by Britt Ringel
“I owe you an apology, Garrett.”
“What?” Heskan asked blankly.
Covington shook his head while lowering his eyes. “If I had followed my instincts, none of that nonsense against you at Nessus would have happened. I’m afraid I weakly succumbed to the Board’s request to withhold promotion to admiral when placing you atop our fleet.” The man’s jawline tensed for a moment before he continued. “It was foolish of us to deny you that but events were moving so quickly… too quickly… and by refusing you, an outlander, a noble title, it gave us comfort that, maybe, things weren’t hurtling completely out of control.”
“Archduke,” Heskan began, “titles and ranks never mattered to me.”
Covington held up a wrinkled hand. His thin, withered fingers stopped Heskan’s protestations. “They matter to us and I’m righting my wrong now. I shan’t direct you to perform miracles while simultaneously undercutting your ability to accomplish them. I’ve already directed your secretary to clear your schedule tomorrow for your promotion ceremony. The morning will be occupied with the rehearsal, and more importantly, a crash course in customs and courtesies that follow the title of baron.”
Heskan felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Archduke, you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do, Garrett,” Covington explained. “If not for you, then for me. I refuse to have my fleet commander enter negotiations with the enemy at such a disadvantage. Next time you face Wallace, you’ll both be admirals.”
Heskan tried to think of a stalling tactic, anything that would delay the needless complication to an already hectic three weeks. He failed. It makes a lot of sense, Garrett. I’d insist that my fleet commander have equal footing with my enemy too. Heskan dipped a shoulder in the face of futile resistance. The CEO’s logic was inescapable. I guess there’s a reason this man has risen to manage an entire corporation. “Well, thank you, sir. I’ll do my best not to let you down.”
“Do your duty,” Covington instructed. “That is all AmyraCorp can ask of her sailors.”
“I can promise that,” Heskan swore.
Covington nodded at the words. He briefly looked away as if uncomfortable before stating, “I feel like a cad to bring this up now but I must. Garrett, your duties are firmly lashed to the battle bridge of the command, control and communications ship. Seshafi can’t afford to have her admiral anywhere else.” The CEO looked compassionately at Heskan. “I understand your Brevic mores assert that you lead from the front, and I respect them, but, my friend, you are now also Seshafian and I firmly believe in my heart that every Seshafian’s fate is tied to yours.”
The words stung Heskan hard, making him dizzy. I’m losing Dioscuri. I’m losing my captaincy. He thought back to each of the five warships he had commanded. Four were cherished dreams and the fifth, he realized, helped shape him into the person he was today. Down a long, dark tunnel, Heskan faintly heard Covington’s conciliating words.
“I do not relish insisting upon this, Garrett, but I must indeed, insist. Every great general must, eventually, sheath his sword to manage an even greater weapon behind the frontlines.”
“Think back to Sade, Captain,” Nguyen urged. “You know as well as I do that your ship was unfairly targeted because Admiral Wallace, somehow, knew you were there. Think of your sailors. I know you wouldn’t want to place them under greater risk than necessary.”
Dammit, they’re right. Heskan exhaled slowly. His dreams of commanding a ship slipped away with the passing breath. “Fine,” he accepted begrudgingly. All his life, he had worked slavishly to become a ship captain. The time spent actually being one had passed far too quickly.
Covington and Nguyen shared a look of relief. Heskan reflected upon the choreography the two men had demonstrated. Did they discuss this in private first? How they would approach the issue? The realization that these men felt it necessary to strategize over the best way to get him to release his grip on Dioscuri jolted him. I’m not hard to work with. I’m not someone who needs pampering… Am I? Hurricane Heskan?
“It’s fine,” Heskan repeated with greater conviction. “You’re both right.” Deeper implications struck him. “We’ll have to alter our strategy if I’m not commanding Dioscuri though.” He glanced at Nguyen. “I refuse to order you to commit suicide.”
“That’s what you were willing to do,” countered Nguyen.
Heskan shot him a fierce look. “We’re changing the plan,” he insisted. A devious smile crept over his face. “We’ll make it better.”
* * *
“Be careful,” Truesworth pleaded.
“You’re the one who needs to be careful,” Selvaggio answered with a shudder. “Did you have to volunteer to lead the rearguard?”
“It’s the rear, Diane,” Truesworth dismissed. “It’ll be against their weakest ship section.”
Selvaggio shook her head. “It’s still going to be a line ship, Jack, and Dash is just a corvette!” She turned from him and brought a hand up to her eyes. “Why couldn’t you let a privateer brig do this?”
“Diane, those ships need to be in the van. We’re going to be weak somewhere and the rearguard is the best place.” He smiled reassuringly and added, “Besides, Stacy gave me Tyler Pruette and with the angle we’ll come in at, I’ll barely be in laser range for more than a few seconds. We just have to knock down those missiles and you know we can do that.”
“I still don’t like it,” Selvaggio stated.
“It’s just one pass. I promise.”
A final boarding call sounded over the orbital’s public address.
“I love you,” Truesworth declared as he hugged his fiancée.
“How much?” Selvaggio teased playfully as she wrapped her arms around him.
“All my heart?”
They broke their embrace and Selvaggio smiled at him. “That’ll do. For now.”
She turned and stepped close to him a final time. She took him into another deep embrace while whispering into his ear. After the affection, she spun away to bound down the corridor. Truesworth called out over the ruckus of the departure terminal. “And Diane, don’t be late.”
* * *
Komandor Lake looked over the system plot displayed on Caracaras’ wall screen with great pride. A total of twelve ships sailed in perfect formation on their way toward the tunnel point inside the Devera system. It was the largest collection of Secure Solutions ships ever assembled and he was commanding it. Four brigs, including his own, led the parade of strength like lions strutting in front of their cubs. Behind them, five snows filled out the martial portion of the formation. Bringing up the rear of the task force were two logistics schooners and a chartered passenger liner from a Commonwealth transport company. The liner had been made a necessity by the sheer number of families traveling with the military crews.
When Task Force One had launched from Acca Larentia, Lake half-joked that with the collection of firepower amassed by Secure Solutions, they could take control of the Hollaran star system had they wanted. No single privateering company had mustered such an awesome display of might since the Corporate Consolidation Wars of 943. During the last week of travel, Lake had commanded the most powerful privateer force in the galaxy. His nine warships alone could fill the majority of two, complete ship sections in the upcoming battle against Seshafi. That in itself was an impressive accomplishment but adding to the potency of the fearsome privateer flotilla were the actual crews inside each ship. Secure Solutions had spared no effort to ensure the finest ship captains were made available for Sade. After months of difficult planning and several delays, the task force was scheduled to reach Sade a full forty-eight hours before the assault would launch. While it was regrettable that the grouping would miss much of the run up to actual combat, the Secure Solutions hierarchy had deemed it more important to field an overwhelming force for Sade than set sail with a smaller contingent. Secure Solutions’ sterling reputation depended upon this battle.
Lake ran down the list of his
ship captains in his head. Barrett, Wolfe and Tate each held distinguished accomplishments in corporate warfare but those three names paled in comparison to Komandor Nathan Duemth. Nicknamed “Komandor Doom,” the legendary buccaneer turned privateer was the only living example of a sailor outside of the Commonwealth accepted into Secure Solutions’ ranks. The fabled komandor had recently come out of his five-year retirement to take part in what he called, “the single most thrilling battle in Secure Solutions’ history.” Fortunately for Lake, Komandor Duemth did not press for leadership of the entire task force, but merely bumped Komandor Porucznik Barrett from his brig, Osprey, to the snow, Brassy.
Lake reflected on the unprecedented events of Duemth’s return. No one inside The Foster Fifteen dared to say “No” to the man. Lake shuddered. Well, I couldn’t have told him no either if he had insisted upon command of the fleet. The honor remained his though, and the list of ship captains serving under Lake was a who’s who of privateer legends along the entire trailing sector of known space.
A deep sigh from the starszy bosman operating the sensor station knocked Lake from his daydreaming. “What is it, Casey?”
The man faced his commander to report, “We’re going to be kicked back in the dive queue, Komandor. There’s a squadron of three black space ships angling in from Devera Four and they’re going to beat us to the Vica Pota tunnel point by about twenty minutes.”
Lake gritted his teeth at the unwelcome news and muttered, “You’d think commanding a twelve-ship task force would give me priority.” He leaned back into his chair and exhaled a cleansing breath to release the building frustration. “No matter, here and Vica Pota are the only likely places we’ll face a queue and we’ve got forty-eight hours built into the schedule. Maintain course but keep me posted.”
Lake returned his attention to the system plot, fantasizing of the tall tales he would tell his children about the looming event….
“Komandor.”
Lake shook himself as he was torn from internal revelry. A casual glance at the chronometer told him just over thirty minutes had elapsed. Lake looked irritably toward his sensorman. “Let me guess, Casey. You got a message that we’re delayed.”
“Not yet but we do have a message from those other ships. It’s a communications request though, not a simple relay.”
Lake’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise but an unabashed smile spread over his lips as understanding struck him. “No doubt the locals are impressed with our show of force.” How could they not be? My fleet is writing privateer history. Lake grappled to recover his bearing and forced a stern expression on his face. After he was sure of his sufficiently harsh countenance, he ordered in a booming voice, “Put it on the main wall screen.” The corners of his mouth threatened to turn upward as he added, “In fact, play it across the task force main channel. I want every ship to witness this.”
Caracaras’ main screen flickered from the dry utilitarianism of its system plot to the arresting image of a komandor porucznik. Lake’s gruff demeanor morphed coquettishly at the sight of the exquisite Hollaran officer and the tone of his voice deepened. “Greetings, Komandor, this is Komandor Beau Lake of Secure Solutions Task Force One.” He raised a playful hand up and waved a finger near his charming smile. “No need to be alarmed, we aren’t invading Vica Pota.”
The Hollaran’s New Roman accent only piqued Lake’s interest further but the contempt inside her words left him speechless. “The entire Commonwealth breathes easier then, Komandor.” The way the woman spat out his rank was akin to one spitting out poison.
Lake stared at Caracaras’ wall screen, stunned into uncertainty.
“I am Komandor Porucznik Isabella Lombardi, commanding HCS Tikoloshe. Your fleet will heave to and prepare to be boarded for a routine ship’s inspection as provided under Commonwealth naval and commercial safety regulations.”
Lake gaped stupidly at his screen in failed understanding.
The olive-skinned Hollaran waited impatiently before prompting, “This is where you comply with my order, Privateer.”
Lake felt his eyes drop to his chair arm console. His gaze flickered over his communications module. My God, I’m broadcasting this to the entire fleet… to Komandor Duemth! He summoned up all the righteous anger he could muster and opened fire. “This is an outrage, Komandor! Secure Solutions vessels haven’t been subject to your safety inspections for decades now and I will not heave to like so much a rusty mineral hauler just to satisfy some perverse ego trip.” Lake leaned to his right and began to motion toward his sensorman to kill the connection.
Lombardi’s voice seemed almost disinterested. “WEPS, prepare to fire the Issics. Give them one warning shot and then erase their flagship from existence. Perhaps Lake’s vice will be smarter than he.”
Lake jumped from his chair. His rage-filled voice reverberated off the walls of his bridge. “You would not dare fire upon a fellow Hollaran, Komandor!”
To his dismay, his indignant outburst served only to provoke the Hollaran squadron commander into fits of laughter. The sable-haired beauty pivoted left and asked a figure off-screen, “Kapitan Benedetti, why do Hollarans keep saying that to me?”
The woman’s perplexing reaction once again shocked Lake back into silence. He began to question whether the exchange was actually a dream. The surreal situation rapidly became very believable when the volatile komandor returned her malevolent gaze to him and swore, “I will wipe your toy fleet from space and sleep well tonight, Hollie.” She leaned forward and grinned a madwoman’s grin. “Test me on this. I dare you.”
The animosity of her glare made Lake want to seek shelter. The truth inside her words chilled him to his core. This woman is a psychopath. “Navigator,” he squeaked out, “bring the formation to a halt.”
Lombardi’s grin became only slightly less malicious. “Meglio tardi, che mai. There now, was that so difficult, Komandor? Prepare to be boarded.”
“Madam Komandor,” Lake said plaintively, “please be swift with your inspection. This fleet is headed—”
The woman interrupted him with a wave of her hand. Her words seemed innocent enough but there was a primal glee in the tone behind them. “I know exactly where you are headed, Komandor, and who you intend to fight.” Brown eyes flashing, she smiled an unbalanced grin. “I regret to inform you, you will not make it.”
Chapter 21
Admiral Wallace bowed respectfully to the man who held IaCom in the palm of his hand. “Your Grace,” he greeted. “To what do I owe this honor?”
Archduke Riston Dunmore entered Wallace’s lavish office and headed for the large planning table shunted to one side of the room. The office was adorned with priceless nautical antiques, including an authentic ship’s teak wheel that harkened back to the age of sail. Dunmore acknowledged the motive for his admiral’s nostalgia but saw no purpose to it. IaCom’s space fleet held a closer similarity to her terrestrial air force than any wet navy. “I come with disturbing news, Oliver,” Dunmore declared, but then let a silence hang between them.
Wallace had learned long ago not to press for more information. Instead, the Lord of the Admiralty walked around his desk to meet IaCom’s CEO at the planning table. On its surface was a virtual representation of the upcoming battle against AmyraCorp. The fleet in IaCom’s order of battle stood almost thirty strong. Their rivals numbered only an estimated eleven warships. That total was uncertain given Seshafi’s frustrating response to the Saden casus bellum. It had taken several days to parse through the tome to glean all the information hidden within it.
The planning table displayed the battlefield next to the list of combatants. The location was empty space. No asteroid belts or other remarkable features existed within its confines that might alter the battle. However, to Wallace’s irritation, it was yet another annoyance inserted into Seshafi’s response. The battlespace was not to be at the customary seven light-minutes from the aggressor’s arriving tunnel point but halfway across the star system, practically on to
p of the tunnel point leading to Ugrit. It was nothing more than a petty jab by a corporation that knew its days of self-determination were coming to an end. Even more irritating than the inconvenience of having to trek his fleet across the Seshafi system to the far tunnel point was the inevitable disruption to trade that would take place. Civilian traffic would be prohibited transit to and from Ugrit during the battle’s duration. Wallace staunchly believed it was poor form to let corporate war interfere with commerce.
He looked over the myriad of fleet maneuvers decorating the table’s screen and the multitude of ship section compositions that he might order. Thirty ships made for a hearty battle line and his reserve would be a force in itself.
Dunmore pointed at Wallace’s ship listings. “There. That will have to undergo adjustment.”
Wallace felt his left eyebrow arch upward. “Pray tell, your Grace.” The Red Admiral noticed that the knuckles of the archduke’s curled fingers had begun to turn white.
“Secure Solutions has been delayed, most likely indefinitely.”
“What?” Wallace exclaimed loudly. “They represent almost half my fleet!”
“Tone, Viscount,” Dunmore cautioned in a mildly threatening voice. “We’ve received word that the Commonwealth’s navy has reinstated the inspection of Secure Solutions ships inside its territory. Why reinstate it now, especially when a free travel agreement between them exists…well, existed, we don’t know. Naturally, I have requested clarification from the Commonwealth regarding the curious timing of its new policy but the response will come well after our battle has occurred and be moot.”
Wallace felt a headache rapidly approaching as he stared at the planning table. “Half my fleet, swept away.”
“Our fleet, Oliver,” Dunmore corrected. “Those ships are paid for by IaCom. You are merely their custodian.” The CEO examined Wallace from across the table. “Now, you can defeat Seshafi, correct?”
Wallace’s response was a confident one. “Of course. We have more line ships. We have more total ships. And we have my genius.”
