by Jay Allan
“Yes, Admiral. I will…make it work.”
Barron found he believed the lieutenant’s words, even though it was clear the officer wasn’t quite sure how he’d deliver on his promise. He wasn’t Anya Fritz, perhaps, but there was a similarity Barron recognized. And respected.
“Very well, Lieutenant. Of course, you will have access to any resource you require. Admiral Travis will make sure the fleet is at your disposal…and if you need anything we don’t have, something we will have to request from the Hegemony authorities, you are to come directly to me. My aides will be advised you have immediate access to me, day or night.
“Yes, Admiral!” Simms hesitated for a few seconds, then he saluted and turned sharply, marching out the door to carry out his orders.
“Were we ever that young?” Barron waited until the door closed, and then he turned toward Travis.
“I wasn’t…I’m not sure about you.” Travis smiled. It was a lighthearted response, but one based in truth. Atara Travis came from a place much like Andi had, and she’d scraped and fought to survive from childhood. It sometimes seemed odd to Barron, the ultimate child of privilege—and obligation as well—that two of the people closest to him in the universe, his wife and his best friend, would come from such opposite backgrounds as his own. He tried to understand how difficult it had been to endure such deprivation, and he’d wondered frequently if either Andi or Atara had any real idea how difficult it had been for him, amid wealth and admiration, to shoulder the burdens, the expectations, not only of parents and family, but literally of the Confederation’s billions. Barron had carried that weight since childhood, and he’d never known a moment’s respite from it.
“He can handle it, Tyler. He knows his stuff…and he’s a leader, too, at least one in the making. I’ve watched him with his teams. He drives them hard, but he’s a little more…diplomatic…than Anya tends to be. At least as far as I’ve seen, they make up fewer nasty names to call him.”
Barron laughed. Anya Fritz routinely drove herself to the point of utter exhaustion, and she expected the same from those working with her. Her almost pathological drive was in an emergency, but she didn’t slack off in more routine situations…and that created a strange combination of awe and resentment in her subordinates.
“I believe he can handle it, too. Not that we’ll need those scanners. We have no authority to engage in combat operations. All we can do is hang back at the transit point and watch…and run before any enemy can close on us.”
Travis stared back, with a look that said something along the lines of, “You are the least likely person I’ve ever known to sit back and watch.” But she remained silent.
“Still, let’s make sure the fleet is at one hundred percent. I haven’t heard anything official, but my guess is the Hegemony forces will be leaving soon, and since they’re trying to get us into this fight, I doubt I’ll have difficultly getting permission to go along. I want you to doublecheck everything yourself, Atara. We’ve got good people on this fleet, but this is a danger like none we’ve seen before, and we’re as far from home as any Confederation force has ventured. I’ll feel better knowing you’re looking over everybody’s shoulders.”
“I’ll see to it, Ty.” Travis nodded, and she stood there with her commander—and her friend—a few seconds longer. Then, she left, as Simms had a few moments before, leaving Barron alone with his thoughts.
Barron stood where he was, and the silence and the removal of distractions allowed his thoughts to flow. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be home, with Andi. He’d long been a creature of duty, but even his disciplined mind rebelled against the prospect of yet another war. He’d done his part, and then some, and his spacers had as well. Any fair assessment would state that they deserved to return to families and friends, to lives where they could wake up free of the stress of battle, of the ever-present fear of death.
But the universe wasn’t fair. And Barron knew what was at stake, the deadly dangers facing not only his spacers, but those family members and loved ones as well. He lacked the authority he needed, and he had only had a contingent of the fleet with him. As decisive as he usually was, he had no idea what to do. It was an easy decision to follow the Hegemony forces, to get a firsthand look at the mysterious new enemy. But what would he do when he got there? What could he do?
He’d ventured coreward on the mission still mostly consumed by hatred for the Hegemony—and, as she stood there, he still carried a healthy pile of resentments—but his thoughts were more complex than they had been. Certainly, he’d seen admirable attributes in some of the Hegemony officials, Akella, of course, but also Chronos and Ilius, who’d sat in their command chairs facing him in so many battles. He knew they’d all been complicit in the aggression against the Rim…and yet, now he was beginning to know them as individuals. As people.
His thoughts were complicated, or they would have been if the situation had been normal. Under most circumstances, he might have learned to forgive and to accept the Hegemony as a neighbor, and perhaps one day, even an ally. But the situation was not normal. The clear threat of the Others made things much simpler for him, if more difficult to accept.
Though not, perhaps for the Senate…
He was concerned about the delay the long trip back to Megara would take, and the time the Senate would waste dickering and debating. He was worried about how long it would take to mass the fleet and outfit it for such a long journey.
But most of all, he was worried the Senate would refuse to commit additional forces, and deny his request to authorize intervention with the ships he had on hand. He was afraid they would delay and waste time until Confederation worlds were being bombed out of existence, just like the coreward Hegemony planets had been. It would be too late by then. The Hegemony, the most powerful of all the nations facing the Others would be defeated, and the Rim would stand alone.
We can’t let that happen…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Confederation Naval HQ
Troyus City
Megara, Olyus III
Year 322 AC
“Jon, I am delighted to see you…though surprised. What are you doing back here? The fleet has not returned, has it? I’ve heard nothing to that effect.” Prescott Riley was a Senator of middling seniority and power. He’d sent his son to the Naval Academy thinking a uniform and a few decorations—easily enough to arrange without actually subjecting the boy to any real danger—would serve well when it came time for the son to take the father’s place in the halls of power. But the whole plan had backfired. Jon had bought into the navy mantra hook, line, and sinker, and worse, he’d ended up serving under Tyler Barron. The navy’s famous admiral was an effective officer, if not a military genius, but he showed less respect to the Senate than might have been expected. And now the fifth Riley in line to represent Ventura in the Confederation’s esteemed governing body showed no signs of any interest in politics, and often spoke recklessly of his intentions to pursue his naval career indefinitely.
“The admiral entrusted me with a message, father, one of grave importance.”
“A message to the Senate?”
“Yes, sir…among others.”
“Others?”
“Yes. He included dispatches for Minister Holsten and Admiral Winters as well…and also a private message to his wife.”
“He entrusted all those to you? He must have great faith in your abilities and trustworthiness. That is a source of satisfaction and pride to me, Jon.” The Senator paused. “I think it best that I have a look at those before they are delivered, however. It is always wise to avoid any surprises while the Senate is considering the admiral’s proposals.”
“They have already been delivered, Father. I sent officers to hand them directly to the recipients…just as the admiral ordered.
Prescott Riley felt a rumble inside, the roiling anger he’d spent a lifetime learning to control. Tyler Barron was a frustrating man to deal with…though as he considered the
admiral’s choice of his son as a messenger, his thoughts began to take shape. No, this isn’t a challenge to me. He’s hoping I will side with him on…whatever is in these communiques.
“You can give me the Senate dispatch now, Son.”
The young officer hesitated.
“I will take that communique, Jon.”
“Father, I believe my duty is to present it to the Senate body while it is in session.”
Prescott Riley barely held back a wince at his son’s almost unbearable naivety. His own father had educated him well in the political machinations that were the family’s stock and trade. He had no idea where he’d gone wrong.
“Give that dispatch to me right now, son. Admiral Barron sent you here with it because he is expecting me to help him get…whatever it is he wants. Now, I can’t do that unless I know what that is, can I?” He glared at his son with withering intensity. “Now!”
The officer stood still, looking for a moment as though he might defy his father. But he’d never been able to stand up to Prescott Riley’s withering intensity, and after perhaps half a minute—enough time that he could tell himself he had resisted—he handed over the encrypted data chip.
The Senator knew his son was beating himself up, allowing self-recrimination to run wild over his inability to stand up to his father.
He wondered if Jon would ever realize he’d done exactly what Tyler Barron had wanted.
* * *
“Lieutenant, I need to speak with Commodore Eaton at once. Also, Fleet Captains Carruthers and Belvidere. They are all to report to my quarters as quickly as possible.” He’d almost said his office, but he preferred the greater privacy of his personal suite. Tyler Barron’s message hadn’t directly requested anything of him, but he was comfortable enough interpreting the indirect language the two had so often exchanged.
“Yes, Admiral. At once.” The officer’s voice was sharp and crisp on the comm unit. Winters, like his friend and comrade, Tyler Barron, chose his people well, sub-commanders and aides alike.
He turned and looked at the screen. He’d set up the portable unit he always kept tucked away in a storage locker. His main comm unit was supposedly secure, though his status as naval second-in-command carried with it the feuding realities of top of the line security on his systems…and a lot of people who wanted to spy on his comm and data. Gary Holsten, at the very least, could tap into his main comm unit. That wasn’t a problem, at least not most of the time. The head of Confederation Intelligence was an ally, and even if it angered Winters, Holsten’s knowledge of his secret communiques was unlikely to cause harm.
But what one man could do, another could copy. He’d become accustomed to thinking of the Senators and their cronies as fools and imbeciles, but he knew that wasn’t the case. Many of them were gifted in their own ways, and more than a few maintained staffs that could almost match the capabilities of Holsten’s spies, especially when wading in the gray areas that powered most political careers.
Better to use the portable unit. It wasn’t connected to anything else, and someone would have to gain physical access to tap into it. And, considering Winters’s attitude and the orders he’d given to the guards that watched his door day and night, anyone trying that was likely to end up getting shot.
He slipped the data chip into the unit, and he sat down, his eyes focused on the screen. Barron’s face appeared, and after a perfunctory greeting, the navy’s C in C got right down to it.
Winters listened, and with each word he became more convinced. It tore at his insides to think of fighting alongside the Hegemony. His resentment toward the now-former enemy and their Masters was profound, and he doubted he could ever get past it. Not after the losses we suffered…
But reality had a way of asserting itself, and often brutal way. For all his hatred, he didn’t deny that the Hegemony fleet was powerful, that their warriors were brave and well-trained. Any enemy that defeated them would be the direst threat to the Rim…and Winters wasn’t the kind to believe that a hostile invader would stop after defeating one adversary. If the Hegemony fell, the Rim would be fighting for its life. He didn’t have the slightest doubt about that.
And that meant helping the Hegemony, like it or not.
He watched the footage Barron had included, but as grim and convincing as it was, it hadn’t been necessary. All Winters needed was Tyler Barron’s declaration that the new enemy was a danger. He was already thinking about force rosters and fleet deployments, deciding where to draw the ships to form the expeditionary force Barron stopped short of specifically requesting…but no doubt expected.
But there would be one battle first, one as fierce and dangerous as other, at least in its own way. One that would take place on the floor of the Senate.
The politicians had a way of waiting, of ignoring threats too long and then expecting their spacers and soldiers to bail them out. The Senators would argue the points, maneuver for position, prevaricate endlessly…until it was too late. Too late, at least, to help the Hegemony.
Clint Winters knew one thing for certain, a decision that formed in his head, and then slammed into place like a heavy metal door.
He was going to answer Barron’s call, and he was going to bring the fleet with him. Even if he had to march a battalion of Marines into the Senate Compound to make it happen.
* * *
Gary Holsten sat and watched Tyler Barron’s communique for the third time. He was usually someone who got the meaning from something on a first try. But Barron had clearly been concerned his messages might be intercepted, and he’d chosen his words carefully. It wasn’t the first time Holsten had been compelled to interpret the true meaning in a message, but he’d realized almost instantly that this one was critically important. Worth all the extra care he could give it.
Tyler Barron was convinced. The Others, as the Hegemony somewhat mysteriously called this new enemy, were a threat to the Rim. A deadly threat.
There weren’t many people whose opinions Holsten believed immediately, without evidence, or his own analysis, but Tyler Barron was a member of that exclusive club. Barron had been on the front lines of the war with the Hegemony. He’d seen his spacers killed in vast numbers. He’d lost friends, too, longtime comrades like Sara Eaton. It had to be killing Barron somewhere deep inside to urge the Confederation authorities to intervene, to join forces with their recent enemy. And that’s exactly what Barron was doing in the message, even if took a bit of interpretation to see it.
Barron’s lack of directness—and the admiral was normally one of the most straightforward people the spymaster had ever known—meant only one thing. Barron was concerned about the Senate. There weren’t many worlds in the Confederation clamoring for another war, of course, nor for the ruinous taxation that paid for it. The politicians would be extremely reluctant to vote for any commitment to a new conflict so soon after the truce with the Hegemony. He didn’t even want to think about how the Senators would react to a request that they not only support a new war far from home, but that they do it to aid the hated Hegemony, still the enemy in the minds of most Confederation citizens.
They don’t realize, it’s also the last thing Tyler Barron wants to do. If he’s suggesting it—and he is—it’s a damned certainty there’s no other choice. The situation coreward had to be critical, and the threat one that loomed over the Rim as well as the Hegemony.
Holsten didn’t hesitate, didn’t even think about it. Barron’s word was enough for him. His contributions on the battlefront would be minimal. He didn’t know anything about this new enemy, and he certainly didn’t have intelligence assets placed to provide any useful information.
Except in the Senate. That was where he could help. Barron needed votes, he needed authorization to commit his forces…and for the rest of the fleet to be mobilized and sent to his aid.
That won’t be easy…
But nothing worthwhile was easy.
Holsten turned toward his main workstation and began typing. It was
time to pull up his Black Files again…all the dirt he had on the men and women of the Senate, the deepest and darkest secrets he’d gathered on the rogues and scoundrels who ran the Confederation.
It was time to use all of that. Time to speak in a language corrupt politicians understood.
Threats.
* * *
Andi stared at the screen, tears pouring down her cheeks. Tyler’s message to her had been sweet, loving, and full of his best efforts to reassure her. And then he’d told her what was happening.
Another war.
She tried not to get ahead of herself. The Confederation wasn’t at war again, not yet. But she was too experienced, too much a veteran to give credence to baseless optimism. Tyler had not gone coreward to find an excuse to aid the Hegemony. To the contrary, she was utterly certain he would have loved nothing more than watching the Confederation’s recent enemy fall before some unstoppable foe. As long as he believed that force would stop there, that it would not continue on to the Rim.
Clearly, he did believe the Hegemony’s enemy was a threat to the Confederation, and she trusted him enough to take his word as fact.
She’d had a kneejerk reaction, and she’d almost fired up the comm to call the shipyard and tell them to get Pegasus ready to go. Every fiber of her being cried out to her to go to Tyler, to stand at his side, to fight next to the only man she had ever loved.
Then reality struck hard. It wasn’t possible. Travel through transit points was dangerous to developing children, and she was past the point that allowed interstellar travel. She didn’t have many choices just then. Staying behind, sitting and waiting…for news of victory or defeat. For that fateful communique that told her Tyler Barron’s luck in battle had run out, that he’d been killed somewhere, almost unimaginably far from home. It was inconceivable for her to stay where she was, but anything else risked her child. Tyler’s child. She could have disregarded any danger to herself to go to his side. But she couldn’t risk their baby.
