A Rising Thunder-ARC (56 page)

“You’re making my head hurt, Captain,” Okiku complained, and he snorted.

“I had my own share of headaches trying to work my way through all of this in the first place, Colonel Okiku,” he assured her.

“So where is all of it going?” she asked.

“Until the Manties and the Havenites dropped their little bombshell about this ‘Mesan Alignment,’ I really only had what I suppose you’d have to call a gut feeling,” he said. “The only thing I could come up with was that for some reason whoever was really orchestrating all of this wanted the League involved. And the truth is we’ve become so frigging corrupt it wouldn’t have been all that hard to arrange, especially when no one had any reason to see this coming. Just three or four senior flag officers could have put the whole thing together, if they were the right senior officers. A half-dozen would’ve been more than enough.

“But if whoever the plotters were realized how thoroughly we were outclassed by the Manties, then they couldn’t have expected us to take them out. Not quickly or cleanly, anyway. Not without a hell of a lot of losses of our own. So why throw us into the mix at all?

“I’d already begun to suspect—that ‘gut feeling’ I mentioned—that the Manties weren’t the real target. Or, at least, not the
only
target. And like I told Irene at the time, the only other target on the range was us. It seemed ridiculous, but it was the only conclusion I could come up with.

“And then Pritchart announced there was this vast interstellar conspiracy which had targeted both the Star Empire and the Republic of Haven. One which—assuming there was any real basis for her claims—was obviously manipulating the League’s policies. And one which obviously had its own idea of how the galaxy’s power structure should be arranged…which probably didn’t include the conspirators’ playing second fiddle to the League indefinitely.”

“Are you seriously suggesting that this conspiracy the Manties and the Havenites are talking about not only exists but is also aimed at destroying the
Solarian League
, as well as the Manties?”

“I’m not sure it wants to
destroy
the League,” al-Fanudahi responded. “I do think it wants to cripple us, maybe break us up, though.” He waved both hands in frustration. “Look at what’s happening! The Navy’s taking it in the ear; the Manties’ closure of the wormhole networks means the League’s economy is about to be hammered like it’s never been hammered before; and we’re heading into a full-blown constitutional crisis. For the first time in T-centuries, people are actually talking about the
Constitution
…and the fact that we haven’t paid any damned attention to it in the last six or seven hundred years. And don’t think for a minute that the beating we’ve taken from the Manties isn’t going to send tidal waves through the Verge and the Protectorates, Colonel Okiku. It is—believe me, it is! And when all hell breaks loose out there, and when the Core Worlds start looking at the worst recession they’ve ever seen and blaming it all on the policy of a bunch of unelected bureaucrats, I think it’s entirely possible we’re going to start shedding member systems. For that matter, I think it’s possible we’re going to see the entire federal government melt down completely. I know that seems preposterous—we’re talking about the
Solarian League—
but it really could happen.”

He stopped talking, and silence hovered in the records storage room for long, fragile seconds. Then Okiku shook her head.

“My God,” she said softly. “No wonder people think you’re a fucking lunatic! But you really could be right.” She shook her head again, her expression an odd mix of wonder and fear. “You could.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like better than to be
wrong
,” he told her equally softly.

“So why bring
me
in on it?” she asked after a moment. “Trust me, I’m not going to be thanking you for it. If there’s anything at all to this theory of yours, whoever the conspirators are—‘Mesan Alignment’ or someone else entirely—they sure as hell aren’t shy about killing people. I’d just as soon not give them a reason to add me to their list.”

“You and me both,” al-Fanudahi said feelingly. Then he shrugged. “The problem is, they have to be tied in at the highest levels, and I don’t have a clue how to find them. I’m an intelligence analyst, not a criminal investigator. I truly think—I’m truly
afraid
—I’m onto something here, but I don’t have a clue how to go about
investigating
it, and the Office of Counter Intelligence has been basically a place to park people with more family connections than competence for decades. Rear Admiral Yau’s abilities are…less than stellar, let’s say, and the rest of his section takes its cue from him. For that matter, if I were out to engineer the covert penetration of another navy, the very first place I’d set up shop would be inside that other navy’s counter intelligence service in order to make sure my operatives didn’t get caught. I don’t dare hand this to OCI without at least some idea of who’s in whose pocket, and I can’t just go to Justice or hand it over to the JAG for investigation without going to OCI first. The procedures simply aren’t there, and it would just get kicked back to Yau, probably with a pretty pointed observation that I should have gone through channels in the first place. So I need your expertise, and I need it without anyone else’s knowing we’ve talked.”

“You are
so
going to get all of us killed,” Okiku said grimly.

“It may actually be even worse than you know,” he said, and shrugged as her eyes narrowed once more. “It hasn’t hit the ‘faxes yet, but they’re not going to be able to hold it for long.”

“Hold
what
for long?” she demanded.

“I think I’ve figured out who the top level of the Alignment’s Navy contacts was,” he told her. “And it looks to me like there may actually be something to the Manties’—and the Havenites’—wild stories about some kind of nanotech that can control minds and make people do things.”

“Oh, give me a break!” Okiku’s tone was testier than it might have been, probably in reaction to her own inner tension, he thought. “I may grant you vast interstellar conspiracies, but
mind control?
Please!”

“I felt the same way,” al-Fanudahi said. “But that was before I found out Admiral Rajampet put a pulser in his mouth and pulled the trigger last night.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Fleet Admiral Winston Seth Kingsford was barely half the age Rajampet Kaushal Rajani had attained, Innokentiy Kolokoltsov thought as Kingsford stepped into his office. He was also at least twice Rajampet’s size.

And unlike Rajani, he’s still alive
, Kolokoltsov reflected.
Which may or may not be a good thing
.

“Mr. Permanent Senior Undersecretary,” the fleet admiral said respectfully, and Kolokoltsov nodded back to him.

“Fleet Admiral Kingsford. Thank you for coming so promptly. I didn’t really expect you to be able to get here for another couple of hours.”

“I won’t pretend things aren’t still in an uproar at the Admiralty,” Kingsford said. “There’s not much I can contribute there at the moment, though, and it seemed important to get over here and touch base with you as quickly as possible.” His mouth twisted briefly. “Admiral Rajampet’s suicide leaves a lot of things up in the air at the worst possible moment.”

Kingsford, Kolokoltsov thought, had a genuine gift for summing up the obvious. Then the permanent senior undersecretary kicked himself mentally. Nobody else was doing any better coping with Rajampet’s death. Irritating as the man had been, he’d also been a serving officer of the Solarian League Navy for the better part of a hundred and ten T-years and chief of naval operations for almost four decades. Getting used to his absence was going to take time.

But at least Kingsford—or
anyone,
really—is bound to be an improvement!

“Please, sit down, Fleet Admiral,” he said, and watched Kingsford seat himself. Once the naval officer had settled, Kolokoltsov sat back down himself and cocked his head. “I understand you’re Admiral Rajampet’s proper successor?”

“I was next in seniority, and that makes me the
acting
CNO, Sir,” Kingsford replied. “Filling the post on a permanent basis is a bit more complicated. Ministry of Defense Taketomo needs to formally nominate someone for the position. Then, under the Constitution, the Assembly has to confirm the nomination.”

He actually said that with a straight face, Kolokoltsov observed. Ministry of Defense Taketomo Kunimichi was a complete nonentity in terms of real power. He’d nominate whoever Kolokoltsov and his colleagues suggested, and “Assembly confirmation” would follow with automatic precision.

“I see.” The permanent senior undersecretary of state smiled. “Given the fact that it’s been—what? Thirty-seven T-years?—since we last had to replace a chief of naval operations, everyone’s going to be a little rusty on the procedure, I suppose. I think we can assume your acting status will be confirmed and made permanent as soon as possible.”

“I appreciate that, Sir,” Kingsford said, then allowed himself a wry smile of his own. “Under the circumstances, I’m not sure it’s going to be a very
enjoyable
job, you understand.”

“Oh, believe me, I understand. I understand completely.”

There was silence for a moment, then Kolokoltsov leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers across his chest.

“I realize you’ve been acting CNO for less than twelve hours, Fleet Admiral, and I don’t want to pressure you unduly. At the same time, you were Battle Fleet’s commanding officer, and I have to assume you’ve worked closely with Fleet Admiral Rajampet for some time. Frankly, that continuity is one of the reasons I believe Minister Taketomo will definitely nominate you as Fleet Admiral Rajampet’s replacement. I hope it also means you’re in a position to give us your evaluation of the current military situation and of how you think we should best proceed.”

“That’s a pretty steep order, Mr. Permanent Senior Undersecretary,” Kingsford responded after a moment. “And a bit of an awkward one, too, given that Fleet Admiral Rajampet and I weren’t in complete agreement on either of those points.”

“No?” Kolokoltsov leaned a bit further back. “How so?”

“I had some reservations about Operation Raging Justice,” Kingsford said. “I didn’t
oppose
it. In retrospect, I wish I had, but at the time it was first discussed, I only suggested that rushing it as much as we did might not be the best approach. Rajani—Fleet Admiral Rajampet, I mean—scented a possible opening and wanted to get his blow in as quickly as possible, before the Manties had time to recover from the attack on their home system. I understood the logic, but I felt the inevitable delay in projecting an attack over that great an interstellar distance was likely to give the enemy too much time to recover his strategic balance.

“In fairness, I have to admit my reservations were nowhere near as pronounced as what I’ve just said might indicate. For one thing, I had no more idea than anyone else that the Havenites might actually ally themselves to the Manties. I don’t think
anybody
saw that one coming. I was simply concerned about getting in too deeply too quickly.” He shrugged. “In my worst nightmares, I never envisioned anything as disastrous as what happened to Fleet Admiral Filareta, however. It would be grossly unfair to Rajani—and, for that matter, to Filareta—to pretend I had any better idea of what was going to happen than they did.”

“Then why raise the point at all?” Kolokoltsov inquired.

“Because the reason I had my reservations about Operation Raging Justice is that I believed there was rather more truth—or
could
be, at any rate—than Rajani did to the stories about Manticoran missile ranges. I hadn’t realized how thoroughly they appear to have transitioned to pod-launched missiles, or that they’d incorporated an FTL component into their fire control, but I did think evidence suggested they truly had significantly increased their missiles’ effective range. Under the circumstances, I would have preferred to test the waters a little before we committed a wall of battle to action. Better to have lost a few battlecruisers here or there than to have three or four hundred SDs blown out of space.”

“I see.” Kolokoltsov wondered how much of that was true and how much spin. On the other hand, Kingsford had been around long enough to know how the game was played. He wouldn’t have said what he’d just said if there hadn’t been a paper trail of memos somewhere which could at least be interpreted to support the analysis he’d just delivered.

“Should I assume, then, Fleet Admiral, that you’d be opposed to any additional fleet actions at this time?”

“Mr. Permanent Senior Undersecretary,” Kingsford said flatly, “any ‘additional fleet actions’ could only be one-sided massacres. Even assuming what Harrington said to Filareta in the recordings they’ve sent us represents a full statement of their capabilities, without holding any nasty tactical surprises in reserve, we simply can’t match them at this time. There probably hasn’t been this great an imbalance in combat power since the introduction of the machine-gun put an end to massed infantry assaults.”

Kolokoltsov’s eyes widened, despite himself, at the frankness of that response. It was refreshingly—and utterly—different from anything Rajampet had ever said.

“It’s really that bad?” he asked, curious to see how far are Kingsford would go.

“It’s probably worse than that, frankly, especially with Haven added to the equation,” the acting CNO said unflinchingly. “For all intents and purposes, the Reserve has just become several billion tons of scrap material. The superdreadnoughts we have mothballed are the wrong ships for this war, and I don’t see any way the existing hulls could be refitted to turn them into effective combatants.”

Well, that’s a kick in the head
, Kolokoltsov thought dourly.
On the other hand, if Omosupe and Agatá are right, we won’t have the cash to reactivate the Reserve, anyway. Of course, that leaves the little problem of where we’re going to find the cash to build
new
wallers if we can’t even demothball the ones we’ve already got!