked him. In fact, it might even go a little further than that, although both of them had to remember the risks of getting overly emotionally involved in their roles.

  “All right,” Erzébet went on after a moment. “You told that nice young man we’d order in a few minutes, so why don’t we go ahead and get the dreary details out of the way?”

  “Suits me,” he agreed.

  He wished they ocould have held this conversation in their comfortable apartment, but it was a given that the apartment was bugged. Not very effectively — Rear Admiral Yau’s Office of Counterintelligence was pretty inept, and its bugs were no more than pro forma, since it was extraordinarily unlikely anyone in OCI cherished any suspicions where Gweon was concerned. Unfortunately, there was no good excuse for using his anti-eavesdropping equipment at home, whereas there were plenty of reasons someone might do that in public. So it actually made more sense for the two of them to exchange critical information in a “public” venue.

  “First,” he told her, “there’s no sign anyone thinks there’s anything suspicious about Rajampet’s suicide.” He shrugged. “Given all that’s happened and the grilling he could expect from Kolokoltsov and the others, it’s easy to figure he had more than enough reasons to kill himself.”

  “So it went off cleanly?” she asked.

  “Evidently. It was his pulser, after all.” He grinned suddenly; he’d never much liked Rajampet. “It was a thoughtful of him to keep the damned thing in the same place for so many years. It was a lot cleaner and neater to have him shoot himself with a gun we knew how to find. God knows what kind of mess it would’ve made if we’d had to jump him out of a window that high, instead!”

  “True.” Erzébet’s tone carried a certain delicate distaste. She hadn’t been much fonder of Rajampet than Gweon, and she was pleased by how neatly his demise tied off that particular loose end, but she didn’t share her companion’s amusement at the circumstances of the ex-CNO’s death.

  Gweon sensed her reaction and grimaced an apology.

  “Sorry, Erzi. Maybe I shouldn’t be so flip about it, but if you’d had to put up with that arrogant little prick as long as all of us who had the joy of working for him did, you’d probably feel like hoisting a few, too.”

  “You may be right about that, and I guess I’m glad I didn’t have to put up with him. Either way, we’ve got other things to think about, and the courier’s leaving for Mesa tomorrow evening, so let’s go ahead and get the rest of your report out of the way.”

  “Fine.” He nodded. “First, I’m pretty sure I’m in the process of cementing my credentials with Kolokoltsov. I’m giving him good analysis, and he knows it. Same for Kingsford, although I’ve revised my opinion of his IQ upward. I always knew he was smarter than Rajampet; I’m beginning to think he may be smarter even than I’d allowed for, and I’d a lot rather be more cautious than I have to than not cautious enough.

  “I wasn’t present when Kingsford pitched his new strategy to Kolokoltsov, but judging from the additional analysis he asked for after leaving Kolokoltsov’s office, it sounds to me as if—”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “So we’re agreed?” Kolokol
tsov asked, and looked around the faces of his fellows.

  “I’m still not sure this is the best policy,” Agatá Wodoslawski said unhappily.

  “I’m not wildly enamored of it myself,” Malachai Abruzzi told her, “but we’ve damned well got to do something. Something that looks at least moderately aggressive, I mean. And after what happened to Filareta, I don’t see a lot of other options.”

  “And at least Kingsford’s being more realistic than Rajani was,” Nathan MacArtney put in. The permanent senior undersecretary of the interior was unwontedly subdued. Rajampet’s suicide had hit him particularly hard. It wasn’t so much that he’d liked the CNO, but they’d worked together for far too many years in policing the Protectorates, and they’d had far too many shared priorities, for MacArtney to take his sudden demise — and its circumstances — in stride.

  “Yes, that does seem to be the case,” Kolokoltsov agreed in a tone of deliberate understatement, and MacArtney flushed. He looked as if he might be about to say something, but then he bit his lip. Kolokoltsov gazed at him for a moment longer, then sighed.

  “I’m sorry, Nathan,” he said. MacArtney looked back up quickly, and Kolokoltsov shrugged. “We’re in a hell of a mess, and Rajani had a lot to do with our getting here. And, yes, you and he were our point team for the Protectorates. But the two of you didn’t act alone, and it’s obvious Rajani wasn’t keeping you fully informed any more than he was keeping the rest of us fully informed. So I suppose it’s about time I got past taking out my own fear and uncertainty — and I am scared, don’t doubt that for a moment — on you.” He smiled thinly. “Trust me, there’s been more than enough screwing up involved in getting us to this point to go around. And a lot of it comes to roost right here.”

  He tapped his own chest, his expression grim. MacArtney gazed at him for a few seconds, then nodded. No one else said anything else, and Kolokoltsov didn’t blame them. Quartermain and Wodoslawski had persistently cautioned all of them about the potential economic consequences of a conflict with the Star Empire of Manticore, yet all of them — including Quartermain and Wodoslawski — had disastrously underestimated the Manties’ military capabilities. That was Rajampet’s fault, in many ways, yet that didn’t absolve them from their own disastrous mistake in accepting his assurances that Battle Fleet’s numbers were more than enough to compensate for any “minor” Manticoran advantages.

  Especially not when we should’ve known — when I should’ve known — how much our own attitudes were being influenced by wishful thinking and arrogance. We walked into this one step — one avoidable step — at a time, and now we’re stuck with it.

  “The only thing I wonder about,” Quartermain said now, her tone more hesitant than usual, “is whether we shouldn’t still be pursuing a back burner diplomatic resolution?” She looked at the others. “After what’s happened in the Assembly, especially, I’m more worried than ever about the long-term consequences of the Manty blockade. The political consequences, I mean. If there’s any way to get them to back off on that…”

  Her voice trailed off and she grimaced unhappily.

  “We all know what you mean, Omosupe,” Kolokoltsov told her. “But if I were the Manties, I wouldn’t be real interested in negotiating with us at the moment. Not when they know how badly that blockade has to be hurting us. And not when they’ve got the momentum and the combat advantage, either. I’m sure they’d be prepared to give us terms, but I’m also pretty sure any terms they’d be willing to accept would do us more harm than good in the Assembly. Not to mention what people who think Beowulf has a point about what would’ve happened to Tsang if they’d let her through their damned terminus might do if the news got out we were negotiating with one hand while ‘sacrificing Navy ships and lives’ with the other.”

  Quartermain nodded slowly, although he wasn’t certain she fully agreed with him. For that matter, he wasn’t certain he fully agreed with himself. But he was certain they dared not show any evidence of weakness.

  “We do need to be prepared to sit back down at the table with them,” he went on. “In fact, I think it’s essential that we put together a proposal we could live with and update it constantly, keep it current, so we can send it to the Manties as soon as the opportunity offers.”

  “‘As soon as the opportunity offers’?” she repeated, and he shrugged.

  “Before we can expect them to give any ground, entertain a peace settlement we could accept without the internal political situation coming apart completely, we’re going to have to score at least some victory.”

  “Excuse me, but that doesn’t seem likely to happen any time soon,” Wodoslawski pointed out a bit sharply, and Kolokoltsov shrugged again.

  “Not in any pitched battle between fleets, no,” he conceded. “On the other hand, that’s not the sort of campaign Kingsford is proposing, is it? If we can do an end run around their battle fleet and start hammering their star systems and their commerce, inflict some of the hurt their blockade is inflicting on us, they may become more amenable to reason. And if we can do that and sell it to our own public as proof we’re actually accomplishing something militarily, then we could probably risk opening negotiations without sending the League’s morale and confidence even further into the crapper.”

  Both women looked dubious, and he leaned forward, his expression intense.

  “Right now, there’s a lot of floundering around in the Assembly and on the news channels. If Reid’s motion succeeds the way I think it will, it should refocus a lot of that blathering and posturing, though. At the very least, it will refocus it on Beowulf and off of us for at least a few T-months, and that should help a lot. If nothing else, it should drive Hadley back onto the defensive and lower the temperature of the debate about our policies and competence. And I think reminding people about beowulf’s ‘treachery’ is going to get quite a few of the other system governments started looking around fearfully at the threats outside the League. The ones that are most comfortable with the existing system are worried about the example Beowulf’s actions represent. In fact, they’re likely to see Beowulf’s decision to let the Manties in as an act of aggression, one aimed directly at them, since it threatens the integrity — and defense — of the system they’re so invested in. And even better, from our viewpoint, the uncertainty, the sense that the entire galaxy is coming unglued, should make even systems whose governments are unhappy about our policies nervous about rocking the boat at a time like this. We may have gotten hurt, and they may not like everything we’re doing, but we’re still the biggest, most powerful haven around, so there’s a herd instinct at work in our favor at the moment. But we have to accomplish something, or at least be able to sell something as an accomplishment, if we want to keep that instinct working for us instead of against us. That’s why Kingsford’s approach offers us the best chance in terms of military options.”

  “And how good do you think that chance really is?” Quartermain asked softly.

  “Frankly, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does.” Kolokoltsov leaned back once more, raising his hands as he admitted his uncertainty. “I only know every other option looks even less likely to succeed. And if this does manage to buy us enough time to push the development on those new Technodyne missiles, the situation’s going to change radically. We’re still way too damned big for them to possibly think they could occupy all of our star systems. We just have to hold everything together long enough to get weapons good enough to give us a chance against them into production. If we can do that, that ratio of force to volume that Kingsford was talking about comes into play on our side, not theirs.”

  He looked around the table again and inhaled deeply.

  “So, I repeat the question. Are we in agreement that we should authorize Admiral Kingsford’s commerce and infrastructure-raiding strategy?”

  No one spoke. But then, slowly, one by one, heads nodded all around the table.

  * * *

  The Chamber of Stars, the official meeting p
lace of the Solarian League Assembly, was enormous. It had to be for something which seated the delegation of every single star system which claimed League membership. Every system was entitled to a minimum of one delegate; additional delegates were apportioned on the basis of population. The majority of delegations consisted of no more than two or possibly three members. Indeed, almost a third of all delegations boasted only a single member. More populous systems, obviously, had a greater representation, however, and the Beowulf Delegation consisted of nine members, headed by Felicia Hadley.

  At the moment, all nine of those members were on the floor of the Chamber. Most were gathered around Hadley in their delegation’s box, but three of them were out circulating. The delegation’s staff reviewed every poll, clipped every editorial, and reviewed the majority of op-ed pieces every day, but Hadley was a firm believer in taking the pulse of the Assembly one-on-one and face-to-face.

  Especially on days like this.

  “Felicia.”

  Hadley turned and found herself facing Hamilton Brinton-Massengale, the delegation’s third ranking member. He was a pleasant, unassuming man, with brown hair, a ready smile, and a certain amiable lack of focus which was highly deceptive. That made him one of Hadley’s best pulse-takers, and she felt her nerves tighten as she absorbed his expression. The usual quick smile was nowhere in evidence.

  “Yes, Ham?”

  “I think the rumor was right,” Brinton-Massengale said quietly. “An awful lot of people don’t seem to see me when I signal for a word.” He grimaced. “I don’t think they’ve all been struck blind, either.”