The Red Admiral, page 35
Amala wondered what his attitude would be when Keller and the fleet returned.
Chapter LV
Date of the Republic October 29, 400. GSC Ballard, Trusski System
“Ye Gods,” Senior Centurion Elzbet Aukley said as the image came up on her screen. “What in creation is that?”
“That’s why I figured I should wake you up, boss,” the man said with a serious frown.
Orn Nwokolo had worked his ass off to make it to the level of Assistant Science Officer on a Galactic Survey Cruiser at such a young age. Elzbet had been partly responsible for driving him there, once she saw him work. She trusted his judgment on this sort of thing, a faith that was only reinforced when she got a look at the monitor.
“Take over down on the emergency bridge,” she decided. “Kanda needs to see this, too.”
Elzbet looked around the otherwise quiet bridge as Orn left at a run, and took a breath. It was deep in the ship’s night right now, but war was a twenty-four/seven operation. She leaned across the station and initiated a link to the commander’s suite.
“Command Centurion Lungu to the bridge,” she said, closing the channel and looking around. “Bring the vessel to yellow alert and hold there.”
Not quite shit-hitting-fan, but everyone be prepared for it in short order, so stay out of the shower and the gym.
GSC Ballard wasn’t a warship, but they were all in the navy, and even a survey cruiser had guns, Tomas Kigali’s ongoing snide commentary notwithstanding.
Elzbet logged herself into the science officer station and brought all data feeds on-line. In their time hiding at the system boundary, Ballard’s specialists had been able to covertly install a number of passive sensors, both down on the surface of the little iceball they hid behind, and in close orbit, so they could see Trusski without exposing much of themselves.
Only occasionally did the ship slip above the horizon to bring the big sensor arrays into play. Today was probably going to be one of those days. She had served with Kanda Lungu enough to know how the woman thought.
Imperial data files finally found a match with a happy chirp and began displaying specifications.
Angustidens-class. A type of vessel tagged as a Nightmaster, what the Imperials called a JumpCarrier.
Frightening.
Take a battleship bigger than anything Fribourg or Aquitaine fielded, maybe as big as a Star Controller. Along with the usual split into Buran and Energiya components for combat, this vessel carried with it four smaller ships like remorae, each classified as a Mako, or roughly somewhere around the size and capabilities of a cruiser.
A castle with four big towers on the corners, each of which could separate and fight on its own terms.
Heavier than what First Expeditionary had taken to invade Thuringwell, but Elzbet also had a pretty good idea about what an Expeditionary Cruiser like VI Victrix could do. Two of them might be a good match for four Makos, depending on luck and positioning.
“What have we got?” Kanda said as she entered the bridge, still tugging her tunic into place.
“Flagship of the enemy sector fleet just inserted into Trusski orbit,” Elzbet said. “Nwokolo spotted them when they dropped out of their in-system jump, right about where we expected them, based on Keller’s notes. Signal’s lagging about four and a half hours at this point. They appear stable now. Probably asking the locals for directions.”
“Gold star for Orn,” Kanda smiled. “You ready to peek?”
“Just waiting for the order,” Elzbet replied with a grin.
They made an excellent team, intuitively able to finish each other’s sentences like sisters at this point, even if they looked nothing alike.
Elzbet was tall and rail thin, regardless of what she ate. Her brother had always accused her of looking like an ancient scarecrow. Golden blond hair that refused to stay curled only heightened the resemblance to straw and a strawman.
Kanda Cosmina Lungu, on the other hand, was short and curvy, and as dark of skin and hair as Elzbet was washed out.
Sisters under the skin, though.
She keyed the ship-wide comm.
“All hands to action stations,” Elzbet called. “Prepare for a surveillance run.”
For the rest of the fleet, the second in command was the tactical officer for combat. On a survey cruiser, she was still 2IC, but now it was the combat of stealthy listening. At Thuringwell, it had also involved slinging a snowball of electronic hash at the opposition.
Kanda locked herself down and nodded.
“Aukley, you have Tactical,” she ordered.
Elzbet willed herself to stillness, as if she could influence the rest of Ballard by mind alone.
“Engineering, bring all power systems on-line,” she ordered.
Electronic warfare was a function of raw power, either to broadcast noise on every frequency, or cut through it. Since they were alone out here, everything could go into electronic counter measures, ECM, at the push of the big, purple icon in the middle of her console, generating an electronic smoke screen hopefully good enough for them to hide behind. At least long enough to peek-n-sneak.
The sensors themselves consumed little power, especially in passive mode, but the signal from the planet was over four hours old. That monster could have jumped out, found Ballard’s hiding spot, and be preparing to appear on top of them before Elzbet or Orn knew it was coming.
Only when the signal from engineering went green did Elzbet move to stage two.
“Nav, prepare to broach,” she ordered.
Ballard was hanging in a low orbit over their frozen world, barely held in place by just enough gravity to make the planetoid a true sphere. If they did nothing, they would orbit the star and the planet at the same speed, forever in the iceball’s shadow, as seen from Trusski.
But this was the dangerous part.
The pilot looked up and nodded his confirmation. Everybody tended to get silent on this bridge when they worked, especially when they were being sneaky. It was unnecessary, since they were light hours away, but it reflected well that everyone thought that way. There was no combat glory on a survey cruiser.
Hide with pride.
“Execute your broach, Pilot,” Elzbet ordered.
Like a whale from the lost homeworld, transplanted to so many other planets, Ballard popped over the north pole of their bolthole, bringing the sensor array into the clear like a giant, electronic blowhole. Boards that had been running at thirty percent data input suddenly hit max.
A firehose of data that the Fleet Centurion would need.
Elzbet held them there for nearly four minutes. Long enough for systems to identify the vessel as Steadfast at Dawn, according to the Imperial records accumulated on various trips to get their asses kicked at Samara too many times by this craft and another one like her.
She hoped Moirrey Kermode had a good surprise in store for those folks. That thing was a mobile combat platform, not a mere warship.
“Thoughts?” Kanda asked simply.
“Have everything I need at this point,” Elzbet replied. “Run for home?”
“Unless you have a reason to stay put?”
“Negative, Commander,” Elzbet said. “One of those Makos could take us by itself. Nav, take us down.”
He had been waiting for the order, fingers poised over the buttons with the course already laid in. On the screen, the horizon went from below them to above them, and then off to one side as Ballard pitched down hard and started to yaw starboard. In less than a minute, darkness reigned as the worldlet in front of them resumed its task as their shelter from the solar wind. And from prying eyes.
“Commander, you have the bridge,” Elzbet said.
“Roger that,” Kanda replied. “Nav, plot a course straight outward from Trusski, maintaining our sensor shield as we go. Go to JumpSpace as soon as we clear the local gravity well.”
“Already set, Commander,” he said.
Elzbet smiled. A solid crew.
Now they just needed to show all this to the Fleet Centurion.
Things were going to get rough out here.
Chapter LVI
Date of the Republic October 30, 400 Founder’s Park, Taymyr , Trusski
She hadn’t really believed the man, but Amala found herself out a back door of the palace, through a thick green belt of semi-wild plants and knee-high grass, following a path worn by feet, rather than paved.
The Khan walked with deliberation this morning. She had seen him move faster, but he seemed in no hurry, so she fell in quietly beside him, trailed as they always were by Gan Ve and a cast of rotating assistants, all maintaining a discreet distance. She wondered if they expected to be struck by lightning bolts from the Khan’s obvious rage, which slowly evaporated as he walked.
Certainly, she had expected hours of inane diplomatic maneuvering. She had prepared the darkest tea she could this morning, for the extra caffeine. And instead, she was apparently going to help Yuur feed ducks and hope she wouldn’t have to pee anytime soon.
The wonders of the diplomatic corps.
Yuur Ul paused, bringing the entire convoy to a ragged halt. He selected one of the men trailing and gestured him closer. Amala noticed that the man had a cloth bag, filled with something small and lumpy.
The Khan took it with a steady hand and then fixed a fierce gaze on the rest of the locals.
“You will await my pleasure here,” he pronounced in a voice of quiet command.
Amala held her breath as he turned to her and allowed the faintest grin for the briefest moment.
“Ambassador Bhattacharya, would you join me?” he asked in a lighter voice. Friendlier.
Amala nodded. The Khan turned his back on the rest and held out an elbow. She took it, aware that physical contact in public was generally frowned upon, except when Scholar Ve was guiding her.
She wondered what this man was up to, but he obviously wished to speak to her in private, and she had seen his displeasure at Director Xi’s behavior earlier. Perhaps she had scored more points than she had expected to today.
They walked.
The path meandered a bit before penetrating a stand of trees that then opened up into a broad clearing. A pond.
With ducks, as promised.
Fat, happy, waddling little honkers that spotted them and suddenly came running as fast as their stubby feet would carry them.
Amala went to withdraw her hand as he stopped, but he clamped his elbow against his body, holding her in place. Opening the bag, he pulled forth a handful of popcorn and tossed it into the happy melee that had suddenly surrounded them two meters deep in all directions. Handfuls went every which way, ducks chasing them hither and yon.
Finally, the bag was empty. The Khan had not spoken since dismissing his staff, so she waited patiently.
He turned and studied her face briefly.
“Today did not follow the rules of correct behavior,” he observed in a voice lighter than his words. Not quite sarcastic, but not very serious.
No response appeared to be called for, so Amala paused with an expectant look on her face.
He grinned.
“The Holding is a function of Scholars, madam,” he continued. “Fribourg, as I understand it, is a culture of aristocratic privilege, where birth plays a significant role in the path of one’s life.”
“You are generally correct,” she replied, when he paused. “There are avenues open for advancement, based on merit, but they can be tertiary. I was born farther away, in the nation known as Aquitaine, which subscribes to a more republican model. Still some level of classism, but the limits are frequently self-imposed, largely circumscribed by your dreams.”
“And thus a Warrior is capable of transforming herself into a Scholar?” he asked.
“Indeed, my Khan,” she replied. “Though I would have never expected it a year ago.”
He smiled, and began to move, drawing her along by the hand trapped against his body. A bench awaited, and she joined him seated atop the cool stone.
“In Buran, as you know The Holding, there are no families as you understand the concept,” he said. “Two people are selected to mate, based on criteria decided by the Eldest, or forbidden when they file a request. If a child is born, it becomes a ward of the state, to be raised en masse in crèche schools. There is no class, but each child is socialized properly, and then trained. As they age, their tendencies become known and they are forwarded into one of the broad schools, where they may go as far and as high as their talent and drive take them.”
Amala nodded, muffling her shock at such a culture and eager to learn more. None of the briefing documents had more than hinted at such things, but they had been prepared by naval officers expecting combat, not diplomats landing on the surface. Amala had never considered the scale of it, building an entire culture that way.
“I was selected as a Scholar early and trained as one,” the Khan mused, his eyes staring off into a distance greater than space. “Eventually, I was promoted to be a Minister of the Eighth Rank, and selected to serve the last of my active years as Khan of Trusski, before eventually retiring and returning home.”
He lapsed into silence, interrupted only by greedy waterfowl hoping that there were more treats, before they finally waddled back to the pond and began to chatter quietly amongst themselves.
At no point had his hold on her hand loosened enough for her to politely withdraw.
“But the war intrudes upon us,” the man continued. “My proper duty may very well be to take you prisoner and forward you to the agents of the Eldest, either at Samara, or all the way to the capital at Winterhome. I do not see how anything useful could come of such an action, because the Warriors have lost sight of their purpose. Director Xi sees herself as a conqueror whose glory will be found in battle, subjugating the worlds of your Imperium, rather than simply absorbing them as The Holding’s greater superior culture expresses itself.”
He finally turned to face her, his eyes coming back from wherever it was he had been in his mind.
“Scholar Bhattacharya. Amala,” he began in a sad voice that found its footing. “I will need to revoke your credentials as an Ambassador.”
She started to speak, but her overrode her.
“It is for your own safety that I must do this thing,” he said. “If I cast you out at a time when Steadfast at Dawn is not present, then you may safely escape. I had hoped that your mission could continue, but I expect Xi to return with orders from the Khan of Samara, whose authority I must recognize. Were you still here, you would be doomed to a less pleasant place than I would send you.”
Amala took a breath to center her racing thoughts. This was nowhere in anyone’s playbook of how all of this was supposed to go down. Period.
Of course, Keller had no real idea of what was likely to happen when she left Amala here. They might have shot her on sight. Or imprisoned her, hauling her off to stand before the ancient demon in literal chains. And they might have welcomed her as a friendly visitor and introduced her to butterhorns and ducks.
“So that my mission is not ranked a failure with Admiral Keller, should you be prepared to send a diplomat with me?” Amala ventured. “That the Warriors may be seen as distinct from the work of Scholars.”
What the hell. After all, what was the worst thing he could say? Yes?
The Khan’s face grew closed. Not distant, and not cold, but it turned somehow into a metallic casting of the man, rather than flesh. Even the eyes stopped moving.
“Your Admiral Keller must know what resources she is facing on this front,” he replied.
“Else she would not have provoked this confrontation?” Amala completed his thought.
“So you are a spy?” he probed.
“We are all spies, my Khan,” she said. “Keller wishes to know these people, that war on Fribourg. What would make them stop, or engage in trade, rather than conflict? She brought Fribourg to peace with Aquitaine by understanding their nature. She did not conquer them, nor they her. Instead, we have become allies. War is not a necessity here, except that Buran advances into any opening and then furiously defends their trespass. Two generations ago, M’Hanii was the border, although Buran had crossed it even then. You advance inexorably, and then wonder why your new neighbors grow fearful at your approach.”
Some small part of her mind noted that her hand was still not free, leaving her to turn enough to address the man, close enough that one might kiss the other without much effort.
She did not think he had brought her here with seduction in mind…
“We know only of Fribourg that they are barbarians from beyond the fringe of civilization,” the Khan said abruptly. “But that is the thinking of the Warriors, who have dedicated themselves to defending The Holding. I wonder if the Scholars have lost sight of themselves as well.”
Amala shrugged, as much as she could.
“Your Admiral Keller,” he said abruptly. “Is she as honorable as you say?”
“I have found her to be one of the most terrible Warriors I have ever known,” Amala admitted. “Even greater than the man who was my commander prior to volunteering for this assignment. But she also held the entire Fribourg Empire together at the moment when it could have collapsed from Buran’s meddling. And they had been her greatest foe the day before. She will treat your Scholar with all the honor you have done me, even if she must defy the Emperor himself in order to do so.”
He fell silent. She did the same. The ducks yammered happily.
“We will address this issue again,” he finally said, his voice growing heavy and sharp. “But you will not speak of it with anyone, save to prepare your people to be able to move suddenly. Secrecy will be of the essence.”
“As you command, my Khan,” Amala said.
He rose, drawing her to her feet, and finally let go the grip on her hand. He turned and offered her a bow.
“This will be a problem for Scholars to solve, Amala,” he commanded. “The Warriors have their place, but I believe that in this matter, they lead us astray.”
