Carlina was quivering now and she realized she was very afraid. She had not counted on this. Dying was one thing, being tortured and slowly torn to pieces by an angry mob was something entirely different. As the seconds ticked away and Crawford continued to stare at her, she realized that she didn’t want to die, either. She was only twenty-three standards and she really didn’t want to die. She had hurt the Protector worse than she’d ever dreamed already. Wasn’t that enough? The mission was ninty-nine percent accomplished. What could she actually tell Crawford that would affect the final outcome?
“What…? What do you want to know?”
* * * * *
“Venance? Are you sure?” demanded Tosh Briggs.
“I kept at her for nearly two days,” said Crawford wearily. “I’m confident of that much at least.”
The assembled captains and department heads digested this news with a great deal of head-shaking and muttering. It had been Venance. The Holy and Selected Kingdom of Venance, ruled by Her Select Majesty Izelda IV, was behind the sabotage to the Rift Fleet. Crawford still wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not. Venance and Andera had fought a number of wars over the years, including a particularly protracted and nasty one a century ago, but things had been relatively quiet since then. Well, politics and grand strategy were not his fields of expertise. It might not make sense to him, but clearly it had made sense to someone.
“Citrone is pretty well used up and I think she just gave in after a while. That, and the fact that she thinks she’s got us beaten. She just started talking and wouldn’t stop.” Crawford’s quick summary did not begin to describe what he’d put the girl through. She’d railed against the Protector and broken down in tears dozens of times. He could still feel himself shaking inside at the memory. It had been wearing and embarrassing and it had left him with a smoldering anger at whoever had set that kid to this horrible task. And she was just a kid, some angry kid who had been turned into a weapon and fired off with no more compassion than a torpedoman has for the ordnance he launches.
“And did you learn how the Venanci managed to slip an agent into our fleet?” Briggs was fiddling with a stylus and tapping it against the table top in an irritating fashion.
“Well, as for that, she was a bit more tight-lipped, but I think that she may have been a home-grown malcontent that the Venanci recruited, rather than someone brought in from outside. She did say ‘Maker’ a few times. Now that I think on it, she said ‘Maker’ when I surprised her in the control room, and that might indicate she’s a Creationist.”
“Filthy bastards,” snarled Briggs. “The Protector should have made a clean sweep of that lot!”
Some of the people around the table agreed enthusiastically, while others said nothing. It was a touchy subject. The Creationists believed that Mankind had been deliberately created by a superior race or being rather than evolving from lower forms. There was nothing especially unusual about that, of course, a great many religions favored deliberate design rather than evolution. But the Creationists, in addition to believing in some sort of ‘primogenitors’, also believed that the job wasn’t finished yet and that the next step was in Mankind’s own hands. They were genetic tinkerers and that rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. Most of their tinkering was pretty mundane, except among the ruling class, who had the means for more radical efforts. Queen Izelda, herself, was said to have some rather… startling… characteristics.
Venance was the stronghold of the movement, but there were followers in many other regions. Andera had had quite a few Creationists until about fifty years ago. Then a popular movement to drive them out had taken hold and there weren’t many left now. The pogroms were officially outlawed, but the Protector only paid lip-service to the law, and those Creationists who remained were secretive. It had been an ugly period. Crawford remembered a few incidents he’d seen as a child with a mixture of revulsion and embarrassment. If Carlina Citrone had been a closet Creationist, it might have been the means by which she was recruited for this job.
“But what about this ‘relief squadron’ she mentions?” asked Jinsup Sowell. “Did she give any specifics on that? Arrival time or strength?”
“Not really. She was so confused she couldn’t even keep her lies straight. At one point she claimed it had a dozen battleships and later she refused to give me any numbers at all. The arrival time could be anything from waiting for us when we get there to five months from now.”
“Actually, sir,” said Petre Frichette, “it would not make any sense for the Venanci to have given her any details at all about this squadron other than it was coming. She did not need to know any of that to accomplish her mission, and what she doesn’t know she can’t reveal.”
“Yes. But this is the bottom line: an enemy squadron is on its way here. As we feared, the Venanci are hoping to hijack our gate and hook it to a gate of their own. What we have to decide now is what to do about it.”
“Well, what can we do about it?” cried Tosh Briggs. “The navy is gone! We’re defenseless!”
“We still have the ships, sir,” said Frichette.
“With no crews or officers! Useless!”
“Well, sir, we could probably get some of the ships operational and put together crews for them. If we don’t have too large a force to contend with, we might be able to win.”
“Against a dozen battleships? We only have two battleships in the whole fleet!”
“Two battleships, four battlecruisers, four heavy cruisers, six light cruisers, and fourteen destroyers, sir. A very powerful force. And Miss Citrone’s statement about a dozen battleships in the approaching squadron is clearly a lie meant to frighten us. I’m sure the enemy force is much weaker than that.”
“Oh, and just how did you deduce that, Ensign?” Crawford didn’t like Briggs’s tone, but he was puzzled by Frichette’s store of information and confidence. He just did not talk like a seventeen-year old.
“A force that size and a proper escort would be a significant portion of Venance’s battle fleet. I find it hard to believe that they would be willing to send it off on a mission that would keep it out of action for at least twelve years, sir. This whole scheme seems like a gamble by the Venanci to grab a gate across the Rift on the cheap. It would make no sense for them to commit massive resources to it. Why not just mount their own expedition instead?"
“I’d have to agree,” said Captain Jervis. “The Venanci were already engaged in another war with the Etursi princes when we left. They could not afford to divert significant strength on a gamble like this. Mr. Frichette is likely right: they’d send the least force possible for this. It could well be just a couple of cruisers and a few transports for soldiers. With a little luck, we could beat a force like that.”
“Luck? You might be willing to trust all of our lives to luck, but I am not!”
“Well, then, what do you propose?” The question seemed to catch Briggs off-guard.
“I… I don’t know! But to just go there and wait for the Venanci to come and gobble us up is crazy!”
“We have a duty to carry out,” said another captain, “to Andera and the Protector. Are you suggesting we give up and run? That’s cowardice, sir!”
“How dare you?” shouted Briggs, turning red. “My family…!”
“We’re not talking about your family, sir! We are talking about our duty! Or have you forgotten that?”
“You miserable cur!” snarled Briggs, surging to his feet. “I’ll have your head off for that!”
The captain was on his feet, too, and half the people in the room as well. Crawford looked on in shock by this sudden outburst. The captain who had spoken did not seem to be armed, but Briggs had some sort of ceremonial dagger and his hand was on the hilt.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please calm down!” he shouted. He moved to put himself between the angry men. As he did so, the door to the conference room slid open and a small group of spacers stumbled inside. Had they heard the noise? Well, in any case, he was glad
to have some help if this were to get out of…
He stopped and stared. So did everyone else in the room as heads turned toward the newcomers. Five enlisted spacers stood there, but it was not them that had everyone’s attention. A man stood in the middle of them, half-supported by the others. He was short, slim, and wearing utility coveralls. He had a mustache, goatee, and salt-and-pepper hair all tosseled about. But it was the eyes that caught Crawford’s attention. They were wide and wild, filled with fear and bewilderment. They wandered around the room as if in search of something familiar.
Crawford blinked and looked again. He knew this man. But before he could get his mouth to say anything, Tosh Briggs and half-a-dozen other voices burst out:
“Governor Shiffeld!”
Chapter Six
“What an incredible screw-up,” sighed Sheila MacIntyrre. “How the hell did they miss seeing him?”
Crawford looked at his friend from across the table as they sat in the officers’ lounge aboard Neshaminy. He took a sip of his coffee and shook his head. “Seems His Lordship didn’t like the idea of being in a cold-sleep tube wearing nothing but his birthday suit out where everyone could see him. He had his tube put in a separate compartment. The search teams didn’t know that, so they missed him completely. Can hardly blame them for not looking everywhere, after having to see the rest of that horror.”
“Well, it was lucky for him, since Citrone missed him, too. But he’s okay now?”
“I don’t know if I’d call him ‘okay’. Never saw a man so completely rattled. He was raving and blubbering by the time they got him to Starsong’s sick bay.”
“Damn. Waking up to a shipload of dead would be enough to unhinge anyone.”
“Yeah, and finding out that his whole grand fleet has been gutted probably isn’t helping, either. He was so proud of being named lieutenant governor. I remember at some of the pre-departure meetings he was all puffed up and preening.”
“But at least there is someone in charge again—at least in theory.”
“In theory. And that would certainly be a relief. Just before Shiffeld showed up, Briggs and one of the captains were getting ready to kill each other. I’m not cut out for this administrative crap. I’m an engineer, damn it, I build things.”
“Well, you are probably going to have do some of the administration, Chuck. The governor’s entire staff is dead, right down to his valet.”
“Yeah,” said Crawford grimly. “He’s going to need a lot of help. But I’m not sure who’s here who can help him. All the other departments already have over-filled plates as it is. To try and do the mining, manufacturing, terraforming, and build the gate, and try to get some portion of the navy ships operational is going to stretch our resources way past the breaking point.” He paused as Ensign Frichette came into the compartment, got a mug of tea, and sat down with them.
“Hi, Ensign,” said Sheila. “Or I suppose I should call you captain, now.”
“Oh, please don’t,” he sighed. “At least let me forget about it for a few minutes.”
“Rough day?”
“You could say so. I’m trying to reshuffle the watch schedule and appoint acting officers to keep Neshaminy running, and at the same time, provide our share of the scratch bridge watches we are trying to set up for the navy ships. I suppose I should be grateful that we don’t have to give up any officers for that or for the merchant ships that don’t have them, but it’s kind of hard to feel grateful under the circumstances.”
“Yeah,” growled Crawford, “I guess so.” Frichette, being the only officer left on the ship, could hardly be taken away and assigned elsewhere. Even if someone had the authority to order such a transfer—and no one left did—it would make no sense to do so. “How are the crew responding to you being in charge?”
“Okay so far. I think they are still in shock and it’s easier for them to just follow orders and do their jobs than to start questioning whether I’m fit to give those orders. I’m wondering how long that’s going to last.”
“Well, I must say, Captain, that you seem to be well prepared for your job. You seem to know what to do and how to do it. If you don’t mind my saying so, isn’t that a little unusual for someone as young as you are?”
Frichette stared at him for a few moments with a strange expression that was half embarrassment and half suspicion. “I’ve always been kind of ship-crazy, I guess,” he answered at last. “When I was a kid—I mean when I was a much younger kid—I had toy ships filling my room. I watched vids about ships and organized my playmates into bridge crews. When I got older, I studied ship plans and schematics and ship-board procedures. I guess I was kind of obsessed.”
Crawford chuckled. “Yeah, I know how that is. Except in my case it was building things. Toy building sets followed by computer simulators.”
“But I’m a little curious about why you aren’t in the navy,” asked Sheila. “I mean with your family background and all.” Crawford had been wanting to ask the same question himself and had been unsure how to phrase it. Sheila, of course, had just gone ahead and asked.
Frichette’s look of embarrassment returned. “That was my mother’s doing. She’s an Edenite, pacifist, you know, and she wouldn’t allow me to join any of the naval squadrons. Since she’s my father’s second wife and I’ve got two older half-brothers already in the navy—neither of them with this fleet, thank goodness—the family traditions are all taken care of and my father didn’t object.” He shrugged. “So, I had to satisfy my ship-hunger in the merchant service—although I can still dream.”
“Ah,” said Crawford. “I was wondering why you seemed so knowledgeable on naval matters. Well, it may have just been a hobby before, but we are really going to need anyone with military expertise now. I’ll make sure Shiffeld knows about you when we start dealing with that aspect of things.”
Frichette scowled. “Not sure he’ll be that interested. He’ll naturally look to the ‘older and wiser’ heads and not worry if they are too old—or too fat or too stupid.”
“You don’t look particularly old or fat,” observed Crawford.
“Still not sure about the stupid part?” asked Frichette, but he smiled as he said it.
Crawford returned the smile. The lad was less than half his age, but Crawford was coming to like him quite a lot. “I’m assuming that anyone who agreed to be part of this expedition has to be slightly stupid. But you’ve struck me as a competent officer—and you certainly showed you had nerve when you boarded Exeter.”
“I was scared spitless.”
“Good. Me, too. Shows you got sense, too. We’re going to need a lot of sensible people to get out of this mess.”
“Then we are truly in trouble,” said Doctor Birringer who appeared beside their table and plunked herself down in a chair. “Idiots! We’re surrounded by idiots!”
“Are you referring to us or someone else, Doctor?” asked Crawford.
She glared at him. “Shiffeld! He sent some people over and they came and hauled away my patient—on a stretcher!”
“Oh?” said Crawford, surprised that Shiffeld was coherent enough to be issuing orders already.
“Yes! They took her to the brig they have on Starsong. Claimed she was too dangerous to just leave in my sick bay. They want her in a cell with nice thick bars. Idiots!”
“Uh, Doctor, keep in mind that this woman killed over nine thousand people single-handed and was trying to effectively sell the rest of us into slavery. Seems to me that she is a tad on the dangerous side.”
Birringer frowned even more deeply, but then her face relaxed and she sighed. “Yes, I suppose she is. I have to keep reminding myself of what she’s done. She seems so helpless now that it’s hard to imagine her doing what she did. Hell, she’s just a kid. How could anyone have convinced her to act like that?”
“If she’s a genegineered Venanci, she could be a hundred years old, Doctor,” said Frichette. “And they’ll have medical care available for her on Starsong, after all.�
��
“True. But I take this doctoring business seriously and I don’t like it when amateurs try to butt in.” She sighed. “So what’s going to happen now, Charles?”
“We were just talking about that before you came in.”
“And?”
“Haven’t got a clue.”
“Great.” She paused and stared at him and her face grew worried. “Wait a minute, you’re not kidding are you?”
“Afraid not.” His people all looked at him with frowns. “There’s another meeting scheduled for tomorrow to hash things over again now that Shiffeld has turned up. As for us, we are going to pretend that none of this has even happened. We’ve got a gate to build and we are going to get to work and build it.”
“Even with bad guys on their way?” demanded Sheila.
“Yup, the gate has to be completed on time, bad guys or no bad guys. The Rift Fleet drops out of hyper in six days and we need to be ready to start work about thirty seconds after that.”
“Okay, boss, if you say so.”
“I do. I want a meeting with all department heads tomorrow at 0700. Sheila, pass the word.”
“Will do.”
* * * * *
The cell wasn’t too bad, all things considered. It was actually half-again as big as her quarters on Exeter and she wasn’t sharing it with anyone. There was even a private shower and toilet attached. Well, private wasn’t really the word. There were video pickups watching her every move, but she didn’t really care. She was still so exhausted that she didn’t care about much of anything at the moment.
Medical people came in and checked her out three times a day and meals were delivered regularly. There was always a pair of guards—just ship crewmen, not real police; she’d taken care of all the real police—outside the cell, but none of them ever said anything to her. The only ones who talked to her were the medics, but their questions were always short and in the line of duty. She was surrounded by people—seen and unseen—and yet she was totally alone. All the people around her were enemies, enemies who hated her.
Across the Great Rift Page 9
