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“Oliver! Nice of you to call in person.”
“So, did you find them?” Harmel gave her an expectant look.
Dunmoore nodded.
“All thirty-six, safe and sound, enjoying the luxury of Iolanthe’s Marine barracks. We made a minor detour on the way back and ensured the mercenaries who carried out Athena’s hijacking won’t do so again. They’re still alive but no longer own anything more than a handful of shuttlecraft. That last bit is classified information, by the way, so no sharing with anyone, not even Admiral Zantas, unless HQ clears it.”
“Mum’s the word.” He mimed zipping his lips shut. “I’m calling for a few things. First, you can dock your four ships if you like. There’s only one ship in port right now, the civilian yacht that’ll take your passengers home. No others are expected for at least two weeks, and I can accommodate a few unexpected arrivals anyhow.”
“That’s good news. I’d like to give my crews shore leave on the surface after their ships are provisioned.”
“Since you’ll be the only ones, provisioning will be quick. Second thing, I’d like to invite you, your captains, and your principal staff officers to join me and my staff for the evening meal in Starbase 30’s wardroom tonight, say eighteen-hundred.”
She inclined her head.
“I accept with pleasure.”
“Finally, I received a private, encrypted message for you from Earth. It bears Fleet HQ markers. If you’re ready, I can see it’s sent to Iolanthe right away.”
“Please do so.”
“And that was all I had. So welcome home — seeing as how this is the 101st’s home port, and we’ll see each other at eighteen-hundred hours.”
“Thanks, Oliver.”
“Harmel, out.”
Moments later, her communicator chimed — the message from Earth pushed into her queue by the flag CIC. She entered her personal decryption key and linked the communicator with her day cabin display. The Fleet’s crossed swords, anchor, and starburst insignia appeared for a few seconds before fading away, replaced by the smiling faces of Rear Admiral Kathryn Kowalski and Commodore Ezekiel Holt, sitting side-by-side at a small office table.
“Hi Siobhan,” the former said. “If you’re watching this, you’ve arrived home with the rescuees after another successful mission. I don’t know if you figured it out, but Zeke and I were your HQ controllers for both the Athena recovery and this latest one.”
“What she means,” Holt jerked a thumb at Kowalski, “is she’s responsible for briefly reviving Task Force Luckner, the creation of the 101st Battle Group, and you finally getting the stars that should have graced your tunic collar for years by now.”
“I couldn’t do it without Zeke’s almost supernatural counterintelligence skills. He laid a major hex on the SSB. Anyway, congratulations on pulling it off. You haven’t lost your touch. Keep in mind there are people here at Fleet HQ who don’t like the taste of crow, and I’m afraid you’ve not made new friends. But the important thing is you’re still in uniform, in command of your own battle group, and capable of cleaning up the Rim Sector frontier. As you’ll find out when the official messages arrive, the 101st reports to SOCOM now, but the CNO will be assigning your missions. And since I’m the CNO’s director for the Rim Sector, they’ll be coming from me.”
“A few things you should realize,” Holt said when Kowalski nodded at him. “You’ve gained implacable enemies in the persons of Sara Lauzier and SSB Director General Blayne Hersom. Both blame you, along with us two, for ruining their operation. Yes, that would be the same Blayne Hersom you stared down on Raijin’s moon, Temar, in the Hecate system long ago. Apparently, our relieving him of political prisoners didn’t stunt his career. I don’t think either will do something stupid, mainly because we — the Fleet — agreed we wouldn’t pursue the matter of Sara Lauzier’s involvement in the Athena incident. I’m sure you can figure out why. But we will add this to her dossier, and she’ll eventually reap the consequences of her acts. In the meantime, your 101st can curtail the SSB’s shenanigans in the Zone and make them bleed both resources and funds. We now know they gave the Confederacy of the Howling Stars start-up funding and used the Howlers for various illegal schemes in the Rim Sector and beyond. Consider them your primary target and use extreme prejudice. You have complete freedom of operation.”
“We’re even working on getting you a reinforced company of Special Forces Marines you can use for surgical strikes. Yes, that’s how serious Fleet HQ perceives the growing threat from the Zone and the political unrest it generates.” Kowalski gestured at Holt. “You have parting words, I believe?”
“Yes. Although I just said I don’t believe either Hersom or Lauzier will do anything stupid, the desire to remove a major irritant on the frontier and teach her quasi-untouchable friends in Geneva a lesson might become overwhelming. Especially since they’re the sort who never forgive and never forget. Keep an eye out for potential threats when you step off Iolanthe, or better yet, make sure you use bodyguards. And that’s it. Hopefully, we’ll see each other again at some point, but I’m never getting out of this hellhole, so it’ll wait until you join us. Congratulations on a perfect job, and may you rack up many more such victories.”
“I second Zeke’s sentiments. Until we meet again.”
The image faded, leaving Dunmoore to stare at a blank screen. The past had a habit of catching up with her — Blayne Hersom this time. Another whom she’d forced into cooperation by threatening unrestrained violence. And now he headed the fearsome SSB, accountable only to the SecGen whose daughter apparently pulled its strings on Earth. Wonderful.
Once Iolanthe was securely docked on one of Starbase 30’s arms, Dunmoore watched her passengers leave via the airlock video pickup. She’d debated seeing them off in person, then decided against it. The idea of granting individuals she privately considered useless at best and malignant at worst, the dignity of a flag officer’s farewell grated on her sense of self-respect.
Trevane Devall must have felt the same because the officer of the watch saw them over the brow and handed responsibility for their transfer to a lieutenant wearing a Starbase 30 patch on his uniform tunic. The yacht undocked less than thirty minutes later and accelerated for the hyperlimit, leaving Dunmoore with a sense of relief. If she never saw their like again, it would be too soon.
Her cabin door chimed, and she glanced away from the screen.
“Enter.”
It slid aside, admitting Gregor Pushkin.
“Looks like we need to dust off our old SOCOM badges, Admiral. Orders just came in placing the 101st under its command.”
“That was quick. If you’re not busy, grab a seat. I received personal mail from Kathryn Kowalski and Zeke Holt.”
When Pushkin was ensconced in a chair facing the main display, she re-ran the missive. Once it stopped, he glanced at her over his shoulder.
“Interesting. How did we honest naval officers end up playing dirty politics? Kathryn and Zeke, I can understand. They’re stuck on Earth. But you and I?”
She gave him a helpless shrug.
“Comes with working for SOCOM. The 101st was specifically set up to tackle politically sensitive issues on the frontiers and in the Zone. We’re just getting started in the fine art of annoying people. Might as well enjoy the ride. This could be the most fun since the war.”
“There’s no could about it, Admiral.”
“Oh, before I forget, our ship captains, you, I, and the four lieutenant commanders are dining with Admiral Hormel and his senior staff officers in the base wardroom at eighteen-hundred tonight. Since Oliver mentioned nothing specific, it’ll be in the dress of the day. I think this will be a working dinner, a sort of getting to know us and our needs since we’re a lodger unit here and haven’t properly met our counterparts yet.”
“I’ll tell everyone.” A frown creased his forehead. “Do you really think this Hersom character might put a hit out on you?”
Dunmoore made a skeptical grimace.
“No idea. He’s a psychopath, of course, that I understood when I met him on Temar. It means he’d do it if expedient and in pursuit of his goals.”
“What if his goal is getting you out of the way?”
“Then I’ll need to be on my guard whenever I’m away from Iolanthe.”
“That’s hardly a way to live.”
“It’ll pass in time, once Hersom and the other swamp creatures who dislike me face fresh problems caused by different annoyances.”
“Still. We need to find you a bodyguard. A shame Vincenzo’s not anywhere nearby. He’d take a plasma round for you without even thinking.”
Dunmoore held up her hand.
“Let’s not go down that rabbit hole. Rear admirals don’t go around their home ports with an armed escort.”
“And what about shore leave? Or will you stay aboard and spend ten days reading?”
“I hadn’t given it any thought if truth be told. On Caledonia, I simply headed south, far away from Sanctum, and found myself a warm, quiet spot where the Navy couldn’t track me down.”
Pushkin gave her a droll look.
“We realized that after the first few times.”
“Post the orders assigning us to SOCOM. Then, chief Guthren can speak with base supply and get enough badges fabricated for those who need them, plus spares. Was there anything else?”
“Other than pleasure at our passengers being outbound, no. Shall Trevane and I wait for you at the main airlock at seventeen-forty-five?”
“Sure.”
But the moment Dunmoore reached said airlock at the appointed time, she realized she should have known better. All four of her ship captains, her flag captain, and her four principal staff officers were there, so they would march through Starbase 30 and enter the wardroom as a group. It was Pushkin’s doing without a doubt, based on the hoary logic that the larger a flag officer’s posse, the more important she was. Tongue in cheek, of course, since he didn’t believe it but enjoyed teasing her.
She gave him a stern look, then smiled at the assembled officers.
“Good evening. Thank you for joining me. As Captain Pushkin no doubt mentioned, I think this will be a working dinner, so please get acquainted with Admiral Hormel’s staff and that of Starbase 30. Since we’ve moved in with them, we’ll need their goodwill to work effectively, and that goes especially for my staff officers.”
“We’re going to make best friends tonight, Admiral, don’t you fear,” Pushkin replied. “And just so you’re in the loop, I found out half an hour ago that Admiral Hormel’s command chief petty officer will be entertaining Mister Guthren, our coxswains, and our staff chiefs in his mess.”
“Good. As important as relations are among senior officers, those among chiefs are even more vital.” Her pronouncement elicited wise nods from all present. “Alright. Shall we?”