Duchess of Terra
Book Two of the Duchy of Terra

Chapter One
Captain Harriet Tanaka couldn’t help being ambivalent about her job.
A year ago, the slim, frail-looking Japanese woman had commanded the United Earth Space Force battleship Masamune. Like so many other ships, hers had been scuttled when the A!Tol conquered Earth, leaving Captain Tanaka without a job.
Now she commanded the cruiser Hunter’s Horn, a ship a third again the size of her old battleship and infinitely more lethal—but she commanded it in the name of the same A!Tol Imperium that had conquered her world.
Her reasons for being the first human—and still the only senior UESF officer—to join the Imperial Navy had been enough to stay her conscience, but it still didn’t feel right to wear the uniform of her conquerors.
As Hunter’s Horn conjured the strange, brightly blue hyperspace portal to whisk her ship into another alien system, though, she had to admit that she loved her new ship.
“What have we got, Commander Sier?” she asked her executive officer. The A!Tol word for that role literally translated as “First Sword”, but she’d been working on her translator. Every oddity of the translation she fixed would make the lives of the humans who followed her easier.
“We had three ships enter the system a twentieth-cycle ago,” the tall blue-feathered Yin replied. His beak clicked sharply as he regarded the hologram in the center of the cruiser’s bridge. “The system is uninhabited, part of the treaty zone around Sol. There shouldn’t be anyone here.”
Harriet nodded, studying the hologram herself She’d only been in command of Horn for three months after a single A!Tol “long-cycle”—roughly six months—of the training needed for an officer who’d commanded a fusion-torch battleship to command an interface-drive warship.
“Take us in and keep our eyes open,” she ordered. “Charge the capacitors for the proton beams and get a salvo of missiles in the launchers.”
“You expect an attack?” her Indiri tactical officer demanded. He was a red-furred, toad-like creature named Okan Vaza. Something about the squat, always-damp creature set Tanaka’s teeth on edge.
“The only people other than us, Okan, who are going to be out here are pirates and Kanzi slavers, and the last I heard, the new Duchess of Terra massacred most of the local pirates on her way to her title,” Harriet pointed out.
“So, most likely, we’re looking at a Kanzi scouting formation,” she continued. “If they’re inside Sol’s Kovius Treaty Zone, they’re in violation of Imperial borders—and Tan!Shallegh’s orders for that situation were to give them one chance to withdraw.”
She didn’t bother to tell her mixed-race bridge crew what the next step in her orders was. There were six species represented on her bridge, eight on her ship, and all of them had seen the depredations of Kanzi raiders.
If the little blue-furred kusottare-me didn’t obey her one order to withdraw, Hunter’s Horn got to blow them to pieces.
Hunter’s Horn screamed through the portal into normal space at half the speed of light, her scanners sweeping the nameless system—a brown dwarf even Terran astronomers had only assigned a number—for any sign of the trio of signatures they’d seen enter it.
In hyperspace, all they could detect at a distance was the anomaly of a gravitic-hyperspatial interface drive and how fast it was going. In normal space, an array of sensors would eventually tell Harriet everything she needed to know about her targets.
Eventually. Even in ships that moved at half of lightspeed, its limit was still ironclad on their scanners.
The brown dwarf’s sparse collection of planetoids appeared on the hologram first, the ship’s computers mostly confirming that the rocks were where the hundred-long-cycle-old survey said they would be.
There was a single world roughly the size of Mercury, an “asteroid belt” that barely deserved the name, and a pair of frozen balls of ice orbiting each other that barely added up to the size of Earth’s moon.
“We have energy signatures in orbit of the ice planets,” Vaza reported. “Three ships, as expected. I’m reading Kanzi energy signatures, one cruiser, two destroyers.”
“Thank you, Lesser Commander,” she told him. Thankfully for her mental balance, most of her senior officers used ranks roughly equivalent to the UESF ranks—Commander and Lesser Commander basically paralleled Commander and Lieutenant Commander.
Once you got below Lesser Commander, you were into Speakers and Initiates, and she still got confused sometimes.
Her briefings put Kanzi technology slightly behind Imperial. Her shields were tougher and she had a slight edge in missile velocity. She could take the Kanzi cruiser easily. The destroyers changed the math, though.
“Sier,” she said quietly, gesturing for her XO to join her. “Politics-wise, what am I looking at?”
She had no hesitation about her ability to command Hunter’s Horn in combat, but she’d known about the A!Tol Imperium for only a year and been in their Navy for only nine months. Her XO had served the A!Tol for fifteen years. The Yin officer understood the context of the situation better than she did—and any officer who wasn’t prepared to admit that didn’t deserve command.
“We’ll want more data to be certain,” Sier said after a moment’s thought, “but they’re probably not units of the actual Kanzi Theocracy. They’ll be Clan ships, privately commissioned slavers, not warships.”
“So, likely not up to our weight?” Harriet asked.
“If they’re Clan raiders,” the Yin emphasized, “the destroyers will have weaker shields and slower weapons than regular Theocracy military ships. The cruiser, however, will both have lower-grade systems and have sacrificed a portion of her weapons for more assault shuttles and prison compartments.”
Harriet hummed to herself softly, studying the hologram as she brought up information on the type of ship Sier was referring to on her chair’s screens.
If they were facing a slaving party put together by one of the Kanzi Clans, Hunter’s Horn could take them. If it was a Navy scouting force, though, Horn was outgunned.
“Set an intercept course,” she ordered, “and prepare to record for transmission.”
“Yes, Captain.”
She smiled grimly. Her orders said she had to order them to withdraw—and if they didn’t, well, there was always a time when you had to throw the dice.
“Vessels of the Kanzi Theocracy, this is Captain Harriet Tanaka of the A!Tol Imperial Navy warship Hunter’s Horn,” she said into the camera, practice allowing her to nail the guttural stop replacing the beak-snap in the name of the Imperium’s first species.
She spoke in English, trusting the ubiquitous translator devices her crew wore to translate for them and the ship’s computer to change her words into the primary Kanzi dialect.
“You are in violation of the Kovius Treaty Zone around the homeworld of an A!Tol Imperium member species and hence of the Imperium’s border and the treaties between our nations.
“This is your only warning. Withdraw immediately or you will be forced to withdraw.”
Hitting a key to end the recording, she glanced over at Sier.
“Anything else I should add?”
“I believe our orders preclude accompanying the transmission with weapons fire,” the Yin replied, his voice deadly serious. “So, no.”
Harriet wasn’t sure if the alien was joking or not. After three months working with Sier, she was starting to suspect the Yin had a recognizable sense of humor. With the difference in culture and language, she wasn’t entirely certain.
“Send it,” she ordered. “Keep us on course to intercept them. If they don’t immediately withdraw, I want us ready to start dropping missiles onto them at maximum range.”
“All launchers loaded, proton beam capacitors charged,” Vaza told her. “If they want a fight, we will give it to them.”
“I’m transferring you a program I’ve been working on,” Harriet told her tactical officer. “If they open fire on us, I want to try to use our proton beams in a missile-defense role.”
The Indiri blinked his large, liquid eyes and swallowed massively, a sign of confusion.
“We have shields, Captain,” he finally pointed out.
“So do they. And if those are Theocracy military units, not slavers, theirs are almost as good. We’re not doing much with the proton beams in a missile duel anyway, and every missile we shoot down is one fewer to help overload our shields, isn’t it?”
“That…processes,” Vaza accepted. “I had not considered it.”
“That’s because you were trained by the A!Tol,” Harriet pointed out. “And our tentacled overlords haven’t used active missile defenses since they invented the interface drive—but I once saw fusion-torch battleships survive the fire from an Imperial capital ship because, crude as their laser missile defense was, it could still shoot down even our best missiles.
“So run the program, Lesser Commander,” she ordered.
They didn’t have enough emitters to really make a difference. It was a small edge—but even if those three ships were proper warships, she wasn’t going to need that big of an edge.
Their message shot ahead of them, crossing the length of the brown dwarf star system as Hunter’s Horn closed toward weapons range of the three Kanzi warships. Harriet had to consciously not sit on the edge of her command chair as she impatiently scanned her command displays and the main hologram for information.
“Incoming transmission,” Speaker Piditel, her communications officer reported. The massive six-limbed Rekiki looked like nothing so much as a crocodilian centaur. “Sending to main display.”
Kanzi were disturbingly adorable to Harriet’s eyes. They looked like human children covered in blue-and-white fur. This particular specimen was standing in the middle of a pristinely clean bridge, clad in a pitch-black uniform made with some kind of leather.
“I am Oath Master Kanwal of the Theocracy cruiser Strikes with God,” he said softly, his natural voice covered by a translated soft contralto. “While my government recognizes the Kovius Treaty Zone around the human world, the First Priest has declared the A!Tol’s annexation of that system illegitimate.
“Per Her wise rulings, your presence in this system represents a violation of the Kovius Treaty and I must summon you to withdraw.”
Harriet wasn’t sure if human facial expressions mapped as neatly to Kanzi as the facial structure of the two species did, but if Kanwal had been a human, she’d have wanted to punch the smirk off of his face.
Fortunately, it looked like she got to do that either way.
“Sier, our friend is claiming to be Theocracy Navy, I take it. What do our scans show?”
The Yin clucked his beak, an odd sound to hear coming from a creature almost two meters tall.
“Strikes with God is in our databanks,” he noted. “Definitely Theocracy Navy and the scans match. She’s a Holy Flame-class cruiser, an older ship but still potent. We have her outgunned, but the destroyers…”
“Change the math,” Harriet agreed. “Time to weapons range?”
A ripple of concern ran through her bridge. Hunter’s Horn had become used to their new commander, the only human aboard, but they had yet to go into battle with her. Even Harriet wondered if they would trust her that far now, in the moment of truth.
“Missile range in three thousandth-cycles,” Okan Vaza replied. Four and a half minutes, she translated in her head. “Proton beam range… five thousandth-cycles after that.”
A little over seven minutes. Eleven and a half all told to the range of the mind-bogglingly powerful beam weapons all four ships mounted.
“Pick a destroyer, Vaza,” she told the Indiri. “Hit it with every missile we have until it’s dead, then move onto the other one. If Kanwal isn’t running once we’ve shredded his escorts, hammer Strikes with God to debris.”
She turned to her navigator. The big creature was a four-armed biped covered in pale blue feathers, a Tosumi named Kirit Ides. Ides met her gaze with his dark eyes and snapped his beak gently, awaiting her orders.
“Ides, hold your course until we’re just outside proton-beam range, then turn to hold the distance,” she ordered. “I may change my mind, but I’m not planning on a knife fight today. Understand?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Harriet Tanaka’s impatience and nervousness were gone now, and she leaned back in her chair and regarded the hologram with perfect calm.
“Let’s go fuck up some trespassers, shall we?”
The Oath Master clearly hadn’t expected Hunter’s Horn to retreat in the face of his demand for their withdrawal. The three Kanzi ships formed up into an inverted triangle, both destroyers “above” the cruiser, and shaped a direct course for the Imperial ship.
Technically, all four ships were traveling at half the speed of light, but their effective closing velocity was somewhere around point eight cee. The interface drive might not play entirely fairly with Newtonian or Einsteinian physics, but basic special relativity still applied.
“Missile range in one thousandth-cycle,” Vaza announced. “Target designated destroyer-one, full salvos.”
“Carry on,” Harriet confirmed, watching the distance evaporate at a rate Masamune’s crew would have barely had the systems to calculate.
“And range.”
Hunter’s Horn barely even shivered as her main weapons spoke in anger for the first time since Harriet Tanaka had boarded her. At six hundred meters long and a million-plus tons, she had a lot of mass…and it wasn’t like her interface-drive missiles had much in terms of recoil either.
The weapons shot clear of her hull and started to drop behind, losing Horn’s velocity as they cleared the field of her drive. They drifted for a fraction of a moment before engaging their own engines and taking off at three quarters of the speed of light.
“Enemy has fired as well. Seventy missiles inbound,” Vaza reported. “Bringing your program online, Captain, and charging the proton beams.”
At a full light-minute’s range, there was no point engaging the Kanzi ships with the proton beams. The impact to their shields would be negligible. The impact to an unshielded missile was an entirely different story.
Horn’s AI happily drew the proton beams in on the hologram as white lines crisscrossing the space between the Imperial and Kanzi ships in a pattern that Harriet had coded after reviewing hundreds of hours of prior engagements with the Kanzi Theocracy.
It took time for the beams to cross space. More time for the data to report back—time in which the missiles closed almost the entirety of the distance and more beams had to fire out. Almost the entire sequence had to be done on automatic, with no real chance for updated information.
Four more salvos blasted into space as the missiles closed—and almost half of the Kanzi’s first salvo disappeared into the glittering dance of death Okan Vaza wove around Hunter’s Horn.
The Indiri himself looked more shocked than anyone else, sucking in air in loud, gulping breaths that would have grated on Harriet’s nerves without the look of sheer awe he was bestowing on her at the same time.
“Ides?” she questioned aloud.
“Adjusting course,” the Tosumi announced calmly. “Holding us in missile range.” He paused. “The destroyers may be able to bring us to beam range if they try. Databanks say they should have another point oh two to point oh four of lightspeed to play with.”
“Only if they’re suicidal,” Sier told him as the first destroyer’s shields failed. There was no way to tell how many of the forty missiles in Horn’s second salvo had actually impacted, but it was more than enough. The horseshoe-shaped three-hundred-meter-long warship came apart in several balls of flame as the missiles impacted, their drive fields collapsing and releasing all of the pent-up kinetic energy of their unimaginable velocity.
“That cruiser could fight us at beam range,” the Yin continued, “but that destroyer can’t. And he isn’t going to live long enough to try.”
“Revising follow-up salvos,” Vaza confirmed as warning icons flashed on Harriet’s screens, Kanzi missiles slamming home on her ship’s shields.
She checked the status. The beams were being less effective on the follow-up salvos, but they were still killing over a dozen missiles before impact. Hunter’s Horn’s shields were taking a beating, but they were holding.
The second destroyer was only slightly luckier than the first. Her captain had dropped her back, pulling the smaller ship behind Strikes with God, forcing much of Horn’s fourth salvo to slam into the cruiser.
It wasn’t enough to save her. Vaza’s fifth salvo, the third targeted on the second destroyer, whipped around the cruiser in a preprogrammed maneuver and hammered into the fleeing destroyer.
Another set of explosions rippled through the barren system.
Horn’s shields flickered under the latest salvo. They snapped back into place before the second group of missiles hammered home, but the moment of weakness concerned Harriet.
“Get us spinning,” she ordered Ides. “Keep the damaged sectors clear of their fire, buy Vaza time to take down their missiles with the beams.”
Earth’s last space force had developed some armor worth deploying against interface-drive missiles. Harriet didn’t know the details, but apparently, it was a trick the A!Tol hadn’t mastered yet. Beneath her shields, Hunter’s Horn was basically unarmored. A single hit probably wouldn’t kill her—but three or four would.
“They’ve begun rotating as well,” Sier reported. “They’re holding the range.”
“It seems Kanwal is figuring our shield damage is enough to make up the difference,” Harriet observed aloud. “Let’s prove him wrong, shall we?
“Vaza, focus your fire as tightly as you can. Sier, take over the defensive fire. Ides, this ship doesn’t need to run. Put me all over the damned sky—every missile you make miss makes it more likely we get to go home.”
Killing the destroyers had evened the odds, but Horn’s shields were flickering close to overload in several sectors. Now it was a numbers game—Harriet’s ship had more launchers and the proton beams were working better than she’d expect, but Horn had already been battered and Strikes with God hadn’t been.
The battle quickly settled into a deadly metronome, both ships’ shields flickering with impacts every ten seconds as they danced across the star system at half the speed of light.
The moment of shield failure was sudden and shocking when it came, a single sector of Hunter’s Horn’s defenses crashing down for a few fractions of a second, enough for a single Kanzi missile to slip through and hammer the elegantly built cruiser.
“Take the hit,” Harriet snapped. “Cease weapons fire, spin with the damage!”
The order was almost redundant. Horn rang with the impact for several seconds, the million-ton cruiser spinning end over end.
“Shields are back up and intact,” Vaza announced, his voice unstable even through the translator. “We’ve lost a quarter of the proton beams and ten missile launchers.”
“Interface drive is at forty percent of capacity,” Ides reported grimly.
“We can fix the drive but not the weapons,” Sier told her. “What do we do?”
“We spin like our drive is crippled and play dead,” Harriet ordered. “He’s a Kanzi. Given the chance to take prisoners, he’s going to come right to us.”
Unspoken was the fact that a Theocracy officer was only going to take that risk when presented with an unusual prize—an unusual prize like a human female. Humanoid slaves were prized in the Theocracy and exotic ones even more so.
It was a risk but one that Harriet knew could pay off.
“If he doesn’t take the bait, we can still take him,” she pointed out to her suddenly quiet bridge crew. “We can’t evade him, so let’s take advantage of our weakness.”
“He’s ceased missile fire and is closing with us,” Sier reported. “Optimal proton-beam range in two thousandth-cycles.”
“Patience, people,” she said softly, watching the range drop rapidly. With Horn spinning “helplessly” in space, her drive down, the Kanzi ship was closing at her full velocity.
If Kanwal wanted to get close enough to disable the ship for boarding, he’d need to bring Strikes with God within a light-second—an insane distance against a functioning opponent.
“He’s being cautious,” the XO noted. “Showing full charge on his proton beams and active targeting sensors. Strikes with God is ready to resume fire at a moment’s notice.”
“Let’s not give him that notice. Ides: when Vaza gives you the word, I want our proton beams aligned on Strikes for exactly one half-second, then I want maximum delta-v perpendicular to the ecliptic plane. Take us up—I don’t want to be anywhere Kanwal’s expecting when we shoot him.”
“Understood,” the navigator confirmed.
Seconds ticked away. Markers appeared on the hologram, preprogrammed responses at certain distances. There would be fractions of a second to respond, and no sentient had reflexes that fast. Whether Harriet’s plan saved them or doomed them was down to the computers now.
Time.
At exactly six hundred thousand kilometers, Hunter’s Horn stopped spinning. She aligned all of her remaining proton beams on Strikes with God and fired.
The beams tore through the Kanzi ship’s shields, gouging massive holes in the cruiser’s hull as Horn leapt into motion.
She was slow and crippled compared to her normal grace, but it was enough that Strikes’ counter-fire tore through empty space, and her second salvo of beams completed the crippling of the cruiser’s shields—moments before Vaza’s missile salvo struck home.
Then Hunter’s Horn was alone in the brown dwarf system and Harriet Tanaka sighed in relief.
“Not slavers,” she said quietly.
“No, Captain,” Sier replied.
“I need those drives back, people,” she told them. “Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh needs to know the Theocracy Navy is scouting around Sol.”
Chapter Two
Even after several months, Annette Bond couldn’t get used to not being in uniform.
It didn’t help that when the A!Tol had refitted Tornado and added VIP quarters, they’d just copied the Captain’s quarters. Her new employers hadn’t found much to upgrade when they’d gone through Tornado in general, and she knew perfectly well the “refit” had been an excuse to go over the Terran cruiser’s mix of home-built technology and everything she’d stolen or bought during her privateer campaign.
Since her new quarters were identical to the rooms she’d used when she commanded the cruiser, it felt strange to be in them and not be in uniform. The plain black suit she now wore was more appropriate for her role, but the athletic blonde woman still wasn’t comfortable in it.
It was, she had to admit, entirely possible the tailor on A!To, the capital of the Imperium she now served, had got something in the design critically wrong. But it was unlikely. She just wasn’t comfortable with what the change in clothing represented.
She was no longer an officer of the United Earth Space Force. The UESF didn’t even exist anymore—and it could be argued that it had not truly died until the moment Annette Bond had betrayed it.
Now she was Duchess Annette Bond, having made a trip all the way to A!To to swear her fealty to the Empress herself, and returning to her homeworld to take up rulership of Earth as a member Duchy of the A!Tol Imperium.
There were words for people who entered the service of their people’s conquerors. She expected to hear all of them directed at her in the near future.
A buzz at the door pulled her attention to the moment—and notably not to the file she’d been reviewing: a case study of how the Duchy of Yin had taken form.
“Enter,” she ordered.
The door slid open to reveal a tall man with dark hair and sharply defined features. He wore the black uniform that had once served the United Earth Space Forces Special Space Service and was likely to become that of her new Ducal Guard.
“Captain Kurzman’s compliments, Your Grace,” he greeted her cheerfully, “and we are thirty minutes from opening the portal into Sol. He believed you’d want to join him on the bridge.”
Pat Kurzman had been Annette’s executive officer until the fateful day she’d surrendered to the A!Tol. Now he commanded her old ship, flagship of the spaceborne component of the Duchy of Terra Militia.
“Your husband,” Annette told the man in the door slowly, “has an entire cruiser’s worth of personnel to deliver a message for him, Major Wellesley.”
James Arthur Valerian Wellesley, the commander of Annette’s personal guard, grinned like the aristocratic British schoolboy he’d once been.
“And that entire crew is busy making sure Tornado doesn’t embarrass you when we bring you home,” he pointed out. “Whereas my Guards and I are entirely superfluous until we reach Earth. He could spare my pretty face better than any of his crew.”
“Fair,” Annette allowed. “I’ll be happy to join him. It’s not like I’m actually reading these case studies.”
“Your Grace, you’ve known what you need to do once you got back to Earth from the moment you knelt,” Wellesley said quietly. “Your instincts are good, and we’ll back you the whole way. I don’t know exactly what support you get from the A!Tol for being a Duchess, but I figure they’re not planning on hanging you out to dry, either.”
She smiled thinly and shook her head.
“Am I that transparent, James?”
“Only to your crew, ma’am,” he said crisply.
“Did we do the right thing?” she asked quietly. James was the youngest son of the current Duke of Wellington. She was planning on leaning on him for the current “best standards” on aristocratic etiquette on Earth. “Yielding instead of fighting?”
“You told me once that all we could achieve at that point was to get more people killed,” he said. “I didn’t disbelieve you then and I don’t think you should disbelieve yourself now. Earth is home, but it’s going to be a fight to keep together, and you need to be ready for it.
“Don’t undermine yourself,” he advised. “There will be plenty of people willing to do it for you.”
She chuckled.
“That is true enough,” she agreed. “All right, Major Wellesley. Let’s go join your husband. We’ve been waiting a long time to come home.”
Tornado’s bridge was the closest thing Annette had to a stable center. From this two-tiered horseshoe-shaped room she had waged war against her new masters. On the command chair on the raised central dais, she’d made the decision to spare a world and kneel to Earth’s conquerors.
It was on the big main viewscreen that covered the wall at the end of the bridge that she’d last seen Earth. There was nowhere else she’d planned on being when they returned, though she’d never expected to return with someone else in command of Tornado.
“Do we have a tactical link with the squadron?” Captain Pat Kurzman was asking as Annette entered his bridge. The dark-haired man was even shorter than his Duchess, sturdily built and near unflappable now after serving Annette in one capacity or another for almost two years.
“We do, Captain,” Yahui Chan replied. The tiny Chinese woman remained Tornado’s communications officer.
At some point, they’d even establish just what ranks and authority everyone held in the new military they served—or at least what name Annette was going to hang on her Duchy’s militia space fleet.
“The ‘squadron’ has an average of eighteen crew apiece,” she murmured in Kurzman’s ear as she stepped onto the command dais. “They’re not exactly combat-ready.”
Her “duchy starter package” from the Imperium had included a full squadron of sixteen relatively modern A!Tol destroyers. They were accompanying Tornado with passage crews lent by the Imperial Navy, but those crews were hardly enough to take the destroyers into combat.
“No,” Kurzman agreed. “But they have modern weapons and shields, which puts them ahead of anything that the Weber Network can throw at us.”
“Expecting trouble?” she asked.
“If I were running the resistance, you’d be target number one,” he replied. “Everyone on Earth has known you’d been declared Duchess for months, and known when you were supposed to arrive for weeks.
“If they don’t hit us before you get to Hong Kong, I’ll be surprised.”
“Maybe they’ve decided to give us a chance,” Annette pointed out. The Weber Network was the remnants of the former United Earth Space Force, gone underground with most of the UESF’s resources during the invasion per the pre-established Weber Protocols.
“Would you, if it were, say…Commodore Anderson in your place?” her subordinate asked.
Annette chuckled at the memory of the logistics officer who’d tried to short-stop Tornado’s original deployment.
“No,” she admitted. “But I can hope that they’ll see reason.”
She glanced around the bridge. A good tenth of the support crew were nonhumans, aliens of half a dozen species she’d picked up along the way who’d decided to stay with them as they returned to Earth.
“If they don’t, you need to drive them off with minimum force and casualties,” she told Kurzman, then glanced back at Wellesley. “That goes for you, too, James.”
Between them, the couple were responsible for her safety in space and on the ground. They exchanged the meaningful glance of longstanding couples and looked rebellious at her words.
“We need the information and resources the Protocols cached for the Network,” Annette continued before either could object aloud. “That means doing everything in our power to show them that we are not the enemy.”
“Can we arrange interviews with Kanzi slavers?” Wellesley said dryly. “I have to admit, the blue bastards were pretty effective at changing my mind on the A!Tol.”
“Believe me, Captain, Major, I have plans for changing their minds. But we need to not kill them first, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Captain, Your Grace,” Cole Amandine interrupted. Tornado’s navigator walked over to them with a spring in his step. Oddly tall and gaunt to human eyes, he’d been born in zero gravity and spent his entire life wearing a powered exoskeleton—until the Imperial Navy’s doctors had completed their physical on him and told him they could fix his legs with a single-shot nanotech injection.
Like the eye patch that had covered Annette’s now-regrown eye, Amandine’s exoskeleton was now a thing of the past.
“Emergence is in ninety seconds,” Amandine told them. “I thought you’d want to make sure you were paying attention.”
“Indeed. Thank you, Cole,” Annette told him. She laid her hand on the back of Kurzman’s command chair, no longer hers, and exhaled gently as she turned her attention back to the front screen and the gray void of hyperspace.
A shivering thrum spread through the ship as power was fed to the exotic-matter arrays in preparation for opening the portal.
It had been a year to the day since Tornado had left Sol. The timing had been chosen carefully, with the convoy even delaying intentionally after an unexpected hyperspace current had cut a day off of their trip.
“Portal forming,” Amandine announced. A moment later, the void in front of them tore open, a gap of “real” space suddenly visible through a burst of blue Cherenkov radiation. The Terran-built cruiser’s overpowered emitters tore the gap wider and wider, clearing space for the entire convoy of sixteen destroyers and half a dozen transports to follow them through.
In a moment of indescribable discomfort, Tornado flashed through the portal and Annette Bond was home.
Despite all of the changes, upgrades and refits that Tornado had undergone over the last year, her shuttles remained the same slow Terran-built craft she’d started with. The ones that were left, anyway.
The power-armored forms of Wellesley’s Ducal Guard troops waited for Annette as she crossed the cruiser’s shuttlebay. Despite having ordered there to be no send-off, no big ceremony, she wasn’t alone.
The cruiser had settled safely into orbit, and a massive chunk of her crew had decided this gave them an excuse to come see their Duchess off. She was relatively sure that almost the entirety of the original human crew was here, their alien companions taking over to let them be there.
“Company, ATTENTION!”
Annette wasn’t even sure who had barked the command, but the salutes in response could have been rehearsed, rippling along the deck in perfect order.
She’d left Kurzman behind on the bridge and she’d thought she’d taken the fastest route, but the Captain was somehow waiting for her beside the shuttle. An old XO’s trick, she supposed, but he was the last to salute, and she returned it with a somewhat embarrassed smile.
“Bastard,” she told him quietly. “I told you no ceremony.”
“It’s not for you,” he replied. “We don’t know when we’ll have you back aboard, but we wanted you to know that we’re behind you all the way. Everyone aboard has already volunteered for the new militia. Tornado will stand guard over Earth while you smack heads together.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly, then repeated it louder. “Thank you all. Your faith in me has brought us this far, and it sets my mind at ease to know that the crew of this ship is watching my back.
“Our people may not understand the choice we’ve made for a while,” she warned them. “The next few months will be hard for us all. But remember this: you have my back—and I have yours. If people give you flak, the Duchy government will be behind you.”
“Good luck, Duchess,” Kurzman told her, stepping out of the way to allow his husband to usher her aboard the shuttle. “Tornado will be here when you need us.”
Chapter Three
“Lieutenant McPhail, what’s our ETA?” Annette asked as she settled into her seat, the looming armored forms of her personal bodyguard around her.
“We are clear with both space control and Hong Kong air control,” the pilot reported. “Estimated travel time is twenty-one minutes, with us arriving at sixteen hundred local.”
“Thank you,” Annette told her. “Keep me advised if there are any problems, Mary.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the young woman replied cheerfully.
Turning her attention back to Wellesley, Annette noticed his wary expression.
“She isn’t going to put us inside the ground this time,” she pointed out. “This should be a far smoother ride.”
“I’m not sure Mary understands the concept of ‘smooth’ as opposed to, well, ‘safe,’” the Major pointed out. “There’s a reason she’s been my pilot of choice all along, but she doesn’t do comfortable.”
“Right now, safe is at the top of my list after effective,” the new Duchess pointed out. “Do we have our meetings set up?”
While she was going to have to acquire a political staff once she was on the ground, for the moment her chief bodyguard was also doubling as her aide since he needed to know her schedule either way.
“Medit! has confirmed that she’ll meet us at the landing pad in Hong Kong,” he said calmly. Medit! had been the A!Tol governor of Earth. Her exact role once Annette had been declared Duchess was vaguer, but she doubted the alien was going anywhere.
“What about Zhao?” she asked.
“He has agreed to meet with us in private but declined an invitation to meet you at the landing pad,” Wellesley told her. “His secretary didn’t say anything specific, but I think he wants to meet you before deciding which way he’s going to jump.”
Li Chin Zhao had been Chairman of the Republic of China before the invasion. While the references to Communism and the People had faded over time, the structure of China’s government hadn’t changed much in the last two centuries. The Republic had been a constant, if controversial, source of stability through the twenty-first and twenty-second centuries.
The Chinese government had been dissolved by the A!Tol along with every other political entity above the municipality level. While it no longer wielded official power, the Party remained, if not intact, at least in existence. And while Li Chin Zhao didn’t officially run China, Annette doubted that any of the municipal governments in the peninsula would ignore his opinions.
He’d make a powerful supporter for the new Ducal government—or a deadly enemy.
“At least he’s willing to meet with me,” she pointed out. “Did Hardesty even respond to our request?”
The former President of the United States was not on her list of favorite people, but she’d rather have him on board than opposing her.
“He did, actually,” her bodyguard told her. “His response was long, flowery, written by his secretary and utterly noncommittal. Even more than Zhao, he’s waiting to see which way to jump.
“Interestingly: Hope Mandela reached out to us before we could reach out to her,” he continued. “She’s in Cape Town at the moment and won’t be able to reach Hong Kong soon but has expressed interest in meeting with us.” Hope Mandela had been the South African member of the UESF’s Governing Council.
“What about her boss, the President?”
“Died of a heart attack four months ago,” Wellesley admitted. “Mandela probably isn’t the most senior surviving members of the South African government, but she’s certainly the most recognizable.”
“She’ll have to do,” Annette admitted. “What about…”
“Ma’am, we have a problem,” McPhail’s voice cut into their conversation. “We just breached atmo and I’m picking up six suborbital planes headed our way.” She paused. “They’re not running IDs or IFFs, but they’re UESF Mongooses.”
“Can they intercept us?”
“Not a chance—if we break for orbit. Inside an atmosphere? Interface drive has its advantages, but they were built for this. They’ll have missiles on us at least two minutes before we land. Again, the missiles can’t catch us if we break for orbit, but…”
In vacuum, the shuttle could go from zero to forty percent of lightspeed in under ten seconds. In an atmosphere, the spacecraft’s ability to absorb heat was the limitation, meaning that specialist aircraft without an interface drive could catch her.
“Update Tornado and loop me in,” Annette ordered after a moment’s thought.
“I see them,” Kurzman responded a few seconds later. “I can nail them with proton beams without hitting the surface with more rads than a summer day.”
“Any way you can take them down intact?”
Her Captain paused, then sighed.
“No,” he admitted. “They’re almost certainly Weber Network and they want to kill you, ma’am. How kid-glove do you really want to be?”
“You can take down their missiles before they reach us, right?”
She could hear the chorus of sighs from her people.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Kurzman replied. “I don’t suppose I have a higher authority I can file a protest with?”
“That higher authority is on A!To,” she told him. “Protect this shuttle, Captain. Then track them home. I want assault shuttles on their launch base five minutes after they get home.”
“Now, that I can agree with,” he said. “Try not to die on me, ma’am?”
“I have a busy agenda today. Dying isn’t on it.”
Annette was out of practice with the controls in the shuttle’s passenger compartment, but she managed to get a mirror of the shuttle’s sensors playing on the available screens, allowing her to watch the aircraft screaming toward her at over ten times the speed of sound.
McPhail had accelerated their descent to the maximum safe rate, and the shuttle vibrated around them as the blocky spacecraft smashed its way through the atmosphere.
“Here they come,” Wellesley observed grimly as the Mongooses opened fire, every hardpoint on the superfast interceptors firing off in a carefully timed sequence. Six aircraft fired thirty-six hyperjet attack missiles that flashed toward them at fifteen kilometers a second.
The missiles closed less than half of the distance before they disappeared, Tornado’s beams wiping them away a dozen at a time as Kurzman worked his guns across the attack. The missiles were too fast for any kind of stealth or maneuverability, which left them entirely vulnerable to anyone above them with lightspeed weapons.
“Targets neutralized,” Kurzman informed her. “I have two shuttles standing by to follow them home once they break off.”
“Good work, Captain,” Annette told him. “Thank you.”
“All part of the service, Your Grace.”
“Ma’am…they’re not breaking off,” McPhail interrupted. “The Mongoose has guns, but I don’t think anyone would expect to use them…”
“Seventy-millimeter high-velocity cannons,” Wellesley added. “They probably can’t hit us, given this shuttle’s maneuverability—”
“The fighters themselves can hit you,” Kurzman interrupted his husband. “They’re on a ramming course. Sorry, ma’am.”
The proton beams flared again before anyone could say a word, vaporizing all six interceptors in the blink of an eye.
Annette sighed. She was stubborn, not stupid. She wouldn’t have objected even if he’d given her the chance, but she’d been hoping to try and take someone from the Weber Network alive.
Instead, her former comrades-in-arms had apparently launched a knowing suicide strike to try and kill her.
“Get us on the ground, Lieutenant,” she said harshly.
The shuttle cut down into the man-made canyons of downtown Hong Kong, surrounded on all sides by skyscraping offices, apartments and outright arcologies. The course Hong Kong air control had given them took them through those canyons to the spaceport on the island’s highest point.
The streets underneath them were packed, thousands of people flowing around barricades and blue-white-and-green police vehicles to try and catch a glimpse of the spacecraft. The crowds grew even denser as they reached the airport, before giving away to emptiness as they passed over the final cordon of uniformed Hong Kong Police Department officers backed by a small contingent of men and women in power armor painted the same colors as the police cars.
A much smaller crowd was waiting next to the pad where McPhail finally brought the shuttle to a safe landing.
“Wait here while we check it out,” Wellesley told her.
“That’s Medit! out there,” Annette pointed out. “If the senior Imperial official on the planet is here…”
“Someone just tried to shoot you down. Allow me to do my job, ma’am.”
She conceded with a nod, waiting with ill grace as the power-armored ex–Special Space Service troopers swept out of the shuttle. They scanned across the pad, checking the immediate area with scanners, then Wellesley gestured for her to join them.
Annette left the shuttle into the light and sweltering heat of a late Hong Kong fall day. After years of living aboard climate-controlled spaceships, the humidity hit her like a wall and she took a careful moment to adjust before continuing on to greet Medit!.
The A!Tol was a massive squid-like creature, with four main locomotive tentacles and sixteen manipulator tentacles extending from a bullet-shaped torso with dark black eyes. The species literally wore their hearts on their sleeves, with only the most experienced of them able to even mute the colors of emotion that washed over their skin.
Medit! was currently a mix of orange (anger), red (pleasure) and black (fear). The alien was about as stressed and frustrated as Annette was feeling, but she approached Earth’s new Duchess gamely enough, lowering herself on her main tentacles in a gesture that could only be called a curtsy.
“Welcome home, Dan!Annette Bond,” she said softly, her translator clearly having had enough experience with humans to pick up and translate her intent as well as her words. “It seems your people were waiting for you—to both the good and the bad.”
“So it seems, Governor Medit!,” Annette agreed.
“I am no longer Governor,” the A!Tol replied. “Uplift Supervisor now. A Duchy has no Governor.”
This was said far more loudly, clearly angled as much to the reporters gathered nearby as for Annette herself.
“We will need to speak later,” Annette promised Medit!.
“Indeed,” the A!Tol agreed. “For now, your people await.”
Stepping aside, Medit! revealed the tall and pale form of Jean Villeneuve, former Admiral and Chief of Operations for the United Earth Space Force.
He’d grown his hair out since she’d last seen him, Annette noted approvingly, though decades of habit meant it was still short enough to fit under a vac helmet. After a moment’s hesitation, she gave in to her impulse and wrapped the older man in a tight hug.
Proprieties be damned. Earth would know her as a person as well as a Duchess.
Villeneuve returned the embrace stiffly for a moment, then stepped back and held her at arm’s length to study her—her eye specifically.
“Still a scar, I see,” he murmured. “But you’re looking better.”
When they’d last met, Annette had been missing an eye after an encounter with an Indiri pirate.
“We left it unrepaired too long to avoid a scar,” she admitted. “I didn’t need it to see clearly in the end, Admiral.”
“I’m not an Admiral anymore,” he reminded her.
“Jean, Jean, Jean,” she teased gently. “Did you think you were going to meet me at the landing pad and turn down my job offer? We will talk, but the new Duchy’s militia will need an Admiral.
“Unless you’d rather, oh, Fleet Lord?” she suggested.
He shivered dramatically.
“Fine,” he admitted. “I’ll take Admiral if I must, though God knows what you need with a broken-down old warhorse.”
His sad smile told her that he knew what she needed him for—to help convince the rest of the UESF to join up.
“Old warhorses are the wise warhorses,” Annette told him. Villeneuve would be a symbol, yes, but she also needed his brain.
“We’ll see if you still think so after having me work for you instead of the other way around, ma chérie,” he told her. He glanced past her, and his smile widened into something warmer. “Wait, is that Wellesley’s father?”
Annette turned to see that her chief bodyguard had removed his helmet and was exchanging quiet words with another man of his own height and sharp features. The elder Wellesley had put on weight and was a rounder shape than his sparsely built son, but the family resemblance was unmistakable.
She crossed to join them.
“Your Grace,” she greeted the Duke of Wellington. “I didn’t expect to see any representatives from the UK here.”
“The former United Kingdom, you mean,” Wellesley pointed out precisely. “Your Grace,” he noted after a moment.
“I am led to understand that you performed the ceremony for my son’s wedding?” he continued.
“I did,” she said levelly.
“While I understand why an invitation would have been difficult, you must understand that I am not pleased to have been excluded.”
From Major Wellesley’s expression, he’d been getting an earful.
“I am here as a father, not a representative of a no-longer-functioning government,” the Duke continued. “I was due to retire from the House of Lords in my eldest son’s favor this year anyway.”
“You know the presence of the former Chancellor of the Exchequer will be taken as a statement regardless of intent,” she warned him quietly.
“Will it?” he asked with a momentary wicked grin that reminded her very much of his youngest son. “Chief Executive Ha”—the official leader of Hong Kong’s municipal government—“is hosting a reception tonight for you, if no one has warned you yet. I’m sure I’m not the only one in need of your time, but you may find it…illuminating to give me a few minutes.”
“I owe your son my life a few times over,” Annette told him. “I’ll make those minutes, one way or another.”
“Then I believe, Duchess Dan!Annette Bond, that a crowd awaits you,” he replied, nailing the full mix of English and A!Tol that was now her formal title as he waved her past the small group she’d already met toward the reporters beyond.
Chapter Four
Every eye in the world was on humanity’s new Duchess. Flying drone cameras followed her down the street, and the crush of reporters trying to ask questions pressed into the hotel after her when they arrived.
Arranging a private meeting would have been impossible if the hotel hadn’t decided to be supremely cooperative and happily barred all of the journalists from the building. The hotel was large enough that they couldn’t justify taking it over entirely with Annette’s relatively small party—which easily excused the other figures who “just happened” to be there at the same time.
Including Li Chin Zhao, who, among his many other qualities, was a ten-percent shareholder in the company that owned the International Lucky Dragon Hotel chain.
Annette arrived in her room to find a carefully calligraphied invitation asking her to meet Zhao in a private dining room on the thirty-ninth floor of the hotel. Paging Wellesley to join her, she went to meet the man who had, until recently, run the world’s largest country.
Exiting the elevator on the indicated floor, they were met by two attractive young men in perfectly tailored black suits. They bowed in unison at the sight of Annette and her bodyguard, and one gestured for them to follow him.
The dining room they were led to was a small space that clearly did double duty as a Buddhist shrine. Incense burned around the space, and a red jade Buddha statue stood against one wall. The table in the middle had been set with five places.
Standing at the far end of the room, facing the statue in silent contemplation, was a shaven-headed man in a dark red suit tailored to help hide the man’s obesity.
No tailoring could conceal Li Chin Zhao’s weight, though the tailor had tried. He turned slowly and delicately, studying Annette for a long moment before gesturing for her to sit.
“My men are absolutely trusted,” he said. “I assume the same of Major Wellesley?”
“Of course.”
“Then I will have the hotel bring food and we can begin,” Zhao told her.
“I have eaten,” Annette said politely.
“I haven’t,” the Chinese official replied, his voice calm. “Besides, I have heard about the…Universal Protein, I think it was called? Trust me, the Lucky Dragon’s food is much better.”
With a sigh, she gestured her acceptance and took a seat opposite him. Zhao tapped a band on his wrist, clearly activating a concealed phone, then spoke to thin air.
“Miss Wa? Yes. My guest has arrived. Please bring out the food.” He paused, listening. “Thank you.”
Annette waited patiently while a uniformed waitress delivered a steaming pot of meat and vegetables in broth and laid out bowls. The woman served each of them from the large hotpot, then replaced the lid and disappeared.
Zhao took a sip of the soup and sighed.
“You requested this meeting, Miss Bond,” he told her. “I was torn on whether or not to accept it, until one of my fellows in the Party chose to remind me of how the Middle Kingdom has dealt with invaders in the past. My land has been conquered before and adapted.
“I am as yet…unconvinced.”
“That is reasonable, Mister Zhao,” Annette replied. “You know very little of me and likely less of the politics of the Imperium and the powers that surround it and us. I asked for this meeting because I have no illusions of my ability to run Earth on my own and I have no desire to lean on the Imperium for local government.”
Zhao slurped his soup, studying her.
“I intend to assemble a Ducal Council,” she continued. “This Council will be made of people chosen both for their skills and for their visibility—a functional government but also a symbol of continuity and of self-government.”
“We will not truly be self-governing,” Zhao pointed out.
“No,” she agreed. “But we are a very small fish in a very large pond. The A!Tol are not entirely our friends—they have their own reasons for annexing us—but there are worse predators in the water.”
“The Kanzi,” he said slowly. “The A!Tol have released some information on them. Not much, and it reads like propaganda.”
“While the Imperium has people who can lie, the A!Tol do so poorly and don’t like to build government affairs on it,” Annette told him. “I don’t know what information on the Kanzi has reached Earth, but they are slave-taking racial purists with both religious and sexual overtones to their slaving.”
“That sounds…personal.”
“They tried to enslave my crew,” she said flatly. “Yes, it’s a little bit personal. Even the A!Tol aren’t the biggest fish in this pond, but they’re big enough to keep us safe from the local sharks.”
He snorted and finished his bowl of soup, considering.
“Do you trust them?” he finally asked.
“Without question? No,” Annette answered. “They have their own agendas, their own objectives. Earth is expendable. But those same agendas and objectives value an Earth that can contribute militarily and economically to their Imperium.”
“Fair,” Zhao allowed. “You understand how this looks, Miss Bond,” he pointed out. “We sent you out to free Earth from the A!Tol, and now you return to rule it for them. Collaborator is the…weakest of terms I could use.”
“Collaborator. Quisling. Traitor,” Annette said levelly. She clenched a fist under the table. He was trying to push her buttons and she couldn’t let him succeed. “I earned Earth a measure of self-government we wouldn’t have had for fifty years or more, combined with an ally who will defend us against any other threat.
“I made my choice, Mister Zhao, to do what I saw as best for humanity despite any personal costs. I don’t expect to be remembered as a hero. But because of the choices I made, I expect humanity to be around to demonize me.”
Zhao chuckled.
“Eat your soup, Duchess Bond,” he instructed.
“You’ll join my Council, then?”
“China has ways of dealing with conquerors,” he echoed. “It seems you understand them better than I would have expected an American to. I do have one question, though.”
“Ask.”
“Why Hong Kong?” he gestured around them. “It’s convenient for me, but why return here first? You’ve never even been here before.”
“I intend to make Hong Kong our planetside capital,” she told him. “We needed somewhere famous, an economic and cultural center, that had never been a capital. It was here or New York, and since I was an American, balance seemed wise.”
“I begin to understand what Casimir saw in you,” Zhao replied. “Very well, Duchess. You have my service—and as I’m sure you suspected, I should be able to bring most of China’s Party with me.”
The city administration of Hong Kong wasn’t the adorable three-story brick office of the small Midwest town Annette had grown up in. The administration of a city of almost fifty million souls took up a sixty-story office tower tucked away in a commercial section of downtown with stores on the ground floor of every building.
The lowest five floors of the Hong Kong Administration Tower were given over to meeting halls and gathering places, many of which apparently had walls and even floors that could be retracted to allow for immense gathering spaces.
For Chief Executive Monica Ha’s reception for Earth’s new Duchess, those meeting rooms had been turned into a three-story-tall grand ballroom that was easily sized for thousands. A live band played in one corner, but their music was relayed around the space by speakers and audio gear—less than a quarter of the space would have been able to hear them otherwise.
Annette arrived with her Ducal Guard in tow. Wellesley and his men had given up their power armor for the moment, though she knew perfectly well that they’d concealed plasma carbines under their suit jackets.
How she wasn’t entirely sure, but she wasn’t going to ask questions. While power armor had made its way into the hands of special detachments of the various local police forces, no one on Earth except the Imperial Marines—and now her personal guard—had the miniaturized energy weapons.
Chief Executive Ha was a slimly attractive woman with dark hair and a ready smile, switching from directing affairs through a concealed earpiece to greeting guests from moment to moment as Annette and her own team approached.
“Your Grace, welcome to Hong Kong,” Ha greeted her with a small bow. “I trust our security provisions have been sufficient? We weren’t expecting an aerial attack.”
“Nor was the attack your responsibility,” Annette told Hong Kong’s leader. “We handled it ourselves. I have no complaints about the Hong Kong Police Department’s efforts to maintain my safety.”
The same power-armored cops—or perhaps a different set in identically painted armor—stood guard around the building. Anyone entering the tower had to pass a security check with those looming suits of war watching them.
“The provisional administration has informed me that you will be permanently setting up in Hong Kong?” Ha said questioningly.
“Offers are already in place to acquire several of the downtown office towers,” Annette confirmed. “I’m disinclined to seize property for those operations—we can pay in Imperial marks, and I intend to begin as we will carry on: with honesty and transparency.”
Ha chuckled.
“Careful, Your Grace, that’s starting to sound like a rehearsed speech,” she warned.
“You have no idea how many times I had to beat that idea into some of the Imperial administrators’ heads,” the Duchess told her, sighing. The A!Tol in general had a detailed, well-thought-out plan for the uplift and stabilization of Earth.
They still seemed to think that, as the Duchess, she could get away with things she knew would be bad ideas.
“There are many people here who will want to meet with you,” Ha noted. “I think you’ll enjoy Hong Kong, Duchess Bond.”
“Executive Ha, I’d enjoy anywhere on Earth after the last year,” Annette said with a smile. “Thank you.”
“Remember that you’re scheduled to speak in an hour,” the other woman told her. “But everyone here is going to want a private conversation. Half the planet wanted to show up.”
“I’ll be ready for the speech,” Annette said with a sigh. “If I have to.”
Annette didn’t pretend to be good at circulating, but she’d made it to Commander and executive officer of a battleship in her UESF career before things had gone sideways the first time. Then she’d been the personal pilot for one of the richest men alive, followed by commanding his test ships.
She knew how to circulate, and set her mind to it with a vengeance. Her job right now was to convince as many people as she could that being a Duchy with her at the head was the best thing for Earth. Convincing people that she was trustworthy was an important part in that.
So, she made nice with the reporters, talked with the businessmen and chatted up the cabal of Party members that Li Chin Zhao had produced at a few hours’ notice.
After forty minutes, however, she spotted the elder Wellesley holding up a wall. He inclined his head to her and then nodded toward a door next to the stage where she’d be giving her speech in a bit.
“With me, James,” she murmured to her bodyguard, and then crossed to meet the man’s father, ducking into the small meeting room presumably set up to allow for speech preparation.
“Your Grace,” Malcolm James Valerian Wellesley greeted her with an aristocratically perfectly bow. “Thank you for meeting with me.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace,” she told him.
“In the current state of affairs, it appears you are the only person on the planet with a title that isn’t purely a formality now,” he replied. “The A!Tol achieved in one fell swoop what English republicans have been trying to pull off for most of a millennium: truly making the crown and aristocracy meaningless.”
“I didn’t work for them then,” Annette pointed out. “I can’t change what they did when they arrived.”
“No and no, I wouldn’t expect you to,” Wellesley admitted. “As I understand it, your role in this is to make us all good citizens of the Imperium, valuable members of their society.”
“With the meaning that citizens have rights and privileges, I can’t argue with that explanation,” she said. “I was sent to find technology and allies to protect Earth. I’d argue I succeeded, if not exactly as people expected.”
“That depends, I suppose, on how independent this ‘Duchy of Terra’ will be. Is this a polite fiction, to salve our wounded pride while we remain a conquered race—or a polite fiction to soothe their wounded pride while we claim our independence?”
“Neither,” Annette replied with a chuckle. “We’re about as independent as, oh, Iowa. We’ll have a lot of say in our own affairs, but we’re bound by Imperial law and will be protected by the Imperial Navy.”
The older Englishman looked at his son. “Well, boy?”
“Well, what?” the Major asked.
“You saw everything she saw, James,” he pointed out. “Followed her into deep space, followed her into breaking her oaths. For the greater good. Is she right?”
“She was my Captain and is my Duchess,” the younger Wellesley said flatly. “You of all people understand the meaning of loyalty.”
The Duke let out a bark of laughter.
“That answers half the question on its own,” he replied. “But still, James, what do you think?”
“I think we were on the border between two giants and one of them was going to grab us,” Wellesley told his father. “We got grabbed by the one who wanted a pet instead of the one who wanted a meal. It’s not a great deal—but it’s better than the alternative.”
“I can live with that,” the Duke said. “That’s about what I figured.” He pointed at James. “I knew this lad wouldn’t have followed you into arguable treason without a damn good reason, so I had a few chats once we knew what was going on.
“You won’t be getting a response from your invitation to Chandler,” he continued. “Our esteemed ex–Prime Minister will have nothing to do with you, but, to be fair, I think the man just wants to retire quietly and not have anything to do with politics at all.
“He did sign off on the surrender of the human race, after all.”
“I can understand that, but you realize I need someone to speak for Great Britain?” Annette said. “Someone to sit on my Council and make the British understand that, yes, they do have a voice in this new world.”
Wellesley sighed.
“It’ll be me,” he said flatly. “But not entirely in my own right.”
“I don’t understand,” Annette admitted.
“I’m here to extend an invitation for you to meet with Her Majesty Queen Victoria the Third,” Wellesley said formally. “Her title is now as much a formality as mine, but her support is hardly meaningless.”
Annette swallowed hard. She understood, intellectually, that right now she was the single most important and powerful person on Earth. It was still a shock to realize she was literally being invited to supper with the Queen of England.
“I would be pleased to accept her invitation,” she told him. A buzzer on her communicator went off, and she smiled.
“Right now, however, I need to give a speech that the entire world is waiting for.”
Chapter Five
Stepping up onto the stage, Annette found it almost impossible to actually see the people gathered in the room. There were so many flying drones, shoulder-mounted cameras and other lights and recording devices pointed at her, she couldn’t make out any of the crowd.
It was probably for the best. She wasn’t speaking to them tonight. This speech would be carried live on every network on Earth. There might have been more important speeches in history—but there certainly hadn’t been in her career.
“Citizens of Earth,” she said quietly, trusting the microphones to pick her up. “I am Duchess Dan!Annette Bond.
“If you know of me, it is likely as Captain Bond of the UESF cruiser Tornado—the ship that now serves as the flagship of our Ducal Militia.
“You have been told, first by Medit!, the former A!Tol Governor, and then by the provisional administration that Medit! helped put together, that I have been declared your Duchess and Terra—Earth—an Imperial Duchy under my rule.”
The room was silent. The photographers taking pictures had turned off any sounds and there was enough light to negate the need for flashes. Her entire world could see her—and those who weren’t watching live almost certainly would see her later.
“But you don’t know what that means,” she allowed. “All you know is that one year ago, the A!Tol appeared in our skies and destroyed our fleets. They forced us to kneel and told us it was for our own good.
“And we did not believe them,” she said flatly. “Why would we? Our brothers and sisters were dead, fire scattered across our skies. My own ship fled into exile to fight them, to try and free our world.”
She let those words sink in.
“But their hand was gentler here than any of us dared hope,” she reminded them. “They tried to uplift us, not exploit us. And perhaps, perhaps, they were not as evil as we thought them to be.
“I saw firsthand the A!Tol rule of the galaxy. I sailed their stars, fought their navy, and, yes, dealt with their underworld in an attempt to buy you the freedom I promised when I left.”
Clasping her hands in front of her, she looked at the cameras, hoping that her people would see the truth in her eyes.
“And I understood in the aftermath of those battles that the A!Tol were not our enemy,” she told humanity. “We had enemies. People who would grind us underfoot, who would make us their slaves, to toil in mines and factories to fuel an all-consuming war machine. The galaxy is not a safe place, and we have two empires in our neighborhood.
“The A!Tol have their own reasons for coming to Earth, but while they would see us follow behind them, they would have us stand.
“The Kanzi would have us kneel.”
Again, she waited, letting the silence fill the room.
“Make no mistake,” she told them all, “the A!Tol are not angels. They have their own demands of us, and our Duchy will be subject to their laws, their requirements, and, yes, eventually their taxes.
“But within those confines, I am permitted to run Earth as I choose and to send representatives to the legislatures that run the Imperium.”
Breathing deeply, she forced a grim smile.
“For now, I am gathering a Council of humanity’s leaders to lay out the next steps,” she explained. “We will establish a new worldwide government. A new planetary militia of both ground and space forces—the A!Tol are responsible for our defense, but I don’t intend to rely on them completely.
“Over the next year, we will draft a Charter for the Duchy of Terra, a new constitution for all mankind. Within the confines of Imperial law, we can rule ourselves.
“Like the member states of the USA before us, we are not entirely independent—but we are free.”
Reaching the end of her prepared remarks, relief helped turn her grim smile into something more honest.
“The galaxy isn’t a safe neighborhood, but with powerful friends, we can make it work. The A!Tol aren’t perfect—but they are prepared to be our friends.
“I ask you, the people of Earth, to give me a chance to show you the possibilities membership in the Imperium opens up—and I ask you to trust me that I will permit no harm to come to this world.
“Thank you.”
With the worst part of the evening out of the way, Annette allowed herself to relax slightly and grab a glass of wine from one of the circulating waiters. She had no intention of doing more than nursing it for the next several hours, but it made her feel slightly better regardless.
She was going to need a staff. She was actually going to need a planetary bureaucracy, she reflected, but she needed to start with a staff. Right now, she was leaning on her flagship’s crew and Medit!’s staff.
Neither was really appropriate. She needed Tornado’s crew to start focusing on training and preparing the militia crews they were going to need to recruit, and Medit!’s Uplift personnel weren’t really hers to call on.
“Duchess Bond!” a feminine voice called to her, and she looked up to see an extraordinarily attractive young woman flagging her down. The woman was too perfect, clearly the benefactor of both high-tier cosmetic surgery and a very professional preparation team that knew exactly what to do with her height and long black hair.
It was the headband she wore that finally triggered Annette’s memory, though. It faked being a decorative headband well but not enough to prevent a practiced eye from picking out the cameras—it was a media headset, and the Duchess remembered the woman now.
“Miss Robin,” she greeted the reporter. “Still with Global News Network?”
The reporter blinked in surprise but managed to hide it quickly. She was good.
“Of course,” she confirmed. “Jess Robin, if you remember.”
“I do, Miss Robin,” Annette told her. “What can I do for you and GNN?”
“There are many people with many questions about your new role and what happens to Earth,” Robin told her. “Can you spare a few moments for the public?”
“I said most of what needed to be said on camera earlier,” Annette pointed out. The younger woman was gorgeous. It was almost a shame that seducing a reporter was, roughly, the worst possible idea the Duchess of Earth could have right now.
“But there are so many details and questions you couldn’t answer in a short speech. Please, Duchess.”
“You’ve already pinned me down, Miss Robin. You may as well ask.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the reporter replied. “First, is that actually the right form of address?”
“Everyone has been defaulting to it, in English at least, but what etiquette has been written for my role applies to other species,” Annette answered. “At some point, we’ll probably pull together a team of experts to write the most informal possible etiquette guide. Not least because how we treat me will also define how we treat senior Imperial officials and other Dukes of the Imperium.”
“People are inevitably drawing the comparison to old-style feudalism from the title,” Robin noted. “Are we going to be required to provide military forces to the Imperium?”
“That is at least part of why that translation of the title was chosen,” Annette admitted. “Exact details are going to remain under wraps for now, but yes, we will be contributing to the common defense of the Imperium. There are already Imperial recruiting facilities across Earth, and the Ducal government will be required to make other contributions.”
Robin coughed suddenly, apparently not a response to Annette’s comment, and the older woman wondered just what question she’d been fed. The first time they’d met, her back office had made her all but outright ask if Annette had slept her way to command of Tornado.
“If we are looking to a more feudal model,” the reporter said slowly, clearly trying to find the best way to ask the question, “will you be required to produce an heir of your body? What are your plans on that account?”
Annette couldn’t help herself. She giggled, even knowing that giggling made her sound and momentarily look like the blonde cheerleader she’d once been.
“That’s the question your boss is feeding you?” she asked.
“It’s not illegitimate,” Robin protested, but she wouldn’t meet Annette’s gaze.
“Tell your backroom puppeteers that my private life will remain private,” Annette said flatly, then smiled as an impulse hit her. “As for you, Miss Robin, how would you feel about a job with less strings?”
“Your Grace?”
“I need a press secretary,” the Duchess of Earth told her. “Someone who knows the ins and outs of journalism, can field the major networks for me, write press releases, and look gorgeous while telling reporters ‘no comment.’ Want the job?”
From the cringe in Robin’s expression, someone on the other end of her headset was yelling at her. The young woman rolled her eyes and pulled the headset off, turning it around to face into its cameras.
“I quit, Reginald,” she said with a broad smile. “For this offer? I so totally quit. Send someone for the headband; I’ll leave it with Hong Kong Tower reception.”
She hit a hidden button, turning it off, then leveled a devastating smile on Annette.
“When would you like me to start?”
“How does right now sound?”
Chapter Six
Jean Villeneuve, once more an Admiral and Earth’s Chief of Space Operations, loved Paris. The city had been repeatedly modernized across the centuries, but somehow, the successive municipal governments had managed to keep the tone and feel of “Gay Paree” intact across time.
Across the fifty-odd years of his career, it had been both different every time he’d returned and the same. Despite not being home, the city often felt more like home than the Normandy beaches he’d actually grown up on.
When Pierre Larue, the former Franco-German member of the UESF’s Governing Council, had asked to meet him here, he’d leapt at the chance to visit the city. Now he sat in the designated café along the Champs-Élysées and waited for his old friend.
Larue was a portly man, squat and broad with blond hair trying to turn silver on him. He arrived in a black car that had almost certainly once belonged to the Franco-German government, stepping out to meet Jean with a smile.
“Get in the car,” he ordered in their shared French, his flat voice in complete opposition to his friendly expression.
“What?” Jean demanded.
“Get in the car, Jean,” Larue repeated. “We don’t have time for an argument.”
Slowly, carefully, Jean rose. Following Larue to the sedan, he tapped a button on his alert bracelet—one that told the Ducal Guard responsible for his security that if he didn’t send a follow-up signal in fifteen minutes, they were to retrieve him with all necessary force.
Larue got in behind him and closed the door.
“Drive,” he ordered the woman in the front of the car, and the vehicle took off. “You know where.”
“What’s going on, Pierre?” Jean demanded.
“I’m breaking you out,” his old friend told him. “You had four of Bond’s thugs surrounding you to make sure you stayed to the script. I’ve got a safe place waiting for you; we can get you underground and hidden away safely.”
Jean stared at Larue in shock for a moment.
“What exactly are you breaking me out from?” he finally asked.
“The Imperium,” Larue snapped. “They’ve had you under guard since you went aboard Medit!’s ship for whatever insanity was going on there, trapping you into this new ‘Admiral’ bullshit so they can use you as a symbol.”
“I’m not trapped in anything, Pierre,” Jean told him gently. “I volunteered to go with Tan!Shallegh to talk Annette out of what could have been a major mistake. And I volunteered to take up command of the new militia.
“And I know about my bodyguards, old friend. You have about ten minutes to start talking sense or an assault shuttle of Ducal Guard in power armor is going to land on this car.”
“You’re…not coerced?” Larue said slowly. “This mess is exactly what the Weber Protocols were set up to deal with. What do you mean, you’ve given up?”
“I didn’t give up, Pierre. I realized that the A!Tol are the best of a bad set of options,” Jean told him. “Annette would have told you that too, if you’d been willing to listen to our attempt to recruit you for the Council. I thought it was a good sign when you asked to meet me.”
“I never thought I’d see the day Jean Villeneuve was a collaborator,” Larue spat. “They must have brainwashed you.”
“It’s possible,” the old Admiral admitted with a sigh. “I won’t deny the possibility, but nom d'un chien, Pierre, Annette really did get us the best deal we could get. Give us a chance.”
“France knelt to one conqueror, Jean. Never again.”
“Stop the car and let me out, Pierre,” Jean said quietly. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere, but I’d rather not have one of my oldest friends shot by my bodyguards.”
The two men glared at each other for a long moment, then Larue exhaled a long breath.
“Merde,” he cursed. “Call off your dogs, Jean. One way or another, there’s someone who needs to meet you. You have my word you will be released safely.”
“You can guess what will happen if I’m not,” Jean said slowly. “But all right. I’ll meet your ‘someone.’”
The button on his alert bracelet he pushed now gave him two hours. After that, the Guard were still going to come crashing through roofs. He’d give Larue more chances than almost anyone else, but he still couldn’t afford to trust him.
The black car swung into a block of high-end Parisian townhouses and pulled to a stop in front of a unit that looked the same as the rest.
“Come on,” Larue said. The ex-Councilor got out of the car and led the way up to the house.
The door opened before they reached it. Jean was somehow not surprised to find a trio of serious young men in black suits and sunglasses waiting on the inside with a handheld scanner wand.
The wand promptly found his emergency band.
“He’s being tracked,” the man announced in English.
“And I’ve activated an emergency beacon,” Jean said pleasantly in the same language. “If something happens to me, the Ducal Guard will be here under ninety seconds with air support. I suggest, mes amis, that we all play very, very nice.”
“Tell Miles that Jean gave me his word to hear us out,” Larue told the guard. “We were going to have to abandon this safe house no matter what.”
The guard shook his head severely but sighed.
“This wasn’t the plan,” he pointed out.
“I know.”
“He’s unarmed otherwise; you can go through,” the guard admitted.
Larue nodded and gestured for Jean to follow him deeper into the house. The décor had been modernized somewhere in the last hundred years but updated with a careful eye to maintaining the Napoleonic air of the place. Curtains covered the doors and the floors were a light-colored hardwood.
It was a pretty house, and Jean was somehow not surprised to find former President Miles Hardesty sitting in the couch. The Secret Service guards had been relatively obvious.
“Mr. Hardesty,” the Admiral greeted the florid-faced man waiting for him. “I didn’t expect to meet you in Paris.”
“I’ll confess we thought you were in trouble,” Hardesty replied without rising, his voice tired. “This was a rescue, not a kidnapping, though I never expected Bond’s thugs to see the difference.”
“I also doubt you categorize me as one of ‘Bond’s thugs,’” Jean pointed out. “So, I should probably mention that the Ducal Guard currently reports to me. At least until we’ve managed to separate our planetary ground force from the Duchess’s personal guard.”
“So, it’s true,” the former President of the United States said. “You’ve thrown in with the aliens. Betrayed your oaths.”
“I swore an oath to protect the Earth against all threats,” Jean said levelly. “Unfortunately, we are a tiny, tiny frog in a vast pond, and there are hungry predators in our corner of it. We can work with the A!Tol or we can be devoured by other, less-friendly predators.”
“Damn it all, man, we should be fighting for our freedom, not spinelessly bowing to our conquerors!”
“We tried that. Do you know how many US Army soldiers were stunned in your show of resistance, Mr. Hardesty? If the A!Tol gear was any less carefully calibrated, we could have had hundreds of deaths—to add to the thousands of our fruitless attempt to resist in space.”
“Better to die on our feet than beg on our knees,” Hardesty spat.
“Would you rather die, kneel, or be chained?” Jean asked quietly. “Because in our local galactic neighborhood, those are our choices. Die fighting, kneel to the Imperium, which will at least uplift us to be of value to them, or become slaves to the Kanzi. There are no alternatives, no third options or miracles. Only a question of how many die along the way.”
“It was your job to protect us!”
“And I failed,” the former commander of the UESF said flatly. “I failed before the A!Tol ever appeared in our system. If we’d developed the technologies built into Tornado twenty years earlier? We might have had a chance, maybe.
“Now our only hope is to accept a place in the Imperium and make the best of it.” Jean glared at both Larue and Hardesty. “If you want to fight for humanity, the best place to do it now is on Annette’s Council. Both of you have skills we could use; both of you have people who trust you. If we stand together, we can make the best of our situation.”
“And if I refuse?” Hardesty demanded. “If I won’t bend my knee to this traitor they’d raised over us?”
“Then I ask you to stay out of our way,” Jean replied. “Follow or get out of the way, Mr. Hardesty.”
He rose. “Now, if you excuse me, since it seems I won’t be adding anyone to our list of Councilors today, I need to get back to Hong Kong. Some of us have work to do.”
Jean could hear arguing behind him as he left the room, one of the Secret Service agents materializing to guide him back out. He continued being able to hear the arguing as he made his way to the front door, the volume increasing as he moved farther away.
“Could you call me a taxi or something?” he asked the guard at the door, listening as the argument behind him faded.
“No need,” Larue said from behind him, the other man walking briskly out from the interior of the house, his face red from shouting. “I’ll give you a ride to the shuttleport.”
“Thank you.”
“You truly believe that this Duchy of Terra is our best hope?”
“I know it’s our only hope,” Jean said sadly.
Larue sighed.
“Is there space on your flight to Hong Kong for one more?” he asked. “I can guarantee Hardesty won’t do more than bluster, but I…I have to do something—and better with Jean Villeneuve than against him, I think.”
In the Hong Kong hotel room, Annette stared at her old UESF communicator. Their newer devices were Imperial-built, modified to look very similar to the scroll-like devices her crew was used to, but she’d kept the old one for a few reasons—and sentimentality was not one of them.
Taking the ends of the communicator, she opened up its flexible display and studied the menus. A few gentle taps opened up a specific email in her archive—and the link in that email opened an entirely new menu in the communicator’s systems.
There were eleven different applications in that menu, but only one actually did anything—and which one depended on the time of day. Checking a clock for the current GMT time, Annette selected an application.
That linked her to a website, a digital drop box for general access by the Weber Network. Setting the communicator to upload, she started recording.
“This message is sent under the Weber Protocols to the leaders and members of the Weber Network acting as the resistance on Earth,” she said quietly. “You know who I am. You know I had the same general briefing on the Protocols as any ship’s captain. I can contact you, but I can’t find you—not through these means, anyway.
“You are wondering why one of your comrades, the Captain sent out to steal the very technology we needed to liberate Earth and find allies to help protect us, has betrayed you and signed on with the A!Tol.
“While my methods were not what was intended, I did complete my mission,” she told them with a wry smile. “Among the things I have brought back are a complete database of A!Tol technology—more, in fact, that the A!Tol think I have.
“Given time and resources, we can assemble a powerful local fleet under the auspices of the Duchy of Terra—but we could not assemble a fleet powerful enough to guarantee our safety against the Kanzi.
“We would need allies—and the A!Tol are prepared to be those allies, for a price.”
Annette hoped that her former brothers and sisters in arms could see her weariness, her honesty.
“With their help, we can uplift Earth and defend our people against the Kanzi and any other threats. We will not be independent, but that doesn’t mean we won’t be free. Freedom of speech, of assembly, the right to vote…these are all things we can have as part of the Imperium.”
She glanced at the Imperial communicator also sitting on her desk, where she’d been working on the briefing for the Council.
“I could use you,” she admitted. “The resources and data archives we hid under the Protocols could save me months—years—of difficulties. The men and women of the UESF now serving the Network could man the Militia’s entire squadron of warships tomorrow.
“Join me, and we will defend Earth together.
“I understand if you won’t,” she confessed. “I understand if you can’t yet. What I ask of you is that you let those who are willing to try do so. Give me a chance. Stand aside—and if I fail, strike then.
“But give me a chance to help our people first.”
Chapter Seven
Annette Bond, Duchess of Terra, stood at the head of the conference table and looked around at her Council.
It had taken twelve days to assemble them all. Twelve days in which she’d accomplished almost nothing else, her time consumed with meetings and trips around the world.
Meeting the Queen of England had been the most surreal of those appointments, though by the standard of bringing entire sections of the globe onto her side, her quiet meal with Li Chin Zhao had probably been more important.
Now Zhao sat at the front of the table at her left hand, facing Admiral Jean Villeneuve. She knew Villeneuve would have her back, and she thought she could rely on Zhao.
She wasn’t so sure about the other fourteen men and women at the table.
There were Hope Mandela and Pierre Larue, former members of the Governing Council. Piotr Jovanovich, the last Premier of Russia, and Janice Philips and Graham Rutherford, last Prime Ministers of Australia and Canada respectively. Karl Lebrand, billionaire titan of American industry, sat next to Malcolm Wellesley, a former member of Her Majesty’s Government.
Doctor Her Royal Highness An Sirkit of the Thai royal family and Japanese electronics magnate Takuya Miyamoto joined Zhao in speaking for the Eastern portion of the world.
Last, and Annette couldn’t help but feel silliest, Teddy Nash, a grizzled Hollywood actor who’d captured the hearts of generations of women…and used that attention to help fuel some of the largest and most successful charities in the world.
If the former members of the US government wouldn’t serve on her Council, she’d find other symbols to bring her countrymen aboard.
Jess Robin sat off to the side, an old-fashioned keyboard in her lap as she dutifully prepared to take notes. Only some of today’s meeting could be released to the public, but Annette suspected her press secretary would do good work with what was left.
“All right, everyone,” she greeted them. “You all know each other, at least by reputation. There is no one sitting at this table who isn’t a household name in their home country, a symbol of old and new cultures alike.
“I’m probably the least-known person here,” she concluded, which earned her a round of chuckles.
“As you’ve probably gathered from who is sitting at this table, at least part of the purpose of this Council is to demonstrate to the people of Terra that there is some continuity of the old into the new,” she continued. “You wouldn’t be here, however, if I thought you were only going to be a symbol. You’re here because I expect you to be able to contribute to leading this planet.
“To do so, you need to be aware of our constraints, assets, and requirements. Before I get started on that briefing, are there any questions?”
“Yeah,” Nash drawled. “One I think we need to get out of the way so everyone’s clear on it. We’re your Council, but that’s a purely advisory role, correct? This isn’t a democracy.”
“Thank you,” Annette said softly. “You’re right; we do need to get that out of the way. No, right now, the Duchy of Terra is not a democracy and this Council never will be.”
She let that sink in.
“My intent is that the Duchy of Terra will, like the Imperium we are now part of, become a constitutional monarchy,” she told them. “We will need to establish a legislature and a judiciary over the next months to years to fulfill that purpose. Imperial law limits how much power I can actually pass over, but I intend to have a functioning worldwide democracy in place inside two years.
“This Council, however, fills the role of the cabinet in our old governments. I will rely on you for advice, but the decisions are mine. As we move forward, I will likely assign portfolios and will expect you to act within those portfolios, but the buck stops here.” She tapped her chest.
“I am responsible for Earth’s safety, security, and future. I intend to lean on you all, but when push comes to shove, the vote is mine.
“If you have a problem with that, I suggest you leave,” she finished. “I’d hate to replace any of you, but I refuse for this Council to become a dogfight.”
An Sirkit chuckled, a bubbling sound from the Thai princess.
“I don’t think anyone came here expecting differently,” she pointed out. “I have my own questions, Your Grace, but they are of details, not of generalities. Perhaps you should give us your briefing—unless someone does want to take our Duchess up on her offer to leave?”
The room was still for a long moment and Annette tried not to hold her breath.
Annette waited for a few more seconds to see if anyone would actually leave. When no one rose, she tapped a command on her communicator and brought up a hologram in the middle of the table.
From the sharp inhalations around the table, no one had expected the Imperial-grade hologram—still a rarity on Earth, even for people at this level.
“Everything we’re about to discuss is classified for the moment,” she told them all. “Under Imperial law, that means that if you leak it, you get locked up for twenty long-cycles minimum. That’s about ten and a half years.
“The time frames and instructions we receive from the Imperium will be given in A!Tol cycles and long-cycles,” she continued. “Translators can handle the conversion, but it will probably be easier if you all get comfortable with the time frames. A cycle is basically a day. A long-cycle is two hundred cycles, one hundred and ninety-four days.”
“I thought the A!Tol used base-sixteen math?” Jovanovich asked. The former Russian premier was a gaunt man with hawkish features, a neatly trimmed beard and night-black hair.
“They do. But, like us, their calendar is driven by their homeworld’s day, year, and lunar cycle,” Annette explained. “A!To orbits a weaker star than Sol and so orbits closer and faster to be habitable. Since their moon orbits A!To every twenty cycles, their calendar got stuck on base twenty.”
“So, their time units line up with their normal numbers about as well as ours do,” the Russian noted. “Confusing, but somehow it makes me feel better.”
“Hang on to those warm feelings,” Annette told them. “Because while there’s good news in this briefing, a lot of it, I’m going to start with exactly what I mean when I warn everyone that the A!Tol are not in this for our good.”
“Other than conquering us, they kind of seem to be,” Nash pointed out. “You said as much yourself—Imperial Navy protection, the Uplift program. They’re doing a lot for us.”
“For their own reasons,” she warned. “You all saw my interview with Jess?” Nods went around the table. “As I said to her, we are facing an obligation to ‘contribute to the common defense.’
“That’s going to take a few forms, which will grow more onerous over time as our economy updates and expands. The Imperial Forces are already recruiting on Earth with a low but measurable success rate.”
“Some quite high-profile,” Miyamoto said softly. “Captain Tanaka did herself no favors back home. I presume it will be in our interests to rehabilitate the good Captain’s image?”
“It will, though that brings us to the joker in the deck,” Annette responded. “Exactly what forces we’re required to provide directly and how quickly is very much a discretionary part of the process of establishing a Duchy.”
As she spoke, she manipulated the hologram, highlighting the systems of the last few new member species of the Imperium.
“I’ll provide you with copies of the case studies of the last few, but the Yin, for example, went through the same process we’re going through sixty years ago. It was fifteen long-cycles before they became a Duchy, however, so much of their economy was fully modernized.
“They were still given ten long-cycles to provide their first contribution to the Imperial Navy, a manned and equipped squadron of sixteen cruisers.”
Thoughtful nods went around the table.
“Five years?” Lebrand said aloud. “We’ll want to bring Nova Industries in on that discussion—even with Casimir and most of their orbital facilities gone, they’re the ones with the plans and infrastructure to build more orbital factories.
“It’ll be a challenge to get the yards in place fast enough,” the American industrialist admitted, “but we should be able to build them sixteen cruisers in five years.”
“That’s what the Yin had to provide,” Annette told him quietly.
“We are being required to provide an echelon—eight ships, half a squadron—of capital ships. In two long-cycles.”
The room was silent. The hologram now showed the rotating image of an Imperial Starburst-class battleship. To drive the point home, sitting next to it was an image of the Starry Wing–class cruisers the Yin had built—barely a tenth of the size.
“We’ve never built anything they’d class as a capital ship,” Villeneuve finally said. “It would take us most of the five years they gave the Yin just to build eight capital shipyards, let alone the ships. How can we possibly build eight capital ships in a year?”
“We can’t,” Annette said flatly. “We are being intentionally fucked to force us to take the actions the A!Tol want us to take.
“We will have to buy the ships,” she continued. Thanks to her privateering days—and the fact that she’d claimed the entire haul from a mass pirate raid after the rest of the scum had turned on her—she actually could swing more of that than she thought the Empress realized, but still…
“The budget we are provided by the Imperium as an early support measure will not, of course, stretch to eight battleships,” she said. “To afford the vessels, we would need to raise a significant amount of capital in a very short time period.”
“Less than five percent of the global economy has converted to Imperial marks so far,” Zhao pointed out, the obese Chinese leader’s voice very quiet. “If we somehow claimed all of that income, I doubt it would suffice.”
“And, under Imperial law, our citizens are protected against that kind of seizure,” Annette told him. “No, we would need to raise the funds outside Sol. The only thing of value the A!Tol see us as having is the technology behind compressed-matter armor—they analyzed the hell out of Tornado’s hull, but scans of it don’t really tell you how to make it.”
Her Council was quiet, staring at her.
“That technology was destroyed with BugWorks Station,” Villeneuve finally said. “Any records of how it worked are in the hands of the Weber Network.”
“I know. And even if we had it, I’d have no intent of selling it to them,” she replied. “Being the primary source of compressed-matter armor for the Imperial Navy would be exactly the kind of massive economic leveler our system needs.”
“You have a plan?” Zhao asked.
“Parts of one,” she confirmed. “Firstly, Lebrand, Villeneuve.”
“Yes?” both men replied instantly.
“You and I are going to meet with the Nova Industries board. I want to set up new refit yards to upgrade the destroyers we got from the A!Tol. They have no active missile defense—I want to mix our designs for laser defenses with Imperial technology and build the best damn anti-missile suite we can.
“Once we’ve got that, I’m going to want the engineering team to go over Tornado’s plasma missile defense drones. We don’t have the tech to duplicate their plasma guns, but if we could build a simpler system around our laser anti-missile suites, we’d have a piece of defensive tech the Navy will give half their tentacles for.”
“What I’d give to still have Casimir,” Villeneuve sighed. “It’s an engineering problem and the man was brilliant.”
A moment of personal grief hit Annette, which she suppressed. Elon Casimir had been her employer, her friend, and—for one short period after his wife’s death—her lover. She also did not truly believe the man was dead.
Not until she’d seen a body and buried it with her own two hands. She’d been party to Casimir’s plans for this eventuality, and she had her suspicions about his fate—and that of BugWorks Station, for that matter.
“We will do everything in our power to find the money to buy ourselves eight battleships in the next year,” Annette concluded. “We’re also supposed to provide crews from recruitment efforts of our own. We’ll need to crew our new destroyer squadron as well.”
“What’s the catch on those destroyers? Do we have to pay for those eventually as well?” Mandela asked. The elegantly dressed black woman looked tired. “It seems nothing comes from the A!Tol without reason.”
“The destroyer squadron is part of the support package that the Imperium is providing us to get on our feet,” the Duchess replied. “They’re also providing us with a generous budget to fund the operations of both the Duchy government and our militia. It doesn’t stretch to battleships, but it will fund building yards while we try and get our economy in a shape that will.
“The main ‘catch’ is that the passage crews have already left, so right now, they have no crews and no trainers for crews. They’re glorified empty metal currently, but we have Tornado and the other Operation Privateer crews to draw on to train people on modern gear.”
“I have no concerns on manning or equipping the squadron,” Villeneuve told the rest of the Council. “Captains Lougheed and Sade will command the first two, though I imagine they will get rapidly sick of the degree to which we will have to keep poaching their crews just as they get them trained.”
With a wave of her hand, Annette brought the hologram back to the general map of the galaxy.
“We know roughly what we’re doing with those ships now,” she concluded. “It is even more critical that this next piece of information remain secret,” she warned them.
“The A!Tol Imperium and the Kanzi Theocracy are both signatories to the Kovius Treaty,” Annette noted. “The Kovius system is here”—a light flashed deep toward the center of the galaxy—“in the Core, in the territory of a species called the Mesharom.”
A tap zoomed in on the section of the galaxy known as “the Core,” lighting up the multiple different zones of the Core Powers.
“The major powers in the Core are very old,” she said. “I’ve met Laian exiles—they left their empire five hundred years ago, and their technology still outclasses the A!Tol or the Kanzi. The rest of the Core Powers have at least that five-hundred-year tech edge over, basically, every power in the galaxy’s spiral arms.”
She let that sink in for a moment.
“A single squadron of modern Core warships could easily take on five or six times its numbers in A!Tol or Kanzi ships. They are as far beyond our new nation as the Imperium was beyond us a year ago.
“At some point in the past, long enough ago that I believe it predates the A!Tol having spaceflight, the Mesharom talked the rest of the Core Powers into creating the Kovius Treaty to protect the rights of latecomer sentient species to their own local neighborhood.
“Note that it doesn’t protect our independence,” she said dryly. “What it does mean is that no one else will colonize worlds within forty light-years of Earth. And, under A!Tol law, those systems and worlds actually belong to us.”
“Wait, what?” Zhao asked.
“While any colonies wouldn’t be part of the Duchy of Terra, the Duchy of Terra owns all resources, habitable worlds, and anything else we happen to find inside forty light-years of Sol.
“This cuts into a region of space the Kanzi used to regard as their own,” she continued. “Because of our Kovius Treaty rights, that space now belongs to the A!Tol Imperium. And to us, under their auspices.”
“Could we, I don’t know, sell a star system to pay for those battleships?” Zhao asked.
“We are specifically not permitted under A!Tol to sell those rights for one hundred long-cycles,” Annette said with a chuckle. “Probably to stop us being pressured into doing just that before we can really use them.”
“Well, that explains why they annexed us, doesn’t it?” Princess Sirkit said quietly.
“That’s a good chunk of it,” Annette agreed. “There is another piece, one we all need to understand because it drives everything the A!Tol have done with their member species and Duchies.
“You’re a doctor, An,” she continued to the Princess. “You might know this off the top of your head. What’s Sol’s current population?”
“Ten billion,” Sirkit answered instantly. “Give or take a hundred million souls.”
“Only about two million of those aren’t on Earth,” Villeneuve pointed out.
“Indeed. And Doctor Sirkit, what’s our average births less deaths per thousand people per year?”
The Thai princess looked confused but thought for a moment.
“It differs across countries and cultures still, but around fifteen,” she answered.
“Our death rate is going to plummet over the next ten years as we bring Imperial medicine fully online,” Annette reminded them all. “But this year, we’ll still see roughly one and a half percent population growth. One hundred and fifty million new humans.
“What would you guess the Imperium’s total population of sentients at, people?”
“We’re the twenty-ninth species involved, so…” Lebrand shrugged. “Two, three trillion?”
“Seven hundred billion,” Annette replied. “Plus or minus about the population of Earth. One hundred billion of those are A!Tol. The Imperium’s species, as a whole, suffer from the same problem our more advanced societies have been fighting with for centuries: as life gets easier, fewer people have children.
“The A!Tol are the fastest-breeding species in the Imperium…at just over point three five percent population growth per long-cycle. The entire Imperium, including us, is expected to add just under one point two billion sentients in the next twelve months.”
Her Council stared at her, comprehension dawning on their faces as the numbers sank in.
“We’re ten percent of the Imperium’s population growth,” Mandela said slowly. “They didn’t conquer us for resources—they conquered us for our population.”
“Ten billion sentients and a ten percent increase in the population growth for the foreseeable future,” Annette agreed. “That’s the only resource in Sol truly worth giving a shit about in their mind. They’ll use us, and they’ll try and manipulate us, but at the end of the day, the A!Tol want humans to be productive, valuable citizens of the Imperium.”
Chapter Eight
Captain Andrew Lougheed looked around his quarters on the survey ship Of Course We’re Coming Back with a surprising degree of nostalgia. He’d spent months running with Annette Bond, fighting for his life aboard his originally unarmed ship—but then he’d spent months more in bureaucratic limbo aboard her, orbiting Mars after he’d surrendered to the A!Tol.
With the exact legal status of Duchess Bond finally established, he and his crew were now officially released, and the Captains of the two survey ships had been summoned to a meeting with the new Admiral of the Duchy of Terra Militia.
Who was, of course, the same Admiral who’d run the United Earth Space Force. Andrew chuckled to himself, the half-Chinese Canadian officer not bothering to hide his amusement here in private.
It was true: the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
“All packed up, love?” his former second-in-command, Sarah Laurent, asked from the door. At some point in the months in orbit over Mars, they’d given up pretending and she’d moved into his cabin.
The potential consequences of that were part of why he was dragging his feet about this meeting.
“Yeah,” he finally admitted. “I’m guessing our shuttle is here?”
“Your shuttle is here,” she told him. “The rest of us get to wait in limbo a bit longer, it seems. On the other hand,” she continued with a wicked grin, “we’re going straight to Earth.”
Andrew chuckled again and stole a kiss.
“Lucky you,” he told her. “Hopefully, I’ll get to join you, though it’s possible Villeneuve has a jail cell waiting for me.”
She lightly smacked his shoulder.
“We followed Bond and Bond got a planet for her efforts,” she pointed out. “You’ll be fine. I’ll see you on the other side, my love.”
Captain Elizabeth Sade was already on the shuttle when Lougheed boarded, the pilot having gone to Oaths of Secrecy first. Andrew exchanged a warm nod with the tall woman with the blond crown braid as he took his seat.
“Next stop, Defense One,” the pilot announced.
“I thought we scuttled Defense One?” Andrew asked.
“We did,” the younger man agreed. “I was aboard Orbit One with Admiral Villeneuve, watched our entire military infrastructure go down in flames.”
His tone was cheerful, but there was a shivery undercurrent to it that Andrew could understand. He’d fled the system with Bond; he hadn’t been around to watch the Weber Protocol–mandated destruction of all of Earth’s defenses once the battle was clearly hopeless. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to watch that.
“The Duchess brought three prefabbed orbital weapons platforms with her,” the pilot continued after a moment. “Toys by Imperial standards, so far as I can tell, but they could still have held off the entire old UESF.
“If you bring up the port camera, we’re slowing down for approach and you can see them.”
The entire journey from a distant orbit, well outside the moon, to the orbital platform at barely fifty thousand kilometers had taken less than thirty seconds—and that was because they restricted the speed of interface-drive ships close to habitable worlds.
As Andrew brought up the camera, a small icon showed him the distance to the platform. It started as a small disk but rapidly grew on the screen as the shuttle closed the distance at several kilometers a second.
The platform was a sixty-meter-thick ring four hundred meters across, with eight massive spikes rising from it to contain its massive, battleship-grade proton lances. It looked intimidating—not a bad thing in the final defense of Andrew’s world.
“Docking in thirty seconds,” the pilot told them. “I’m informed Admiral Villeneuve has sent an officer to meet you. Good luck, Captains!”
Admiral Villeneuve shook both of the Captains’ hands as they came into his office, and gestured for Andrew and Sade to have a seat in front of his desk.
Like the rest of the station, the room had a raw feeling to it. The underlying structure of the station was there, the walls, the electronics gear, Villeneuve’s desk—but there were no personal touches, no decorations.
Even the name on the door was damp, freshly painted on with a stencil. The new Defense One felt fresh out of the box, which wasn’t a bad descriptor for it.
The Admiral’s office shared the same feel, but the desk and chairs were clearly out of the old UESF stores. They were cheap, light, and sturdy pieces of furniture that Andrew had seen in half a dozen space stations and twice as many ships over the years.
What they weren’t was comfortable, and he shifted to try and find the best position as he took his seat.
“Captain Lougheed, Captain Sade,” Villeneuve began, “first, I want to thank you for the service you’ve given to Earth. Captain Sade especially. You were a civilian called to act as a privateer and a soldier, and you rose to the call with as much courage and skill as Captain Lougheed. Thank you both.”
The Admiral slid two pieces of paper over the desk toward them.
“You and your crews have been recognized as UESF personnel,” he continued, “and therefore eligible for the same A!Tol military pensions every other member of a military organization on Earth got.”
A pension paid in Imperial marks, giving a huge chunk of the population—and a chunk both inclined to resistance and trained for combat—a reason to support integration and the change-over to the Imperial currency.
“As such, I want to make very clear that you are not obligated to take any position in the Ducal Militia,” the Admiral told them. “Duchess Bond has asked me to extend the invitation for you both to join the Militia at the rank of Captain—O6—but stressed that this was an invitation, not an order.”
“I’m in,” Sade answered instantly.
Andrew took a moment to consider. His understanding was that the Imperial pension—a glorified bribe to make up for the fact they’d ordered every military organization on Earth disbanded—was generous enough to live well on. He and Sarah could retire on it…
“While Her Grace told me I wasn’t allowed to pressure you,” Villeneuve said after a moment, “I must point out that we have exactly four people qualified to command a modern hyper-capable interface-drive warship, and one of them is our head of government.”
Of Course We’re Coming Back’s Captain chuckled.
“All right,” he conceded. Retirement sounded nice, but… “I can see where I’m needed, Admiral. I’m in.”
“Your crews will get the same offer,” Villeneuve told them. “I hope to get most of them in, and we’ll be transferring you and your crew to a pair of our new destroyers.
“The plan is to refit most of the squadron with proper anti-missile systems, but we’ll be commissioning two immediately: one for each of you.”
Andrew exchanged a glance with Sade. Their vessels had been unarmed survey ships before the necessities of Operation Privateer had led to them having missiles and lasers strapped on. A modern destroyer was much bigger than their survey ships.
“Those will require a lot more crew than we have,” he finally pointed out.
“We know,” the Admiral agreed. “We’re hoping to recruit more ex-UESF personnel as time goes on as well as new personnel, but you’re going to be starting with skeleton crews, and your crews are going to be badly undertrained.
“I need you to train them up, and then I’m going to steal them for the refitted ships and make you do it again,” Villeneuve confessed bluntly. “Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” Andrew said after a moment’s thought.
“Good. One last thing.”
Andrew paused, suddenly knowing what was coming.
“The new Ducal Militia is, at least initially, borrowing the entire Articles of Military Law from the UESF,” Villeneuve told them. “Including the sections on fraternization. I suggest, to avoid potential problems, that you two swap XOs.
“Commander Laurent is a capable officer, and in the situation you were in, I see no reason to cause problems over the past,” he continued, “but avoiding future issues seems reasonable.”
Exhaling, Andrew nodded, glancing over at Sade again.
“He’s right,” he admitted to the other Captain. “I can live with that if you’re okay with it.”
“So long as Sarah decides she wants to join the Militia,” Sade pointed out carefully, “I’ll be happy to have her as my exec.”
“Good, then that’s settled,” Villeneuve concluded cheerfully. “I have a tour of one of the destroyers scheduled for us in twenty minutes. We can grab a coffee on our way back to the shuttle bay.”
Chapter Nine
With everything going on, Annette was only mildly surprised when Villeneuve was late for the meeting with the Nova Industries Board of Directors. She and Zhao arrived via interface-drive shuttle ten minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin, only to be notified that the Admiral had just then made it back aboard Defense One from his tour of the destroyer they intended to commission as Washington.
He’d be at least another thirty minutes.
“We’ll need to start without him,” Zhao said after they got the message. “We need him for the military component of the meeting, but there are some civilian infrastructure discussions I want to have with them as well.”
“I have some…personal matters to discuss with them as well,” Annette told him. “Nova had its own plans under the Weber Protocols. We need to make it clear to the Board that I know what they’ve squirreled away, and we need them to pull it out.”
Zhao whistled softly as they exited the shuttle.
“How much did Casimir tell you?” he asked, carefully maneuvering his bulk down the narrow ramp.
“I was his personal pilot and then commander of his primary test ship,” she replied. “I thought I knew everything, though some of the things that came out in Operation Privateer proved I was wrong there.”
“Casimir and my government butted heads a lot,” the former ruler of China told her. “He was brilliant, but the man was almost constitutionally incapable of being entirely up-front. I would have thought if he had been with anyone…”
“It would have been with his pilot?” Annette asked sweetly as they stepped onto the concrete and Zhao looked embarrassed.
“With his, well, lover,” he admitted. “I had heard…”
“Whatever you heard, by the time I commanded Tornado, we were friends. Nothing more,” she told him sharply. “I know a lot of his plans, probably more than anyone else suspects, but not everything.”
“I apologize, Your Grace,” Zhao replied with admirable poise. “Even now, I still know little about you and must rely on what I have heard.”
“We’re busy,” Annette said. “The whole Council is trying to get to know each other on a more personal level while we’re also trying to quite literally change the world.
“We should consider ourselves as much a work in progress as the Duchy itself.”
“Annette!”
The middle-aged blonde woman waiting in the front lobby of Nova Industries’ San Francisco headquarters greeted the Duchess of Terra with a cheerful shout. Somewhat taken aback by Annette’s bodyguards, she had to visibly restrain herself from hugging Annette.
“Hi, Michelle,” Annette greeted Michelle Dalston, once Elon Casimir’s personal assistant. “Good to see you. What do they have you doing these days?”
“Tomlin kept me on as the CEO’s assistant when he took over,” Dalston told her. “He’s waiting for you with the Board in the Penthouse, shall we?”
The thought that the Board of Directors of her old employer were now waiting on her gave Annette the chills. It was the little things that drove home just how different her life had become.
“We’re waiting on Admiral Villeneuve, but Councilor Zhao and I have things to discuss with the Board that don’t require him,” she told the EA. “Can you make sure the Admiral is brought in once he arrives? He’s dropping from orbit as we speak.”
“Of course!”
Before the arrival of Imperial technology, there had been no more technologically advanced meeting space on the planet than the Penthouse, the secure meeting room that occupied the top floor of Nova Tower.
If Casimir had been around, he’d have been incorporating Imperial tech as fast as he could find it. With Tomlin Nilsson in charge, though, it didn’t appear they’d updated the Penthouse’s electronics.
It still had each window covered in haptic interface screens, capable of being transparent to show the incredible view from the hundred-and-ten-story tower or turning into super-high-fidelity computer screens.
One of the few fully functioning hologram tanks built before the A!Tol’s arrival filled the center of the chamber. The furniture around the room was gorgeous, handcrafted black leather and silvered chrome. It had been commissioned specifically for this room, and the layout and technology and furniture fed into each other with a soothing line and energy.
Casimir wasn’t a huge believer in feng shui, but his designer had been. Every aspect of the room was designed to draw and focus positive and creative energy and then to augment that knowledge and minds gathered there with all of the knowledge of the human race.
Tomlin Nilsson was standing next to the door, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that exactly matched his dark hair. The Board waited behind him, the three men and three women having taken their seats.
“Welcome back, Duchess Bond,” Nilsson told her. “Before we dig into the complexities of this meeting, I just want to say, for myself, that I was delighted to hear you’d survived your mission.
“I also wanted to pass on my condolences about Elon,” he continued. “We were all close. His loss hit us hard.”
“We both knew Elon,” Annette replied. “And we’ve both mourned him—but like I said, we knew Elon. I question whether or not he’s truly dead.”
“I’ve done the same,” he admitted, “but he was in the house when it burned down—and if it had been some kind of trick, someone at Nova would have heard from him by now.”
“Perhaps,” Annette allowed. She allowed him to guide her and Zhao into the room, settling them down at one end of the table, an empty chair to Annette’s left, and then taking the single seat facing them down the table.
The table was made of dozens of separate pieces and could be organized for anything from an intimate dinner for two to a mass meeting of Nova Industries’ hundred-plus mid-level and senior executives.
A momentary flash of memory of other uses for the smallest version of the table crossed her mind, and she suppressed a currently inappropriate smile as she focused on the here and now.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” she greeted them. “Thank you for meeting with us. I understand that you are all busy.”
“We are not attempting to uplift and run a planet,” Nilsson pointed out. “We could argue back and forth over who is busier, but we are all here, which means you have something important to say.”
“We have a few things,” Annette agreed, “but first, I have a very simple question for you: where is Morgan Casimir?”
The entire room was silent. Even Zhao hadn’t been expecting that question and stared at her in shock.
“I…don’t understand.”
“Ms. Wong,” Annette addressed the oldest of the three female board members. “With Elon Casimir’s death, Morgan Casimir inherited his holdings, including his sixty-two-percent stake in Nova Industries. That four-year-old girl is your primary shareholder—and an orphan and the only child of one of my dearest friends.
“So, I repeat, where is she?”
Nilsson sighed.
“We don’t know,” he told her. “Per Elon’s will, I became trustee of Morgan’s holdings, but she was whisked by a private security firm to an undisclosed location.”
“Who’s taking care of her, then?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Tomlin, everyone Elon would trust enough to take care of Morgan Casimir is in this goddamn building,” Annette said flatly. “It would have been me, you, or Michelle. So, if it’s not one of the handful of people I knew Elon to trust caring for her, who is it?”
“I don’t assume I knew all of Elon’s friends,” Tomlin replied, his voice cold now. “I can assure you, Your Grace, I have communicated with Morgan since her father’s death. Not much, but enough to be certain of her safety.”
“I appreciate that reassurance,” Annette told him. For all the grilling she was giving him, she trusted Tomlin. If he said he was comfortable with Morgan’s safety, she was almost certainly safe. “You’re missing my point, though. I suspect that’s because I know something you don’t.”
“Which is?” Wong asked.
“I was Morgan’s designated guardian,” the Duchess of Earth told them. “I know who that security company is, and they are currently refusing to talk to me. Which leads me, ladies, gentlemen, to a final question.
“Have the Weber Protocol succession plans activated? Or is Elon Casimir still in control of the resources that went dark with him?”
The entire room was silent for a long time.
Then Nilsson laughed.
“Annette, I didn’t even know there were a separate set of Weber Protocol succession procedures,” he admitted. “I’m guessing you know more than I do. Would I have known if they were activated?”
“Yes,” she told him. “You didn’t think it was strange that so many sites, on and off Earth, went dark? So many people went missing who you couldn’t trace?
“Elon had set up a parallel sub-structure to be activated if the Weber Protocols were initiated, one that would take a huge amount of resources underground—including databases and people.
“I need those databases and people,” she said grimly. “You’ve had no contact with that group at all?”
“I have not,” Nilsson told her. “I suspect Elon—because he may well be in hiding running this, you’re right—would keep me in the dark to avoid getting what he’s left in public of the company in trouble.”
Annette nodded.
“If you hear from him, or have any way of contacting him, I need to know,” she instructed. “We can survive without him and those resources, but they’d be damned useful.” She gave Nilsson a small smile.
“Now, the rest of my piece of this is best kept for when Admiral Villeneuve gets here, but Councilor Zhao has some nonmilitary bits of policy and planning to discuss.”
Villeneuve was even later than planned, allowing Zhao to spend almost forty minutes discussing the role he was envisaging Nova Industries, as the single largest space operator in Sol and one of the ten largest industrial companies in general, playing in the technological and economic uplift process.
Annette even managed to make it through that entire conversation without her eyes glazing over, though she had little constructive to contribute. Her involvement in economics was mostly setting high-level policy: she knew her limits. That was why her Council was almost a third industrialists and economists.
She was still relieved when Dalston escorted the white-haired Admiral in and they could turn the conversation to such readily followed topics as military construction and technology.
“It’s good to see you back in uniform, Admiral Villeneuve”: Alfred Bouchard, a stocky German member of the Board.
“It wasn’t what I expected or planned, but it’s a good feeling nonetheless,” Villeneuve replied. “I apologize for being late; I was giving two of the Militia’s current three Captains a tour of the ship Captain Lougheed will command.”
“One of the A!Tol destroyers, yes?” Nilsson asked.
“Yes,” Annette confirmed. “We have sixteen of them, an A!Tol squadron. Two will be commissioned within the next few days as Washington and Beijing. They’ll be operating with unmodified Imperial Navy systems, but that’s not our long-term plan for the ships.”
“Which is where Nova Industries comes in,” Villeneuve took over for them. “Per your contract with the UESF, you had to keep the components on hand to rebuild a refit yard from scratch at all times. How quickly can you have a facility in orbit and fully functional?”
“Nilsson?” Bouchard asked the CEO. “You know that level of detail better than the Board.”
“The UESF ceased to exist a year ago,” Nilsson reminded them all. “We don’t have the prefabricated components necessary to build a refit yard on a few weeks’ notice anymore.”
He held up his hand before anyone could say anything in response.
“That’s mostly because we used all of the station components, as opposed to the yard components, to build the new Casimir Station,” he pointed out. “Casimir is a civilian facility, designed to operate as a transfer station as we deploy new in-system interface-drive ships, but…”
“But?” Annette echoed, familiar with Nilsson’s occasional requirement to be poked to finish a thought.
“Give us a base station to add the yards to, and we could probably have a yard online in a week.”
She considered. While all of the military space infrastructure around Earth had been scuttled under the Weber Protocols, the civilian infrastructure remained—and had even expanded during the year she’d been away.
“Admiral, would you be comfortable rededicating one of those prefabricated defense platforms the A!Tol gave us?” she asked Villeneuve. “That would also leave the refit yard with a degree of firepower to keep itself safe in the event of an attack.”
“I see the logic,” the Admiral agreed, considering. “We only truly have Defense One anything resembling crewed; using one of the others as a base for the refit yard makes sense.”
“Will that work for you?” she asked Nilsson, pulling out her communicator and flipping the CEO the dimensions of the station.
He studied the data she provided for a moment, then nodded.
“It will,” he confirmed. “It will take a week or so, and the yard won’t be capable of actually building anything.”
“But it should be able to handle what, two of the three-hundred-meter destroyers at once?”
“Yes,” Nilsson confirmed. “But…A!Tol technology is still in advance of our own. What exactly are you expecting us to do to the destroyers?”
Annette placed three chips on the table, carefully laying them down next to each other.
“I’d prefer for you to mount compressed-matter armor on them, but I understand that we’ve lost all copies of that research,” she said.
“We’re looking to see if we have a backup, but it looks like the Protocols did a clean sweep of our files,” Nilsson confirmed.
“I know,” she allowed.
“While A!Tol technology is superior to our own, there are a few areas we’d pursued that they hadn’t. Neither the A!Tol nor the Kanzi bother with any form of active missile defense, as it takes a lot of missiles to take down their shields.
“My opinion, borne out by experience with Tornado, is that every little bit helps,” she told them. “Nova Industries designed and built the laser missile defense suite Tornado was originally equipped with.”
“You want us to mount the same suite on the destroyers? We can do that.”
“We could do that,” Annette agreed. “But we have better options.” She tapped the three chips in front of her.
“This chip”—she tapped the first, largest one, which was labeled with the sword-holding tentacle in a gold circle of the A!Tol Imperium—“is the technological database we have officially been provided. All data used from this chip is subject to licensing fees that will need to be paid to the Duchy; we’ll pass on a component of those to the Imperium.”
All of the Nova Industries people were now looking at the three chips with undisguised avarice.
“While they haven’t designed or built anti-missile systems in centuries, they have advanced their laser technology significantly over ours,” she told them. “I want you to take that laser technology and design a new, better anti-missile suite with the best of everything we can manage.”
“We can do that,” Nilsson promised. “We could use—”
“Sensor and performance data,” Annette agreed, tapping the second chip. It was marked with simply the name Tornado. “This chip contains the full scan data on every engagement Tornado has fought, and a historical archive that the Imperial Navy provided.
“Included is every scan and analysis we did on Tornado’s deadly rainshower defender drones,” she noted. “We can’t duplicate the plasma cannons those drones use—they’re significantly more advanced than current-generation A!Tol plasma weapons—but I think we should be able to apply the laser system I want you to develop to the anti-missile drone concept.”
Tomlin Nilsson had started his career as a spacecraft engineer; his gaze was thoughtful.
“If the tech base we got from the A!Tol has the right kinds of drives and power sources—and we can build them!—I think we can do that.
“But seriously, no active defenses at all?”
“None,” she confirmed. “They want compressed-matter armor. I intend to sell them anti-missile suites and anti-missile drones. Keep in mind that you’re going to be building an export product of these.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, Duchess Bond,” Wong interjected, “but what’s the third chip you have there?”
The third chip was unmarked.
“This chip doesn’t officially exist and I wasn’t sure we’d even manage to keep the data on it through our stay in Imperial space,” Annette told them. “The first chip is the official tech base we’ve been provided, with license agreements and so forth. It’s about twenty years out of date compared to current Imperial Navy issue, probably a bit behind even compared to the other Duchies.
“This chip”—she tapped the black chip—“is a pirated database of the latest A!Tol Imperial Navy designs for everything. Ships. Weapons. Shields. Power generators. Everything.
“It’s exactly what I left Earth looking for, and I did things I regret to get it,” she concluded quietly. “If the answer isn’t in the database we officially have, look in this. But keep it under lock and key—while I’m sure they suspect we have something like it, they will take it away if we rub it in their faces.”
She slid the chips across the table to Nilsson.
“We’ll have a contract drawn up,” she continued, “but you now work for the Duchy of Terra Militia in the same capacity you worked for the UESF. I need those destroyers upgraded with anti-missile suites and drones ASAP—and I need to start putting together a refit yard sized to take anything in those chips.”
“Anything, ma’am?” Nilsson asked.
“We will need to refit battleships at a minimum within a year,” she warned him, “and I wouldn’t want to have to turn down the possibility of super-battleships because I didn’t have yard space!”
Chapter Ten
Hunter’s Horn limped through the hyper portal into the Kimar System at eighty percent of her designed speed, the cruiser’s elegant lines still scorched and torn where the single Kanzi missile had struck home.
One hit had left Captain Tanaka’s command barely combat-capable. It might have taken several hundred missiles to get through her shields and deliver that one hit, but the Terran Captain was unimpressed with the vessel’s reliance on a single defense.
“System picket has hailed us,” Sier reported. “Concerned about our damage and our early return.”
Harriet sighed.
“Let them know we ran into trouble,” she said calmly. “See if you can book us in for a repair slip, and give them our estimated time to the station. I will, of course, be available for debriefing as soon as we arrive.”
“Yes, Captain,” her XO replied.
She leaned back in her chair, studying the screens as her ship cut toward the fleet base above Kimar’s one inhabited world. This was the farthest fleet base along the Rimward frontier of the A!Tol Imperium. There were a few colonies and outposts farther out, but it was only ten light-years from here to the Kovius Treaty Zone around Terra, which the Imperium had respected longer than Terra had known the Imperium existed.
Thirty-two capital ships, two full squadrons of the Imperial Navy, guarded the Imperium’s flank. Twenty-six battleships and six super-battleships under the command of Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh, a relative—the exact nature of A!Tol familial relations eluded Harriet—of the Empress herself.
A single such ship could have destroyed the entire UESF Harriet had once served. Her cruiser was bigger than the “battleship” she’d commanded for Earth. It was a lot to take in—and somewhat reassuring to know that all of this firepower was only a week’s flight from Earth.
That immense shield of steel and firepower would stand between the Imperium’s enemies and her world—her son.
“Captain, Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh wants to meet with you at your earliest convenience,” Sier reported after checking in with the base.
Earliest convenience meant the same thing in the Imperial Navy that it had in Earth’s Space Force when a flag officer said it—“as soon as you can.”
“Get one of the shuttles prepped,” she ordered. “I’ll report to the Fleet Lord as soon as we’re docked.”
When Tan!Shallegh’s tentacled visage had first appeared on Harriet’s viewscreen in Earth orbit, she’d found the alien monstrous, terrifying.
Now she faced the two-meter-tall A!Tol in his office and understood much more about him. The blue-green tone of his skin showed his emotions, primarily a determined curiosity right now.
Harriet also knew that Tan!Shallegh, as a male of his species, was small, even frail, by A!Tol standards. She’d been told he was actually small even for a male of the species. She’d reviewed the record of the being who’d conquered Earth as soon as she’d been able to, though, and she knew his physical weakness was more than compensated for by his mind.
Tan!Shallegh didn’t owe his command to his family connections. He was generally respected as one of the top small-force tacticians in the Imperium, with a reputation forged in fire and steel against pirates toward the Core.
He was also one of the exactly four living commanders the Imperial Navy had who’d actually commanded a capital-ship action—excluding operations like the conquest of Earth, anyway. It had been a small action, a half-echelon of Imperial Navy battleships against an equivalent number of Kanzi clan warships, but he’d won it without losses or even significant damage.
“Captain Tanaka,” he greeted her. “Please, sit.”
The chair he had waiting for her wasn’t one of the ones she was used to, designed for a Yin or other humanoid close to humanity in proportions. Someone had clearly designed this one based on human physiology—and it was actually comfortable.
That was probably a good sign.
“Report,” Tan!Shallegh ordered once she was seated.
“Obviously, Hunter’s Horn did not complete our patrol,” Harriet began, her voice level as she looked up at her superior’s ink-black eyes. “We were in the Kovius Zone around Sol when we encountered a Kanzi scouting party, a cruiser and two destroyers.
“We believed they were Clan vessels instead of Theocracy Navy, and challenged them. They turned out to be Theocracy Navy and informed us that the First Priest had declared the A!Tol annexation of Sol illegitimate.”
Streaks of orange flashed across the Fleet Lord’s skin, his species’ inability to conceal their emotions obvious in the moment.
“That is unfortunate,” he said slowly. “From the state of your ship, you engaged the Kanzi?”
“Neither of us was prepared to withdraw,” Harriet told him. “Their force was destroyed; Hunter’s Horn took severe damage.”
“You engaged a cruiser and two destroyers with one cruiser,” Tan!Shallegh noted. “And annihilated them?”
“It was an older cruiser,” she replied.
“So is Hunter’s Horn, Captain,” he pointed out. “I will, of course, review the sensor data of the engagement, but it appears you have scored an impressive victory for your first combat encounter, Captain Tanaka.
“Well done.”
“Thank you, Fleet Lord.”
“The presence of Kanzi scouting units around Sol is concerning,” he admitted. “Once Horn has been repaired, I will need you to proceed to Sol and update the Duchess on your encounter.”
“Are you certain, sir?” she asked carefully. “Shouldn’t we warn her sooner?”
For that matter, Harriet wasn’t sure she wanted to go home. That could be…painful.
“It will take time for us to complete our own scouting runs,” Tan!Shallegh told her. “We will provide a general warning via starcom—Sol does have a receiver, after all—and I will have you deliver a detailed briefing package to the Duchess.
“If nothing else, Captain, you two should meet,” he insisted. “In your own ways, you are now the two most important humans in the Imperium.”
Harriet shifted uncomfortably.
“I just want to do my job, sir.”
“So does Dan!Annette Bond,” Tan!Shallegh told her. “I think you two will understand each other better than most.
“Prepare a detailed report on your encounter with your ship’s sensor records,” he ordered. “We’ll need to see if anyone else encountered the Kanzi. We may have a larger problem than I feared.”
Chapter Eleven
Jean Villeneuve stepped out of the car into the California sunshine with a yawn and a stretch. His internal clock was about half-aligned to the GMT the space stations maintained and half-aligned to Hong Kong time.
By either clock, the middle of a California afternoon meant he should be asleep, but since he’d been in San Francisco for the meeting with Nova Industries’ Board of Directors, he’d also scheduled himself to stop by the new recruiting office for the Duchy of Terra Militia.
The organization had truly existed for only two and a half weeks, but their need for personnel meant that the very first thing they’d set up had been a massive network of recruiting stations across the world.
So far, their main target had been ex-UESF officers and enlisted, with a degree of success that had surprised Jean—and left him feeling guilty.
The people in the national armies, navies and air forces that the A!Tol had dissolved had received generous pensions from the A!Tol, but the Weber Protocols had seen the UESF’s records wiped. The Imperium had no idea who had been in the United Earth Space Force, so there had been no pensions, no safety net, for the men and women who’d served under Jean Villeneuve.
Except for the desperate, few of his people had been able to bring themselves to join the Imperial Navy. The Duchy’s Militia, though…it would be defending Earth, and with Jean in command, many seemed to see it as a continuation of the UESF.
“Admiral!” a cheerful voice greeted him, and he turned to spot a shaven-headed man approaching him from where he’d been smoking by the door. “Good to see you!”
“And you, Chief,” Jean greeted ex-Chief Petty Officer Raoul Corsica. The man had gone even more to seed in the last year, but Corsica’s gut had never stopped him from taking care of his crews and keeping his ships in line—it had just made it easier to play Santa for his crew’s kids.
“Ain’t a Chief anymore,” Corsica replied. “Well, not for a bit longer, anyway.” He shook his head. “Never planned on putting on a uniform again, but, well, I knew Bond and I knew you.
“If she’s in charge and it’s good enough for you, I’m in. Just one last cigarette before I give it up.”
“I thought you gave it up years ago?” Jean asked, glancing around the brilliant sunlit street.
“I did,” the ex-noncom replied. “Then, six months after Earth fell, the docs told me I had advanced, aggressive, lung cancer that they couldn’t treat. Gave me a year to live.”
“We should be able to fix that now,” the Admiral said sharply. “No reason for you to roll over and die—and no need for you to join the Militia to get treatment.”
Corsica shrugged and his eyes glanced away.
“George died in Alpha Squadron, Admiral,” he said simply. George Corsica had been his husband.
“So, when they told me they could ease the pain, let me live it out comfortable-like, I figured I’d let it go and took up smoking again,” he admitted. “The slots for the A-tuck-Tol treatments weren’t many; figured they could go for a man or a gal who needed them more.”
Unlike most of the people Jean spent his time around now, Corsica clearly hadn’t practiced the pronunciation of the name of Earth’s new overlords.
“And now?” he asked his old comrade.
“I understand it’s a different list for the Militia medical care, so I’m not bumping someone who needs it more—and a bunch of the kids I taught to be spacers were signing up. Felt like I should finish the job. It’s what George would have wanted.”
“Then come on, Raoul,” Jean said with a smile. “Let’s get you inside and signed up. My reference should help.”
Jean’s two bodyguards fell in behind the Admiral and the noncom as they entered the recruiting station, a main-floor office in an old three-story building on the outskirts of San Francisco’s harbor district.
The main lobby resembled a dozen different offices of its stripe Jean had seen. Benches full of men and women, each having taken a number and waiting to be called to one of the windows at the front of the room.
Lieutenant Ravid Nibhanupudi had run the office for the UESF a year before. When the new Militia had started opening their new recruitment centers and taking over the old UESF facilities, he’d popped out of the woodwork and volunteered.
The dark-haired and hooked-nosed officer was waiting for the Admiral just inside the door, a broad smile on his face. He’d had about three hours’ notice of this inspection, but he seemed confident in his tiny command.
“Admiral Villeneuve!” he greeted Jean. “Welcome to the San Francisco recruiting office!”
At the sound of Jean’s name, the crowd in the room began to murmur, the recruits turning in their seats to get a look at him. He recognized several of them and guessed that most were ex-UESF crew.
“Lieutenant,” he greeted Nibhanupudi. “It’s good to see you again.” Stepping past the officer, he surveyed the crowd. The room had chairs and benches for about fifty people—and there were easily still thirty standing. A better turnout than he’d been hoping.
“And it’s good to see all of you,” Jean said loudly to them, falling back in the old habits of decades of inspection tours. “I truly appreciate the trust needed for you to sign on for the Duchy’s new military.
“That you are willing to extend that trust to the Duchess and I means a lot to us both. While our new status still leaves the A!Tol with primary duty for our defense, neither I nor the Duchess are prepared to leave Earth’s security entirely in the hands of aliens!”
That got him chuckles and smiles, and he surveyed the room again. He recognized one of the young women from his Orbit One staff and was about to cross over to her when he heard Corsica shout.
“Down! Everybody down!”
The big man slammed into Jean from behind, throwing the old Admiral to the ground as two of the waiting officers opened fire with submachine guns Jean hadn’t seen them draw—but Corsica had.
Raoul Corsica was many virtuous things: big-hearted, intelligent, deft-handed…but he was not fast. Knocking Jean out of the way only left him in the line of fire, and gunfire echoed in the tiny office.
Corsica fell heavily, landing across Jean’s legs with a pained exhalation and visible blood.
“Get them out,” he whispered. “Get them out.”
The distinctive hiss-CRACK of a plasma weapon firing crashed through the room as Jean’s bodyguards returned fire, their energy weapons far deadlier than the attackers’ old Terran-built slugthrowers.
Jean saw what Corsica had seen as he followed the line of fire. There was a big duffel bag at the feet of one of the men who’d opened fire. Several people had bags in, but if these guys were shooting…
“Ravid!” Jean shouted, still covering behind a row of chairs that was proving surprisingly bulletproof. “Get them out!” he echoed Corsica loudly. “Get everyone out!”
The two surviving shooters were between most of the people in the front room and the exit, but Ravid Nibhanupudi earned his promotion in the following seconds as he reacted instantly. Grabbing a chair, he flung it through the nearest window and shattered the glass.
“Go!” he snapped at the closest recruits. An alarm started sounding in the background, an evacuation alarm in the back offices no one here could see.
“Down!” one of Jean’s bodyguards shouted to the Admiral, moments before more bullets sliced through the air above his head.
“The wall!” the bodyguard ordered, then opened fire with his plasma carbine. The overpowered weapon ripped gaping holes in the brick and plywood, blasting a two-meter-wide hole in the wall with a handful of bursts. “Go!”
The shooters were moving, retreating toward the door while they tried to keep up fire on both Jean and his bodyguard. A scream and the smell of burnt flesh announced that at least one wasn’t making it out, but Jean wasn’t watching.
He was dragging Corsica toward the hole in the wall. He’d known he was old, but he’d never felt every year of his age as badly as he did right that moment—and was prayerfully grateful when the woman he’d recognized before joined him, helping drag the big noncom to the gap in the wall.
They didn’t, quite, get out before the bomb blew.
Chapter Twelve
“What the hell happened?”
Major James Wellesley winced as Bond’s voice echoed over his communicator.
“I don’t know yet,” the Ducal Guard’s commander answered, checking the systems on his power armor as the shuttle shrieked across the sky.
With an interface-drive shuttle, the trip from Hong Kong to San Francisco was a matter of minutes, but even that could be the difference between life and death. He should have had a power armor squad on standby in the area—he had, in fact, had such a squad until Bond had left.
“What I do know is that three of the people in the line at the recruiting station pulled guns once they realized the Admiral was there, and opened fire,” he continued. “They also had a bomb, so I’m guessing their original plan was to leave that behind and blow the place to hell once they’d left.”
“So, they changed their plans once they had Jean in their sights,” Bond replied grimly. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know,” James admitted. “We’ll be on the ground in twenty seconds, which puts us less than a minute behind local EMS.”
“Keep me updated,” the Duchess ordered. “And James?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“If at all possible, get me a prisoner.”
McPhail put the shuttle on the ground with an actually gentle touch for once. James didn’t get a chance to appreciate it, though, as he was out of the shuttle door the moment they came to a stop, still five meters above ground.
“Tellaki, take your troopers, cover the rooftops,” he snapped to his senior Rekiki Guardsman. The big aliens looked like a crocodilian centaur, but they also wore even heavier powered armor than the rest of his people and packed heavier weapons.
The pack that had attached themselves to Bond were also entirely, unquestionably reliable. Something to do with their culture and genetics requiring the “vassal” caste—closer to a subspecies, even—to follow a noble they’d sworn fealty to.
He didn’t want them as the face of the operation—that would fall to him and the dozen former Special Space Service troopers he’d brought—but their firepower could make a lot of difference if the Weber Network wasn’t done playing.
“Sherman, perimeter close around the office,” he snapped to the Troop Captain leading the team with him. “Locate Admiral Villeneuve, clear the EMS through to him and the other wounded.
“If any of our ex-comrade fuckheads are still breathing, I want them alive,” Wellesley told his people calmly, letting his anger slip through only in his description of the Weber Network as he strode toward the wreckage that had been the recruiting office.
There were still sirens approaching, but four police cars had pulled in to block the streets and cover the ambulances that had already made it. The officers had broken out the shotguns and rifles they presumably kept in their storage compartments, and formed a preliminary perimeter to keep the wounded safe.
“I am Major Wellesley,” he greeted the cops. “Ducal Guard. We’ll take over security from here, but I won’t forget this. The Duchess won’t forget this. Thank you.”
“It’s bad,” the senior cop told him. “Two ambulances here, another half-dozen on their way.”
“We have medical evac dropping from Tornado and Defense One,” James promised him. “Everyone will get the best treatment available—I don’t care if they were ours, were waiting to talk to a recruiting officer, or were just walking down the street. Everyone.”
“We found the Admiral, sir,” Annabelle Sherman told him over the radio. “He’s alive but unconscious and injured. Looks like he caught the fringes of the explosion; his bodyguards have done first aid and are waiting for the ambulance.”
“Good,” James said with relief. The consequences of Villeneuve dying at the Weber Network’s hands would have been…dire.
“How bad is it looking, officer?”
“It could be worse,” the cop admitted. “Your people busted open the windows and the walls and evaced hard. We’ve concentrated on securing the perimeter, but I think we got lucky.”
The policeman’s face twisted.
“‘Lucky’ being relative, of course.”
The evacuation shuttles started landing shortly afterward as James was making his circuit through the wreckage of the building. He ran the security footage as he carefully stepped through the debris, confirming what he’d suspected to be true from the moment he landed.
Two of the three shooters had been killed, shot by Villeneuve’s bodyguards. The third had retreated through the door before triggering the explosive. The recruiting office’s security footage didn’t show where he’d gone.
“Sherman, get your electronics people on the cameras around the building,” he ordered. “Someone got away. I want him.”
There was a pause.
“Hells yes, sir. We’ll track him. Medics have the wounded; we’re starting to sweep the building for the dead.” Sherman paused again. “I knew some of these people, sir.”
“We all did,” James said sadly. “Maybe not this batch of recruits, but we know somebody like them, willing to give the Duchess a chance because they knew us.
“And then these bastards blew them up.”
There was going to be hell to pay for this mess, one way or another.
Jean woke up feeling like he’d been run over by a truck, and then tried to sit upright when memory caught up with him.
“Easy, sir,” a smooth voice with an educated South African accent told him. “You weren’t as badly hurt as others, but you did get tossed several meters.”
The Admiral coughed, rising more slowly as he glanced over at the Doctor. “Where am I?”
“Tornado. I am Doctor Jelani,” the black man told him. “My staff and I have been helping deal with the aftermath of the San Francisco attack.”
“How bad?”
“Could have been worse,” Jelani answered. “I don’t think I’m supposed to brief you; Major Wellesley came aboard a few minutes ago.”
“What about Chief Corsica and Lieutenant Commander French?” Jean asked. French was the young woman who’d been helping him pull Corsica to safety.
“Lieutenant Commander French didn’t make it,” Jelani said sadly. “She was hit in the throat by debris and bled out before rescue teams arrived.
“Chief Corsica is alive, though he’s probably the most badly injured of the survivors. The gunfire severed his spine and punctured his intestines, and then both of his legs were shattered in the explosion.
“We had to amputate both of his legs,” the doctor continued. “With the damage to his spine, I’m not certain we will be able to regenerate or even hook up cybernetics.”
He sighed.
“Of course, the advanced state of his cancer isn’t helping,” Jelani noted. “We’re having to fix that to enable proper oxygenation as we work on his gut. He’ll live. I don’t know if he’ll walk.”
“Thank you. His warning probably saved everyone—he saw both the shooters and the bomb before anyone else.”
“I saw the footage,” another voice interrupted, this one with a perfectly educated English accent. “If Corsica hadn’t been paying attention, they would have shot you dead and probably blown the whole place to hell.”
“Did we get them?” Jean asked Wellesley as the Guard commander stepped in and took a seat.
“Your guards nailed two. The other fled. We traced his movements across half the city, but we lost him in the end.”
“We got an ID, though,” he continued, looking furious. “Troop Captain Yuval Hrabe. American of Czech extraction, joined the Special Space Service twelve years ago. Almost certainly the team lead, definitely one of ours.”
“Weber Network,” Jean concluded.
“That was my assumption from the beginning, but confirmation hurts. Hrabe trained with me,” Wellesley noted. “I knew the man, never thought he’d go in for a terror bombing.”
“How bad?”
“We lost eight staff members and fourteen recruits,” the Major said with admirable calm. “Three innocent bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time were killed as well, and we have a hundred and fourteen people in hospitals on ship, station or in San Francisco.
“Corsica’s warning preventing it from being much, much worse,” he continued. “I’m glad he lived.
“We need to do something about the Network, Admiral.”
“That’s Bond’s call,” Jean admitted to the other man. “I was intentionally never briefed on the details of the resistance plans. She knows more than I do, and so far, she’s wanted to soft-touch them to try and bring them in.”
“It seems they didn’t see the same plan.”
At some point, Annette would get around to establishing an official residence for the Duchess of Earth somewhere in Hong Kong. So far, however, it hadn’t even made her radar, which meant she continued staying in the penthouse suite of the Lucky Dragon.
She couldn’t really describe what she was doing as living there. She was barely in the room for longer than it took her to sleep as she ran from one meeting to another across the planet.
Running a world would have been time-consuming enough without trying to upgrade that world’s industrial, medical and military technology at the same time. It was challenging, draining, and exhilarating all at the same time.
If people would stop trying to kill those who entered her service, she might even start enjoying herself.
Three attacks in twenty-four hours, starting with the attack in San Francisco. The other two had gone off simultaneously, but warning from the first incident had kept casualties down.
She suspected the San Francisco team hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to try and take out Villeneuve and had wrecked the plan. That hadn’t stopped the Weber Network from killing sixty people and injuring hundreds—the vast majority of them the ex-UESF personnel her Militia desperately needed.
Once again, Annette pulled out her old UESF communicator and navigated to the hidden menus, linking to a different drop site this time.
“Weber Network…idiots,” she said slowly into the camera. “From the fact I even have this drop site, you should be beginning to realize I know a lot more about the Protocols and the Network than you think I do.
“I was prepared to let you disappear, but you’re straining my patience. If you don’t want to help me, fine, but this is your final warning:
“Kill any more of my people and I will turn this planet inside out to find you. I will dig you out of your holes and drag your crimes before the whole world to see—if you survive the process.
“No more warnings. Join me, disappear, or die.”
Uploading the message was probably a waste of her time, she knew. If the Network had decided to make her their enemy, she was going to have to burn them out—and that was going to require Imperial resources.
Her Militia ground forces remained limited. She could lean on local police for a lot, but if she wanted to take on a global resistance movement, she was going to need to bring in A!Tol Imperial Marines.
She was considering how to phrase the request to Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh to borrow a battalion of his Marines when her old UESF communicator chimed, the tinkling friendly noise of wind chimes that she’d set as her ring tone when she’d received the device over a year earlier.
“Bond,” she answered it after a long moment.
“Annette, this is James Mandela,” a familiar-sounding voice said in her ear. “We last spoke when the A!Tol were attacking Earth.”
“Rear Admiral,” she greeted the man after a moment’s thought. Rear Admiral James Mandela had been the shift commander at the Orbit One Command Center during the invasion.
“I take it the Weber Network got my warning.”
“Your first one, yes,” Mandela said calmly. “I’m guessing from your tone there was a new one in response to today’s stupidity.”
“You…have my attention, Admiral,” Annette told him. “Stupidity” wasn’t how she’d expected a man she presumed to be high up in the Network to describe the attacks they’d carried out.
“This line is secret but not secure,” he replied. “Certain people can’t realize we’ve spoken, and I’m not yet prepared to place myself in your hands, Annette.
“You’re supposed to be in Pretoria tomorrow, seeing my cousin. Meet me in ten hours, exactly, in front of the statue of Nelson Mandela there. Bring whatever security you feel is necessary, but be quiet. Lives are counting on it.”
“Very well, Admiral,” Annette agreed. “If this is a trap, don’t expect to survive.”
“Annette, my survival is no longer my top priority.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Are you in communication with your cousin at all?” Annette asked Hope Mandela as the South African Councilor’s aide poured their coffees and bowed himself out.
Mandela had an office in an older tower on the south side of Pretoria’s downtown core, built in the mid twenty-first century. It had been carefully decorated with subdued taste and had a fantastic view of the Nelson Mandela Memorial Park named for her ancestor, a chunk of greenery and older buildings intentionally preserved as the South African administrative capital had expanded.
“I have, at last count, seventy-two people, ranging from age seven to seventy-three, who could be considered first or second cousins,” Mandela pointed out with a sigh. “But I know who you mean, and I doubt you’re asking without reason.
“I’ve been in occasional communication with James since the Fall, yes. We’ve only traded a few messages since I became Councilor, though. I think he wanted to stay off our radar.”
“Did you tell him we were meeting today?”
Mandela stopped in mid-motion, her coffee cup at her lips, then sighed again and put it back down.
“He contacted me yesterday, shortly after the bombings,” she admitted. “We had a few backdoor channels in place, but he used one I’d almost forgotten about. One I know no one else knew about.
“He said he needed to talk to you, urgently, with no one knowing.
“I told him you would be here, that I could try and arrange something with you, but he said it had to be completely under wraps and he’d contact you another way. I take it he did?”
“He did,” Annette confirmed. “And basically admitted to being a Weber Network member. Which means, Councilor, that you told a member of the organization that almost certainly wants to kill me where I was going to be.
“Do I need to point out the issue with that?”
Hope Mandela sighed.
“No, Your Grace,” she said sadly. “If you want my resignation, you’ll have it.”
“God, no,” Annette told her. “I just want your awareness of how badly this could go. I’m meeting him in that park over there”—she nodded toward the window—“and I want to know if I can trust him.”
“Are you even sure you can trust me?”
“Reasonably,” Annette replied. “What I am sure of is that finding another recognizable African representative for my Council would be a giant pain that I do not need. So, again, Councilor Mandela, can I trust your cousin?”
“To honor his word, his oaths, yes,” Mandela said. “If he said you’d be safe, you’ll be safe within his power.
“But I don’t know what being part of the Network has done to him. If he signed off on these bombings, he may well not be the man I think he is anymore.”
“I’m not sure he did,” Annette Bond admitted quietly. “In fact, if I thought he had, I wouldn’t be meeting with him. But James Mandela would be one of the most senior members of the Network—so if he didn’t sign off on the bombings, I have to wonder just what is going on among my ex-comrades-in-arms.”
“I don’t know, Duchess Bond. All I know is that I hope we can end this conflict without more deaths,” Mandela told her. “The Weber Network is made up of some of the UESF’s finest officers and has hidden away some of the technology and knowledge we need.
“Everyone who dies fighting them or fighting for them just leaves the Duchy weaker in the end.”
“I agree,” Annette said. “I hope your cousin does too.”
The Nelson Mandela Memorial Park had gone through at least half a dozen different variations over the almost two centuries it had existed. The statue that James Mandela had directed Annette to had survived since its installation exactly one century after the statesman’s death.
It was a large marble statue of Nelson Mandela and Frederik Willem de Klerk shaking hands. Careful selection of the type of marble for each statue made the distinction of skin tone between the two men obvious to even a casual glance, driving home the exact point the statue’s sculptor had intended about racial reconciliation.
At some point after its construction, a pool had been installed around the statue, with soft burbling fountains. Later, a circle of trees had been added—trees now grown high enough to provide a measure of privacy to the benches and picnic tables scattered around the pool.
Pretoria was a busy modern city whose noise reached even into its parks, but the area around the statue was a zone of quiet, broken only by the laughter of playing children.
Annette could only hope that someday a memorial of her would be so perfect. She sat alone by the edge of the pool, watching the sunlight glinting off the water and the polished marble.
“Thank you for coming,” a quiet voice said, and the large form of James Mandela settled onto the edge of the pool next to her. The man looked a lot like the statue, his hair having even gone completely white sometime in the last year.
“You’re the first member of the Network to even give me a chance to speak to them,” she pointed out. “I don’t want to spend my time hunting my old comrades, Admiral.”
“It’s just James now,” he said quietly. “And no, I don’t want a commission in your Militia. All I want at this point is a quiet retirement and peace.”
“Peace is high on my own agenda,” Annette told him. “Why all of the cloak-and-dagger, James?”
“Because the leadership of the Weber Network has lost control and I don’t know who I can trust anymore,” Mandela explained, his voice sad and old. “There are five ex-Admirals who formed Alpha Cell, Annette.
“Each of us had a number of Bravo Cells we were in contact with, who linked down further. You know how a cell operation works—but Alpha Cell was in command.
“And all five of us knew you,” he concluded, admitting that he was one of the people in charge of the Weber Network. “We weren’t willing to back you, not in kneeling to our conquerors, but we were willing to give you a chance to prove whether or not you were a traitor.”
“That was all I expected,” Annette said with a nod. “I wanted you to come in and sign on, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen quickly.”
“Unfortunately, we forgot that a lot of our juniors hate your guts,” Mandela told her. “It also appears that a number of them had been creating quiet cross-communication channels between cells that weren’t supposed to know the others existed.”
“You had a mutiny.”
“We had a mutiny. They haven’t come out and challenged Alpha Cell yet, but the operations yesterday weren’t approved.
“Worse, we realized this morning that a number of our data archives have been corrupted—intentionally, we believe, but we haven’t been able to confirm yet.”
He sighed.
“We don’t want to show our hand yet, but we have reason to believe there may only be one copy left of the technological data we hid away—and I think I know where it is,” Mandela concluded heavily.
“We…made a mistake,” he said calmly.
“Which one?” Annette asked acidly. “Not working with me from the beginning? Not controlling your action teams?”
“Trusting one of our subordinates too thoroughly,” Mandela replied. “As your operations have expanded, the likelihood that some of the scientists and engineers we buried would be tempted to come out of the shadows rose.
“One of our Bravo Cell leaders suggested bringing as many of them together into a safe location as we could.”
“Let me guess: that cell leader is who you think is going rogue,” Annette guessed.
“Exactly. You’ve met Joseph Anderson, yes?” Mandela asked.
“Neither of us enjoyed the encounter, but I have, yes.”
“He was in charge of a secret facility, our final backup for the data archives and a hidden, fortified bunker for our covert communications network. We…agreed to move most of our civilian charges there.”
“So, Joseph Anderson, who utterly hates my guts, now has an unknown number of civilian hostages—whose skills the Duchy of Terra needs—plus possibly the only copy of the compressed-matter armor tech schematics? Is that about it?”
“Yes,” he sighed.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” she asked.
“Alpha Cell has agreed that this is a failure on our part and a violation of our oaths,” he said slowly. “We have agreed that I can provide you with the coordinates of the Weber Archive Facility.”
“Not good enough,” Annette snapped. “If I send in my people, it’s the ‘jackbooted thugs’ of the Imperium crushing the ‘noble resistance.’
“No, you need to step up, Admiral Mandela, and prove yourselves.”
“We don’t know who we can trust,” he reminded her.
“Do you really expect me to believe that your Alpha Cell doesn’t have at least one triple-S company they hid away without telling the rest of the Network?” Annette asked dryly. “You have at least one strike force you can rely on.”
“The bunker is well defended. We can’t take it on our own.”
“I don’t need you to. I just need you to show me you actually give a damn about these people, Mandela.”
He sighed, looking across the water at the statue.
“It seemed so clear and easy when I agreed to this,” he admitted. “I never even thought the Weber Protocols would be activated, but even once they were, it was straightforward: the aliens who conquered Earth were the bad guys, we fought them as hard as we could while keeping civilian casualties down.
“Except the only reason we were actually keeping civilian casualties down was because the A!Tol were going out of their way to provide fantastic medical care to victims of our ‘collateral damage.’ And while we could write off a bunch as pragmatic attempts to buy submission, they really didn’t seem as bad as we’d thought they would be.
“And then you came back, claiming they were our best hope after all.”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know what’s the right thing anymore,” he concluded, “but I’m left with a choice between Annette Bond, who threw away her career to do the right damned thing; and Joseph Anderson, who I wouldn’t trust to watch my car.”
He handed her an old-fashioned UESF scroll communicator.
“Give me twelve hours to activate our team, then have Major Wellesley or whoever you put in charge of this use the contact in this.
“But promise you’ll get those people out, Your Grace.”
“I will do everything I can. I can’t promise success,” Annette warned, “only our best damned effort.”
Chapter Fourteen
“We have a problem.”
Annette was keeping her entire Council in the loop on everything so far, treating them all as having “need to know,” so it wasn’t unacceptable for Li Chin Zhao to walk into the meeting room where she, Villeneuve, and Wellesley were going over plans for hitting the Weber Archive Facility.
Plus, the Chinese businessman and Party member had rapidly moved into the unofficial “inner circle” of her Council, the subset of her trusted Councilors she trusted completely.
“We have a few problems,” she pointed out as he joined them at the table. “Currently at the top of the list: extracting the archives and the hostages from Anderson’s without losing any of either.”
“Then I guess this is more of a complication to that problem,” Zhao told her. “I’ve had people quietly digging into what happened to Morgan Casimir since we met with Nova Industries.”
A chill ran down Annette’s spine.
“What did you find?”
“Everything proceeded according to the plan laid out in Elon’s will after the conquest. She was staying in a house in the Rocky Mountains, conveniently in an area with limited surveillance or overhead. She was being taken care of by a hired nanny and watched by a security team.
“Shortly after the announcement of your elevation, however, she was apparently scheduled to be moved off-world to a safe zone somewhere in the Sol system, likely to join her father.”
“Scheduled,” Annette echoed. “As in she didn’t.”
“Her car went missing on the way to the spaceport, along with two escort cars, her nanny, and twelve heavily armed bodyguards,” Zhao said flatly. “The security agency has been trying to find her since with no luck.”
“Where?” Annette demanded.
“They’re not sure exactly where they lost them, but their route passed within twenty kilometers of the location of the Archive.”
“So, in addition to the eighty-plus scientists and engineers and almost four hundred of their family members the Network says Anderson has in there, he likely has Morgan Casimir,” the Duchess of Earth said grimly.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but you had to know.”
“I did,” she agreed, looking back at the overhead imagery of the Archive they’d been reviewing. Morgan Casimir’s mother had died in childbirth—a freak accident that even the best modern medicine couldn’t stop in time. Annette had known the little girl from almost the moment of her birth.
“It doesn’t change anything,” she finally admitted, looking up to meet Wellesley’s gaze. “Freeing the hostages was already at the top of our priority list. That one of the hostages may be…personally important to me doesn’t change those priorities.”
“We can prioritize her,” Wellesley offered.
“How?” Annette snapped. “We don’t know where any of the hostages are being held, let alone Morgan. No, Major. We continue as planned—but we damned well get all of the hostages out, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
James waved Tellaki over to join him as the big reptilian alien entered his office.
“Come in, Troop Captain,” he ordered. “Have a seat.”
He didn’t have a lot of Rekiki subordinates, but Tellaki and his troopers had proven their worth and value again and again before the Duchess and Tornado had returned to Earth, which was why the big alien was in his office now.
“What do you need me for, Major?” the alien asked, the translator at his neck translated his soft, sibilant hissing into something James could understand.
“We’re going to be launching an operation in the next few hours that’s going to require me to take personal command,” James told him. “Most of the Guard will be deployed for a single strike.” He shook his head. “We’re still extremely short of personnel I trust enough to call Guardsmen.”
In truth, he hadn’t added a single member to the Ducal Guard since they’d returned. A few weeks wasn’t enough for him to be able to judge if he trusted anyone with the Duchess’s life—even the handful of other ex-SSS troopers who’d signed on.
“My brothers and I are ready to serve as needed,” Tellaki responded instantly. “Send us where the fighting is heaviest.”
“Unless something goes very wrong, I’m doing the exact opposite,” James admitted. “We’re going to go kick in a major Weber Network base and the last thing we need is video footage hitting the ’net of alien soldiers kicking down doors and taking human prisoners.”
The Rekiki looked at him with unreadable alien eyes and bowed his long neck in what James was pretty sure was a physical tic equivalent to a human sigh.
“I understand, Major Wellesley,” he conceded. “What would you have me do?”
“I’m leaving a small team of human bodyguards around Bond, but that’s purely for PR. With the number of Guardsmen I’m throwing into the breach here, security for the hotel and the Council is going to fall on my nonhuman Guards.
“You’re taking command of the Duchess’s immediate detail and general responsibility for the other details until this op is over,” James told him. At some point, he’d have to promote himself so he could promote his junior officers. Right now, everyone under him was a Troop Captain, with authority as required for a given mission.
It could get confusing.
“I’m putting Bond’s safety in your hands, Tellaki,” he told the alien. “Which isn’t something I’d have expected to be saying a year ago.”
“I appreciate the trust you are extending me,” Tellaki replied slowly.
“You can do the job, and I need a sentient I know can keep her safe while I take care of this mess.”
“These were your brothers-in-arms once,” the Rekiki said. “Won’t they be amenable to negotiation?”
“If they were going to negotiate, they’d have done that instead of blowing up recruiting offices,” James admitted. “No, I’m about to have to kill people I trained with. Possibly even people I trained myself.
“I made my choice. So did they.”
He’d regret it. He truly would—but they’d chosen the path of terror bombings and hostages.
With Bond’s immediate protection sorted, James pulled out the communicator she’d given him and turned it on.
It brought up the old UESF operating system, but none of the usual icons or processes were available. Just a contact list that only contained one contact.
He activated it.
“Una salus victus,” a voice replied after a few moments’ ringing.
“Nullam sperare salutem,” James completed the Latin phrase. “Who dares wins, and Manchester United for the Cup.”
The only hope for the doomed is to hope for no safety. In the mind of the Special Space Service, their goal was victory and the protection of the innocents they were sent out to save, not their own survival.
“Who dares wins,” of course, was the motto of the Special Air Service, many of whose traditions the SSS had inherited.
“Of course you’d be a Man United fan,” the other voice complained. “I back Madrid, myself.”
“I’m a year out of date on who’s playing for who,” James noted. “Got to fall back on the old standbys. This is…?”
“Alpha Commander,” the other man said simply. “Which is bullshit, ’cause you’ll recognize me the moment we meet, but my orders come from what little damned structure is left of the UESF.”
“And mine come from the Duchess,” James told him. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Alpha Commander sighed.
“Bond would recognize me even faster than you will,” he complained. “So, no, it won’t be a problem. Can’t say I was planning on throwing in with her just yet, but…”
“When people start locking up kids and blowing up recruits, the pattern starts looking familiar,” James said. The SSS hadn’t dealt with too much of that itself, but too many of the organizations its history linked to had.
“And then a man has no choice,” Alpha agreed. “You have the coordinates?”
“I do. Do your people need a ride?”
“Major, Major, Major,” the other SSS officer chuckled, “the odds are that the Network is done, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I just handed you the locations of any of our other bases.”
“It was worth a shot,” the Guard commander chuckled in turn. “How long do you need to get in position?”
“We were moving twenty minutes after Alpha Three talked to Bond, but we don’t have interface-drive shuttles and suborbital flight paths. We’ll be in position in four hours.”
“I’ll ping you at this contact then,” James promised. “If you’ll have eyes on the ground, you can feed us landing sites better than overhead and the schematics alone will.”
“Agreed. I’d love to call in orbital fire on the bastards, but…”
“We know where the Archive is in the base, but we don’t know where the hostages are.”
“Exactly.” Alpha Commander paused. “What are your orders?”
“Hostages first, data second, prisoners third,” James reeled off. “I don’t exactly need loose cells of rogue Weber operatives running around, but I want the hostages out alive—and so does my boss.”
Nobody else needed to know the closest thing the boss had to a foster daughter was in the damned bunker.
“I like her priorities. I’m not surprised by them—I knew Bond—but I like them anyway. We’ll see you in four hours, Major.”
Chapter Fifteen
The assault shuttles clustered in orbit, their strange and physics-defying engines gently humming to hold James Wellesley’s assault troops in a steady orbit above Colorado Springs.
It had been bright noon in Pretoria when Bond had met with Mandela, and now, eighteen hours later, it was late evening in the Rocky Mountains as the Ducal Guard waited for their allies to check in.
James once again slid the communicator open, checked it for a response to the message he’d sent five minutes ago, then closed it.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you a watched kettle never boils?” Sherman told him from her own seat. “Alpha Commander is one of ours, Triple-S. He’ll be in position—but take a look at the damned weather report, boss.
“His people are moving in through torrential rain. It’ll be good for us, but it’s gotta suck for his boys and girls.”
“Fair,” James acknowledged shortly. “I want Anderson’s head on a damn pike, Annabel,” he warned her. “My patience is running out.”
At that moment, the device buzzed in his hands.
“Wellesley.”
“Alpha,” the commander of the Network force confirmed. “What a fucking mess we picked. Good call on the timing.”
“I recall it being necessity, not a choice,” James replied. “Do you have landing sites for my shuttles?”
“I’ve picked out all four entrances and scoped them,” Alpha confirmed. “Are you boys ready to kick in some doors?”
“Locked and loaded with Imperial stunners,” James told him. “Watch your lines of fire, Alpha. My people will shoot first—because we can ask questions later.”
“Do I get one of those if I sign up?”
“And a plasma cannon,” James replied.
“This whole surrendering bullshit is sounding nicer by the minute. Transmitting coordinates and a thermal map. See you on the other side of the big vault doors, Major.”
The communicator pinged as the channel closed and a file downloaded.
“McPhail,” he snapped, passing the device over to his pilot. “Get the data off this through as clean an interface as you can manage and confirm your drop sites.
“I want to be on the ground in ninety seconds.”
Six A!Tol-built assault shuttles went from pretending to be holes in space to pretending to be homesick meteors forty seconds after he gave the order, screaming toward the surface of the planet at hundreds of kilometers a second.
At those speeds, hitting atmosphere felt like running a car into a brick wall…and breaking through. Plasma coronas wrapped around the spacecraft as they broke through the air with pure brute force, hammering toward the surface at speeds that were literally insane in an atmosphere.
McPhail, it appeared, had been training the new shuttle pilots in her own previously unique style of flying.
The shuttles slammed to a dead halt six meters above the ground, the interface-drive-focused blast of superheated air searing the ground beneath them clean, exactly on the coordinates Alpha Commander had given them, twenty-five seconds ahead of James’s deadline.
He wasn’t sure his stomach had caught up yet, but this wasn’t the time for hesitation.
“Move!” he bellowed. “On the bounce, stunners first, but take no chances. I’d rather dead terrorists than dead hostages, clear?!”
Unspoken was that he’d also rather dead Guard troopers than dead hostages. His people already knew that—they’d known that from the moment they’d put on the uniform.
Una salus victus. For victory, never for safety.
Moments after James hit the ground, his suit informed him he was receiving a transmission on an old SSS tactical channel.
“I’m assuming you brought doorknockers, Major, but I took the liberty of preparing for your arrival,” Alpha Commander told him when he accepted the communication. “Shall I knock?”
“Go ahead.”
His shuttles had already lit up the sky around the Weber Archive Facility with fire. Alpha Commander’s explosives did it again, shattering with precisely calculated blasts the massive metal doors that sealed the entrances James’s people were charging before.
The power-armored Ducal Guards reached the doors first, but camouflage-clad SSS troopers materialized out of the night to join them before James reached his men.
“The suits have thermal scanners; we’re checking for life forms,” he told the Network men. “Do you boys know the layout?”
“Re-orged the teams to make sure each one had someone who’d been here before,” the team leader replied instantly. “What do you need?”
“Stick with my people, team by team,” James ordered. “Get me someone who can lead me to the main residential section.”
“That’ll be me,” the same man replied. “Shall we?”
James followed the Network team as his armor’s sensors swept ahead and around for life signs. For a few precious moments, there was nothing, then…
“Drop!” he snapped to their allies.
They might not be entirely sure they trusted each other, but every man in the attack was Special Space Service. They had the same training, the same background—and James had the same trained command voice as their superiors.
The Network team dropped, and the Guardsman fired their stunners over their heads as a squad of troopers in civvies charged around the corner with machine guns.
The mutineers went down like tenpins without firing a shot.
“What did you need us for?” the Network team leader asked, surveying the unconscious troops.
“Hands,” James told him. “They can’t threaten my people, which means we need to get to the hostages before they work that out.”
“Ambush close! Cover the squishies!”
It wasn’t the politest attachment to the warning James had ever heard, but it got the point across as a grenade came bouncing around the corner. The fragmentation weapon wasn’t a threat to his armor but was a threat to the Network SSS troops they had with them.
One of his troopers handled it by the simple expedient of dropping onto the grenade, muffling its explosion with the chest plate of the power armor suit—the single most heavily armored part.
Two more troopers charged around the corner, stunners blazing. Their helmet cameras showed only a single trooper. Unfortunately for the young woman, she’d had another grenade ready to throw when the stunners’ fields hit her and the live weapon fell to the ground with her.
“Clear!” the closer SSS trooper shouted, diving forward and scooping the grenade up. Cradling it to his chestplate, he rolled to face the wall—protecting everyone, including the grenadier, from the blast.
“Show-off,” James muttered as he led the rest of his strike force forward.
“Residential is just past this hallway,” their guide told them. “Probably not the only place with hostages, but…”
“There’s probably some there,” James agreed. “And they’re probably defending it. Let’s go show off some more, shall we, Sergeant?”
Somehow, the trooper managed to look sheepish in a two-meter-tall suit of battle armor, but he led the way regardless.
The two point men didn’t even slow down when they hit the end of the corridor, charging through the doors to draw hostile fire. Machine gun fire echoed for a few moments, followed by the distinctive buzzing of Imperial stunners.
Then the rest of James’s team followed through the wreckage of the doors, the Major leading the way. The schematics showed that this residential section was centered on a two-story gallery, one the mutineers were trying to use as a killing zone.
So long as they were shooting at his people, they weren’t killing hostages—and ten stunners on wide beam made short work of the men guarding the gallery. There were no visible prisoners, however, and James was starting to get twitchy.
“Move down the halls,” he ordered. “Teams of two, one armor, one Network. Eyes up.”
Then he heard gunfire coming from the room and his plan collapsed as he charged to the sound. His suit sensors pinpointed it and then the servomotors allowed him to leap into the air, slamming to a landing on the second-floor balcony.
More gunfire echoed out of the hallway and he busted through the door without slowing. Rounding the corner, he came across a mix between his worst nightmare and the last thing he’d expected to see.
A young boy, maybe sixteen, was collapsed against the wall sobbing. He’d been shot in the shoulder and would need immediate medical attention, but was alive and applying pressure to his own wound.
The men who’d shot him were not going to be so lucky. There were three of them, dressed in black unmarked fatigues and carrying silenced pistols, presumably intending to work their way through the hostages while causing as little panic as possible.
Two were very definitely dead, shot in the back by one of Alpha Commander’s men. The third was dying—as was the Network trooper who’d shot them.
The first aid kits included in suit armor provided a number of different options to save someone on the verge of death, but James only had enough time to save one of the two soldiers.
It wasn’t a particularly difficult decision.
“East residential wing secured,” he reported over the radio several minutes later. “Troop Captains, report.”
“North residential wing secured,” Sherman replied. “Estimated one hundred fifty hostages. Prisoners and hostages alike are being cooperative.
“West residential wing secured, status much the same as North,” his other subordinate replied.
“And we have two hundred here,” James concluded. “That should be them all.” He paused. “Has anyone located Morgan Casimir?”
“Negative.”
“That is not good.” He switched channels.
“Alpha Commander, we believe there may be additional VIP hostages in the facility,” he told the Network man. “Where would they be held?”
“Officers’ quarters,” the other man replied immediately. “Bottom floor, behind an entire other layer of security. There’s an evac tunnel, but we collapsed it earlier. Anyone down there is trapped.”
“Well then, let’s go untrap them, shall we?” James suggested.
“Wellesley…if they have anything that can crack your tin cans, they’ll be keeping it to protect the officers,” the Network officer warned him.
“Then I suggest your people stay behind mine.”
The elevator down to the bottom floor was locked down, but that was hardly an obstacle to troops in power armor. James and his point team simply yanked the doors to the shaft open and stepped out.
Dropping fifty meters wasn’t a pleasant process for them, but it wasn’t particularly dangerous.
They crashed through the roof of the elevator cab, then his point team smashed through the doors and into the teeth of hostile fire.
The Network clearly hadn’t been sure just what it would take to kill his suits. Anti-armor rockets, a portable battle laser, and dozens of armor-piercing bullets walked over the lead two suits, physically hurling one of them back into the elevator.
Stunners buzzed repeatedly and fire slackened, allowing James and two more troopers to rip the doors the rest of the way off and break into the open killing zone the Network mutineers had set up.
A high-velocity anti-armor rocket slammed into James’s shoulder, knocking him backward and triggering warning signs across his suit. He backtracked the shot and lay down a wave of stunner fire.
The battle laser pulsed again, and they’d clearly turned it up all the way. The weapon probably wouldn’t get more than a handful of shots at that level—but one of James’s point team went down and stayed down, his vitals flashing critically on the Major’s heads-up display.
More stunners flared and the team manning the laser went down, the last real threat in the room suppressed.
James had enough time to sigh in relief before he realized that hodgepodge of weapons had been a test—one his determination to use stunners and take prisoners had enabled. The doors at the back of the elevator lobby swung open and six suits of power armor emerged.
They didn’t have plasma weapons, as the only armor suits delivered to Earth so far were police units with built-in stunners and no lethal weaponry.
So they’d improvised. Presumably, they’d had racks of each type of weapon the front team had tried, and all six came out lugging the same battle laser, normally a tripod- or vehicle-mounted weapon for pre-conquest Earth militaries.
Police armor or not, stunners weren’t going to put these guys down.
“Go plasma,” he barked. “Take them hard!”
His Guardsman’s suits were more heavily armored. More heavily armed—and also faster and with better computer support. The Network mutineers had built-in stunners and were carrying battle lasers.
His people had been carrying external stunners because their suits had built-in plasma guns.
There was a moment to recalibrate, to drop the nonlethal mindset along with the stunners. That moment cost James three people, crumpling backward as overpowered battle lasers ripped into their suits and triggering critical life-sign warnings on his displays.
Then his computer tagged the targets, informed him the plasma guns were online, and he walked fire across the hall. The computer controlled when the guns fired to prevent collateral damage, and the distinct hiss-crack echoed repeatedly in the confined space as James’s last handful of Guardsman ripped apart Anderson’s futile last hope.
Silence reigned at last.
“Cover me; I’m sweeping forward,” he ordered as he picked up his stunner again. The doors were already open and he pushed through, sweeping around for thermal signatures.
Now he stood in a more decorative central plaza than above, with a small fountain and plants around the gallery.
“I’m with the Duchess,” he announced loudly. “Anyone who lays down their weapons and surrenders will not be harmed. We’re here to rescue the hostages.”
He heard shuffling and a whispered argument, one he couldn’t quite make out, then a small girl’s voice piped up despite another, older woman, trying to shush her.
“How do I know you’re not a bad man too?”
“Cover me,” he repeated to his people, then reached up and removed his helmet, facing up toward where the voice had come from.
“My name is James Arthur Valerian Wellesley, husband to Captain Patrick Kurzman, third in line for the Duchy of Wellington and sworn liegeman to Duchess Annette Bond,” he said formally. “You have my word as an officer and a gentlemen that I am here to help you.”
“You’re from Auntie Annette?” the voice said, and a tiny blond head popped over the railing to look down at him. “You look silly in that armor, just a teeny head.”
Morgan Casimir giggled, and James breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at her.
“That I do, little one,” he agreed. “That I do.”
Chapter Sixteen
“This is not a good idea,” Sergeant Wei Lin noted, somewhat redundantly in Annette’s opinion, as the shuttle coasted to a gentle landing outside the Weber Archive Facility.
The tall Taiwanese woman had said the same thing in four or five different ways already. Tellaki had been blunter, if more immediately obedient to Annette’s commands than the human NCO.
Annette’s patience had run out when they’d found Morgan. She could understand why she shouldn’t be supervising the assault—it would have been inappropriate when she was a starship commander, let alone Duchess of Terra—but this whole mess was important.
In a lot of ways.
“I have to be here,” she told Lin. “Are you really going to argue that?”
“No.” The Guardswoman sighed. “We’ll sweep the area before you exit the shuttle,” she insisted. “This is still an active combat zone.”
Annette had won her actual fight in Hong Kong half an hour before. Being sensible now was a concession she could easily afford.
Her four human bodyguards moved out, checking the area around the shuttle and leading to the entrance as their Duchess waited impatiently aboard the shuttle with two Rekiki protectors.
Finally, Lin waved Annette out—just as Major Wellesley emerged from the bunker. His helmet was under one arm and a familiar-looking blonde cherub was sitting on his armored shoulder, looking on top of the world.
It was a good thing Lin had called the zone as clear, because at that point, no force in the Imperium would have stopped Annette charging out of the shuttle and over to her chief bodyguard.
“Morgan,” she greeted the child. “Are you all right?”
“Auntie Annette!” Morgan shrieked. “He said you were coming, but it’s been so long…”
“We didn’t know where you were,” Annette told her. “I’ve been away, and then when I came back, we couldn’t find you.”
The girl nodded seriously.
“The other man said you were broken,” she whispered. “That you’d become a bad one.”
“Never,” the Duchess of Earth promised. She held out her arms, surprised at just how glad and relieved she was to see the little girl, and caught Morgan as she jumped down from Wellesley’s shoulder. “I promised your father I would always come for you,” she murmured into the child’s ear. “You know I keep my promises.”
“Did Daddy send you?” Morgan asked. “He said I’d see him soon, but then the other man came and Bob and Willie and the others all went away…”
“The other man?” Annette questioned.
“He said to call him Uncle Joe, but…he wasn’t my uncle. Didn’t like him. Do I have to see him again?” she asked with the innocence of childhood.
Annette smiled.
“No, my dear,” she promised. “I don’t know where your father is, I’m sorry,” she admitted. “But we’ll find him together. I promise you.”
“And you always keep your promises!”
While a surprisingly large part of Annette found herself wanting to take Morgan back to Hong Kong and tuck her in safely, she allowed the girl’s nanny—who, from her shell-shocked expression, was due for both a long debriefing and a massive amount of therapy—to take her onto the shuttle and settle her down.
A second SSS officer had joined Wellesley in standing back to give her space, an officer she recognized immediately, and she nodded cheerfully as the swarthy man met her gaze and grinned.
“Your Grace, this is Alpha Commander of the Network,” Wellesley introduced him.
“Also, Adrian Salvatore of the Special Space Service,” she replied, offering her hand to Salvatore. “Promoted you from Troop Captain finally, I presume?”
Salvatore’s grin widened, showing shockingly white teeth.
“The UESF may have booted you from the service over that mess, ma’am, but the SSS promoted me for it,” he told her.
When a much-younger Commander Annette Bond had finally talked one of her junior officers into admitting the Captain of their battleship had raped her, it had been Troop Captain Adrian Salvatore who’d gone with Bond to arrest Captain Bowman.
“I warned Alpha Cell you’d recognize me,” the SSS Major told her. “But it’s not like we had multiple backup companies of soldiers tucked away in case everything went wrong.”
Extremely carefully, he unbelted his sidearm and offered it to her.
“We may have fought beside each other today, but technically I’m still at war with the Imperium,” he said quietly. “I offer the unconditional surrender of Alpha Company of the Weber Network.”
“I think we can come up with something better for your people than a prison cell,” Annette told him. “At a minimum, you’re all welcome to retire with Imperial Pensions. Crushing the Network wouldn’t help anyone.”
“Some of them might volunteer,” Salvatore said. “If you’ll have me, I’m in.”
“That’s Wellesley’s call,” she replied. “Need another Major, Major?”
The power-armored Guard commander winced.
“I’m not getting out of that promotion for much longer, am I?”
“No. Now report,” she ordered.
“We’ve identified eighty-seven engineers and scientists who were sequestered under the Weber Protocols for having critical information on UESF technology and research,” Wellesley said. “We’ve also confirmed two hundred and ninety-one family members of those engineers and other key Network personnel.”
“What about prisoners?”
“Six hundred and twelve so far,” he reported. “About two hundred surrendered, the rest were stunned and haven’t woken up yet. We believe that’s everyone in the base, but we’re still running active patrols.
“This remains a combat zone, Your Grace,” he concluded pointedly.
“Which is why I’m hanging out outside with a bevy of guards in power armor,” she replied. “Did we get Anderson?”
“No,” Wellesley admitted. “So far as we can tell, he wasn’t here. There’s also a concealed hangar for an interface-drive shuttle that’s empty.”
“We missed him,” she said. “And I doubt he didn’t have other resources.”
“Each of the Bravo Cells had a group responsible for setting up stockpiles and resources, not just on Earth but across the Solar System,” Salvatore warned her. “Given his role in Logistics, I would presume that Commodore Anderson ran that group for his cell. If anyone has secret stockpiles or resources no one else would know about, it would be him.”
“Any good news other than the hostages?”
“We’re still waiting on a proper software team, but my electronics warfare guys say the Archive appears intact,” Wellesley told her. “I don’t have the background to judge how valuable that will be, but…”
“If nothing else, it has the damned specifications for making compressed-matter armor,” Annette said quietly. “If it doesn’t, we’re going to have a bad year.”
She looked at Salvatore.
“Did your Alpha Cell give you follow-up orders for once this was done?” she asked.
“Everyone knew I was going to have to surrender,” he pointed out. “I expect that one of them will be in contact shortly, but I’m officially out of the loop.”
“Make sure your people are taken care of,” she ordered him. “Wellesley knows the drill of their legal status; we’ve discussed it. You fought by our side; I won’t forget that. Anyone who wants to sign on is more than welcome; anyone who wants to just go home gets their Imperial Pension with no more questions asked.”
“I’ll let them know,” Salvatore promised. “And we’ll rack our brains, see if any of us know anything about where Anderson might have tucked himself away. Can’t promise anything, though.”
“I want answers from your bosses at this point, not you,” Annette replied. “Right now, I have a four-year-old girl who has no idea what’s going on or why she’s been a pawn in someone else’s political bullshit. I’m going to fly her back to Hong Kong and make damn sure she knows she’s safe.
“Let me know if we find the matter-compressor plans,” she ordered. “I’m sure about five million other important things will come up as well, but we’ll deal with them as they arise.”
At some point, she’d get to sleep through the night again, but right now, the Duchy of Terra remained as cranky as any month-old baby.
Chapter Seventeen
“Duchess, we have a security breach in the hotel,” Tellaki reported over Annette’s communicator as she stepped out of the room she’d claimed for Morgan.
She wasn’t particularly surprised.
“Where and how?” she asked.
“A clever Trojan program inserted into the hotel’s security cameras,” the Rekiki told her. “If we weren’t running Imperial software in parallel, we might have missed it.
“It appears to be covering the presence of one individual who has headed straight to your quarters. I have a team moving in as we speak.”
“Hold off on that,” Annette ordered with a sigh. “I’ve been expecting him. Have your team on standby for an alert, but I’ll speak with him myself”
“You’ve been…expecting an intruder with expert hacking software?” her guard asked.
“Since about a day after we landed,” she confirmed. “I might be wrong as to who it is, but I doubt it.”
Stepping into her office, Annette hit the light switch before the man standing by her desk could do anything, and regarded the familiar face of Elon Casimir with scant favor.
Casimir had lost weight, and much of the chubbiness in his face had gone with it. His shoulder-length brown hair was gone, replaced with the closely cropped hair common to those who spent a lot of time in spacesuits.
His face and body were leaner, but his eyes remained the same warm blue as always and he was recognizably her old boss.
She even recognized the childish disappointment in his posture that his surprise had been averted.
“You may be one of the best programmers on Earth, but my people have A!Tol software,” she pointed out. “You don’t even know what’s in the toy box anymore.”
“Damn,” Casimir said mildly. “I hadn’t considered that; that little Trojan hasn’t failed me yet.”
“With Imperial tech in play, a lot of the old rules have changed,” Annette told him, looking him over as she approached her desk. She was torn between yelling at the man for letting her think he was dead, for hiding when she needed him…and sitting him down and ordering room service.
“So, that’s why you thought endangering Morgan for tonight’s damn fool stunt was okay?” he demanded.
Annette didn’t recall consciously deciding to go past yelling to punching. She didn’t feel particularly guilty about it, though, as Casimir collapsed backward onto her desk, wheezing as he folded up around his stomach.
“I didn’t do it for Morgan,” she told him flatly. “I’ll hate myself a bit for that later, but I didn’t. I sure as hell didn’t do it for you or need your approval, Elon.
“I did it for four hundred hostages being held against the Network, the Duchy and me. Someone wants to take up arms and fight me, fine, but I will not see innocents caught in the cross-fire—regardless of who they are!”
Casimir coughed, breathing hard as he held up a hand.
“I’m sorry,” he finally wheezed out. “It’s hard to deal with sometimes as a friend, but I of all people should know Bloody Annie does the right thing, regardless of the cost.”
“That’s a low blow, Elon,” she told him.
“Wasn’t meant as one,” he said, exhaling as he straightened and met her gaze. “Just a statement.”
“I at least haven’t spent the last damn year hiding,” she spat. “Where have you been?”
“Following the plan we laid out for this circumstance,” he reminded her. “Right up until the moment that son of a bitch Anderson kidnapped my daughter.”
Annette sighed, then crossed to the chair behind her desk, studying Casimir the whole way.
“You haven’t been sleeping or eating right,” she judged. “Have you? Sit down, Elon.”
He chuckled but obeyed.
“Once I knew you were coming back—and coming back as the ruler of Vichy Earth, at that!—I decided to move Morgan off-world to safety with me. My people were ambushed. Presumably, some were taken prisoner and were with Morgan, but most were killed.
“Then I got a lovely note informing me that any attempt to, and I quote, ‘join Bond in her treason’ would result in consequences for Morgan,” he finished flatly. “I chose my side right there, Annette, but if Anderson knew enough to contact me without my knowing how, then he’d know if I contacted you.
“My little girl is my world, Annette. What the hell was I to do?”
“You could have found a way to let me know,” she pointed out.
“Someone close to me had to have enabled Anderson to get the note to me,” Casimir replied. “The same person probably betrayed Morgan’s route off-world to him. Everyone I’d use to reach out to you is on the list of suspects. I was working on a way, but you seem to have rendered it unnecessary.”
“Anderson escaped,” she warned him. “I expect the rest of the Network to concede shortly, but a significant chunk will gather around him and continue to fight.”
“You rescued Morgan,” Casimir said. “And, well, you’re you. I’d have given you the benefit of the doubt regardless, but now I owe you my daughter’s life. I’m with you—and so is everything I buried.”
“BugWorks Station,” Annette said calmly. “The compressed-matter manufactory. I know you mounted a hyperdrive on it. Where did you take it?”
Elon Casimir laughed.
“We mounted hyper portal generators on BugWorks Station, yes,” he confirmed. “We didn’t mount any engines on it. It’s exactly where it always was. We just moved it into hyperspace.”
“Get back in touch with your Board, Elon,” Annette told him. “I’m going to have work for you.”
She was still staring at the door, trying to sort out her emotions, when Li Chin Zhao stepped into the room. The Chinese bureaucrat met her irritated gaze with a questioning eyebrow, then chuckled.
“We had a meeting scheduled,” he reminded her. “Though given that I just saw Elon Casimir walking the other way, I’m guessing that you don’t want to hear Lebrand and Miyamoto’s synthesis of the list of complaints about the sliding-scale currency-conversion rate?”
“The rich can complain all they want; I don’t control the currency conversion,” Annette pointed out crossly. “That one still sits with Medit! and Uplift—and if they’re rich enough for it to impact them, they’re either smart enough to figure out the purpose or can afford people on staff to explain it to them in small words.”
Zhao laughed aloud.
“I am not passing that argument back,” he replied. “I understand the logic of forcing investment myself, but the rates still look punitive at the higher levels.”
Pre-conquest currency could still be exchanged into Imperial marks. Imperial marks were currently the only currency that was allowed to be accepted for imported goods and would, within two years, become the only acceptable currency.
The rate was on a sliding scale. Someone converting a thousand bucks got an extremely generous rate. Someone converting a billion got a rate that was significantly worse.
The goal, as it had been explained to Annette, was to make sure that as much wealth as possible was put in stocks, infrastructure, and staff. It encouraged Earth’s existing wealthy to partner with Imperial businesses, investing their pre-conquest currency in businesses that would create returns in marks.
Given how much of Earth’s wealth was already in stocks and other investments, the impact was being surprisingly minor so far, but that didn’t stop it pissing people off.
She sighed.
“But no, I’m not exactly in the mindset for economic arguments. Let me ping Villeneuve,” she told him. “Between the pair of you, we can go over most of the impacts of Casimir’s non-death.”
She sent a quick note to the Admiral’s communicator and sighed again.
“How does his return impact his assets?” she asked Zhao. He’d become her unofficial Treasurer, a title she intended to make official whenever she got around to assigning any portfolios to the Council.
“Everything went into a trust for his daughter,” he responded instantly. “The trust can be rolled up and returned to his personal possession without excessive difficulty—it’s not easy or straightforward, but it’s certainly doable—and then Elon Casimir goes back to being one of the richest men on Earth and his daughter ceases to be the richest four-year-old ever.
“Of course, he is no longer CEO or Chairman of the Board of Nova Industries, but as majority shareholder, he can change both of those as soon as he wants to,” Zhao concluded. “I presume there was some level of Weber Protocol assets that we aren’t aware of, as well?”
“I’ll drag a full accounting out of him at some point,” she responded as Villeneuve stepped through the door, the Admiral impeccably turned out as always.
“Most immediately relevant to all of us, especially Jean, is that BugWorks Station still exists.”
The Admiral stopped in mid-step, paused, then slowly and carefully took his seat.
“Explain,” he requested politely.
“Casimir isn’t dead,” Annette summarized. “His daughter was being held hostage to keep him from joining the Duchy. Now we’ve rescued her, he’s come out of hiding and should be fully on board.
“BugWorks Station was never intended to be destroyed,” she continued. “I knew Nova Industries had mounted hyper-portal emitters on it. I’d assumed they’d moved it into deep space or somewhere else inaccessible, but as it turns out, they apparently just moved it into hyperspace in the same spot.”
“Oh merde,” Villeneuve whispered. “And since it didn’t have an interface drive, we couldn’t detect it.”
“Exactly. We’ll want to coordinate with Casimir, send a ship out to touch base with them.”
“Lougheed’s Washington commissions tomorrow,” Villeneuve pointed out. “We can send them. The BugWorks crew will know Lougheed as well, right?”
“They will. That’s perfect,” Annette agreed.
There was a moment of awkward silence, then Zhao coughed delicately.
“You realize you need Casimir on the Council,” he pointed out.
“Potentially,” Annette agreed. “But right now, if I’m in the same room as him, I’m not sure if I’m going to hit him or kiss him.”
Zhao coughed somewhat less delicately, nearly choking on his water.
“That conflict generally only gets resolved one way in the long run,” he pointed out gently.
“You do not know me well enough to give relationship advice,” Annette snapped with a warning finger.
“But he is probably correct,” Villeneuve said carefully.
The warning finger moved to the Admiral, who’d known her, to one degree or another, for over ten years.
“You…you…just shut up,” she finally ordered.
Chapter Eighteen
Andrew Lougheed stepped onto Washington’s bridge with a sense of accomplishment.
It wasn’t the first time he’d entered the circular room at the heart of the A!Tol-built destroyer, with its massive hologram tank and tiered consoles that resembled a Terran-designed CIC more than a Terran bridge, but now he was finally, officially taking command.
Two weeks of training and recruiting had brought Washington’s crew complement up to a little over two thirds of her designed strength, pulling the twenty crewmen and women from Of Course We’re Coming Back, borrowing another forty from Tornado, including a Frole engineer, and then adding forty “new” recruits from the ex-UESF personnel signing up.
He wouldn’t want to go into combat against a comparable enemy, not yet, but he’d signed off on Washington’s crew being basically combat-ready, and they were now officially commissioning her.
“Officers on deck, attention to orders,” he said loudly. His new XO, Thomas Warner, rose from the command chair and stood aside, allowing Andrew to approach and stand next to it. Andrew removed a single plain sheet of actual paper and unfolded it.
“To Captain Andrew Lougheed, Duchy of Terra Militia.
“Upon receipt of these orders, you are to report aboard hull DD-001 Washington, now approved for combat deployment, there to take upon yourself the duties of commanding officer of said warship.
“Signed, Admiral Jean Villeneuve, under the authority of Duchess Annette Bond.”
He folded the paper, put it back in his uniform jacket, and then put his hand on the arm of the command chair and met Warner’s eyes.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I assume command. Set Alpha Watch throughout the ship.”
“Yes, sir!” Warner confirmed crisply.
Alpha Watch would already be at their stations. Commissioning a ship that had been working up with different chunks of its crew for a month was a formality—she’d been fully functional when delivered; the only work they’d done on the ship was tell the computers to use English for communication.
“Commander Warner,” he turned to his XO. “Are you aware of any issues that will prevent Washington from deploying immediately for search operations?”
“No, sir,” Warner said crisply. If there’d been any problems, they’d probably have delayed the official commissioning, informal as it had been.
“Lieutenant Arendse,” Andrew addressed his navigator.
“Sir!” Farai Arendse responded crisply. She was a black woman with short dreadlocks and a perpetual smile on her face. She’d replaced his old navigator, who’d taken the offer of retirement with a generous pension.
“Coordinates are downloaded to your console,” he told her. “Set your course as you please; take us up to full interface-drive velocity once we’re clear of the Terra planetary system.
“Some friends of ours crawled into a hole in space,” he continued. “We need to crawl in with them and let them know it’s safe to come out.”
Even with Earth on the opposite side of its orbit from the location of BugWorks Station, crossing the roughly twenty-five light-minutes took Washington a little more than an hour. Even now, a year after Of Course had been upgraded with its interface drive, Andrew found the sustained velocity of the strange reactionless engine amazing.
“There’s nothing at these coordinates, Captain,” his new tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Vitya Maksimov reported, his English still noticeably accented from his native Russian. He was a clean-shaven, hawk-nosed man with dark eyes and hair. “There’s a few asteroids in nearby orbits, but nothing within about ten thousand klicks of the target coordinates.”
“Any debris or old energy signatures?” Andrew asked, studying the hologram showing the space surrounding Washington.
Maksimov studied his scanners for a few more moments.
“Some,” he finally admitted, flashing highlights around several areas of space on the hologram. “One of the nearby asteroids was definitely flash-melted and refrozen inside the last year or so. I’ve got minor debris over here, but…”
“But?” the Captain encouraged.
“Nothing significant,” the Russian concluded. “I’d say someone set off a big bomb, but they didn’t actually blow up anything in particular.”
Andrew nodded. That was basically what he’d been expecting.
“All right. Lieutenant Arendse, please open a hyper portal.”
“Yes, sir,” the junior officer replied, then paused. “What’s our destination, sir?”
“No destination, Lieutenant,” Andrew told him with a smile. “Just take us into hyperspace.”
His confusion was clear, but Arendse carried on without question. Twenty seconds later, exotic-matter arrays mounted on Washington’s hull flared to life, tearing a hole in reality that the destroyer slipped through with ease.
Actual optical visibility in hyperspace was almost nonexistent. The only thing the scanners Washington or any other modern ship carried could pick up at a distance was the presence of a gravitational-hyperspatial interface momentum engine.
Inside about a light-second or so, however, light worked approximately the way it did in normal space. Things could be “seen” as normal.
Including the big ring station, roughly a kilometer across, hanging less than fifty kilometers away in the gray void of hyperspace. Andrew’s familiar eye picked out the structures of BugWorks station, the yard slips where Tornado and her sisters—all scuttled to save them from the A!Tol—had been built, the artificial gravity generators, the docking ports.
“Hail them, please,” he ordered.
“You’re on.”
“BugWorks Station, this is Captain Andrew Lougheed aboard the Duchy of Terra destroyer Washington. I’m told to pass on Elon Casimir’s regards and advise you, and I quote, ‘It’s time for the King in the Mountain to wake up.’”
Andrew was relatively sure Washington’s shields could survive any weapons BugWorks had armed itself with—at least for long enough to get out of hyperspace, anyway—but he still found himself holding his breath after he sent the recognition phrase.
“Incoming response; they’re opening a channel.”
“Put them on screen,” Andrew ordered.
“On screen” was habit. It also sounded better than “in the tank,” which was where the familiar face of Tais Fernandez, BugWorks Station’s senior administrator, appeared.
“Andrew,” she greeted him. “I’ll admit, this isn’t how I expected to see you again, though I knew someone was going to have to show up sooner or later.”
“You’ve been kept up to date?” Andrew asked.
“To a point,” she agreed. “We’ve been following a fixed but irregular schedule for opening a portal and having shuttles drop in.” Fernandez shivered. “We’ve been trying to cycle people off the station, too. Living in hyperspace is…not good for the soul.”
“My orders are to tow the station through hyperspace to Earth,” Andrew told her. “Are we going to have a problem?”
“The station was towed out in realspace with rockets,” she pointed out. “She should hold up to being towed under interface drive—and it’ll be a shorter trip in hyperspace.”
He chuckled.
“That wasn’t quite my concern.”
“If Elon gave you that code, it’s time for us to crawl out of our hole,” Fernandez replied. “And I, for one, cannot wait to get out of hyperspace and off this damn station, however short my vacation will have to be.
“Somehow, I’m sure you have work for us.”
Knowing what Washington had been sent out to find, Annette had remained aboard Defense One after the commissioning, carrying out an overdue inspection of the new heart of Terra’s defenses.
She’d read the specifications of the prefabricated defensive platforms the A!Tol had provided before returning to Earth. They were big, powerful stations, designed to form the central core of a constellation of defensive satellites.
Earth didn’t have those satellites yet. They were on their way, but they took time to manufacture. Even more time to ship.
The three platforms on their own could stand off a Kanzi battleship without too much difficulty. With the satellite constellation, they could stand off three or four.
They weren’t likely to destroy those capital ships. The purpose was to stop an attacker from reaching Earth before the A!Tol Imperial Navy could reach Sol.
In many ways, the still-incomplete starcom transmitter in low Earth orbit was as key a part of the defense as the space stations.
“I’m impressed, Admiral,” she told Villeneuve, making sure her voice was loud enough to be heard by the staff in the command center. “Your people have taken to the new technology more effectively than I’d hoped.”
“You brought back a solid cadre, Your Grace,” he replied. “Once you get used to taking your lessons from a sentient fungus, well, what’s a new computer operating system?”
“Nonetheless, well done,” Annette declared. “If the Duchy’s Militia continues to grow in numbers and skill as it has, we have nothing to fear.”
Right now, they were still mostly recruiting ex-UESF members. Once that pool ran dry, their growth in both numbers and skill would drop dramatically. That was a problem for a later day, however—and one that Karl Lebrand and Teddy Nash were already working on, with plans already in motion for academies, simulators, and recruitment campaigns.
“Hyper portal!” a sensor tech suddenly announced. “I have a massive hyper portal at the twenty-million-kilometer mark.”
“Charles, focus the sensors on the portal,” the station commander snapped, swinging away from shepherding the VIPs with admirable haste. She was an older woman, a former UESF battleship commander with harsh lines on her face and short-cropped gray hair.
“Wen, send an alert to the other platforms and the warships,” she continued. “Everything in Earth orbit goes to full alert, my authority.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Only after making sure the wheels were in motion to keep the planet safe did she finally glance back at Annette and Villeneuve.
“Carry on, Captain,” Annette said mildly. “You’re doing fine.”
“I have initial emergence,” the tech reported. “We’re also picking up a secondary mass and it’s a big one. They appear to be…attached?”
“We have an IFF code on the lead vessel,” another tech said. “Sent ahead as soon as they emerged; it’s Washington and they have BugWorks Station in tow!”
Annette let out a sigh of relief.
“You didn’t trust Elon?” Villeneuve murmured.
“There’s trusting someone, and then there’s actually seeing the damn thing that’s going to save us about twelve million tons of headache drop out of hyperspace,” she replied as the station completed its transition, collapsing the portal behind it.
“With the station in tow, Washington is only making about point oh one cee,” the station’s crew reported. “She’ll have BugWorks in orbit in just under two hours, depending on her orbit.”
“Your Grace, Admiral?” the Captain asked.
“Tuck her in behind the moon, under the defensive shell, Captain,” Villeneuve ordered. “That station is the single most valuable asset in the Solar System after Earth. Let’s keep her safe.”
“Yes, sir!”
Annette was about to remind Villeneuve to stand down the defensive fleet from full alert when the sensor tech who’d original picked up Washington’s emergence sat bolt upright, looking at his screens again.
“We have another hyper portal!” he reported. “Twenty-two-million-kilometer mark, sixty-two degrees around the ecliptic from Washington. Unscheduled arrival!”
Chapter Nineteen
“That’s odd.”
Captain Harriet Tanaka waited a few seconds for her tactical officer to clarify, then turned her command chair to study the red-furred amphibian.
“What’s odd, Lesser Commander Vaza?” she asked.
“I was tracking a blip on the edge of our hyperspace sensor range,” the Indiri Lesser Commander reported. “They were moving at the right speed and in the right place to be one of the destroyers we gave the new Duchy, so I wasn’t concerned.”
“And?”
“And then I picked up a hyper portal from inside the Sol system—and our stranger went dark. Killed his drive so fast that whoever entered hyper from Sol wouldn’t have picked him up.”
“That is odd,” she agreed. “Do you have a vector on his last location?”
“Yes, Captain. I’ve also got an odd signature from that hyper portal from Sol, too.”
“What’s odd there?” she asked slowly.
“I’m reading an interface-drive signature, but they’re only moving at about one percent of lightspeed.”
“Odd,” Harriet echoed. Even the crude interface drive Earth had put together before the conquest could go from a standstill to point four cee in six seconds. She studied the map.
“Take us after the stranger,” she ordered. Whatever Earth was up to wasn’t her problem, but if someone was buzzing the system…that was the Imperial Navy’s problem.
“Let me know the instant he moves.”
Hunter’s Horn had the most modern hyperspatial anomaly sensors the Imperial Navy could build. Unless Earth had somehow upgraded their destroyers’ sensors, the Militia wouldn’t know she was here—and if their ghost was a Kanzi, she’d still have a slight advantage.
She planned on using it.
“Someone thinks he is being sneaky,” Sier observed.
The Yin had joined them on the bridge as Harriet was bringing her cruiser to readiness. Still not full battle stations; she wasn’t sure if she was getting in a fight yet, but she was feeling suspicious.
The object of the blue-feathered avian’s amusement was the ghost, who clearly had better sensors than the Duchy’s Militia did…if worse than Hunter’s Horn’s.
The moment the hyper portal back into the system had closed, the stranger’s drive had come back up and they had shot toward Sol at half of lightspeed.
“What do we do?” Vaza asked.
“Our most likely case for our strange friend is another Kanzi destroyer, isn’t it?” Harriet asked.
“Yes, Captain,” Sier confirmed.
“Then I think we make clear to the kusottare that no matter what their First Priest says, Sol is Imperial territory,” she told her crew. The translator probably wasn’t up to Japanese curses, but she was pretty sure her officers got the meaning from context.
“Take us to battle stations,” she ordered. “Intercept course, flank speed. Vaza, load the launchers, spin up the proton beams.
“Let’s go hunting.”
A klaxon rang through the ship, summoning Horn’s crew to combat stations. Given the mixed nature of her crew, Harriet found her teeth vibrating as the klaxon sounded—there was the sound she could hear but also others both too low and too high for human ears.
It wasn’t a pleasant experience.
The cruiser leapt forward with the grace and speed that always made Harriet love her ship just a little bit more, crew and ship alike responding to her hand like a well-forged sword.
“If she’s Theocracy Navy, when will she see us?” she asked quietly.
“Less than a thousandth-cycle,” Vaza reported. “If she’s a Clan ship, could be two or three. Either way, she’ll see us before we’re in missile range.”
Missiles worked just fine in hyperspace. Energy weapons suffered the same limitation as visibility, only working within a light-second or so.
The same range in hyperspace, of course, translated to real-world distances of light-weeks or light-months, depending on the local currents.
“She sees us,” Vaza stated. “Good sensors, better than I was expecting. That’s not just a Theocracy ship, Captain—that’s a modern Theocracy ship.”
“What is she doing?” Harriet demanded.
“Heading for Sol, I think,” her tactical officer replied. “She’ll make her portal in four thousandth-cycles, give or take. Before our missiles can hit.”
The Japanese Captain was doing her own math. They’d be seventy seconds, less than a thousandth-cycle, behind the Kanzi ship in emerging.
“There’s not much he can do to Sol in seventy seconds,” she noted aloud.
“No, Captain,” Sier agreed. “Unless he has somewhere to hide in that system, he’s ours for the taking.”
Hunter’s Horn leapt through the portal into Sol, the pursuit of the strange warship bringing them into the system several hours ahead of schedule.
Harriet waited patiently as her cruiser’s sensors drank in the light and other radiation bathing her hull, processing and synthesizing the vast amount of data into something the sentients aboard her bridge could understand.
Even before that process completed, however, she realized she was in trouble. Horn had gone through the portal at battle stations with her shields up. It took less than a second for the sensors to collate the incoming radiation into useful data—and the shields were warning her they were under fire before that second passed.
“Evasive maneuvers,” she snapped. “Clear the guns—get me a target!”
“Shields are registering twenty-plus point seven five cee impacts,” Vaza reported as the ship dodged sideways. “Enemy vessel at five light-seconds; they must have fired into the portal on auto-seek mode.
“That’s why there were so few hits,” the Indiri concluded as the CIC team finally resolved their prey. “That’s no destroyer, Captain.”
Hunter’s Horn’s computers were immune to fear. They drew in the shape of a Kanzi attack cruiser—roughly fifteen percent larger and ten percent deadlier than Harriet’s command—without hesitation or mercy.
“Maintain evasive maneuvers and open the distance,” she snapped. “Proton beams to defensive mode, as we’ve practiced. Get my missiles into space; make him blink.”
Horn’s proton beams flashed out under Sier’s control as Vaza laid down missile fire. The attack cruiser had more launchers than the A!Tol ship, and they laid down a devastating stream of fire now that they had a solid target.
“That first salvo hammered our shields,” Sier warned. “If we are lucky, we can reduce their salvos down to match ours with the beams, but they have heavier shields in the first place and they got in the first hit.
“Our best option is to close to beam range and attempt to get the first hit.”
“If this were just us and the Kanzi, you’d be right,” Harriet Tanaka agreed. “But you’re forgetting the same thing they are.”
“Captain?”
“This is Dan!Annette Bond’s system,” she said flatly. “I know the woman, Sier—and I read the classified assessment of just what she turned Tornado into.
“I don’t need to kill this kusottare. I just need to keep him distracted.”
“Second hyper portal,” a sensor tech grimly announced as Annette and Villeneuve watched the Kanzi attack cruiser turn back and open fire.
“Looks like our blue friend was expecting them,” Annette noted. “Weren’t we supposed to get an Imperial visitor later today?”
“We were,” Villeneuve confirmed. “A courier with data from Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh, probably a warship.”
She studied the distances and sighed internally. She wanted to grab a shuttle and take command of Tornado again herself. No one else knew the modified cruiser nearly as well as she did at this point.
The whole battle was taking place less than two light-minutes from Earth orbit—which meant it was less than four minutes’ flight for the cruiser if she left now.
“Get me Captain Kurzman,” she ordered.
The crew was still learning their new tech and gear, so it took them all of five seconds to open a channel to Tornado’s bridge.
“Pat,” Annette greeted the man who now commanded her ship. “You see our Kanzi and Imperial friends out there.”
“I do. We’re almost closed up at battle stations, but we are under-crewed now,” he warned. “We got a class on our Imperial friend yet?”
Annette checked—in time to watch the Kanzi’s first salvo slam home, knocking the million-ton warship back on her heels before she even finished emerging into n-space.
“Warbook calls it a standard cruiser,” she told him. “She can’t take that attack cruiser on her own…but Tornado could.”
“Your orders, Duchess?” he asked, carefully.
They both knew the unspoken question was “Do we let the Imperial ship die before we intervene?” Annette might have sworn her allegiance to the Imperium, but even the people loyal to her hated the fact that Earth was now subservient.
“Move out ASAP,” she ordered. “If the cruiser’s captain is smart, she’ll play for time until you get there. I don’t want that Kanzi ship reporting back on Earth’s defenses, and I’d rather not watch an Imperial ship die to stop her.
“Am I clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Kurzman confirmed.
The channel cut and Annette concealed another sigh, clasping her hands behind her back as she watched the tactical display. She’d never sent someone else into battle for her before, and she was realizing she did not like it.
“Admiral, Your Grace, we have an ID on the Imperial ship,” another of the techs said urgently.
“And?” Annette asked, unsure why it would matter which A!Tol or other alien she’d ordered saved.
“It’s Hunter’s Horn,” the tech explained. “Captain Harriet Tanaka of Earth commanding.”
“Ah.”
It didn’t change her orders, though Annette was honest enough to admit that if she had given in to the temptation she knew Kurzman was feeling, the knowledge that there was a human out there would have made a difference.
In fact…
“Make sure Captain Kurzman gets that information,” she ordered. “He knows Tanaka; it’ll help him guess which way she’ll jump.”
Villeneuve’s approving grunt next to her suggested the Admiral was thinking the same thing she was. It was true that knowing the Captain of the ship he was charging to the rescue of might help Kurzman make the right call.
It was also true that it would make him less likely to drag his feet along the way.
“Pull us around him,” Harriet ordered, watching the Kanzi ship with a sharp eye. “I want us between him and the closest point he can enter hyperspace.”
They didn’t have a lot of space to play with, though the Kanzi cruiser had allowed herself into a zone she couldn’t open a portal from to set up her attack. Hunter’s Horn couldn’t truly stop the enemy ship from running—but she could force the Kanzi ship into beam range.
A!Tol proton beams were better. Not much, but enough that Harriet was pretty sure the attack cruiser wouldn’t survive to break past her. Horn probably wouldn’t survive stopping the other ship, but that was sometimes the price they paid.
Part of her mind wondered if she’d have been willing to make that sacrifice for any other world. She thought so. The fact that her entirely nonhuman bridge crew clearly understood exactly what she was doing and was willing to go along with it was heart-warming, too.
“Shields are badly depleted,” Sier reported. “We’re knocking down five percent of her missiles with just the proton beams.” The Yin shook his head, a gesture his species and Harriet’s shared. “I was briefed on the laser defenses this system’s space forces were equipped with. Crude as they were, I want one right now.”
“Shields failing in sector three!”
“Rotating!”
The ship lurched, a spastic shiver running through her hull, and silence descended on Horn’s bridge.
“Report,” Harriet finally said.
“We turned the ship in time,” Sier told her after a moment of studying his own console. “Sector four’s shields moved into four Kanzi missiles, resulting in a close-range energy release that battered the hull and temporarily collapsed sector four’s shields.”
The energy in a multi-ton projectile traveling at seventy-five percent of the speed of light was…significant, even if they’d avoided impact.
“Do we have those sectors back?” she demanded.
“All sectors back online,” her XO confirmed, “but we’re spread thin; I don’t think we could take another full salvo.”
“Blood tide,” Vaza suddenly swore, the translator apparently working just fine on Indiri curses.
Harriet looked to see what had shocked her tactical officer and almost swore herself as she spotted Tornado blazing across the system at fifty-five percent of the speed of light, spewing missiles as she came.
The Terran-built, Laian-upgraded cruiser was much the same size as Hunter’s Horn but significantly denser with the compressed-matter armor. She was also fully ten percent faster, and there was no way the Kanzi ship could evade her.
“Kanzi are turning,” Vaza reported, the damp-furred Indiri brushing his fur as he focused. “Focusing their shields and missile fire on Tornado.”
“Don’t let them,” Harriet ordered. “Everything you’ve got, Vaza. Shove it right down their throats.”
Hunter’s Horn closed on the Kanzi ship, cutting off any attempt to run as the Terran warship bore down on her. Missiles blazed between them, but plasma cannons lit up the sky as Tornado’s defenses activated, shredding the incoming fire.
The attack cruiser had no such defenses. With her shields depleted by the running engagement with Hunter’s Horn, she didn’t have the power to stand up to incoming fire from two sides. The energy bubble collapsed in half a dozen places, and the incoming fire ripped her to pieces.
“Remind me not to anger your Duchess,” Sier said, studying the tactical parameters. “That is a dangerous ship.”
“Nothing like her in the Imperium,” Harriet agreed quietly. “Though I’m told a Core Power ship would be even deadlier. The Laian tech built into her is centuries old.”
“Receiving a transmission.”
“Open a channel.”
The familiar broad face of Pat Kurzman appeared on the screen, the odd mix of Terran and alien technology that formed Tornado’s bridge behind him.
“This is Captain Pat Kurzman of the Duchy of Terra Militia starship Tornado,” he announced. “Captain Tanaka. Please pass a warm welcome to the Sol system on to your crew.”
He paused, and Harriet felt her heart begin to tremble. She’d known coming home would be hard, but she’d hoped—prayed—that the Duchy’s leaders, at least, would understand her decision.
“As for you, Captain Tanaka,” Kurzman said slowly, his tone warmer than her fears had expected, “welcome home.”
Chapter Twenty
“Ah, Jess, thank you,” Annette told her press secretary as the perfectly turned-out woman dropped the datapad with the summations of the news reports on the previous day’s battle. “Any of the networks saying anything in particular I should be aware of?”
Jess Robin dropped into the chair facing Annette’s desk with a thoughtful look. Despite her change in role, she remained as perfectly coiffed as ever—Annette hadn’t checked the budgets, but she suspected her press secretary had a bigger makeup and personal-care team than she did.
Which wasn’t hard, given that she didn’t have such a team.
“The news networks and sites are mostly taking our line as written,” Robin said. “Some of them have enough access to space telescopes and sensor data to confirm it as true, as well.
“Forums and social media accounts…ugh,” she concluded bluntly. “The vast majority of people believe that we’re telling the truth, though there’s always some crazies. The bigger problematic group are the ones that feel we should have left Hunter’s Horn to swing and then picked up the pieces.”
“Would releasing that it was Tanaka in command change that?” Annette asked.
“Unlikely,” Robin replied. “We have a slim but significant majority of the population that backs you, personally, and once you add in the ‘give her enough rope and see’ crowd, we don’t have any particularly large groups actively opposed to the Duchy and your rule at this point.”
“That’s a surprise,” the Duchess admitted.
“Don’t get the impression they like you,” the younger woman warned. “Even the folk who hate you and want to see the Imperium thrown off the planet seem to trust you, however. Which is important.”
“More than I think you realize,” Annette said. “But I’m guessing that the Imperium is less popular than the Duchy?”
“There’s only a minority that’s truly negative on the Duchy,” Robin confirmed “The Imperium, though…yeah. We’ve edged into a plurality that has a positive opinion of the A!Tol, but a majority of the people of Earth would not have cared if we’d left Hunter’s Horn to swing.
“And while we didn’t ask the question, I suspect that same majority still thinks Tanaka is a traitor,” she finished harshly.
“We need to work on that,” Annette said. “It’s not a priority, but that woman is blazing a trail that will make all of humanity’s lives easier going forward.”
“I’ll add it to my list,” Robin told her. “It’ll probably go in the ‘well, that’s impossible, let’s see if we can make it happen’ category.”
“I have faith,” the Duchess replied. “Speaking of your list, did you get a chance to make that call for me?”
“I did. Went better than I expected, too. I talked to Villeneuve before I came in; there’s a shuttle on its way.”
“Really? You’re more persuasive than I am,” Annette said.
“That’s why you had me call,” Robin observed with a smile.
A buzzer went off on Annette’s communicator.
“Bond,” she answered.
“Captain Tanaka’s shuttle has landed,” Wellesley told her. “She’s on her way to your office now. Imperial Marine bodyguards,” he noted. “And I mean Imperial. Tosumi.”
That was interesting. There were three species the A!Tol had, in their own opinions at least, utterly failed at properly uplifting. Their original cultures had been destroyed, absorbed into the A!Tol culture.
Outside of family and sexual relationships, there was very little cultural difference between the first three species of the A!Tol Imperium, the so-called “Imperial Races,” and the A!Tol themselves. Their original cultures were long gone, but in trade those three races held a privileged place in the Imperium’s hierarchy at the right hand of the A!Tol, who were explicitly at the top of the hierarchy.
The Tosumi, four-armed flightless avians, were the first of the Imperial Races. If the Imperial Navy had assigned Tosumi Marines to Captain Tanaka, they were making a specific point.
With a smile, Annette wondered if Captain Tanaka had recognized it.
Harriet tried to adjust her uniform as delicately as possible, hoping her four looming Imperial Marine bodyguards didn’t notice. The tight-fitting black-and-gold uniform had innumerable variations to adjust for various biped body shapes, but the version they’d put together for humans had been based on the one for the Yin.
The long tunic and high collar looked amazing on the tall, gangly aliens with their blue fur and black beaks. She was quite certain that on a short frail-boned Japanese woman, it looked ridiculous.
She got it into about as comfortable an order as the uniform could manage as they reached the door they’d been directed to, where a pair of looming humans in power armor waited. Standing in front of them in a pair of black fatigues with a fresh set of Colonel’s gold stars insignia was a man she recognized.
“Colonel Wellesley,” Harriet greeted him. “I see there are rewards for the Duchess’s service.”
“Whether one wants them or not,” the Ducal Guard’s commander agreed. “She is waiting for you, Captain. Your guards will need to remain out here, and I need to ask you to surrender your sidearm.”
One of her Marines shifted slightly, but Harriet held up her hand.
“Please, Initiate,” she told the junior officer—equivalent to an Ensign in the old UESF. “Colonel Wellesley is correct. I am far more of a potential threat to the Duchess than the other way around. Please wait here with him,” she instructed.
Turning back to Wellesley, she unhooked her plasma pistol from her belt and passed it to him.
“You’ll get it back when you leave, I promise,” he assured her. “We have rooms in the hotel for you and your guards if you want to get some rest planetside before returning to Hunter’s Horn. I get the impression it won’t be a short meeting.”
Harriet suspected she should probably decline, but the same Initiate who’d been about to protest letting her enter the office unarmed clacked his beak sharply. The gesture was equivalent to an intentional cough, a “Think about it, boss” heads-up from a junior officer commissioned from the ranks.
Senior noncommissioned officers and the mustangs they sometimes became were the same the galaxy over, it seemed.
“I may take advantage of that,” she told Wellesley. “We’ll see how long this meeting goes.”
If nothing else, it would be nice to sleep under the skies of her homeworld again, even if only for one night.
Bowing slightly, Wellesley stepped back and out of her way to let her enter the office.
Bond had changed a lot, Harriet reflected as she stepped through the door.
The blonde Duchess of Terra rose from her chair to offer her hand, allowing the Imperial Captain to study her old comrade.
Harriet had been one of the more junior battleship captains in the UESF, though she hadn’t made the rank of Captain at a particularly young age. With the various detours Bond’s career had taken, however, the Duchess was almost a decade older than she.
The last time she’d seen Bond, it had been at Tornado’s formal commissioning. She hadn’t shown her age much then, but the last year had changed her. New lines crossed her face, and a thin, faded scar ran from her forehead all the way down through her jawbone.
Even pre-conquest Terran technology rarely left scars, suggesting a truly severe injury. One that hadn’t been mentioned in even the classified briefings on Tornado’s sojourn through Imperial space.
“Have a seat, Captain,” the Duchess instructed. “While I’m not going to pretend you’re universally beloved on Earth, you are more than welcome here. The trail you are blazing is probably as important as the battle we fight here on Earth.”
Harriet frowned.
“We have our own struggles,” she said noncommittally. “My choice was personal, Your Grace. My struggles are my own; I do not expect to be remembered.”
“Your struggles, Captain, pave the way for every human who follows you into Imperial uniform,” Bond told her. “You aren’t alone in the Navy even now, but the numbers will grow exponentially over time. Each officer and enlisted eases the way for the next—but the harshest challenge is for the first.
“If humanity is to find a place for ourselves in the Imperium, then the path you are blazing will be essential.”
“I don’t pretend my choices were for a higher calling,” Harriet pointed out.
“No. You enlisted to save your son’s life,” Bond agreed. “Which, frankly, I think is more understandable than my own choice. Sadly, most of the planet disagrees.”
“You fought.”
“And I got a whole bunch of people killed who didn’t need to die,” the Duchess said calmly. Her eyes told the truth to that calm, though, a haunted emptiness to them that Harriet hadn’t seen before.
“On a happier note, I took the liberty of checking in with your son’s doctors,” Bond continued. “The treatment was a complete success and he is making a textbook recovery. From what they told me, with him being so young, he’s likely to have minimal side effects, even by Imperial standards.”
Harriet was glad she was sitting. She’d trusted the Imperium to save her son—sacrificed her honor, her marriage and her family to get the care he’d needed—but to hear it confirmed that he was all right and going to get a normal life left her sagging with relief.
“You’ll also be pleased to know,” the Duchess noted, “that the first wave of two thousand doctors will be leaving Earth to receive modern medical training in the next few weeks. Also, we’ve begun setting up a ‘clinic of last resort’ here on Earth with nonhuman doctors.
“That will be online in the next few days, capable of providing every treatment available, including the one given to your son.
“I may need people to join the Militia and the Imperial Navy for my own goals,” Bond told Harriet, “but I will not see anyone else feel they have no choice if they are to save their children.”
“I…thank you, Your Grace,” Harriet managed to get out past the overwhelming wave of relief.
“To give credit where credit’s due, Medit! had started assembling the clinic before I arrived,” the Duchess explained. “I think she felt guilty that there was no other way to get your son that treatment.”
“Doesn’t change anything for my son or me,” the Captain pointed out. Her son would have been dead by now if she hadn’t signed on.
“No, it doesn’t” Bond agreed. “Why you joined the Navy won’t be remembered. Neither of us, Captain Tanaka, is likely to be remembered fondly by history. Our job is to make sure humanity has a future from which to look down on us.”
Harriet took a deep breath, bringing her emotions slowly back under control. The meeting so far had been rather more…searing than she’d expected.
Bond simply waited, allowing her to get her composure back. The courtesy one ship’s captain allowed another, always.
“Somehow, I suspect that conversation was exactly what Tan!Shallegh was expecting when he sent me to brief you,” Harriet finally told Bond with a wry smile. “The manipulative squid.”
“He is that,” the Duchess agreed. “I’d hate him for some of what he’s pulled on me, except he is so very good at being likable. He does his job, and he’s mostly on our side. But he is very sneaky.
“Now, you had a briefing for me, Captain. I’m guessing it has something with why a Kanzi attack cruiser showed up in my system and started shooting.”
“It does,” Harriet admitted. “We’ve been running scouting patrols along the border—the old border, and the new one with Terra’s Kovius Treaty Zone. Yesterday was my second encounter with Kanzi scouts, and the eighth overall.”
“That we know of,” Bond pointed out.
“We’re missing two scout ships,” Harriet said levelly. “Most likely, they also encountered Kanzi and were destroyed. There doesn’t appear to be any specific concentration, but the fact that one of their ships entered Sol suggests you’re high on their list of potential targets.”
“So, we’re looking at war,” the Duchess replied.
“The Fleet Lord doesn’t think so. Not officially, anyway.”
“Explain.” Bond looked tired. Even older than she had before, somehow.
“The Kanzi have refused to recognize the annexation of Terra,” Harriet said. “Their official position is that Sol remains independent, and therefore they can attempt to conquer it themselves.
“Tan!Shallegh doesn’t expect them to make a formal move as the Theocracy. He expects the First Priest to be enabling one of the Clans to carry out raids on a massive scale, probably by outright giving them the ships to do so.”
“We haven’t even begun refitting the destroyers we were provided,” Bond told her. “I intend for them to be fully updated with armor and active defenses, but that will take time. How large a force are we talking about?”
That was a new discussion to Harriet. The expectation, as she understood it, was that Terra would deploy the destroyers as is. No one had been expecting them to acquire compressed-matter armor or active missile defense suites.
The old destroyers the Duchy had been given would acquire a whole new level of threat if they were upgraded to anything close to Tornado’s specifications.
“We think that they’ll stick to ships they can justify the Clan having honestly acquired,” Harriet told her. “I have a briefing note from Tan!Shallegh’s intelligence team for you as well, but the key point is we expect to see a strike force of probably twenty to thirty attack cruisers and twice that in smaller ships.”
“That would be a serious problem. An attack of that scale does become the Imperium’s responsibility, I’ll note,” Bond said with admirable calm.
“Indeed. Tan!Shallegh asked me to remind you that he cannot position Imperial warships in Ducal space without an official request.”
Bond sighed, studying her hands for a long moment.
“A request which is politically unfeasible at this point in time,” she finally admitted. “Which I’m sure the Fleet Lord is entirely aware of.
“The acceptance of the Duchy government and the Uplift department on Earth is…tenuous,” she continued. “For the moment, I think we have things together and people are willing to give us a chance.
“A return of Imperial warships to the system, however, could easily undermine that chance.”
“Of course,” Harriet agreed. “The Navy will, of course, be patrolling the area. We will attempt to intercept any major violation of the Imperium’s borders before it reaches you. We will also respond to any request for help the Duchy may send.”
“A mostly academic point until the starcom is online,” Bond pointed out. “Which I understand is a long, delicate process. The last time estimate I saw was another year.”
“I don’t pretend to understand the science,” Harriet replied. She and Bond had roughly the same exposure to A!Tol science and tech, really. She didn’t understand how much of the gear she was working with worked…but then, she hadn’t when she’d commanded a spaceship for Earth, either.
It was enough to understand what it did, not how it did it—and it apparently took almost two full Terran years to assemble and calibrate a starcom transmitter.
“None of this is a surprise to Tan!Shallegh,” she continued. “He had several suggestions to help mitigate the risks, starting with…”
Chapter Twenty-One
They’d gone through the vast majority of Harriet’s updates and briefings on Tan!Shallegh’s suggestions, and the plans to make sure Sol was defended, when a chime rang on Bond’s communicator and the Duchess checked it quickly.
From her reaction, it was something she’d been waiting for. Harriet wasn’t certain, but she thought she spotted a very immature grin flash across the face of her homeworld’s ruler.
“All right, Captain,” Bond said. “We’ve gone over most of the important things, and it turns out we have a guest waiting for you.”
A guest? There wasn’t anyone on Earth that Harriet was expecting to even want to see her.
“I need to go over much of what we’ve discussed with my Council,” Bond continued, “so I’d appreciate it if you stuck around until the morning local time. That’ll give me a chance to review your data and come to some conclusions.”
“I can do that,” Harriet admitted, still confused. “A guest?”
“I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise,” the Duchess of Earth told her with a smile that was edging into wicked.
This was not promising.
“Colonel Wellesley will escort you downstairs,” Bond continued, the words a clear dismissal even as Harriet suddenly found herself lost and confused.
The door swung open and the Ducal Guard’s commander stepped in. Something in his face left Harriet feeling more concerned, but she followed him out to the hallway.
“What’s going on, Colonel?” she demanded.
“Duchess gave strict orders,” Wellesley told her. “No warnings. Come on.”
“Colonel,” Harriet said warningly. “I don’t report to the Duchess.”
“I do,” he said. “But no one here is your enemy, Captain Tanaka. Trust us, please.”
“Fine.”
She allowed herself to be led into the elevator, which whisked them down to the lobby of the Lucky Dragon hotel. The building wasn’t seeing much in terms of ordinary guests at this point, she understood. It probably wouldn’t until the planet’s government finally managed to move out.
That meant the lobby was almost empty as she stepped out into its surprisingly unostentatious imitation of a Buddhist temple. There were only a few staff scattered around—including her four Tosumi bodyguards, she noted. They’d apparently been convinced to come down there and wait for her, which made no sense…
Then she spotted the man standing alone in the middle of the lobby, a uniformed woman with red hair standing just behind him. The officer was pointing at Harriet, and her heart stopped as she met the Japanese man’s gaze.
The last person she’d expected to see upon her return to Earth was Kenji Tanaka.
Her now ex-husband.
Fortunately, Kenji seemed about as dumbfounded as Harriet did. Her Tosumi bodyguards, clearly co-opted into this plan at some point after she’d left them outside Bond’s office, helped guide the two of them into a side meeting room.
Then, in a clearly planned movement, Colonel Wellesley and the Imperial Marines stepped outside the room and closed the door behind Harriet and the ex-husband she’d never expected to see again.
“Kenji, I…” She trailed off. She wasn’t even sure what to say.
“Duchess Bond’s office called me earlier today,” he said slowly and precisely, his gaze locked to her face. “As far as anyone knows, I’m attending an unexpected work meeting. Nakano-san will cover for me if needed.”
Nakano was the vice president of the software developer Kenji worked for. If he was in on this conspiracy…
“What about your family?”
“They are the reason for the deception. And your family, as well,” Kenji admitted. “They are all quite upset at your ‘betrayal.’”
“And Hiro?” she asked.
“With my sister,” he replied. “He is too young to understand yet. Aoi does, for which we owe her deeply.”
“There is no ‘we’ anymore, Kenji,” Harriet said quietly. “We both signed the divorce papers.”
“You left me little choice,” Kenji agreed. “I wish…” He paused, struggling.
All of the guilt that Harriet had felt for the position she’d left him in came crashing down. She hadn’t told Kenji she was enlisting. The first he had known of any of it would have been when he received her letter…and the accompanying pre-signed divorce papers.
She had brought dishonor on their family. There was no other way their parents would see her swearing fealty to Earth’s conquerors so quickly, regardless of whether or not it had saved Hiro’s life.
“There was no other way,” she said harshly. “Neither of our families would have accepted it. Including you would only have spread my failure. Would only have made it harder.”
“You made the right decision,” Kenji Tanaka told her. “I never doubted you for a moment, Harriet. I would have backed you all the way.”
Harriet winced.
“I know,” she whispered. “I wasn’t sure then, but I know. It was still better this way. It protected you and Hiro in the eyes of our families.”
“It may shock you to realize this, my love, but I am perfectly willing to lie to our families for their own good,” Kenji told her. “I wish you had asked me. That we could have talked about it—and that you could have gone off to the stars knowing that I had your back and that nothing you did could ever make me love you less.”
“Oh.”
It was a good thing the meeting room they’d been hustled into had chairs, as she sat down very suddenly. Her husband was not a physically demonstrative man, but he was suddenly there, holding her as the energy drained from her.
“I understand,” he said simply. “Aoi understands. When the time is right for us to explain everything, Hiro will understand. I swear this to you.”
She leaned against him and realized they were both crying.
“Kimi wo aishiteru,” he whispered. “Itsumo aishiteru.”
I love you. I will always love you.
“I have a room here for the night,” she finally whispered back. “Kimi wo aishiteru. We don’t have long—but the Duchess has arranged for us to have tonight.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Annette watched from the outdoor stage that had been set up in the Hong Kong Zoological and Botanical Garden as the shuttle took off for Hunter’s Horn. Captain Tanaka had been in much better cheer for their morning meeting, even if its topics had been no cheerier than the previous one.
“You enjoyed that whole setup far too much,” Zhao told her, the Chinese Party leader standing at her right hand as they waited for the arrival of the Weber Network’s Alpha Cell.
Hidden in the bushes around them was every member of the Ducal Guard, several hundred HKPD officers, and enough firepower to fight a small war. Annette wanted the Weber Network’s surrender to be open, public, and seen by the entire world.
She also realized that made this affair a massive target for the rogues Commodore Joseph Anderson had secreted away.
“I did,” she answered Zhao’s question. “Someone should get a happy ending out of this goddamn mess, and Captain Tanaka has been tarred with an unfair brush.”
“And because she’s borne it, the poor bastards we have to send to the Navy with our purchased capital ships don’t have to,” Zhao said. “We owe her, I agree. I still think you enjoyed it. Living vicariously, Duchess Bond?”
“Like I said,” Annette told him, “someone has to get a happy ending.”
“There’s a few of those on the block,” the big man replied. “Mine’s easy: all I need is a good chef and a challenge.”
“Well then, you’re sorted,” she laughed. “I don’t know if the rest of us are so easy.”
“You lot have sex drives,” Zhao told her. “Used to think not having one was a pain in the ass, but then I spent a lifetime using everyone else’s against them.”
“Look professional,” Annette ordered as Robin joined them on the stage. “If Jess is here, the cameras are following.”
“Yep,” the gorgeous young woman agreed. “Everything you say and do is going live to the entire world as of about thirty seconds from now. If you need to scratch an itch, get it over with now.”
Annette stretched her neck to clear her head, then pasted on a professional smile as she saw the press corps coalesce through the security. A crowd was gathering beyond the cordon of uniformed HKPD officers but not pressing hard enough for anyone to need to send in power armor.
So far, everything was looking peaceful. She’d leave keeping it that way to Wellesley—her job today involved the motorcade that came rolling up the hill as the cameras turned to watch.
Two HKPD vehicles led the way, followed by six of the standard black sedans that had changed motors and designs over the centuries but still served the world’s governments well, then two more HKPD vehicles.
Adrian Salvatore stepped out of the lead car, dressed in the uniform of the Special Space Service for one last duty. He’d accepted her offer of employment in the Guard…effective tomorrow. Today, he had one last job for the organization that no longer existed.
More SSS uniformed troopers stepped out. All of them had been vetted by both her people and Alpha Cell. They were men and women Wellesley trusted—and they were hard, competent men and women.
They took their job seriously, sweeping the zone around the motorcade and interfacing with the Ducal Guard and HKPD before they let their charges leave the safety of the armored cars.
Finally, three men and two women in full white United Earth Space Force dress uniform emerged. They were a small ocean of gold braid, each with a little half-cape that Annette thought was utterly silly. Between the six of them, there were ten stars, marking two Vice and three Rear Admirals of the UESF.
They followed the open path through security up toward Annette with level tread, James Mandela leading the way. At the base of the stage, they met Admiral Villeneuve.
Villeneuve had designed the dress uniform of the Duchy of Terra Militia himself—and Annette suspected it had been born of daydreams back when he had been a UESF Admiral. It was the same shade of brilliant white but with gold piping instead of braid, a lower collar, a more comfortable cut…and not a cape in sight.
All five members of Alpha Cell saluted their old commanding officer and fell in behind him as they parade-marched up to the stage.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” Annette greeted them, well aware her words were being carried across the world. She would find out later how many people were watching. She did not want to know right now.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “Suffice to say I know how difficult it is to stand where you are today. I appreciate the trust and honor you have shown on behalf of the Weber Network and the United Earth Space Force.”
“You would know, wouldn’t you?” Mandela asked rhetorically. “It isn’t easy.”
“If it was easy, it wouldn’t have taken this long or this much heartache,” Annette reminded him. “Shall we, Admiral Mandela?”
There were documents and plans, but most of those had been sorted. There’d been almost a week of discussion of exactly what form today’s ceremony would take, and the decision had been to be very public and very simple.
“The United Earth Space Force placed in our hands”—Mandela gestured at the admirals around him—“the sacred trust of preparing Earth for a resistance in the case of an alien invasion. We created the Weber Protocols, which, when activated, created the Weber Network.
“We understood that the Network would face a long, difficult fight. But we also knew that there would be a point when we would have to decide whether or not that fight was worth it.”
They could hear the murmuring of the crowd across the security cordon. It wasn’t hostile yet, but it could easily swing either way.
“When you returned to Earth, having bought us a portion of independence, the Network was faced with a harsh choice: which was more important? The appearance of liberty or the truth of liberty?
“Was it better for the Network to accept a partial victory, self-governance inside a structure that would help defend and uplift Earth, or to fight a scorched-earth campaign to hold to a perfect ideal of a free Earth? A free Earth that we now understood would be cripplingly vulnerable in the face of a hostile galaxy?”
Mandela spread his hands wide, facing the camera even as he theoretically spoke to Annette.
“We chose to give you time,” he admitted. “To see how much of what you promised was truth versus ideals or lies—to keep our options open to bring you to heel if you failed to keep your promises.”
He sighed theatrically.
“And then rogue elements within our ranks decided that the scorched-earth campaign was the only legitimate option. They murdered men and women trying to serve Earth as they always had. Murdered innocent bystanders—and took hostage the family members of those who wouldn’t stand with them.
“Faced with betrayal, we turned to the only force that could save the families we swore to protect. You.”
The crowd was silent now and Annette hoped that was a hopeful sign.
“You treated us with honor,” Mandela said loudly. “You stood with us against our own failures and you fulfilled our oaths for us.
“To fight you now would be to dishonor ourselves and the sacred trust we were given. Humanity must go forward united, as one people.”
Annette faced him squarely and bowed her head to the Admiral, both of them blinking against the noon sun.
“Duchess Annette Bond, we offer the surrender of the Weber Network. Its personnel, resources, and data files are yours to do with as you choose.”
“Your surrender is accepted,” she told him. “Your resources and data files will be absorbed into the Duchy to help support the defense of humanity—exactly as they were put aside to do. Your people will be recognized as UESF crew and officers and hence qualify for the same Imperial Pension extended to all of Earth’s military personnel.”
Mercy was the word today. Anyone who still fought would be crushed, but most of the Weber Network would now quietly disappear, just as the literally unimaginable numbers of soldiers, airmen and seamen pensioned off after the invasion had.
A reliable ability to take care of one’s family was a powerful shield against extremism.
She faced the cameras herself, drawing strength from both Zhao and Villeneuve’s solid presences.
“We are all human,” she told her people. “In victory, magnanimous. In peace, vigilant. In defeat, unified.
“I promise you truth, honor, and justice. I don’t promise you’ll like any of these things,” Annette said with a chuckle, “but they are what you will get from me.
“Today we stand united. We may stand under the shade of a taller tree, but we stand nonetheless. Do not forget this.
“Thank you, Admiral Mandela.”
He nodded to her, knowing as well as she did that her speech was no more addressed to him than his had been to her.
Hopefully, their words had been heard—Earth needed peace at home if they were to survive what she’d been warned was coming.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sier was waiting for Harriet as she strode back onto Hunter’s Horn’s bridge. Her XO looked at her quizzically, tilting his head and angling his beak in a gesture she hadn’t seen from the Yin before as he studied her.
She knew perfectly well that she was glowing and any human in Sier’s position would have been able to guess her previous night’s activities without much effort. From his unusual reaction to her, the alien might not be having an easy a time of it…but he suspected something.
“You are looking…well, Captain,” he finally said, rising from the command chair and gesturing her to it. “Your visit home agreed with you?”
“It did,” she confirmed. “Not least, Commander, in the assurance that it remains home despite my fears.”
“I had the privilege as a child to hear Fleet Lord Aris speak,” her executive officer said slowly. “He was very old for a Yin then—it was one of the last speeches he gave before his death, in fact— but he was the first of my species to ever enter the Imperial Navy.
“He told us he thought he’d flown too wide a ravine to return home when he joined. That putting on the uniform of the new masters of our wings would bar him forever from our skies. Aris regarded the fact that he’d been able to come home—that he was invited to speak to flocks of younglings—as the greatest reward for his service.”
“Your people saw the advantages of Imperial membership immediately, as I recall,” Harriet replied. “There wasn’t even a battle above Yin.”
“Indeed,” Sier confirmed, his alien eyes lost in the hologram of the Sol system that filled the bridge. “And it was still ten long-cycles after he retired before Aris was invited home. You are luckier than you think, Captain.”
Harriet hadn’t known that. She’d looked up Aris’s career, among others who’d been the first of their species in the Imperial Navy, and he’d been phenomenally successful. He’d commanded a super-battleship squadron during the last war against the Kanzi and was credited with turning the tide in several critical battles.
He was a hero to the Imperium. She hadn’t realized just how long it had taken for him to go home after that.
“What’s our status?” she finally asked, pushing aside those worries.
“We’ve replaced the sensors and other externalities that were damaged on the hull, and rewired the damaged shield generators,” the Yin reported. “We are at seventy-six percent of our full missile load, but the Duchy has refilled our fuel tanks.
“Sol StarCom had some further messages that arrived after our scheduled arrival time,” he continued. “I’ve relayed them to your office; I believe they may contain our new orders.”
“Thank you, Sier,” she told him. “If you can hold down the fort here, I’ll go see what our lords and masters require.”
He gave her a different quizzical look now, but then got the essence of the idiom.
“I hold the command,” he said formally.
Harriet’s steward, a smaller Tosumi named Onda Sel Mir, had clearly spotted her Captain headed for the office attached to the bridge. No sooner had Harriet sat down at her desk, sighing in relief as the chair automatically contoured to her, than the green- and red-feathered steward entered behind her with a steaming pot of tea.
“Thank you, Onda,” Harriet told her. Taking a sip of the tea as the steward left, she brought up the starcom messages that had been sent.
While both starcom transmitters and receivers were a nightmare to build, starcom transmitters were locked to the location they were calibrated to. Receivers could be moved without losing function.
Of course, they remained massive pieces of equipment, so only Navy capital ships mounted truly mobile receivers. The Imperium built a small but steady stream of prefabricated receivers that could be delivered by freighter and set up, however, and one of those had been delivered to Sol before the defending battleships withdrew.
The messages waiting for Harriet included a number of the usual standard updates sent out to every ship on a regular basis, a few reports forwarded by Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh’s staff, and a video message from the Fleet Lord himself.
She played the message.
“Captain Tanaka,” Tan!Shallegh greeted her. His skin was a deep black-green, a shade she’d rarely seen on A!Tol. Her training suggested he was afraid but determined. Some news had clearly seriously shaken the Fleet Lord.
“Since you left Kimar, we have confirmed two more ships as overdue and presumed lost,” he told her. “That brings the total to four, making the last few five-cycles one of the deadliest ‘peacetime’ periods in the last hundred long-cycles.
“I’m sending out follow-up ships to make sure this is not simply a coincidental series of maintenance failures. At Sol, you are closest to where Shadowed Currents went missing. Captain Alles’s course and patrol pattern will be forwarded in a follow-up message by my staff.
“You will need to follow Shadowed Currents’ patrol path and locate any evidence of her fate. You are not to engage any Kanzi forces. If at all possible, Captain, you are to avoid detection.
“Above all else, you are not to risk the destruction of your ship. We need to know what’s happening, Captain Tanaka, and more dead ships won’t answer that question.”
Harriet shook her head at those instructions. Apparently, after her last patrol, the Fleet Lord thought she was going to go looking for fights.
“Leave your report with the starcom receiver crew. We have a destroyer flying escort for an Indiri shipbuilder delegation that will arrive in Sol ten to fifteen cycles from today. They will deliver any communication needed back to Kimar.”
“Good luck, Captain. Report back as soon as possible.”
The recording ended and Harriet studied the directory for a long moment, then sighed.
The Fleet Lord needed to know what had happened in Sol, and since her orders didn’t really give her any leeway, that meant she needed to borrow one of the Duchy’s ships.
Admiral Villeneuve took her call with gratifying alacrity, the old Admiral still in his dress uniform from the ceremony earlier in the day.
“Captain Tanaka,” he greeted her cheerfully. “How may I assist you? I expected to see you heading out shortly to report to Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh.”
“That was my intent, but I’ve been ordered out on a search-and-rescue sweep for a missing Imperial cruiser,” she told him. “While I don’t disagree with that mission, I agree that the Imperial Navy has to be informed of what happened here.
“I need to borrow one of your ships to act as a courier, Admiral.”
Villeneuve was silent for a moment, clearly considering.
“The Duchy of Terra only has three warships at the moment, Captain,” he pointed out delicately. “We have no courier ships, though several are on order. I would need to send a destroyer to deliver your message.”
“I know, Admiral, but I don’t believe any other ships will be visiting Sol in the near future that will allow the Fleet Lord to be informed in a timely fashion—and he needs to know about the attack on Sol.”
She smiled humorlessly.
“You could say it was in your own best interests to accommodate me, Admiral.”
“I could,” he agreed. “I even would, Captain. Though I’m also very much looking forward to having those courier ships, I don’t see any alternative. I’ll talk to Captain Lougheed aboard Washington. Give me about half an hour to bring him up to speed, then forward your reports and any other information you need sent to Kimar to him.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Harriet told him. Technically, as an Imperial starship commander, she had the authority to order the Militia to comply, but she doubted that was ever a good idea—and especially not for her when dealing with Earth’s Militia.
“We’re all on the same side, n’est-ce pas, Captain? The Duchess refuses to let me forget that.
“If you need any assistance before heading out on your sweep, we’d be glad to provide it.”
She hesitated for a moment, then shrugged.
“We could use a missile restock if you have them to spare,” she admitted.
“Captain Tanaka, we are a mere Militia,” Villeneuve told her. “Our missiles pale in comparison to those provided by the Imperium to its Navy.”
“Admiral, I saw Tornado in action,” she replied. “Those were modern missiles.”
“Tornado’s missiles are a limited stockpile,” he admitted. “Our production line isn’t scheduled to come online for a few more weeks. I can provide you with point seven cee missiles from the stocks we were given for the destroyers, but our supply of truly modern weapons is currently very limited.”
“Those are better than nothing,” Harriet accepted after a moment. She hadn’t missed the implication that the Duchy of Terra had every intent of building modern missiles, something she didn’t think they’d been officially given the schematics for. The source of the schematics they clearly had, and the consequences of Sol having that capability, however, were above her pay grade.
Thankfully.
“I’ll speak to the crew on Defense One,” Villeneuve promised. “We’ll have a full reload ready for you in a few hours.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
“A bit different from the last time we came out of hyperspace, isn’t it?” Warner asked Andrew as the hyper portal began to take shape in front of them.
“Still expecting A!Tol battleships on the other side,” Washington’s Captain pointed out, but he knew exactly what his XO meant. Andrew was relaxed in the command chair, studying the holographic image of the portal, not on the edge of his seat watching a dozen automated freighters pass through ahead of them.
“This time, we know they won’t shoot at us,” the other man replied. Warner had made that tense transition back into Sol, escorting thousands of rescued slaves, aboard Oaths of Secrecy instead of Of Course We’re Coming Back, but he’d been there nonetheless.
“And we know we can take more than, oh, five hits,” Andrew noted. The two Terran-built scout ships had been armed by the time they’d come home, but they hadn’t acquired more than rudimentary shields or defenses.
Washington was a destroyer, not a scout ship, and her shields could probably take a full salvo from even a battleship. She couldn’t take a second salvo, or survive even one pass with one of the Imperium’s super-battleships, but she was far more survivable than Andrew’s last command.
“Portal active,” Arendse reported. “Normal space in…five seconds.”
The three-hundred-meter-long, half-million-ton destroyer hit the portal at a gentle forty percent of lightspeed, passing her entire bulk through the tear in reality in a fraction of a second that barely registered to human senses beyond a momentary sense of discomfort.
“Welcome to the Kimar system,” Andrew’s navigator reported.
“We’re only the second Terran ship to ever visit this system,” Andrew told his bridge crew. “And Duchess Bond’s visit was…less congenial. Feast your eyes, ladies and gentlemen.”
Kimar was a busy system with seven planets, one of them a gas giant. The fleet base was split between the fueling depots and logistics infrastructure built over the gas giant and the command station orbiting over the third planet, the only populated world in the system.
“We’re here to speak with the Fleet Lord,” Andrew told his crew. “Any guesses?”
“Fifty-fifty he’s either on the command station above Kimar Three or aboard his flagship with the fleet,” Warner replied. He studied the hologram plot and swallowed. “That is one hell of a fleet.”
Andrew nodded in agreement as the numbers started filling in.
Eight super-battleships, two kilometers long, a kilometer wide and fifteen million tons.
Eight fast battleships, what Bond had designated battlecruisers after her duel with one during one of their pirate raids. Eight hundred meters long, three hundred meters wide, four million tons without compressed-matter armor.
A full squadron, sixteen strong, of regular battleships. Ten-million-ton ships fifteen hundred meters long and eight hundred wide, the workhorses of the Imperial Navy’s capital fleet.
The battleships caught his eye and he studied them more carefully for a moment.
“Is it just me, or are the battleships reorganizing?” he asked quietly.
Warner joined him in his study.
“Looks like the battleship squadron, a squadron of logistic ships and about fifty of the lighter warships are pulled off to the side here, yeah,” the XO agreed. “Preparing to move out?”
“That would my guess as well,” Andrew said. “Arendse, set your course to intercept that squadron and forward our IFF to the command station and the orbital fleet base.
“I’m guessing that if half of Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh’s fleet is moving out, that’s where the squid is.”
Power-armored Imperial Marines were always intimidating, but there was an extra layer of terrifying, at least to Andrew Lougheed, to A!Tol Marines. The tentacled aliens touched something atavistic in the human brain, and wrapping every inch of their form in articulated plating didn’t help.
Neither did the fact that A!Tol Marines were inevitably female and therefore a minimum of two and a half meters tall before you wrapped them in power armor.
Three of the armored behemoths guided Andrew through the brightly lit, starkly clean corridors of the battleship toward Tan!Shallegh’s office. They spent the time politely asking him about Earth and, by the time they reached the Fleet Lord’s office, comparing Andrew’s home Rocky Mountains to several mountain ranges on A!To.
“The Fleet Lord has split the currents for you,” the leader told him as they reached the office. “These are strong tides right now, but he will speak with you.”
Complex and powerful as the translator technology Earth had inherited from the Imperium was, it still had issues with idiom. Andrew caught their meaning, however—Tan!Shallegh was very busy right now but had made time for the Terran Captain.
“Thank you, Initiate,” he told the Marine as the door slid open to admit him.
“Come in, Captain Lougheed,” Tan!Shallegh ordered. The A!Tol was smaller than the Marines, barely two meters tall and clad in a black leather harness bearing the insignia of his rank. “Welcome aboard Shield of Innocents.”
The alien stood at the far end of the office, studying a massive holographic display of the local section of the Imperium.
“Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh,” Andrew greeted, coming crisply to attention and saluting. “Captain Tanaka asked us to deliver her report as a matter of highest urgency.”
Tan!Shallegh didn’t respond for a moment, still studying the map, then turned around, his black eyes unsettling as they met Andrew’s gaze. His skin was a faded green, but sparks of both blue and black flickered through as the flag officer approached him.
Andrew wished he’d paid more attention to the briefings on what the skin colors meant.
“What happened?” he asked simply. “Captain Tanaka was supposed to provide a briefing to Dan!Annette, a task that does not require a report.”
“Her full report has been downloaded to your flagship’s computer,” Andrew told him. “But Captain Tanaka’s ship came under fire on entering Sol from a Kanzi warship.”
The black flickers on the Fleet Lord’s skin grew more intense.
“I will review Captain Tanaka’s report, but I presume you were also present,” he said. “Summarize for me.”
“A Kanzi attack cruiser was making a stealthy approach to the Sol system when Captain Tanaka spotted them. They translated in and attempted to ambush Hunter’s Horn upon arrival in the system.
“Duchess Bond ordered Tornado to intervene and the Kanzi vessel was destroyed, with no damage to Captain Tanaka’s ship and, of course, no opportunity to pass on their scouting data.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Tan!Shallegh replied. The alien was still studying Andrew, and the Terran Captain couldn’t help but wonder what the A!Tol saw. “It could be worse, but this is not good news.”
“Captain Tanaka felt you needed to know as quickly as possible. We agreed, hence my presence.”
“The Duchy of Terra’s willingness to cooperate is appreciated,” the Fleet Lord said, the translator softening his voice in recognition of emotion Andrew couldn’t read. “We will of course compensate the Duchy both for your time and fuel and for the munitions used in Tornado’s rescue of Hunter’s Horn.
“Even without reviewing the report, I suspect that Captain Tanaka would have been in serious trouble without your intervention.”
“Thank you, Fleet Lord.”
“Inform Duchess Bond that the Navy remains aware of the threat to Sol and is both monitoring the situation and taking several of the steps Captain Tanaka would have discussed with her.”
“Is that why part of your fleet is moving?”
A flash of red—hopefully not anger!—flickered across the alien’s skin.
“Indeed, Captain Lougheed,” the Fleet Lord told him. “Rest assured, the Imperium remains responsible for the Duchy of Terra’s ultimate security. We have not forgotten that duty and we will not fail in that charge.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
While negotiations continued with several of Hong Kong’s premier landlords around acquiring a building for the Duchy’s government, Annette continued to monopolize the Lucky Dragon Hotel.
She’d seen what they were paying for the privilege. Even if Zhao hadn’t been one of the main shareholders, no one involved in the chain was complaining.
Taking over an entire hotel, however, gave Annette a lot of space to put up guests, so it wasn’t entirely a surprise when a four-year-old’s shriek of “Auntie Annette!” tore through the lobby, shortly followed by a tiny blonde missile.
The pair of Ducal Guardsmen trailing her even here knew better than to get in the way, and Annette scooped up Morgan Casimir carefully as the little girl reached her.
“Good to see you, kid,” she told the child. “Where’s your father?”
“Still outside,” Morgan said cheerfully. “He’s sooo slow. Thinks you don’t love him anymore.”
“Morgan!” a scandalized voice said as a very British-looking middle-aged woman in a prim black dress hurried through the hotel doors, one of Casimir’s private security men trailing in her wake.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said crisply. “I wasn’t expecting her to take off like that! Morgan, you need to show the Duchess some respect.”
“Miss, I’ve changed her diapers; I think it’s okay,” Annette told the nanny. She didn’t recognize the woman—she wasn’t the pretty young woman they’d pulled out of the Weber Network’s cells.
“Still, there are proprieties to observe. I am Miss Lovecraft, her new nanny. Come here, Morgan.”
Morgan clung even more tightly to Annette, who suspected that the girl was going to have another new nanny in very short order.
“Her Grace has seen far worse from Morgan, my dear Amanda,” Elon Casimir told the woman as he stepped through the door behind the nanny, trailed by another pair of private security and a pair of men awkwardly dressed in suits the way only engineers could be.
Casimir himself, despite being an engineer by inclination and trade, wore his perfectly tailored gray suit like he’d been born in it. Annette took a private moment to enjoy the sight, then suppressed any further reaction as she gently lowered Morgan to the ground.
“Where’s Anna?” she asked Casimir, watching the little girl grudgingly allow herself to be corralled by Lovecraft.
“She was hired to be the caretaker of a multibillionaire’s child,” he said quietly, “not watch men and women be killed in front of her. She resigned once the immediate crisis was over—and I don’t begrudge her for a second.
“Anna did far more than she was hired or paid for. I owe her more than money, more than any contract can oblige me. She somehow brought my daughter through that disaster with her heart and soul intact.” He smiled. “She got a very generous severance package and instructions to call me if she ever needed anything.”
“Anderson has a lot to answer for,” Annette agreed quietly. “We’re trying to find him, but he’s crawled into a hole and pulled it shut behind him.”
“He’ll come out, Annette,” Casimir warned her. “And your people will need to be ready.”
“They will be,” she promised. “Will Nilsson be joining us?”
“His plane was delayed by weather; he should be about twenty minutes behind me,” Casimir replied. “We’ll be ready to present to your Council on time, Your Grace. I promise.
“And if we’re not?” He shrugged. “I am many things, my dear Duchess, but I will never be a waste of your time.”
By now, the conference room was starting to fit Annette’s Council like a well-worn piece of clothing. All of her Councilors had preferred seats, and their preferred drinks were waiting for them as they took them, the hotel staff having picked up on everyone’s tastes by now.
Annette sipped on her own black coffee as Casimir and Nilsson linked a portable computer into the hologram display, the two engineers with them taking up silent flanking positions as the executives completed their prep.
“All right,” Casimir said as the hologram flickered to life with an image of one of the A!Tol destroyers the Militia had received.
“Everyone here knows who I am,” he said without a hint of arrogance, “and who Tomlin here is. These two gentlemen are Kyle Hammond and Dilip Narang. They are our top starship engineers and the poor bastards who’ve spent the last three weeks locked in a room with me, working through what we’re now calling the Sword and Buckler defensive systems.
“You’re all familiar, I hope, with the A!Tol City-class destroyer,” Casimir continued, gesturing at the hologram hovering in the middle of the room. “Three hundred meters long, one hundred and twenty wide, elegance, speed, and danger personified in steel and fusion power plants.”
The ship had a bullet-shaped central core from which a number of nacelles and other surfaces extended, a design that in many ways made the ship resemble its A!Tol designers.
“It’s also very clearly a ship designed with its shield as its primary defense,” he noted. “A lot of surface area, intended to radiate heat and mount weapon systems, irrelevant to your defense when you have a spherical shield against any attack.
“After some careful analysis of the specifications and dimensions, we believe we can produce compressed-matter plating to armor the Cities,” he concluded. “That alone will dramatically increase their survivability, but Duchess Bond charged us to create a more active defense for the Duchy’s ships.”
The destroyer shrank to one end of the table and a new object appeared, an oddly shaped drone with four “petals” around a central core. Annette recognized the deadly rainshower defender drone the Laians had installed on Tornado for her.
“We were given one of Tornado’s missile defense drones to study,” Casimir told them. “After a surface analysis, we realized there was no point in dismantling it. The rainshower defender’s plasma-weapon technology is so far beyond even A!Tol plasma weaponry that we don’t even begin to have the tools to duplicate it.
“The concept, however, we could work with.”
The rainshower defender shrank off to join the destroyer, replaced by a much less decorative design, resembling nothing so much as a flying saucer from an old SF movie.
“Ladies, gentlemen, this is the Buckler defense drone,” Nova Industries’ restored CEO told them quietly. “The latest generation in A!Tol hyper-dense power storage married to a rapid-cycle laser system the Indiri developed as a mining tool, and a shuttle-sized interface drive.”
Annette studied the simple-looking drone carefully.
“Capabilities?” she asked.
“A lot of its systems are based on the versions the Imperium uses for assault shuttles,” Casimir replied. “Sensors can track missiles at about one million kilometers; longer-range engagement will require the mothership to feed them telemetry. The laser can damage a missile up to about two million kilometers, but the true effective range is only about two light-seconds.
“The Buckler carries six lasers, each cycling once every two point five seconds. It has a two-hour operating life before needing to be recalled and recharged. Without sacrificing any material armament, we believe we can mount six of these on a City-class hull for ready deployment. More could be stored inside the ship, as they will likely suffer a high degree of attrition.”
“Impressive,” Villeneuve said. “How do they stack up to the rainshower defenders?”
Casimir gestured to Narang, who stepped forward to answer the question.
“We ran live tests with the prototypes and the rainshower drone we were given,” he said slowly. “The rainshower drones are…flashy. They’re overpowered for their designed purpose. The Buckler drone doesn’t have the same offensive uses that a rainshower defender can provide but is approximately ninety-six percent as effective as a defensive platform.”
Annette managed not to whistle. The rainshower platforms were an extremely advanced piece of technology—like Casimir had said, even the A!Tol couldn’t duplicate them. The Imperial Navy had most of Tornado’s spare drones, in fact.
“You said this was part of a system?” she asked.
“The Buckler is a complete system on its own,” Casimir replied, “but only the first layer of the defensive suite we have designed.”
The destroyer expanded back into the middle of the screen, now with six Buckler drones floating around it, one at each cardinal point.
“As I said, we will also be mounting compressed-matter armor on the destroyers.” A faint green coating covered the ship. “This will increase the mass of the ship by approximately one hundred thousand tons, requiring a refit of the power and engine systems to maintain her speed.
“Those refits will be based on the, ah, black database we were provided,” Casimir warned. “We can refrain from them if needed, but we would lose point oh seven cee from the destroyer’s top speed.”
The interior sections of the ship where the engines and power plants were located now glowed blue inside the green armor layered onto the hull.
“We can’t afford that,” Annette told him. “Having a well-defended ship is useless if she can be outrun. We’ll take the risk, Elon. I’ll bear the consequences if we get in trouble for our stolen tech.”
“Good,” he said with a swift grin. “Because without those power upgrades, I’d be concerned about the ship’s ability to support the Sword system.”
Twelve places around the destroyer’s hull acquired dark green splotches, domed turrets mounted on top of the compressed-matter armor.
“The Sword missile defense system calls for the addition of anti-missile laser turrets to the ship,” he explained. “On a destroyer, we would be building twelve turrets, each with roughly the same capabilities as a Buckler drone but with the mothership’s power supply and sensors behind it.
“Combining the Sword and Buckler systems, I would expect to see between a seventy- and ninety-percent kill rate on missiles rated up to point eight cee,” he concluded. “That would decrease as the number of incoming missiles increased, but combined with the compressed-matter armor, the refitted City-class destroyer should be between six and eight times as survivable as the unretrofitted ship.”
The room was silent as Annette’s Council studied the design. After a moment, she heard Zhao sigh quietly, her unofficial Treasurer realizing there was no way they couldn’t justify paying whatever Casimir wanted for the refit.
“What’s the timeline?” she finally asked.
“That depends on priorities,” Casimir admitted, glancing at Nilsson. “We had instructions to prepare a yard capable of refitting an Imperial super-battleship. If we focus our yard construction efforts on that, we are limited to the four yards on BugWorks.”
“That remains the best plan,” Annette told him. They’d need those refit yards shortly.
“Then we can either do eight ships at a time, which will take two months per refit cycle, or concentrate our resources and have four ships in a month.”
She glanced at Villeneuve.
“Admiral? Your call.”
“We might have crews for four ships in a month, but without more training platforms, we’d struggle to have crews for eight in two,” he admitted. “I’ll admit I’d also prefer to have more platforms as soon as possible, both for training purposes and also to feel more comfortable in Sol’s security.”
“Four at a time, then,” Annette concluded. “Any concerns, Elon? Tomlin?”
“None,” Casimir said instantly.
“Does anyone else have questions for the Nova Industries team while we have them?” she asked.
She was unsurprised when almost her entire Council leaned forward, each with their own points to raise. She hadn’t picked her Council, after all, for being passive people.
Somehow, despite neither of them having said anything, Annette wasn’t surprised when the knock on her office door two hours after the meeting turned out to be Elon Casimir. Not least because her security would let only a very short list of people get to that door to knock without checking with her.
“Your security is tight” was the first thing Casimir said as he stepped through the door. “I’m guessing most people miss the microcameras and the ranged DNA scanner?”
Annette blinked in surprise.
“I didn’t know there was a ranged DNA scanner,” she pointed out.
“It’s Imperial tech,” Casimir explained. “I’ve been looking through the database we were given. They’re three, four hundred years ahead of us technologically. That impacts more than just starships and power plants.”
“Thank God for the Uplift program, or we’d be screwed trying to compete economically,” Annette admitted. “I have plans, but if they weren’t intentionally giving us a leg up…”
“We’d be utterly doomed,” the man said, taking a seat without asking. “I’m guessing your plans have something to do with why my company is building a refit yard sized for ships we don’t have and don’t expect to be able to build for ten years at least?”
“Only the Council is cleared for that,” she told him. “For now, I’d suggest being content with the vast quantity of Imperial marks Nova is getting for the job.”
Casimir sighed.
“You know, the first thing Tomlin asked after we finished our presentation was why Lebrand was on the Council and I wasn’t,” he pointed out. “There aren’t many companies bigger than Nova, and almost all of them are linked to somebody on your Council.”
“You’re not exactly unlinked to Villeneuve,” Annette pointed out, feeling more than slightly guilty.
“Villeneuve isn’t a shareholder,” Casimir pointed out. “I’m not complaining, Annette. I can understand if our…personal history is a problem.”
“The damn problem, Elon, is that I needed you to talk to me the day I landed,” she told him quietly. “They dropped me back in at the deep end, without any kind of support locally, and the one man who could have stood at my right hand and helped me start sorting this mess out was pretending he was dead.
“So, my Council was picked assuming you were dead. I’m not kicking anyone off it, so I need to decide if you add something that I don’t already have. Miyamoto and Lebrand are both engineers and corporate executives, after all.”
“Miyamoto’s people build great cars, solid ocean ships, and brilliant planes,” Casimir said calmly. “Lebrand’s have their fingers in sixty percent of the food sold on store shelves and half the household appliances on the planet.
“Neither of them or their companies has put anything in space more complicated than a communications satellite,” he concluded. “You need Nova Industries, Annette. Your ‘plan,’ unless I’m missing something, is to turn us into the premier supplier of defensive technology to the Imperial Navy, probably segueing into shipbuilding inside a decade or two.”
Annette paused carefully, studying the younger man sitting across her desk.
“Zhao is the only person on this planet I’ve even mentioned that to,” she said quietly. “Villeneuve is the only person I would have thought had enough information to guess.”
“I have almost as much data as Jean, and much as the man has had your back, I know you better than he does,” Casimir replied. “Compressed-matter armor. The Sword and Buckler systems. Those are the key to creating a unique product that can propel the Duchy’s economy forward inside an Imperium where we have no choice but to play tech catch-up.
“So, you need Nova Industries involved, which means you need Nova at the damn table,” he finished. “Annette, if you don’t want me there, fine. But Nova has to be there. Let Nilsson speak for us, but someone has to.”
He thought she didn’t want him on her Council. Morgan’s comment from earlier popped back into Annette’s head, and she suddenly smiled, studying Elon’s body language with a care she hadn’t applied for years.
“My God,” she murmured, “is Elon Casimir having a crisis of self-confidence?”
“What?” he asked, taken aback, his body language turning subtly defensive in a way no one other than Annette Bond would recognize, not now that Leanne Casimir had passed on.
“Morgan said you were afraid I didn’t love you anymore,” Annette echoed the man’s child back at him. “That shouldn’t be a factor, should it?”
Suddenly, he was no longer meeting her gaze, and the Duchess of Earth laughed like a delighted schoolgirl.
“You dear, silly man,” she told him. “I didn’t invite you to be on my Council, because I couldn’t decide, after we saved Morgan and you showed up, whether I wanted to kill you or kiss you.”
“I…was never sure how much of what happened was just pity for a wounded friend,” one of the richest men on Earth half-whispered, his bravado and confidence leaching out of him. “And God knows, you were always one to do the right thing, no matter the cost to yourself.”
“Look at where we’re sitting, Elon,” she reminded him. “One right thing after another almost led me to blow up a damn sun and kill several billion people.”
“You never would have,” he told her. “Jean might have doubted, but I wouldn’t in his place. Annette Bond might be tempted, might bluff, but she could never do anything but the right thing.”
“And what’s the right thing now, if you’re oh so wise?” she asked.
“If I knew that, Annette, I wouldn’t be sitting here like a teenager with a crush, babbling because I can’t find the right words,” he replied. “If I thought us being apart was the right thing, I’d have sent Nilsson to give the presentation, because I’m not sure I can sit in the same room as you for multiple meetings and not shove my foot in it.”
“If it makes you feel better, I have decided I don’t want to kill you,” Annette pointed out.
“Oh.”
The office was suddenly much smaller and warmer, an entire layer of stress vanishing as Elon interpreted her statement. Correctly. He was a very smart man.
“I, um, may have packed the rope we bought in Dubai,” he admitted.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Later, once they had become thoroughly reacquainted in the hotel penthouse Annette was currently living in, she watched him study her room with the unstoppable curiosity that had always driven him.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s a nice hotel room,” he told her. “A very nice hotel room. But last time I checked, you were the ruler of the planet. This is the best you can do?”
“I didn’t take the Duchy to enrich myself or for my own benefit,” she pointed out, leaning on her hand and watching him. “The hotel has served our needs so far, though I think we’ve finally concluded negotiations to buy out a building downtown.”
“That serves the Duchy’s needs,” he replied. “What about yours?”
She glanced around.
“Four walls,” she pointed out. “A bed. A four-poster bed,” she noted, with a smile that managed to make Elon blush. “A closet for my clothes. A mirror.
“What more do I need? I was a starship captain, Elon. This isn’t notably smaller than the Captain’s cabin aboard Tornado.”
“You, my dear, need to acquire a taste for the finer things in life,” he pointed out.
“Like nannies?” she asked.
He sighed.
“I miss Anna,” he admitted. “Amanda Lovecraft came highly recommended, but Morgan hates her—and for more than just her not being Anna, I’ve concluded.”
“You have a very American daughter, Elon—and you managed to acquire a very British nanny. I can’t see it working.”
“No.” Elon sighed. “You know, I hate firing people. Always preferred to arrange for them to be hired away unless they seriously needed a hammer dropped, but I don’t think I’m going to have time for those kinds of games.”
“No,” Annette echoed. “If I’m pulling you into my Council, Elon, you’re going to be in the center with Zhao and Villeneuve. We have a contingent of Indiri shipbuilders arriving in two weeks for negotiations. I’m planning on keeping our side small, but if you’re on board, I’d be an idiot not to put you in that meeting.”
“Shipbuilders?” he said. “We have sixteen destroyers. Give me four months and they’ll each be able to take a Kanzi cruiser. There are two XC hulls ‘lost’ in the asteroid belt that we can retrieve once that’s done. They’re empty shells right now, and we can’t upgrade them to the standard Tornado is at, but we can make them stand up to at least that attack cruiser that came through a few weeks ago.
“Give me a year and I’ll have properly designed modern cruisers laid down. Give me ten, and you’ll be commissioning our first home-built battleship. We’ll have the rest of the Imperium begging us to sell them ships.”
“Elon,” Annette cut him off. “We need to provide the Imperial Navy eight capital ships in barely ten months.”
He stopped.
“Fully crewed and armed,” she continued. “The intent was to force us to sell compressed-matter armor technology to purchase them from the Indiri shipbuilding syndicate, allowing the Imperial Navy to control that tech.”
“So, we ’re going to sell them Sword and Buckler instead?” he asked.
“We’ll see,” she admitted. “This syndicate that’s meeting with us builds something like thirty percent of the Navy’s warships and about the same of the ships used by the Duchies. All told, the Indiri build about half of the Imperium’s warships and even more of the Duchy warships.
“They can sell us battleships, but they’re also the people who will want compressed-matter armor and the Sword and Buckler systems, so I’m hoping we can reach a deal.”
“You don’t sound enthused,” Elon said, his hand suddenly warm on her shoulder as he looked into her eyes.
“I’ve only really met one Indiri,” Annette told him. “He had a ship full of human slaves, and he’s the one who gave me this scar.” Her finger traced the thin line from her forehead to her jaw.
“They’re…damp, and strange, and unpleasant, and the last one I met took my eye. I don’t like Indiri…but we need to buy from them.”
“Then we buy from them,” Elon agreed. “Seriously? A year to produce eight battleships?”
“I keep reminding everyone that while it’s to the A!Tol’s advantage for us to be economically and militarily strong, they are not necessarily our friends. They’re in this for the Imperium—upgrading our tech base and uplifting our economy is an investment, one they expect to make the Imperium stronger.
“But if they think the best way to make something happen is to screw us, they will.”
Elon sighed.
“And if we pull it off, shucks, they still get eight battleships.”
“Exactly.”
He chuckled.
“No wonder you’re stressed. Here, let me rub your shoulders.”
That went exactly where she suspected he’d intended.
To Annette’s mild annoyance, no one seemed at all surprised when Elon joined them for her morning briefing. The hotel staff promptly added an extra chair to the meeting room where her “inner circle” had gathered, but Zhao, Villeneuve, Robin and Lebrand all seemed completely unperturbed by his arrival.
“Were Elon and I the only people who weren’t expecting this?” she asked exasperatedly after the staff had poured coffees and withdrawn.
Lebrand chuckled, the American industrialist grinning widely.
“Well, I was only expecting him to join the Council and your core advisors,” he admitted, “but from the sounds of it, I missed something more.”
“Villeneuve and I had a bet,” Zhao told her. If the big man was grinning as widely as it sounded, she couldn’t tell behind the croissant he was eating. “Sadly, he won. I figured one of you would crack and seek the other out about a week ago.”
“You’re both too stubborn for that,” the Admiral said calmly. “L’amour overcomes, but with that level of stubborn American on both sides? It takes time.”
Robin laughed, the press secretary shaking her head. Despite this being a private informal meeting, she still had her hair and makeup done to a level Annette wasn’t sure she could get to. Worse, she’d now discovered that Robin didn’t have a staff. The woman managed it entirely on her own.
“I’ve had a press release written up announcing Mr. Casimir’s addition to the Council since we learned he was alive, Your Grace,” she said.
“Great,” Annette drawled at them. “All right, Jess. Throw that press release together with the list of official portfolios for the Council, including Elon as Councilor for Space Industry, and we’ll kill a bunch of birds with one stone.”
“Is it too late to ask for ‘anything but the Treasury’?” Zhao asked.
“Has been for weeks, Li,” Annette told him sweetly. “Ever since you started doing the actual job.
“Karl, you get Councilor for the Americas. Miyamoto gets Asian Industry, the elder Wellesley gets Europe, and Mandela gets Africa. The four of you will need to coordinate with Casimir on economic and industrial affairs, but you’ve already been doing that.”
The billionaire nodded seriously.
“There’s no surprises in the portfolios,” Annette continued. “Everyone gets the title for the job they’re doing. I’ve had the list together for a week; we just haven’t had time to make the formal announcement.”
She was learning to delegate, but the A!Tol policy to remove all levels of government above the municipal had left the Duchy with a lot of headaches that needed to be argued about and settled.
“Nash would be with us,” she continued, “but he’s in Geneva right now, laying the groundwork for the elections.”
“Oh, good,” Zhao responded. “You’re not up for election; who is?”
“The current round will be for our Representative to the House of Races,” Annette noted. “We need to send our Species Representative and our Duchy Representative by the end of this long-cycle, which gives us four more months to run the election for the House of Races.
“I’ll be appointing the Duchy Representative,” she said firmly. “We’ll use this as a practice run for global elections, to be followed in the ensuing six months by our electing ten Representatives to the House of Worlds.”
“One per billion people?” Lebrand asked.
“Exactly. Once those elections are done, we’ll have twelve people on A!To to represent Terra and humanity at the highest levels of the Imperium.”
The Imperium ran a tricameral legislature to pass law and advise the Empress. The House of Races had one member per species. The House of Duchies had one member per Duchy. The House of Worlds had one member per billion sentients, with a minimum of one per planet.
Despite the fact that the House of Worlds outnumbered the other two combined by ten to one, laws had to pass all three Houses and be confirmed by the Empress. It was…clumsy, to Annette’s eyes, but it had worked for about six centuries, as Terra measured time.
“Who are you planning as the Duchy rep?” Elon asked her.
“Nash,” she told him. “Don’t tell him yet; I want to see how he handles the Species Representative election…and who runs for that role, for that matter.”
“I can’t help but feel that we should have some degree of restriction on that,” Zhao pointed out. “Though perhaps that is simply…habit.”
“I refuse to let the Duchy become a single-party state; no offense,” Annette replied. “The Imperium doesn’t care how we select our Duchy or Species representatives, but the rules around the House of Worlds are ironclad.
“We’re better off following those rules for the House of Races as well. They require an open, transparent election with a broad franchise among adult sentients. Our only true flexibility is the age required to vote, and we would have to justify any unreasonable divider to the House of Worlds.”
“It sounds as if that decision is already made,” Elon noted.
“Eighteen,” she replied. “Most of the world’s democracies had settled on that in the twentieth century, it seems to work.”
“I see I have a lot of catching-up to do,” he replied. “Do we have minutes of the Council meetings or something?”
“Jess?” Annette passed the question over to her press secretary, the only person who’d sat in on the meetings junior enough to do something so mundane as take minutes.
“We do,” she confirmed. “Also recordings and transcripts, all classified and kept under Imperial encryption but available to Council members on request. I can provide you access to the archive.”
“It seems I’ll need it,” Elon agreed. “Thank you.”
“In hopeful news,” Zhao continued after a moment of comfortable quiet, “we may shortly be able to move out of my hotel. The owners of Wuxing Tower have accepted our latest offer, and I’ll be heading over to their offices to sign the final paperwork this afternoon.”
“You’re going to miss the guaranteed cash flow,” Annette told him.
“A little,” he confessed. “But actually having an office to stick the accountants I’m hiring in will be handy. We’re trying to administer a planet from a hotel. I have conference rooms stuffed full of cubicles, and people working from their homes.”
“What’s our timeline look like?” she asked. Wuxing Tower was the biggest skyscraper in Hong Kong, two hundred and fifty stories tall, the jewel in the crown of Hong Kong’s biggest commercial landlord.
Which meant, of course, the building was already full of tenants.
“That depends on how much money you’re going to let me throw at helping tenants move out,” Zhao admitted. “Part of the reason we managed to convince them to sell is that their penthouse tenant just moved out and they didn’t have a replacement.
“So, we can take over the top ten floors in about two weeks and lock down a quarter of the elevators for our use only. It will take us about a year to clear everybody else out, but…it’s going to take a year to put together the people we need to really run the Duchy.”
“Do what you need to, Zhao,” she told him. “But if we can have a suitably impressive penthouse meeting room ready when the Indiri shipbuilders arrive in sixteen days, that could save us a lot of headaches.”
He smiled.
“My dear, the Party may no longer run China, but it still has friends. Ask, and I shall make it happen! You’ll have something to impress our alien allies.”
“Good,” she told him. Elon cleared his throat gently and she glanced at him. He arched an eyebrow at her, and a smile flickered across her lips as she realized that she knew exactly what he meant.
“It’s also been pointed out to me that I should probably acquire a private residence of my own,” she told Zhao. “Suggestions?”
The answering grin threatened to split the man’s face.
“I have a list,” he offered.
“Li…I can guess what kind of list you have,” she replied. “I need something close to Wuxing Tower, securable by the Ducal Guard, and with a proper reinforced landing pad to handle interface-drive shuttles. Pick something from your list and sort it out.”
He nodded, then coughed delicately.
“While it is not entirely out of the question for the Duchy to purchase your personal residence,” Zhao said slowly, “it might be wiser if your personal residence belonged to you. I may need to adjust the budget…”
“Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “Let me know the price tag and it will be covered. In Imperial marks, if you please.”
Her inner circle’s confused expressions warmed her heart. It seemed that she did still have some secrets.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stealth in space was difficult at best, though shutting down the interface drive and drifting allowed some degree of it. Stealth in hyperspace was easy if you were willing to use something other than the interface drive to travel.
The interface drive itself was readily detectable in both regular and hyperspace.
Somehow managing stealth in either, however, would be undone the moment a ship passed from one to the other. A hyperspace portal was a phenomenally unstealthy thing, but there were ways to mitigate it.
Normally, the portal was conjured a light-second or more ahead of the ship and made big enough for several ships to pass through side by side.
Today, Hunter’s Horn conjured the portal less than ten kilometers in front of the cruiser, and with bare meters to spare on either side as the ship flashed through at ten percent of the speed of light.
“Portal collapsed,” Ides reported, the blue-feathered Tosumi closing his eyes in relief. “Sustained duration, point one three seconds.”
“Thank you, Lesser Commander,” Harriet told him. She waited for the sensors to sweep the system, the fifth on Shadowed Current’s nine-system patrol path. It had taken two and a half weeks for them to get this far, and it would take three more to get back to Kimar if they couldn’t find the missing ship.
She hummed softly to herself as she studied the hologram Horn’s computers were filling in. They were well into space that, while inside Sol’s Kovius Treaty Zone, would otherwise have been regarded as Kanzi territory. There was no way they could risk bringing up the drive or otherwise being obvious in their presence until they were sure the system was empty.
“I am not reading any active energy signatures,” Vaza finally reported. “There may be a stealthed recon platform or something similar floating around, but there are no active spacecraft in the system.”
“Very well,” Harriet replied. “Standard search pattern, Commander Ides,” she ordered. “Commander Vaza, let’s get some probes of our own out there. Let’s see if we can find anything.”
They hadn’t yet…but something had happened to Shadowed Currents.
“That shouldn’t be there,” Vaza announced an hour later, studying the displays at his tactical station.
“What shouldn’t, Commander?” Harriet asked. “Some degree of explanation, please?”
“I’m picking up a radiation cloud ahead of us,” he replied. “Volatile gases, micrometeors, quite the mess…”
“We can avoid it, I presume?” she asked Ides.
“Captain, it is definitely a debris field,” the tactical officer concluded before Ides can answer. “A debris field exactly where one of our ships would have flown on a scouting patrol.”
“Ah.” Harriet sighed. She hadn’t expected to find Shadowed Currents intact, but there was always some hope. “Take us in closer, Commander Ides. Keep us at a safe distance while Commander Vaza’s probes get a good look.
“We want to know if this is Shadowed Currents—but keep our sensors peeled for other threats,” she added. “Whether this is Currents or not, someone got ambushed and I would prefer not to join them.”
Despite everything she knew about stealth in space, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching Hunter’s Horn.
“Bringing the probes and sweeping the debris,” Vaza reported. The icons representing Horn’s scouting probes zoomed across the display, concentrating on the amorphous green blob the computers were drawing in to represent the debris field.
The Indiri officer made a strange ribbiting sound, a noise that didn’t dispel the comparison between the damply furred alien and an Earth frog, as the data began pouring in.
“Spectrography confirms one of ours,” he told Harriet. “Hard to get a mass reading, but from the radiation patterns, she took multiple proton beams at close range. Big proton beams, Captain.”
“How big are we talking?”
“Not a cruiser,” Vaza concluded. “Or at least not one of ours or any Kanzi cruiser we know of.”
“A capital ship,” Harriet guessed, humming thoughtfully. “We have a black-box emergency data storage aboard, correct? A secured, hardened data package that would survive with our records no matter what?”
“We do,” the Indiri confirmed. “If this was Shadowed Currents, they should have as well.” He paused, studying the debris. “Any beacon is out of power by now,” the Indiri noted. “We’ll have to sweep with the probes, check for larger pieces of debris.
“It may take some time.”
“It’s what we’re here for, Lesser Commander. So, let’s be about it.”
Twenty-seven hours.
That was how long it took them to find the black box, and by the end, Harriet had to admit that it was basically a miracle they found it.
Closer spectrographic analysis and examination of what intact debris they did find allowed them to confirm the slowly expanding debris cloud had been Shadowed Currents, destroyed some forty cycles earlier.
Over five weeks had passed since a ship identical to Hunter’s Horn had been smashed to pieces, almost entirely vaporized by point-blank fire of unimaginable power.
She’d returned to the bridge for the second time since they’d started the search and was about to call it off when Sier spotted it.
“There!” the Yin snapped loudly, his beak clacking as he pointed at one of the screens showing the feeds from the probes. “Bring probe six back around and up six degrees.”
The junior technician manning the station, one of the mushroom-like Frole, rapidly obeyed. The screen focused on the point Sier instructed, and the Yin studied it more closely as Harriet came over to join them.
“Up another degree, magnify sixteen times,” he ordered. The screen zoomed in and Harriet spotted it too. A cloud of debris, more intact than most of the pieces they’d seen of the cruiser, and in the middle of it, a black sphere.
“That’s the armored storage,” Sier concluded. “Can the probe scoop it up?”
“Not a primary function, but it has some collectors,” the tech replied. The screen shifted as the probe closed with the debris cloud, moving at a crawl by the standards of an interface-drive craft as it nudged its way through the debris, opened a vent, and neatly grabbed the sphere.
“Bring it aboard immediately,” Harriet ordered. “We need to know what happened here.”
“The hardened storage’s data is materially intact,” Sier reported as Harriet gathered her senior officers in Horn’s main briefing room, the main holographic tank in the room showing the system around them.
“It reports Shadowed Currents’ exact time of death as forty point six seven cycles ago,” he noted. “I’ve set the sensor logs to start one twentieth-cycle before that and proceed at five times speed.”
Harriet realized that the tank was showing the system forty days earlier, shortly before Shadowed Currents’ death. The cruiser in the middle of the display wasn’t Hunter’s Horn but her now-dead sister ship.
The image started moving, Currents following much the same patrol course that Horn had been on. There was no sign of problems, nothing. The system showed just as empty in the sensor logs as it did today.
“Accelerate the time,” Harriet ordered after a full minute of nothing. “Have the computers watch for anomalies and slow back to real time if it catches something.”
They’d started a twentieth-cycle before Shadowed Currents’ death, but even at ten times speed, over six minutes passed with the cruiser maintaining a quiet, normal scouting patrol.
Then the computer slowed the recording down as the cruiser passed an invisible line in space and a hyper portal ripped open directly beside her. Before anyone aboard Currents would even have been able to react, a massive shape flashed into existence and proton beams fired, ending the recording.
From the beginning of the portal forming to Shadowed Currents’ death had been under ten seconds. There’d been no warning; no one had been summoned to surrender. They had just been murdered.
“Shadowed Currents was the same class as Hunter’s Horn, correct?” Harriet asked.
“Yes, Captain.”
“Same crew complement?”
“She was Indiri-crewed instead of mixed-race, but yes,” Sier confirmed. “Five hundred and eight sentients aboard.”
Dead before most of them had even known they were attacked.
“Show me the attacker,” she ordered. “No one aboard Currents would have had a chance to look at it, but they got a full sensor sweep of the bastard.”
Sier manipulated the image, rolling time back and then freezing in the gap between the ship’s emerging and the proton beams’ firing. Shadowed Currents’ sensors had got a perfect view of the warship.
It was an ugly thing, two kilometers long according to the computer and five hundred meters wide, a multi-ended spike in space forged of black steel.
“Computer estimates the mass at nine point eight million tons,” Vaza reported, the Indiri’s mouth wide and dry in fear as he stared at the image. “We don’t have enough to be sure of class, Captain, but that is a Kanzi Theocracy Navy battleship.”
“Well, then,” Harriet said slowly. “I think I need to get back to the bridge and talk to Ides.
“We’re heading back to Kimar at maximum speed. If the Kanzi are actually bringing capital ships into this game, that changes the threat assessment—and the Fleet Lord needs to know.”
If they were very lucky, they might even make it out of the system before they found out why she felt like someone was watching them.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Li Chin Zhao had done Annette proud again with the apartment. She’d had her suspicions about how badly he’d overshot her expectations when he’d sent her the bill. Her on-planet personal resources were significant—some of the funds from her privateering days had been quietly making their way to her, and she actually received a stipend from the Imperium entirely separate from the funds paid to the Duchy.
It was more money than she thought she’d ever known what to do with, and the penthouse apartment that Zhao had picked out for her wiped out over eighty percent of her on-planet funds.
It met her requirements. The building was barely a block from Wuxing Tower and apparently had a concealed underground connection to the skyscraper dating back to the construction of the condominium building by the same builder.
There was an “empty” floor below the penthouse apartment that came with it. Anyone who tried to take the elevator to the penthouse who didn’t have the physical key or wasn’t registered in the building’s computer systems would be sent to that floor, which Wellesley had been making cooing noises over turning into a fortified barracks.
The roof above was hardened and reinforced, supporting the requested shuttle landing pad with enough space to spare for the Ducal Guard to apparently permanently park a VTOL high-altitude interceptor.
All of that, she’d asked for.
What she hadn’t asked for was a one-hundred-and-sixtieth-floor apartment that took up the entire floor with double-height ceilings, vast expanses of reinforced-beyond-bulletproof windows, built-in plots for trees, hardwood floors and stone countertops, an indoor fountain…
They’d looked over the security measures, and she’d left Wellesley behind as she took the elevator up the last floor. Now she stood in the lobby—because the apartment was grand enough that the entryway was definitely a lobby—of her new home.
The elevator opened behind her again, and she glanced back to see Elon and Morgan Casimir come through the door, accompanied by a smiling Chinese woman in a charcoal pantsuit who was presumably Lovecraft’s replacement.
“I see that Zhao has…impressive taste,” Elon noted. “I presume he arranged the furniture as well?”
“That’s what I presume,” Annette admitted. “It’s not like I had any.”
“Duchess Bond, this is Miss Mei Wan.” Elon gestured to the woman. “Morgan’s new nanny.
“Miss Wan,” he continued, “Morgan and I will be staying with the Duchess whenever we’re in Hong Kong. Do you know if there’s a staff room?”
“Zhao bought the place,” she pointed out. “At a guess, it has four.”
Wan chuckled.
“How about Morgan and I go look for rooms we like?” she asked in softly accented English.
Morgan, however, broke free and dashed over to wrap herself around Annette’s waist.
“Does this mean you’re finally going to be my mommy?” she asked.
The spike of pure unadulterated panic that blasted through Annette at that question was almost enough for her not to return the little girl’s hug. She forced down that spike and ruffled Morgan’s hair with a careful smile, though.
“It’s too early to say anything like that,” Elon said firmly. “Both Annette and I have a lot going on. No one wants to be making permanent decisions just yet.”
“Oh. Okay,” Morgan replied sadly, giving Annette one last squeeze before skipping gaily off with Miss Wan toward the bedrooms.
“You know,” Elon murmured, “a lot of people are going to start assuming she’s your heir pretty quickly. Even if we were to start trying to keep it quiet, I think half the gossip rags on the planet have already reported on us.”
“Fuck them,” Annette replied. “I will not permit my private life to be dictated by the media, Elon. Right now, regardless of any other considerations, my heir has to be a legal adult—and someone the A!Tol would trust.”
“Villeneuve, I presume,” her lover suggested.
“Of course.” She laughed. “Don’t tell him, though. Right now, the only people on the planet who know that are me, Medit!, and apparently you, who can see right through me.”
The next name on the list was Elon’s own. She wasn’t sure if he could see through her that well.
“I like the apartment,” Elon said, looking around. “A quiet, simple little place to call your own.”
Annette surveyed the space, which had cost roughly two hundred times as much as the last apartment she’d owned, and boggled at his description.
His grin suggested that he was teasing her, and she waved a warning finger in his direction.
“You know, Elon, the Imperium may ban the death penalty, but I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first Duchess to have someone quietly assassinated!”
Elon was saved from the wrath of Ducal assassins by the arrival of Li Chin Zhao, the obese man looking paler than normal and leaning on his bodyguard this morning.
“Are you all right?” Annette asked as she saw him. He looked terrible.
“I’ll live,” Zhao replied slowly, his voice more tired than usual. “Epileptic seizure. It’s a rare version. After millions in modern medicine, I still get an occasional episode.”
“Are you up for this?” she asked, nodding down the street toward Wuxing Tower. According to the starcom transmission from Kimar, the Indiri would be arriving in Sol within the hour. The timing on the closing of her apartment was useful, allowing her to collect her negotiating team in advance.
“My dear Duchess, I may be willing to show weakness to you, but I am certainly not willing to show it to our alien friends,” Zhao told her with a strained smile. “Who else will be joining us?”
“James is downstairs, inspecting security. He’ll be joining us in a few minutes. Jean is in orbit, dealing with a personnel issue around the destroyer refit,” she replied. “He’ll join us before the meeting starts, but some of the Militia people on BugWorks needed a big brass hammer to knock sense into them.”
“Let’s be fair: my people also needed sense knocked into them,” Elon pointed out. “They just believed me when I threatened to fire them by email.”
“Some of our ex-UESF people still haven’t caught up to the new reality,” Annette agreed. “Though I doubt they’d have succeeded with any of this crap before, either.”
“Likely not.” Elon glanced at Zhao. “Since I can’t imagine my daughter and my nanny are going to do less than explore every square inch of this place to ‘find themselves rooms,’ should we find seats while we go over our plans? Li looks like he needs one.”
“Thank you,” the pale man replied.
Annette was still holding some of her cards close to her chest, which meant there wasn’t much left to discuss in advance of the meeting with the shipbuilding syndicate. The “prep meeting” rapidly turned into the three of them discussing everything else going on, while drinking coffee.
The administrative details of running a world were such that “business” was inevitably the only topic when members of Annette’s Council gathered. Business varied from the perennial need to upgrade Africa’s education system to the currently recurring argument over whether the Ducal Guard, with its interface-drive assault shuttles, needed air-breathing hyperjet interceptors.
Wellesley had mostly worked everyone around to agreeing that the expanding ground forces of the Duchy needed maximum capability in all of their operating zones when Annette’s communicator buzzed.
A tap transferred the call to the hologram emitter she’d dropped on the glass-and-hardwood coffee table, popping up the image of Jean Villeneuve.
“Your Grace,” he greeted her formally. “We have hyperspace emergence at the one point five light-minute mark. We have not received an announcement hail yet, but we are reading two freighters, what appears to be a private yacht, two Imperial destroyers and six courier ships.”
“That sounds about right for our order, correct?” she asked him.
“The freighters are large enough to carry the defensive constellation, and we had six fast couriers on order,” her Admiral confirmed. “It appears to be the Indiri contingent.”
He paused as something pinged on his end.
“We have received their transmissions,” he confirmed. “It’s the Indiri House representatives. They have requested an orbit and a flight plan for their people to meet with you.”
“Send them to Wuxing Tower,” she ordered. “We’ll meet them on the roof. Make sure you’re there yourself.”
“I’ll beat them down,” Villeneuve promised.
“Well, Zhao, will they be impressed?” Annette asked her treasurer. When she’d checked out the intended conference room a few days before, the view had been spectacular, but the room itself had still been undergoing renovation.
“I can’t speak to the esthetic taste of giant frogs with red fur,” he pointed out. “I think we’ve done a fantastic job, and I’ve laid on dispersers to help keep our amphibious friends moist through the meeting.”
“I guess we shall see. Shall we be about it, gentlemen?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Almost three quarters of a kilometer into the air, the rooftop shuttle pad of Wuxing Tower had its own weather, completely different from the surface below. Of course, that weather consistently tended toward “windy and cold,” but it was different.
The designers had taken that into consideration, and five-meter-high walls surrounded the rooftop, sheltering the small garden and landing pad from the whipping winds and allowing the sun to warm up the chill air.
The Tower’s sheer height and size meant it had to be allowed to flex in the wind, resulting in a degree of sway that was somewhat disconcerting for anyone standing on the roof and made landing on the pad difficult.
With an interface-drive shuttle, however, the task was easier than it might have otherwise been. The pilot for the Indiri representatives brought the shuttle into a circling hover above the building, judging their timing for a few seconds, then dropped the spacecraft perfectly onto the landing pad.
Annette stood off to one side with her Councilors and an “honor guard” under Wellesley’s direct command. Despite the mostly ceremonial nature of the six power-armored Ducal Guardsmen, she knew that the weapons they were carrying at port arms included at least one hyper-velocity missile launcher capable of shooting the shuttle down.
Roughly a minute after the shuttle had settled to its final landing, a ramp lowered from the middle of the craft and the shipbuilders’ delegation started to exit.
The Indiri were an odd-looking race to human eyes, resembling large, meter-and-a-half-tall frogs with wide mouths, bulging eyes, and red fur they preferred to keep damp. These wore wraparound garments pinned at the shoulder, each cut from a single piece of a patterned cloth that shone with moisture.
There were twelve of them, the leading eight each wearing a large gold pin with a symbol of some kind holding their wrap together. The four trailing behind wore similar, if less complex, patterns to some of the leaders, and their pins were utilitarian in design—though still gold.
Annette’s understanding was that eight of the Indiri Houses, family-run industrial cartels, had assembled a combined negotiation team to make sure they could meet the Duchy of Terra’s needs. They’d been warned of the timeline she was under, and she suspected they probably knew as much about the maneuvering behind it as she did.
This was the first time she’d ever seen more than one Indiri together—and been able to pay attention, at least. There’d probably been several around when she’d boarded Karaz Forel’s Subjugator, but she’d been distracted.
All fit the general description of “giant frog with red fur”, but they were all different as well. Slightly different eye shapes and colors. Different mouths. Different ears. Different fur colors and patterns.
Noticing those differences, however, she also spotted the fifth Indiri off the shuttle and almost went for a weapon as, for a moment, she thought she saw Karaz Forel again.
There was no way. She’d shot Karaz Forel and left him for dead on the deck of his own ship. She might not remember doing so particularly well, as she’d been in shock from losing an eye and a lot of blood at the time, but she’d watched the footage to be sure.
The lead member of the delegation stepped past her guards and bowed to her, forcing her to recover her poise and return the gesture.
“Duchess Dan!Annette Bond, I am Lorak Pozan, Speaker of the Deep House Pozan and the senior member of this delegation,” he greeted her.
“Speaker Pozan, welcome to the Duchy of Terra,” she replied. “These are my advisors, Elon Casimir and Li Chin Zhao, the commander of my Ducal Guard, Colonel James Wellesley, and the commander of our space Militia, Admiral Jean Villeneuve.” She gestured toward the men with her as she introduced them.
“Greetings.” Pozan bowed again to Annette’s Councilors. “With me are Sang Vaza, Korei Ikil, Onra Danar, Shaza Forel, Rula Ordus, Zav Tal and Dit Mak. All are the chosen representatives of their House, authorized to negotiate on their behalf.”
So, the one who looked like Karaz Forel was apparently related to him. That didn’t exactly give Annette warm feelings—they might have fixed her eye, but the scar from the injury remained.
“Shall we head inside?” she suggested. “We’ve set up diffusers to help keep you and your staff comfortable; I imagine you will find Earth’s air uncomfortably dry.”
“We are used to it,” Pozan admitted with a muted shake of his upper torso. “We appreciate the gesture, Dan!Annette Bond. Lead the way.”
The conference room occupied the northwest corner of the top floor of Wuxing Tower, with massive glass windows on two sides showcasing the view out over the entire island. Carefully designed coatings on the glass reduced the glare of the bright sunshine to something more tolerable, leaving the light to glow gently across the rest of the room.
The two interior walls had been redone with mosaics made from stone chips. They were mostly abstract, but one wall had the sword-holding tentacle symbol of the A!Tol Imperium, and the other the old many-starred United Nations seal.
They hadn’t decided on a particular symbol for the Duchy yet, so it appeared that Zhao had picked the UN seal as something the ex-leader of China thought was appropriate. Annette found herself nodding in approval, though. Linking the new government to the old ones was essential to buying Earth’s cooperation.
A massive table of some naturally black hardwood filled the center of the room, with imported Imperial chairs that could conform to just about any body type or need. Portable diffusers, designed to gently shower an individual with a slow but steady spray of water, were set up next to the chairs set aside for the Indiri.
The whole room was moist and warm right now, the climate control set to be comfortable for their amphibious guests, not the human hosts.
Thankfully, even pre-annexation Terran tech was mostly immune to ambient water at this point. Annette’s tailored black suit was not quite so lucky, and she was already feeling damp by the time she took her seat at the head of the table and gestured her guests to their chairs.
“I appreciate you all taking the time to come this far to meet with us,” she told the Indiri. “As I’m sure you understand, the Duchy of Terra is hardly in a position to spare the people needed to negotiate this kind of deal from their duties of governance.”
“We appreciate you approaching us,” Pozan replied. “While the Indiri Deep Houses combined muster one of the largest shipbuilding complexes in the Imperium, we are hardly the only entity capable of meeting your needs.”
“Our timeline is quite tight,” she admitted. “The Deep Houses appeared to be the most likely to be able to meet our needs inside our timeline and our budget.”
Pozan’s tongue flickered, a gesture that reminded her unpleasantly of Karaz Forel.
“I am uncertain of human norms in these negotiations, so this may be rude,” he said. “But what is your budget?”
“Limited but sufficient,” Annette replied calmly. “While we would like to keep the costs as low as possible, we have resources to cover whatever we will need.”
Zhao, to his credit, managed to not audibly choke over that. They’d gone over the Duchy’s funds several times in advance of this—unless they missed their estimate, they could afford maybe two battleships.
She’d received the final confirmation of her personal off-world resources in a starcom transmission that morning. Those changed the game.
“I also understand that our pre-existing orders arrived with you?” she asked.
“Yes,” Pozan agreed slowly. “Two A!Tol Imperial Class Four defense constellations, paid for by the Imperial Navy, and six courier ships, prepaid to our A!To office. The passage crews should be offloading from the couriers as we speak, and the defense-constellation setup should begin within a few twentieth-cycles.
“It will take three cycles to complete the deployment of the constellations and link them in to your defense platforms, but it will be complete before we leave.”
“Thank you, Speaker Pozan,” Annette replied. “Those satellites will provide some much-needed security. The more we learn about where we are in the galaxy, the more Terra feels exposed out here on the frontier and the Kanzi border.”
“Indeed,” he confirmed. “If you can afford it, Duchess, we would be more than willing to sell you additional cruisers or other warships to expand your militia.”
“My desire, Speaker, is to acquire a half-echelon of capital ships for the Ducal Militia in addition to the ships we are to provide the Imperial Navy,” Annette admitted to him. “A total of twelve battleships.”
“That is…a great deal of money,” Shaza Forel noted from down the table. Despite the Indiri’s resemblance to Karaz Forel, Annette had realized that Shaza was actually female, one of five females in the delegation.
“We can, of course, arrange partial financing for the purchase,” Forel continued, her smooth words reminding Annette of a used-car salesman…and of Karaz Forel.
“That won’t be necessary,” she told the Indiri, significantly more sharply than she’d meant. For a moment, she hoped the translator hadn’t picked up her tone, but the way Forel recoiled suggested otherwise.
“How are you planning on paying for these ships?” Forel asked after a moment, her tone suddenly much sharper.
“Cash,” Annette said flatly. “Upon delivery.”
Her advisors were trying, with various degrees of success, not to stare at her in shock. Zhao was faking perfect calm. Villeneuve, on the other hand, was looking at her with a far more questioning look than anything else.
He was, after all, the only one who’d been fully briefed on what she’d done under the auspices of Operation Privateer.
“I see,” Forel allowed.
“Zav Tal, please clear the waters around our offer,” Pozan instructed after a moment, gesturing for the House Tal representative to speak.
“May I access your hologram system?” that Indiri asked. If Annette understood the gradations of fur color and so forth in the group, Zav Tal was the youngest of the eight actual representatives, and younger than two of the four staff members as well.
“Yes,” she agreed.
It was an A!Tol-built system, so Tal had no problems linking his communicator into it and bringing up the file he was transmitting.
The three-dimensional image of a standard A!Tol battleship appeared in the middle of the table, slowly rotating in mid-air as they all looked it over.
“This is an Empress A!Ana–class battleship,” Tal explained. “An older design, but still functional. Fourteen hundred meters long, six hundred and eight wide. Nine million tons.”
The design was simpler than most A!Tol capital ships Annette had seen, with only two sweeping wings instead of a dozen or more tentacle-like nacelles and protrusions. Almost ten percent smaller, too.
Armament specifications scrolled across the hologram, and she nodded slowly. The Empress A!Ana was even older than Zav Tal was implying, understrength in both beams and missiles to make up for requiring larger drive cores.
“Will the units be refitted to drive and shield standards?” she asked slowly.
“They wouldn’t meet the requirements of the Imperial Navy if not,” Tal told her. “These are older ships. They will undergo a full refit before we provide them to you.”
And then Nova Industries would refit them again. The compressed-matter armor would add another million tons, and stacking the Sword and Buckler systems on would give the old ship a decent chance against even a Kanzi super-battleship.
They weren’t perfect, but even with her private resources, she suspected twelve of them would be a strain for the Duchy of Terra to afford.
“We will need them delivered at least half a long-cycle in advance of their delivery to the Imperial Navy, as we have our own refit to complete on them,” she told them. “How quickly would you be able to deliver a first group of, say, three ships?”
Tal glanced back at Pozan, who shrugged his broad shoulders.
“These are ships we have on hand,” he told her, effectively admitting what everyone already knew: they were offering Terra refurbished warships someone else had already used. “While we will make yard space for the refits, delivering them in groups would be easiest. We could have the first three ships delivered within a few five-cycles of our returning to Indir.
“Perhaps…twenty-five cycles from today.”
That would give them nine months to make sure they got the refits right on at least the first units before they handed them over. It would also give Annette a month to actually get the money to Sol from other places.
“We can work with that,” she told him. “For the requested twelve, how much?”
She noted with interest that even Pozan glanced at Shaza Forel for that answer. In Terran terms, she suspected that while House Pozan was leading the way, House Forel was fronting much of the cash here.
Shaza Forel looked at Annette and flicked her tongue in an unpleasant-looking expression, then quoted a number.
“A minimum of ten percent deposit before we leave,” the Indiri noted as well.
Annette winced. For refurbished old ships, she was quite sure the price she’d just been quoted was highway robbery…but everyone in the conference room knew the Deep Houses had her over a barrel.
“We were led to understand,” Pozan noted after a few moments of silence, “that Terra had certain technologies that they would be able to sell us to help fund this transaction. Technologies the Imperial Navy very much wishes to see in their next generation of warships.”
She gently kicked Elon under the table before he could say a word.
“There are certain defensive technologies we are working on that the Imperial Navy does not currently have an equivalent to, yes,” she told them. “You are welcome to discuss with Nova Industries, the private company that owns those technologies, contracting to have those systems installed on Imperial ships.
“However, as Duchess of Terra, I have ruled that these technologies themselves are not permitted to be sold,” she said flatly. “All compressed-matter armor production will be performed here in Sol, as will installation of the other systems they have been working on.
“We can meet your price without sacrificing our future, Speaker Pozan,” she continued. “I would ask us to recess this meeting until tomorrow. Your delegation may want to rest after a long trip, and I need to speak with my staff as to how to arrange your deposit.”
“Of course,” Pozan said, managing a small bow despite his sitting position. “We are here until the installation of the defense constellations is complete, Duchess Bond. We will require your answer and deposit before we leave, but that gives you several cycles to find a current.”
“Thank you, Speaker.”
The Duchy of Terra’s Councilors had made their way out of the conference room when Shaza Forel rushed out after them.
“Duchess Bond,” the Indiri female called after Annette. “May I share your current for a few moments, please?”
It took her a moment to translate that to “may I have a few moments of your time?” and Annette was sorely tempted to decline. Shaza Forel looked far too much like Karaz for her to be comfortable with the other sentient.
But she’d also been quite rude to Forel in the meeting, and it seemed that the alien female had some degree of power and control over the Indiri delegation. She sighed.
“Zhao, I presume there are private meeting rooms here as well?” she asked.
“Down that hall,” her treasurer pointed instantly. “Any of the doors.”
“Very well, Representative Forel,” Annette told Shaza. “Colonel Wellesley will accompany us,” she added, waving the tall ex-SSS officer over to her.
Her guards would object if she met anyone alone, and she wasn’t going to let herself be alone with any Indiri, let alone an obvious relative of Karaz Forel!
Forel inclined her head and followed Annette down the hall into the smaller room. It was clear that Zhao’s renovation teams hadn’t made it here yet, as the chairs were older Terran models. Still capable of adjusting to the user, but not of accounting for all the myriad shapes of aliens in the Imperium.
The rest of the room was similar: luxurious but not to the same standard as the main room. The decorations were from the previous occupants, not yet updated for the planet’s government.
Shaza Forel took a seat, shifting to find a comfortable spot as the chair did its best to adapt to her body shape. For a device created without considering the possibility of giant intelligent frogs, it did surprisingly well.
Wellesley fell into “hold up the wall” position next to the door, keeping an eye on the Indiri as Annette took a seat across from her.
“How may I assist you?” she asked as politely as she could.
Forel paused, her tongue quickly flickering in and out in what Annette realized was probably a sign of discomfort.
“Your species is new to us,” she finally said. “Normally, a delegation such as this spends the trip researching culture and body language to avoid giving accidental offense.
“However, the databases for such for your race are still under construction, and I fear we missed something. I seem to have given unintentional offense, and I wanted to both apologize and ask you to clarify, so that future delegations can avoid the error.”
“Would intentional offense be acceptable then?” Annette asked.
“It is sometimes a necessary negotiating tactic,” Forel replied. “Not one we intended in this case, Duchess, so I would like to know how I can restore the currents for my offense.”
Annette sighed.
“You did nothing,” she said. That the Indiri had come across as a sleazy payday loan shark hadn’t helped, but it wouldn’t have been a problem on its own. “You reminded me of someone I did…not get along with, that is all. There was no offense.”
“An Indiri offended you in the past?” Forel asked. “Our A!To office will hear about this!”
“Not on A!To,” Annette told her with a sigh. “And not just another Indiri. Another Forel.”
Shaza Forel froze, her tongue snapping fully back into her mouth.
“Explain, please,” she said after a moment’s silence.
“Who is Karaz Forel to you, Representative?” Annette asked instead.
The Indiri was silent for at least ten seconds, her body still frozen.
“Karaz is a brood-cousin,” she said finally. “A smirch on the House’s honor.”
“A pirate, a slaver, a conspirator,” Annette concluded for her.
“I am aware of his crimes,” Forel snapped, the translator carrying her agitation more accurately than she probably wanted. “He flaunts them. Sends us recordings. Makes sure the entire Imperium knows that a scion of the Deepest Houses has betrayed our ideals and codes.
“He swims dark currents, but his path is his own. He is blood and brood, but he does not speak for House Forel!”
Alien body language didn’t translate well. The translators could pick up tone, though, and Forel’s was doing a brilliant job, but the rapid snapping of her tongue and tensing shoulders were left to Annette to interpret.
Fortunately, that kind of fight-or-flight response was among the easiest things to guess.
“He was family,” Annette corrected gently.
There was silence.
“I do not understand,” Shaza Forel finally admitted.
“Karaz Forel is dead. He gave me this”—Annette ran her finger along the scar that crossed her entire face—“and I shot him.”
“Karaz Forel is dead,” the Indiri echoed. “Strange.”
“Strange?”
“He has spent long-cycles upon long-cycles in dark currents, smearing the House’s name, and yet it is still sad to lose family,” Shaza Forel said slowly. “These are not the tides I would have expected upon learning of his death.”
“Across all species, family has strange bonds,” Annette agreed.
“Can you prove Karaz’s death?” Forel asked. “It is important.”
“James?” Annette looked at Wellesley.
“I’ll have to double-check,” her Guard commander admitted, “but we should be able to pull the helmet footage from the boarding team when we hit Subjugator. That should allow you to verify his death.
“Plus, well, we blew Subjugator to hell afterward,” the Colonel continued. “Even if he somehow survived thirty or so bullets to the torso, he was vaporized then.”
“Please forward me this footage,” Shaza Forel requested. “It is important,” she repeated. “I must speak with the rest of the delegation, Duchess Bond. Please stay the currents of your decision until we meet in the morning.
“This news may change the tides of our offer.”
Chapter Thirty
Annette found her advisors in Zhao’s office, since it was the only one in the building fully set up. Being the man in charge of the renovation team had its privileges.
Said privileges also apparently resulted in donuts in his office, which Annette was not complaining about. She grabbed one of the pastries and pulled up one of the chairs, eyeing the four men waiting for her.
Elon looked…patient. He knew her well enough to know he was going to get his answer, so he was going to wait for it.
Villeneuve looked amused. He’d obviously managed to put together just where the money was coming from, and found the whole thing entertaining.
From the confused and stressed expression on Zhao’s face, however, the Admiral hadn’t decided to share. Away from the Indiri delegation, the Chinese man had let much of his rigid self-control go, and he was leaning on his desk, eating a donut while looking absolutely shattered.
“Would someone care to explain to the poor bastard in charge of the Duchy’s finances how we are paying for this?” he asked as he finished his snack and leaned on his hands. “I’ve just about run out of energy after this morning’s seizure, so some reassurance would be helpful.”
“Can we make the deposit?” Annette asked. “Everything else is coming out of my personal resources, but I don’t have the cash on hand, so I can’t make the deposit.”
“We’ll be robbing Peter to pay Paul until the next stipend payment comes through from the Imperium, but yeah,” Zhao confirmed. “Probably easiest to borrow renminbi or US dollars from somebody and promise repayment in marks. That hideous staged exchange rate will make that a good deal for any bank paying attention.”
“Shame we can’t do that to buy ships,” Villeneuve noted. “Well, except from Nova, anyway.”
“If you try and pay me in renminbi for Imperial-grade warships, you won’t like my exchange rate,” Casimir warned. “Since the Admiral is clearly keeping your secrets, my dear Duchess, would you care to explain to the class where you got the money for a dozen battleships…and where it’s hiding that you don’t have it on hand?”
“You were all briefed on how Operation Privateer ended,” Annette replied. “Forel tried to pull me into his conspiracy to start a war with the Kanzi with miniaturized starkiller weapons. We short-circuited the conspiracy, destroyed their research, then self-destructed the weapons.
“In exchange, I got the Duchy.”
Zhao and Elon were nodding, following on so far.
“What Jean was briefed on, but you weren’t, was the entirety of our Operation Privateer activities,” she continued. “Forel tried to recruit me via bringing us in for the biggest pirate raid in recent history.
“We cleaned out an entire Imperial Navy logistics base, but the rest of the raiding fleet turned on me when Forel and I disagreed on whether or not to massacre the base crew.”
She shrugged with a sigh and an uncomfortable memory.
“Since the only people who lived, lived because we saved them, we got credit for saving them and Forel got blamed for all of the deaths, including the ones we caused,” she explained. “My crew and I were also formally pardoned for our crimes.”
“That’s where the prisoners and cargo ships you sent back to Sol came from, wasn’t it?” Elon asked.
“Yes. Two automated transports of rescued slaves and three of military cargo,” she confirmed, thinking for a moment. “What happened to the cargo ones?” she asked.
“The Weber Network managed to seize them and hide them,” Elon told her.
“They didn’t get turned over with everything else,” Villeneuve replied. “Really? The Network got them?”
“Yeah,” Annette’s lover confirmed. “If they didn’t get turned over, then Anderson has them.”
“That is going to be a headache,” she said quietly.
“What everyone, including the Imperium, seems to have forgot is that we loaded everything else at that base onto another forty transports and sent them to Tortuga.”
Tortuga, the nickname Annette had hung on an alien station whose A!Tol name was barely pronounceable to humans, was the main pirate base in the region, run by a group of exiles from a Core Power. Tortuga’s Laian Crew were the source of Tornado’s advanced technology, and they also were the enforcers of contract law aboard the station.
“Our agent there received and managed the cargo for us,” she concluded. “He’s been carefully laundering and transferring the money to me bit by bit, much of which has gone on to Tornado’s crew. My share was enough for that apartment Zhao found, and we’ve moved a miniscule fraction of the total amount.”
“Are we certain it will be enough?” Zhao asked slowly. “I’m not sure what our penalty clauses are going to be, but if we don’t have enough ships for the Navy…”
“We start losing our independence, one small chunk at a time,” Annette agreed. “I got a confirmation on the amount from our agent this morning. It’s enough.
“We’ll need to send Tornado to retrieve the money, though,” she noted. “No other ship will be allowed to approach Tortuga. I think Wellesley and Kurzman should be able to get it done.”
“Does your fierce English bodyguard know he’s being sent away?” Elon asked.
“Not yet. He’ll cooperate, though. He was SSS—they interpret orders, but they don’t disobey them.”
“We’ll continue refitting the destroyers while we wait for the battleship delivery,” Elon noted after a moment’s thought. “The original BugWorks slips won’t work for the Empress A!Anas, anyway. Too small.”
“Having the destroyers as Buckler deployment platforms, if nothing else, will be useful,” Villeneuve pointed out. “Once they’re fully upgraded, they’ll be a nasty surprise for anyone who isn’t expecting them, too.”
“So, does anyone have any new concerns or objections?” Annette asked. “I’ll talk to Wellesley; we’ll have Tornado underway by morning. That only leaves us Washington and Beijing for security until either Tornado returns or the first wave of destroyers finishes their refit. What’s our timeline on that, Jean, Elon?”
“Two more weeks,” Elon responded instantly. “We’ve loaded the software for the Sword and Buckler systems into the current destroyer’s computers, so Lougheed and Sade are running their crew through training drills for the gear.”
“With our recruiting of ex-UESF personnel, we currently have both Washington and Beijing running with almost fifty percent excess crew,” Villeneuve told them. “Once the fully updated ships become available, we’ll transfer those crews and have four ships with crews where roughly three-quarters of the personnel are mostly trained.
“Four fully updated City-class destroyers, backed by the defense platforms and the constellations, should be able to hold off any small-scale incursion.” The Admiral shrugged. “Any large-scale attack, we would need Imperial help for, regardless of Tornado’s presence.”
“My only real concern,” Elon noted, “is the price we’re being asked for.” He shook his head. “These are used ships they’re refurbishing for us, but the price tag… I did my research, Annette. We’re basically being charged the price of new-build modern battleships for obsolete trash.”
“I know,” she agreed. “I suspect the direction for that came from the Imperium. They’re still trying to force us to sell the compressed-matter technology—with the mandate for us to provide a capital echelon nine months from now, they have us over the barrel and they know it.
“The frustrating part is that even if we pull this off, which is looking likely, it’s not like the Imperium loses,” she said with a sigh. “Either way, they’ll be able to buy compressed-matter armor for their ships in the medium term. And if we build it, their newest annexation is even more economically valuable to them than hoped.
“They still win.”
“It’s not entirely to our disadvantage to be wrapping our upgrades around an older ship, though,” Elon pointed out. “Assuming they do upgrade them with modern weapons.”
“It’s not in the Deep Houses’ interest to short us on the refurbishment. Their reputation is built on the quality of their work and product,” Annette told him. “We’re getting screwed on the price, but they’ll do the work well.
“How is to our advantage that we’re getting not-quite-obsolescent warships?” she asked.
“Once we’ve wrapped our upgrades around them, the Empress A!Anas will be able to take on a super-battleship, tiny and old or not,” Elon pointed out. “That will bring them knocking on our door for CM armor and active missile defenses.”
“At which point, we are going to gouge them,” Annette admitted. “It’s to our advantage to have the Imperial Navy be the biggest, baddest fleet in the neighborhood. We’ll upgrade the shield we’ll be hiding behind, but after all the headaches they’ve given us, we will damned well make them pay for the privilege.”
Wellesley joined Annette in the office in her new apartment while Elon and Miss Wan were doing their best to get Morgan cleaned up in advance of supper.
Most of her work was now done in meetings, but she had a dock that accepted her communicator and would feed it to an old-style keyboard and a hologram projector. Those were the only electronics in the mostly empty room, in the exact center of the big wooden desk.
There were a few imported Imperial chairs, and Annette sighed in relief as the one at her desk promptly set to work kneading her stressed-out muscles.
“James, have a seat,” she ordered her bodyguard.
“What do you need, Your Grace?”
“You to stop calling me that in private,” she told him for, oh, the fortieth or fiftieth time. “After all we’ve been through together, James, you can call me Annette.”
“So you insist, Your Grace,” he replied with a wicked schoolboy grin. “But I am the son of the Duke of Wellington. There are proprieties to observe.”
“For that, Colonel, I’m sending you back to Tortuga,” she said firmly.
“Why Tortuga?” he asked, then paused. “Oh. You’re actually serious.”
“Who’s your backup at this point? I need you to report to Tornado with at least two Troops of the Ducal Guard,” Annette told him.
“Salvatore’s my second,” Wellesley replied. “He won’t run your personal security, but he’ll take over command of the Guard.” He hesitated. “What do you need me to go to Tortuga for, Your Grace?”
“You’ll have sealed orders from me for Captain Kurzman. There will be no official orders issued,” she warned him. “You will be operating under my direct authority, written and verbal.
“Jess is bringing me paper and a sealed envelope,” she continued with a chuckle, “but the essence of the orders is this: I need you and Pat to head to Tortuga’s current location and meet with Ondu Arra Tallas.
“He liquidated our prizes from Lambda Aurigae for us and I need the money. All of it.”
Wellesley whistled silently.
“I’m not sure the big bird is going to be enthused with that,” he pointed out.
“That’s why I’m sending you as well as Pat. You, Colonel Wellesley, share the same reputation I do on that station,” she reminded him. “They’re terrified of us.
“If Tallas gives you more trouble than a few threats can handle, go to the Crew,” she continued. “That would be a contract violation, and they can’t stand for that.”
“I thought the biggest issue was laundering the money so we could use it cleanly,” Wellesley asked.
“It’s not entirely necessary so long as we’re running it through the Duchy,” Annette replied. “We didn’t realize that before, but with two months of operations, it looks like we can launder just about anything just through the Duchy’s revenues.”
She smiled coldly.
“And frankly, I don’t care if the Imperium works out where the money came from. It might remind them not to fuck with us.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Ducal Guard, arriving!”
The words echoed through Tornado’s landing bay over the heads of the waiting greeting party. James couldn’t help but wonder at how quickly it had been put together, given that they’d advised Tornado that he was arriving only when they’d left Hong Kong.
The fifty Ducal Guardsmen behind him hadn’t been given much more notice that something was going on. Most of them had been heading to sleep in the Hong Kong airbase they were operating out of when James had arrived and ruined their weeks.
His husband, however, had managed to get a greeting party together in under ten minutes, with himself at the head.
James saluted Pat crisply. So far as he understood the Duchy’s ranks at this point, as head of the Ducal Guard, his Colonel outranked his husband’s Captain, but the commander of a spaceship always outranked anyone else aboard.
“Welcome back aboard Tornado¸ James,” Pat told him, glancing at the collection of soldiers behind him. “What’s going on?”
“I have sealed orders for you from the Duchess,” James replied. “We are to open them together once we’ve entered hyperspace. You’re to recall your crew and get under way as soon as everyone is aboard.”
“I figured something of the sort,” the Captain said. “Recall orders went out two minutes after I got the message that you were reporting aboard with additional troopers. Didn’t have anyone who wasn’t reachable, so we should be underway in under two hours.”
That would be just after midnight Hong Kong time, well before any of the Indiri were likely to be paying attention to Terran ship movements.
“Can you brief me before we go into hyper?” Pat asked.
“Some details,” James told him. “Your office?”
“Same place as always,” his husband confirmed.
James turned back to the people with him.
“Troop Captains Tellaki, Sherman,” he said crisply, gesturing the two officers—one human, one Rekiki—to him. “Get your people aboard and settled down. We’re going to be on Tornado a while, so make sure your people have the space they need.”
“The old SSS barracks section is still there and untouched,” Pat told them. “Nothing’s changed there; you should be able to find your way.”
“Yes, sir,” Sherman replied. “Tellaki and I will sort it out.”
Once in the privacy of Pat’s office, the two men embraced fiercely. With Tornado in orbit, they still got to see each other more than they might have otherwise, but they’d become used to having most of their time off together while both serving on the ship.
“What can you actually tell me?” Pat asked.
“Pretty much nothing until we’re out of Sol and incommunicado,” James admitted. “I just wanted an excuse to get you in private.”
Pat chuckled.
“Not complaining. A little weirded out by the orders, though.”
“Trust me, it’s fine,” James told his lover. “For that matter, trust Bond. If it was a suicide mission, do you think she’d be sending us off on our own?”
“No,” Tornado’s new Captain agreed. “Any idea how long we’ll be gone?”
“Honestly? No. I know our destination coordinates are in this envelope.” He passed the sealed orders over. “I don’t know how long that will actually take.”
Hyperspace was not a constant thing. If you were in well-charted space and knew the currents, you could often make twice the speed of someone without those charts. Distance was a factor in travel time, but information was an even bigger one.
The strangest part was not being able to truly judge how fast, say, another ship was actually going. Both ships could move at half-lightspeed and their sensors would show that the entire trip…but one ship could arrive days before the other.
The more James understood about hyperspace, the more he realized it was weird.
“We shall see once we’re on our way, I guess,” Pat allowed. He tapped his communicator. “Rolfson, how’s the crew looking?”
“The last shuttle just came aboard a bit early,” the executive officer, who had been the tactical officer under Bond, reported. “We’re clear to head out on your order.”
“Tell Amandine to get us underway,” Pat ordered. “Let me know just before we hit hyperspace.”
“Will do, sir. Will be about ninety minutes, I’d say.”
James smiled at his husband as Pat laid aside the communicator.
“And just what shall we do for those ninety minutes, I wonder?”
Even without the warning from the bridge, the sensation of passing through a hyper portal was hard to miss. Back in their uniforms, the two husbands eyed the sealed letter on Pat’s desk as the feeling rippled over them.
“Well, that’s the Rubicon, isn’t it?” James suggested.
“We can always turn around, my dear Colonel,” Pat replied. “Shall we see where our Duchess is sending us?”
James waited for Pat to open the envelope and pull out the paper before saying, “Tortuga.”
“Well, fuck.”
Pat kept reading.
“I see they’ve moved,” he noted. “Different star system than before. Any idea where she got the coordinates?”
“I know she’s been in communication with Tallas,” James admitted. “That’s why prize money has continued to trickle into all of our accounts as he liquidates and launders.”
“And now we’re collecting everything that’s left, huh?”
“Price of doing business, it seems. If we want capital ships without selling our only economic advantage…” James shrugged. “We spend the money we stole.”
Pat shook his head.
“You know the Imperium is going to work out where the money came from,” he pointed out. “Especially if we’re not carefully laundering the rest of it.”
“I believe the Duchess intends for them to. It’s something of a giant ‘fuck you’ to our new overlords’ attempt to screw us.”
“Tortuga,” Pat repeated, studying the paper. “With us being a Ducal Militia ship now, do you think they’ll let us in?”
“No idea,” James replied. “Think you can force your way in?”
“No,” Tornado’s Captain said flatly. “They have a dozen and more cruisers of Tornado’s weight, defenses and armor. I wouldn’t go after Tortuga with less than a battle fleet—and a fleet with compressed-matter armor and active missile defenses, at that.”
“Well, let’s hope our old friends are feeling accommodating. How long?”
“I’ll run it by Amandine, but from what I remember of the charts in the direction they’ve moved to, I call it ten days each way.”
“A nice quiet second honeymoon,” James said with a grin. “With some entertainment in the middle!”
“Entertainment,” Pat echoed. “You’re expecting to shoot people on Tortuga again, I take it?”
“For this much money? Oh, hell, yes.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
When they gathered in the penthouse conference room again the following morning, Annette found herself wishing she knew more about Indiri body language. A!Tol were easy—they wore their emotions on their skin—but every other race in the galaxy required study, and she hadn’t managed to make the time to study Indiri.
The degree to which all eight of the Indiri representatives were sharing the same oddly relaxed posture, their tongues flickering lazily in and out, was nerve-wracking when you didn’t know what that state meant.
She and her Councilors took their seats at the head of the table.
“We have completed our discussions,” she told them. “We would like to proceed on the basis we discussed. Councilor Zhao”—she nodded toward him—“will have your deposit ready by tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Speaker Pozan told her, his tongue flickering faster as he spoke. “Unfortunately, Duchess Bond, the situation has changed since yesterday and the offer we discussed is no longer on the table.”
She stared at him. That was not the response she had been expecting. Had killing Karaz Forel caused them that much trouble?
“Before we continue, I feel it is our obligation to clear the murk from the waters,” Pozan said. “There was, as I’m certain you had concluded yourself, an active intention on the part of the Imperium to force you to sell the production technology for compressed-matter armor to either ourselves or the Navy itself.
“To aid those currents, we were…encouraged to overcharge you for the ships,” he admitted. “I doubt you and your staff did not have access to enough information to judge that.”
“We had no choice,” Annette replied. “We face an indelible obligation. If you refuse to sell to us, we must buy elsewhere. Our funds will stretch as far as they must.
“Why are you even admitting this to us?” she asked.
“Because we now know that Karaz Forel is dead,” Pozan told her. “And Karaz Forel was a blot not merely on the honor of his House but of all the Deep Houses. House Forel owes you a debt of honor. The rest of us merely owe you a debt.
“Since the first offer we made you was…unworthy of the debt we owe you, we are retracting it. Shaza Forel has a different offer to extend.”
Confused, Annette turned her attention to the Indiri who reminded her so much of the being that had almost killed her.
“To, as Speaker Pozan has said, clear the murk from the waters, I should clarify House Forel’s role in this syndicate,” Forel began. “The other Deep Houses present here are either specialized shipbuilders or industrial cartels with ship-building arms. They own refit and construction yards, and build ships for the Navy and the Duchies.
“House Forel is not a shipbuilder. House Forel is primarily a financial-services entity. We provide loans and mortgages, funding for all sorts of operations. Approximately forty-five percent of our loans and mortgages are for starship construction.
“Our role in this syndicate was to underwrite the costs of acquiring and refitting the ships until the Duchy of Terra could make their payments,” Forel finished.
“While this level of transparency is useful, I’m still confused,” Annette confessed. She was starting to feel like she was being led around by the nose.
“The currents will become clear,” the Indiri promised. “May I use the projector?
Annette gestured her to it and Forel hooked her communicator in. The familiar image of the battleship from the previous day appeared.
“Yesterday, we discussed selling you twelve Empress A!Ana class battleships,” she noted. “Named for a long-dead Empress most famous for being one of only eight leaders ever in the galaxy to authorize deployment of a starkiller.
“It is a famous name and they were powerful units when they were designed and built—just over one hundred and twenty-seven long-cycles ago.”
Annette winced. She’d known the Empress A!Ana design was old. She hadn’t realized it was almost seventy years old.
“This,” Shaza Forel continued, tapping a new command and sliding the Empress A!Ana schematic to one side, “is a Majesty-class super-battleship.”
It took Annette a moment to confirm that the ships were even on the same scale. The Majesty was over two kilometers long and a kilometer wide, a curving horseshoe shape of elegant lines and flowing nacelles—and fifteen and a half million tons of modern warship.
“The Majesty is the current front-line super-battleship design being used by the Imperial Navy,” Forel noted. “One of the other Duchies ordered a flight of sixteen of them and took out a construction loan with House Forel.”
Li Chin Zhao had enough self-control to make it through an entire meeting while recovering from an epileptic seizure, but Annette heard his sharp inhalation as Earth’s Treasurer guessed where this was going.
“They have now missed several payments, construction has been suspended, and House Forel has seized the hulls,” the Forel representative concluded.
“Under normal circumstances, we would negotiate with the original debtor and come to an agreement, but this is the third time we’ve had problems with this Duke, and my brood-father wishes to make an example.
“Understand that the circumstances are unique and the offer I am making will never be repeated,” Shaza Forel warned, “but House Forel, aided by the rest of the syndicate, is prepared to sell you these ships at cost to repay the debt we feel we owe you.”
“And the other Houses?” Annette asked carefully, trying to refrain from doing cartwheels across the conference table. Sixteen super-battleships?!
“House Forel will cover their portion of the margin at our expense,” the Indiri said calmly. “Even at cost, the price will be higher than we discussed for the Empress A!Anas.”
“How much higher?” she asked. There was some leeway, assuming Ondu managed to pay the whole amount owed…
“Twenty-five percent.”
Annette nodded slowly. There was no way she could make that work.
“If, however, you can make the payment we were discussing yesterday, House Forel can finance the remainder at a reasonable rate.”
“So, ten percent now, seventy percent at delivery, and twenty percent over…”
“Let’s say twenty long-cycles?”
Annette didn’t even need to look at Zhao. She just leaned back in her chair and gestured to her treasurer.
Li Chin Zhao leaned forward with a practiced smile on his face.
“The amortization period is heavily dependent on the interest rate we agree on…” he began.
While Annette was quite sure that the translator was working and every word that Zhao and Forel said to each other was being presented to her in English, she completely failed to follow the twenty minutes of negotiation that ensued.
She suspected the rest of the Indiri were following only a bit better than she was, but Zhao and Forel were clearly having fun.
When they finally concluded, she was reasonably sure the Duchy had agreed to pay a higher interest rate to keep the deposit at the original amount and extend the repayment of the mortgage on the warships over forty long-cycles—twenty years or so.
If Zhao felt they could pay it over that time frame, she was going to trust his judgment.
“We have a deal?” Shaza Forel finally asked, directing the question to Annette.
“Zhao?” she asked.
“We’re good,” the Treasurer replied cheerfully.
“I believe we have a deal,” Annette confirmed. “Forward the contract to myself and Councilor Zhao, and we will have your deposit and signed paperwork by tomorrow morning.”
“I hope, Duchess Dan!Annette Bond, that our efforts here have helped change the opinion of our race that my brood-cousin must have left you,” Forel told her. “Karaz was a pirate, a slaver, and a murderer. These are…rare roles for an Indiri to take on.”
“They are rare roles for any race to take on,” Annette allowed. “Karaz left a…strong impression. But your efforts on our behalf are appreciated.”
Speaker Pozan bowed slightly, inserting himself back into the conversation.
“I would emphasize a point Shaza made at the beginning of her offer,” he said smoothly. “This is not something that will be repeated. We do not make a habit of selling warships at cost, even to those we owe debts of honor. You are receiving this deal as much to punish another as to benefit you.”
“Should I know whose ships we’re getting?” Annette asked carefully. If this deal was going to make her enemies, she needed to know. It wasn’t going to change whether she took the deal, but she would need to know.
“No,” Pozan said calmly. “We will deal with them.”
“What about delivery?” Elon asked. “Even with the Majesties, there is work we will need to do with armor and defenses.”
The Speaker looked taken aback, but Zav Tal laughed. It was an uncomfortable barking sound from an Indiri, even as Annette was realizing that she quite liked most of the red furry frogs she’d met.
“I very much would like to see your planned upgrades,” the youngest of the Indiri shipbuilders present said. “I think there are further discussions for us to have with Nova Industries, if Duchess Bond will allow?”
“I will,” Annette confirmed. Elon knew the limits what she’d permit to happen with the defensive technology, but some kind of partnership with the Indiri could give Sol’s economy a huge boost.
“The question on delivery remains,” she noted carefully.
“Three of the ships are functionally complete,” Pozan told her. “We should be able to deliver those on the same timeline we’d discussed for the Empress A!Anas, twenty-five to thirty cycles for the delivery.
“The rest…” The head of House Pozan flickered his tongue in what Annette was realizing was the equivalent of a shrug. “It may take most of a long-cycle, but we should have them to you eighty to a hundred cycles before you are required to provide the Navy their ships.”
Annette glanced at Elon.
“Can we do that?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said slowly, then nodded firmly. “Yes,” he repeated. “We’ll make it happen.”
“Then we have a deal,” Annette repeated.
Most of the rest of the morning was taken up by pleasantries, the Duchy’s cooks having dug into their supply of Universal Protein to assemble a “cocktail party” with food that both species could eat.
Annette had long and extended experience with UP at this point and could identify its somehow uniquely bland flavor underneath anything, but she still managed to be continually surprised by just what a good cook could manage with the artificial substance.
Finally, she retreated to her partially assembled office, also on the penthouse floor of Wuxing Tower, and glanced over her inbox, trying to identify which of the messages forwarded to her today was most critical.
Very little made it to her communicator without being critical.
She’d barely managed to finish reading the subject lines before Elon slipped into her office, her lover looking about as energized as she was feeling drained.
“The Nova board will be meeting with Pozan and Tal tomorrow,” he told her as he slid a chair around the desk so he could sit with his leg touching hers. “We’ll go over the armor and the Sword and Buckler systems, see if we can sell them on buying prefabricated defense systems.
“Armor, however, we’re not going to have for sale for a while,” Elon noted. “Since you apparently now want us to refit super-battleships.”
“I wasn’t going to turn them down, not if we could find a way to pay for them,” Annette replied. “That’ll meet our obligation to the Navy and give a full echelon to protect Sol. I was going to be happy with the damned battleships, but…”
“There was no way you could justify turning down that deal,” he agreed. “I don’t envy Jean trying to crew them, but those ships…they’ll almost guarantee Earth’s safety.”
“And short-circuit the A!Tol’s attempt to force us to sell the armor tech,” she told him. “I understand why they did it—they need that edge against the Kanzi—but it was still a dick move from our perspective.”
“Do you think Kurzman and Wellesley will have any problems getting the money?”
She chuckled and squeezed his leg where it touched hers.
“I sent them to Tortuga,” she pointed out. “Ondu Arra Tallas is as honest as a broker on Tortuga gets, but that’s a low bar to clear. Even if he works entirely cleanly, the station itself is dangerous.
“They’re going to have problems,” she concluded. “But I trust Pat and James to deal with them. It won’t be the first time we’ve left bodies stacked in the halls of Tortuga. They’ll be fine.”
Elon nodded.
“I’m going to offer the Indiri a three-way joint venture,” he said quietly. “They, Nova, and the Duchy each put in a third of the costs to build a fitting-out complex. We start with the Indiri building the ships, then they send them to us for armor and active defenses.
“We split profits three ways and provide a massive upgrade to the strength of the Imperial Navy. I think they’ll be in—it’s a win for us all.”
“We’ll find the money,” she promised. “Zhao might quit by the time we’re done, but he’ll find us the money.”
“It feels like everything’s starting to break our way,” Elon admitted.
“Don’t say that,” Annette told him. “We still have Kanzi scouting parties running through our space. Anderson and what’s left of the Weber Network may be quiet, but I doubt they’ve decided to just go home.”
She shook her head.
“Things are looking good,” she acknowledged, “but that just means the universe is winding up the other damned shoe.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hunter’s Horn emerged into the Kimar system with the entire crew on edge.
While it was extremely unlikely that anything had gone dramatically wrong while they were searching for Shadowed Currents, the presence of Kanzi capital ships in the Sol Kovius zone meant it was entirely possible the Imperium was at war.
As Harriet studied the sensor take, she realized that the fleet base was missing an entire squadron of capital ships. Sixteen battleships and their escorts were gone.
“No sign of a battle, correct?” she asked softly as the cruiser cut its way toward the remaining warships.
“None, Captain,” Vaza confirmed. “It appears one of the squadrons has been deployed elsewhere; no signs of damage or a combat action here.”
“Good,” she said with a sigh. “Take us in, Ides,” she ordered. “Send our identity codes and inform Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh that we found Shadowed Currents and retrieved her hardened data storage.”
She leaned back in her command chair, glancing across her personal screens as she checked the codes she was seeing. All eight of both the super-battleships and fast battleships were still present, but the regular battleships were gone.
If there had been no battle, then it appeared Tan!Shallegh had activated one of his contingency plans and deployed the battleship squadron forward.
“Captain, inbound communication for you.”
“I’m activating the privacy shield,” she informed her bridge. “Send it to my command chair.”
Aboard an Imperial warship, the privacy shield was a security screen that was transparent only one way…and was rated to resist plasma fire.
When the shield was in place, the transmission resolved onto her screen with the image of a small hairless humanoid with massive black eyes, no visible ears or nose, and dark gray mottled skin.
A Pibo. One of the Imperial Races, and also a race with only three representatives in the Kimar Fleet Base that Harriet knew of.
“Squadron Lord Uan,” she greeted them instantly. The Pibo had three genders required for reproduction and a fourth, naturally neuter, gender. Uan was a neuter.
“Captain Tanaka,” the squadron commander replied. “I received your message for Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh. He has moved the Twenty-Fifth Squadron forward as a pre-emptive defense measure. I take it Shadowed Currents was destroyed?”
“She was, sir.” Harriet swallowed. “By a Kanzi battleship.”
“A battleship,” Uan repeated.
“Yes, sir.”
“Report aboard my flagship as soon as you rendezvous with the fleet,” he ordered quickly. “Have your First Sword arrange for full replenishment of your munitions and fuel. You will meet with myself and Intelligence Echelon Lord Kal Mak.
“I apologize, but I suspect we will be sending you out again extremely quickly.”
With the exception of Squadron Lord Uan’s own staff, his flagship was entirely crewed by Ivida, another of the Imperial Races. Harriet was met by the Captain, a tall, hairless humanoid with double-jointed limbs and an immobile face.
“Welcome aboard Songs of Victory,” he greeted her with a strange hand gesture she guessed was welcoming. “I am Captain Vidus. Is there anything you need before you meet with the Lords? Food, drink?”
“I’m fine, Captain, but thank you,” she told him politely. She’d eaten before boarding the shuttle—she had a limited supply of Terran-compatible food aboard Hunter’s Horn. Here, all she would get would be Universal Protein.
“As you wish,” Vidus replied. “Follow me, Captain. Squadron Lord Uan will be ready for you by the time we get to his office. This is, after all, a super-battleship. You don’t get anywhere quickly aboard Songs.”
Evolution hadn’t given the Ivida a face capable of showing emotion, but there was something in his eyes that warned Harriet he was teasing her. Their sense of humor seemed to be coming along just fine.
“There’s a package on my shuttle,” she told him. “It’s the hardened data storage from Shadowed Currents. We only pulled enough to be sure of how she died, but I presume the Squadron Lord’s staff will be able to get more.”
“Indeed,” Vidus confirmed. “I will have it taken to our cryptography team. Shall we, Captain?”
Vidus led her into a small conference room where the two flag officers, one Pibo and one Indiri, were waiting for her. They were studying a holographic representation of this corner of the Imperium, starting at Kimar and stretching out to encompass the entire forty-light-year Kovius Treaty Zone around Sol.
“Ah, Captains, come in,” Uan told them. “Captain Tanaka, be known to Intelligence Echelon Lord Kal Mak. He is Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh’s intelligence officer.”
“Echelon Lord.” Harriet bowed her head.
“The Fleet Lord has deployed forward to Alpha Centauri to provide close cover to the Sol system,” Kal Mak told her bluntly. “While we are not expecting an attack soon, as the sheer distance involved restricts the Kanzi’s options, the probability inside the next long-cycle is approaching unity.”
“That will mean war,” she objected.
“If Sol falls, yes,” Uan agreed. “If the attack is driven off, we will probably allow them to officially disavow the actions of whoever leads it. We were expecting it to be presented as a rogue operation by one of their Clans, but the involvement of capital ships…”
“I wanted to speak to you in detail and review the data from Shadowed Current’s sensors before we send a report to the Fleet Lord,” Mak said. “He has no ability to respond quickly, though the starcom allows us to keep him informed.”
“The destruction of Shadowed Currents adds to our concerns,” Uan continued. They gestured a gray arm toward the hologram.
“Every star flagged in red has seen a confirmed encounter between our ships and Kanzi scouts,” they told her. “Orange sections of space are the patrol routes of ships that didn’t return—we now have nine of those.”
Harriet studied the hologram. There’d been a lot of encounters. In fact…
“This looks like more like an active battlefront than a peacetime frontier,” she pointed out.
“I agree,” Uan replied with an exhalation that would have been a sigh in a human. “The Kanzi appear to be waging a quiet war along this section of the frontier, attempting to clear a path to conquer Sol.
“If they were to annex your homeworld, they would claim the Kovius Treaty Zone around it,” they continued. “Such would require us to allow the conquest to stand, which we would not.”
“Hence, war,” Kal Mak confirmed. “Almost as dangerous as the presence of capital ships, however, is that we appear to have confirmed the presence of a stealth-screened ship in the region.”
“A stealth screen?” Harriet asked slowly. She didn’t think something like that was possible.
“A device the Core Powers insist does not exist,” the intelligence officer told her. “But is supposed to be able to not only conceal the presence of a vessel from ordinary sensors but also hide an interface drive from anomaly scanners.
“We have, over the centuries, acquired enough sensor data to at least be able to guess when such a ship was present in hindsight,” he continued. “Several of our ships appeared to have been ghosted by another vessel, which may contribute to how others were jumped.”
“Shadowed Currents was attacked by a ship that emerged within beam range of her,” Harriet reported. “A battleship.”
“It’s possible to achieve that simply by watching from the outer system and knowing the patrol pattern,” Uan told her. “But the fact that we believe there is a stealth ship in the area adds a new layer of concern.”
“If the Kanzi have developed that technology, the risks are severe,” Kal Mak said. “While my understanding is that the stealth screen renders a shield unusable, facing a war where the Kanzi get the first strike in every battle does not appeal.”
“You said you might have to send me out again?” Harriet asked. “What do you need of me?”
Unspoken was the question of “Why my ship?”
“We’ve only briefed a small number of our captains on the Fleet Lord’s contingency plans,” Kal Mak told her. “Captain Vidus here is one of the few left in Kimar who know where Tan!Shallegh went.
“Since you were briefed on the contingency plans to pass them on to Duchess Bond, you knew the forward deployment to Alpha Centauri was possible. You’ve also demonstrated exemplary judgment on when the Fleet Lord needs to know something.”
“Even assuming that we’re not looking at a true Theocracy Navy deployment, it is unlikely there is only one battleship wandering around,” Uan concluded. “They can’t go far from their support bases, either.
“If there were logistics ships or permanent facilities in the system where Shadowed Currents died, you’d have seen them. That rules out that system as a base but doesn’t reduce the potential bases by much.”
Harriet was studying the map.
“They’re likely inside the Kovius zone,” she said quietly. “And near where we’re losing ships.”
“Agreed,” Kal Mak said. “That leaves three high likelihood systems, Captain Tanaka. Three systems we want you to scout as stealthily as possible.”
Three systems lit up in green on the hologram.
“Depending on the currents, those could be as much as four five-cycles away,” she told them.
“Our maps of hyperspace in those areas are incomplete,” the intelligence officer replied, “but our estimate would be twenty-one cycles to the operating area and a minimum of fifteen to sweep the systems.”
With the return flight, over fifty days back in the field.
“My people are starting to get ragged,” she warned them. “Some kind of leave is in order, not another quarter-long-cycle back in space.”
“We can spare a cycle here for leave, but we need you to deploy as quickly as possible,” Uan told her. “The safety of the Sol system may depend on it.”
The Pibo neuter did not, she noted, point out that Sol was her homeworld.
“I need to send my entire crew on leave for two cycles,” she insisted. “Anything less and we could easily be risking their safety.”
“Very well,” Uan allowed, a tone to their voice she thought might be approval—even with translators, it was hard to tell.
“Move Hunter’s Horn into the center of the fleet and take her into full stand-down,” they ordered. “That will allow your entire crew to enjoy the leave. And, Captain?”
“Yes, Squadron Lord?”
“Make sure you take the time yourself,” Uan ordered. “You need to be as fresh as your crew.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Both the joy and the frustration of being in a relationship with Elon Casimir was not being quite sure what the man was going to be doing on a day-to-day basis. He was the CEO of a megacorporation and lived and breathed long-term planning…and insisted on keeping his day-to-day schedule as flexible as possible.
Knowing him well helped.
Annette wasn’t particularly surprised when, less than ten minutes after the Indiri delegation and their ship jumped through their portal into hyperspace, her security informed her that Elon’s shuttle was on approach.
She continued to work through the ever-growing pile of issues that needed the direct touch of the Duchess of Terra. Today’s theme seemed to be roads—repairing old ones, building new ones, arguing over costs for already-half-built ones…
Her rapidly expanding planetary government was still tiny compared to even the governments of the individual old US states. They could absorb new people only so quickly, and the lack of so many of the previous tiers of government was a continuing headache.
Many of those suddenly unemployed people were ending up in the new government, but only if they could handle the new structure and culture. Annette refused to have new regional structures take shape; with modern tech and a unified system, they could run the entire planet with a centralized structure supporting small local teams.
Her plan was a very flat government, with much of the decision-making made at the city and town level. Several high-powered artificial intelligences were on their way to provide a force multiplier for her people, enabling them to avoid one-size-fits-all policies and pre-decided jurisdictions.
Time would tell if it would work, but she was too much of a small-town American to set out to create a stultifying, all-consuming government bureaucracy.
There had to be a balance, and no one in centuries had ever had a chance to rebuild things so completely as she had been forced to.
“I know your many and fierce guardians told you I was on my way,” Elon said from the door to her office. “Still working?”
“Running a planet,” she pointed out as she turned her attention to him. “It’s a bit time-consuming.”
“You have a bunch of good people in your Council,” he said, dropping a brown paper bag on the desk as he moved over to massage her shoulders.
“Yes, and when was the last time any of them worked less than a ten-hour day?” she asked.
“Touché, my dear.”
“The Duchy has barely existed for three months. We’ve hit the ground running, but it’s a monumental task before us.” She shook her head. “What’s in the bag?”
“Champagne, my dear Duchess,” Elon told her. “Finalized the last minutiae just before they left.”
“For?”
“The ‘Shared Current Project,’ as they called it,” he grinned. “Our currently unnamed three-party joint venture to upgrade the entire damned Imperial Navy with compressed-matter armor. One-third ownership each, but House Forel is underwriting half of both Nova’s and the Duchy of Terra’s initial investment, to be repaid from profits.”
“Worth celebrating,” she agreed, eyeing the paper bag.
“‘Worth celebrating,’ she says,” Elon snorted. “Annette, we just talked the Indiri into funding two thirds of the initial construction of what’s going to be one of the five largest shipbuilding complexes in the Imperium within twenty years.
“And that’s just talking armor,” he pointed out. “If the Navy agrees to buy Sword and Buckler, we’re looking at double the work, and an even more rapid expansion. Millions—tens of millions of jobs. The money to fund further R&D to stay the premier source of defensive technology for the Imperium for decades to come.
“You, Duchess Annette Bond, just won the economic future of all mankind. We’ll give the A!Tol their damned ships, and then we’ll leverage our way into being a core part of their empire, as essential as the Indiri to its survival and continuation.”
“You, Elon, just won that,” she pointed out. “Your negotiation. Your deal.”
“Even if we’d just been buying the battleships, I’m not sure we’d have got this deal,” he pointed out. “Certainly, if we didn’t have your privateer money, we couldn’t have pulled it off. We’d have had to sell the Indiri the damn matter-compression plant just to cover the eight ships we needed.
“Yeah, I finished the job, but you set it up, my love. Don’t sell yourself short.”
She laughed softly.
“This is all so far out of my expertise,” she noted. “Give me a command deck and an enemy, I’m fine. But economics and policy? Not my strengths.”
“Command and leadership are,” her lover pointed out. “For everything else, you picked the right people for your Council. Would you expect a Captain to be entirely familiar with every aspect of running her ship?”
“To a degree, yes,” she told him. “Which I have not achieved with this damned government.”
“Keep pointing the right people at the problems and pay attention to their solutions,” he suggested. “Right now, you’ve been even-handed enough for people to trust you. Every week, every day that we’re in power, we become more and more what people accept.”
“So, just hang on until people get bored?”
“The elections will help,” he replied. “Sooner or later, it’s going to leak that you could have just appointed everybody but limited yourself to the Duchy rep.”
“Not true,” she said. “I could have appointed the House of Races representative. All I could have done for the House of Worlds was—”
“Limit the franchise, limit who could run, control how the election was structured.” Elon ticked off points on his fingers. “Even inside the rules for that ‘fair and transparent’ requirement the A!Tol have, you could have made sure everyone we sent to the House was loyal to you first.”
She stared at him.
“I…I…no!” she concluded. “I guess I could have, yes, but that would have ruined the whole point!”
“Instead, you insisted on open, fair elections with the entire process from assembling the plans right now to the vote itself being as transparent as possible,” he agreed. “People haven’t missed that, you know. It’s buying you a lot of credit right now.”
“That isn’t why I did it.”
“Of course not.” Elon grinned at her. “You’re a straightforward, honest, military type. People know that and trust you for it. Give them time, and they’ll love you for it.”
“I don’t expect to be remembered with warm, fuzzy feelings,” Annette told him. “I expect to go down in history alongside Marshal Pétain.”
“Mmm. Still possible,” he agreed. “Unlikely, I think, unless we screw it up pretty badly. Maybe alongside Anson Jones.”
“Who the hell was he?” she demanded.
“Fourth and last President of the Republic of Texas, the architect of the annexation into the United States.”
“Huh,” Annette said. “So, you expect me to be a forgotten footnote, I take it?”
“You’re feeling morose tonight,” he pointed out. “I come alone, Morgan’s back home with Miss Wei, and bring champagne—and I’m cheering you up!
“Come, my love, let’s celebrate,” he told her, pulling the champagne from the bag. “To a long and successful partnership with the Indiri Deep Houses, even as they fund us becoming one of their biggest competitors!”
She laughed and shook her head at him.
“The champagne glasses are in the kitchen,” she pointed out.
“I knew I forgot something!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Eleven days aboard a starship, however luxurious, could easily be a strain. Eleven days aboard a warship was definitely not anything most people would call a vacation.
Eleven days, however, actually getting to sleep in the same bed as his husband, with no more demands on his time but training himself and his two Troops of Ducal Guardsmen, was as close as James Wellesley had come to a vacation since before the annexation.
There was also a certain degree of lazing about he figured was due to him after three months living and breathing in Annette Bond’s shadow, making sure the Duchess of Earth was safe.
This meant he was lying in the bed in Captain Pat Kurzman’s quarters, watching one of the many recorded football games he’d missed during Operation Privateer—a year’s worth of even just English football was a lot to catch up on!—when his husband walked in and cruelly turned off the screen.
“We’re there?” he asked instead of crucifying the man. It was a matter of great self-control, the epitome of British stiff upper lip, truly.
“Punching the hyper portal in about ten minutes,” Pat told him. “This is your op, those sealed orders say. I figure you want to be on the bridge to see just how the Laians hid the station this time.”
“Fair… On the other hand, I know Manchester United won this game”—James gestured to the dull screen—“but I can’t for the life of me see how they turned it around. Think I can see the end?”
“Can you fast-forward through an hour of football, get in uniform, and meet me on the bridge in under ten minutes?” his husband asked sweetly.
“Now that you mention it…no.”
“Let’s get going, then.”
James made it onto Tornado’s bridge with about a minute to spare.
Harold Rolfson, a massively bearded redheaded man and Tornado’s XO, waved him to an observer seat as the big cruiser cut through the strange void of hyperspace.
“Forty-five seconds to portal formation,” Cole Amandine announced.
“Catalog details of this system are on the screen, people,” Pat told his crew. “If you’ve any guesses for where they hid Tortuga, now’s the time.”
James studied the screen himself. The last time they’d visited Tortuga, it had been hidden under the rings of a gas giant in an uninhabited system. This time, the system—also uninhabited— the coordinates had brought them to didn’t have a ringed gas giant.
It was a sparsely occupied system in general. One small gas giant and six barren rocks of various sizes.
“If it’s hidden, it’s in the gas giant,” Rolfson said loudly.
“That’s where I’m headed,” Amandine told them. “We’ll see if our red-bearded friend is right.”
There was a warm comradery aboard Tornado’s bridge, one that James was glad to feel again. Annette had left her crew behind to become Duchess, but the team here on the bridge still remained. Many of the other crew had retired or transferred to other ships, but Pat had held on to his bridge crew.
The strange tear in reality of a hyper portal lit up the screen, filling the entire view…and then Tornado flashed through into reality, the stars popping in around them and the mass of the gas giant filling the view.
“I don’t suppose the secret pirate base is entirely obvious, just hanging out in space?” Pat asked.
No one bothered to answer the Captain, focusing on their screens as the cruiser’s scanners swept the system.
“No contacts,” Rolfson finally reported. “System looks dead.”
That was the problem with hidden bases. If they weren’t where you thought they were, how could you tell?
“Take us into a low orbit and look for oddities in the gas giant’s surface,” James’s husband ordered. “Pulse our Tortuga code three times omnidirectionally as well. Let’s make sure people know we’re here.”
“What if someone jumps us?” Amandine asked.
“If it’s anyone except the Crew, we blow them to hell,” Pat replied calmly. “If it’s a Laian cruiser, we run.”
“We are expecting them to be happy to see us, right?” Rolfson asked.
James chuckled and the bridge crew looked back at him.
“No,” he admitted to Tornado’s crew. “Remember that this is now a government ship. Worse, even when we were privateers, we blew something like eighty percent of Tortuga’s customers to dust bunnies.
“We have an access code and we didn’t come in sirens blazing, so to speak, so we expect them to let us board. But no, we don’t expect them to be happy we’re here.”
“Oh that is interesting,” Rolfson said loudly as they tucked the cruiser into orbit of the gas giant. “Check out those spectrographic and EM readings.”
James glanced over the Militia officer’s shoulder at a set of wavy lines and numbers that meant absolutely nothing to him.
“Looking at them is not answering any questions for the ground-pounder,” he said cheerfully. “Anyone care to explain to the class?”
“The gas giant is not as large as it looks from far away,” the XO told him. “There’s a higher-than-normal density of ions that throws a massive shroud of charged particles out around the planet. It’s almost got two surfaces—one where the actual atmosphere hangs, and a second a couple of thousand kilometers higher up, where the ionic cloud is suspended in its magnetosphere.”
“Surely, the survey team noticed that?” Pat asked.
“There’s a note about odd electromagnetic activity in the catalog, but they ran through this system at speed,” Rolfson replied. “I’d say they spent less than three days each surveying some of the systems this far Rimward.”
“I wonder if it’ll be in our interests to resurvey them,” James thought aloud. “This system is barely outside Sol’s Kovius Zone, and that kind of hidden pocket could be handy.”
“Well, today I’m guessing the Crew used it for just that,” Pat told him. “Lieutenant Commander Amandine, is there any risk to Tornado taking us through the ion shroud?”
“The shields’ll take a beating,” the spaceborn navigator replied, “but we should come through at seventy, eighty percent of capacity.”
“We’ll be vulnerable if someone jumps us,” Rolfson concluded. “But…a Laian cruiser could take us without that edge, and even an Imperial cruiser couldn’t with it.”
“Very well,” Pat said calmly. “Take us through.”
It was an eerie feeling for James, watching them dive toward what appeared to the naked eye to be a solid planet. The gas giant grew larger and larger in the screen, filling their view of the galaxy.
Then Tornado lurched as if struck, the big cruiser hammering her way through the shroud of charged particles and into the space underneath. Energy flickered across her shields, the “empty” void still far denser than regular space.
“The ionic cloud and the EM field are screwing with most of our systems,” Rolfson reported. “Sensors are hashed, but…”
An icon dropped on the screen.
“That’s Tortuga,” the XO told them. “There’s at least two or three other ships in here with us, but Tortuga is an entirely different scale and a lot easier to find.”
As they closed, the screen zoomed in, picking the familiar-looking six-armed star of the Laian-built mobile shipyard out of the static and lightning. Twenty kilometers across, it had been built to provide front-line service for super-battleships in a war between the Core Powers centuries earlier.
“Incoming!” Rolfson snapped. “Sneaky bastards; we have two Laian cruisers matching velocity at five hundred kilometers!”
“Pulse our ID code,” Pat snapped.
“Already on it.”
Several seconds stretched into eternity as the two cruisers, smooth-lined ships ten percent bigger than Tornado, carrying matching armor and even more powerful weapons, paced her through the shrouded pocket.
“Incoming transmission.”
The image of a Laian officer appeared on the screen. To human eyes, they resembled massive upright scarab beetles, with patterns of color and hue that identified individuals. This one wore red cloth bandoliers strung across a torso covered in heavy carapace plating, each bandolier marked with insignia and medals marking the officer as a Captain of the Crew.
James had enough time to realize the Laian looked familiar before he spoke.
“This is Captain Tidikat of the Crew,” he told them, the translator picking up his chitters and turning them into English with ease. “Your code is technically valid, Tornado, but a ducal warship is not welcome in Tortuga.”
“James?” Pat muttered and the Ducal Guard Colonel nodded, stepping forward to face the cameras.
“Captain, I am James Wellesley of the Ducal Guard of the Duchy of Terra,” he told the Laian. He’d seen Tidikat before, when Tornado had first visited the station, but he didn’t think the Laian would remember him.
“I am here as a representative of my Duchess. I swear to you, on her contracts with the Crew, that we are not here to do harm or attempt to enforce the Imperium’s laws.
“We are here to do business with Ondu Arra Tallas and to complete a withdrawal of Duchess Bond’s funds from her accounts with the Crew, to conclude our business with Tortuga in a mutually satisfactory matter that will not require us to seek the station again.”
“You have more enemies than friends here now, human,” Tidikat warned him. “Many lost friends or brothers to your ship.”
“Then they perhaps should have warned their friends and brothers not to betray us,” James replied sharply. “We defended ourselves, nothing more. You know this. There is no way the Crew is not aware of the data and cargo provided to Tallas.”
“No threat to the Crew or the station will be tolerated,” the Laian told him.
“We have no intention of threatening either, nor of initiating violence,” James promised. “We are here to complete our business, Captain Tidikat. I have no interest in bloodshed.”
“You may not find Tortuga’s populace lacking in such interest when it comes to your blood,” Tidikat said. “Your code is valid, Colonel. If you honor your word, you will be permitted to complete your business.
“Your code will not be accepted again. This is the only warning you will receive.”
“It is appreciated, Captain. We mean no harm to the Crew.”
The channel was already gone.
“Well,” Pat said calmly. “That went swimmingly.”
“Better than I expected,” James admitted. “But I would recommend against shore leave this time, Captain.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
James couldn’t help but feel tiny and fragile as he made his way through the loading bay where his Guardsmen were arming up. There were twenty humans and twenty Rekiki in the bay, and all of them had strapped on full powered battle armor, adding even more to their bulk.
The Rekiki did an especially good job of looming when you added several centimeters of armor to their immense centaur-like forms, but the humans did a solid-enough version themselves, given that the suits were a uniform two meters tall.
The low-profile power suit he wore had cost three times as much as a regular suit of armor. It gave him about forty percent of the survivability and seventy percent of the speed and strength of an armor suit while not being an obvious tank.
The Imperium used it for commandos. He’d acquired a handful of the suits on A!To, mostly for VIP protection. He’d fitted Pat for his personally on the way over.
Tornado’s Captain was a decent shot by Navy standards, which meant he was absolutely useless when James’s ex–Special Space Service Guardsmen went to war. Given that they were planning on moving through Tortuga with the funds to purchase an entire squadron of battleships, James wanted his husband as protected as possible.
“Are we really expecting to need this much firepower?” Annabel Sherman asked in her Southerner drawl as he reached his destination and found his two Troop Captains. “Seems like the Laians might object to us dropping an army through their door.”
“They will,” James agreed. “And I’m hoping not to need you, but I want you in reserve regardless. For the actual planned job, I want two troopers from each of you.”
“I should accompany you as well,” Tellaki told him, the Rekiki looking even more enormous than usual in his powered armor. As a member of the “Vassal” caste, Tellaki was smaller than the leaders Rekiki armor was designed for, though he was quite large enough out of the armor for human sensibilities.
“You spent five-cycles here once,” Tellaki continued. “I have spent far longer here and over many more trips. I still know this station better than you, Colonel.”
“Fair,” James acknowledged. “All right. Half a fire team from each of you, under Tellaki’s command. Annabel, I want you to have the rest of the Guardsmen ready to go on the drop of a hat. While I’m not expecting anyone to get kidnapped by Kanzi slavers this time…”
“It’s still A!Ko!La!Ma!,” Sherman agreed, reeling off the proper A!Tol name of the station with an ease that James envied.
“It is,” he agreed, then smiled grimly at her. “But if you’re not going to use the easy name, Troop Captain, at least call it what its owners call it.”
“That name always makes me sad,” she admitted. “Builder of Sorrows. Just reminds me of how…lost the Crew actually are.”
“We weren’t much better once,” James reminded her. “But Bond found us a way home.”
He met both of his officers’ gazes in turn with a firm nod.
“Let’s go make sure home stays safe, shall we?”
The tube connected to Tornado linked in to a central gallery with a dozen other access points. They hadn’t detected any other ships docked with Tortuga upon approach this time, though the perpetual lightning storm the station was now embedded in made detection of anything difficult.
Even knowing what the interior of the bazaar looked like, James still inhaled sharply as they passed from the corridors around the gallery into the massive open space. It had started life as one of the station’s yard slips, intended to repair and refit super-battleships.
At some point in the distant past, it had been sealed over to hold an atmosphere, but only some of the interior space of that six-kilometer length had been filled with construction. The central bazaar remained an open cylinder a kilometer in diameter and four kilometers high, with hundreds of galleries wrapping their way around the open space as they rose “up” toward the center of the station.
The floor was still the chaotic swarm of stalls and rough-and-ready shack-like structures James remembered, the crowds perhaps a little less dense than before but not by much.
The reaction of the crowd to their small team was entirely different.
Initially, they’d been genteelly ignored by most of Tortuga’s population. Later, after they’d crushed a Kanzi attempt to take part of the crew slaves, the population had given them a respectful space…but still mostly ignored them.
Now the crowd was watching them as they moved through the rough aisles of the bazaar, almost shrinking back out of the way. The five hulking suits of power armor were probably part of it, but while James wasn’t great on alien body language, he could recognize hostile glares from at least some species.
“Oh, yeah,” Tellaki murmured. “We are so popular here.”
“About the only place in the galaxy wiping out a pirate fleet isn’t a glowing recommendation,” James replied. “Let’s get to Tallas. Preferably before someone decides to find armor-piercing knives for our backs.”
They had almost reached the bar Ondu Arra Tallas used as the front for his operations before trouble found them, which was farther than James had honestly expected to make it.
While the crowds had been parting to allow James’s party through without issue, many of the sapients filling the halls of Tortuga had then proceeded to follow the humans to see what happened. Everyone knew there was going to be trouble; it was only a question of who found the gear and the guts to stand up to five suits of power armor first.
Somehow, James wasn’t surprised that someone on Tortuga managed to find a matching set of five power-armored thugs. What surprised him was the realization that the occupants of said armor were Frole, a sentient fungal race he’d never seen be anything but calm and curious.
On the other hand, the fact that most of the Frole he’d met were pirates or ex-pirates should have said something about the species.
“I am Phokei,” the central armored figure said. His translated voice was flat—he’d turned off the emotion-translating aspect of the device, and with his natural voice concealed inside the armor, there was no way for James’s to pick it up.
“Nine and twelve buds of my blooming were cut short at Orsav by your Captain,” Phokei told him. “You shall be the first of her blooming to pay recompense with eternity!”
That mouthful of idiom took James a moment to process—but the threat was clear immediately. The Frole grunts had followed the normal Crew expectation—it wasn’t really a rule—not to bring plasma weapons aboard Tortuga, but the heavy high-velocity rifles with their armor-piercing rounds they carried were probably a bigger threat to the station’s integrity.
Less so if they went through James’s people’s power armor, but that wasn’t something he was planning on allowing.
Frole weren’t a particularly slow race, and power armor enhanced their speed. Phokei’s men were probably trained soldiers—but James’s people, human and Rekiki alike at this point, were Special Space Service, run through the most grueling training humanity could envision.
James’s own plasma pistol was in his hand before Phokei had finished raising his own weapon. A short-range wireless link fed the pistol’s sights to contacts he was wearing, and he opened fire from the hip, three bolts of superheated plasma hitting the Frole’s weapon and the chestplate covering the fungoid’s braincase.
At this range, even the somewhat underpowered hand weapon burnt through the power armor with ease. Phokei was dead before he finished raising his weapon—and his followers suffered the same fate at the hands of James’s troopers.
They hadn’t even fired a shot.
James turned to face the crowd, the mix of a dozen sentient races wavering back in fear now.
“We are not here to cause trouble,” he told them. “We are here to do business. I promised the Crew we wouldn’t start anything, but I swear to you on my family’s honor, I will by God finish anything anyone else cares to start.
“Warn your friends. The Terrans are here and we will not be fucked with.”
Either Ondu’s bar was doing horrible business these days, or the scene outside had sent any customers running for an exit. The tables and chairs filling the converted cargo container were empty, the only occupant of the room the twelve-armed, octopus-like alien bartender.
“Ik!It,” James greeted that worthy softly. “We’re here to speak to your boss. Is there going to be any trouble?”
“None you don’t bring with you,” the alien snapped. “You seem to have brought enough.”
“I didn’t start that,” James replied. “I don’t plan on starting anything here. Going to make me change my mind?”
Black eyes met his, empty voids he couldn’t read as Ik!It stared at him in silence for ten seconds. Fifteen.
“Power-armored grunts stay here,” he finally allowed. “You and Captain Kurzman can go through. You’ll have to surrender your guns, especially that plasma pistol of yours.”
“I understand the drill, Ik!It,” the Guardsman told him. “I also understand that surrendering our weapons means you are responsible for our safety.”
“This is Ondu Arra Tallas’s house,” Ik!It snapped as he hit the button to open the storage room. “You know our word is good.”
“I do. That’s why I’m accepting it.” James drew the pistol from his belt and handed it to Ik!It before stepping into the chilled storeroom, watching as several pallets slid aside to reveal the back entrance—and a familiar pair of immense power-armored bodyguards emerged from the shadows.
Their four legs supported massive, barrel-shaped torsos and squat heads, towering two and a half meters tall in armor as they loomed over James and Pat.
“You’re clean,” the guard on the left announced. “Thank you, Colonel, Captain. We appreciate the cooperation.”
“We’re here to do business,” James said. “We’re among friends, aren’t we?”
The guard chuckled.
“You made the boss very, very rich,” he replied. “You’re among friends in Ondu’s house, yes.”
Ondu Arra Tallas did not look well. He’d somehow managed to grow even fatter than his already immensely obese form, the Tosumi’s body now straining against the seams of a suit clearly tailored for his earlier size. He was also molting, feathers flying away in a cloud as he sneezed at James and Pat’s entry.
“Come in, come in,” he wheezed. “Forgive me if I do not rise. My health is poor, your timing…less than good.”
“Are you going to live?” James asked, concerned. Tallas might be a fat, somewhat offensive fence and thief, but he’d done fairly and well by Earth.
“It’s a recurring ailment of my people,” Tallas admitted. “Most of us get over it in childhood; I am not so lucky. I will recover—good doctors help.”
“And money helps with those,” James replied. “My understanding is that you did very well off working with us.”
“Incredibly well,” Tallas agreed. “I have never been so lucky as the cycle Ki!Tana brought your Captain to me, Colonel Wellesley. What can I do for you?”
“We need to withdraw the proceeds from the Lambda Aurigae raid,” James said. He presented a small data stick from inside his power suit’s pockets. “You’ll find the authorization on here.”
“Fair winds, fair winds,” Tallas said cheerfully. “How much, Colonel?”
“All of it.”
The fat Tosumi froze.
“All of it?”
“All of it,” James repeated. “We need the funds in a form that can be transported to Earth and used to make payments in an Imperial bank.”
“Laundering and funneling a few million at a time into the Imperial banking system is one thing, Colonel,” Tallas said slowly. “My resources can handle that with ease, but expanding that… I am already moving as much money to your Duchess as I reasonably can.
“Even if we fly over any need for hiding our transactions, I cannot ask people to risk themselves. I cannot significantly increase the funding I am already providing from that principal.”
“Then pay us in cash.”
“There isn’t that much Imperial cash on Tortuga!” Tallas exclaimed. “If I exercised every resource at my command, I could perhaps come up with enough cash for a twentieth of the amount.”
James considered the broker for a long moment and then smiled coldly.
“What did you do with our money, Tallas?” he demanded.
“Nothing!” the broker snapped. “I have it all, every penny; I can provide a full accounting. Some of it is in investments and assets but all liquid. If you wanted to spend the money on Tortuga, Colonel, I could have every single mark available to you within two cycles.
“But to take it from Tortuga and return it to Earth for the Duchess to spend it there?” Tallas threw up all four of his arms and sneezed again, his distress throwing molted yellow feathers all over the room.
“That is an entirely different wind you ask for, Colonel, and I do not have the resources. Give me a five-cycle and I might be able to come up with perhaps a tenth of the sum in transferrable assets.”
“We could wait a five-cycle,” Pat said quietly as James processed, “but we need a quarter of the money by then.”
Ondu Arra Tallas seemed to deflate in on himself.
“I cannot,” he finally said. “If I could pay you out, I would. Holding so much money for people my neighbors hate is dangerous, Colonel. I owe you, but I would happily be done with you.”
“Do we need to go to the Crew?” James asked. He didn’t want to threaten Tallas, he mostly liked the old bird, but the Crew enforced contracts on Tortuga.
“I could pay you tomorrow in their systems,” Tallas complained. “They won’t enforce more than that.”
“But perhaps the Crew has a different answer,” Pat pointed out, and James looked at his husband questioningly.
“Finish your words,” Tallas said after a moment’s thought.
“They are the main bank here, aren’t they?” Pat asked. “Wouldn’t they have some way of their own of transferring funds to the Imperial system? Better to pay a percentage and have the money than be owed the full amount and be unable to use it.”
James inclined his head toward Pat. Apparently, sometimes having spent most of your career as a civilian was useful. James had been thinking more in terms of shaking the money out of Tallas, which clearly wasn’t possible, not in finding the right help.
“They might,” Tallas finally admitted. “Their fees are not cheap, but…” He sneezed again, more feathers scattering around the room. “I owe you, but I wish to be done with you,” he repeated. “If you have a number you must meet, I will make certain you have at least that much left after the Crew’s fee.
“Then we are finished, but finished on positive winds. I would have no quarrel with your Duchy.”
James chuckled.
“I like that plan better,” he agreed. “If it were up to us, Ondu Arra Tallas, our Duchy would have no quarrel with anyone!”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It only took a single cycle to get an audience—and one with the High Captain, to their surprise.
Even Tallas appeared surprised by how quickly the process went. The Tosumi was an influential member of Tortuga’s community, but the High Captain of the Laian Crew was a busy, busy being with many claims on his time—very few of which involved the collection of pirates and outcasts who resided in his station.
They’d asked to speak to the equivalent of a bank manager and been informed they were meeting with the CEO. It was…not what James had expected.
James and Pat and their escorts spent the cycle in Tallas’s compound, which turned out to be significantly larger than the one bar and meeting room they had seen. The Tosumi lived in one of the sections of hull that had been built as a proper space station, with plenty of rooms for his staff and guests—and a very small number of ways in.
The compound was secure, and James had no worries about their safety once they made it into the core of the station to meet with the High Captain. The trip between the two, however, made him nervous.
“All I ask, Colonel, is that your men follow my people’s lead,” Tallas told him as they armed up. “Your people are better fighters and the likely first target, I agree, but my people know Tortuga.
“We don’t want to start a firefight over a rotten vegetable, after all.”
“Very well,” James agreed, gesturing Tellaki over to them. “But as soon as we see weapons, all bets are off. I don’t want to damage your reputation, Ondu, but I won’t risk my people, either.”
“After yesterday, I do not expect further trouble,” the agent told him. “Unless you have more enemies than I know of, most of those who would seek revenge for Orsav will be cowed for now.”
“What about Kanzi?”
“There’s some on the station,” Tallas admitted. “There’s always some; why?”
“I don’t trust them,” James said, unwilling to admit that the blue-furred bastards had been sniffing around Sol. “So, if there’s any here, we will keep a very sharp eye out.”
The previous day, the crowds had parted in front of James’s party. Now, having seen the last people to screw with them left as smoking heaps on the ground, the crowds disappeared as they made their way through the stations.
The stores and restaurants to either side of them were unusually full, but the alleys and pathways themselves were creepily empty around them.
Ondu’s two massive bodyguards took the lead, with Tellaki and the two armored Rekiki falling into the rear. The empty halls were hitting on everyone’s nerves, and James knew he was sweeping for the attack the back of his neck knew was coming.
He’d never know what Tellaki saw or heard. Rekiki hearing was better than human, though their sight was worse.
“Everyone down!” the armored alien bellowed, throwing his massive form forward and smashing James and Pat to the ground to make sure they obeyed.
Stunned from the impact, James almost missed the sound of the gunshots…and it took him several seconds to realize the hot liquid sprayed across his face was Tellaki’s blood.
The shot, whatever it was, had gone clean through the Rekiki’s power armor and out the other side, punching a fist-sized exit wound through the centimeter-thick defensive layer.
“Defend Tallas!” another massive voice boomed, followed by the distinctive hiss-crack of plasma weapons—and then a deep-throated scream like a wounded elephant.
Despite the amount of blood pooling on the ground, Tellaki was still firing his weapon as James rolled out from underneath his subordinate and came up on one knee, his power suit’s scanners seeking the attackers.
One of Ondu’s massive guards was down, a massive hole blown through his armor. The agent had been thrown behind the corpse, presumably by the other guard, who was laying down heavy fire on the gallery above them.
Both of James’s human Guardsmen were dead, baseball-sized holes blown clean through them. His Rekiki soldiers were taking advantage of the big alien’s covering fire to take clean, precise shots.
His suit identified a shooter rising to fire on the big alien and he snapped his pistol to firing position. A triple blast of plasma joined the cascade of fire, answered by a scream as a big rifle tumbled from the gallery, followed by a blue-furred corpse in the same sort of commando armor he was wearing.
A heavy penetrator slug missed him by centimeters, its impact rippling the heavy metal plating he stood on and sending him lurching to the side—which forced a second miss.
The third round clipped his arm, tearing open his armor—but not stopping him from finding the shooter and returning fire. Another Kanzi commando fell—only for his sensors to flash another danger warning.
A Rekiki Guardsman went down, her crocodile-like head shattered like fresh fruit by the penetrator rounds. James returned fire, forcing her killer to duck behind cover.
Then the Kanzi’s cover exploded as a heavy plasma bolt ripped through it, vaporizing the commando in a single blast. James had pushed the limits with the plasma guns his people had brought, but that was heavier than anyone except the Crew carried…
More heavy plasma bolts tore into the gallery, the troopers carrying the big guns clearly not caring if they utterly wrecked the deck and the stores on it. Several meters of gallery flashed to vapor under the pounding before the shooting finally, blessedly stopped.
A dozen Crew, half Laians and half other races but all in dark red power armor, advanced down the empty street with heavy weapons at the ready, sweeping for additional threats.
“James!” Pat shouted. With the fight over, James turned his attention back to his husband—who was desperately trying to staunch the bleeding from the ugly wound through Tellaki’s torso.
The Ducal Guard commander was there a moment later, trying to help. The penetrator had blown too large a hole for the armor’s own systems to help…and it wasn’t just blood loss. Even a cursory glance warned James that Tellaki had lost critical organs.
“It’s too late,” the Rekiki growled. “I’m sorry.”
“You saved us,” James whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Tellaki said fiercely, bloody froth drifting around his teeth. “You remember. You tell…my Duchess…she gave us…back…our honor.”
The Crew soldiers formed a dark red perimeter around Wellesley and his dead troopers. It took every ounce of his hard-earned and hard-trained British stoicism for the tall, aristocratic soldier not to scream at the aliens and their late arrival.
“We came as soon as we were aware there was a problem,” one of the beetle-like aliens told him, approaching cautiously. “We did not expect Mahalzi aboard the station.”
“That won’t bring my back my dead,” he told the alien. “I see Tortuga is a haven for any and all scum as always.”
“The Mahalzi are not scum,” the alien replied. “They are Kanzi special forces and they are not welcome aboard Tortuga.”
It paused.
“I have orders to deliver you to the High Captain. I will make certain your honored dead are returned to your ship, and you have the word of the Crew you and Tallas will also be conveyed safely.”
James met his husband’s gaze. Pat was looking shocky, but he nodded slowly.
“Very well,” the Colonel said flatly. “Take us to the High Captain.”
James Arthur Valerian Wellesley was the descendant in direct line of the original Duke of Wellington, the man credited with the defeat of the Emperor Napoleon. It was hard not to feel the weight of three centuries of aristocrats and soldiers watching his every action, his every word.
Sometimes, it was intimidating. Sometimes, that weight was the only thing that allowed James to remain calm and maintain the stiff upper lip those ancestors required of him. It might require a mask of overly precise British formality, but it wasn’t like the aliens he was speaking to could register that.
They’d probably register him screaming bloody murder and death threats.
He followed the Laian troopers along the gently curving corridors of Tortuga’s inner core, with Ondu Tallas in his own wake. The Tosumi was taking the loss of his bodyguards hard, though it was to the fat alien’s credit that he seemed entirely unbothered by being shot at.
The corridor terminated at a massive security hatch, a heavy black metal blast door that likely protected either Tortuga’s bridge or a similar nerve center.
Their exit was about five meters before the hatch, a side door that slid aside to allow them access into a mid-sized conference room that, other than the chairs and the occupants, would have looked perfectly normal anywhere in Sol.
He recognized the room from Annette’s description of her meeting with High Captain Ridotak and was unsurprised to see that nothing had changed in the layout. Three tables were formed into a rough U shape, and three Laians sat behind the top table.
The center was the largest of the species he’d ever seen, clad in gold but moving with an exaggerated care James associated with very old humans.
“Colonel Wellesley,” the High Captain greeted him. “Ondu Arra Tallas. I apologize for your encounter on the way.” The massive beetle-like alien’s pincers were laid carefully on the table, but they twitched angrily as he spoke.
“We did not expect you to require additional protection,” Ridotak noted. “We did not expect Mahalzi on our station—the Kanzi we see here are more normally smugglers and slavers. Not assassins and commandos.”
“I am not familiar with these Mahalzi,” James admitted. “Though I now owe them a debt of blood and honor I intend to pay.”
“They are the Sons of God,” the Laian replied. If James was following correctly, the Laian was expanding the words. Kanzi, after all, meant “Faces of God.”
“They are elite commandos in the direct service of the First Priest of the Theocracy. For them to strike at you, she must have specifically sent them here to prevent any agent of Dan!Annette Bond from claiming the funds she had stored here.”
“It seems we have made an impression,” James said flatly.
“Indeed,” Ridotak agreed. “I must note, Colonel, we made no promises for your safety outside the core of the station. While the Mahalzi are not permitted on this station, you remained responsible for your own security.”
And four of his men and two of Tallas’s were dead. A single Rekiki SSS trooper waited for him at the entrance to the station core, his wounds being treated by the Crew.
Despite that and Ridotak’s claim of no responsibility, it was the Crew who had saved them. James could be—was!—angry at them, but they had acted.
“Your intervention is appreciated,” he ground out.
“Our intervention was self-defense,” the big Laian told him. “We have seen what happens when you Terrans feel threatened, and I did not wish to see the rest of your troops storm my station.”
“May I summon troops to make certain that Tallas and I return to our respective homes safely?” James asked.
“You may,” Ridotak allowed. “We will also reinforce your escorts with Crew and have already arranged for your dead to be safely returned to your ship.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, you had business with the Crew,” the High Captain noted. “We would permit the Mahalzi at least a partial victory were we to forget. What can the Crew of Tortuga do for you, Colonel?”
“I am not certain that we needed to speak with you, High Captain,” James told him. “We requested to speak with someone from your banks and were surprised when we were informed we would meet with you.”
“You are the representatives of an A!Tol Duchy,” Ridotak pointed out. “From our perspective, Colonel, it is far wiser for you to deal with those you already know than for us to allow you to identify others.”
“We are not here to enforce the Imperium’s laws,” the Colonel replied. “We are here to conclude our business with Tortuga, High Captain, that we may never bother each other again.”
“You were only permitted to board as your code was valid and you held significant accounts here,” one of the other Laians interrupted. “Any future attempt to visit would be repelled with force.”
Ridotak raised an arm weakly, but his voice was firm even through the translator.
“Peace, Onodan,” he commanded. “Our Terran friends understand the situation. They have their own limitations on being able to deal with us; the presence of the commander of Dan!Annette Bond’s personal guard on Tortuga is a political nightmare for her.”
“An active insult to the Imperium,” James agreed. “A response in kind, one could say, for actions of theirs.
“But if we will not be permitted to return, then it becomes necessary for us to fully withdraw all of our accounts and investments, both direct and through Ondu, in a form that can be funneled to the Duchess.
“Ondu informs me that his resources are insufficient to do so, which brings us once again to the court of the High Captain,” James concluded smoothly. “We need to transfer those funds, and I believe you have the resources to do so.”
“So much blood,” Ridotak observed. “You Terrans have marked your new place in the stars with fire and blood, and yet money makes the galaxy turn, does it not?”
James was silent. He couldn’t disagree.
“We can do what you ask,” the High Captain continued after a moment. “The price is high.”
“I will pay it,” Ondu Arra Tallas coughed. “I owe the Colonel my life. Whatever the fees, whatever your rates, High Captain, I will cover it and see the Terrans paid.”
“Be cautious, Ondu Tallas,” Ridotak warned. “Even if you pay out the Terrans, there will always be those who blame you for the deaths at Orsav.”
“The sun claims the weak,” Tallas snapped. “A flock that betrays is a flock that burns. They chose their wind and fell.”
“Poetic, but no shield against hatred and anger,” the Laian noted.
“For that, I have fire and steel,” the old trader told him. “There are those upon this station, High Captain, who do not forget their oaths and contracts.”
“Then it shall be done,” Ridotak said calmly. “Provide the details to your usual contact, Ondu Arra Tallas. I will make certain the fee is one you can bear. I will not permit my Crew to repay honor with dishonor.”
Tallas bowed, and the big Laian turned to James.
“So long as Bond remains Duchess, she is not welcome here,” he said calmly. “But… If Terra falls again. If the Imperium turns on her. If she finds herself once more a homeless warrior, tell her she will have a place here. So will you and Captain Kurzman.”
“I do not expect to need it, but I understand,” James replied with a bow. “In turn, know this: if the Crew would ever seek a home. If Builder of Sorrows would instead build dreams, then come to Sol.
“You will not be turned away.”
Mandibles chittered in alien laughter, but Ridotak bowed his head.
“We are lost, Colonel, but we are comfortable in our wandering now. Fixed in our ways. Tortuga will find no home, no rest. Our old masters would see a threat if we did,” he warned quietly. “As you say, I understand, but it would not work.”
“Any of the Crew are welcome,” James replied. “But I think we understand each other, High Captain.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Annabel Sherman and ten power-armored troopers were waiting when James led Ondu and Kurzman back out of the core station of Tortuga. The blonde Troop Captain had doffed her helmet and was speaking calmly to the Laian Crew NCO commanding the guard detachment.
Only someone who knew her well could see the tense lines in her face and the way she held herself, even in the battle armor. Sherman was ready to leap into action, and the fact that her ten men were a fragile weapon against the might of Tortuga’s Crew was irrelevant to her.
“Stand down, Troop Captain,” James murmured as he stepped up to her. “Status report?”
“The Crew helped us move our wounded and dead back to Tornado,” she reported. “Backup teams are guarding the ship, ready to deploy forward if there’s any further trouble.”
“There won’t be,” the Crew noncom she’d been speaking to said firmly. “I am First Spear Podule—I met your Duchess once.
“Our High Captain has sworn no more harm will come to you,” Podule continued. “My troops and I will see you safely to your ship and Tallas safely to his compound.”
As the Laian spoke, more Crew troopers in their dark red power armor were emerging, dozens strong.
“I need to go to their ship first,” Tallas told her. “Colonel Wellesley and I have business to conclude.”
“Very well,” Podule replied. “I will have some of my troops remain there until you are ready to leave. We will see you safely home, Agent Tallas.”
“Are you all right, Ondu?” James asked after they finally sealed Tornado’s hatch behind them.
“Katel and Moren had worked for me for fifty cycles,” the Tosumi said flatly. “I know their mates, their young, their fathers. This was not the first time they fought for me, but it was the last.
“On what wind could I be ‘all right,’ Colonel?”
“You’re a better being than you give yourself credit for, I think, Ondu Tallas,” James told him. “How can we assist you?”
“I will be fine,” Tallas said. “Losing friends hurts.”
“Yes,” James agreed flatly.
“I will sort out arrangements with the Crew and let you know once the transfer commences,” the alien told him. “I need a few moments…away from Tortuga.”
“You are welcome aboard Tornado,” Kurzman told the alien.
James studied his husband. He was, in truth, more concerned about Pat than he was about Tallas. Not only was Pat more important to him personally, but hand-to-hand combat wasn’t a Navy officer’s strength.
Kurzman looked…okay. A little pale, a little shaky, but surprisingly okay.
“Even the Crew would have difficulty threatening Tornado quickly,” Kurzman continued. “We owe you, Ondu Arra Tallas. You are welcome aboard my ship.”
“More than here,” James told the alien. “If you ever find yourself in need of another haven, the Duchy of Terra will not turn you away.”
“Trying to recruit the dregs of the universe, are you?” Tallas asked, a modicum of cheer slipping back into his translated voice. The translator software had a lot of experience with English now, and James could read both his grief and his determination to carry on.
“‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,’” James quoted. “Not my country, but a story with meaning regardless. Terra knows you as a friend, Ondu. We do not turn away our friends.”
“Your men,” Tallas said after a moment of studying the wall. “They have families?”
“Not the Rekiki, I don’t believe,” James admitted. “My two human troopers, yes.”
“I will send additional funds with the transfer for them, Colonel. Will you see them delivered? I recognize my debts.”
Ondu Arra Tallas might be a fence and a pirate, but he’d played fair and well with the Terrans, both as rogues and as a new government.
“I’ll make it happen,” James promised.
Later, once Tallas had returned aboard Tortuga and James had checked in on his wounded trooper, he made sure to catch Pat in their shared quarters. Tornado’s Captain was trading in the low-profile power suit for his regular uniform, but he’d stopped half-dressed, staring at the mirror.
“Hell of a thing,” Pat said quietly as James closed the door behind them. “Hell of a thing.”
Pat Kurzman was older than James and looked it, though his solid build was still muscled and the gray simply added a flair of distinction to his hair. James took a moment to survey his half-naked husband as he crossed the room and laid a hand on Pat’s shoulder.
“Being shot at isn’t normally part of a Space Force man’s job,” he said quietly. “That’s what you have the Special Space Service for—and all of us are five-year vets before we’re even considered. My people and I have been shot at before.”
“So have I, if you remember,” Pat pointed out. “Here on Tortuga. Haven’t…haven’t had someone bleed out on me before. Tellaki was a good man…Rekiki…whatever.”
For a moment, Pat’s words brought back a time, many years earlier, when a younger James Wellesley of the Special Air Service had dragged a comrade-in-arms out of a firefight in a godawful war zone the SAS had never officially entered…only for the man to finish bleeding to death just as they reached the medic.
“You’ve lost people,” James reminded him. “Don’t pretend damage control is safe and clean to me, Pat. I’ve boarded too many ships to buy that bullshit.”
Pat chuckled. It was a bitter noise but not one without hope.
“We got what we were after, I suppose. Was the price worth it?”
“I don’t know if the price is ever worth it,” James told him. “But we traded four lives for the resources to acquire sixteen super-battleships and, arguably, unquestioned security for Earth.
“If you’d asked them if they’d make that trade, most, if not all, of my people would say yes,” he continued. “I would—even if you’d told me one of those lives would be my own. We swore an oath, Pat.”
“And we’ll keep it,” Pat confirmed. “They weren’t the only ones to die for us to have those ships. Too much blood.”
“The Mahalzi make me worry about what’s coming,” James admitted. “There’s no reason for there to be Kanzi commandos on Tortuga—or, at least, for them to attack us—unless they’re moving on Sol.”
“Religious slavers,” his husband said quietly. “What wonderful neighbors we have.”
“That’s what the Scots used to say about us English,” James pointed out. “And I can’t argue there probably wasn’t about as much slaving and raping when the English went north.”
“You think there’s more to them?”
“I think there has to be,” James said reasonably. “It’s not going to stop me fighting them tooth and nail every inch of the way and surrounding Earth with a wall of blue-furred corpses if need be. But I’ll realize there has to be more to the Kanzi than slavers and religious fanatics.”
He shrugged.
“Hell, beyond ‘God says they can enslave anyone who looks like them,’ I haven’t even been able to find out much about their religion.”
“They’re not exactly making me want to try,” Pat replied.
“That’s part of it,” James agreed.
“We’re going to be good, Pat,” he continued. “We did what we came here for. We’ll wait for Tallas to confirm the transfer, then we get the hell home.”
“Worried it isn’t going to be there?” his husband asked.
“Your baby is the Duchy’s most powerful warship,” James replied. “Everyone will be happier once she’s back in Terran orbit.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Captain Andrew Lougheed looked around his quarters aboard Washington one last time, to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.
He’d barely been in command of the destroyer long enough to justify unpacking. Just long enough to make sure his cadre was holding together and to train a double-strength crew to barely basic competence.
Andrew agreed with the logic that said there was no point manning the unmodified City-class ships now that they had the modified ships, now designated the Capital class, to deploy. His new command, Ottawa, could take both Washington and Beijing in a straight fight.
The intercom pinged.
“We’re approaching BugWorks Station,” Arendse’s voice told him. “ETA is under five minutes, so if you want to take a look at the new ships from the outside…”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Andrew replied, smiling. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
Leaving his suitcases for the transfer team, he swept out of the room for the last time.
Small as Washington was in the new scheme of things, she was still the size of a pre-conquest UESF cruiser and vastly larger than the survey ship that had been Andrew’s last command. It took him a full two minutes to reach his bridge and drop into his chair, studying the screens as the destroyer came in toward BugWorks station.
The once-secret R&D facility was a ring a kilometer across with four massive towers extended up and down from the ring. Once, those heavily reinforced towers had provided additional living space in a station whose pseudo-gravity was provided by rotation. Now they anchored the attached shipyards where Nova Industries was upgrading the Duchy of Terra’s destroyers.
Four of the Capital-class destroyers filled those yards, the last flurry of work shuttles skimming around the warships as they made them ready for their space trials and deployment.
“A month from design to deployment,” Arendse observed. “Nova Industries is impressive.”
“The core design is solid,” Andrew reminded her, patting his command chair. “The A!Tol build good ships, and most of what Nova was doing to turn Cities into Capitals was adding to the exterior hull.”
Washington’s Captain tapped a command on his chair.
“BugWorks Control, this is Washington. We are inbound at point one cee and preparing to match orbital velocity for docking. We will hold for instructions at ten thousand kilometers.”
Arendse was a mistress of interface-drive maneuvers now, turning an old skill with reaction thrusters into a dancer’s precision with the reactionless engine Washington mounted. She brought the destroyer zipping in at thirty thousand kilometers a second and to a complete halt relative to the station. At exactly ten thousand kilometers.
“Washington, this is BugWorks,” a voice replied. “Welcome back, Captain Lougheed. Transmitting docking coordinates now. How’s your new ship and your new new ship looking?”
Andrew chuckled at the descriptors.
“Washington is a slick little ship,” he told BugWorks. “I’ll be sad to give her up, but I’m looking at Ottawa in the viewscreen. Your teams have done us proud.”
There weren’t a lot of visible differences to the upgraded ships. Knowing where to look, Andrew picked out the Sword laser defense turrets and the mountings for the Buckler drones, but the compressed-matter armor was hidden under the same brilliant white paint they’d coated Washington in.
All of the A!Tol-designed ships were gorgeous, even if their tentacle-esque lines occasionally left Andrew feeling he was about to be eaten by a sea monster.
“Nova Industries lives to serve, Captain,” the controller replied. “Would you like fries with your destroyer?”
“Please, I’m Canadian. I’ll take poutine,” Andrew told him with a laugh. He glanced at Arendse, the young African woman flashing him a thumbs-up and dropping a timer on his screen.
“We make it twenty seconds to docking,” he told BugWorks.
“I have the same. Welcome aboard.”
Andrew let that channel die, then opened an all-hands channel to his crew as the destroyer glided into her assigned slot.
“Officers and crew of Washington,” he greeted them, “this is your Captain speaking. We are docking at BugWorks Station in preparation for transfer to our new ships.
“Half of you are coming with me to Ottawa. The others will be joining Captain Laurent aboard Canberra. We’ve had a short but intense cruise and you’ve all done me proud.
“Washington stands down at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow. Sorry, C-Shift, but you’ve still got the night watch. Everyone else is cleared for shore leave, but make sure your stuff makes it to your new ship by ten hundred hours tomorrow.
“Those of you joining me on Ottawa, I look forward to seeing you again. Those of you going to Canberra”—he paused, then chuckled—“take care of my girlfriend or you will hear from me!”
Andrew met Warner at the airlock, his executive officer glad-handing with the crew as they made their way onto the station. The younger officer, one of the many UESF officers to join the new service, saluted as Andrew approached.
“A and B shifts are all off-ship,” he reported. “With your permission, I’d like to release every second person from the C-shift as well. We’re running double-strength still, so half a shift can more than handle anything in dock.”
“Could we still fly her with half of C-shift?” Andrew asked.
“We’re in dock, sir,” Warner replied. “Why would we need to fly her?”
“Right now, Washington represents half the armed starships in this system,” Andrew pointed out. “I’d be remiss in my responsibilities if we didn’t keep enough crew aboard to at least carry out a search and rescue op.”
“Half of C-shift would put us at about eighteen percent of list strength,” his XO considered aloud. “Skeleton crew, but we could fly her.”
“But not fight her,” Washington’s Captain pointed out. “Sorry, Commander. I sympathize with our crew, but until we move over enough people to take the Capitals out of dry dock, Washington must retain a fighting crew. Permission denied.”
Warner sighed.
“Yes, sir,” he said crisply. “What about yourself, sir? Heading off-ship?”
“For a few hours,” Andrew confirmed. “I’m meeting with Captain Laurent to celebrate her promotion. I’m on call,” he told his XO. “If anything comes up, don’t hesitate to reach out to me. I’ll be back aboard by oh two hundred or so at the latest, well before the stand-down.”
“Understood, sir. Enjoy your date, Captain.”
Andrew took his XO’s proffered hand for a brisk shake, then stepped into the airlock.
He was barely inside the station before he was intercepted, a sandy-haired chubby woman in a tailored business suit bearing down on him and calling his name.
“Captain Lougheed!”
Sighing, Andrew turned to face her.
“May I help you, miss?”
“Camber, Captain Lougheed. My name is Amanda Camber, and I believe I can help you,” she said briskly. “May we speak in private?”
“Miss Camber, I am a very busy man and have an appointment to keep,” he told her. “I suggest you get to the point very quickly; I do not have time for games.”
“Captain, please,” she told him. “I represent certain parties that are prepared to make you quite wealthy if you are willing to cooperate, but these aren’t matters that should be discussed in public.”
A string of mental curses ran through Andrew’s head as he glanced around. For all that Camber was calling this “public”, there was no one around to see or overhear them. He doubted that was unintentional.
“Miss Camber,” he repeated, “I am an officer in the Duchy’s militia. I cannot think of anything I can do that would incline anyone to make me ‘quite wealthy,’ as you say. I think we would all benefit if you and I simply forgot we saw each other and moved on.”
While he spoke, he was sidling as subtly away from her as he could, opening the distance while he triggered a panic button on his communicator. His current best guess was “corporate espionage,” but whatever it was, he was very sure he did not want to get involved.
“I’m not asking you to do anything to betray your oaths, Captain,” Camber insisted. “I represent a group of…patriots who think it is not in Earth’s best interest to have all of our technology in the hands of one company!”
There should have been MPs rallying to the panic button within moments, and a chill ran down Andrew’s spine. Something was not right. Something more important than corporate espionage.
“Miss Camber, I will not participate in any kind of betrayal of the Duchy’s militia, even corporate espionage against our contractors,” he said flatly. “Unless you want to explain how you knew I would be here to the station’s military police, I suggest you disappear. Fast.”
“The cameras are down in this section, Captain. Stop mugging for them,” Camber said sardonically. “You haven’t called the MPs. I’d have been warned.”
“I haven’t?” Andrew asked, pulling his communicator out and showing it to her. “I suggest you check again.”
Camber stared at the flashing panic icon on the communicator screen, then yanked out a device of her own.
“Clever, Captain,” she told him. “It appears I am being jammed.”
Andrew checked the status of his communicator and swore.
“Not just you, Miss Camber,” he admitted. “So, if you don’t mind, it appears I have bigger fish to fry than a corporate spy. Don’t let me see you again.”
Chapter Forty
“What do you mean, we’ve lost contact with BugWorks Station?” Jean Villeneuve demanded.
The nervous-looking tech, a squat noncom with a nametag identifying him as Q. Shang in Defense One’s command center, shook his head quickly.
“I don’t know, sir,” he admitted. “All telemetry and military communications just went down two minutes ago. It could be a transmitter issue.”
“It could,” Jean agreed. “Or it could be something worse. See if you can ping anything.”
“Already on it, sir,” the tech replied. “We have an auto-ping sequence running that should get a response from something, but so far, we’re drawing a blank.”
“Keep on it,” the old French Admiral ordered. He turned to walk over to the holotank, studying the presentation of Earth’s orbital space.
“This is up to date, correct?” he asked one of the other techs.
“Yes, sir,” she confirmed. “Being fed with visual and radar details up to the minute. There’s speed-of-light delays, but that’s it.”
Jean nodded his thanks and continued his study of the display. At least that meant that BugWorks Station was still there, even if the Nova Industries research base was being suddenly uncommunicative.
There were a number of tagged spacecraft floating around BugWorks and its attached yards, he realized, and a possibility struck him.
“Shang,” he snapped, gesturing the first tech back to him. “Can we reach any of the shuttles near BugWorks? There’s at least two dozen interface-drive small craft there; one should be able to swing by and check on the station.”
“We’ll try, sir,” Shang replied. “That’s funny,” he continued a moment later, studying his screen—then looked up at Jean in horror.
“Admiral Villeneuve,” he said formally, “BugWorks Station is being jammed. There’s a field extending at least one hundred kilometers from the station hull that we can’t reach any of the shuttles inside.”
A chill ran down Jean’s spine. He wasn’t surprised, somehow, but the timing couldn’t be worse.
“Confirm the locations of Washington and Beijing for me,” he said quietly.
“Both are docked with BugWorks,” the scanner tech, her nametag showing K. Lamb, reported. “They’re inside the jamming field Shang identified.”
And Tornado was a minimum of a week from Sol, even if they’d failed to find Tortuga and just turned around. Every warship Earth had was inside a field of impenetrable jamming emerging from their current main shipyard.
“Take the defense network to Status One,” he snapped. “Standing orders: any vessel that attempts to depart BugWorks station is to be locked in and challenged. If they fail to provide Alpha-level confirmation, they will be fired upon.
“Declare a twenty-thousand-kilometer no-fly zone around the Lunar Yards,” he continued. That single refit slip, barely three-quarters assembled, was the only facility that could handle the new super-battleships.
“Any vessel, including the destroyers, that approaches within that no-fly zone is to be fired upon without further warning,” he ordered coldly.
“Sir?” Lamb asked slowly.
“Do it,” he snapped. “The only reason to jam BugWorks, Chief, is to steal the Capitals. I will not risk the Lunar Yards—and I will destroy those ships myself to keep them out of the wrong hands!”
To Andrew’s surprise, the spy managed to keep up with him as he set off for the nearest control station.
“What’s going on?” Camber demanded.
“Frankly, none of your damned business,” he snapped. “Get out of my way, Miss Camber. The last thing I need right now is to babysit a damned spy.”
She still followed him but was silent for a long moment.
“BugWorks is under attack, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Probably.”
“How can I help?”
He glanced back at her sharply, but much of the crisp cheer and warmth she’d been showering on him before was gone. In its place was a calm professionalism, one that was assessing the risk and making a call.
“Get out of the way?” he suggested.
“Like I said, Captain, I’m a patriot,” she told him. “Might have a beef with Nova Industries, but this is something else. Hell, if you want me to play courier, I can do that.”
He sighed. Andrew wasn’t sure he could trust her, but he didn’t have much choice.
“If you’ve got something that might break through the jamming, I’ll hear it,” he told her. “If not, the best thing you can do is run for the Guard barracks and sound an alarm.”
“I’ve got a frequency hopper,” she told him, “but I’m not hooked into the station net, so I don’t have any power behind it at all.”
“Give,” he ordered.
She removed a dongle from her communicator and passed it to him. Hesitating for a moment, she shrugged.
“Guard barracks, you said?”
“Yeah,” Andrew said distractedly, linking her device into his communicator.
“I’ll warn them,” she promised. “Good luck, Captain Lougheed.”
Before he could respond, the spy was gone, moving down the halls of BugWorks Station at a rapid jog. He stared after her for a moment in surprise, then turned his attention back to the communicator.
The frequency hopper Camber had been using was a slick piece of tech, enough to dance around the jamming. Even with a link into the station’s systems, though, he couldn’t link through to anyone. The Militia network was now completely down, someone having crashed the system based on the old UESF net.
The Nova Industries network was another mess. He could link in, but it was being spammed with garbage data on top of having the wireless portion jammed. Someone had been very careful to make sure that any possible communications even inside BugWorks was gone.
But…
Andrew Lougheed had been a UESF officer, but he’d also been in command of one of Elon Casimir’s survey ships. He’d flown missions for Casimir they hadn’t told anyone else about—and those involved in Casimir’s black recon operation had had their own network aboard BugWorks.
That was still up. It was barely used now, lacking anything resembling routing directories. There were some direct codes he knew, however, and he pinged Laurent.
“Who is this?” she demanded.
“It’s Andrew,” he told his girlfriend. “I’m punching through the old covert network to reach you. Are you all right?”
“Am I all right?” she snapped. “I’m locked in my damned quarters and haven’t been able to reach anybody for at least ten minutes, but I’m fine. What the hell is going on?”
“The entire station is jammed and both the Militia and Nova networks are being hammered on the hard lines as well,” he told her grimly. “We’re under cyber attack, I assume to cover a more direct attack.”
His old XO, now promoted to his own rank given the Duchy’s shortage of interface-drive-experienced officers, thought for a long moment.
“The destroyers,” she concluded grimly. “I don’t know who, but the only thing they can be after is the Capitals.”
“They’re not even manned,” he pointed out.
“But they’re ready to deploy in all other aspects, so if someone has brought a crew or—”
“Or if our ex-UESF crew are Weber infiltrators,” Andrew finished her thought. “Shit.”
“I don’t know where Sade is, but I’m going to break out and head for Geneva,” Laurent told him. “Try and collect at least some crew along the way. We need something in space to stop anyone running.”
“I’m not far from Washington,” Andrew told her. “I’ll get her back into space, then we’ll try and coordinate from there.”
“Good luck, my love.”
“And to you.” He paused. “Wait, how are you getting out? You said you were locked in.”
“And I have a plasma pistol,” his girlfriend said calmly. “I just wasn’t sure the situation deserved it.”
When Elon and Zhao had told Annette they wanted to install a high-speed tram line into the underground tunnel between her apartment building and Wuxing Tower, she’d scoffed at them. It was less than half a kilometer’s walk, after all.
Zhao had gone ahead and done it anyway.
Now, that same very short tram line, operational for barely a week, had allowed her and Elon to get from her apartment to the Planetary Crisis Center in Wuxing Tower in just over three minutes, Ducal Guard bodyguards in tow.
“Does anyone have a new update?” she demanded as she strode into the half-assembled Center. It was a partial replica of the command centers in place aboard the orbital platforms, buried in the heart of the massive armored tower the Duchy now based its government in.
Partial because the systems weren’t installed yet. The big holotank was in place and turned on, but it was being run from a single console with cables strewn hazardously across the floor.
When complete, the Crisis Center was intended to hold her entire Council during an invasion, providing the data and communications support to run a worldwide defense. It wasn’t ready…but anything better was in orbit.
“We’re getting a link from Admiral Villeneuve aboard Defense One,” Militia Commodore Uilani Koa told her. Koa was a Hawaiian woman, petite and tanned with a short black braid almost identical to Annette’s own—and she’d been here to oversee installation of the hardware.
The sudden change in job description didn’t seem to have fazed her.
“We don’t have the channels to link directly into the satellites,” she continued, “so Villeneuve’s people are doing the synthesis and analysis and beaming it down to us. It’s not perfect, but it’ll keep us informed.”
“Thank you, Commodore,” Annette told her. “So, we’re getting data. Has anything changed?”
“No,” Koa said softly. “BugWorks remains inside a powerful jamming field. Villeneuve has confirmed that it is Terran tech.”
“How Terran?” Earth’s Duchess asked.
“UESF,” Koa said flatly. Unlike most of the new Militia’s senior officers, Koa had not been a member of the United Earth Space Force. She’d come to the Militia from the United States Air Force—an organization that had never quite accepted that they shouldn’t be the ones running Earth’s spaceborne defenses.
“Almost certainly from the Weber Protocol caches,” she continued. “So, that bit of brilliance continues to pay dividends.”
“Peace, Commodore,” Annette ordered. “If the Kanzi had conquered us, the Network might have been our only hope. I just wish these idiots would realize we’re better off hiding behind someone else right now.”
“There is no sign of anyone boarding or attacking the exterior of the station,” Elon noted. Annette’s lover had crossed to the holotank and was studying it. “A jammer of this magnitude wasn’t snuck onto my station, Annette. It had to be brought aboard by people authorized to bring heavy equipment on.”
“I know,” Annette admitted. “We cannot afford a witch hunt for traitors, Elon. But you’re right—only my Militia could have set this up.
“I agree with the Admiral,” she continued. “They have to be after the Capitals. Get me Major Salvatore.”
Rank in the Ducal Guard for ex-SSS personnel had been based more on whether Colonel Wellesley trusted an officer than anything else…which had made Major Adrian Salvatore the Guard’s second-in-command.
The Guard Officer answered her com request immediately. His dark eyes were bright and his teeth were bared in what could charitably be called a smile.
“The alert woke me up ten minutes ago,” he told her before she could say anything. “I have two troops aboard shuttles ready to go right now. Give me ten more minutes, I’ll have two companies.”
He paused and sighed.
“I can’t get much more than that without compromising your protection,” he admitted. “We’ve been very careful about who gets into the Guard. I am entirely confident in the loyalty of every trooper under my command, Your Grace.”
“I was going to ask,” she admitted. “Thank you. We don’t know the scale of the assault force, or if there even is one…but I’m assuming at least one company of ex-triple-S, if not more. Can you get reinforcements?”
“The fourth Guard company is already aboard BugWorks, ma’am. Nova has a short battalion of security guards as well. They’re decent for mall cops, better than most troops at this point.”
He paused.
“I can send out a call, Your Grace…but anyone I’d call is Weber and could be involved.”
Zhao emerged from the elevator behind them, the big Chinese man panting heavily and leaning on his bodyguards. He carefully made his way across.
“Zhao, do you have any ex-soldiers we could call in for this?” Annette asked him grimly.
“Space-trained troops, able to keep up with SSS?” the ex-chairman of China asked carefully.
“I’d settle for space-trained,” Salvatore noted. “We don’t know what’s going on up there.”
“Do we have gear for them?”
“I’ve got shipping containers of pre-annexation SSS armor and assault weapons. But to get anyone on a shuttle, we’d need existing intact formations.”
Zhao met Annette’s gaze, then glanced aside and downwards.
“Those weapons won’t be needed,” he admitted with a sigh. “Load two battalions’ worth of space gear onto shuttles, send them to these coordinates,” he told Salvatore, reeling off a latitude and longitude accurate to a hundred meters. “I’ll contact them before you arrive. You’ll be expected.”
“They’ll be on their way in five minutes,” Salvatore said after a moment of silence. “What’s the plan, Duchess Bond?”
“Pull together those two companies. Meet up with Zhao’s people. Board and secure BugWorks,” she ordered. “It’s entirely possible, even likely, that most of the people on the station don’t even know anything’s going on. We’ll need you to be careful, to be precise.”
“That’s why you’re sending the Guard,” Salvatore told her. “The name has changed, but we’re still SSS-trained.”
Dropping the channel, she turned a dark look on Zhao, who was tapping a message into his communicator.
“Two battalions?” she asked sharply.
“It is the duty of the Party to defend the Middle Kingdom,” he said calmly. “I trust you, now at least, but I remained the leader of the Party and some form of security was necessary. It is going to be useful, no?”
“Just how many secrets are you still keeping, Li Chin Zhao?” Annette asked.
“Many,” he told her cheerfully. “Some are irrelevant. Some you do not want to know. You have my oath that I keep no secrets that will harm you or the Duchy.”
And that, clearly, was all she was going to get from him.
Chapter Forty-One
Andrew felt envious of his girlfriend’s plasma pistol as he headed back toward Washington. He hadn’t seen any threat other than Camber—and unless he missed his guess, the corporate spy’s attempt to bribe him had delayed him enough to prevent his being locked in with Laurent.
He hadn’t seen any invaders…but as he headed back to his ship, he didn’t see any of the people he should have seen. The corridors were eerily empty, and the Militia MPs that should have been guarding his destroyer’s hatches were missing.
The hatch itself should have been open and wasn’t. It had been closed and sealed since he left, and the sight of the heavy steel airlock door sent a chill down his spine as he registered an acrid, metallic scent.
He couldn’t see the MPs, but he was suddenly coldly certain what had happened to them.
Andrew wasn’t surprised when Washington’s security hatches proved to be locked, but he was the destroyer’s Captain. The security panel eventually gave way under his override codes, both of the airlock doors sliding open as he shut down the safety precaution.
The faint smell of blood turned into a wall and he looked into the airlock at the two MPs who’d cheerfully waved him out barely fifteen minutes before. Both were dead, shot in the back at close range.
For a moment, all Washington’s Captain could do was stare at the bodies in shock, swallowing down his gorge as he struggled to make sense of things. The only conclusion he could reach was that someone was aboard his ship.
Rallying his brain to the job, he realized that the MPs’ guns had been tossed in with them. The stubby SMGs were still the old UESF-issue, twelve-millimeter weapons loaded with rocket rounds—weapons that Andrew was trained on.
He wasn’t any kind of expert, but he could aim and fire. He took one of the weapons, muttering an apology to the dead MP as he made sure it was loaded. No one had interrupted him so far, so he might still have a chance.
Hopefully, there were only a handful of traitors aboard, but, one way or another, Andrew Lougheed’s place was on Washington’s bridge.
Washington’s corridors were as silent as the grave. Unlike BugWorks itself, though, it was obvious why that was…and grave was far too appropriate a metaphor.
Most of the people aboard the destroyer would have been at one station or another, but many of the tasks required aboard a docked ship getting ready to stand down called for individuals or small teams to wander the corridors, making sure that volatile lines and similar risk factors were rendered safe.
Whoever had killed the MPs appeared to have followed the same route to the bridge Andrew was now following, and they’d run into several of those small teams—and killed them all.
Andrew passed at least a dozen corpses in the corridors, accelerating his pace each time. None of them appeared to have fought back. All had been gunned down at close range, without struggling.
He ran into no one alive between the main airlock and the bridge, and a cold certainty settled into his chest. The only explanation he could see was that they’d known their killer, a thought that was neither welcome nor, somehow, a surprise.
The bridge security hatch was closed and sealed, in full counter-mutiny mode. Unfortunately for whoever had sealed it, the warship’s A!Tol designers had been seriously paranoid. Those seals could not be locked against the Captain’s override code.
With a deep breath, Andrew readied the submachine gun and input that code. The massive hatch slid slowly but silently open, revealing a tableau from his worst nightmares.
Arendse had been holding down the bridge with three petty officers and six technicians. Half of the crew were dead or wounded, lying immobile on the deck where they’d been shot. The other half were backed against the wall, their hands in the air.
The young African officer was on her knees in front of the crewmembers, her hand pressed to her shoulder where she’d clearly been shot, facing Thomas Warner as the XO pointed an ugly suppressed pistol at them.
“Dammit, Thomas, what the hell is this?” Arendse demanded. “Are you insane?”
“Sorry, Farai,” Warner said calmly as he extended the gun toward her head. “You knew what happens to collaborators. Good night.”
Andrew fired first.
He wasn’t a good shot and the first several rounds slammed into the floor—but his training had been good. He used the recoil to walk the bullets up and across Warner’s torso, the impacts knocking his XO forward and forcing Warner to miss.
The pistol collapsed to the floor as Andrew charged to his XO’s side, rolling the man over as he coughed blood onto the floor.
“Fuck you,” Warner spat. “Traitor. Don’t have to pretend anymore.” He coughed up more blood. “Could have just let…me strip the ship. Then…no one here would have died.”
“I swore an oath,” Andrew said flatly.
“You broke an oath,” Warner told him. “Everything…after…was just a lie.”
The man’s eyes rolled back in his head as he spasmed again, coughing chunks of blood, then was still.
Andrew stared at him for a long moment, then shook himself.
“PO Martin, grab the first aid kit, see if you can get Farai’s wound bound,” he snapped as he looked to see who was alive. “PO Calypso, take the helm. Close the hatches, get us moving away from BugWorks.”
“What’s going on, sir?” Arendse asked, keeping pressure on her wound.
“The Weber Network is trying to steal the Capitals,” Andrew told her. “Which makes Washington the only warship in Sol I know we can rely on.”
Andrew took a moment to be sure Arendse was all right, double-checking Petty Officer Martin’s bandaging.
“I’ll live, sir,” she told him. “Where do you need me?”
“Calypso’s on helm,” he reminded her. “You did the tac-console training, right?”
“I’ve only been on a live console twice, sir,” she warned him, gasping as Martin tightened the bandage around her shoulder.
“That puts you ahead of everyone else on the bridge, Lieutenant,” Andrew told her. “Including me. I need a tactical breakdown and I need someone ready on the weapons. Can you do that?”
Arendse glanced at the Petty Officer bandaging her, apparently focusing on his tactical department shoulder flash.
“Martin and I can make it happen,” she said firmly. “PO, can you help me to the console?”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” the old spacer with the buzz cut said promptly, looking at her with something Andrew hoped was newfound respect as he helped her balance with his shoulder.
Andrew left them to it and dropped into his command chair, mirroring the consoles to his screen as he tried to get a feel for just what was going on.
The destroyer shivered as he did so, Calypso tearing multiple umbilicals and airlock connections apart as she moved the destroyer away. The petty officer was a qualified pilot, but some aspects clearly hadn’t occurred to her.
A series of commands from Andrew’s chair locked down airlocks and fuel lines, preventing leakage as Washington cleared BugWorks Station.
“Lieutenant Arendse,” he said formally. “What’s our weapon status?”
It was an easy question, one a tactical officer would normally have immediately to hand. It still took her and Martin a moment to find it.
“Magazines are full,” she reported. “Point seven cee birds. Proton-beam capacitors are discharged—we’re initiating the charging cycle now but we won’t have beam weapons for at least fifteen minutes.”
“The capacitors shouldn’t have been discharged until morning,” Andrew objected.
“Records show Warner discharged them several hours ago,” Arendse told him. “Fifteen minutes is a long time, sir.”
“Missiles should be enough,” he concluded. “I don’t think Warner was expecting this ship to be combat-capable at all.”
“Sensor sweeps are online,” Arendse continued. “We are still being jammed, but we have eyes again.”
The holotank started to fill with details.
“What’s the status of the Capitals?”
“Ottawa and Geneva are cold,” Martin reported for Arendse. “Canberra and London have begun their warm-up sequences and could be in motion in the next five minutes.”
BugWorks was between Washington and the four ships. There was only one order Andrew could give, even if it ripped the bottom of his stomach to give it.
“Calypso, bring us up around BugWorks. Clear a line of fire on Canberra and London,” he ordered. “Arendse, Martin—prep a missile salvo on whichever is further along.”
As the ship swung around, he hit a key for an all-hands communication.
“All hands, all hands, this is the Captain speaking,” he announced. “It appears that elements of the Militia have been infiltrated by rebels working for Commodore Anderson. They have jammed all wireless communications and appear to be in the process of attempting to steal two of the Capital destroyers.
“Commander Warner was one of them,” Andrew noted grimly. “He killed many of our crewmates.
“Report to your battle stations. We are taking Washington into action.”
He paused, wishing there was something, anything he could say.
“Remember your duty,” he said finally. “Thank you.”
“We have movement near BugWorks,” Lamb reported loudly. “Washington has broken free and is maneuvering around the station.”
Jean stepped up next to the tech, studying her screen over her shoulder.
“Broken free, indeed,” the Admiral murmured, studying the spectrographic scan that showed out-gassing from shattered umbilicals. “Do we have any coms with her?”
“Negative, she’s still inside the jamming zone,” Shang replied. “I’ll try and get a com laser on her—no one on the station is responding, but Washington is clearly live.”
“Keep me informed,” Jean ordered. “What’s the status of Salvatore’s people?”
“They’ve finished loading the Chinese contingent,” Lamb told him. “All shuttles will break atmosphere and commence an assault approach to BugWorks Station in just over ninety seconds. Contact in two minutes, forty seconds.”
Jean nodded choppily.
“Remind Salvatore that we need the station and its crew intact,” he said. “Are there any signs of damage to the matter compressors?”
“Negative,” Lamb replied. “I’ve got a couple of the defense constellation platforms close enough to get a clear look. There is no apparent damage anywhere.”
That was a good sign…so far. It left Jean worrying just what Anderson—and he was very certain this was Commodore Anderson’s people—had planned. There was no way the Commodore would leave the station intact behind him.
“Beijing has broken clear as well,” Lamb snapped. “Geneva just commenced startup.” She paused. “Canberra and London are moving.”
“We have a link to Washington!” Shang announced. “Admiral Villeneuve, I have Captain Lougheed for you!”
Jean technically had a specific station in the command center, but he’d spent the crisis floating, watching over people’s shoulders. Now, he made his way back to his desk and looked at the shaded face of Washington’s Chinese-Canadian commanding officer.
“Captain, what’s your status?” he demanded.
“My XO turned on us and tried to disable Washington,” Lougheed said grimly. “I have one shift aboard, barely a skeleton crew, and my proton capacitors are drained. I’m moving to head off Canberra and London.”
“Be advised, Beijing is also in motion and Geneva is powering up,” Jean told him. “Is there any chance Captain Laurent or Captain Sade made it to a ship?”
“I don’t know about Sade,” Lougheed admitted. “Sarah was heading for Geneva, but…”
“Without communications, we don’t know,” Jean concluded. “We’ll try and raise everyone, Captain, but I’ll warn you now: any vessel that attempts to leave the area of BugWorks will be fired upon and destroyed.”
“I understand, sir,” Lougheed confirmed. “I hope at least one of those ships is friendly. Canberra or London on their own can take Washington.”
“Watch yourself, Captain,” Jean ordered. “I’d rather blow all four Capitals to hell with the defense constellation than lose a loyal crew. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
The channel dropped.
“We still have a telemetry link,” Shang reported. “Maintaining datanet with Washington, coordinating the constellation.”
“Sir,” Lamb said quietly. “I’ve been running the numbers.”
“Yes, PO?”
The rest of the command center’s crew were arriving and slotting into place. Lamb’s CO was probably around somewhere, but Jean had been leaning on these noncoms since the crisis began. Things were moving too quickly to bring someone else up to speed.
“If they’ve got Sword and Buckler fully online and make a run for it, I’m not certain the constellation can destroy them before they’re out of range,” she told him.
“Merde,” Jean cursed. “Make sure Lougheed knows. This might be about to get messy.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“What do we do, sir?” Arendse asked as Washington looped over BugWorks Station.
All of the ships involved were moving at a glacial speed for their interface drives. Four destroyers were in motion, a third powering up. Communications were still hashed, the jammer messing with everything.
Shuttles were rising from the surface. They’d board Ottawa, Andrew’s soon-to-be command, to make sure no one tried to steal her, but they’d be too late for the other ships.
Beijing was probably Captain Sade. Geneva was probably Sarah Laurent. Neither of those was certain, Andrew knew, but he was certain that both London and Canberra had been stolen.
“What’s London and Canberra’s status?” he asked.
“They’re maneuvering under minimal interface drive,” she reported. “Shields are down, but heat signatures suggest the Sword system is online.”
“They haven’t deployed shields or their Buckler drones,” he noted. “Trying to stay sneaky.”
The raiders had already lost that game, but keeping everyone guessing was to the bastards’ advantage.
Andrew could com them, order them to stand down…but that would let them get their shields online. At this range, even the laser defenses wouldn’t stop his missiles, but the Capital destroyers’ shields and armor would.
There was no one else to make the decision, and Andrew leaned back in his chair as he made it.
“Target London and open fire as soon as we clear the station,” he told Arendse quietly. “Maximum rate of fire until she comes apart.”
Without beams, he couldn’t disable her. All he could do was destroy two of Earth’s most advanced warships…and hope the other two ships in the vicinity were friends.
Washington trembled, an almost imperceptible shiver as she opened fire. At a range of less than five kilometers, her interface missiles spent more time clearing her launchers than reaching their target.
London lurched under Andrew’s fire, the missiles hammering along her length, smashing into the compressed-matter-laced plating that rendered the destroyer vastly harder to kill than any Imperial craft.
There was a flicker of energy as the destroyer’s crew tried to bring her shields up from standby, then Washington’s second salvo hit home. Andrew nodded approvingly as he realized that Arendse had clearly brought up the Capital’s design schematics to plan her fire: the Sword turrets had been wiped away in the first salvo, and her second had hammered into the weld-lines between London’s compressed-matter plating.
Those spots weren’t much weaker than the rest of the hull, but they were weaker. Without shields, under point-blank fire, it was enough. London came apart before her shields fully materialized.
And Andrew Lougheed had destroyed twenty percent of the Duchy of Terra’s modern warships.
“Canberra’s shields have come up and she’s gone to maximum interface drive,” Arendse reported. “Opening the distance at point five cee!”
“Take us after her, PO Calypso,” Andrew ordered. “Arendse, sustain fire on her. The defense constellation will be engaging her shortly.”
“Sir!” Martin interrupted. “The jamming is down; we’re being hailed from the station.”
Andrew flipped his screen up and was somehow unsurprised to see Amanda Camber’s face looking at him out of the screen. He recognized the Guard Major standing with her.
“This is a general transmission to all ships near BugWorks Station,” Camber announced. “We have disabled the jammer aboard the platform, but we have located multiple thermonuclear weapons set to destroy the station.
“The Guard is attempting to disarm the weapons, but we are calling for evacuation assistance from any nearby vessel.” She paused. “We do not know the detonation timeline, but we are looking at multiple one-hundred-megaton warheads.
“I repeat, we are requesting evacuation assistance ASAP.”
“We have telemetry with Geneva, Washington and Beijing,” Shang announced a moment after the transmission from BugWorks ended. “Linked in to Major Salvatore’s assault as well.”
“Who’s in charge on Geneva and Beijing?” Jean demanded immediately.
“Captains Laurent and Sade, sir. Both are with us.”
“Any coms from Canberra?”
“Negative, she is running.”
“General alert to the defense constellation,” Jean said loudly. “Canberra is to be labeled hostile and engaged immediately.”
Missile traces started to show on the holotank before he’d finished the order, first from Washington, then from the other defense platforms and satellites.
The older, less-efficient missiles the A!Tol Imperium had sold the Duchy only had a point two cee edge over Canberra. They wouldn’t be in useful range for long—the defense constellation was designed to stop ships attacking Earth, not fleeing.
“Get me Laurent and Sade,” he ordered a moment later, waiting for a moment as the two women popped onto his screen. “Status report, Captains.”
“Geneva is riddled with bombs,” Laurent snapped. “We started booting her before we realized she was wired to blow. I think we’ve headed off the immediate detonation, but we’re disarming and she isn’t going anywhere.
“I suggest you get a team aboard Ottawa ASAP, or we might find ourselves short another destroyer.”
“Understood,” Jean said flatly, gesturing for one of the people gathering around him to contact Salvatore. “Washington can’t take Canberra on her own,” he said grimly. “Captain Sade?”
“Beijing is…partly ready to fight,” the ethereal blonde captain said calmly. “We have a computer virus in our system that has discharged our proton capacitors and is disabling our targeting sensors.
“Now that we have communications, I should be able to take telemetry feeds from Washington and add my missiles to her salvos,” Sade noted. “Canberra’s tough, but she’s no better armed than we are. I’ll form on Washington and we will run her down.”
A tap on Jean’s screen brought Lougheed into the conversation.
“Captain, have you been updated on the other destroyers’ status?” Jean asked.
“I’m being relayed telemetry,” Lougheed confirmed. “I am one point two light-seconds behind Canberra and holding the range. Her shields are holding and she’s starting to return fire.”
“Beijing will be joining you,” Sade told him. “I suggest you let the range open to three light-seconds as we close up.”
“Every kilometer of distance gives his Sword and Buckler systems more time to shoot our missiles down.”
“But a doubled salvo is still more likely to get through,” Jean overrode him. “This is a bad-enough day, Captain Lougheed. No glory-hounding. Canberra must not escape; is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you,” Jean told them, cutting the channel and turning back to his staff.
“Get me Salvatore,” he snapped.
Sitting in an armored room at the heart of a reinforced building hundreds of thousands of kilometers from danger while her people fought for her lives did not suit Annette Bond at all.
“There has to be something I can do,” she hissed quietly.
“You’re doing it,” Elon told her calmly, though she could see his own hands twitching with the urge to be acting. “Right now, the most valuable thing the Duchess of Terra can do is be out of the line of fire and let your people do their jobs.”
“Canberra is through the defense constellation and running fast,” the report came. “Washington and Beijing are in pursuit, but Canberra has deployed their Buckler drones.”
“Not exactly how I wanted to put them through their first live-fire test,” Elon said, checking over the data and whistling softly. “I’d have preferred these results to be a pleasant surprise.”
The constellation was throwing literally hundreds of missiles at the destroyer, but the six Buckler drones trailing in Canberra’s wake were shredding them.
“Stern chase and a low relative velocity,” he continued. “Perfect circumstance for point defense, but still…”
“Could you congratulate yourself when your work isn’t letting a madman escape with one of our warships?” Annette said sharply. The helplessness was getting to her.
“Canberra has cleared the effective range of the defense constellation. Multiple salvos still inbound on her, but no further launches can reach her except from the destroyers.”
“Get me a channel,” Annette snapped. “If this asshole wants to fuck with my people, let me at least try to talk to him.”
“He’s ignored channels from Lougheed and Villeneuve,” Elon pointed out. “What makes you think…”
The system lit up with a green light, declaring it had a two way, time-delayed link.
“And just what do you have to say, traitor?” Commodore Joseph Anderson demanded. Being in hiding as a member of a resistance movement didn’t seem to have been a burden for the man. He was just as tanned and heavyset as he’d been when he and Annette had clashed over Tornado’s loadout.
“I’d like the ship you’ve stolen back,” Annette said harshly, “so, as much as I’d like you to be space dust, I’m prepared to entertain your surrender.”
Anderson laughed.
“Your boytoy built a fine ship,” he told her. “There’s no way the two tin cans chasing me are going to win this. You lose this round, traitor.”
“You can’t do much with one destroyer,” she warned him. “Trust me, more than anyone alive, I know that.”
“I’m not a traitorous bitch to roll over at the first offer of a better deal,” Anderson spat. “You’ll see. You and your alien friends. You’ll see what happens when a real officer takes up the fight!”
“You’re being chased by two of the only officers in Sol with experience in interface-drive combat,” Annette told him. “If there are any ‘real’ officers involved, it’s them. If you won’t surrender, I suggest you make your peace.”
She cut the channel.
“That was pointless,” she admitted. “But I’ll be damned if it didn’t make me feel better.”
“I don’t know if it was pointless,” Elon replied. “Look.”
The last salvo from the defense stations slipped through the defenses, as if someone was distracted, and ripped apart four of the Buckler drones while hammering Canberra’s shields.
“They can’t have been distracted,” she told him.
“You’re assuming Anderson has professionals,” her lover pointed out. “And not whoever he could convince to sign on for this insanity.”
“It’s down to Sade and Lougheed now,” she replied. “Hopefully, that was enough.”
“Canberra is down to two Bucklers and her Sword turrets for missile defense,” Arendse reported. “We’re matching our salvos with Captain Sade’s, but…”
Andrew’s navigator, currently his acting tactical officer, trailed off and he nodded his understanding.
Their missiles were in stern-chase mode, only moving at about twenty percent of lightspeed versus their prey when they arrived. That left them easy meat for defenses designed to handle missiles moving at up to ninety-nine percent of lightspeed relative.
As he nodded, Washington trembled again as another salvo of Canberra’s missiles slammed home. Those were point seven five cee missiles and being fired right down his throat, a final relative velocity over four times that of his own missiles.
They were getting one missile in ten through. Without any kind of matching defenses, Canberra was scoring four hits in five…which said more about the lack of experience of Anderson’s crew than anything else.
“I don’t suppose you have any clever ideas,” Andrew asked Captain Sade over a private link. “I’m running on a skeleton crew here; we’re barely in the fight, let alone able to come up with clever ideas.”
“Beijing’s not much better,” she admitted. “It would help if we knew where the bastard was running to.”
“It’s not like his vector is going to help us, unless…” He trailed off, watching half a dozen missiles miss completely as Calypso jinked his ship in a fashion no reaction-drive craft could match.
“Martin,” he snapped, drawing the attention of the PO helping Arendse run the tactical console. “Project a direct line of Canberra’s course. If Anderson was flying a reaction-drive ship, where would she be heading?”
“They infiltrated a bunch of people onto our training crews,” Sade pointed out. “He can’t have that incompetent a crew.”
“He’s got techs and noncoms, not bridge officers,” Andrew disagreed. “We may have missed Warner, but the bridge officers were vetted closely. Whoever is flying the ship knows how it works but doesn’t understand what it means.”
“Ceres, Captain,” Martin interjected. “She’s on a direct course to the old Ceres base for the Belt Squadrons.”
“I thought that was blown up,” Andrew pointed out.
“So did I,” Sade agreed. “On the other hand, we thought BugWorks was blown up. What’s your plan, Captain?”
“Slugging it out like this is giving Canberra all of the advantages,” he said grimly. “Any chance of you getting your targeting back?”
“Not soon,” she admitted.
“All right. I want you to break off and run for the gravity limit,” he suggested. “Make a micro-jump through hyperspace and beat him to Ceres. You’ll have your beams back online by then, won’t you?”
Sade’s answering smile was utterly predatory.
It took most of Washington’s missile magazines to kill another Buckler drone, leaving Canberra with one of the defensive platforms intact…and Andrew Lougheed almost entirely out of missiles.
Petty Officer Calypso was discovering a talent for interface-drive maneuvers, twisting Washington through a series of evasive maneuvers that no reaction-drive ship could match. The missiles being fired at them were capable of adapting…but only if the people launching them knew how.
It was rapidly becoming clear that Joseph Anderson’s people had no clue how to fight their new ship. Canberra’s defenses had proven more than up to the task of absorbing her pursuers’ missiles, though, and the two ships had identical speeds.
Still, Andrew persevered, taking the occasional long-range shot as his proton beams finally came online—to make Anderson think he was still hoping for a lucky hit, if nothing else.
They were still several minutes short of their guess as to his destination when a new message caught up to them from Earth.
“Captain Lougheed, this is Major Salvatore aboard BugWorks Station,” a crisply accented voice announced. “We have located and disabled all bombs aboard the station, and BugWorks is now secure.”
A flash on the screens warned Andrew what was coming next before the Ducal Guardsman spoke.
“Our attempt to safely retake Ottawa was not successful,” Salvatore continued grimly. “The bombs aboard detonated when we boarded the ship. Both BugWorks station and Geneva have been damaged but remain operational.
“Anderson has failed in everything except capturing that ship. Bring him down, Captain.”
Andrew smiled grimly, studying the map.
“That was a wide-beam transmission, sir,” Martin announced after a moment. “There’s no way…”
“That Anderson didn’t hear it,” Andrew agreed. “Salvatore and I share an opinion of our rebel friend—and here the bastard comes.”
Canberra was turning back. Robbed of his full victory and with a dog biting at his heels, Anderson had decided he’d had enough of Washington and was coming back to finish the job. If Andrew had kept Beijing with him, it would have been a damned stupid thing for Anderson to do.
As it was, it was…unwise. Both destroyers were low on missiles, the inexperience of Canberra’s missileers easily outweighing the upgraded destroyer’s better defenses. The refitted ship could take more hits, even from proton beams, but…
In Anderson’s place, Andrew would have assumed that Washington would land more hits and kept running, relying on the asteroid belt to lose the pursuing ship.
“Open up with proton beams at maximum range,” he ordered. “Maintain evasive maneuvers—he needs to hit us a lot fewer times than we need to hit him.”
Plus, if Sade was following the plan, she was nearby and would hopefully pick up the change in situation.
Proton beams were invisible to the naked eye, but Washington’s computers helpfully drew them as white lines in his holotank, marking where Canberra had opened fire from outside her actual range.
“And…range,” Arendse said calmly, the last twenty minutes appearing to have burned away her uncertainty with her new console.
They might have had a navigator at tactical, but Washington’s beams didn’t miss. The narrow streams of energy cut through Canberra’s shields in moments, smashing into her armor plating with brutal force.
The upgraded destroyer lurched, spinning away from Washington and missing her next salvo of beams.
“She’s not showing much damage,” PO Martin noted. “Hit her again!”
Beams flickered through space. Washington lurched as the stolen ship got hits in, power flickering as a power core went into emergency shutdown…then leapt like a kicked puppy as the interface drive went down.
“We’re dead in the water!” Calypso reported. “All engines down!”
“Shields are intact for now, but…”
Their sudden stop had caused Canberra to overshoot them, blasting past them and outside her proton beam range, but the destroyer was coming back. The upgraded destroyer was damaged, but not nearly as badly as Washington was.
Then a blinking light flashed up on Andrew’s screen—a request for a telemetry link.
He slammed an authorization key…and a moment later, a full salvo of interface-drive missiles flashed around his ship as Beijing charged out of the asteroid belt.
Sade’s ship was still using his sensors to aim, but now her missiles were going straight down Canberra’s throat, and Anderson hadn’t been expecting them. The destroyer’s shields flickered…and failed, more missiles slamming home as Beijing swept up and over Washington and her proton beams flared to life.
Canberra landed a single beam hit that Beijing’s shields easily shrugged aside, then Canberra’s armor came apart under the focused beams of energy.
The last Weber Network holdouts died in a furious ball of fire.
Chapter Forty-Three
While Annette knew no one was going to nominate her for sainthood for patience, she managed to keep herself groundside for a full twenty-four hours after the destruction of Canberra.
After that, she overrode everyone’s objections and took a shuttle to BugWorks with Elon.
Despite her many and varied reservations about the title, she was the Duchess and rank had its privileges.
Villeneuve was waiting for her on the station, along with Adrian Salvatore and an escort of power-armored Guardsmen to back up her normal contingent.
“Excessive much, Major?” she asked.
“We are in control of the station, ma’am, but BugWorks was in enemy hands barely a day ago,” Salvatore said bluntly. “We cannot guarantee there are no holdouts hiding away. If you’re going to insist on being up here, I’m going to insist on this level of security.”
“I know I’m being imprudent, Major,” she admitted. “I won’t argue with whatever precautions you think are necessary—but I need to see what’s going on. And everyone needs to know that I think BugWorks is safe.”
“I hesitate to describe any facility we are still removing enemy nuclear bombs from as ‘safe,’ Your Grace,” Villeneuve told her.
She shook her head at him.
“People need to see me here,” she replied. “Our R&D people need to see me here, to realize we take the threat seriously. I doubt Salvatore’s Guardsmen are going to hurt that impression.”
“We’re relaying the command links through a commandeered conference room,” Salvatore told her. “It’s probably the best place to brief you.”
“Lead on, Major.”
Salvatore had apparently been listening to Annette’s reasoning for being aboard BugWorks, as the Ducal Guardsman made a point of taking them through some of the public areas where BugWorks staff, still shaky from the previous day, were gathering.
It probably tripled, at least, the time it took them to get to the conference room, but Annette didn’t begrudge a second of it. The researchers and engineers on BugWorks were critical to the Duchy’s chance to survive and advance over the coming years.
They needed to know their boss and government knew they’d been shaken. Elon and Annette shook hands and made promises, all with power-armored Ducal Guards discreetly looming in the background.
Annette knew she made a poor politician. She meant every word she said, and for all that her smiles still felt faked to her, she actually did care. Stopping this kind of attack was why she’d taken the offer the A!Tol had made.
In the final count, she didn’t believe she’d truly sacrificed her honor, but if she had…she’d done it so Earth could have peace.
“All right,” she said as they took seats in the conference room. It had probably been relatively luxurious once, but the Guard had moved most of its furnishings to clear space for a holotank and command datalinks.
The chairs that remained were leather and powered, automatically adjusting to her body. The soldiers might have moved the tables and potted plants, but no soldier in history would have moved those chairs.
“Now that I’ve promised people this won’t happen again, please tell me I’m not lying,” she continued. “Adrian?”
“We have removed seventeen thermonuclear charges from BugWorks,” the Guard Major said calmly. “Two remain. Yields varied from one to one hundred megatons. Had they detonated, this station would have been vaporized.”
“The bombs aboard Ottawa did enough damage,” Annette told him.
“Though less than I feared,” Elon reminded her. “Ottawa’s armor contained much of the blast. She’s gone, but the collateral damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
She sighed.
“How bad?”
“Obviously, Ottawa, London and Canberra are gone,” Villeneuve told her. “Geneva is damaged, but thanks to Ottawa’s armor containing the blast and Geneva’s own armor, she is repairable.
“Unfortunately, Washington is a write-off and so are the BugWorks refit yards,” the Admiral continued. “We have the Lunar Yards, with capacity for one super-battleship, and right now, that is it.”
“We’ll be able to repair Geneva without a refit yard,” Elon noted. “It’s external hull work, mostly. Upgrading further Capitals, however, will require building new yards.”
“At least the Lunar Yards are intact,” Annette said quietly. “What about Anderson’s people? Are we finally done with the remnants of the Weber Network?”
“We think so,” Salvatore said slowly. “My people have boarded and secured the Ceres Fleet Base. Still searching for holdouts, but we are in control of the facility.
“Even under the version of the Weber Protocols that Alpha Cell was aware of, the Ceres Fleet Base was supposed to be destroyed,” he continued. “I’d like to think we’ve found everything, but I can’t be certain.”
“What about Anderson?”
“Prisoners from the Ceres base confirmed that he was aboard Canberra,” Salvatore said with grim satisfaction. “Captains Lougheed and Sade killed the bastard.”
“In more mixed news,” Villeneuve told them, “it appears that while some of our infiltrators were significantly more senior than I would have hoped, we actually had far fewer of them than I was afraid of.
“Commander Warner snuck past our screenings because, so far as we can tell, he was never actually tagged for the Weber Network,” he continued grimly. “Anderson recruited him after the annexation. We had just over a hundred infiltrators, all told. Enough to barely man the two ships they stole once they brought more people in.
“The key traitors, however, were two of the security shift commanders aboard BugWorks, both Militia O5s like Warner. One was aboard London. The other was shot dead when Camber and Davies stormed the command center.”
“Who the hell was Camber?” Annette demanded. “She seemed to come out of nowhere.”
“Corporate spy,” Elon replied. “She’s known to my people, I’m not quite sure how the hell she made it onto BugWorks, but…for once, I’m not complaining.”
“We have her in protective custody right now,” Salvatore noted. “She’s being cooperative, if silent about her employers.”
“I’ll have a word with her once we’re done,” Annette said. “She might be useful.”
“She’s a double-edged sword,” Elon warned. “She might cut us.”
“If she signs on, Zhao gets her,” Annette said with a smile. “Let her try and run rings around him.”
“The situation is under control, Your Grace,” Villeneuve said finally. “I don’t like the damage. We’re down to just the Lunar Yards, and the super-battleships are arriving in ten days.”
And Tornado would hopefully arrive with Annette’s money four days before that, unless something had gone wrong on Tortuga. They wouldn’t know either way until either the cruiser returned or it went overdue.
“We didn’t lose any of the plates we’ve been prefabricating for the first ship,” Elon noted. “We’ll be able to commence the first super-battleship refit as planned.”
“How long will it take?” Annette asked. “We have sixteen of them to go through, after all.”
“Unlike the destroyers, the Majesties have the power and engine capacity to carry the armor and the defensive systems without updates,” the shipbuilder told her. “The first will be a test case, where we’ll be learning as we go, but we’ve also prefabricated most of her systems. She’ll be twenty-five days.
“At the same time, we’ll be fabricating more drones, turrets and armor, and expanding the Yards. Once the first ship is complete, we’ll be able to do them two at a time in about the same time frame,” he concluded. “Nine months to fully refit them all, but we’ll have eight over a month before the deadline.”
“That’s good news,” Annette told him with a sigh of relief. The Imperium had intentionally given them an impossible deadline—and they were going to make it anyway.
“I suggest,” Villeneuve said, “that we do much as we did with the destroyers. Captain Lougheed’s ship isn’t worth repairing, and Captain Sade’s… Well, Beijing will be our only unarmored ship.
“I suggest we use the crews intended for the first set of Capitals to man the two Majesties in the first tranche we won’t be able to refit. They may not have our fancy toys, but they’ll more than make up for not having the Capitals.”
“Do we have enough people?” she asked. “Those ships take, what, four thousand people apiece?”
“Roughly,” he agreed. “But we need to train those crews anyway. Better to start earlier than later, especially as we’ll need sixteen such crews before we’re done, Your Grace.”
Manpower was rapidly becoming a problem. The hundred or so ships of the UESF had only required eighty thousand people between them. Barely half of those people had expressed interest in joining the Duchy’s Militia, and many of those were still in security screening.
The defense platforms and super-battleships alone would have employed every man and woman who’d been in the UESF.
“I’ll talk to Nash,” she said after a long moment’s thought. “He’s focused on the elections, but I think we need to seriously step up our recruitment efforts.”
Annette entered the room outside Camber’s cell with a single bodyguard, Sergeant Wei Lin. The ex-SSS noncom had been one of her main bodyguards since they’d first visited Tortuga, and the hulking power armor more than compensated for any lack of intimidation inherent in her slight frame.
Camber was sitting calmly in a chair, eyeing the Duchess through the glass as Annette took a seat of her own.
“I apologize, Your Grace; I wasn’t expecting quite so illustrious a guest,” the spy said. “What can I do for you?”
“You’ve already done me a rather large favor by making sure this station didn’t explode,” Annette pointed out. “What can I do for you?”
“Letting me out of the cell would be nice,” Camber replied.
“Miss Camber—if that is your name—you may have chosen patriotism, but do you truly think your employers will back your decision unquestioningly?” Annette asked. “If you want to, I’ll arrange a shuttle back to Earth and we won’t bother you unless you interfere in the Duchy’s affairs again.
“I’m not sure your employers might be as willing to forget and forgive your choices.”
“They’d probably be fine with my choice if the fact that I was a corporate spy hadn’t been exposed,” Camber riposted. “They are not your enemies, Your Grace. Casimir’s…maybe, but even there the opposition is economic, not personal.”
“I can understand that,” Annette admitted. “But I still can’t stand for spies infiltrating my Militia and trying to bribe my commanders.”
“I’m exposed, Your Grace,” the spy pointed out. “Your Militia is safe from me, at least for now.”
“And are you actually safe from your employers?”
“They’re not that kind of boss,” Camber said. “They won’t hire me again, but I’m not worried about high-velocity retirement packages, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ll miss the work, but I’ll live.”
“Want a job?” Annette asked. “This whole mess helped demonstrate that we need more top-tier counterintelligence operatives.”
“Does your Duchy even have an intelligence branch?” the spy replied.
“If you haven’t heard of it, isn’t that a good sign?”
Camber laughed.
“Fair. Under Zhao at Treasury, I’m guessing?”
“But apparently not as effective as I’d hoped.”
“And you want me to help upgrade their skillset?”
“If Zhao will take you,” Annette replied.
“He’ll take me,” Camber said confidently. “There’s no one better.”
“You’re in, then?”
Camber laughed.
“All right, Your Grace. One Jane Bond, reporting for duty.”
Chapter Forty-Four
Teddy Nash’s rented office in Geneva looked more lived-in than most of the offices in the Wuxing Tower that the Duchy now owned. There was almost no paper, but various props and similar mementos from his movies were roughly mounted to the walls, and the steaming carafe of coffee sat in the center of a set of overlapping coffee-stain rings.
“Your Grace, have a seat,” the actor told her as he ushered her in. “Coffee?”
“Please,” Annette replied. “Can you grab a cup for Sergeant Lin as well?”
With the bright smile that had charmed a generation, Nash produced three coffee cups—all labeled with the logo of the movie studio he owned—from inside his desk and laid them out.
“Sergeant,” he called out toward the door. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Black,” Lin replied instantly.
“Triple-S,” Nash said with a chuckle. “I should have known.”
He left two cups black, for Annette and Lin, then added a premixed package of flavored creamer to his own. He stepped out to pass the Sergeant her coffee, then dropped into the big leather chair behind his desk and faced Annette attentively.
“All right, boss, what can I do for you?” he drawled.
“How’s the election setup coming?”
She had been given exactly one long-cycle, one hundred and ninety-five days, give or take, to send representatives to two of the three Houses of the Imperial Legislature. Since those reps had to leave in about six weeks, the election for the House of Races was about to kick off.
“We’re restricting it to a four-week campaign and keeping the selection utterly transparent,” Nash told her. “It’s going to be interesting to watch: with one position for the entire planet, we have sixty-three names on the ballot.”
“But everything’s in place?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I’ve also laid the groundwork for the Charter Convention here in Geneva. I’m assuming we’ll want to elect those people, too?”
“Unless someone has a brilliant idea to somehow magically find the six hundred or so most qualified people on the planet, yeah,” Annette agreed. “And the House of Worlds elections?”
“The structures are all in place around the Houses of Races election,” Nash told her. “We’ll stress-test it for scale and regional divisions with the Charter Convention reps, and then we’ll be good to run the House of Worlds campaign by the end of the year.”
“Well done,” she congratulated him. The elections, while utterly necessary, had also failed to truly make it onto her radar as a priority. Nash, with some assistance from the rest of her Council, had taken her instructions and run with them.
“The reward for a job well done, of course, is another job,” she continued with a small smile. “You and Lebrand were setting up Militia recruitment campaigns. We need them accelerated.”
Nash looked thoughtful.
“What kind of scale are we talking?” he asked.
“We need seventy thousand more recruits in the next six months,” she said calmly.
He winced.
“That’s a tall order.”
“We’ve got about thirty thousand people from the UESF,” she told him. “Once training and security checks are done, that still leaves us fifty thousand short just for the defense constellation and the super-battleships—and we need logistics infrastructure and want to man the destroyers and build new ships.”
“I can’t even speak to the training regimen you’ll need,” Nash warned. “We’re pulling on an entire planet’s population, but we’re also still building the recruiting infrastructure. Give us a year and I can all but guarantee a quarter-million recruits a year.”
“But can we do seventy thousand now?” she pressed.
“I’ll have to go over our plans and probably accelerate our hiring,” he said, “but…I think so.”
“Good. Make sure your staff is fully in the loop as well,” Annette warned.
He paused. “Oh?”
“When we send our elected rep off to the House of Races, you will be going to the House of Duchies as my representative,” she told him. “More rewards for a job well done.”
Teddy Nash grinned like an excited ten-year-old.
“Seriously?” he asked. “You’re sending me to A!To? I get to see an alien world?”
Her visit to Nash was only the third time Annette had ever been to Geneva, but she had no time to play tourist in the former Swiss capital. Her shuttle landed next to the office the election was being run from ten minutes before her meeting and took off from the same place ten minutes after it finished.
The aftermath of the attack on BugWorks had only accelerated the mess of her schedule, and she went from meeting with Nash in Geneva to meeting with Medit! in orbit. Arguably, she didn’t need bodyguards when visiting with the A!Tol leader of the Imperial Uplift Team, but…
The Duchy of Terra might be part of the A!Tol Imperium, but that didn’t mean Annette’s people trusted their overlords. Sergeant Lin and her people forewent powered battle armor, but they came with Annette and they were carrying anti-armor plasma weapons.
Medit!’s office had moved aboard Orbit One when she’d ceased to be Governor and sent the battleship she’d been operating from back to Kimar. While the addition of the A!Tol-built defense platforms had left the old UESF command center aboard the big station empty, it remained the major civilian hub for Earth’s space travel.
Thanks to the Uplift Office, most of that travel now had civilian interface drives. Medit! had even helped a syndicate backed by Councilor Miyamoto’s company to put in bids on several used hyper-capable freighters being sold off in the nearer A!Tol worlds.
Nova Industries was going to have a lock on the Duchy’s military needs for the foreseeable future, but Elon’s competition wasn’t being left in the dust of the new world.
The Uplift Team’s offices lacked the power-armored marines that had guarded Governor Medit!’s facilities, but Annette knew the security was no less effective for being subtler. Even she was being scanned and checked against a list as she stepped through the door.
A young-looking A!Tol male—mostly identifiable as such because he was the first of his species Annette had ever met under two meters tall—greeted her as she came in, his skin flushing a mottled mixture of red and green—pleasure and determination not to screw up, she guessed.
“The Supervisor is waiting for you, Dan!Annette Bond,” he told her, using the modified version of her name that now included her title. “This way, please.”
He led her down a corridor into a surprisingly utilitarian office. It didn’t look like it was intended to be a permanent fixture, with no decorations and only a utilitarian desk and couch. The only sign of the ex-Governor’s importance was a massive screen, where Medit! was using a haptic interface field to scroll through dozens of images at once while issuing multiple commands with her fluttering manipulators.
“Thank you, Keltan,” Medit! told the assistant as Annette entered. The Advisor was the second-largest female A!Tol Annette had ever met, an old, old female as she understood A!Tol aging.
There were chairs for both Annette and her bodyguards, and a small robot trundled out with coffees for everyone and a selection of small pastries.
“I appreciate you making the time to meet with me, Dan!Annette,” Medit! told her, the alien’s skin flashing a soft red of pleasure as the bodyguards took the food—a sign of trust the Advisor clearly recognized. “More than anyone else here, I suspect, I know how busy you must be.”
“The last I checked, Medit!, you remained the Empress’s direct representative,” Annette pointed out. “You’ve also been busy yourself. Humanity owes you much.”
“Even in my lifetime, we have only uplifted two new member races,” Medit! replied. “I trained my whole life for the possibility of doing what I am doing this cycle, Dan!Annette. I am pleased to assist your world.”
“And most of us are grateful,” the Duchess told her. “How may I assist the Uplift Office?”
“I need to borrow some people from your government,” the alien said. “There are sections of your African and North American continents where it is proving almost impossible to carry out investigations or attempt to assist safely without local personnel.
“I refuse”—green determination flashed across Medit!’s skin—“to allow any portion to receive less support than another, no matter how stubborn. But our efforts to penetrate those regions have resulted in a number of injuries and few successes.
“I believe that your people should be able to interact with these holdouts safely and enable us to assess the level of assistance needed there,” she concluded.
“We should be able to come up with some teams to lend you,” Annette said after a moment. “Our own manpower is stretched thin, though.”
“Of course,” the Advisor agreed. “That was also something I wished to discuss with you.”
“Oh?” Annette replied carefully.
“I am aware of the purchase you’ve made from the Indiri Deep Houses, of course,” Medit! told her. “I’m also aware that those ships will require far more personnel than you currently have to hand. Even training crews for those vessels will be difficult for you to put together.”
“We should be able to manage.”
“I have faith in your species’ ability to stubborn your way through almost any challenge, Dan!Annette Bond,” the alien told her, her skin flashing red in the equivalent of a chuckle. “But there are resources available through the Uplift program that could help.
“If you are willing, I can arrange for a Navy training team to arrive in roughly four five-cycles. They won’t even truly be enough for cadre for a single ship, but combined with your existing experienced personnel, they should be sufficient for you to begin training crews on the ships you have.”
“That…would be immensely helpful,” Annette admitted. Even a few hundred extra trainers could make the difference between being able to properly use the two ships they were planning to commission as Queen of England and Emperor of China and the ships’ being glorified training hulks.
“And while I am going to refrain from asking how you plan on paying for the ships,” Medit! continued, her skin the blue-red mottling of amused curiosity, “it is within my resources to provide you a loan to cover the payment due when the first tranche arrives, if your own plans have not yet come to fruition.”
She wondered, for a moment, just how much Medit! actually knew. Tornado was due back in a day at the earliest, but the super-battleships were due in five. If the cruiser was late, she might well have problems making the payment.
“I don’t expect to need that,” Annette told Medit!. “But I appreciate the offer. I am surprised you’re being this helpful,” she admitted.
Medit!’s tentacles fluttered in a pseudo-shrug.
“We set you an impossible challenge, Dan!Annette,” she admitted, “but we set you one that benefited us if you succeeded as well. You appear to have met our challenge, and so the Imperium benefits.
“A few small helping hands at this point are the advantage of being part of a larger whole. We stand together, Dan!Annette Bond—so the Imperium is stronger if the Duchy of Terra is stronger.”
Chapter Forty-Five
James Wellesley released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as Tornado erupted through the bright blue hyper portal into the Sol system.
The plain-looking folio of black datasticks the Laians had given him terrified him. Tornado’s computers couldn’t read more than the surface layer, which basically read “deposit X marks to the account of,” but that had been enough for him to confirm that Tallas and the Crew had played fairly with him.
He’d kept the folio with him for the entire trip, never even letting it leave his person, let alone his sight. James trusted Tornado’s crew with his life…but those ten datasticks represented a literally incomprehensible amount of money.
“Transmitting IFF and requesting docking protocol,” Chan announced, the tiny Chinese woman’s hands flying over the keyboard.
“That does not look good,” Rolfson said a moment later. “Captain, Colonel, take a look at this.”
Tornado’s main display lit up with the space around BugWorks Station, where there should have been multiple yard slips and four destroyers undergoing refit.
There was nothing. BugWorks Station remained, with a single destroyer holding high guard position above it, but the yard slips attached to it were gone.
“We’re being interrogated for Bravo-level confirmations,” Chan reported.
“And I’ve got a Capital-class destroyer heading hell-for-leather our way,” Rolfson added.
“Send them the confirmations,” Kurzman ordered, sharing a glance with his husband.
“What the hell happened?” James wondered aloud.
“Two days to spare, Captain, Colonel,” Duchess Bond told them after she’d come aboard. “With the mess at BugWorks, we’re damned glad to see you.”
“I saw the summary briefing,” James replied. “How the hell did Anderson pull that off?”
“He had his people in the right places,” Villeneuve said grimly. Bond had brought Elon Casimir and Li Chin Zhao along with herself and the Admiral. The four members of Earth’s government took chairs scattered around Kurzman’s ready room.
“With one of the destroyer XOs and control of BugWorks’ security shifts…” The Admiral shrugged. “We didn’t see him coming.”
“I’m still looking into how he had his people so perfectly positioned,” Zhao added. “I suspect we still have a few highly placed moles, but with Anderson and his organization gone, their threat level is limited.”
“If I’d known we had that coming…” James trailed off.
“We needed you on Tortuga,” Bond reminded him. “Tellaki?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“He died saving my life,” James told her. “He asked me to tell you that you gave his people back their honor. From my reading, they had to follow Kikitheth into piracy, but that only meant they were dishonored with her.”
“I don’t pretend to understand Rekiki culture,” the Duchess said. “If he says he regained his honor with us, I believe him. I’d rather still have him.”
“He was a good man…being, sentient, whatever,” James said. “I’ll miss him.”
“And your mission?” Villeneuve asked.
James removed the folio from inside his coat and offered it to Duchess Bond.
“Successful,” he said simply. “I’ll note that we are now permanently banned from Tortuga. They warned me they’d fire on us if we returned, and even Tornado can’t go toe-to-toe with the Crew’s ships.”
Bond took the folio and passed it to Zhao.
“Get those dumped into our accounts and prep the transfer for the Deep Houses,” she told him. “The ships are due in two days. I don’t want any more problems.”
“Who gets the battleships?” Kurzman asked.
“It’s going to be messy with our losses,” Villeneuve told him. “Lougheed gets Emperor of China; Sade gets Queen of England. Lougheed doesn’t have a ship, and if we have armored warships and super-capital ships to man, I’m not wasting our limited people on Beijing.
“You and your crew remain our most experienced and highest-functioning unit,” the Admiral continued. “We’ll need to keep you in Tornado for a while yet.”
James felt his husband’s disappointment and concealed a smile. Whatever the Duchess had in mind for Kurzman, he doubted that Tornado’s new Captain was going to come off worse for having to wait.
“In a month, we’ll have the first of our upgraded super-battleships,” Villeneuve continued. “She will be a revolution for Imperial warship design, as far beyond those that came before her as Dreadnought was to the battleships of her day.”
“And once she’s commissioned, I might finally start feeling like Sol is safe,” the Duchess told them. “But I think we’ve made it happen, gentlemen. We’ve bought the Duchy of Terra a future—one under A!Tol rule, yes, but a future that humanity controls nonetheless.”
Andrew Lougheed stood in an observation deck on Defense One, watching the wreck that had been Washington be towed toward the smelter that would break her up. Every usable piece of technology had been stripped from the hull, and all that was left was metal and ceramics. Those too would be reclaimed for the Duchy’s use.
It made sense. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
“It always hurts to lose a command,” Villeneuve’s softly accented voice said from behind him.
He glanced back to watch the Admiral cross the deck to him, the old man’s eyes resting on the same splotch in the stars as he’d been watching.
“The Militia is still too small for such formalities as Captains’ Boards or inquests,” the Admiral continued. “The Duchess and I have reviewed your actions. You did as well as anyone could have asked, and better than most would have done.”
“Thank you, sir,” Andrew replied. “I feel like I should have known about Warner.”
“How?” Villeneuve asked. “He passed every screening, every test. I feel like he might not have betrayed us had I planned to give him a destroyer.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Andrew objected. The Admiral blamed himself? That was ridiculous. Laurent had seen more combat as tactical officer on an interface-drive ship than Warner had. Harold Rolfson, Tornado’s tactical officer turned exec, had been expected to take command of London. After him, the fourth command had been slated for the most experienced officer.
“Intellectually, je le sais,” Villeneuve confirmed. “Emotionally, it is in the nature of men and women with…command personalities to blame ourselves when things go wrong. We would not be as effective on our command decks, Captain, were we not the type to take responsibility.”
“No,” Andrew admitted. “I am at the Militia’s service,” he noted. “I’m guessing we will be commissioning more of the un-upgraded Cities?”
“That remains a matter of debate,” Villeneuve replied. “Even if we do commission them, you will not command one.”
The tone wasn’t harsh, but the words were…dangerous. If Andrew wasn’t going to command one of the destroyers, what was he…
A brilliant blue flash lit up the sky through the glass panels as a hyper portal opened. The burst of Cherenkov radiation was enough to light up the entire window, and Andrew saw Villeneuve smile.
“I see our Indiri friends are exactly on schedule,” he observed. “I’d hoped.” The man who commanded Earth’s defenses stepped forward, engaging an interface and zooming the view in on the four ships that had just entered Sol.
They were immense. Andrew’s eye was practiced enough now to pick out the single freighter from the three warships, but the warships were as large as anything he’d ever seen. They were…super-battleships.
“We got super-battleships,” he breathed.
“Majesty class, the latest design,” Villeneuve confirmed. “The production lines for our own point seven five cee missiles are online as well, so they won’t be carrying the obsolete birds you had to take into battle against Canberra. Two are going into immediate commission, as Emperor of China and Queen of England.”
The Admiral couldn’t be suggesting what Andrew thought he was suggesting.
“Sir?”
“Unless you don’t want her, Emperor of China is yours,” Villeneuve said calmly. “You’ll be under-crewed and half the crew you have will be untrained, but we have A!Tol Navy trainers coming in to help get your people up to speed. It’ll be a challenge either way. Up for it, Captain?”
Andrew exhaled, trying not to breathe heavily as he drank in the elegant and terrifying lines of the super-battleships. He wasn’t sure, but he thought these three were even larger than the ones at Kimar. He was being offered command of one of the most powerful warships in the Imperium.
“I’m up for it,” he told the Admiral. He realized a moment later that Villeneuve had only named two ships. “What’s the third ship?”
“That one is going into the Lunar Yards for a full upgrade,” Villeneuve told him. “Compressed-matter-laced armor, Sword and Buckler, the works. She’s going to be the sample ship of an entirely new generation of military technology.
“When she’s ready, she’ll commission as Duchess of Terra.”
Chapter Forty-Six
“Nothing.”
The translators weren’t perfect with emotion, but after almost a year in command of Hunter’s Horn, Harriet Tanaka could pick up the disappointment in Okan Vaza’s voice.
“It’s a big solar system,” she pointed out. “Any signs at all?”
The Indiri shook his head.
“It doesn’t look like Seas of Misfortune was ever here,” he told her. “No beacons, no exhaust trails, not even signs of weapons fire.”
Harriet nodded, studying the holotank and its representation of the first system on her patrol. After twenty days in hyperspace and only a short break at Kimar, even she was starting to feel the wear. Finding the Kanzi here would have made her life a lot easier.
“Any sign of the stealth ship?” she asked.
“I’ll need more time,” Vaza said calmly. A!Tol technology could find evidence of a stealth ship’s passing only with vast amounts of reprocessing of the scan data. Harriet’s people were trying to do it in real time, but it would still take over a twentieth-cycle for them to have any idea if they were truly alone.
“Both the asteroid belt and the gas giant represent opportunities for someone to be hiding,” she finally said with a sigh. “We’ll make a close pass of both and do a high-power active sweep.”
“I thought we were looking for fleet anchorages,” her tactical officer pointed out.
“We are,” she agreed. “But we’re also missing ships, Lesser Commander. If one of them is hiding from the Kanzi, that’s where we’d find them.”
It was also where they’d find any Kanzi ship that was lurking in ambush. Harriet wasn’t quite using her ship as bait…but she was going to poke the hornet’s nest to see if they were home.
“Besides,” she continued, “I don’t know about you, Vaza, but I’d like to spend more than a single twentieth-cycle outside of hyperspace.”
The Indiri made a wet barking noise, the disturbing sound his people’s version of a chuckle.
“I’ll swim those waters,” he agreed. “I’ll see what the reprocessing finds.”
At half of the speed of light, sweeping the asteroid belt and gas giant was a matter of hours. Harriet wasn’t entirely surprised when the search came up empty, though the cruiser’s sensors flagged some deposits of rare elements in the asteroid belt worth noting for later.
Despite the urgency of her mission, though, after twenty days in hyperspace, it was necessary for the crew of Hunter’s Horn to have some time in real space. No matter how shielded or protected a ship was, hyperspace was always a strain on sentient beings.
Life wasn’t supposed to be there, and you could feel it.
“Well, Vaza?” she asked as they rounded the gas giant. “Are we being watched?”
“These ships wouldn’t be as terrifying if I could be certain,” the Indiri told her. “Intelligence sent me the classified briefing on them before we headed out.” The frog-like alien shivered.
“I think,” he emphasized, “that we are alone. But…” He held up one red-furred finger. “Take a look at this.”
He mirrored part of his display to hers, allowing her to see what he’d been looking at.
It took Harriet a moment to pick it up, though she managed it before her tactical officer flashed a highlight on it.
“That does look like a stealth signature,” she pointed out.
“One the currents of time have eroded,” Vaza replied. “We’re alone now, but there was a stealth ship here.”
“When?”
“It’s hard to say,” he admitted. “Between five and ten cycles ago. What might be relevant, though…”
His highlight extended, tracing the faint signature’s course.
“They went into hyperspace here,” Vaza concluded. “That vector lines up with one of the systems on our patrol.”
Harriet ran the analysis herself, humming softly in thought. Vaza was apparently used to this by now, waiting patiently as she traced the line.
“Our patrol route is at my discretion, though that was our intended last system,” she said slowly. “But I agree, Lesser Commander. That is very relevant.”
Continuing to hum softly to herself, she paged Ides to the bridge.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Approaching the Arcturus system now,” Ides announced to Hunter’s Horn’s silent bridge.
“Take it nice and slow, Commander,” Harriet ordered. “Let’s see if we can sneak in without being spotted.”
Sneaking into regular space from hyperspace was a difficult endeavor, one that involved creating a hyper portal exactly sized to the ship and slipping through it at relatively low speed. Relatively low speeds by interface-drive standards, of course, still took her half-kilometer-long cruiser through the portal in fractions of a second.
Excruciatingly uncomfortable fractions of a second. There were reasons, Harriet reflected, that the hyper portal was normally made so large and crossed so quickly. Her entire body felt squished and stretched, as if multiple massive weights were slamming into her from all sides, and her ears popped under the pressure.
Then it was past, and she took a deep breath of relief.
“Sier,” she pinged her XO. “Have the crew report in. Make sure that transition didn’t cause any problems.”
“On it,” the Yin replied crisply. “That…was unpleasant.”
From the pause, he’d edited out either a curse or a metaphor he didn’t think she’d follow. Harriet’s own description of the experience would have been…long and unprintable.
“Captain, you need to see this,” Vaza snapped. “Bringing up the system display.”
The holotank flared to life as Harriet turned to see what the Indiri had spotted—only to swallow hard as she saw what he’d seen.
It wasn’t hard. Vaza had zoomed the tank in on the fourth planet, a rocky airless world…with what appeared to be an entire battle fleet in orbit.
The Arcturus system was a sparse K-class system with four rocky planets and two gas giants. No significant asteroid collections. No major comets. There was very little else in the system to attract anyone’s attention.
“Focus our passives on those ships,” she ordered. “Get me every scrap of data you can find. Did they see us come in?”
“I can’t be sure,” Vaza replied. “We’ll see their reaction to our emergence light in four thousandth-cycles. Until then, they won’t have seen us…yet.”
Harriet nodded, watching the data as Horn’s computers filled in the gaps. The big ships registered first, massive support vessels that dwarfed even capital ships. Four fuel tankers. Two mobile repair ships. Sixteen freighters, presumably loaded with food and munitions.
The civilian ships were easier to resolve. Even when they weren’t hiding, warships were designed to be less than obvious—where a freighter or fuel tanker wanted to be seen.
“No ECM running on the warships,” her tactical officer reported. “We’re getting a pretty clear look, but I don’t like these waters.”
The Kanzi, like humans, used a base-ten mathematical system. Both races had ten fingers, which was the likely source of their numbers. Unlike humans, whose squadron sizes prior to the annexation had been driven more by tradition than by anything anyone would call logical, the Kanzi Theocracy’s Navy used ten-ship squadrons.
Two of those squadrons, twenty ships, formed the core of the fleet Harriet was looking at. Twenty battleships floated in orbit around that desolate rock, an armored fist sufficient to crush any but the best-defended systems.
“Two battleship squadrons. Three cruiser squadrons. Two destroyer squadrons,” Vaza concluded aloud. “Seventy warships, over two hundred million tons total.”
“They can’t be sending that to Sol,” Harriet said quietly. “Earth is…practically defenseless.”
“If they expect the Kimar fleet base to respond, this is too little,” Sier pointed out from the CIC. “Those squadrons could probably engage Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh’s battleships, but once the fast battleships and super-battleships are involved, they’re outgunned twice over.”
“But it’s enough firepower to make us hesitate, or so they might hope,” Harriet concluded. Her own impression of Tan!Shallegh suggested that the Kanzi were very wrong if they expected the Fleet Lord to hesitate, but they might try to convince him to back down.
“Keep us in position, Ides,” she ordered. “Vaza, Sier, pull in every piece of data we can. I want to know the damned names of those ships before we report back.
“That said, if you see even a hint they know we’re here, we need to be gone. Keep your eyes open.”
The discovery of the Kanzi task force had driven every other concern out of Harriet and her bridge crew’s minds. An entire fleet was priority over anything else—they’d been chasing ghosts, and instead they’d found the knife about to stab the Imperium in the back.
The alert that beeped out on Vaza’s console sounded echoingly loud in the silence of the bridge as they pored over the data on the warships. Harriet turned to it, forgetting for a moment just what that alert was supposed to be.
“We found a stealth ship,” Vaza declared, staring at his screen, then dropping a hazy red sphere onto the holotank. “It’s definitely still here; trying to narrow down its location.” He paused.
“Data is twenty-two thousandth-cycles old.”
Twenty-eight minutes, Harriet reflected. If the ship was moving under interface drive, somehow invisible to her scanners that would detect both a ship’s heat radiation and an interface drive’s hyperspace signature, it could have closed as much as fifteen light-minutes in that time.
“Where is it?” she demanded.
“We have a twelve-light-second error on the location,” the Indiri replied, “but it was there.”
Not even that far away. Five light-minutes. The stealth ship could be on top of them and they wouldn’t even know—the A!Tol Imperium had no idea what range a stealth screen would function at.
“Stay on passive sensors,” she ordered. “Localize the signature if you can. Ides—start moving us back and prep for a low-profile hyper entry. The Fleet Lord needs to know what we’ve found.”
“It’s all a mess of murky water,” Vaza told her. “I can narrow down the location, but I think it started moving toward us about when they would have seen our emergence.”
“Chikushō,” she swore. “Ides, I need that escape portal now!”
“Contact!” Vaza bellowed, and something swam out of the deeps of space, shimmering into existence like a desert mirage as the strange vessel dropped its stealth screen.
The ship was less than a light-second away, inside suicide range if it carried any kind of weaponry, and for a moment, Harriet thought she and her crew were going to die.
Instead, the dark green, egg-like ship, completely different from anything she’d seen before or in the A!Tol files, coasted to a zero-velocity rendezvous ten thousand kilometers from Hunter’s Horn and waited.
“We…are receiving a communication,” Speaker Piditel, her coms officer, reported. “Imperial link protocols.”
“I think our friend’s antics deserve a response,” Harriet said slowly. “Two-way link, in the tank.”
The last thing Harriet was expecting to see on the other side of the radio channel was an A!Tol. The stealth ship was definitely not of Imperial or even Kanzi design, but…there she was.
The tentacled alien stood in the middle of a gleaming white bridge with no other occupants. It was hard to be sure, but Harriet thought that the stranger was the single biggest A!Tol she’d ever seen.
“Ah, a human,” the A!Tol said, her skin flashing red and blue with curious pleasure. “That does make things easier.”
“This is Captain Tanaka of the Imperial warship Hunter’s Horn,” Harriet replied. “You just buzzed my ship in apparently hostile territory. Identify yourself or be fired upon!”
“My name is Ki!Tana,” the massive alien replied. “Please don’t shoot at this ship; I can’t replace her and she is literally defenseless. The favor that got me a stealth screen didn’t stretch so far as to get me an armed ship.”
Ki!Tana. The name sounded familiar, but the prefix wasn’t one she was familiar with.
The shock the rest of her crew was staring at the tank with, however, suggested it was important.
“This is hardly the place, Ki!Tana,” Harriet said slowly, “for a pleasant visit. Perhaps you should explain what you want?”
“I am bound by contract to the Duchess of Terra,” Ki!Tana said. “In pursuit of that contract, I have been scouting these systems and discovered this fleet, much as you have.
“I believe both Terra and the Imperium would be best served if we compared notes,” she continued. “If you are prepared to allow me to dock my ship with yours, I believe I can extend the stealth screen to cover both of our ships.”
Harriet glanced at Sier, who looked back at her levelly—and sent a text message to her screen.
She is Ki!Tol. She can be trusted. I think.
“Very well,” Harriet told the alien. The strange little ship was barely a tenth of Horn’s size and could easily dock with her airlocks.
“I will come aboard once I have docked,” Ki!Tana told her. “I look forward to meeting with you, Captain Tanaka.”
The channel dropped and Harriet turned to her XO again. Sier was staring at the holotank in silence, the blue-feathered Yin blinking slowly.
“Commander,” she snapped. “Commander Sier.”
Sier snapped his beak as he shook himself, finally returning to the moment.
“My apologies, Captain,” he said. “I did not expect to ever meet a Ki!Tol in my life.”
“I seem to recall that this Ki!Tana was working with Duchess Bond,” Harriet replied. “Beyond that, though, I’m not certain what a Ki!Tol even is.”
Something that, from what she was recognizing as shock and awe on her bridge crew’s faces, everyone else on her bridge did know.
Sier took a moment, marshaling his thoughts.
“You know how female A!Tol die, correct?” he finally asked.
“Suicide, usually,” Harriet said. A!Tol reproduction was a messy cycle that saw their young literally eat their way out of their mothers. They’d long ago mastered in vitro pregnancies, only to discover that their brains and bodies wouldn’t let them off that easily.
“They all enter the birthing madness,” Sier confirmed. “Their bodies tell them they must breed or die…so, one way or another, they all die.”
The concept of pregnancy being fatal was mind-boggling to Harriet. Her son’s birth had been one of the happiest moments of her life. She still wasn’t sure what A!Tol reproduction had to do with Ki!Tana, however.
“Except the Ki!Tol,” Sier concluded. “Those who manage to survive the birthing madness find a new sanity on the other side. A Ki!Tol is almost unkillable, extremely old and…well, unquestionably insane.”
Harriet looked at her executive officer, hoping he was joking. From the half-awed, half-terrified expressions of the rest of her bridge crew, however, he was not.
“So, she’s an insane ancient matriarch with a ship the Imperium didn’t build…who works for the ruler of Terra?”
“I don’t know how this contract works,” Sier admitted, “but Ki!Tol are often advisors or guides in A!Tol myth.” He paused. “History and myth both say about the same thing: they’re honest…but rarely straightforward.”
Harriet shook her head.
“Well, let’s go see what she wants, shall we?”
Hunter’s Horn had been built by the A!Tol and designed to easily handle members of any of almost thirty different species. Even though Ki!Tana was even larger than Harriet had thought, looming nearly three meters high on her locomotive tentacles, she easily fit through the main airlock.
Alone.
“Will any of your crew be escorting you?” Harriet asked the Ki!Tol politely, trying not to be intimidated by the alien’s size.
Ki!Tana clicked her beak in laughter.
“It’s a Mesharom scout ship, Captain Tanaka,” she replied. “The Mesharom don’t like each other very much, so a lot of their ships are designed for one sentient. The AI handles everything else.”
“I see,” Harriet responded slowly. The Mesharom were one of the Core Powers, an old, very intelligent, very advanced species whose ships made even the Imperium’s look like toys.
They were also four meters long, had approximately eighty limbs, required six genders to reproduce, and were generally introverted to a level humanity would regard as insane. If they weren’t incredibly intelligent and long-lived, no one was certain they’d even have developed a civilization at all, let alone potentially the most advanced one in the galaxy.
How had Ki!Tana acquired one of their ships was a question Harriet wasn’t sure she should ask.
“I’ve had my crew prepare a meeting room,” she finally said. “Shall we, Captain Ki!Tana?”
The A!Tol clacked her beak in laughter again.
“As you wish, Captain Tanaka.”
Harriet was impressed with what her crew had pulled together on short notice. They’d found a proper A!Tol couch for the meeting room and even food Ki!Tana could eat that wasn’t Universal Protein.
The Ki!Tol’s skin flashed bright red at the sight of the food.
“Thank you, Captain,” she said reverently. “I’ve been living on UP bars for a long-cycle. Mesharom food processing facilities are…not useful for feeding A!Tol.”
“How did you even end up with a Mesharom ship?” Harriet asked, unable to restrain her curiosity.
“Someone owed me a favor,” Ki!Tana replied. “From the amount of help the Mesharom have given me over the years, I’m not sure I want to know what they owe me a favor for, but I got a ship out of it this time.”
“And decided to come poke around the Kovius Zone of Sol?”
“It might help understand the context, Captain, if I point out that Kovius is a Mesharom system,” the A!Tol told her. “Part of the reason I was given Darkest Depths was to keep an eye on Sol.
“The Mesharom created the Kovius Treaty and it’s the Mesharom Frontier Fleet that will wreck the business of anyone who breaks it,” Ki!Tana concluded. “Darkest Depths is a Frontier Fleet ship on loan to me. I would be very surprised to discover that it does not have a starcom I wasn’t told about.”
“Great,” Harriet said. “More aliens poking around.”
“I also owe the Duchess of Terra some long-cycles of service,” the alien noted. “This seemed an opportunity to benefit many friends in one dive. I wasn’t expecting a Kanzi task fleet.”
“I don’t think anyone was,” Harriet replied. “You said we should compare notes. I doubt we know anything you don’t.”
“Perhaps not,” Ki!Tana agreed. “Except…I don’t know Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh’s current positions. I suspect you do.”
“We’re over twenty cycles from Kimar,” Harriet pointed out. “These bastards can be at Sol in twelve.”
She could meet the Fleet Lord at Centauri in about the same time frame, but that still left Sol in danger.
“Darkest Depths has an…impressive set of sensors,” Ki!Tana told her. “Better than I thought were possible, actually. Thanks to those sensors, I now have better charts of this area of hyperspace than you or the Kanzi.”
That sounded…promising.
“And?”
“There is a current nearby. Not on a direct course for Sol, but one that would cut entire cycles off of your trip.”
Hyperspace did not correlate to real space at a consistent rate. Any given section of hyperspace could be compressed at anything from ten to one to ten thousand to one. Sections of the latter tended to be in strips that could be used to bypass chunks of space with blistering speed—currents.
Even the A!Tol didn’t have sensors that could detect that correlation. The only thing their charts really recorded was how long it took to get from a given system to another system.
“I can provide you with charts that will allow you to ride that current,” Ki!Tana told her. “You could reach Sol in nine cycles. Kimar in perhaps fourteen.”
Harriet sighed.
“The Fleet Lord has a forward position at Alpha Centauri,” she admitted. “If I can reach there in nine cycles…”
“The current will bring his ships back here almost as quickly,” the Ki!Tol told her. “I can remain here, Captain, and keep an eye on our blue-furred friends. If they leave, I can beat them to Sol by at least three cycles. Four, if their charts are as bad as I suspect they are.”
“Why would you care?” Harriet asked. “What’s Earth to you?”
“Nothing,” Ki!Tana agreed cheerfully. “But Dan!Annette Bond? She’s a friend. And the Mesharom asked me to keep an eye on your species, Captain.”
A!Tol wore their emotions on their skin. Harriet didn’t know if Ki!Tol were different, but the alien’s enthusiasm at the food suggested otherwise. There was no deception in Ki!Tana’s coloring or body language.
She seemed to truly be trying to help.
“I’m guessing the stealth ship that’s been confusing our patrols was you?” she finally asked.
“The Imperium and I have a turbulent relationship, Captain,” Ki!Tana told her. “I cannot be around males of my species, which makes interacting with my race’s military…difficult. It was easier to avoid contact until I needed you.”
“To be your courier,” Harriet replied.
“Yes,” the alien agreed. “And to help save your species from slavery, Captain Tanaka.”
“You are assuming Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh will act.”
Ki!Tana’s beak clacked together in laughter.
“You have met our Empress’s brood-sister’s child, haven’t you?”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Imperial scanners were almost entirely incapable of judging gradients in hyperspace. Harriet and her crew were completely reliant on Ki!Tana’s charts until they finally drew close enough to Alpha Centauri for the system’s stars to register as gravity wells.
“Exactly where they should be, Captain,” Ides told Harriet as they swept in toward the trio of markers showing Alpha Centauri’s two stars and the nearby Proxima Centauri. “These charts are a huge advantage,” the pale blue Tosumi told her. “Any navigator in the Imperial Navy would kill for sensors that could chart like this at a distance.”
“If I was going to commit for Mesharom technology, I might aim for something more immediately useful than sensor tech,” Harriet admitted. “Missiles or beam weapons or something.”
“Rumor has it the Mesharom use faster-than-light missiles,” Vaza told her. “Some form of miniaturized hyperdrive, presumably.”
Harriet shivered, realizing once again that the Core Powers outstripped the A!Tol by as large a margin as the A!Tol Imperium outstripped Earth.
“What’s our estimated arrival in Centauri?” she asked Ides.
“Exactly on schedule,” he replied. “A little over a tenth-cycle.”
Two and a half hours, give or take.
“I’ll be in my office, finalizing the briefing for the Fleet Lord,” she told them. “Vaza has the bridge. Page me if anything comes up.”
Bursting into the Alpha Centauri system, Harriet couldn’t help but be struck by the similarities to the scene they’d left the Kanzi in. Unlike the Kanzi’s anchor, the world Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh’s squadron orbited was habitable, a cold but living world humanity had named Hope.
Otherwise, the scene was similar. Four tankers, a refit ship and a dozen freighters orbited underneath the mobile shield of a full Imperial battle squadron and escorts. Sixteen battleships, escorted by thirty-two cruisers and an equal number of destroyers.
The A!Tol capital ships were a bit larger than their Kanzi counterparts, hopefully newer, more powerful vessels.
“Send a transmission to the flagship,” Harriet ordered. “I need to speak with the Fleet Lord immediately upon our arrival.” She paused, swallowed, then continued. “The code is Tsunami. I repeat, the request is to be transmitted under code Tsunami.”
The A!Tol had become amphibious early in their development, but they had always remained a species intimately tied to the water and the ocean. The effect of a tsunami had generally been even more devastating to their settlements than they had been to islands like Harriet’s native Japan.
A more equivalent code word in a human navy would have been “Armageddon.”
Code word Tsunami meant an invasion was incoming.
The squadron and its escorts had become a gratifying hive of activity by the time Hunter’s Horn cut through a cleared path toward the replenishment ships. Small craft swarmed across every vessel as the warships made ready for deep space.
“That is…gratifying,” Sier said quietly into Harriet’s ear.
“What?” she asked. “I didn’t send our highest-priority code word expecting them to sit on their hands.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But you are the very first human ship commander in the Imperium. Many flag officers might have waited to review your proof before accepting that you’d used the code appropriately.”
Harriet was struck for a moment by both how petty and how very human that kind of response would have been—and then smiled as she realized it hadn’t even occurred to her.
At some point, she’d stopped being “the human officer” inside her own head and become simply the Captain of Hunter’s Horn. She’d trusted her superiors to do the right thing…and they had fulfilled that trust.
“Trust begets trust, Commander,” she finally told Sier. “Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh understands that, I think.”
“That’s why he keeps getting the mixed-race ships, I think,” the Yin replied thoughtfully. “I always wondered why a flag officer with his connections kept getting the ships the Navy regards as broken wings.”
“I imagine because he asks for us, Commander Sier,” Harriet told him. “And it wouldn’t do for us to disappoint him, would it?”
“No, Captain,” Sier agreed. “I’ll have your shuttle prepared.”
The A!Tol Imperial Navy battleship Shield of Innocents was, to Harriet’s understanding, the oldest, weakest unit in the Twenty-Fifth Battle Squadron. Logically, there was no reason why Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh, a close relative of the Empress, commanded from aboard her.
Shield was a mixed-race ship, though, and she wondered if that was part of the reason. Less than one twentieth of the Imperial Navy’s ships were, and she hadn’t realized how many of them were part of Tan!Shallegh’s command.
Part of that, she suspected, was that he chose them. Tan!Shallegh clearly had more faith in those heterogeneous crews than most of the Navy.
She also knew, however, that connected to the Empress or not, he was a male in a species that was much, much less gender-equal than they encouraged their subject races to be. The A!Tol had a degree of gender dimorphism that made the argument for male inferiority far more pervasive than in most species.
It was quite possible that he had been effectively forced to command mixed-race ships and then decided they had advantages.
Harriet Tanaka didn’t expect to ever know. The swarm of different races scurrying through Shield of Innocents’ landing bay was almost comfortingly familiar now, though, after commanding Hunter’s Horn.
She spotted the Yin female with the Captain’s insignia cutting through the crowd toward and saluted crisply. Shield’s Captain towered over her, with dark blue feathers, hard black eyes and beak, and a body that otherwise reminded Harriet of bad anime aliens. Yin females shared certain noticeable features with human ones, after all.
“Captain Lira,” she greeted the flag captain with a crisp salute. “I appreciate the apparent urgency my message is being met with,” she gestured around.
“We were expecting something,” Lira replied calmly. “The Fleet Lord is waiting. I imagine you’d prefer to only brief us once.”
“Of course, Captain.”
“Welcome, Captain Tanaka,” Tan!Shallegh greeted Harriet as she was escorted into the briefing room.
The Fleet Lord was spread out on a long couch, his manipulator tentacles busy as he flipped through a series of reports and video screens showing the status of the battle squadron around them.
Even used to aliens as she was by now, Harriet found an A!Tol in full flurry a somewhat uncomfortable sight, but she silenced her lizard hindbrain and took the seat that had been laid out for her.
“Echelon Lord Kal Mak briefed me on your mission via starcom,” the Fleet Lord told her. Starcom transmitters were massive, immobile installations. Starcom receivers, however, were small enough—barely—to be included in capital ships.
“The current of your arrival suggests that you found something.”
“We did,” Harriet said, as calmly as she could manage. “I have a data packet and summary briefing prepared.”
“Show me,” Tan!Shallegh ordered, focusing his attention on her and surrendering control of the briefing room’s systems to her with a flick of his tentacles.
“We encountered the trail of a stealth ship in the San!Ak system,” she told him as she linked her communicator in and brought up her briefing files. “We followed it to Arcturus.”
There was an A!Tol name for the star humanity called Arcturus. It was a collection of symbols, a catalog number, nothing more. At some point before Harriet had even joined the Imperial Navy, humanity’s names for their surrounding stars had been loaded into the A!Tol databases for any system they hadn’t give a full name to.
“At Arcturus, we found a full Theocracy Task Fleet,” she explained quickly, her files loading and showing the seventy warships and their logistics train. “Two full ten-ship squadrons of battleships, with escorts.”
“Arcturus is in the Kovius zone of Sol, correct?” Tan!Shallegh asked.
“Yes, Fleet Lord,” Lira confirmed instantly.
“This is a border violation such as we haven’t seen in tens of long-cycles,” the Fleet Lord noted. “You were entirely correct to call Tsunami, Captain. Did they appear to be preparing to move when you were there?”
“No, Fleet Lord,” Harriet said. “But that could have changed at any point. We left nine cycles ago; they may have begun moving already but could not have reached Sol yet, no matter what.”
Tan!Shallegh’s massive black eyes blinked, his skin flushing in surprise.
“Our charts show Arcturus as being twelve cycles from here,” he pointed out. “I am impressed, Captain.”
“I can’t take any credit, Fleet Lord,” she told him. “We made contact with an unexpected ally in the Arcturus system: a Ki!Tol named Ki!Tana.”
“I know of her,” the Fleet Lord said noncommittally.
“She is apparently working with the Mesharom,” Harriet said. “They gave her a ship capable of charting hyperspace, and she provided us with significantly more detailed charts than we previously had for this region of space.
“Those charts identified a current through hyperspace from near Arcturus to roughly halfway between Sol and Alpha Centauri,” she continued. “Our fleet can also follow that current, Fleet Lord.”
“And where is Ki!Tana?”
“She remained behind to watch the Kanzi and warn Sol if they moved,” Harriet answered. “She is apparently…under contract, I believe she said, to the Duchess.”
“A Mesharom ship?” Captain Lira said wonderingly. “And you just let her…wander off?”
“She claimed the ship was defenseless, but it was built by the Mesharom,” Harriet replied. “I may have been able to destroy it, but I am quite certain I would not have been able to capture it. Using her services as an ally is far wiser, Captain Lira.”
“One does not lightly antagonize a Ki!Tol, Captain Lira,” Tan!Shallegh said. “Especially not this one. I take it you tested her charts?”
“We arrived exactly as they said we would,” Harriet confirmed. “The battle squadron should be able to return along the same path without problems.”
“Good.”
The Fleet Lord took back control of his systems, flickering through Harriet’s briefing packet with a speed that almost hurt her eyes.
“You have forwarded all of your scan data to Shield?” he asked.
“We have.”
“Thank you, Captain. Return to your vessel; you will be reinforcing Echelon Lord Ix!iIt’s cruiser squadron as we move out.”
“We are deploying, then?” she asked.
“Of course, Captain,” Tan!Shallegh replied. “A Kanzi Task Fleet inside our borders? This cannot be tolerated.
“Either they will withdraw or they will be destroyed.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
“Signal from the Flag,” Speaker Piditel told Harriet. “The battleships will open the hyper portal into the Arcturus system in fifteen thousandth-cycles.”
“Thank you, Speaker,” Harriet replied. “Any further orders from squadron command?”
Hunter’s Horn may have been attached to Ix!iIt’s squadron, but Harriet wouldn’t have known it from her communication with the Echelon Lord commanding the cruiser squadron. All she’d received from her temporary commander were orders to maintain a specific position in relation to the flagship.
And those orders had come from the Echelon Lord’s communications officer.
“Nothing new,” Piditel replied.
Humming softly to herself, Harriet checked her screens. All that the A!Tol Imperium’s sensors could really detect in hyperspace other than stars was the presence of other ships, but that was enough to make it clear that the space around Hunter’s Horn was crowded.
Sixteen battleships led the way, followed by sixty-five lesser vessels including her own. An astonishing amount of firepower, though Harriet worried about the fact that there were four more Kanzi battleships at Arcturus than Tan!Shallegh was bringing.
The Fleet Lord seemed unconcerned, but it was still worrying. It had been thirty-seven long-cycles—almost twenty years—since even the smallest of engagements between A!Tol and Kanzi capital ships, which Tan!Shallegh had also commanded.
That was more than enough time, in Harriet’s assessment, for the A!Tol’s slim but definite advantage on a per-ton basis to be eroded by tech development.
“Ides, maintain position on the squadron flag as previously ordered,” she told her navigator with a sigh. “Vaza, make sure the proton capacitors are charged and our missile launchers loaded.”
“The Fleet Lord will have to summon them to surrender or withdraw,” Sier observed. The Yin hadn’t left the bridge yet, though they both knew what was coming.
“And they’ll do neither, because they didn’t come this far to meekly turn back,” Harriet replied. “I’d be more comfortable if we were properly linked into the squadron net, too.”
“It is only designed for sixteen ships,” he pointed out. “But…” The Yin clacked his beak in what she’d learned was a sigh. “It can be extended for extras for just this purpose. Echelon Lord Ix!iIt has chosen not to bother.”
“I’d grown used to being treated as a proper Captain,” Harriet admitted, her voice low so no one else could hear it.
“Ix!iIt is A!Tol of a stripe they don’t produce often,” Sier said, which was as much as he could say without explicitly criticizing a superior.
“And he is in command of this squadron,” Harriet agreed. “I need you in CIC, First Sword. This isn’t going to end peacefully.”
“I see the same winds,” he replied, bowing slightly. “To battle, then.”
With sixteen battleships to lead the way, there was no need for the smaller ships to open their own hyper portals. The Twenty-Fifth Battle Squadron tore a hole in reality fifty thousand kilometers wide and led the fleet through, Shield of Innocents in the lead.
Every scanner in the formation stretched out, computers sorting through the data streaming in from the passive sensors while radar and lidar and more exotic beams swept the Arcturus system.
“What have we got?” Harriet demanded.
“Not being linked into the squadron net is limiting my data,” Vaza complained. “But…I’m reading twenty battleships, twenty cruisers, twenty destroyers. The logistic ships are still in place, but ten of the cruisers have wandered off somewhere.”
Hopefully not Sol. Harriet wasn’t sure just what her home system had for defenses at this point, but she suspected ten cruisers would be enough to cause a lot of havoc though probably not take the system.
“Any sign of Ki!Tana?” she asked.
“The post-processing program is running,” he told her. “But…if she wants to avoid Imperial contact except on her terms, she’ll probably keep her tentacles down and stay out of sight.”
“I’d do the same,” Harriet agreed.
The Arcturus system was filling in on her holotank now, and Tan!Shallegh wasn’t being overly subtle about his approach. Ix!iIt’s cruisers, including Hunter’s Horn, were forming a screen around the battle squadron with the destroyers, but the sixteen battleships were heading straight for the Kanzi.
“We’re being linked in to the Fleet Lord’s transmission,” Piditel reported.
“Show me.”
The A!Tol flag officer appeared in a corner of the holotank, his black eyes focused on the camera and his skin dark green with angry determination.
“Kanzi vessels, this is Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh of the A!Tol Imperium. Under the terms of the Kovius Treaty to which both your nation and mine are signatories, this system belongs to the humans, a member race of the A!Tol Imperium.
“Your presence here is a violation of Imperial borders. Per both the Kovius Treaty and the treaties between our nations, I am ordering you to withdraw.
“You have one twentieth-cycle to comply or I will be forced to destroy your vessels.”
The transmission ended and Harriet leaned back in her command chair, studying her screens.
“There goes any chance of surprise,” she noted.
“Anything else would have been a violation of the border treaties with the Kanzi,” Sier told her from CIC. “They’ve committed an act of war, but the niceties still have to be observed so we can let them back down.”
“All of this, and they might manage to avoid a war?” Harriet demanded.
“The Imperium doesn’t want a fight,” her executive officer replied, his voice pitched low to avoid being overheard. “We can fight the Kanzi, but we have an entire Rimward border with no hostile powers on it. Slow expansion into those stars is far more to the current government’s taste than a war.”
“Whereas the Kanzi have a religious imperative to annex all bipedals,” she concluded. “Wonderful.”
“They’re moving, Captain,” Vaza reported.
“I don’t suppose they appear to be leaving?”
“No. They’re forming a wall of battle and coming out to meet us.”
“Understood. Thank you, Lesser Commander,” Harriet told him.
“First Sword.” She turned her attention back to Sier. “Is Hunter’s Horn ready for battle?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Then stand by for orders from the squadron and the fleet,” she told her crew.
There were no real tricks to the maneuvers after that. No fancy footwork. The capital ships were capable of a uniform point four five cee. The escorts, point five. Both sides carried missiles rated for point seven five cee.
Any maneuver would be matched. Any evasion intercepted.
Harriet studied the tactical display, hunting for some hint, some idea to reduce the risk of the clash of titans that was about to unfold, and came up blank.
“Targeting orders downloaded from the flagship,” Vaza told her. “We are to open fire at maximum range.”
Intelligence suggested that the Imperium had a slight advantage, a few seconds at most, in the flight time on their missiles. With the same velocity, that translated into hundreds of thousands of kilometers of extra range.
There were no further demands or communication. The Kanzi weren’t leaving—so the Imperial Navy would make them.
The two fleets crossed an invisible line in space, and Hunter’s Horn trembled as her launchers went to rapid fire.
Harriet leaned back in her chair, humming softly to calm herself as the almost uncountable stream of weapons flashed away from the A!Tol fleet. Eighty ships fired a lot of missiles, even if only sixteen were capital ships.
Despite her expectations, it turned out that intelligence was correct. Five seconds passed and the A!Tol fleet launched their second salvo before the Kanzi returned fire.
The invaders had fewer ships, sixty against the eighty Imperial vessels, but they had twenty capital ships to the A!Tol’s sixteen. The lethal swarm they unleashed was just as dense and terrifying as the one Harriet’s allies had fired.
“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful,” she whispered, watching the hurricane reach out toward her.
The United Earth Space Force had inherited many traditions from the Royal Navy, some of them sillier than others…but right now, that connection back to her home meant more than she’d expected it to.
“Ides, initiate evasive maneuvers,” she ordered. “Vaza, initialize proton beams in missile-defense mode. Try not to hit any of our friends.”
“We’re going to be the only cruiser doing that,” he warned.
“I don’t care if we look silly, Commander; I care if we’re still here tomorrow,” she snapped.
“Beams online,” Vaza replied, having clearly been obeying her orders anyway. “Missiles entering effective range in one thousandth-cycle.”
“Engage at will.”
Every ship in the fleet was maneuvering now, the formations carefully designed to allow them space to attempt to evade the unimaginably fast and maneuverable missiles now bearing down on them.
Harriet took a moment to be very sure that Vaza had the IFF locks on the beams. They were firing them at low power for this, but in this environment, the slightest pressure on the shields could make the difference between life and death.
The missiles flashed into the interception zone, and Hunter’s Horn opened fire. Her proton beams weren’t designed for this purpose, but Harriet had drilled Vaza hard on the concept—and only a tiny portion of the immense swarm of missiles heading toward them were targeted on one cruiser.
When the tide crashed over the fleet, not a single missile hit Horn. Harriet ran the analysis herself to be certain—there’d only been a dozen missiles targeted on her ship, and Vaza had taken them all out.
Two salvos had hit the Kanzi and one had hit the A!Tol. It was a testament to the sheer power of both navies’ shields that hundreds of missiles traveling at three quarters of the speed of light had been…shrugged aside.
“Captain, incoming message from squadron command,” Piditel reported.
“Forward to my chair,” Harriet ordered.
For the first time since she’d been assigned to her squadron, Ix!iIt’s image appeared on the screen of her command chair. It took a moment for her to even be sure the A!Tol she was looking at was her temporary squadron commander.
“What in darkest waters are you doing, Tanaka?” Ix!iIt demanded. “Your beams are threatening the rest of the fleet; stand them down!”
“My beams are active in missile defense mode and stopped even a single hit getting through,” Harriet responded. “I can transmit the program to the rest of the squadron; it might keep us all alive!”
It was interesting dealing with A!Tol. You could watch their internal conflict play out on their skin. Ix!iIt had been bright orange in rage when she’d commed Harriet, but the black of fear had been laced through it. At Harriet’s words, flickers of shame’s yellow and curiosity’s blue flashed across the Echelon Lord’s skin.
Blue and black won.
“Send it,” she snapped—then cut the channel.
“Forward the missile defense program to the squadron,” Harriet ordered. “And to the flag… Let’s see if we can live through this.”
The second Kanzi salvo crashed down on the fleet as she spoke, Hunter’s Horn shivering under her as a single missile made it through Vaza’s interception and hammered the cruiser’s shields.
Any edge was going to matter.
Shields flickered under the pounding. Four Kanzi cruisers disappeared, barely noticed in the armageddon being unleashed, and another salvo swept in on the A!Tol fleet.
Ix!iIt might not seem to like Harriet, but once she’d decided to listen, she’d followed through. The next salvo ran into the beams of seventeen cruisers, and part of the A!Tol fleet was lit up with the glitter of proton beams.
“Clear waters,” Vaza announced. “The squadron didn’t take a single hit.”
“That’s incredible,” Harriet breathed.
“Most of the missiles are aimed at the battleships,” the Indiri replied. “If we were facing more, we wouldn’t be able to take it.”
Harriet nodded, her focus on the Kanzi fleet as another Imperial salvo struck home. Hunter’s Horn’s sensors were reporting localized shield failures across both fleets, but so far none of the capital ships had actually taken a hit.
The A!Tol had started shooting first—so it was no surprise when the Kanzi took the first hit. A battleship’s icon flashed with a massive energy release as at least one missile impacted, the collapsing interface field releasing an unimaginable amount of kinetic energy.
The flash faded, and the battleship in question belched out another swarm of missiles. The Kanzi vessel was almost entirely unarmored by any reasonable comparison to the hit she’d just taken, but the sheer size of a capital ship allowed one to take hits and keep fighting even after the shields went down.
Internal baffling and tough hulls went only so far in the absence of armor that could actually stand up to those kinds of hits. The next Kanzi salvo tore into the A!Tol fleet…and one of the battleship captains’ luck ran out.
Harriet wasn’t sure how many missiles slipped through the sudden collapse of Shield of Honor’s shields beyond “too many”. One moment, she was eight million tons of fire and death incarnate.
The next, the battleship and six thousand sentients were expanding vapor…and the battle took on a new, harsher tempo as the range continued to drop.
The damaged Kanzi battleship and one of her sisters blew apart on the next A!Tol salvo, and the next Kanzi salvo ran into a scattered mix of proton beams being used for missile defense.
The defense wasn’t coordinated. It helped, but not enough, and Harriet gripped the arms of her command chair so tightly, her knuckles went white as half of the other cruiser squadron disappeared in balls of fire, lit up by the death of a second battleship.
Her ship felt tiny and frail on the edge of this storm—and she wasn’t sure that her titans were winning in the clash she was observing.
“Orders from the fleet flag,” Piditel reported. “All ships are to download and use your missile defense program.”
“Maybe it will help,” she half-whispered, staring as more and more missiles filled the screen. Horn alone had fired off a quarter of her magazines, well over a thousand missiles, and she was only one of over a hundred and fifty ships in the fight—and one of the smaller ones.
Kanzi ships were dying but still mostly cruisers. Their escorts seemed to be intentionally hurling themselves forward, absorbing missiles that would overwhelm their bigger siblings’ defenses, even as the Imperial fleet began to lash out to defend itself with beam weapons.
Shield failures flickered across the fleet. A battleship took a hit but stayed in the fight. Then another. A third. Over half of the battleships left in the Imperial fleet were flashing red damage markers now, but at least as many Kanzi ships were showing the same markers.
Horn shivered as a swarm of missiles picked her out of the mess, hammering her shields with cee-fractional blows that sent alerts flashing across her screen.
“Vaza?” she snapped.
“Nothing more I can do,” he said grimly. “They’re working their way through the cruisers and we’re up.”
“Ides, keep us alive,” she ordered.
“Trying,” he told her. “Beam range in two thousandth-cycles.”
Unless someone broke off, that was going to hurt. The battleships on both sides carried massive beam armaments as well as their missiles, weapons that would cut through even capital shields with contemptuous ease.
Fire rang in the deeps of space and two more damaged Kanzi battleships vanished, bringing the two battle lines down to the same number of capital ships.
“They’re changing their vector!” Vaza declared loudly. “They’re running for hyperspace.”
Harriet started to sigh in relief, but then she saw the exact vector the Kanzi fleet was following. They were running, all right—but they were going to spend at least a full thousandth-cycle in proton beam range of the A!Tol fleet.
Horn trembled again, and she felt the difference even before the warning crossed her screens. This wasn’t the tremor of impacts on the shields. This was the shields failing.
“Evasive now!”
Ides was already trying…but it wasn’t enough.
Hunter’s Horn lurched as the missile struck home, ripping through the cruiser’s starboard nacelles. Elegantly lined weapon mounts and extended drives and sensors ripped apart, tearing away as the weapon tore along the cruiser’s side and sent her careening, temporarily out of control.
“Shields back up,” Sier announced.
Harriet almost didn’t hear him, as in that moment, the battle lines finally clashed.
Of the thirty-six capital ships that had started the fight, only twenty-one remained, eleven of them A!Tol. They passed into energy range of each other, and suddenly the cruisers and destroyers on both sides were almost irrelevant. Their beams could hurt each other, but it was the battleship beams that would decide this fight.
Even Hunter’s Horn’s sensors had difficulty assessing the power unleashed in those seventy seconds. Battleaxes of directed energy smashed through shields with brutal force, and ships large and small alike came apart under the pounding.
Two Kanzi battleships emerged from the titanic clash, running for hyperspace and streaming atmosphere, their remaining handful of escorts falling in behind them to protect them from any last missiles with their own shields.
Even to Harriet, though, it was obvious no one was going to be sending those missiles. Six A!Tol battleships had somehow survived the collision, but the damage codes she was receiving suggested that none of them were even capable of launching missiles.
There were more Imperial escorts left, but damaged or not, no one was going to go after battleships with cruisers.
The Battle of Arcturus was over.
Chapter Fifty
Harriet Tanaka could almost feel her ship’s pain. They’d been lucky—a more direct hit would have shattered the entire cruiser and killed everyone—but the damage they had taken was bad enough.
Half of the weapons and scanners mounted externally to Hunter’s Horn’s hull were gone. Two of her fusion cores were destroyed and three more were in emergency shutdown, reducing the amount of her remaining systems she could even power.
The cruiser was no longer combat-capable, but she managed to limp into orbit of Arcturus Four with the rest of the fleet.
That orbit was empty now, the Kanzi logistics ships having fled while their battle squadrons had taken the fight to the Imperial formation. The Imperial ships settled into their place, licking their wounds as they tried to absorb the impact of what had just happened.
“Transmission from the flag, Captain,” Piditel reported, the Rekiki sounding shaky even though the translator. “All captains are to report aboard Shield of Innocents with a full report of their ship’s status in one twentieth-cycle.”
“Thank you, Speaker,” Harriet told her. “Sier?”
“Captain?”
“What’s the report from damage control?”
“Not good,” he summarized. “We’ve lost sixty percent of our weapons and fifty percent of our power generation. We can still manage full maneuverability…if you find not being able to fire any of our weapons acceptable.”
Harriet winced. Horn still had guns, but with so many of her fusion cores gone into critical shutdown or just gone, she didn’t have the power to run them.
“Any chance on getting the shutdown cores back?” she asked.
“Teams are investigating now,” her executive officer replied. “I am not hopeful.”
“Keep me informed,” she told him. “I need to know just how bad of a shape we’re in when I meet the Fleet Lord.”
“I don’t think we’ll even register on his problems, Captain,” Sier told her. “You’ve seen the status alerts on the battleships, right?”
“Yes,” she admitted, conceding his point. Hunter’s Horn could at least make her full speed. None of the battleships could, though at least they all had some weapons left.
“I wish we could have brought more ships,” she told her XO. “But…we couldn’t have waited. They might have moved on Sol before we got here.”
“We won,” the Yin said flatly. “Your world is safe, the Imperium’s borders are secure, and the Kanzi will scrabble to find diplomatic excuses to avoid a war. The price was high, but we won.”
“I know,” she agreed. But something still didn’t feel right.
“I’d feel a lot better, though, if we could find Ki!Tana,” she admitted.
They’d left the Ki!Tol and her scout ship to keep an eye on the Kanzi fleet. That she appeared to be missing did not set Harriet’s mind at ease.
Harriet had worked with Sier for a year and had worked with various Yin before that in her training. She had never, in all of that time, seen a Yin who looked quite as shattered as Captain Lira did.
Unless she was mistaken, the Yin Captain was molting, shedding tiny feathers in a hazy but distinct trail down the back of her black uniform as she greeted the arriving captains.
“Welcome aboard, Captain Tanaka,” she greeted Harriet, her eyes already glancing past to the next captain behind her. “We’re meeting in the main conference room; one of the specialists will guide you.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Harriet replied, receiving a short and exhausted nod before Lira moved on to the next officer, leaving Harriet to the mercies of the collection of noncommissioned officers behind her.
“With me, Captain,” the next Yin NCO up told her. “We’re trying to get everyone settled as soon as possible.”
With a nod, Harriet fell into step behind the junior noncom. The battle was over, but the situation was still chaotic enough that a lot of niceties were falling by the wayside.
The conference room was surprisingly simple, just a single massive table surrounded by seats designed for the twenty-three different species represented in the Twenty-Fifth Battle Squadron and its escorts.
A lot of those seats were empty. Ten of the sixteen battleships were gone. Fourteen of the thirty-two cruisers. Ten of the destroyers. Almost half of the sentients who should have been at the table were missing, and the litany of damaged and battered ships was depressing.
“It would have been worse,” Echelon Lord Ix!iIt stated calmly, “if Captain Tanaka had not been refining that missile defense program she provided. I had not seen similar use for our weapons before. The effectiveness surprised me.”
“Review the footage from the Annexation of Sol when you have time, Echelon Lord,” Tan!Shallegh told her in a tired voice. “Suffice to say I was not surprised to see our first human Captain suggest such a tactic.
“I, too, was surprised by its effectiveness even with our primary weapons. Captain Tanaka likely saved many lives today.”
Harriet was thankful that few, if any, of the aliens around her knew humans well enough to recognize her blush.
“The squadron is in poor shape,” Tan!Shallegh continued, “but we appear to have accomplished our objective. We will carry out what repairs we can from our resources, then return to Kimar, where I will inform the Empress of our victory.
“By now, she should have already informed the First Priest that we are aware of this violation of our borders and demanded an explanation. We shall see where this leads, but we must be prepared for this fight to continue.”
No one in the room looked at all enthused about that, and the Fleet Lord fluttered his tentacles in a shrug.
“We will complete our repairs and receive reinforcements before we face the Kanzi in battle again, I believe,” he promised them. “You have done well. The Empress will recognize your valor.”
As the meeting wrapped up, Harriet’s communicator started buzzing. The device was set to ignore all but the highest-priority transmissions, so she hadn’t been expecting anything from the device. It was inbound from Hunter’s Horn—at the very highest priority.
The briefing had slowed enough she was able to step outside the room and take the call without drawing too much attention.
“What is it?” she hissed quietly.
“Captain, it’s Vaza,” her tactical officer replied. “I’ve finished my post-processing run. Ki!Tana’s stealth ship is definitely not here and I know why.”
“This better be…”
“She left, Captain,” Vaza cut her off. “She left two cycles ago, following the entire Kanzi fleet.”
Harriet’s heart stopped.
“We just destroyed the Kanzi fleet,” she objected.
“I got into the fleet ’nets and ran an analysis before I called you, Captain,” he told her. “Between us and Ki!Tana, we had hard IDs on two thirds of the ships that were here before. After the close pass, we have hard IDs on almost everything that was here today.
“There’s no overlap. We just engaged an entirely different force than we originally found.
“That first fleet is on its way to Sol.”
They could catch them. They had Ki!Tana’s charts and could cut three cycles off the Kanzi squadrons’ time, arriving over twenty hours before the Kanzi…but the Twenty-Fifth Battle Squadron had been hammered into uselessness.
“I need to talk to the Fleet Lord.”
Chapter Fifty-One
Harriet walked back into the meeting room as if a dirge was playing in her ear.
Something in her step, or in the fact that she’d left to take an urgent call and returned, was picked up by the officers. Conversations and discussions died down as she made the long walk across the room to face Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh at the head of the table.
“Captain Tanaka,” he greeted her, his skin darkening with fear hues. “You walk like the condemned. What have you learned?”
“This was a different fleet, my lord,” she told him, the words falling like tombstones into the silent room. “We ran the IDs versus the ships Hunter’s Horn encountered before. None of them were the same.”
For a long moment, no one spoke.
“I presume we know where they went,” Tan!Shallegh finally said, his skin now purplish-black.
“Our analysis suggests they left for Sol two cycles ago,” she replied. “Using the charts Ki!Tana gave us, we could beat them there, but…”
“But this squadron is not combat-capable,” the Fleet Lord said heavily.
“That is not my call to make,” Harriet replied. “But I know my ship is not.”
Every eye in the room was on Tan!Shallegh, the noble-blooded flag officer who’d annexed Sol and personally sworn to its safety.
He rose. Even though he was small for an A!Tol, he still towered over Harriet and many of the other officers in the room.
“This squadron cannot protect Sol,” he admitted aloud. “The Twenty-Fifth is not capable of going into action. Our escorts cannot defend the humans alone—but the charts Ki!Tana gave us do not only show a current toward Sol.”
His skin was still dark, but green was overwhelming the purple now. Determination overcoming grief.
“We will retain some ships here to protect the battleships, but the majority of the escorts will be deployed as couriers,” Tan!Shallegh declared. “Every fleet concentration in a hundred light-years will receive word. The Duchy of Terra is part of the Imperium. They will not be abandoned.”
His words echoed in the silent room, the clicks and buzzes of his own speech reverberating off the walls even as two dozen translations ran in everyone’s ears.
“Captain Tanaka, remain with me. The rest of you, return to your ships,” he ordered. “You will have your destinations shortly.
“May the currents of history remember us, my Captains. It is these cycles and these voyages that shall decide whether the war we have feared for a generation begins today.”
The briefing room emptied, until Harriet stood alone with the Fleet Lord. Tan!Shallegh shifted on his couch, as if trying to find a more comfortable position, then gestured her to the nearest remotely suitable chair.
“Sit, Captain,” he ordered. “You are on the verge of shock. You will do no one favors like this.”
“I am fine, sir,” she insisted—but she sat, and inhaled deeply to calm her shattered nerves.
“We have a hundred possible places to send couriers, Captain,” he said gently, “and only forty ships. Damaged as Hunter’s Horn is, you say she can fly?”
“We can fly and energize a hyper portal, sir,” Harriet confirmed. She knew what she wanted to do, but even if her crew would follow her, stealing her ship and flying back to Terra wouldn’t change anything.
And she’d sworn an oath. Her ancestors would understand how she’d ended up where she stood today, she was certain, but they would never forgive her breaking an oath.
“Hunter’s Horn stands ready to go wherever you send us, Fleet Lord.”
“But your heart of hearts cries out for you to go home,” Tan!Shallegh said. “Few sentients of honor would feel anything else, Captain Tanaka, and I do not believe you are nearly so lost.”
She sat up straighter, trying not to glare at her superior officer.
“I know my duty, my lord.”
“You do,” he confirmed. “But I am no fool, despite the evidence of today. I must send a courier to the Duchy of Terra, and I have an officer whose heart would break to go anywhere else.
“No, Captain Tanaka, there is no destination for you but home. Go,” he ordered. “Tell Dan!Annette Bond that Terra will not be forgotten. The might of the Imperium will gather.
“She does not need to drive the Kanzi from her space, merely hold them. And if Terra falls, we will liberate her.
“On this you have my word, and through me, the word of my Empress.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
There was something fundamentally overwhelming about the sheer scale of the leviathans of deep space that now made up half the active hulls of Jean Villeneuve’s command. His shuttle pilot took the approach to Emperor of China slowly, allowing the flag officer to study the immense warship as they came aboard.
The central hull was a bullet shape eighteen hundred meters long and fifteen hundred wide, but the extended nacelles and sweeping arches of her engines and weapon mounts added easily three hundred meters in every dimension.
Emperor of China represented an incredible amount of firepower, protected by the most powerful shields the Imperium could build, but Jean was all too aware of the ship’s vulnerability once those shields failed. Even a super-battleship could take only a handful of hits.
The Majesty class wasn’t quite the biggest, most modern warship type in the Imperial inventory, but at seventeen million tons, she wasn’t far behind. The redesignated Duchess-class ships Nova Industries was working on would add half a million tons of armor to that, edging them, just barely, into being the heaviest warships in the Imperium—and a class far more capable of continuing to fight after losing its shields.
“All right, Lieutenant,” Jean told the pilot with a soft smile. “While I appreciate the scenic route, Captain Lougheed is waiting for us. You can take us in.”
“Of course, sir.”
The boat bay was a vast expanse, capable of simultaneously handling the shuttles for the deployment of entire battalions of ground troops. Jean’s one shuttle was dwarfed into insignificance, the bay’s size made only more obvious by its lack of the assault shuttles for those troops.
The tiny party that Captain Lougheed greeted him with looked positively miniature, but Jean traded salutes with Emperor’s Captain and senior officers.
“Welcome aboard, Admiral,” Lougheed told him. “I’m glad you could finally make the time for this inspection.”
Over three weeks had passed since Jean had ordered Lougheed to take command of the unrefitted capital ship. Three weeks in which Bond’s entire Council had found themselves dragged into the final stages of organizing the first worldwide election on Earth…ever.
“I am grateful to be away from Earth, to be honest,” Jean told Lougheed quietly. “I also believed you would need the time. You weren’t exactly given every advantage, after all.”
“The trainers Medit! got us have been priceless,” Lougheed replied, gesturing for the Admiral to follow him. “But yes, we’re running a ship designed for four thousand with less than half of that.”
“Will we be able to crew Duchess of Terra when she commissions?” Jean asked. The degree of expansion his Militia was undergoing was concerning.
“I think so,” the Captain replied. “Remember that those four-thousand-sentient crews are designed to operate her for multi-month voyages. We’re going to be sitting in orbit drilling for the foreseeable future, so we can get by with less.”
“But you wouldn’t mind a few extra thousand people?” the white-uniformed older man said with a smile.
“If you’ve got them, we’ll take them, and we’ll make spacers out of them,” Andrew said with a confidence Jean doubted he felt.
“Ha!” he replied. “Not soon, Captain, but the recruiting campaigns for non-UESF personnel are bearing fruit. We’ll be starting the first mass training sessions once the election is over.”
“We’ll still be perpetually short on trained personnel,” he conceded, “but we should be able to man each of the Duchesses as we commission them.”
“Does Her Grace know what the ship is being called?” Lougheed asked as he led them toward the engineering decks.
“She found out,” Jean admitted. “She was…displeased.”
“The ship isn’t named for her.”
“Of course not,” Jean agreed. “Just for her position. She feels that is…splitting hairs, I think was the idiom?”
Lougheed chuckled.
“Of course. If you’ll step this way, Admiral, I’d like to begin our inspection with the upper proton beam batteries…”
“I’ve read the specifications a dozen times,” Jean said as they wrapped up the tour in Lougheed’s office, “but to see it all boggles the mind. And the Imperium has, what, two hundred of these?”
“You’d know better than I,” the super-battleship’s new captain told him. “I didn’t get the impression that they were sharing their capital-ship strength numbers with us just yet.”
“The total is over a thousand of the various types,” Jean told him. “Half provided by the Duchies, half funded by the Imperial government itself. The Kanzi have slightly fewer, I’m led to understand. None of those numbers are exact,” he warned.
“What scares me, sir, is the Duchess class,” Lougheed admitted. “I know what Emperor is capable of. To think that we can upgrade her significantly…”
“None of the technology except the compressed-matter armor is truly new for the Imperium,” Jean reminded the other man. “We worked out matter compression by accident. Everything else was simply…a point-of-view issue.”
“Translation: while we have an edge in having an existing system, the Imperium could duplicate it easily.”
“Perhaps more importantly, since we don’t plan on fighting the Imperium, the Kanzi will likely be able to duplicate the active defenses,” Jean said. “They’ll be a nasty shock the first time the Kanzi meet them on an Imperial ship, but they’re a one-time surprise.”
“I take it we don’t expect that meeting to be with us?”
“Mon dieu, no,” the Admiral replied. “We’ll provide the Imperium their echelon of Duchess-class ships, but the Duchy’s Militia will be staying in Sol for a long time. We have a great deal of catching-up and integrating to do.”
“Like this election,” Lougheed said.
“Exactly. Her Grace designated Nash as her representative, but we still need to elect humanity’s voice on A!To.” Jean shook his head. “Have any of the candidates bothered you?”
“After the…ninth, I think, request for an endorsement, I had my communications officer put together a canned response telling them that as a serving Militia officer, I could not be involved in politics,” Lougheed replied. “My understanding is that we got over fifty contacts.”
“The word must have traveled fast,” Jean said with a chuckle. “All sixty-three men and women running for the office tried to pin me down—along with most of the rest of the Council and Captains Sade and Laurent.”
Lougheed shook his head in turn.
“We may not have many official rules yet,” he observed, “but we all know better than to get involved in politics!”
“One more week,” Jean sighed. “One more week, and then I’m afraid I’m sending your girlfriend off to the center of the Imperium as escort for our new elected and non-elected representatives.”
“That’s not a short trip,” Lougheed said slowly. “I’m not sure how long Bond was there, but she was gone a long time after she officially surrendered.”
“A month each way,” Jean confirmed. “Over a thousand light-years. If it occasionally feels like we are on the far end of nowhere, Captain, it’s because we are.”
“Not a bad thing in my mind, sir.”
“No. It’s why we were annexed now instead of centuries ago. Without that time, I don’t think we’d have been able to earn Duchy status.”
Lougheed opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by an alert ringing on his communicator.
“Lougheed,” he answered it instantly.
“Captain, we have an unscheduled hyper portal, but…”
“But what?”
“Nothing’s come through.”
Jean shared a concerned look with Emperor of China’s Captain.
“I’ll be on the bridge in a moment.”
Andrew was very aware of his uniformed commander in chief trailing behind him as he arrived on the immense bridge of Emperor of China. If something was going wrong, the last thing he needed was to have Jean Villeneuve watching over his shoulder!
Despite his worries, however, the Admiral stopped just inside the heavily secured hatch and took one of the observer stations on the main floor.
Four concentric decks, each representing an entire section of bridge personnel like navigation or tactical, rose up around the main command center, with elevators and spiral ramps linking between them. The holotank in the middle was large enough to be seen from all five floors, and Andrew’s command chair was directly in front of it, along with the seats for his main department heads.
“Report,” he ordered as he dropped into that chair, its screens and displays switching to his preferred options instantly.
Vitya Maksimov, now Commander Maksimov in the aftermath of Warner’s betrayal, remained his tactical officer on the new ship. The hawk-faced Russian looked…stressed.
“We had a hyper portal open at the six-million-kilometer mark,” he reported. “Far closer than any we’ve seen before. It remained open for seven point six seconds, but we didn’t detect anything coming through.”
“Any word from STC?”
“They’re showing the zone clear, sir,” Maksimov confirmed. “They are requesting someone from the Militia investigate.”
Lougheed sighed, and waved for Villeneuve to join him. Much as he would like to, it probably wasn’t the right call to take his super-battleship out to investigate the strange portal.
“Your orders, Admiral?” he asked. “We had a single portal, but nothing came through.”
“Take Emperor of China to battle stations, Captain,” the old Admiral ordered instantly. “Get me an all-Captains channel,” he continued. “We want to take this very carefully.”
“Console to your left is set up, Admiral,” a young-looking redheaded officer with Ensign’s insignia reported a moment later. Andrew’s communications officer was a forty-something black man, but he hadn’t been on duty—and the general quarters alarm had only barely started ringing.
Andrew linked into the all-Captains channel from his own command chair, waiting to see what Villeneuve decided.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” the Admiral began. “Take your ships to battle stations. Now.”
From the lights behind Kurzman, Tornado’s Captain hadn’t waited for the order. Laurent and Sade, both civilians until recently, took a moment to follow through even after Villeneuve had ordered it.
“Good,” Villeneuve said as the ships began to report battle ready. “I want Emperor of China and Queen of England to move up to cover the likely zone for an emerging vessel with missiles. Tornado, you’ll move in front of the super-battleships and play missile defense if needed.
“Geneva, I want you to move in and investigate the portal,” he ordered. “This may be nothing, people, but I don’t trust mysteries anymore. Vite, vite. Move.”
Andrew was already giving his own orders as the rest of his bridge crew reported to their stations. Coordinating with Captain Sade, he began to move the immense bulk of his ship forward at a miniscule single percent of lightspeed, scanners sweeping the apparently empty dark as the two lighter ships shot forward.
“A hyper portal is a massive energy investment,” Villeneuve murmured. “I can’t see why you’d open one for nothing.”
“We’re watching for drones and similar small craft,” Andrew responded. “Whatever came through, we’ll find it.”
The four Terran ships crept forward into seemingly empty space, the destroyer out in front as Geneva shot toward the portal’s point in space.
“Nothing,” Maksimov said aloud. “Radar, lidar, everything. It’s like someone opened the portal and didn’t send anything through.”
“I don’t buy that, Commander,” Andrew told him. “There has to be something.”
“Pulsing again,” the tactical officer replied. “If there’s anything out there, we’ll be able to read the name on its hull.”
More nothing. Andrew was starting to suspect that someone was either testing their readiness or just plain screwing with them.
“Sir?” He looked over at Villeneuve. “I agree that there should be something, but we’re not finding anything.”
“I know,” the Admiral replied, looking tired. “Captain Kurzman,” he said into his communicator, leaning forward. “Prepare to take Tornado into hyperspace to see if we can find the person who rang the doorbell.”
“Contact!” Maksimov. “Bòzhe mòi, they’re on top of us.”
The ship had appeared out of nowhere, an egg-shaped vessel miniscule in comparison to Andrew’s super-battleship…except that it was inside the forward extended weapon mounts, barely fifty meters from the core hull.
“Incoming transmission.”
The image of an A!Tol in a strangely plain, gleaming white command center appeared on Andrew Lougheed’s bridge.
“Duchy of Terra ships, this is Ki!Tana,” the massive A!Tol told them calmly, a flicker of amusement crossing her skin. “I applaud your readiness and preparation…but I need to speak to Duchess Bond.
“Immediately.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
“I knew she was big,” Elon said into Annette’s ear. “I don’t think it sank in that she was this big.”
Ki!Tana’s strange egg-like ship now rested on the landing pad at the Hong Kong Spaceport, surrounded by a genteel cordon of Wellesley’s finest, all in powered armor.
If there was a nonhuman being in the galaxy that Annette wanted to keep safe, it was Ki!Tana. The alien who’d helped upgrade Tornado. Who’d guided a lost and confused human crew to Tortuga and helped them find the contacts to begin finding their feet.
The alien who’d become Annette Bond’s friend, and who had asked the right questions to trigger her conscience when the opportunity to unleash genocidal hell on the people who’d conquered her world fell into her lap.
There weren’t many humans Annette would feel more obligated to protect.
Not, as Elon was pointing out, that Ki!Tana needed much protecting. The A!Tol moving down the ramp from the dark green starship towered over even the power-armored humans, easily three meters tall.
“A!Tol females don’t stop growing,” she told her lover. “And, as I understand it, Ki!Tana is now basically immortal, so…”
“I’m stunned Wellesley let us keep security this light,” Elon replied.
The Colonel, standing only a meter behind them, coughed gently at Elon’s comment. He might not have been in power armor, but Annette doubted he wasn’t using some form of personal enhancement.
“We know Ki!Tana,” she told Elon. “She might be an enigma wrapped in a mystery, but she’s a friend.”
“And was one when we had too few, it seemed,” he agreed. “Shall we, my love?”
The gentle smile those words brought to her lips lasted until she got closer to Ki!Tana—close enough to read the patterns of color on the A!Tol’s skins. The alien was afraid. Terrified, even.
“Was it truly necessary to spook my crews so badly, Ki!Tana?” Annette asked, hoping to ease some of the tension.
A flash of red amusement crossed Ki!Tana’s skin, accompanied by the horrible beak-clacking she recognized as the alien’s laughter.
“No,” she allowed. “It was perhaps useful to test their readiness for the cycles to come, but I’ll admit I did it to amuse myself. Such is in short supply in these times.”
“In these times,” Annette echoed. “Somehow, Ki!Tana, I am not surprised to see you again as the harbinger of dark times. What’s happening?”
“The Kanzi First Priest has declined to recognize the A!Tol annexation of Sol,” the alien told her. “She has sent a battle fleet to conquer your world. They are at most three cycles behind me.”
Annette froze as her heart dropped into her stomach. A battle fleet. They couldn’t stop a battle fleet. Not with two super-battleships, a cruiser and a destroyer.
Three cycles was sixty hours. That wasn’t enough time!
She inhaled hard, forcing down her fear and imposing a grim smile on her face.
“Thank you, Ki!Tana,” she told her friend. “I will need to convene my Council and see what we can do. You would be more than welcome to join us.”
“Any assistance that I can provide, Dan!Annette Bond, I will,” the alien replied.
The conference room on the top of Wuxing Tower was silent as the Council of the Duchy of Terra stared at Ki!Tana’s sensor data in shock.
The holographic projector showed them the formation of the Kanzi fleet as it had entered hyperspace in Arcturus one hundred and eighty hours before. Twenty battleships were formed into a rough cube at the center, with the fifty escorts scattered around them in an even rougher sphere.
“The Imperium will intervene, won’t they?” Dr. Sirkit asked. “That was the deal, wasn’t it? In exchange for joining them, the Navy defends us.”
“The nearest deployment is at Kimar,” Annette replied. “If we sent a courier now, they wouldn’t be here for two weeks. Maybe more. No, ladies, gentlemen.”
She rose studying the fleet in the hologram for a long, silent moment.
“No,” she repeated. “We cannot rely on the Imperium. They will come—we will send that courier regardless!—but we must look to ourselves for our safety first. Admiral Villeneuve—what are our chances?”
She’d only seen the commander of her Militia look this tired once before: on the day he’d ordered her to flee Earth, knowing they couldn’t stop the A!Tol fleet coming to conquer them.
“Poor,” he said softly. “Our super-battleships are worth two of those battleships, but we only have two in commission. Outnumbered ten to one… Even with the defense constellation and Tornado to support them, this isn’t a battle we can win.”
“What about the one in refit?” Annette asked, not quite willing to say the ship’s name. It still seemed too arrogant to her.
“Duchess of Terra isn’t scheduled to even commence her trials for another five days,” Villeneuve told her. “We almost have the yards online to be able to refit two ships at once, but…”
“We are expecting five from the Indiri in two months,” Zhao pointed out. “That would have been enough to have three fully refitted Duchess-class ships to protect us, but right now…”
“Right now we have two unmodified Majesties,” Annette concluded. “Elon?”
Her lover looked at her.
“Yes?”
“You’re probably more up to date on Duchess’s status than any of us,” she said. “If we were to just close up everything—not bother completing the work in progress, just get her ready for space—how long?”
Elon swallowed, pushing past some kind of fog, and pulled out his communicator. Expanding its screen of electronic paper, he poked at a report for several moments.
“Forty-eight hours,” he concluded. “That’s…no trials, no tests. She’ll be fully armored, but only three quarters of her Sword turrets will be online. The Buckler interfaces are fully installed, but deployment of the drones will be a pain as she only has half the docking ports for them set up.”
“The drones are self-mobile,” Villeneuve replied. “We can mass-deploy them, run at least some from the defense platforms as well. They don’t have dedicated systems for it, but the computers are capable enough if we feed them the software.”
“What about the unmodified super-battleships?” Annette asked. “Can they run any of the Bucklers?”
“No,” Elon admitted. “Their computing capacity is very carefully calibrated. They have a reserve, but it’s hard-wired to keep it available in case of battle damage. We had to install new cores to run the systems on Duchess.”
He shook his head.
“I can get her deployed in two days,” he confirmed, “and we can put Bucklers in space to guard the defense platforms flanks, but that’s it, Annette. We don’t have a crew for Duchess. We don’t even have a Captain.”
“We’ll poach the crew from Emperor of China and Queen of England as needed,” Annette said grimly. “As for a Captain…I’ll command her.”
The room exploded.
She waited for them to calm, the objections dying down.
“I am the only qualified interface-drive commander we have left who isn’t already commanding a ship,” she pointed out. “I will not spend the defense of my world cowering on the surface like some Napoleonic noble. They hung this title on me for fighting, and by all that is holy, that is what I shall do.”
“Fight, yes, but your place isn’t commanding a ship,” Villeneuve objected. “On the flag deck with me, perhaps, but not a command deck. You will be needed for too much else.”
“Perhaps. But we also have no one else,” she replied.
For now, at least, that silenced the complaints.
“We need to keep this quiet for now,” she told them. “Let the election go ahead. I have no intention of hiding it from the people of Earth once the Kanzi arrive, but there’s nothing they can do, so there’s no point letting them panic about the blue-furred bastards.
“If you think of anything useful,” she continued, “do not hesitate to let myself or Admiral Villeneuve know. Even the slightest advantage could turn the tide of this battle—and in so doing, save our world.”
Somehow, Annette wasn’t surprised when Zhao waved her over to him as the Council began to break up, its shaky-looking members pulling out communicators to reach out to their subordinates before they’d even left the room.
“We need to talk, Your Grace,” the former ruler of China said calmly. “In private. Now.”
“Elon, if you can take Ki!Tana downstairs and give her a full briefing on what we have for resources?” Annette asked her lover. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
Elon looked at Zhao with newfound suspicion in his eyes but nodded slowly.
“Of course,” he agreed, his voice more cheerful than his gaze. “Ki!Tana, if you’ll follow me?”
The big alien’s curiosity flared across her skin, but she followed Elon away as Annette turned her gaze back on Zhao, any trace of a smile vanishing as she let her old Captain’s mask fall across her face.
“My office, Li,” she ordered.
Li Chin Zhao settled into the chair in her office with an audible sigh, even the single flight of stairs apparently a strain for the big man. Annette didn’t think he’d grown any fatter while working for her, but his weight did appear to be becoming more of a problem.
Normally, that worried her. Right now, though…
“This is going to be one of those secrets you weren’t going to tell me, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “Also one you’re probably not going to like.”
“If you think it’s going to help us save Earth, I’m listening.”
Zhao sighed.
“You have to understand, Annette, that the Party didn’t trust the UESF,” he began. “For all we had a seat on the Governing Council and a veto, we always regarded it as an outgrowth of the UN and USA.”
“There were more Chinese personnel in the UESF than American,” Annette pointed out.
“And that was intentional on our part,” he told her. “We seeded the UESF with Party loyalists who we knew would mutiny in the face of orders to turn their vessels against Chinese interests. Even in the final hours of the UESF, there were hidden weapon caches and prepared cells on every UESF capital ship.”
She inhaled sharply, studying him for any hint that he was exaggerating or lying. There was nothing. Much of Zhao’s usual cheer was gone today, lost to the shock of what was coming.
“Obviously, they were never activated. The Party always regarded them as an option of last resort, not least because the day-to-day loyalty of those cells remained to the UESF,” he told her. “After all, we wanted the UESF to succeed. We just also wanted a backup if it turned on us.”
“And you didn’t rely on one backup, did you?”
“No. We stole the design for the UESF Furious-class battleship and built a squadron of them in a concealed facility under the Indian Ocean,” Zhao said. His voice was calm as he admitted his government had violated a dozen or more solemn treaties.
“I don’t see how that helps us, Li,” Annette admitted. A Furious-class battleship was roughly the same size as Tornado, but it was a fusion-torch ship. Even assuming the Chinese had some way to get them into orbit—a safe assumption—they had no place in a modern battle.
“The Bīngmǎyǒng Fleet itself is worthless, yes,” he agreed. “The facility itself may come in handy in future. It won’t handle battleships or super-battleships, but if we are careful, we should be able to take the City-class into its docks for refit.”
“Assuming we have a future, Li.”
He smiled, some of his cheer returning.
“That’s my point, Annette,” he told her. “The Militia cannot man three super-battleships, Tornado, Geneva and the defense platforms. You simply don’t have the experienced personnel.
“Bīngmǎyǒng Fleet had twelve battleships, Your Grace. Between them, they required forty-eight thousand trained spacers—many retired UESF personnel, the rest trained by those ex-UESF personnel.”
“And because they’re loyal Party followers, none of them have volunteered for the Militia,” she guessed.
“And because they’re loyal Party followers, all of them will volunteer if I ask them,” he told her. “They’re not interface-drive-trained, they’ll need cadre…but unless I miss my count, they should allow you to deploy all three super-battleships and the rest of the Cities.”
If all of Zhao’s Party spacers joined, that would double the strength of her Militia. He was right that they would be less valuable than the trained people Villeneuve already had, but properly organized…
“We need to get Villeneuve in here,” she told him. “And Elon. I’m not sure we even have the resources to spare to get the Cities back online even if we have crews for them, but…your people may make all of the difference.”
“I will reach out to the appropriate channels,” Zhao said. “Like the UESF, they dispersed. Unlike the UESF, I have ways to contact them all.”
She sighed.
“Volunteers only, Li,” she reminded him. “I will not defend Earth with a fleet of conscripts.”
“Now is not the time for niceties, Your Grace,” he replied. “Besides, these are good Party men and women. They understand the meaning of volunteering in crisis.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Hunter’s Horn’s bridge was a somber place as the damaged cruiser approached Sol. Harriet couldn’t be anywhere else, but at the same time, she was vividly aware that Horn was in no shape to turn the tide of an unwinnable battle.
And how much difference could twenty hours’ warning make?
“Emergence in one thousandth-cycle,” Ides reported. “Establish hyper portal in sixty seconds.”
“Stand by the power transfer systems, Sier,” she ordered. “If we’re attacked, I’d like to be able to shoot back.”
“Even energizing one bank of launchers will cut our speed in half,” the Yin warned.
“I know,” she said. “But I’d rather maneuver at half speed and be able to fight than be only able to run.”
From the silence on the other end of the channel, Sier agreed.
Seconds ticked away on the timer on the screen—and on a second timer, the one Harriet had added after leaving Arcturus. This one had just under one cycle left on it—twenty hours until the estimated arrival of the Kanzi strike fleet.
Bright blue Cherenkov radiation lit up on the holotank display, and the portal tore into existence out of the gray void of hyperspace. It grew in the tank and then subsumed the icon of Hunter’s Horn as they crossed back into reality.
The portal itself made scanner updates difficult for a few fractions of a second, enough to add a layer of vulnerability that didn’t normally matter or bother Harriet. Today, it set her on edge, seeming to stretch far longer than it should.
Then a series of alarms rang out across the bridge.
“We’re being hit with targeting scanners!” Vaza snapped. “Capital-grade, at least two sources!”
“Evasive, now!” Harriet snapped. “Transmit our IFFs.”
There weren’t supposed to be capital ships in Sol. They had to be Kanzi…
“Sensors standing down,” Vaza announced after a second, the frog-like alien taking massive, wet-sounding breaths. “I’m reading two Majesty-class super-battleships. What dark waters did they come from?!”
Harriet exhaled in a long sigh of her own.
“Hail them,” she ordered Piditel.
Before the Speaker could respond, a channel request arrived from the battleships. She hit a command to accept it before Piditel could even advise her of it, and a familiar face appeared in the holotank.
The bridge behind him was different, clearly that of an A!Tol super-battleship, but every officer knew Andrew Lougheed, the man selected to command Earth’s first hyperspace survey ship.
What was he doing on a Majesty?
“Imperial vessel, this is Captain Lougheed aboard the Duchy of Terra Militia starship Emperor of China. We apologize for the warm welcome; we’ve been warned to expect a Kanzi fleet.”
Harriet took and released a deep breath, then leaned forward into the camera.
“Captain Lougheed, this is Captain Tanaka of the A!Tol Imperium warship Hunter’s Horn,” she greeted him. “It’s been a while, and I wasn’t expecting to see super-battleships in Earth orbit.
“Or for you to have already been warned,” she admitted. “My mission was to warn you of the approaching Kanzi fleet.”
“The effort is appreciated,” Lougheed told her. “We were wondering if the Imperium had forgotten about us.”
“They have not,” Harriet promised. “But I do need to speak with the Duchess.”
“Of course, Captain Tanaka. You are clear to Earth orbit.” He glanced aside, clearly studying the reports on her ship. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a repair slip that can fit your ship right now, or I’d offer further assistance. You look like you’ve had a bad week.”
“We’ve made it this far, Captain. We’ll make it to Earth orbit.”
The sight of the two capital ships had given Harriet some hope, but that hope slowly shriveled as they rounded the Moon and she saw a third ship in dry dock, being swarmed over by EVA-suited workers and drones.
Three super-battleships represented an incredible amount of firepower, far more than she’d thought Earth had, but it wasn’t enough to turn the tide of the battle to come. A super-battleship was worth, roughly, two battleships. Which left the Terran Militia still outgunned four or five to one, ignoring the escorts.
“Where did the Duchy get three capital ships, let alone three super-battleships?” Vaza asked aloud.
“I don’t know, Lesser Commander,” Harriet told him. “I suspect that the Fleet Lord does, however,” she continued, considering her conversation with Tan!Shallegh. He clearly hadn’t considered his order to hold the Kanzi completely impossible, an attitude the presence of three super-capital ships made…not completely unreasonable.
“It’s still not enough,” her tactical officer replied. “I know these ships. They’re Indiri-built. Good ships, the best the Imperium has, but three capital ships can’t stop twenty.”
“We’ll make it enough, Vaza,” she said quietly. “We have to.”
He made a strange croaking sound she’d rarely heard from him before, and she checked to see if he was alright—only to realize he was chuckling.
“We’re with you, Captain,” Vaza told her. “Horn won’t be much more than an immobile weapons platform…but we’re with you to the end of the wave.”
Duchess Bond was back in uniform, Harriet noted as she stepped off the shuttle into Defense One’s boat bay. The plain gray uniform of the Duchy of Terra Militia suited her, even completely lacking in insignia as it was.
Not that the Duchess needed insignia. Anyone who saw her knew who she was.
Harriet came to a halt and saluted crisply. Bond returned the salute with perfect precision, as did Admiral Villeneuve.
Ki!Tana, hovering behind the two humans, fluttered her tentacles in acknowledgement.
“It is good to see you, Captain Tanaka,” the alien told her.
“And you, Ki!Tana,” Harriet replied. “You may have made my entire voyage redundant, but I’m glad Earth had more warning than we could give.”
“I was expecting more from the Imperium than a damaged cruiser,” Bond admitted. “What news do you bring, Captain?”
“There was a follow-up fleet, Duchess Bond,” Harriet told her quietly. “Fleet Lord Tan!Shallegh ambushed it at Arcturus and destroyed it. The fleet that’s coming is all that’s coming…but the Fleet Lord’s force is no longer combat-capable.”
“Damn.”
“The Fleet Lord deployed his entire force of cruisers and destroyers as couriers,” Harriet continued. “Every fleet concentration in a hundred light-years is being ordered to deploy to Sol.
“He told me to tell you that we do not need to drive the Kanzi from Sol, merely hold them. And to tell you that if Terra falls, the Imperium will liberate her.”
Harriet met Bond’s gaze levelly, hoping that the new ruler of her species recognized the utter sincerity in her eyes and the weight of the oath Tan!Shallegh had sworn.
“He swore this in his own name and in the name of our Empress,” she stated. “The Imperial Navy does not abandon our systems, Duchess Bond. I am only the messenger. More are coming.”
“But will they arrive soon enough, Captain Tanaka?” Bond asked. “We fought and bled to keep twenty thousand slaves out of Kanzi hands, Captain. If Terra falls for even a day, ten times that will be torn from her soil.”
Harriet winced.
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” she admitted. “Hunter’s Horn fights with you. If the only way the Navy can prove our honor is to die by your side, then that is exactly what we shall do.”
“I’d much prefer if the only dying was done by the blue-furred bastards.”
“Where are we at?” Annette asked an hour later as she gathered her “inner circle”—now including Ki!Tana once more, which felt strangely right—in a small office aboard Defense One.
“Duchess of Terra will be deployable in seven hours,” Elon told her. He looked exhausted, but they’d pulled off his almost-impossible deadline. “We have enough Buckler drones for her and Geneva, nothing more.”
“What about crew?” she asked.
Villeneuve shrugged.
“With the new Chinese volunteers,” he nodded to Zhao, “we have the personnel to man every ship we have. Experienced personnel is a more complex situation. Our trainers from the Imperial Navy are under strict orders not to get involved in combat situations.
“It has been suggested to me by some of those trainers that if they are aboard our vessels during combat, they will of course continue to serve in their roles…but they risk censure from the Imperial Navy if they do so.”
“I doubt that censure would happen in this case,” Annette pointed out.
“So do they,” Villeneuve agreed. “Hence their willingness to violate those orders.”
“Can Captain Tanaka order them to fight? She is now the senior Navy officer in the system, correct?”
“She is,” Ki!Tana confirmed. “But her position as the sole human Captain in the Navy undermines her moral authority in a case like this. Her giving that order would likely protect our trainers but only by exposing Captain Tanaka herself to almost-guaranteed censure.”
“Wonderful,” Annette responded. “What about manning the destroyers? That’s eleven hulls we have crew to put into space.”
“But not experienced crew,” Villeneuve repeated. “Plus, well, Elon?”
“It’s an ammunition problem, Annette,” her lover said flatly. “Our deal with the Indiri didn’t include missiles, and we’ve only had the assembly lines for point seven five birds online for a month.
“We have full magazine loads for the three super-battleships, Tornado and Geneva. That’s it. There’s no reloads, no spares. We could probably get half a dozen of the destroyers online in the time we have left, but…”
“Without modern missiles, they’re just extra targets,” Annette concluded. “What about Hunter’s Horn?”
“She’s a wreck,” Villeneuve warned. “She can fly or fight. Not both.”
“Damn. Hardly the best use of Tanaka’s skills, then.”
“No. Which does allow another possibility,” Ki!Tana interjected.
“Go on,” Annette said, eyeing her alien friend.
“Duchess of Terra is currently uncrewed,” the A!Tol told them. “If you assemble a haphazard crew of teams thrown together from four different ships, she will not function well.
“If, however, you were to assemble a crew around a core that was used to working together, especially if that crew shared a common basis of training and understanding…”
Annette realized what Ki!Tana was suggesting at the same moment as she saw realization descend onto Elon and Villeneuve’s face.
“We cannot ask Captain Tanaka to transfer her crew onto a Duchy of Terra ship,” Villeneuve pointed out.
“No,” Annette agreed. “We would have to cede Duchess of Terra to the Imperial Navy, placing the first Duchess-class super-battleship permanently in their hands.”
“We could then move the training crews aboard her as well,” the Admiral said slowly. “Placed under Tanaka’s command aboard an Imperial vessel, their prior orders become irrelevant. We can slot our new volunteers into existing crews, keeping most formations intact.”
The Admiral smiled at Ki!Tana, the first time he’d done so since meeting the alien.
“All five ships would be more functional that way,” he admitted. “I dislike handing Duchess over, but it’s a good plan.”
“Not least because it keeps me off a command deck?” Annette suggested dryly.
“I would suggest we put both you and Villeneuve on Duchess’s flag deck,” Elon told her. “While I’d rather bury you both under a mountain somewhere, you need to be somewhere you can affect the battle—and the political decisions involved as well, Annette.”
“Commanding a starship is no longer your job, Your Grace,” Zhao joined in. “We need you with the Militia, yes, but there are too many other calls on your time. Someone else must command for you.”
Annette sighed. She didn’t want someone else to command the keystone of Earth’s defense. She didn’t want to sit on the sideline, watching a battle she couldn’t change…but they were right.
Her job was now to make sure the battle wasn’t for nothing. Others would have to fight in her place.
“And it would help Jess with her campaign to restore Tanaka’s image on Earth, too. I’d rather not need heroes, but if I’m going to have them, let’s use them,” she concluded.
“Very well,” she agreed. “I will discuss this with Captain Tanaka as soon as we’re done here.
“Ki!Tana.” She turned to the A!Tol. “Is there any way we can use your ship here?”
“Darkest Depths has no weapons and no shields,” Ki!Tana noted. “The Mesharom were not willing to trust me with such. She is a scout ship, nothing more. All she could do was bring warning.”
“Which she did,” Annette confirmed. “I owe you, old friend.”
“No, Dan!Annette. It is I who owe you,” the alien replied. “My contract remains, after all.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
“You want to do what?” Harriet demanded.
“We are required to provide eight capital ships to the Imperial Navy,” Bond explained. “Duchess of Terra will be leaving the dock in six hours. She’s combat-capable, with compressed-matter armor and active anti-missile defenses—arguably the most powerful warship in the Imperium.
“We don’t have a crew for her, and anything we put together would be a patchwork mess with no true cadre to hang it on.
“Instead, we have decided to deed her to the Imperial Navy and offer her to you as at least a temporary command to replace Hunter’s Horn.”
Harriet looked at the hologram hovering above the desk in Bond’s temporary office aboard Defense One. The details of how the ship had been augmented from its original Majesty specification were highlighted on the three-dimensional diagram: a full meter of armor built of layers of compressed-matter armor sandwiched in shock-absorbent gels and ablative ceramics. Sixty laser turrets. Forty autonomous drones with their own laser systems.
“Your people designed this in five months?” she said wonderingly.
“Most of it was scaling up the original work done on Tornado and the XCs,” Annette admitted. “Much of the remainder is simply different applications of technology we licensed through Uplift.”
“I’m impressed,” Harriet admitted. “But I only have seven hundred crew, Duchess Bond. This ship…Duchess of Terra will require thousands.”
“We also have two thousand Imperial Navy Training Corps personnel scattered through the Militia,” Bond told her. “Their orders prevent them from serving aboard our vessels in combat. As an Imperial Navy Captain, however, you can order them to transfer to your new ship and make up the crew there.
“We can also second you personnel familiar with the operation of the Sword and Buckler active defense systems,” she continued. “And with your permission, I and Admiral Villeneuve will bring our immediate staffs aboard and take over the flag deck for the duration.”
“You have it all worked out, I see,” Harriet concluded.
“We checked with Medit! as well. It’s as kosher as it can be. The ship is yours, Captain.”
“Who was going to command her if I didn’t show up?”
“The original plan was Kurzman, but we need Tornado at full capability as well if we’re to survive this,” Bond admitted. “We’re going to use her point defenses to shield Emperor and Queen.”
“I’ve seen battleships in action now, Duchess Bond,” Harriet told her. “Those two don’t need as much protection as you think. There’s a reason the Imperium hasn’t bothered with active defenses in two hundred years.”
“Powerful as their defenses are, they’re twice as valuable if they only have to stop half as many missiles. That was the logic behind Duchess’s class. She is at least three times as survivable as the unmodified Majesties.”
“I don’t see much choice, Your Grace,” Harriet finally said. “In the name of the Imperial Navy, I recognize the transfer of Duchess of Terra to our command. We will fight to defend this world, one way or another.”
“I wasn’t exactly giving you a choice,” Bond replied. “We’ll make it happen, Captain Tanaka.”
“We have to, Your Grace. My orders, after all, are to hold this system.”
“All right, everyone,” Harriet said briskly as she returned to her bridge and stepped up to her command chair. She tapped a few commands on her command chair, transferring control of the main holotank to her.
“Start shutting down your consoles and packing up,” she told them all. “Pass the word to your departments and teams; we are standing down Hunter’s Horn and transferring vessels.”
“Captain?” Sier asked.
She finished the sequence on the command chair, focusing the holotank on the Lunar Yards and the super-battleship in the middle of the refit slip.
“Duchess of Terra will be online in four twentieth-cycles,” she notified them, the mental conversion from “almost five hours” almost automatic now. “She has been transferred to Imperial Navy control, and as the senior Navy officer in system, I will be taking command.
“Since Duchess is fully combat-capable and Hunter’s Horn is not, I am ordering all Navy personnel in the system to transfer to Duchess of Terra,” she continued. “We will be reinforced by just over eighteen hundred Imperial Navy Training Corps personnel and a thousand volunteers from the Duchy of Terra Militia familiar with Duchess’s new systems.”
“The Majesty class is one of the Imperium’s most powerful warships,” Vaza replied. “Have they added anything worth the effort?”
“I’ll provide you the briefing documents they gave me,” she told him, “but, in short, yes. Compressed-matter armor and major active anti-missile defenses. Duchess of Terra could take another Majesty-class with ease at this point.
“And the Terrans have turned her over to us. In exchange, we will do our duty and protect this system.”
“They’re giving us a super-battleship,” Sier noted. “I see the Duchess likes you.”
“They owe the Navy eight capital ships,” Harriet pointed out. “And this way, they put the most experienced crew in the system aboard the most powerful warship in the system.”
Unmentioned, though she was sure it had been on Bond’s advisors’ minds, was that rubbing in the Navy’s face that the newest Duchy in the Imperium had the most powerful warship in the Imperium was a bad idea.
Handing that ship over to Harriet and having her command it in Terra’s defense covered every base.
Except, of course, actually having enough firepower to stop the Kanzi.
The order to evacuate the ship instigated a wave of only barely controlled chaos. Junior officers and noncoms directed techs and crew through the hallways, with an oft-repeated mantra of “leave it if you don’t need it today, we can come back for it” with regard to personal items.
Harriet herself spent the time on the bridge, going over the specifications on Duchess of Terra, a ship over ten times as large as Hunter’s Horn. She’d been briefed on the weapons fit of the Navy’s super-battleships, but being in command of one required a whole new level of awareness.
The Terran files on the Sword and Buckler systems made for interesting reading as well. She could see the places where the Sword turrets had grown out of the missile defense suite her old UESF battleship had carried, but the Bucklers were something entirely new.
She’d finished reviewing those specifications—and found herself wondering just where the hell some of the pieces of the drones had come from. They weren’t Terran tech, and they weren’t anything she recognized as Imperial tech, either. There was a clear third influence in the drones, and Harriet didn’t recognize it at all.
“Captain, we have an Elon Casimir on a channel for you,” Piditel informed her. The coms officer was the last person still on the bridge with Harriet, the Rekiki having sent his own department to prepare for transfer.
“Put him on,” she ordered. “Then get yourself moving. The clock is ticking.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Elon Casimir’s image appeared on her screen, the CEO leaning on a plain-looking desk presumably somewhere in BugWorks.
“Captain Tanaka,” he greeted her. “How are your preparations going?”
“We’re starting to relay people over to the Lunar Yards,” she told him. “My shuttles are going to be full, but we’ll be good to go.”
“Good, good,” he said. “We just brought the life support back online, so you’ll actually be able to load people aboard as soon as they reach Duchess. Would additional shuttles help? We have a small fleet of interface-drive ships aboard BugWorks—they’re not as fast as Navy shuttles, but in orbit, it won’t matter.”
“We could use them,” Harriet admitted. “Mostly for transferring the Training Corps people, Horn lost one of her boat bays, so if we’re left to my resources, it’ll be another ten hours before we have everyone aboard.”
She saw him do the math. That would put them to within six hours of the estimated arrival time for the Kanzi fleet.
“I’ll touch base with Captains Sade and Lougheed,” Casimir replied. “We’ll get the rest of your people to you well before then. Do you have any questions on your new ship?”
“You were involved in the refit design, I take it?”
“There have been few projects as critical for the Duchy’s survival since its creation, Captain Tanaka,” he replied. “I know Duchess inside and out now.”
“The Buckler drones,” she said. “They’re not pure Terran or Imperial. Where did the design come from?”
“That’s classified, Captain,” he told her with a chuckle. “And not by the Duchy. By the Imperium. Suffice to say Tornado carries some technology purchased from a third party the Imperium doesn’t get along with. The Buckler drones are based on that tech.”
“I’m guessing the Navy knows about this?”
“The Navy took all of her spare drones when Tornado was at A!To,” Casimir replied. “Having talked to Annette and Captain Kurzman about it, I’m surprised they left us any!”
“A strong Duchy of Terra is an advantage to the Imperium,” Harriet reminded him. “They don’t want to see you fall to the Kanzi, Casimir.”
“I know,” he agreed. “Which brings me to my reason for reaching out to you, Captain Tanaka.”
Something in his voice took Harriet aback, and she narrowed her eyes as she looked at him carefully.
“I presumed you were checking in on my homework,” she noted.
“That was business,” he said calmly. “This is…both political and personal.”
“Go on.”
“Both Admiral Villeneuve and Duchess Bond will be aboard Duchess of Terra, on your flag deck,” he told her. “Losing Admiral Villeneuve would be a near-fatal blow to the Militia, but one they would survive.
“Losing Annette Bond would destroy the Duchy of Terra,” he said flatly. “She is the symbol of peaceful cooperation with the A!Tol. The proof that they will respect our internal autonomy. The symbol for an entire world that membership in the Imperium is the way forward.
“If she dies, Captain Tanaka, the Duchy of Terra dies. No heir could take her place. No elected leader could do what she has done and needs to continue doing.”
He shook his head.
“I have my own reasons to see her safe above all us, but cold logic requires the same,” he said flatly. “You say if Terra falls, the Imperium will liberate us.”
“The Navy will come, one way or another,” Harriet told him.
“I believe you,” Casimir admitted. “Almost more importantly, I believe that your superiors meant that when they said it to you.
“I cannot give you orders, Captain Tanaka,” he continued. “I can only ask. Beg, if needed. But if the battle is lost, you must flee. Duchess carries her own full design schematics in her databanks.
“In the normal course of affairs, those will be critical for Terra’s economic future, but if Terra falls…it will be war.
“So, I beg you, Captain Tanaka. If the battle is lost, take your ship and its contents and passengers, all more precious to me than life itself, and run.”
“I cannot do that, Elon Casimir,” she told him. She wouldn’t be able to look herself in the mirror later if she failed Earth again.
“You have to,” he replied. “For the sake of this world. For the sake of the Imperium, Captain Tanaka, you must recognize when this battle is lost and refrain from throwing your ship away.”
He wasn’t wrong. It would be the right course of action according to any rational logic and her oaths. Harriet just wasn’t sure she could do it.
“I can’t promise anything,” she finally said. “I can only say I understand what you’re asking and why. I just…can’t promise anything.”
He sighed.
“I understand, Captain Tanaka,” he told her. “Every resource we have will be committed to the defense of this system. If we are very lucky, then you will never need to decide.”
“We can hope. Thank you, Mr. Casimir, for your time. You’ll have those shuttles on their way?”
“Already in space,” he confirmed. “I need to talk to our super-battleship captains. Good luck, Captain Tanaka.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
For Jean Villeneuve, Duchess of Terra’s flag bridge was like something out of a dream. The flag bridges on the old UESF battleships had been an afterthought where they’d existed at all, the assumption being that the UESF would be commanded from Orbit One—as it had been, in its one major battle.
Orbit One’s command center, though, had been as much a peacetime organizational center as anything else, with permanent stations assigned to each ship. It was an effective design for running an entire space force, but not necessarily the most efficient design for a flag officer to command a fleet.
The Imperium’s base flag deck design called for a smaller staff immediately to hand on the flag bridge itself, with a support department to handle a lot of the minutiae of moment-to-moment communications with the fleet or squadron.
Instead of hundreds of consoles, there were only sixteen, wrapped around a high-fidelity holodisplay linked primarily to the Admiral’s controls. It was a sleek, efficient design set up to enable one sentient to command anything from a small squadron to an immense battle fleet, staging secondary controls down through tiers of support staff and subordinate commanders.
There were aspects to the Imperial design Jean didn’t like. It called for the Admiral to be physically behind and above his people, for example, literally looking down on them and over their shoulders at the same time.
As part of the refit of Duchess, however, Jean had been able to redesign the flag bridge to his own tastes. Not only was the flag bridge based on the far-more-efficient Imperial design, but he’d removed everything in that design he didn’t like.
It was now truly his dream flag deck, and he sat in his command chair and watched the timers tick down toward the Kanzi arrival with trepidation in his heart.
Bond had taken one of the consoles, the Duchess even now not-so-gently defusing an argument between two Australian mayors over water rights by threatening to install a Ducal facility and charge them both premium rates.
Only when the battle finally started could the Duchess take her attention away from the affairs of her world. Passing command of Duchess of Terra to the Imperial Navy, much as Jean would miss the ship, had been a brilliant idea.
“Ten minutes,” Colonel Wellesley noted softly from next to him. “How accurate is this timer, Admiral?”
“Within half an hour either way, we guess,” Jean replied. “Ki!Tana had to leave them behind and take a different route to get here, after all. No has seen them in twelve cycles, over ten days. They could even have gone somewhere completely different.”
“What are the odds of that?”
“The Kovius Treaty means the A!Tol have only a handful of outposts within forty light-years of Sol,” Jean replied. “There’s nowhere else for them to go, not with twenty battleships.”
“That’s what I thought,” Wellesley sighed. “I’ll get out of your hair, Admiral,” he continued with a crisp salute. “This one’s your fight.”
Jean returned the salute and went back to watching the holodisplay.
Three super-battleships. One cruiser. One destroyer. Three weapons platforms roughly as capable as Hunter’s Horn before that cruiser’s damage.
It was a frail shield to hang in the path of the armada that was coming, but it was all Jean Villeneuve had.
This was the second time he’d faced an alien invasion of his homeworld, and he swore to himself that this time, he would not fail.
Emperor of China loped through space, carving a long oval course that would take the super-battleship through the most likely emergence points for the Kanzi fleet. Taking it at fifteen percent of lightspeed, the loop would take the warship fifteen minutes to complete.
Queen of England was five minutes behind Andrew’s ship, and Duchess of Terra five minutes behind her. At no point would any of the capital ships be out of range of the other two—but if one of them was on top of the Kanzi when they emerged, the hammerblow they could deliver before they had to flee could help turn the odds in the defenders’ favor.
It would also, Andrew knew, be damned hard on his ship or Sade’s if they were the “lucky” one. Their shields should hold long enough to run, but it wasn’t a sure thing. Between the missile defenses, the shields, and the armor, Duchess would definitely be able to run.
But they only had one Duchess, so his ship made its loop, launchers and beams at the ready.
“They are overdue,” Maksimov said sharply. “One would expect better punctuality from religious slavers than this.”
“It’s always possible they decided to go pick a fight with the squadron at Kimar instead,” Andrew replied. “I certainly wouldn’t complain if they decided to go tangle with someone their own weight.”
He glanced over the space surrounding them in the holotank.
“More likely, however, they’re simply a little bit slower in hyperspace than Ki!Tana estimated,” he continued grimly. “Keep your eyes peeled, Vitya. We know they’re coming.”
“Do we?” the Russian challenged. “We’re operating on the word of an alien, one who’s an exile, so far as I can tell. Why are we trusting her?”
“The Duchess trusts her because Ki!Tana helped us when were we out being privateers,” Andrew said sharply. “I trust her. Everyone who was on Operation Privateer would gladly fight at Ki!Tana’s side, Commander.
“No. If that particular alien exile tells me the Kanzi are coming, the Kanzi are coming,” he concluded. “So keep your damned eyes peeled.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Arendse?”
“Captain?” his navigator replied.
“You have the course dialed in for us to run back to Earth orbit as soon as the bastards appear?” he asked.
They could get a solid punch in while the Kanzi appeared, but once the real battle was joined, Andrew wanted Tornado and Geneva’s point defenses between his ship and an entire battle fleet.
“Of course, sir. Direct line at point five cee. Even at our furthest point, we’re two minutes from orbit.”
“Thank you,” Andrew told her. He leaned back in his chair studying the hologram again.
War was ninety-nine percent waiting, one percent deadly terror. Some waiting, however, was worse than others.
There was a strangely still feeling to the entire affair. Every station and colony off of Earth had gone silent, leaving only the three starships carving their massive, light-minute-diameter loops through the system. The flag bridge aboard Duchess of Terra was silent as the crew watched those ships, and Annette Bond had to fight the urge to hold her breath.
She wasn’t even able to pretend to work anymore and stood next to the console she’d claimed, watching the hologram of the star system shift above her head. Every minute, every second, that passed increased the almost-nonexistent odds that the Kanzi had gone somewhere else.
More importantly, however, every moment the Kanzi were late was a moment closer to the Imperial Navy arriving. A single echelon of battleships would be enough to change the tide of the battle. Depending on the timing, a single division of super-battleships.
But she could do the math. The nearest concentration that would actually be able to risk deploying against a Kanzi battle fleet was the squadron at Kimar. No one at Kimar would even know Sol was under attack for two more days, and it would be a week for the capital ships there to reach Earth.
Nine days. There might be a few singletons that could arrive before that, but other than the morale impact to both her people and the Kanzi, those ships would have a minimal impact.
“I don’t suppose you have a miracle tucked away in your back pocket, Your Grace,” Jean murmured as he stepped up to join her.
“No, I’m afraid,” she replied. “Just the hope that we can sucker-punch them as they emerge, then make them afraid of the defense constellation.”
A frail hope. The scattering of missile launcher satellites they had could almost certainly kill a battleship for her. One battleship. That left nineteen for the Militia and Duchess of Terra.
“Then we are down to the last and most important of resources, I’m afraid,” he replied.
“And what is that, Admiral?”
“Your countrymen’s stock in trade,” Villeneuve said with a smile. “Sheer bloody Yankee stubbornness.”
She couldn’t help herself. She laughed, letting the sound ripple out around the room.
The flag deck crew glanced over at her and the Admiral, and small smiles flashed on their faces as their shoulders relaxed. If the Duchess could laugh, perhaps they could carry this after all.
“Thank you, Jean,” she told him. “For everything. I don’t think I’d have made this Duchy business work without you.”
“It was a group effort, Your Grace,” he replied. “I’d hope your Council lived up to your expectations.”
“I hope we all live up to Earth’s expectations,” Annette said. “And keep living up to them, Admiral. This doesn’t end today. I refuse for it to end today.”
“Keep that in mind,” Villeneuve advised her. “We’re all going to need some of that before this is done.”
“Ma’am, sir!” One of the techs interrupted them. “Hyper portal!”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
“Dō shiyō,” Harriet whispered. “They’re coming out on top of Queen of England.”
The hyper portal was forming less than half a million kilometers from Captain Sade’s super-battleship. Harriet watched on the tank, half-expecting the Militia Captain to turn her ship away, to open the range to allow for a missile engagement.
But Sade knew the same thing Harriet did: Queen of England wasn’t much more likely to survive a close-range missile engagement, and she would be able to do far more damage in a point-blank beam clash.
The Imperial Captain watched in silent respect as Queen of England turned into the hyper portal and accelerated, crossing the gap as the Kanzi ships began to emerge.
Duchess of Terra was almost ten million kilometers away. Everything she was seeing was thirty or more seconds out of date, and the massive hyper portal’s burst of radiation made it impossible for Duchess’s sensors to resolve any details of the emerging ships.
Sade’s ship was close enough that her scanners would cut through that chaotic mess, and the holotank reported the signatures of missile launches and proton beams as the super-battleship launched herself into the heart of the attacking fleet.
“Orders from the Admiral,” Piditel reported. “We and Emperor of China are to close to extreme range and engage with missiles to try and cover Queen of England.”
“Take us in, Ides,” Harriet snapped. It wasn’t going to change the fate of Captain Sade and her crew, but they could use it as a wedge to try and shatter the Kanzi morale. “Hold the range at twenty light-seconds.
“Vaza, open fire at maximum range and pour it on. We have the magazines to burn; let’s use them.”
The Terrans might not be able to refill her magazines, but the super-battleships carried thousands of missiles. She’d gladly spend some to give Queen of England even a miniscule chance of escape.
“I have major explosions in the hyper portal interference.” Vaza reported. “At least two, maybe, three capital ships. Dark tides… There goes another one.”
As the Kanzi fleet completed their transition to normal space, they began to be more easily visible to the sensors of the ships closing with them—and more easily targeted. Emperor and Duchess opened fire, pouring missiles into the conflagration Queen of England was creating.
Even as the sensors resolved, two Kanzi cruisers made a suicide run on the super-battleship with proton beams blazing. They stopped in space, slammed to a halt by the energy transfer of super-capital proton beams that smashed through their shields and hulls to stop them in place and gut them both in a perfectly paired set of explosions.
The Terran super-battleship’s shields were already flickering, failing in sections as dozens of proton beams and literally uncountable missiles slammed home. The Kanzi might not have been expecting to be ambushed on emergence, but there was nothing wrong with the Theocracy Navy’s training or professionalism.
Another battleship came apart as a stream of missiles tore through a shield weakened by beam fire, then a trio of destroyers interposed themselves in front of another capital ship and died as they took the proton beams meant for it.
The first salvos from Emperor and Duchess were a surprise, hammering into the melee from behind and overwhelming the strained shields of another battleship, its explosive death lighting up one side of the Kanzi formation as the two ships tried to save their sister.
But it was too much. An entire fleet poured fire into Queen of England at point-blank range, and she didn’t have compressed-matter armor. Didn’t have anti-missile turrets to reduce the missiles.
One moment, Queen of England was a leviathan of fury surrounded by petty sharks…and the next she was gone, multi-gigaton kinetic strikes wiping her from existence as a dozen or more missiles struck home at once.
“Withdraw to the defense constellation,” Villeneuve ordered in Harriet’s earset. “We need to preserve our ammunition.”
“They’re shattered, broken,” she objected. “We should push our advantage.”
“We don’t have enough missiles to kill them all, Captain Tanaka. More than anything, we have to buy time…and as you say, they are shattered. Let them spend the hours to rebuild their formation while we guard Earth.
“The Navy is coming, after all.”
Technically, Villeneuve couldn’t give her orders, only make suggestions. Her heart rebelled. She wanted to close with the Kanzi, hammer them until she ran out of missiles, take advantage of their broken formations to shatter the blue-furred bastards who threatened her race.
But as the data continued to resolve, she knew that would be suicide. Fourteen battleships remained. Twenty-five cruisers. Twelve destroyers. Disorganized and shattered or not, Sol’s defenders would lose that fight.
“Ides, set a course for Earth orbit,” she ordered heavily. “Vaza, keep pounding them as we withdraw. If they fire back, let the shields take it unless we risk losing them. We don’t want to show our hand just yet.”
Disorganized the Kanzi might have been, but they weren’t going to let Andrew just zip past them unmolested. Arendse’s course curved away from the Theocracy fleet, holding them at maximum range as Emperor of China ran for Earth orbit, but the battleships were blasting missiles at them less than a minute after Queen of England died.
Their squadron fire control was gone and the salvos weren’t focused, but fourteen battleships’ worth of missiles was more than Andrew wanted to tangle with.
“Pull us directly away,” he ordered Arendse. “Bring us around the far side of Earth if that’s what it takes, but I want to get out of their range.”
Whoever was in command over there had recognized the weaknesses of his broken command structure and just ordered his capital ships to dump missiles at one of the two ships on the board. At this range, Emperor could take those salvos. Probably.
“Hold our fire,” he told Maksimov. “We aren’t maintaining this engagement long enough to kill one, so the missiles would be wasted.”
“That feels…wrong,” the Russian tactical officer complained.
“Shields regenerate, Commander. Missiles don’t.”
“Missiles at twenty seconds to impact; initiating evasive maneuvers,” Arendse announced.
There was nothing to feel as the massive ship began to spiral in space, the interface drive shifting her course a dozen times without any noticeable acceleration aboard the ship.
When the missiles started hitting the shields, however, Andrew felt it. A tremor in the chair, in the deck plates under his feet, as hundreds of cee-fractional missiles slammed into the energy screen.
There was no coordination to the salvos. No streams of missiles focused on a single target. No exquisitely timed mass strike to attempt to overwhelm the entire shield. Arendse’s maneuvers stretched out the impact time, spreading the hundreds of impacts over ten, then fifteen, then twenty seconds.
Emperor’s shields held.
“Clear of their range,” Maksimov reported. “One more set of salvos incoming.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “No better coordinated than the last ones. The shields will hold.”
“What’s our time back to Earth?”
“Five minutes,” Arendse replied. “Everyone else will be there first.”
“Everyone else was closer,” Andrew reminded them. The Kanzi weren’t pursuing Emperor or Duchess, a reprieve he was relieved to see.
The Kanzi fleet had lost over a quarter of their firepower in the moments after they’d arrived. Even assuming Queen hadn’t been lucky enough to knock out the flagship, that was a body blow that few formations could recover from quickly.
“The Kanzi will recover,” Andrew continued grimly. “They get to choose the tune of the next dance, and I doubt it’ll be one we like.”
Annette stood next to the holotank, watching Emperor of China run from the Kanzi missiles, and kept her eyes level, her face still. In the cold logic of war, they’d been lucky. The Kanzi emerging that close to Queen of England had allowed the super-battleship to inflict unexpectedly disproportionate losses on the assault force.
But with Sade gone, she was down another group of friends—and some from the very select list of people who’d followed her into war against the A!Tol when Earth fell.
How long, she wondered, until all of those brave souls were dead and only she was left to soldier on with the decision she’d made?
“What now, Jean?” she asked, hoping for her study of the plot to produce an answer.
“We organize our formations within the constellation and prepare for them to come to us,” Villeneuve replied. “It’s a waiting game, Your Grace.”
“And the longer they take putting themselves together, the better off we are,” she acknowledged with a sigh. “I can’t say I’m a fan of having them in my star system, Admiral, but I understand.”
The collection of red icons on the holotank looked like a disease, a rash on deep space fifteen million kilometers from Earth.
Emperor completed her arc, the super-battleship slotting into place alongside Duchess. Geneva and Tornado drifted up from beneath the ring of satellites, the destroyer and cruiser moving into place to cover Emperor of China and her lack of active defenses.
The two escorts looked tiny and frail next to the leviathans Annette had managed to acquire to defend her world, but Tornado, especially, was actually harder to kill than Emperor was. As Annette watched, tiny green icons flickered out from every ship except Emperor, rainshower defender and Buckler drones deploying to shield their motherships.
“What happens if we miss a missile?” she asked suddenly, realizing that the backstop to this battle was Earth.
“I asked Elon the same question,” Villeneuve told her. “The drive fields only fail catastrophically when they hit a solid object. Atmosphere triggers a safety mechanism that shuts them down completely.”
He shrugged, more fatalistic than she suspected he actually was.
“Without the drive field, the missiles will slowly fall and burn up. I can only hope the Kanzi have the same safety mechanism—and the fact that they haven’t accidentally wrecked any worlds I know of suggests so.”
“We don’t have much choice either way, do we?” she asked.
“No, Your Grace.”
Hours passed as the Kanzi sorted out their formation and Annette started to wonder if perhaps Sade had managed to kill the Kanzi commander. It would certainly fit with the complete chaos she was seeing in their formation.
If the odds had been remotely close to even, that chaos would have been the perfect opportunity to take her fleet in and smash the Kanzi squadrons to pieces. As it was, even disorganized and uncertain, those fourteen battleships and their escorts would crush Earth’s defenders.
So, Duchess of Terra and her companions rested in orbit. Shifts changed, the Captains cycling their crews to keep fresh sets of eyes on deck, but Annette and Villeneuve remained on the super-battleship’s flag deck, watching. Waiting.
“There we go,” she said quietly, pointing out the shift to Villeneuve. The Kanzi ships had been adjusting and moving around for a while, but now they were dropping into combat formations. The battleships formed two lines of seven, one five thousand kilometers above the other, and the cruisers and destroyers formed into wider lines above and below the capital ships.
“Wall of battle,” he agreed. “Not much subtlety to it; just a giant mass of firepower.”
“They think it’s all they’ll need, I suppose. Are we going to disabuse of them that idea, Admiral?”
“Unless they’re insane, they know they can’t close with the constellation until they’ve removed the beam platforms,” he replied. “If they wanted to court a close engagement right now, I’d cheer.
“But they won’t. They’ll push for a missile engagement while they reduce the constellation’s weapons platforms. Thanks to the Swords and Bucklers, they’re not going to enjoy that result.”
“Your Grace, Admiral,” a squat com tech named Shang called.
“What is it, Specialist?”
“They’re transmitting,” he replied. “Broadband, wide-focus. Anyone on Earth who’s paying attention is going to pick it up.
“Show me,” Annette ordered.
The holotank flickered, and then the image of an immaculate flag deck appeared in the middle of it. The Kanzi equivalent of her own location was a massive circular room of dark gray metal, broken by dozens of consoles in concentric rings that were each lower than the one closer to the center.
At the center was an almost throne-like chair. Its occupant looked eerily humanlike, for all that he was covered in dark blue fur and, given Annette’s experience with his race, at most a hundred and fifty centimeters tall.
His fur had been pure blue once, without the splotches of white she’d seen in most Kanzi, but silver and gray had long woven their way across his skin and face. He wore a crisp black uniform with a silver insignia of a clenched fist on his collar.
“People of Earth, I am Fleet Keeper Osan Alwa,” he said. It took Annette a moment to realize what was strange, and then it hit her: he wasn’t using a translator. Alwa was actually speaking English with a thick but almost musical accent.
“You have been lied to about your place in this universe,” he told them. “The A!Tol would tell you that you are but one of many. I tell you that you stand at the right hand of God, a mirror, imperfect but whole, of the true face of divinity.
“I am here to bring you the truth and the light, children of the Divine, and to show you the way.”
He smiled and a shiver ran down Annette’s spine. She’d seen aliens’ fake smiles before. His was natural…like it was a gesture his species used as well.
If you took away the blue fur, so much about the Kanzi was so very human.
“My First Priest has sent me to bring you to the path,” he continued. “I am obedient to Her in all things, but the blood of my warriors has already been shed. I must warn you, fellow children of God, that further resistance risks not merely your mortal lives but your very immortal souls!
“Yield, people of Earth, and you will learn your rightful place in the universe alongside the Kanzi!”
The transmission cut off and Annette swallowed. That hadn’t been what she’d expected from the Kanzi at all. She’d known that they were religious, that their government was a theocracy, but she’d always mentally focused more on the “slaver” aspect of their society.
“Anyone else getting televangelist flashbacks?” Shang finally asked, the com tech’s voice shaky but loud in the silent room.
“Sleazy used-car salesman, actually,” Villeneuve replied after a few moments, the Admiral’s voice stronger. “Should we reply, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Annette replied, her voice firmer than she’d expected to manage as she massaged her resolve. “And send it to Earth as well,” she told Shang. “Let everyone know what I have to say.”
A tiny drone popped up into the air, suspended by the flag deck’s systems as the camera focused on her, showing the busy crew behind her as she gave Fleet Keeper Alwa her coldest look.
“Fleet Keeper Alwa,” she greeted him. If she understood his rank correctly, he was equivalent of a Vice Admiral. He might have been the original commander…but she suspected not.
“You are not the first to come to this world with honeyed words and silken promises,” she told him. “We have brought them to each other a thousand thousand times, and then the A!Tol came.
“We have tested the A!Tol promises and we know their measure, Fleet Keeper. We do not know yours.
“The Kanzi we have met have been slavers, murderers, scum—and you come here with a fleet, for conquest, not discourse.
“So I greet you, Fleet Keeper. I am Duchess Annette Bond, guardian and leader of this world by the will and swords of my people.
“I have sworn fealty to one foreign power, whose soldiers have bled and died to earn my trust.”
She smiled, but her smile was for the people of Earth, not the Kanzi commander.
“You speak to me of God, but we all seek our own paths to the Creator. If you come to this world, we will fight you. We will defy you. We recognize the serpent when he comes to our door, Fleet Keeper Alwa, and by the oaths I have sworn and the people I guard, I swear this to you:
“You shall not conquer here.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Andrew watched his crew’s spines stiffen as their Duchess threw her defiant words in the face of the Kanzi commander. The loss of Queen had hurt, but his people knew she’d done them proud before she’d died, and Bond’s words were the spark they needed.
“They’re moving,” Maksimov reported. “Estimate ten minutes to range.”
“Do we have the squadron network fully set up?”
“We’re locked in,” Maksimov confirmed. “Tornado and Geneva are dialed into our systems; we’ll fire past them with no problems and they’ll cover us from incoming fire.”
And Duchess of Terra would handle her own defense. The upgraded super-battleship had more defenses than the rest of the squadron put together. In many ways, Andrew’s command was the least-defended ship present.
The sheer power of her shields meant she wasn’t the least survivable, at least, but every missile that Tornado and Geneva shot down was one Andrew’s shields didn’t have to absorb.
“Any new orders from the flag?” he asked.
“Negative.”
Andrew nodded.
“Then we stick to the plan. Hold position behind the escorts and stand by to fire. We won’t get many launches from the constellation, so let’s make the first one count, shall we?”
The defense constellation had over a hundred missile launcher platforms, but their shields wouldn’t stand up to battleship missiles. Once the Kanzi salvos started arriving, the constellation would start disappearing—and its designers had known it. Those satellites only carried five missiles apiece.
“Enemy in range,” his tactical officer reported.
“Hold fire till the constellation engages,” Andrew reminded them. “The Admiral has the shot.”
“Receiving target designations.”
Despite his faith in Admiral Villeneuve, Andrew studied the data as it came in. They were going to focus the massed firepower of the defenses plus the warships on one battleship at a time, killing the capital ships one by one until the constellation had taken too many hits to be useful.
“Kanzi have fired.”
“Wait,” Andrew ordered. It went against the grain, he knew, not to respond. Especially when the Kanzi fleet was unleashing an incredible torrent of firepower in their direction.
The order flashed across the network.
“Now!”
The defenders unleashed their answering torrent: three space stations, two super-battleships, a cruiser, a destroyer, and over a hundred missile platforms opening up with every missile launcher they had.
Even against the firepower of fourteen battleships, it was a more than respectable response—and the defenders had a surprise for the Kanzi.
“Drones are linked into the network,” Maksimov reported. Emperor of China had no turrets or drones of her own, which made her crew purely spectators in this part of the battle. “Sword and rainshower defender turrets online. Missiles in active defense range…now.”
The Kanzi had never encountered active defenses—at least, not on ships of the A!Tol Imperium. The missiles weren’t evading, weren’t trying to hide their locations. Their electronic warfare suites were dedicated to penetrating their targets’ ECM, not defending themselves.
The salvo ran into the plasma bolts and laser beams of the rainshower defender and sword and buckler systems…and died.
Andrew had expected them to gut the salvo, to reduce the damage the constellation took. Instead, they annihilated it. A bare handful of missiles tore through, slamming into the constellation platforms.
Most of the shields held. A single launcher platform, unlucky enough to be the target of over half the surviving missiles, blew apart with three of its missiles still aboard.
“Look at the bastard burn,” Maksimov hissed, and Andrew turned his shocked gaze to their enemy.
The battleship they’d targeted writhed in the fire, trying to evade the seemingly endless swarm of missiles crashing in on it. Two cruisers tried to relieve the pressure with their own shields. One judged it perfectly, sweeping a chunk of missiles away and escaping with her own shields flickering but intact.
The second didn’t, and the missiles flung its shattered wreckage into the battleship it had tried to defend. The wreckage might not have been the last straw, but it hit just as the shields failed…and multiple point seven five cee hammers slammed home.
“I do think we surprised them,” Annette murmured as she watched the kill counts rack up for the defense sweep.
“It won’t last,” Villeneuve warned.
“Of course not,” she replied, tapping the second salvo to zoom in on it. “They clumped the missiles together for focused impacts in the first salvo. That let the rainshower drones and cannon shred multiple missiles with each shot.
“They’re breaking those up already in the second salvo, trying to introduce evasive maneuvers.” She shook her head. “They don’t have enough time to save that one.”
The missiles ran into the defensive zone as she spoke and started to die. The crews running Tornado’s rainshower defenders had more combat experience than all of the Sword and Buckler teams combined and it showed, but both types of drone were carrying their weight.
The Kanzi’s early attempts to salvage their salvos weren’t much, but they tripled the number of missiles that made it through. A half-dozen weapons slammed into Defense Two, the station’s shields rippling as it shrugged aside the blows.
Four of the automated platforms—three missile launchers and a proton beam—died. A pathetic result for the vast amount of firepower the Kanzi were unleashing.
“They’ve ordered their salvo to begin rudimentary evasive maneuvers,” Villeneuve noted. “That’ll cut our success rate.”
“Any impromptu modifications can only make so much difference if they don’t have real pre-programmed evasion routines,” she replied. “Look!”
Another Kanzi battleship died as their second salvo struck home. The defense constellation was rated to engage a single battleship. Backed by the firepower of the two super-capital ships and the defense platforms, they were ripping a hole through the Kanzi fleet.
“They’re pulling back to maximum range,” Shang reported.
The tech was right. With two battleships gone, Alwa was trying to play it safe, using his ships’ speed to reduce the impact of the missiles that swarmed in on him.
It kept all of his ships alive through the third Terran salvo, while his own salvo now started delivering serious damage to the constellation. They were still shooting down over ninety percent of the Kanzi missiles, but there were so many of them.
The fourth salvo finished the job of smashing the constellation to pieces, leaving only a scattered handful of proton beam satellites in place. The missile platforms had already shot themselves dry, though, and two more Terran salvos crashed in on the Kanzi.
A third battleship died, and the destroyers hurled themselves into the path of the last salvo, trying to absorb just enough hits to not collapse their shields.
No more battleships died to the last salvo, but five Kanzi destroyers came apart in the process.
“They’re running!”
The reduced Kanzi fleet flashed away from Earth at half of lightspeed, leaving the wreckage of nine of their siblings behind them as they dodged out of range of Earth’s defenders.
“No,” Annette replied. “They’re regrouping. They know we’ve shot the constellation dry, so all we have left are the ships and the platforms.”
“They’ll pre-program better evasives into their missiles now,” Villeneuve agreed. “When they come back, they’ll be ready for all of our tricks.”
“This is Tanaka,” Duchess’s Captain’s voice came over Annette’s headset. “Do we pursue?”
“Negative, Captain,” the Admiral replied. “We still can’t take them head-on; the drones will be less effective if we’re moving as well.”
“Again, we wait,” Annette said. “Let’s see what our friend Alwa does.”
The Kanzi didn’t withdraw far. They reorganized themselves, a single line of eleven battleships with the cruisers split into two lines of twelve, one above and one below.
The seven remaining destroyers floated in front of the heavier ships, screening them from any attempt by the Terrans to sortie.
Not that Jean Villeneuve was feeling suicidal today. Even if every escort was removed from the equation, those eleven battleships could smash their way into Earth orbit and take control of the system. Everything they were doing was buying time.
“Are we picking up any radio leakage from them?” he asked Shang.
“A little, but it’s fragmented and encrypted,” the specialist replied. “The computers say some of it is definitely missile-programming code, but I’m not sure how they’re deriving that.”
“The Imperial software is still better than we even begin to understand,” Bond reminded them. “How long do you think?”
Jean shrugged.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’m not sure our people could code entirely new evasive maneuver routines into our missiles in less than a week, but their technicians will be far more familiar with the hardware involved than we are.”
“Ten to fifteen hours,” Ki!Tana told them as the A!Tol drifted into the flag deck.
Jean watched Colonel Wellesley’s hand go for his gun, then relax as he glared at their alien friend.
He had his doubts about Ki!Tana’s intentions and resources, but Jean didn’t doubt that the big alien was Earth’s friend. Or at least Annette Bond’s, which was much the same so far as both he and Bond were concerned.
“I’m torn between ‘that little?’ and ‘that long?’ as questions,” he admitted. “Are you sure?”
“This ship’s computer, with a fully trained crew, could do it in ten,” Ki!Tana told him. “I, given access to Tornado’s computers, could do it in six. Kanzi software is better but their hardware is worse. It may balance out, or they may take longer.
“So. Ten to fifteen hours,” she repeated.
“That’s not enough time,” the Duchess said. “They’ve only been here twenty-four hours at this point.”
“Eight more days,” Jean concluded. “We’ll get one more as they reprogram their missiles, then…”
“Then we need to kick their asses hard enough to make them hesitate again,” Bond told him. “Any ideas?”
Jean studied the tactical plot. Forty-two alien ships. They’d wiped out almost half the capital ships. More, in fact, than he’d dared to hope for.
He’d stack his remaining ships against, oh, six Kanzi battleships. The escorts alone rendered it a fight they couldn’t win.
Right now, Jean Villeneuve was remembering a different time and a different command deck. The A!Tol had brought fewer ships than the Kanzi, and he’d had dozens of warships under his command, not four.
And yet…
The odds were still better this time.
“We’ll find a way, Your Grace,” he told Bond. “I will not fail again.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Annette could have sworn she’d just got to sleep when the alarm went off, but a glance at the clock said she’d been out for five hours.
The Kanzi shouldn’t have been moving for another four, but the alarm insistently triggered again, someone, presumably from the flag deck or CIC, trying to urgently reach her.
She rolled off her bunk, checked that the uniform she’d fallen asleep in wasn’t too badly rumpled, then hit accept.
“This is Bond,” she snapped.
“Your Grace, this is Commander Sier in CIC,” a voice she recognized as Tanaka’s Yin First Sword—executive officer—told her calmly. “We have a new hyper portal forming just inside the asteroid belt. I presumed you would want to be informed.”
A new hyper portal. That was…unlikely to be good news.
“Thank you, Commander,” she managed. “I’ll be on the flag deck in three minutes. Can you have an update waiting for me when I get there?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs, Annette dove for the bathroom attached to her quarters. She couldn’t do much about the uniform, but she could at least wash her face before she strapped herself back into a combat vac suit.
Annette missed her promised timeline by a little over fifteen seconds, but she beat Admiral Villeneuve back to the flag deck, so she still managed a flash of success as she dropped into her console.
“What have we got?” she asked aloud, the question a general one, as the only members of Villeneuve’s staff she knew had gone to rest at the same time she had.
“CIC is making it five ships,” a blonde scanner tech named Lang informed her. “None of them are showing in our files or in the Imperial warbook. Two are definitely warships; our best guess puts them at two point five million tons and six hundred and fifty meters, moving at point five cee.”
Cruisers, then. Big cruisers—bigger than Tornado, and Tornado was ten percent bigger and thirty percent heavier than her Imperial counterparts—but cruisers nonetheless.
“Kanzi attack cruisers are about that size, correct?” she asked.
“A couple of their newer classes approach that size but not that mass, ma’am,” Lamb replied. “The energy signature is wrong to be Kanzi, too. Looks…well, ma’am, looks more like Tornado than anything else I’ve ever seen.”
That rang a bell, but no answer popped into Annette’s head just yet.
“What about the other three ships? A landing force?” she asked.
“Freighters,” the tech replied instantly. “We don’t have their exact type, but they’re all around a cubic kilometer or so and ten million tons. All three are pulling point three cee. Can’t be certain, but I’d say two are running Imperial interface drives and the third is running a Kanzi drive.”
That…added up. All of it added up, but Annette wasn’t entirely sure what the picture it was adding up to was.
“Do we have a visual?” she asked.
“We received a flash pulse from the Ceres base a minute ago,” Lamb told her. “They bounced it off a few of the automated platforms, so the Kanzi shouldn’t have picked it up, but we’ve got a rough visual.”
“Show me.”
The holotank flickered and resolved into a hazy image of five ships, taken with pure optics at a massive distance. Three of them could have been anything. Freighters had a lot of variety, and all three of these freighters were different.
The two warships, however, were identical ships painted dark red. They had a domed shape with forward projecting nacelles for weapons systems, reminiscent of a scarab beetle.
Or a Laian.
“Those are Laian cruisers,” Annette breathed. Studying them carefully. “In fact, those are Tortugan Laian cruisers. What the hell are they doing here?”
Wellesley coughed behind her.
“We did say that if they wanted to settle on Earth, they could,” her Guard commander pointed out. “It seems at least some of them took us up on it.”
“Their timing could be better,” Annette said, studying the vectors. “The Kanzi can intercept them with everything and we can’t stop them.”
The old Laian ships were powerful vessels, capable of punching well above their weight class compared to A!Tol or Kanzi warships… but their cruisers couldn’t fight battleships.
“Get me a channel to those ships,” she ordered. “And let me know the moment Alwa sends anything in their direction.”
When they finally managed a two-way link with the Laian flotilla, there were two Laians standing in the center of the dimly lit bridge. One was large, with a dark red shell, the other smaller, with a mostly black carapace that glimmered with a pearlescent blue. Both were familiar enough to Annette for her to identify them despite the species barrier and she inclined her head toward the camera.
“Captain Tidikat. Dockmaster Orentel,” she greeted them. “What brings the Crew to my space?”
She waited. The alien ships were still almost a light-minute away. This was going to be a slow conversation.
“You extended an invitation to our people that we could make a home among yours,” Orentel said eventually. The small Laian spoke softly and quickly, her chitters almost inaudible over the translation, but Tidikat was clearly deferring to her.
“Many of us would build a new life,” she continued. “But none we have trusted have ever made us offer such as yours. High Captain Ridotak approaches the end of his life and wishes a legacy other than bloodshed and crime.
“So he granted my mate and me the right to ask others if they would come. And here we are, Duchess of Earth.”
Tidikat inclined his carapaced head to his mate, then turned his black gaze on Annette.
“This is Shades of Yesterday,” he told her. “My companion vessel is Memories of Laughter. We are escorting transports carrying eleven thousand, two hundred and forty civilians—the Laian exiles who would breathe the air of a world again.”
He raised one mandible in warning.
“We are not permitted to transfer technology to you,” he told her. “Shades of Yesterday and Memories of Laughter will join your Militia as a gesture of good faith, but their systems have been secured against…dissection.
“We have no technological databanks, no resources beyond what it is in our minds and memories.”
Orentel’s mind alone, Annette suspected, would make allowing the immigrants worth it. Two Laian cruisers? She shivered but eyed the tactical plot.
“You are welcome,” she told them, “but your timing is…complex. Our situation is tenuous, and I cannot promise an escort to Earth orbit. The Kanzi fleet seek to conquer our world.
“If you wanted to turn back and return when things are…more stable, I would understand.”
She didn’t know Laians well enough to judge the expressions that flashed across their faces, but she guessed it wasn’t positive.
“We…no longer have anywhere else to go,” Tidikat said finally. “We are no longer Crew, Duchess Bond. If you will not have us, then we are truly exiles.”
“You are more than welcome here, Captain, Dockmaster,” she told them. “But I cannot guarantee your safe approach to Earth.”
“I will take care of that,” the Laian Captain said firmly, glancing aside at a plot of his own. “I would prefer not to engage their entire fleet, but it appears they have not yet decided what to make of us.
“We will join you in orbit of your world shortly, Your Grace,” he continued. “There, I will place my vessels at your command, to assist in the defense of our new home.”
The channel ended and Annette stepped over to study the holotank more closely as Villeneuve and Ki!Tana entered the room.
“Did I hear what I thought I heard?” the big Ki!Tol asked.
“A contingent of the Laians from Tortuga have asked permission to settle on Earth,” Annette confirmed. “If they can make it, they are more than welcome.”
“Huh.” Ki!Tana stepped up next to her, the alien’s massive size casting a massive shadow across the holotank.
“They have never even considered this before,” she warned Annette. “Strange.”
“Has anyone ever offered before?”
Ki!Tana’s beak clacked as the big A!Tol laughed.
“No,” she admitted. “Everyone assumed, I think, that they were happy with their station. How many are coming?”
“Eleven thousand.”
“That’s almost of the quarter of the Laians on Tortuga,” Ki!Tana told her. “And ships too?”
“If they survive to reach us,” Annette said warningly. “They also warned me they’re bringing no technological databanks except what’s in their heads.”
“But Orentel is among them?”
“Their leader, so far as I can tell.”
“That one’s ‘head’ contains more data on Laian technology than I’ve forgotten about A!Tol tech,” Ki!Tana said.
“I have no concerns about them being worth it,” Annette agreed. “But I can’t risk sortieing to bring them in safely, so…”
“Your Grace, the Kanzi are deploying,” Lamb reported. “Looks like they’re sending six cruisers after the Laians.”
“Three-to-one odds,” Villeneuve noted. “How powerful are these Laian ships?”
“I am absolutely certain Tornado couldn’t take one on her own,” Annette told him calmly, an evil grin spreading over her face as she watched the Kanzi detachment close on the Laian flotilla.
“Oh,” her Admiral replied.
“They’re sending six Kanzi attack cruisers after two Laian war cruisers. That’s not a mistake I intend to stop them making.”
The Laian flotilla was limited by the speed of the freighters, none of which could pull over point three cee. Their trip to Earth orbit would still take less than ten minutes, a mind-bogglingly short time by any objective standard.
And far too long by the standard of whether or not the Kanzi could intercept them.
Annette watched as the six Kanzi ships approached the Laian flotilla, easily heading them off well before they reached Earth. They were being almost hesitant, carefully skimming just inside missile range for twenty seconds without doing anything.
Then a single missile blasted out, shooting across space to cross the bow of the lead beetle-like cruiser and self-destruct fifty thousand kilometers out. A warning shot.
The Laians ignored it, Tidikat’s two cruisers continuing to lead the way toward Earth at a steady thirty percent of lightspeed. If he was being hailed or otherwise challenged by the Kanzi squadron, he was completely ignoring them.
With their warning shot ignored, the Kanzi started acting far more aggressively. They cut directly in front of the Laian ships and started to close the distance rapidly. A second warning salvo, this time of five missiles, shot out.
They detonated in front of the Laians, one per ship, the Kanzi clearly starting to get concerned.
“Is Tidikat planning on doing anything about them?” Annette asked. “I would have thought his advantage was more pronounced in missile range.”
“I suspect he may also have longer-ranged beams,” Ki!Tana replied. “While I worked with the Crew, I never served on one of their ships. I don’t know what weaponry he has.”
“And neither do the Kanzi. They know enough to be sure they don’t know what they’re fighting,” Villeneuve pointed out.
“There they go,” Lamb reported. “Full salvos from all six cruisers at five light-seconds.”
Still well outside effective beam range, but far closer than Annette would want to get if she was planning a pure missile duel.
A moment later, the Laian ships returned fire. Their missiles weren’t any faster than the Kanzi birds, she noted, though the speed with which Duchess’s sensors lost any exact idea of their location suggested far superior ECM.
Then two of the Kanzi cruisers simply disappeared. One moment, they were heading toward the Laians at half of lightspeed. The next, they were disintegrating as something punched clean through their shields and the full length of their hulls.
“What the hell was that?” Villeneuve demanded.
“They shouldn’t have that,” Ki!Tana said slowly as the Kanzi missiles on the screen ran into the Laian’s rainshower defender suites. “That was a plasma lance, and the Laian Republic didn’t deploy those for a hundred and fifty long-cycles after Builder of Sorrows went into exile.”
“Apparently, they have it and it’s terrifying,” Annette replied. “What is it?”
“It uses a charged beam to latch on to the target’s shield, then fires a multi-kilogram packet of superheated plasma along the guide beam at near-lightspeed,” the A!Tol told her. “The Imperium only barely understands the concept, let alone how to build one. It’s slow-cycling and not quite powerful to take down Kanzi capital-ship shields.
“On cruisers, however…”
The four remaining cruisers went to full evasive maneuvers, continuing to exchange missiles with the Laians as they tried to run.
The Kanzi were landing hits, but the Laians’ defenses were shredding their salvos, and there weren’t nearly enough missiles to bring down their shields. The Kanzi ships had no such defenses.
The plasma lances didn’t cycle before the Kanzi were out of their range, but it didn’t matter. None of the attack cruisers survived to leave Tidikat’s missile range.
The rest of the Kanzi fleet seemed frozen in shock. They didn’t even move as the flotilla of Laian ships slowed down and entered Earth orbit.
As Shades of Yesterday settled in underneath the existing warships, Tidikat reappeared in the holotank. His mate was elsewhere now, and something in his body language suggested that he was very pleased with himself.
“Duchess Bond, let me know where you would like my ships,” he told her. “Unfortunately, it appears we may not have time to coordinate our data networks, but I feel we can still contribute.”
“I agree,” she replied. “If you can join Tornado and Geneva in the upper line, that would be preferred. Emperor of China lacks any active defenses at all, and keeping missiles away from her is our priority.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “Would it be possible for our freighters to land somewhere on the surface? Orentel is arranging the transfer of the civilians aboard our two cruisers to the other ships, but I would very much like them to be out of the line of fire.”
“Certainly. Are they capable of ground or water landings?”
“Water would be preferred.”
She gestured to Villeneuve. “The Pacific, Jean?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “If they land off the Australian coast, we can have surface vessels in place to provide any needed medical aid or food supplies inside a few hours.”
“We should be fine for a few days, but that would be appreciated regardless,” Tidikat told them. “Thank you, Your Grace.” He paused. “We were…concerned about our welcome, regardless of the invitation.”
“We’re pleased to see you, Captain,” Annette told him. “I’m not so certain about the Kanzi.”
“They are shell-mold and will learn their place,” he said calmly. “We will teach them together, I think.”
Chapter Sixty
With three cruisers and a destroyer now hovering in orbit above Emperor of China, Andrew was starting to feel a little less exposed and vulnerable.
He doubted any A!Tol officer would understand feeling vulnerable aboard the command deck of one of the most powerful warships in the Imperium, but he’d also watched Queen of England get ripped apart by the same fleet that hovered menacingly just out of reach of Terra’s defenders.
Every minute the Kanzi decided to delay was a minute closer to reinforcements arriving to relieve the system. The Laians had been an unexpected boost and had clearly worried the Kanzi commander, but their two cruisers didn’t change the balance of power that much.
Between them, Tornado, Shades of Yesterday and Memories of Laughter were probably worth two Kanzi battleships. If Andrew was optimistic about the value of Duchess’s upgrades, they might match the Kanzi’s capital-ship strength.
But, of course, there were still nineteen cruisers and seven destroyers out there. Waiting.
They’d been waiting for over a day now, twenty-six hours since the Laians had arrived, and it was starting to wear on Andrew’s nerves. He was running one level below battle stations, with two shifts on deck and one asleep, but there was only so long his understrength, undertrained, crew could maintain that.
The Kanzi, of course, could rest their crews until Fleet Keeper Alwa decided to strike. They had enough of an advantage that the defenders couldn’t go out to meet them. Only the defense platforms gave them even a remote chance of standing off the enemy.
“They’re forming up again,” Maksimov reported. “I think the Laians gave them a nasty shock, but they’re coming our way at last.”
His tactical officer was apparently feeling as edgy as he was. Andrew confirmed it himself, looking over the Kanzi formation in the tank.
They’d moved the cruisers and destroyers forward, intentionally rendering the smaller vessels more vulnerable to help absorb hits that would destroy the capital ships. If they cycled them fast enough, it could make a huge difference…but they hadn’t been having much luck with the tactic so far.
“Take us to battle stations,” he ordered. “The constellation is gone, and they’ve done whatever upgrades they’re planning on to their missiles. This is going to be the main event.”
The defense platforms weren’t what anyone would call mobile by the standards of an interface-drive age, but they were capable of repositioning themselves in Earth orbit to face the oncoming hammer.
The super-battleships moved into flanking positions, Emperor on one side of the triangle formed by the platforms and Duchess on the other. The cruisers and Geneva swung out in front, where their drones and turrets could sweep missiles away from the more-vulnerable platforms and Emperor.
The whole formation gently moved outward from Earth. With the satellites reduced to a fraction of their original strength and the missiles exhausted, the constellation was useless now. Moving the platforms outward helped protect the Lunar Yards, which would be required to continue refitting the super-battleships if the Duchy survived this.
“How are our magazines?” Andrew asked as his ship gently vibrated under his feet, the interface drive almost straining more to sustain a speed this low.
“Fifty-two percent,” Maksimov replied instantly. “They can’t be much better off.”
“They have a lot more ships, Vitya,” Andrew said. “But yes, their magazines have to be even lower.”
So did Geneva’s and Tornado’s. The two escorts had missed the first clash, but they had so many fewer missiles to begin with. He wasn’t sure about the Laian ships, but the Terran escorts’ role was rapidly going to become purely defensive.
Victory or defeat would fall on the super-battleships.
Andrew inhaled sharply and squared his shoulders as the icons closed on the screen.
“Enemy in range in thirty seconds,” Maksimov reported.
“Any new orders from the flag?”
“No.”
Andrew wasn’t surprised. There were no new orders to give.
“Then we fight,” he said simply.
“Enemy is in range. Opening fire.”
The space around both fleets lit up with swarms of tiny icons, flecks of red and green that rapidly dissolved into massive clusters of “probability zone” icons as both sides triggered their ECM.
The Kanzi launched far more missiles. Even battered and reduced to less than half their starting strength, Fleet Keeper Alwa’s forces vastly outgunned Terra’s defenders, and as Andrew had expected, he was clearly going for the full game.
His ships advanced behind the swarms of missiles as salvo after salvo crashed in on the defenders.
The Kanzi missiles ran into Buckler and rainshower defender drones, and then Sword and rainshower turrets. Plasma bolts and laser beams cut through space, shattering vast swathes of missiles.
But the Kanzi had learned now and had spent those two days of waiting far more productively than Andrew had hoped. Missiles dodged, deked and wove through the defensive fire. Electronic warfare suites designed to punch through enemy jamming had been rigged to unleash their own jamming.
They’d sacrificed accuracy for survivability…and it worked.
Fire hammered across Terra’s defenders, each ship taking missile hits by the dozen, but they continued on.
The Kanzi weren’t so lucky. Barely half of the cruisers managed to leave the line of fire in time to keep their shields up. None of the destroyers were so skilled, and sixteen escorts blew apart in balls of flame.
But their sacrifice served its purpose, and all eleven battleships continued to thunder death at the defending ships.
Defense Three was the first to die. One moment, the platform was a million tons of weapons and shields spitting defiance in the face of the enemy. The next, it was expanding debris along with three thousand souls.
“Shields are taking a beating,” Maksimov warned Andrew. “We’re holding, but they’re getting way too many missiles through.”
“Arendse, add a rotation to your evasive maneuvers,” Andrew ordered. “Let’s spread the hits out. I want to live long enough to watch these bastards die!”
A battleship came apart under their fourth salvo, then another one as the intricate dance of evasion and confusion they were weaving to confuse the incoming fire failed to be enough.
Then a Kanzi salvo redirected itself at the last moment, the missiles pulling a ninety-degree turn no reaction drive could have matched to throw themselves on the Buckler and rainshower drones. The drones were shielded, but not enough.
Dozens of Buckler drones, much less capable of saving themselves than the Laian system they imitated, died. A gap opened in the anti-missile shield, and the next Kanzi salvo charged straight into it.
Sarah Laurent’s Geneva had compressed-matter armor, shields, and active defenses…but she was still a destroyer. When dozens of missiles crashed down on her at once, there was no way for Andrew to even tell when the shields on his girlfriend’s ship failed.
Geneva was just there one moment and gone the next—and the tsunami of missiles pouring through the gap in their defenses was heading for Emperor of China.
“Move us back!” he snapped. “Cut their impact…”
It was too late.
The Kanzi might have identified that one of the super-battleships wasn’t shooting down missiles, or they might have got lucky. It didn’t matter. An entire massed salvo from nine surviving battleships punched through the hole in the anti-missile screen torn by Geneva’s death.
The Laians and Tornado were both trying to fill the gap, but they didn’t have a proper data network. There was no way for them to coordinate, and it cost precious, precious seconds.
Seconds Andrew Lougheed and Emperor of China did not have.
He saw the tidal wave of icons bearing down on his ship. He felt the ship tremble as the missiles began to slam into her already-weakened shields—and then felt her lurch as the shields failed.
He never felt the impacts that vaporized his command.
Chapter Sixty-One
It felt like the universe should have paused at the death of one of their two capital ships, somehow recognizing the loss of so many friends and so much firepower.
But the universe didn’t work the way Jean Villeneuve’s occasionally fanciful mind wished it would. Emperor of China didn’t die alone—another Kanzi battleship came apart at the same time—but the battle continued.
“Move Duchess forward into the line,” he ordered Tanaka. “Get all of our defense drones integrated.”
The four ships moved into a line abreast. Duchess outmassed the others put together, but the Laian tech in Tornado and the Laian ships meant they were still contributing almost half the missile defense.
Defense One came apart as the fight continued, and Jean focused hard on the battle. If they survived, there would come a moment for grief. Now, while the fate of his world hung in the balance, was not it.
He felt the tempo of the battle. The Kanzi had held together better than he would have expected. Over two thirds of their numbers gone, but still the last ten cruisers and eight battleships closed, hammering away at his people.
The tempo was…slowing wasn’t the right word, but it was close. Weakening. Tornado was out of missiles—her magazine capacity had always been her biggest weakness. The Kanzi had to be running dry. They would have to close to finish the job.
They could, he had no doubt of that, but they’d bleed for it. They still had the strength to take Earth…but did they, he wondered, have the will?
“All ships, this is Admiral Villeneuve,” he said sharply. “On my order…advance to beam range. They’re wavering. Push them back!”
The words were out of his mouth before he’d even considered what he was going to say, but as soon as he said it, he knew he was right. It wasn’t a specific thing. A ship maneuvering late here. A missile cycle time a second too long there.
The Kanzi were on the edge—and his people, for all their losses, were not.
No one even blinked at his order. A moment later, four ships moved away from Earth at half of lightspeed, closing with the Kanzi fleet pulling the same speed toward Earth.
Jean could feel the moment of hesitation as the entire Kanzi formation rippled to a halt. Not a planned thing. Not an ordered thing. Ship after ship stopping as fear overcame discipline.
And then Memories of Laughter fired her plasma lance. The range was longer than he thought the weapon was effective at, but it sparkled across one of the battleships’ shield nonetheless, collapsing sections of it.
Nonfatal on its own…except that the missile swarms continued to play back and forth across the space between the fleets, and the tactical officers were watching.
Two dozen or more missiles flashed home in that moment of weakness, and the battleship blew apart.
Suddenly, it was too much. The cruisers fled first, turning to run at over half of lightspeed. The battleships followed, another dying under the missile fire as they broke.
“Keep it on them,” he ordered, then realized Duchess had stopped firing.
“We’re out of missiles, Admiral,” Tanaka told him. “Do we pursue to engage with proton beams?”
He looked at the holotank display, then turned to meet Bond’s eyes. He wanted to say no. To tell the battered ships that had already given so much to let it go.
But those battleships could still win. Could still regroup and smash the defenders to pieces. They had to finish the job.
“Yes, Captain,” he ordered. “Maintain formation; don’t let any of the cruisers out of your sight, but we chase them down.
“We can’t let them regroup.”
“Yes, sir.” Tanaka’s voice was level. He knew she understood.
So did Bond. But the order was Jean’s to give, and he felt its weight as the remnants of his Militia and their allies charged after the Kanzi, long-range beam shots rippling across the enemy shields with mixed effectiveness.
The plasma lances fired simultaneously, a perfectly matched strike that tore down the closest battleship’s shields long enough for Tanaka’s ship to punch proton beams through. The ship lurched, staggering…and dropped into normal proton-beam range for a few fatal seconds.
The Kanzi kept running, and the Laians repeated the attack, weakening a second battleship but not crippling it.
Then the bright blue of a hyper portal flared into existence in front of the Kanzi warships and Jean knew they’d won.
“Keep the pressure,” he repeated. “But let them go. We’re not following them into hyperspace.”
He stood rigidly as they chased the invaders from the system, a sense of victory and…completion filling him.
He didn’t hear Bond step up to stand beside him until she spoke.
“You did it,” she said softly. “It’s over.”
“I did it?” he asked, astonished. “I didn’t build the ships. Didn’t find the allies or make us part of a greater whole. You did it, Your Grace.”
“Fine. We did it,” she replied. “Earth did it.”
“Admiral!” Lamb suddenly reported urgently. “We have a new hyper portal forming.”
“Are they coming back?” Jean whispered.
“Negative! I have A!Tol Navy IFF codes,” the scanner tech reported. She paused to swallow hard, then looked up at with a massive grin on her face. “Squadron Lord Uan requests our confirmation that the vessels leaving Sol are Kanzi so he can pursue.”
“Give it to him,” Bond ordered. “I’ll happily let the A!Tol clean up this mess!”
“Uan confirms,” Lamb replied. “New hyper portal! His battleships are returning to hyperspace.” She paused. “I have communications from Echelon Lord Kal Mak aboard the logistics ship Meteorite.”
“Put him on.”
“Duchess Bond. Admiral Villeneuve,” the Indiri officer greeted them. “I have a squadron of cruisers and about forty logistics and refit ships with me. I was expecting you to need more in terms of succor than it looks like you do.”
The Indiri smiled. Even now, the expression creeped Jean out.
“I’m impressed.”
“How did you know?” Bond asked. “Our courier would only have arrived a few days ago.”
“That’s classified, Duchess Bond,” Kal Mak replied. “But suffice to say a friend of Ki!Tana’s told me.”
The Mesharom. Ki!Tana had said she figured there was a covert starcom on Darkest Depths reporting everything she saw to the Mesharom Frontier Fleet.
“As I understand, that friend isn’t supposed to get involved in our affairs.”
“I can’t say anything about that,” the Intelligence officer replied. “As I said, that answer is classified.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
The shuttle swept down toward Hong Kong as Annette tried to find her equilibrium again. The last few days had been…unpleasant, and now she had to return to the day-to-day grind of ruling Earth, confirming the elected candidates and so forth.
“Ma’am, we just received a com from your press secretary,” the pilot informed her over the intercom. “Miss Robin is asking us to land at the main spaceport instead of Wuxing Tower.”
“Did she say why?” Annette asked.
“Not really, ma’am. Just that we should.”
Annette exchanged a glance with Villeneuve, then looked at Wellesley where he sat opposite her with his headset on.
“James, is it safe?”
The Guard Colonel tapped on his headset, then pulled out a communicator to check a video feed that Annette couldn’t quite see. Then he smiled.
“It’s safe, Your Grace,” he told her. “And I agree with Jess. You need to land where you can be seen.”
“Divert us, then,” Annette told the pilot, but she leveled a questioning gaze on her bodyguard.
“Look out the window,” he replied.
She did. They were now sweeping down the road toward the spaceport…and the streets were full. Uniformed HKPD were keeping the main road clear, but crowds were swarming toward the spaceport.
They saw the shuttle and waved banners at her as she flew over. She couldn’t hear them, but she knew they were cheering.
“My god,” she whispered.
“You and Jean saved them all,” Wellesley told her. “I don’t think any battle in history has been as carefully relayed by the news networks or as widely watched. All of humanity saw. And now they need to see you.
“Jess is right. You need to be in public right now.”
Harriet Tanaka saluted crisply as Kal Mak exited the shuttle into Duchess of Terra’s boat bay. The squat, red-furred, frog-like alien returned the salute and crossed to her.
“Nice ship, Captain,” he observed. “Though not the one I believe you’re supposed to be commanding.”
“Hunter’s Horn is in low orbit, awaiting repairs, sir,” Harriet replied. “This ship was deeded over to the Imperial Navy as part of the Duchy of Terra’s contribution, and since I was the senior Navy officer in the system, I took command of her.”
“Indeed,” Mak responded. “Your office, Captain? It seems we have much to discuss.”
Something inside Harriet tightened. Surely, she wasn’t going to be in trouble for saving Earth.
Nonetheless, she nodded and led the way to a nearby office.
“I don’t actually have an office aboard Duchess,” she admitted as she sealed the door behind them, leaving the pair alone in the austerely furnished room. “I assumed my command would be temporary. She’ll need to be formally brought in to the Navy, after all.”
“You are correct on that,” Mak replied. “I wouldn’t worry too much about not picking an office, though, Captain. The Navy tries not to make a habit of being tidally foolish, and heroes are rarely common in the Imperium.”
“Heroes, sir?”
“The Navy Captain who bravely commanded a strange new ship in the defense of the Imperium’s newest Duchy?” Mak asked. “Even ignoring the advantages of your story on the planet beneath us, Captain, many of the Duchies will see you as a hero now.
“It won’t hurt us on your world, either,” he continued. “I haven’t seen the full specifications on this ship, but I understand that only the Terrans can do the upgrades, correct?”
“For now. I presume they intend to expand the operation quickly,” she replied.
“The upgrades are that effective?”
“However effective you think they are, you’re probably underestimating them,” Harriet admitted. “This ship went into battle with two Majesties as companions. Neither of them survived. Duchess of Terra did. That was not pure luck.”
Mak studied the severely plain walls.
“I will need to review all of your data,” he said finally. “Not least the data on the performance of the two Laian ships. Their presence here was unexpected.”
“For everyone, as I understand,” Harriet told him. “I don’t think I’d still be here without them.”
“Likely not,” he agreed. “Their fate is for a discussion with Bond. You, Captain, I suggest take some leave and visit with your family. You’re a hero. Take advantage of it.”
“And then, sir?”
“We’ll take care of Hunter’s Horn,” Mak told her. “I’m designating you as passage commander for Duchess of Terra. You’ll take her back to Kimar for full formal commissioning where, unless Tan!Shallegh has lost his mind in the last few five-cycles, you will take official permanent command of her.”
“Sir…I do not wish to decline this, but I should note that Duchess is, without question, now the most powerful warship in the Imperial Navy,” she said.
“Oh I know,” Kal Mak replied cheerfully. “What better way to convince humanity that we mean it when we say they are truly equal members of our Imperium?”
Fortunately for Jess Robin’s continued employment prospects, Annette’s perfectly turned-out press secretary was waiting for her as she exited the shuttle into the spaceport.
She wasn’t alone, either. While Annette’s enthusiasm for the press corps was minimal, her main gaze was for the two figures directly next to Robin. One of them, a very small one, took off across the tarmac as soon as she spotted Annette.
There were hundreds, at least, of cameras focused on the Duchess of Terra as she scooped up Morgan Casimir into a one-armed bear hug, and she did not care.
Nor did she care about the cameras when Elon himself reached her, sliding into her other arm as he wrapped her and Morgan in his own arms and kissed Annette fiercely.
“You, my love, are going to age me prematurely,” he told her. “Thank you.”
“It’s the job, Elon,” she said with a smile. “Both parts of that. Come on.”
She didn’t let go of her lover or his daughter as she crossed the tarmac herself, meeting a smiling Jess Robin with a stern look.
“I hate crowds,” she pointed out. “And speeches.”
“A speech won’t be necessary,” Robin told her. “But you needed to be seen today. The Duchess and the Admiral victorious, the shield of humanity unblemished in the face of the enemy.
“If they ever doubted that you knelt to the A!Tol because it was the right thing to do, they saw you fight the Kanzi today—because that was also the right thing to do.
“Let them cheer,” she continued. “They need this as much as you do.”
“If I have to.”
“You have to,” Robin told her cheerfully. “And then,” she continued more softly, her smile still broad, “you need to get to Wuxing Tower. Echelon Lord Kal Mak is coming down to meet with you.
“He’s Intelligence, Tan!Shallegh’s right-hand man, according to Zhao. His hands are not clean and your meeting with him may be as dangerous as the battle.”
“Sufficient unto the moment is the evil thereof,” Annette replied. “Let’s get through the dog-and-pony show first, shall we?”
By the time she’d made it through a dozen kilometers of cheering crowds and at least two obstacle courses of reporters, the only thing Annette wanted to do was drag Elon back to her room and use him as a pillow.
Which meant, of course, that she kissed him goodbye, swiftly showered and changed, and took the underground tram to Wuxing Tower to meet with the sentient in charge of dirty tricks for her entire sector.
Shower or not, she was grouchy when she walked past the waiting Indiri into her office, waving for him to follow her.
“What can I do for you, Echelon Lord?” she asked finally.
“A lot, I suspect,” he replied. “Though I hesitate to get into your dark currents, Duchess. There are a lot of dead Kanzi floating around in this system who should have learned that lesson.”
“They shouldn’t have fucked with my people.”
“I agree,” Mak replied. “The Kanzi haven’t taken losses this bad in at least fifty long-cycles. Possibly more—certainly not against us in the last hundred, hundred and fifty.”
“Are we at war, then?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he told her. “That will be decided at a higher level than I. I’m receiving reports via starcom receiver of the progress of the negotiations. It helps the First Priest’s decision, I suspect, that Fleet Masters Ijean and Kalt are both dead.
“She can blame them for the attack, and if she attaches enough reparations, the Empress will accept.”
“Reparations that Earth won’t see,” Annette guessed.
“Hardly, Your Grace,” Mak objected. “The A!Tol are pragmatic, not stupid. Much of that money will be fed back to you, to help replace your warships, to pay pensions for your dead, to help accelerate the Uplift here.
“Certainly, no one will argue you haven’t earned your place as a Duchy in the Imperium. Humanity, it seems, is going to be having an outsized effect on the Imperium.”
“We try,” she said levelly.
“Which brings me, somewhat indirectly, to your Laian friends,” he said. “How did you even get them to consider settling?”
“I offered.”
“You realize that there are almost certainly beings in those ships guilty of piracy, murder, fraud or worse?” he demanded.
“Do you have proof?” Annette asked in turn. “Because let’s be honest, Echelon Lord: most of the Crew’s involvement in crime was very indirect. Are they probably guilty of something? Yes.
“But the only way we can change that is to give them a chance and let them contribute somewhere with an economy that isn’t built around piracy,” she concluded. “So, unless you can prove something major against a specific Laian, they’re under my protection and you’ll have to go through me to get to them.”
“Do not let one victory go to your head, Duchess,” Kal Mak warned, his bulging eyes flickering dangerously. “You remain a very small fish in the Imperium.”
“I know,” she told him. “But I am also a Duchess of the Imperium, Echelon Lord, and I will not be threatened. I swore fealty to help my people. If the Imperium chooses to turn on my people, then that oath becomes void.
“I see the Imperium as our best chance for the future. Do not make me change my mind, Kal Mak. I don’t think Tan!Shallegh or the Empress would appreciate it.”
He laughed, a wet barking sound.
“No, no, they would not,” he agreed. “If you’ll keep an eye on them and be responsible for them, then we’ll leave the Laians in your hands.”
“That is all I ask.”
“It isn’t much and we owe you more,” Kal Mak admitted. “There won’t be a war, Your Grace. The details are being sorted, but it won’t come to that.
“Which makes this twice now you’ve stopped us being dragged into a war with the Kanzi we don’t want.”
“And what about their slaves and the worlds they’ve conquered, Kal Mak?” Annette asked softly, looking through the window at the setting sun over Hong Kong. “Do they get no consideration in our calculations?”
“We can’t defeat the Kanzi, Duchess. Not without a war that would exhaust us both. I don’t like knowing that there are slaves across the border,” Kal Mak told her, the burble of his true voice suddenly deathly quiet under the translator’s speech. “If I could wave a hand and free them all, I would.
“But I also won’t ask billions to die to free them. A true war between us and the Kanzi will have no winner, only losers. We’ve seen it before.” The Indiri shivered. “Better to continue as we are, to suppress their territorial ambitions and do our best to encourage the more positive of their religion.
“It isn’t much, and I admit it, but more is beyond us today.”
She nodded slowly.
“And tomorrow?”
He laughed.
“Tomorrow, Duchess Bond, is another day.”
Harriet stood outside the apartment building in downtown Tokyo, hesitating. She hadn’t warned anyone she was coming. She’d seen enough of the news coverage to know that if she couldn’t face her parents and son now, she would never be able to.
But still she stood in the rain, indecisive.
And then the door to the apartment building sprang open and her father stood there. Her old and old-fashioned father, the government bureaucrat with the white hair in the black suit.
He didn’t seem surprised to see her.
“About time,” he said gruffly.
“What?” she replied, surprised.
“Been working on your honored mother for months,” he told her. “She’s about ready. Definitely won’t forgive you catching a cold on our doorstep. Kenji and Hiro are here for supper.”
He still didn’t smile, his face cold and stern as he told her everything was going to be all right.
“I knew you’d be coming home tonight.”
Thank you so much for reading Duchess of Terra. Read on for a preview of Terra and Imperium, book 3 in the Duchy of Terra series, or click to check it out in the Amazon store.
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Preview: Terra and Imperium by Glynn Stewart
Enjoyed Duchess of Terra? Check out this preview for book 3, Terra and Imperium, available now!
Secrets both ancient and new.
Powers great and greater—
With Terra caught in the middle
Humanity’s first colony is a project neither the Duchy of Terra nor the A!Tol Imperium can allow to fail. The planet Hope in the Alpha Centauri system has been lavished with resources and attention—but when an unknown alien force attacks the system, all of that is in danger.
An ancient alien artifact is the apparent target of the attack, an artifact older than known galactic civilization. Suddenly, the backwater colony of a second-rate power is the gathering point for a confrontation of the galaxy’s greatest powers.
Duchess Annette Bond might be pregnant. She might be five light years away. She might have another galactic power on her doorstep demanding she surrender their rebels who’ve settled on Earth.
But she speaks for both Terra and the Imperium—and the galaxy will listen.
Chapter One
The woman in the video had been dead for three years. Captain Elizabeth Sade had been killed with her command, Queen of England, in the desperate battle to defend Earth from the Kanzi assault.
Three years to the day. Captain Harold Rolfson was usually better about not torturing himself with could-have-beens and would-have-beens than this, but on the anniversary of his lover’s death, he’d dug out the old videos they’d made when they’d returned to Earth and before everything had gone to hell again.
It was extremely early in the morning by the ship’s clock aboard Liberty, and few of the heavy cruiser’s sounds filtered into the Captain’s cabin. She floated in hyperspace, roughly one light-year away from the Alpha Centauri system—real-world distances didn’t map neatly to the strangely fluid dimension the species of the galaxy used for faster-than-light travel—and Liberty was always a quiet ship at any point.
The video frame that hung on Harold’s wall normally held a slowing rotating image of Liberty herself, recorded at her commissioning six months before. She’d been the first of the Duchy of Terra’s new heavy cruisers, a combination of native technology and the skill and knowledge of their Imperial overlords.
It could be switched to show anything, however, and right now it showed the ethereal blonde Harold hadn’t realized how much he’d loved until it had been too late, allowing the Captain his allocated time of self-pitying moping where no one could see him.
The alert chime rang through his quarters with its carefully calibrated attention-gathering song.
A tapped command restored the video frame to its default, and Harold rose to face the intercom, letting the cabin’s system recognize that he was responding to the call and link it through.
“Captain Rolfson,” he greeted. “What’s going on?”
“Sorry to wake you, sir,” his tactical officer, Nida Lyon, greeted him from the small video screen. “We have something odd on the anomaly scanner and I wanted to get your take on it.”
The officer on duty’s job was to inform the Captain if she thought he was needed, so Harold simply nodded.
“What have we got, Lieutenant Commander?” he asked.
“It looks like several anomalies moving in convoy toward Centauri, but their approach vector doesn’t line up with any known currents or Imperial star systems,” she replied. “I make it four ships, moving at point six cee.”
Harold whistled silently. Liberty was a Thunderstorm-class cruiser, built, like the Duchess’s old cruiser Tornado, to do everything as well as possible regardless of cost—and her reactionless interface drive could pull point six cee for only limited “sprint” maneuvers.
“That’s not a colonist convoy,” he noted. Any of those would be coming from Sol along the carefully mapped currents. “Or Imperial, either.”
There were two hundred thousand people at the colony in Centauri. Technically, their protection was the responsibility of the Imperial Navy…but since Sol was nearby and the colonists were human, Liberty was there.
“Any identifiers?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Lyon replied. The anomaly scanner didn’t give them much to work with—all it really told them was that someone’s drive existed and how fast it was moving.
“I’ll be on the bridge momentarily,” Harold told her, then paused to consider.
“Take us to Condition Two. This doesn’t feel right.”
The dimmed hallway lighting of a night-shift watch had returned to the bright of full operations by the time Harold left his cabin. Condition Two had alerts going off all over the ship, but they were quieter things than the full battle-stations alert, targeted by the ship’s computer systems to the crew members who needed to join the night shift.
Liberty had been designed by Terrans based on Imperial technology and a few things Harold wasn’t supposed to talk about. Less modular than Tornado, the first hyperspace ship Harold had served on, it had also been designed by a Militia that had earned its spurs in battle.
The most immediate consequence of that was that the Captain’s cabin was less than twelve steps from the bridge, and Harold entered the massive two-tiered horseshoe that ran his warship mere moments after telling Lyon he’d be there.
The Captain wasn’t an immense man, but he’d long since cultivated his long red hair and bushy beard into an image far larger than he was. Technically, his hair was a violation of the uniform regulations the Militia had inherited from the pre-Annexation United Earth Space Force, but Tornado’s original crew were given more slack than others.
“Report, Lyon,” he ordered, dropping into the command chair on the raised dais at the center of the bridge. Repeater screens, carefully designed to allow the Captain to understand just what all of his senior officers were looking at, folded in around him, the computer easily remembering his usual preference for their positions.
“We’ve solidified our scans,” the bleached-blonde tactical officer told him briskly. “We’ve confirmed four targets moving in a formation approximately one hundred thousand kilometers across. They’re definitely en route to Alpha Centauri, and we make it over ninety percent likely they’re heading directly for Hope.”
Hope was a chilly world, only semi-habitable by human standards, but its proximity had made it humanity’s first colony under the auspices of their new alien overlords.
“Commander Popovitch.” Harold turned to his communications officer. “Per the last update when we left Sol, what’s the Centauri picket’s strength?”
“Two of our Capital-class destroyers, two Imperial Sunlight-class light cruisers and four Imperial Descendant-class destroyers,” Nazar Popovitch reeled off instantly. “Only the Capitals and one of the Sunlights have been upgraded to the full new defensive specifications.”
Three years of work by the rapidly expanding yards in Sol, and the Imperial Navy still lacked non-shield passive and active defenses on many of their non-capital ships. The Duchy of Terra Militia, however, had designed the new specifications.
The three fully upgraded ships would be a problem, but Liberty could probably have taken the entire Centauri picket herself.
“Lieutenant Malie, do you have an intercept worked up?” Harold asked the junior officer currently in charge of his cruiser’s navigation. The young Hawaiian woman was the third-ranking member of the department, but with neither of her superiors on the bridge yet…
“Yes, sir,” she replied crisply, her braids swinging gently as she turned to face him. Only her eyes showed her nervousness at being on the spot. “If we go to flank speed in the next sixty seconds, we can intercept them ten minutes short of the gravity limit. If this is their full speed, we can stay with them in sprint mode the rest of the way.”
“That gets us inside the visibility zone?” he checked. There was no point catching up to the strangers without getting inside the one-light-second range where Liberty could actually see anything beyond their drives.
“If they don’t adjust course, intercept will be at seventy thousand kilometers,” Malie confirmed, and Harold made a mental checkmark next to her name. Her quiet night watch had turned into a potential combat situation and she’d manage to get everything right.
Not bad for being two months out of the new Academy.
“Execute at your discretion, Lieutenant,” he ordered. “Lyon: I want all of our launchers loaded and the proton beams charged before we enter the visibility zone.
“These guys aren’t supposed to be here. They might be lost, but nobody should have four warships swanning around this close to Sol that we don’t know about.”
The strange ships didn’t appear to react to Liberty’s approach, continuing on their course for Alpha Centauri like the big cruiser wasn’t even there. If the Terrans could see them, however, Harold was quite certain the unknowns could see his ship.
“Time to visibility zone is just over five minutes, Captain,” Malie told him.
“We are in missile range,” Lyon added. “I have them dialed in as best as I can, but…”
“But that barely qualifies as a lock,” Harold acknowledged. “Stand by all launchers anyway. Spin up Sword and Buckler, too—they might not be as conservative.”
His repeater screens showed the response to his order, as the cruiser’s anti-missile laser turrets rotated slowly, checking all of their bearings were working, and four of her defensive drones dropped free of their docking points.
He was far more likely to lose the drones in hyperspace, but the whole situation was making him nervous. He couldn’t even talk to the ships until he reached the visibility zone, but their sustained speed was unusual.
They might be Core Power ships, which…shouldn’t be out this far. Terra was the far end of the A!Tol Imperium from the Core, easily a thousand light-years away from where any ship that could pull that speed should be.
“Vampire!” Lyon suddenly snapped. “I have anomaly separation, multiple missiles inbound.”
“Battle stations!” Harold replied. “Full active defenses; give me numbers and speed.”
His tactical officer inhaled loudly enough that the Captain could hear it, and flipped the data to his repeater screens rather than giving it aloud.
Four ships had launched sixty missiles—all of them closing on his command at point eight five light. Ten percent of lightspeed faster than his own missiles could reach, and he was supposed to have the best in the sector.
His anti-missile lasers were only going to have fractions of a second to engage either way, but fractions of a second could make all of the difference. This was going to hurt.
“Understood,” he told Lyon loudly. “You are clear to return fire, Commander Lyon. Focus on one target and give them a full salvo.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice steadying as she spoke. “Launchers one through thirty online, targeting Bandit One. Fire.”
Harold laced his fingers together and studied the screens around him. The number of launchers meant he was facing destroyers or light cruisers, but the speed of the missiles strongly implied he was facing Core ships, which…was bad.
They’d have stronger shields, better maneuverability, and more effective active defenses. Liberty probably outmassed all four ships combined, but if they were Core warships, his command was badly outgunned.
And they’d opened fire first.
“Navigation, bring us parallel to their course and activate the sprint systems,” Harold ordered after the immediate shock had faded. Even at eighty-five percent of lightspeed, they had some time to respond.
“Lyon, push the Buckler platforms out to a quarter-million kilometers,” he continued. “We’re more likely to simply lose them out there, but we need the extra depth against birds this fast.”
The drone platforms moved out, almost doubling Liberty’s visibility zone in the direction of the missiles before they engaged. Rapid-cycling lasers, unimaginably powerful to men and women who’d served in Earth’s Pre-Annexation military, opened up from the remote platforms.
It was over in seconds, faster than any human could process what was going on. Once the missiles arrived, it was all down to computers and the semi-sentient artificial intelligences managing them. Even moving the drones out gave the computers less than two seconds with the missiles in the visibility zone.
The Sword and Buckler system was designed for exactly that problem. The four drones opened fire first, their lasers cutting through the missiles the moment they emerged from the strange “fog” of hyperspace, and their sensors relaying their data back to Liberty herself.
Then the turrets opened fire, the invisible lasers drawn into the main holographic plots as clean white lines as missile after missile died.
It wasn’t enough. Harold had known it wouldn’t be enough from the moment the strangers had opened fire, and warnings flashed on his screen as missiles hammered home into his cruiser’s shields.
“Shields are holding,” Lyon reported. “Detecting no active defenses; all of our birds hit home.”
“Who the hell has point eight five missiles and no active defenses?” Harold demanded. “ETA to Centauri?”
“Twelve minutes,” Malie reported quietly before her freshly arrived boss could answer.
“Bogies launching a second salvo,” Lyon added. “I make it a fifty-second cycle time.”
That, too, didn’t add up. Liberty had launched two salvos while the bogies had launched one, but the bogies were packing missiles the Terran ship couldn’t match.
“Hold the range,” Harold ordered. “Keep pounding them and get the second layer of Bucklers out.”
“They’re clearing the boat bay in sixty seconds,” his executive officer told him, the younger man finally linking in from secondary control. Mohammed Saab was a competent officer, one of the few Militia officers of his rank who wasn’t a veteran of the UESF, but he slept more heavily than Harold preferred for a naval officer.
“Running all of the data we’re getting into the warbook,” Saab continued. “It’s not lining up with anything we know of the Core Powers—all of them have equivalent missiles, but they all have active defenses of some kind.”
“Their shields are damn tough too,” Lyon added. “My birds are smart, they’ll all have hit the same target, so we’ve pumped sixty point-seven-five missiles into something that looks destroyer-sized.”
“And they haven’t even flickered,” Harold acknowledged grimly as another set of warnings flashed across his screen. He couldn’t say the same for Liberty’s shields. She’d taken fewer hits, but an extra ten percent of lightspeed doubled the energy of the impacts.
“Second layer of Bucklers deploying.”
Another four of the drones spilled out into hyperspace, their own interface drives lighting up as they maneuvered out to protect their mothership—just barely in time to get in the way of the third salvo.
Not in time enough. The big cruiser’s shields flickered longer this time, a localized failure in the iridescent energy field that protect Harold’s command, and three of the missiles made it through.
Liberty rang like a gong, vibration tearing through the ship and sending unsecured objects flying as her armor held.
“Engineering, damage report!” Harold snapped.
“Still here,” Lieutenant Commander Min-Ji Moon replied crisply. “But diagnostics show armor plates are dented. That…is not supposed to happen. Support structure intact, some vibration damage. Sending drones to shore up.”
Harold’s ship’s armor was hyper-compressed matter, not to the level of a neutron star but certainly sufficient to withstand almost any force without breaking. For it to have dented…he’d underestimated how dangerous the incoming missiles were.
“Keep me advised,” he ordered Moon. “Lyon! I need you to kill one of these bastards for me!”
“I can’t see them well enough to know if I’m doing anything,” the tactical officer replied. “All I can say for sure is that it looks like my missiles are hitting them, but the anomaly scanner just tells me they’re still there!”
“How long until they enter Centauri now?” Harold asked.
“Eight minutes,” Lieutenant Commander Tristan Cuesta responded with a sharp glance at Malie. It looked like Harold was going to have to have a word with his senior navigator—if they lived.
“Third layer of Bucklers is out; shields held against the last salvo,” Saab replied. “That’s all of our Bucklers deployed, Captain. If they can’t take down enough to keep the shields intact…”
“Whoever these bastards are, they’re not going to let us run at this point,” Liberty’s Captain pointed out. “Moon: start feeding the plasma capacitors for the lance.”
His XO and tactical officer were silent for several seconds.
“Sir, I thought we weren’t—”
“—supposed to use the plasma lance except in critical situations,” Harold agreed with Saab. “Commander, if we can’t stop these bastards, the Centauri picket definitely won’t be able to!
“Cuesta, Malie, cut the angle, I want to drop out of hyperspace two light-seconds from the bastards. Lyon, keep pounding them with missiles. Saab, set up a proton-beam and plasma-lance alpha strike for the moment we come through the portal.”
Neither the A!Tol Imperium nor the Duchy of Terra was supposed to have plasma lances, an obsolete weapon by Core Power standards that was still almost a century ahead of the Imperium’s technology. The Duchy, however, had acquired some unusual immigrants who had been very helpful in designing their new generation of warships.
“We’re holding against the missiles now, mostly,” Saab told him after the next salvo came in. “That won’t last once we’re in normal space; hyper screws the missiles up almost as badly as it screws up our defenses.”
“That, Commander, is why I want you to kill the bastards once we’re in Centauri,” Harold ordered calmly.
Terra and Imperium by Glynn Stewart
Interested in reading more? Terra and Imperium is available now.
About the Author
Glynn Stewart is the author of Starship’s Mage, a bestselling science fiction and fantasy series where faster-than-light travel is possible–but only because of magic. His other works include science fiction series Duchy of Terra, Castle Federation and Vigilante, as well as the urban fantasy series ONSET and Changeling Blood.
Writing managed to liberate Glynn from a bleak future as an accountant. With his personality and hope for a high-tech future intact, he lives in Kitchener, Ontario with his wife, their cats, and an unstoppable writing habit.
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Other books by Glynn Stewart
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Duchy of Terra
The Terran Privateer
Duchess of Terra
Terra and Imperium
Darkness Beyond
Shield of Terra
Imperium Defiant
Relics of Eternity
Shadows of the Fall
Eyes of Tomorrow (upcoming)
Exile
Ashen Stars: an Exile Prequel Novella
Exile
Refuge
Crusade
Starship’s Mage
Starship’s Mage
Hand of Mars
Voice of Mars
Alien Arcana
Judgment of Mars
UnArcana Stars
Sword of Mars
Mountain of Mars
The Service of Mars
A Darker Magic (upcoming)
Starship’s Mage: Red Falcon
Interstellar Mage
Mage-Provocateur
Agents of Mars
Castle Federation
Space Carrier Avalon
Stellar Fox
Battle Group Avalon
Q-Ship Chameleon
Rimward Stars
Operation Medusa
A Question of Faith: a Castle Federation Novella
Peacekeepers of Sol
Raven’s Peace
The Peacekeeper Initiative
Raven’s Course (upcoming)
Scattered Stars: Conviction
Conviction
Deception
Equilibrium (upcoming)
Vigilante (With Terry Mixon)
Heart of Vengeance
Oath of Vengeance
Bound By Stars: A Vigilante Series (With Terry Mixon)
Bound By Law
Bound by Honor
Bound by Blood
ONSET
ONSET: To Serve and Protect
ONSET: My Enemy’s Enemy
ONSET: Blood of the Innocent
ONSET: Stay of Execution
Murder by Magic: an ONSET Universe Novella
Changeling Blood
Changeling’s Fealty
Hunter’s Oath
Noble’s Honor
Fae, Flames & Fedoras: a Changeling Blood Universe Novella
Fantasy Stand Alone Novels
Children of Prophecy
City in the Sky
Wardtown