Commodore (7 page)

One of the things I'd worried most about regarding dinner—other than being taken prisoner and executed, of course!—was conversation. Eating in sullen silence would've been rude in the extreme, yet what would it be safe to discuss? We'd debated the matter extensively among ourselves during the ride over, and had decided to avoid politics and anything about the current war insofar as we could without being obvious about it. On the other hand, since we were all professional naval officers it wasn't credible to imagine that we'd somehow manage to sit in each other company for a period of several hours and—short of dead silence—avoid the subject of battles and tactics entirely. So we'd agreed to try and focus on the past, the further back the better. And, of course, we'd be free to discuss the wargames that'd first brought Heinrich and Sir Jason and I together.

I was pleased to discover that Sir Jason had independently formulated the same strategy. No one spoke a word about Zombie Station or
Richard
's famous cruise or even the rape and pillage of Marcus Prime.  Instead Jason opened the after-dinner conversation by telling the story of how, from his point of view, I'd come out of nowhere to take Gibraltar in our final gaming session. He did it so well that soon everyone else was laughing sympathetically, and I replied in kind by being painfully honest about how thoroughly he'd kicked my butt at Pharsalus. The men of both navies were keenly interested in the stories, and they went a long way towards breaking the ice. "There was never any doubt in my mind that David was going to become one of our worthiest enemies," Sir Jason declared as our dessert plates were cleared away and cocktails served. Nestor gave me a cup of my favorite tea instead. "After all, he'd already won a Sword by then in fair fight. And, well…" His smile widened, then he rose and raised his glass. "To Captain David Birkenhead, always an enemy to be reckoned with!"

The Imperials had clearly been coached to expect this—they were on their feet a good half-second before my own men were. There was only one way to respond, of course, which was to sit and look down at my cup until all the cheering was over with. Then it was my own turn to stand. "To Sir Jason Tallsdale," I replied in kind with my own cup raised. "Great gamer, great captain, great warrior, great host. And perhaps someday, good friend." There was more cheering. I raised the cup to my lips, drained it as required by decorum, then dabbed at my lips with my napkin. I almost missed it, partly because the tea was so fragrant and partly because of Nestor's own scent. But…

…somebunny had scent-marked the napkin in my hands. Somebunny whose personal odor I'd last encountered while transferring a high-level codebook to a person identified to me at the time only as a very valuable and high-placed Royal spy. Carefully I raised the napkin a second time and, while wiping again, I sniffed deep and hard. Yes, it was certain; this napkin had indeed been chin-rubbed by that same Rabbit, whoever he was. There could be no doubt at all.

And when I raised my eyes, Captain Sir Jason Tallsdale, fourth in line for the Imperial Crown, nodded ever so slightly to me.

11

I don't recall a lot about the rest of our visit to The
Will of the People
, though in fairness there wasn't that much left to remember. This was because my head was spinning much too rapidly, re-analyzing everything I'd thought I'd known about our current situation. There could be no question whatsoever that Sir Jason was a Royal sympathizer—it fit in too well with everything else I knew about him to be a lie, and the scent-mark so far as I knew was impossible to counterfeit. But beyond that… Suddenly I was faced with first a thousand, then a million brand-spanking-new questions. What were his goals? How far could I trust him? How much could he do to help us without compromising his own position? His true identity would be crucial information for anyone trying to work out the Wilkes mess, yet… Could I trust even my own closest advisors with such sensitive data? After all, even
I
had never been told. What greater and larger plans did Royal Intelligence have for Sir Jason, that I might upset totally with a single mis-step? My dinner-host's secret might well be so important to the larger picture that it'd be preferable allow the entire House of Wilkes to defect rather than take a chance on unmasking him!

But if so… Then why had he told
me
? It was the age-old intelligence dilemma; if you made use of information unearthed by a spy, you risked unmasking him. Yet if you didn't, what point was there in having him on your side to begin with?

In the end, I was uncharacteristically silent during the long after-dinner debriefing session back on board
Javelin
. Jean commented on the fact that the lower-ranking officers had been so hostile at first—"They thought the whole affair was a bad idea, I suspect," he observed. "But they did their best to make it work regardless, which tells me that Sir Jason has their respect. In turn, this implies he's considered a good, competent captain overall."

"They're short on supplies," Nestor added. "Three-quarters of the pantries are empty, and the ship's Rabbits are on tight hay-rations.
Will of the People
was diverted here at the last moment, sir; the Rabbits say she was escorting a homeward-bound convoy until the ambassador arrived. They've never been out so long before without hitting port. I'd guess that this means the Imperials are at least as short on ships as we are, and that
Will
is probably long overdue for maintenance."

"Those lobsters…" Heinrich contributed. "Sir, Imperial lobsters grow huge. But those were bigger and better than any I've ever known before. My father once ate at the Emperor's own table, and he told me of how incredibly massive the claws and legs were." He shook his head. "Only the inner family has access to lobsters like those, sir. I'd wager my rank on it. Our host is no longer being treated like a mere cousin."

"What a marine detachment!" Captain Harlowe added. "My god—such perfect discipline!" He shook his head. "With ten thousand men like them under my command, I'd not fear the wrath of god himself!"

Then everyone looked at me, waiting for me to offer my own observations. But I had to disappoint them. "Magnificent work, gentlemen," I murmured, mind still a thousand miles away. "You kept your eyes wide open indeed. Excellent reports, all of you." Then I rose to my feet, indicating the meeting was over. "Good night. And thank you!"

***

It wasn't until much later that I finally came to my first really important decision. "Nestor," I called from my desk, where I'd been catching up on what reports I could. "Are you still up and about?"

"Yes, sir!" he replied, scurrying in from the smaller aide's cabin attached to my own. Formerly this had been known as the servant's cabin, but I refused to allow Nestor to be considered a mere servant and so had renamed it. "Can I help you?"

"Pour us both some tea," I said, sighing and turning my chair around to face the bed, where my friend habitually sat whenever we had a long discussion. "We've got some talking to do."

About an hour later, after hearing the entire uncensored story of the code books and the scent marks, Nestor's eyes were huge. "I think I know which bunny it was, sir," he said finally. "Sir Jason's chief personal servant is gray, just like the Rabbit you saw disappearing down the corridor on Geneva Station. All the others treat him almost like a master. His name is Cloud."

I nodded. "Is he old enough to have been an adult back when Sir Jason was still a child?"

"I think so," Nestor answered. "He didn't do any actual work himself—just told everyone else what to do." His ears lowered. "Usually an overseer-Rabbit isn't very popular. But they seemed to like Cloud." Then he shook his head. "If only I'd known, sir! I'd have introduced myself and—"

"You
couldn't
have known," I interrupted him. "For that matter, neither did I."

"Maybe not, sir. But still… Wow!"

"Yeah," I agreed, draining my last sip of tea as I let my aide's marvelous brain work through all the new angles and possibilities. "The more you think about it, the more tremendous the implications."

"I won't sleep a wink tonight after hearing this," Nestor agreed. Then he looked up at me. "Neither of us will, I suppose."

"Not a chance." I sighed, then turned back to my desk. "I've decided not to tell anyone else, for the moment at least. But… I simply
must
bounce ideas off of someone."

"Yes sir," Nestor agreed.

"I'm going to write it up, though, and put it in the captain's safe next to my sealed orders. The envelope will be addressed to His Highness, personally. No one else is to open it, Nestor. If worst comes to worst, I want you to instruct Josiah to destroy the thing unread rather than allow anyone else to see it. At all costs, if necessary."

Nestor blinked. "What about Captain Harlowe, sir? Doesn't he need to know?"

"No," I replied. "He doesn't. Because I'm also about to write up a new set of written orders for him. He's to immediately sail this entire task force back to Earth Secundus if command devolves upon him, no matter what. Even more, I'm forwarding private copies of these orders to Jean and Josiah. The price of poker just went up, Nestor, and I'm damned if I'll see the likes of Captain Harlowe play out such an important hand for us. Officers like him are half of how we got into this mess to begin with."

12

The next few days were grueling indeed. My first priority had to be bringing myself up to date on Ambassador Vorsage's negotiations with the Wilkes people. I was rather unsurprised to learn that while everyone had been unfailingly polite and proper—the presence of
Javelin
and our powerful landing force dictated nothing else—they'd refused to discuss anything of substance.

"It's not looking good, David," His Excellency reported over his secure link to my cabin. "All they're doing is yes-ing me to death on trivialities and herding me back and forth from one dignitary to another. It's a complete waste of time, even by ordinary diplomatic standards. They profess their loyalty over and over again, yet when it comes time for a specific action to be taken or a document to be signed nothing ever actually happens." He sighed. "It's a runaround, son. Pure and complete. I'm getting nowhere."

"Thank you for your honesty," was the only reply I could make.

"You're welcome," Ambassador Vorsage replied with a sigh. "I only wish my news were better." Then he frowned slightly. "You've been invited to dine Thursday with all the leading nobles of Wilkes, including the House-Lord himself. Normally I'd urge you to accept.  Under the circumstances, however…"

I nodded back, understanding instantly. The Wilkes people had to know as well as I did that an invasion was inevitable if they didn't cooperate. What better hope of victory did they have than to make a hostage of me? Yet it'd be the height of rudeness if the commander of a visiting naval force didn't hit dirt at least once to pay his respects. Sufficiently rude, in fact, that others might well see it as a deliberate snub or even provocation. James was on shaky enough ground already in terms of his legitimacy as a monarch; he didn't need any more headaches in that regard. "I'll get back to you on that as soon as I can," I promised. "In the meantime, stall. Turnabout's fair play."

He smiled. "Agreed." Then the expression faded. "Be extra-careful if you accept, David. I don't like the way this is shaping up at all." Then, with a polite nod he cut the connection.

There were other obligations I had to deal with, as well. The primary one dealt with another form of turnabout. I'd understood from the very beginning that accepting Sir Jason's invitation to dine aboard
Will of the People
implied that in return I'd have to reciprocate and invite his own officers aboard
Javelin
. Josiah positively sparkled at the prospect; having played host to so many Imperial merchant captains aboard
Richard
over so many long months, he was perhaps the single best-equipped officer in the fleet to perform the same role for the Emperor's naval officers. In no time at all we'd agreed to Wednesday evening for the big event, and soon the battlecruiser was alive with deck-swabbing, brasswork-polishing, and above all relentlessly drilling marines. These latter gave me an idea; if we couldn't match the Imperials in perfection of drill, well… We
did
have other achievements to show off instead. It took only minutes to ask Jean, whose destroyer was one of several fencible vessels in the task force and thus partly crewed by Rabbits, to put together a special detachment of all the sharpest bunnies in our little fleet and send them over with their dress uniforms to drill, drill, drill together in the hope of offering the Imperials something new to think about. They might even be genuinely impressed. And at worst, well…

Perhaps they might at least be distracted from our other deficiencies.

There were other special preparations to make as well, and at first I found myself totally at a loss as to how to handle them. Now that I knew Sir Jason was a spy, it was reasonable to assume that he might wish to somehow communicate with us. But by what means? Because of the impromptu nature of it all, we had no prearranged signals, methods, or codes. Nor could I even so much as hint to anyone except Nestor that there was even the possibility of a message being sent to begin with! In the end I had mostly to trust Sir Jason's own common sense—after all, he'd been at this sort of thing for far longer than I had. Still, I took some basic precautions. Among them, I troubled myself to look up Midshipman O'Toole, the Rabbit-wrangler in charge of
Javelin
's various stewards and galleys. "Mr. O'Toole," I greeted him in my cabin after returning his nervous salute. Because I'd dumped so many of my own duties upon Josiah I hadn't spent nearly enough time with my officers, and the boy was clearly terrified at the sudden, unexplained summons. "You've done nothing wrong. Relax, son."

He smiled slightly, but didn't unbend at all. "Thank you, sir."