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“We run, Jamy. We boot it to the hyperlimit and do a Crazy Ivan jump. It’s the only way we’ll escape intact.”
Another pause. “Aren’t you being rather pessimistic?”
“I’m being a realist. This situation is giving me an acute case of déja vu because I’ve seen a scenario much like it before, during the war, and it involved Iolanthe along with several frigates.”
Daver chuckled.
“One might almost believe you’re suffering from a guilty conscience. Or are you having regrets about your foray into human trafficking, something the Navy thoroughly abhors? I’m fairly sure your bogeyman, Dunmoore, wouldn’t hesitate to space you and your crews without even a drumhead court-martial.”
“Considering those overfed, over-entitled, useless drones are already on the surface, she’d have a hard time justifying summary execution, even to herself. I know Dunmoore, and she’s more scrupulous than most of her detractors would admit. Besides, I’m overjoyed at the notion some of the wealthiest humans alive will finally be put to work. No, I don’t regret bringing them here instead of killing them like Sara Lauzier wanted. Long-term suffering will help atone for their misdeeds. A quick death would have been overly merciful.”
She shook her head.
“Though I don’t rue my own actions, I’m beginning to believe taking this contract was a bad idea. Now that I’ve thought things over, it’s clear the Special Security Bureau hired us at Lauzier’s behest, which makes it political as hell. And that means we extract and run until things blow over.”
“The Commonwealth government has the Navy tightly leashed and won’t let it operate willy-nilly in the Zone — the Athena rescue mission was a one-off. An anti-piracy cruise here and there, sure, but an entire squadron coming after you?”
“We’re living in Special Operations territory, Jamy. That means the normal rules don’t apply out here. But they left us alone until we took the Athena contract because we didn’t represent a threat to shipping inside the Commonwealth sphere. Yet now, we’re marked for termination with extreme prejudice. I’m telling you, that’s a Navy Q ship up there, and it can only be Iolanthe. She’s here for us. There can be no other explanation.”
“So, you run. Then what? We’re waiting to hear about a new contract for the private military division. If you’re in the middle of nowhere, unreachable by subspace radio, we might lose the contract, which means more profits thrown away because we fear the Navy. Let me speak with Galad and see what he thinks. Abaddon has teeth. I doubt the officer in command will want scratch marks on his or her ships’ hulls, let alone suffer real damage from orbital defense platforms merely to put you out of business or recover thirty-six people without whom the Commonwealth is better off. Besides, fleeing is the surest way of suggesting guilt. Our ships are almost indistinguishable from—”
“No, they’re not. Did you forget about emission signatures? Dunmoore watched Vuko long enough to identify her anywhere. She may not have clean scans on Mahigan, Nashoba, and Amarog, because we booted it out of the Galadiman system fast enough, but she can nail them with a reasonable level of confidence. I’ll bet my next contract performance bonus that the ships hiding in geosync have the emission signatures Dunmoore took during the Athena business, and they’ve identified the four ships I just named.”
“Alright. I’ll ask again. What will you do?” Daver sounded just a tad exasperated.
“Break out of orbit as if things were normal and see what happens. They’ll either light up, or they won’t. In the latter case, it might prove me paranoid, which should please you. If they light up, I’ll simply accelerate and make for the hyperlimit. A big ship like Iolanthe won’t catch my sloops. She can’t put out enough gees.”
“And go where?”
Technically, she reported to the Board of Directors, just like Daver, and didn’t need his approval on anything other than Vuko’s status. But considering the informal power he wielded within the organization as a plank owner, keeping him onside and showing a modicum of deference didn’t hurt.
“Cullan, I suppose. If this new contract is what I think it is, we’ll be well placed there. I’ll take Vuko with me if you don’t mind. I’d rather Drex not find himself under interrogation again.”
“Agreed on both counts. You should find a few more of our ships at Cullan anyway, waiting for orders. And consider Vuko attached to your squadron until further notice. Besides, with Dunmoore spacing his illegal cargo at Kilia, it’s best we don’t parade him in front of our shipping clients for a while.”
“I suppose the subspace link between here, there, and Kilia is still operational.”
“It is. The local scum knows better than to hunt for our interstellar relays. Please wait until I’m on the ground before doing anything, just in case our hidden visitors are overly trigger happy.”
“Of course.”
“Daver, out.”
“Signals, establish an optical comlink with Vuko, Nashoba, and Amarog. Officer of the watch, prepare a navigation plot that takes us out of orbit once we’re on the opposite side of Abaddon from Rakka, then as directly as possible to the hyperlimit.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
**
Gregor Pushkin found a preoccupied Dunmoore pacing her day cabin, lost in thought when he arrived for their afternoon game of chess — something to take their minds off the waiting.
“Looks like you’re chewing on a problem, Admiral,” he said, retrieving the chess set from a sideboard.
“My gut instinct is overactive right now, Gregor. I think someone spotted us.”
“How so?”
“No idea. But every one of the crewmembers aboard those Confederacy ships served in the Fleet, so we’re not dealing with piratical amateurs whose idea of standing watch is remaining sober. Sneaking into orbit under silent running can generate sensor ghosts, if only because of the extremely close range. Then there’s the inevitable fact that our hulls will occlude the background stars, and it only takes a properly programmed sensor covering the right arc of space at the right time. But you know that.”
She stopped pacing and watched him set up the board on her dining table.
“And you’re a little more antsy than usual.” He picked up two pawns, one white, one black. “You won our last game, so it’s your pick.”
“I’ll let you open this time.” She took a chair across from him. “Yes, I’m a little antsier. Seventy ships in orbit, at least eight of them Shrehari, along with the orbitals — that’s a lot of potential for catastrophic collateral damage. Especially considering how many of the non-Shrehari vessels are legitimate traders and passenger transports.”
“No arguments here, sir. The old shoot them to smithereens and let the Almighty sort them out tactic isn’t considered acceptable anymore.”
Pushkin made the opening move.
“That’s the biggest problem with the so-called savage wars of peace, Gregor.” Dunmoore picked up a pawn and set it down. “It’s not only the whole idiotic doctrine of proportionality our so-called intellectuals — and you know what they’re defined as — want to see as the postwar standard. Tip-toeing around the various species of pirates, would-be revolutionaries, organized criminals, and the like never works as either a remedy or a deterrent. And proportionality will always take a backseat to the reality that only bringing a plasma cannon to a knife fight will ensure lasting consequences. As a wise man once said, they put one of ours in the sickbay; we send one of theirs to hell.”
Pushkin gave her a strange look.
“Where did that come from?”
“Sorry. I was just channeling a debate I once had with an academic from Sanctum University while at the War College. We were addressing the sort of situation the 101st faces right now. Let’s just say the way I demolished his arguments ensured I’d never be welcome at the University in any capacity.”
A wry smile creased Pushkin’s face.
“You were making friends everywhere back then, weren’t you?”
“I think I was becoming more and more frustrated with the general postwar attitude in the Fleet, the government, and in that particular instance, academia. The dawning realization I probably wouldn’t get my star back didn’t help.” Dunmoore shrugged. “Oh, well. That’s in the past. However, here, today, I face several decisions, any of which can generate a whole host of second and third-order effects that could resonate for years.”
Pushkin moved one of his knights.
“I hear you. It was so much simpler during the war. But I know you’ll make the right choices. You always do.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he raised a hand and added, “Except, perhaps in matters affecting you personally.”
They played on in silence for a few minutes, then he asked, “Any idea what your next move will be? The staff is running a betting pool.”
Dunmoore gave him a hard stare.
“Gambling in my flagship?”
“Just a friendly game for bragging rights.”
At that moment, Dunmoore’s communicator chimed. She picked it up and glanced at the display, then thumb it on.
“Dunmoore here.”
“Flag CIC, sir. We intercepted a communication between a Confederacy sloop and a shuttle heading for Rakka, one of the two that left the very same ship in the last half hour. They encrypted the stream with an algorithm that seems derived from the standard Navy codes used at the end of the war. Commander Khanjan and Chief Cazano are working on cracking it right now.”
“Isn’t that fascinating? And the other shuttle?”
“Headed for Vuko,” Lieutenant Commander Zakaria replied. “I’ve marked the sloop in question as a potential command ship.”
“Thank you.”
“That was it, Admiral.”
“Dunmoore, out.”
She exchanged a glance with Pushkin.
“Interesting.”
“Were you perchance hoping for the Howlers to slowly reveal themselves while we sit here quietly, spying on them? Is that really why you’re antsy?”
“I was hoping, and yes, I know hope is not a valid course of action, but we can afford to spend time lurking. If we crack their encryption, perhaps we’ll learn something useful.” She turned her eyes back on the board. “And I think you’ve boxed me in. Shall I concede now, or do you want to utter those infamous words, check-mate?”
“I’ll take the concession. Best two out of three again?”
“Sure. Until Attar and Chief Cazano decrypt that stream or something else of note happens, you and I have little to do.” Dunmoore tipped her king over, and Pushkin reset the board.
After two more games, she stood and bowed her head.
“You beat me two out of three. The universe is in balance once more, sensei.”
Pushkin let out a guffaw. “The pupil has become the master’s equal. That last game was a squeaker.”
Dunmoore’s communicator chirped again, and she opened a link.
“We decrypted the stream, Admiral. They’re using one of the Theta serials from eight years ago as a base — Theta-Three-Seven-One, which was retired long ago. Whoever adapted it didn’t go quite far enough to mask its origins, which gave us a way in.” Lieutenant Commander Khanjan sounded more excited than she’d ever heard him, even though most wouldn’t have noticed. “Sure, it’ll foil anyone in the Zone, Shrehari included, but not Iolanthe’s sheer computing power and her library of obsolete Theta serials.”
“Can you feed it to my day cabin?”
“It’s coming right up, sir. I gather Captain Pushkin is with you?”
“He is. We’ll watch together now that he’s beaten me at chess again.”
Khanjan chuckled.
“I feel for you, Admiral. He reminds each of us at least once a week that he’s a master.”
“And play against you, I’ll stay one,” Pushkin growled in a voice loud enough to reach Dunmoore’s communicator.
“I’ve queued the stream to your day cabin terminal, sir. So enjoy, because we certainly did.”
Pushkin allowed himself an amused snort at Khanjan’s tone as he glanced at Dunmoore. “Sounds like we’re in for a treat.”