A Choice of Treasons (11 page)

Maggie closed her eyes, tried to breath evenly. “Not the tanks, sir. York wouldn’t want that.”

“God damn it!” Telyekev shouted. “I’m not going to let my best line officer die just because of some silly superstition about a ghost ship.”

“It’s not a superstition with York, sir.”

Telyekev nodded, spoke more softly. “Ya, I know. And so does Miss Yan. She’s doing everything she can, but she may have no choice.”

Maggie nodded. “What should I do about Her Highness, sir?”

“Bring her up to my office immediately. Then talk to the marine noncoms and find out exactly what happened down there. And have anyone who might know anything report to Commander Joyson on the double. I want statements on record while their memories are still fresh.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Maggie said mechanically.

Telyekev broke the connection.

Temerek and the princess were still reliving old times. Maggie interrupted them politely. “Your Highness, Captain Telyekev has instructed me to escort you to his office immediately.”

“It’s about time,” the princess snarled.

“This way,” Maggie said, indicating the hatch to Hangar Control. The princess turned to leave and the churchman followed her. But before Maggie could follow them Temerek grabbed her arm. He whispered quickly, “Is it true? Is Ballin dying?”

Maggie looked closely at Temerek. The luck of a ship rode on the life or death of a
lifer
. She looked about and saw that everyone in Hangar Control was waiting on her words. “He’s in pretty bad shape: deep chest and head wounds.” She shook her head at Temerek. “And you, Dak, are a real two-faced son-of-a-bitch.”

Temerek frowned angrily. “Just because I don’t like the bastard, doesn’t mean I want him dead.”

The princess called out. “I’m waiting, Lieutenant Votak.”

“Coming, Your Highness,” Maggie said, then turned her back on Temerek and the rest of Hangar Control.

Theodore Rochefort, Lord Chancellor to His Majesty Edvard the Tenth, knocked softly on the door in front of him.

“Enter,” the intercom said.

Rochefort grasped the heavy, archaic knob, turned it, pushed the door open and stepped through, then closed it carefully behind him. He had barely turned when the emperor asked, “Well?”

“She’s alive,” Rochefort said as he crossed the room. “And apparently unharmed.”

The emperor let out a long, deep sigh. “Thank god!” he said. He buried his face in his hands, rubbed his temples and brow tiredly. When he looked up years of worry had disappeared from his face. To Rochefort it was another reminder his king was still a young man. “What about Lady d’Hart?”

“She was hurt,” Rochefort said, “But not seriously. For the time being they’re both safe.”

“Good,” the emperor said. “For a while there I thought it was all over but the executions. But they’re safe now, you say?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. They’re aboard
Invaradin
. I took the liberty of ordering Captain Telyekev to head for Dumark, and about ten minutes ago they up-transited out of the Trinivanian system.”

“Excellent, Theodore! Excellent! Did you warn Cassandra to expect them?”

“The message was sent, Your Majesty, though Her Majesty has yet to acknowledge it.”

“Is there something wrong there?”

Rochefort shook his head. “The message was coded, of course, and I placed no great priority on it. Again I felt we should avoid the possibility of unwanted attention. It will take her time to receive it, decode it, and reply. But she’ll have ample time since
Invaradin
, even at top speed, will take at least a tenday to get there.”

“Good,” the emperor said. “Thank you, Theodore. I’ll sleep better tonight than I’ve slept in a long time.”

As an afterthought, the emperor asked, “What about Aeya?”

“She too is safe,” Rochefort said. “All three of them made it out alive.”

“Good,” the emperor said. He stared at his hands for a moment, then asked, “What about casualties? What did we pay for this little victory?”

Rochefort looked at the report he held. “
Invaradin
was forced to engage a Syndonese war craft. She was victorious, but she sustained damages. Her marines had to evacuate the embassy without fire support and under heavy fire from regular troops of the Syndonese Federal Directorate. Twenty-three of your subjects died today in the service of their king, and another forty-one were seriously maimed and wounded.”

The emperor’s face aged while Rochefort spoke, and the young king said, “It’s got to be worth such a price. It must be.”

Fleet Director Add’kas’adanna stepped into the committee chamber warily. Director General Kaffair already sat at the large, old table, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wood. Operations Director Zort sat next to him, equally as nervous, though if Add’kas’adanna knew Zort he was nervous only because he sensed Kaffair’s mood. But Zort was always fearful of something or other. Zort eyed Add’kas’adanna carefully as she sat down, though neither he nor Kaffair spoke.

An instant later the door opened and Security Director Ninda stepped into the small room. “Well,” Ninda said, taking control immediately and sitting down. “Let’s get started.”

Zort leaned forward. “Where’s Theara?”

Ninda smiled. “Our esteemed Director of State is nowhere to be found. She has apparently disappeared, and not been heard from for more than a month. My people are this moment investigating the possibility of foul play.”

Zort’s ears perked up. “Is that why we’re meeting?”

Ninda dismissed Zort with a wave of his hand. “Of course not. If she’s been assassinated, then we’ll make some effort to identify and execute the assassins, and we’ll find another Director of State. If not . . . well events are proceeding without her.”

That was an invitation for someone to ask the obvious. “What events?” Zort demanded.

Kaffair spoke for the first time. “Obviously, this thing on Trinivan.”

“Exactly,” Ninda said.

“What thing on Trinivan?” Zort pleaded, looking nervously from one to the other, foolishly unable to see the battle lines being drawn between Kaffair and Ninda.

Ninda gave a fairly concise account of the events surrounding the evacuation of the embassy on Trinivan. From what Add’kas’adanna could tell he injected only a few inaccuracies. He finished with “. . . We have yet to identify the Imperial warship involved.”

Add’kas’adanna shrugged, tossed out, “
Invaradin
—one of their heavy cruisers.”

Ninda and Kaffair both looked at her sidelong. It would have been wiser to keep her mouth shut. These politicians wanted an obedient Fleet Director, one who kept her thoughts limited to executing their policies. They really didn’t trust a Kinathin breed warrior, and Ninda, in particular, didn’t like her to think for herself.

Zort saved her. “So what are we going to do about it?”

Ninda leaned forward. “We have an opportunity to capture a princess of the royal blood, the emperor’s only daughter.”

“And what would that buy us?” Kaffair asked. “I doubt she can provide us with any real information . . .”

Add’kas’adanna tuned Kaffair’s words out, reached inside for the old training. She concentrated on the disciplines of thought construct, built the logical sub-mind carefully, then released it and experienced the odd sense of schizophrenia that accompanied the existence of a separate consciousness within her. It would view the proceedings distantly, allowing her to participate without the need to focus elsewhere, tallying subtle observations of breathing and gesture without the distractions inherent in being a participant.

The sub-mind focused on Ninda and Kaffair, on their eyes, their hands, listened to the tenor of their voices, the tempo, the rhythm. The two men argued back and forth, but there was a dispute here that had nothing to do with their words, a struggle between two old enemies concerning something neither was yet willing to reveal. Kaffair knew something—No! He was up to something, and Ninda was trying to block him. The imperial princess meant nothing,
Invaradin
meant nothing, but somehow they were keys in a power struggle between these two men. And until Add’kas’adanna knew more, she would be foolish to get involved.

“That’s a waste,” Kaffair argued.

“Not if we are successful,” Ninda shot back. “I call for a vote.”

That brought Add’kas’adanna back to the moment. “This is a military matter,” Ninda continued. “And I propose we proceed as such.”

“And I propose we let it alone,” Kaffair said coldly.

They both looked at Zort, who, as always, immediately sided with Ninda. “We proceed,” he said.

And then the three of them looked to Add’kas’adanna. Her vote was a foregone conclusion. In their eyes she would not dare oppose Ninda, for she was part of his power block, and a Kinathin dare not think for herself. But in fact it was none of that; it was
kith’ain
, which none of them understood.

She didn’t yet know enough to oppose Ninda, and in any case, with Theara absent, it would only bring about a tie in the vote, a stalemate. And since the question was a military one, the decision would fall to her, and she would have to declare herself, and she didn’t know enough yet to do that. She nodded, did what was expected. “We proceed.”

“It’s done then,” Ninda said, standing triumphantly. He looked at Add’kas’adanna. “You’ll see to the details.”

She nodded.

“Good. Then we are adjourned.”

Captain Jewel Thaaline, commanding officer of the
Pride of Altalane
, stared at one of her screens and swore silently to herself. She was a loyal officer with more than thirty-two years of service in the Federal Directorate of the Republic of Syndon, and she’d be damned if she would obey such orders without one hell of a good reason. Not now. Not ever.

“Captain,” her first officer Ducan Soe said. “I’ve got Subsector Operations on line. The CO there is Illcall Terman and he’s—”

“I know,” she growled. “Just give me the damn line.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Soe said coldly.

She’d hurt his feelings, she knew. She’d have to make it up to him later, but for the moment Terman was on her screen. “Jewel,” he said happily. “What’s the occasion? We haven’t spoken in—”

“Cut the crap, Ill,” she snapped. “You know goddamn well why I’m calling. I want to know what-the-hell kind of orders you’re sending me?”

“Now calm down Jewel—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. I’m damn mad and I’m going to stay mad—”

Terman interrupted her angrily. “Well don’t start barking at me. I was told to send in the nearest hunter-killer and you’re it.”

“Send someone else.”

“Damn it, Jewel! I’m sending everyone else. The only ships I haven’t sent in yet are the ships I can’t communicate with because they’re still in transition, but as soon as they down-transit they get the same orders as you. I’ve got my orders straight from Directorate Central Operations, and they say to divert every available warship into this. That means you and a lot of others.”

Jewel’s anger dissipated. “Why’s DCO getting involved in Subsector Operations?”

Terman shrugged. “Hell if I know. Maybe something big. Late yesterday an imperial cruiser burned one of our destroyers off Trinivan and DCO wants that cruiser bad. They don’t have a positive ID but they think it was H.M.S.
Invaradin
. They’d like to take her intact, but they know that’s impossible so they’ll be happy if you just put a torpedo in her; a big one.”

“But damn it, Ill,” Jewel pleaded. “We’ve just spent a whole month drifting into position. We’re right in the middle of the Cathan-Dumark shipping lane and the damn
impers
don’t even know we’re here. There’s likely to be a big convoy along any day now. We could take out ten, maybe twenty million tonnes of shipping.”

“I’m sorry, Jewel.” Terman looked none too happy himself. “DCO didn’t leave anything up to me. They think
Invaradin’s
headed for Dumark and they want you there.”

“Two days,” she pleaded. “Just give me two days.”

Terman shook his head. “DCO’s orders are quite specific. You move out now.”

“Damn it! The
Pride’s
just a fifty-man hunter-killer. We can’t take on an imperial cruiser.”

Terman shook his head. “Now you’re the one that’s full of crap, Jewel. You’ve done it before. But in any case you’re the closest ship we’ve got to Dumark; you’re behind their lines and well hidden. Just try to sneak into the Dumark system quietly and observe. See if you can be there before that cruiser arrives and get a positive ID on her. Then wait for some of our heavy stuff to show up.”

“Why all the fuss over this damn cruiser?” she asked. “One of them burned one of us. So what? Happens every day. We’ll burn one of them tomorrow.”

Terman shook his head. “There’s more to it than that, Jewel. But DCO’s not talking so your guess is as good as mine.”