No Honor in Death (9 page)

Thank you for that, skipper.  But this time, the shoe's on the other foot.
 

"Even if I were, skipper, I couldn't let you go without telling you what I'd found.  It's all because of that strange little thing called loyalty.  You know what I'm talking about: one of humanity's nobler characteristics?  Somehow you have an uncanny ability to bring it out in the most unlikely people."

Touched, Siobhan reached out to squeeze Ezekiel's good hand.  She didn't know what to say, but let her eyes express her gratitude.  Holt broke the spell and looked at the antique naval clock dominating the dining lounge.

"Listen, Skipper, I know you've got a hell of a lot of crap to handle. Believe it or not, so does Ezekiel Holt, Esquire, of the General Staff.  If you can, I'd like to see you again before you sail.  If not, good luck.  I'll try to watch out for you on this end."

"Thanks, Ezekiel.  It was good to see you again."

"And you."  Holt rose and they shook hands.

He watched her leave, worry creasing his brow.  Siobhan Dunmoore taking command of the 
Stingray
was the best, the only way out other than to let it all slide.  He didn't like what it might do to her, and he didn't like being less than truthful with her.  But needs must when the rot was spreading faster than it could be cut out.

Siobhan was as exhausted and dispirited as he had ever seen her.  Vulnerable.  He wished again that he could be aboard the frigate as First Officer to protect her, most of all from herself.  But he had a job to do here, and intellectually, he knew he would be of better help to Siobhan this way.  Yet it still hurt to see her like this, and to know that she faced so much more than just a crew with a morale problem.  At least he'd been able to swing her old cox'n from the
Don Quixote
.  A bit hard to get him out of a Special Ops team, but necessary.  Guthren was one of the disciples who would die before betraying Dunmoore.  One of the small, select brotherhood to whom loyalty was akin to religious faith.

"A friend of yours, Holt?"  A voice behind him asked tonelessly.

He turned to face Captain Darius Jadin, Flag Captain of the 31st Battle-Group and Admiral Kaleri's familiar.  Holt heartily detested Jadin, and he knew that dislike was mutual.  Jadin's haughty manners, and his reputation as a martinet on board ship put him firmly on Holt's hate list.   Respectfully, but with a distinct 'none of your business tone' he replied, "My former skipper, sir.  On the
Shenzen
.  Haven't seen her in years."

Jadin grunted dismissively and turned to leave.  Then he stopped and speared Ezekiel with his dark stare.  "A piece of advice, Holt.  Keep your nose in your own business and we'll all be happier."

Ezekiel watched the Flag Captain leave, his single eye narrowed.  Jadin's turn would come soon enough.  His hands might not be as dirty as some, but dirty enough.

FIVE

The citizens of Shredar's lower town quickly moved out of the way when they saw the tall Imperial Navy officer striding down the narrow, twisting alley.  Sons of the Warrior Caste were an uncommon sight among the poor plebeians, except for tyros searching out whores, cheap taverns and blood fights.  But this one was no tyro.  He wore the insignia of a ship Commander on his black uniform, and the long, curved dagger of his caste thrust into the broad green sash around his waist.  He took the uneven steps and cobblestone alleys with a confidence born of many victories, ignoring the stench and filth around him.

Though the hunched beggars, thieving pedlars and diseased whores watched the Commander pass by with narrowed eyes, they wisely chose to ignore him.  Even if he were not scowling enough to promise instant death, annoying one of his caste was  very dangerous.  If a Warrior chose to visit the capital's slums, that was his affair, and no one else's, except maybe the
Tai Kan
's, the Council's secret police.

There was little on Shrehari Prime, or anywhere else in the Empire, that escaped the
Tai Kan
, including those fingered by the Council for swift execution.  After the events of the last few hours, the Commander well knew that he could die at any moment, and it was a perverse sense of defiance that had brought him to cross the lower town on his way to the tavern where his Second waited.  If the Council had set the
Tai Kan
on him, then let those mutant sons of diseased carrion-eaters act swiftly and take him now, where his murder would not raise an eyebrow.  In these parts, his body would disappear within moments.  There were many who used dead bodies for ritual, amusement or profit among the lower orders, especially the bodies of the high-born.

As he passed beneath a flickering street lamp, those who cared to look would have seen an arrogant Imperial officer of pure race, but one who had lived a hard life, unlike that of most aristocrats in the capital.  His head was shaved in the Warrior Caste fashion, leaving a strip of black, stiff hair running from his forehead over the top his shiny, olive skull down to the back of his thick neck.  The tonsure exposed a bony ridge and elongated predator's ears which twitched and moved as the Commander unconsciously listened for threats.  His face had the cruel, features common of his species, but his black eyes, deeply recessed below broad eyebrows held a gleam of violence that eclipsed even the commonplace ferocity of the average fighter.  A young prostitute's eyes met the Commander's and she turned away in fear, shivering for a long time after he was gone.  She had seen many violent males in her short, grinding years on the street, but never one like this.

The Commander ignored her, as he ignored the low caste soldiers who gave him drunken salutes as they stumbled across his path, more often than not on the arm of a sober whore who would take the remainder of their month's pay in a few hours.  He also ignored the snatches of bawdy and oft treasonable drinking songs that floated on the night air as merry-makers went in and out of the numerous inns, taverns and brothels.

After five years of stalemated war, he felt little charity for the shit-brained incompetents who ruled the Empire.  The excrement on the Council deserved the mockery of the people and the Imperial Forces, as did the mother of the child-Emperor, a true whore if there ever was one.

After a while, the worst of the slums vanished behind him in a haze of wood smoke and darkness.  He finally reached the district surrounding the Imperial barracks and the spaceport.  Turning right, he took a narrow and dark alley barely wider than a one-man ground speeder, a block before the bright lights and shore patrols on the main boulevard.  At the bottom of a seeming dead end, a discreet sign advertised his destination.

The Commander opened the door, letting a wave of loud conversation, smoke and ethanol fumes wash over him.  The harsh, guttural tones of the Imperial tongue spoken by drunk army and navy officers were grating, but he ignored that too and scanned the room through narrowed eyes.

Most of the other patrons had given him one brief glance and had returned to their affairs.  Not all Imperial uniforms were welcome at the
Khorak
, and an Imperial Security or
Tai Kan
uniform would have found a cold reception.  But not a Deep Space Fleet uniform.  Only one officer did not return to his solitary affairs.  The Commander's Second.  He raised his silver mug to signal the Commander, who quickly made his way through the hard drinking crowd to the corner table, far from indiscreet ears.

Ignoring the scowl on his superior's dark, leathery face, the Second asked, "How fare the lords of the Imperial council?"

"Those motherless turd hatchlings of a syphilitic human have displayed their courage and desire to win this war in its full glory."

"And you told them your true thoughts," the Second nodded knowingly, though without disapproval on his angular face.  Like the Commander, he wore his hair in the Warrior Caste manner, and had an Imperial's cruel features, but he was younger, less burned by the interstellar radiation that penetrated the imperfect shielding of Imperial warships.

"That I did, Jhar,"  he took a deep draught of the ale a silent server had placed before him, "hoping to remind them of our glorious past and put some backbone into those old women.  I am surprised the
Tai Kan
has not seen fit to kill me as I crossed the slums on my way here.  But then, the Council no longer even has the courage to impose proper punishment on an officer of the Warrior Caste.  We have fallen far as a race, Jhar, and will fall even further if we let the humans win the war.  Then, we might as well adopt their soft ways for we will never again find the spirit to conquer."

"Too true, Commander,"  Jhar grimaced, displaying sharp, yellowing teeth.  "So your suggestions were not accepted."

"Hah," the Commander barked loudly, slamming his massive fist on the scarred table, "not accepted?  I was ordered to cease using irregular, human-style tactics and return to our tried and true Imperial ways.  The ways which have brought us to this stalemate."  He spat on the floor's  granite flagstones in disgust.

"The humans have stopped our mighty Fleet because their ship commanders and admirals have learned to think, to use their weapons and warships to maximum advantage, and to adapt at every turn.  We can only execute beautifully choreographed and ineffective actions because we have replaced clear thinking and initiative with unthinking aggression and unquestioning obedience.  Meanwhile, the humans build better ships and their commanders learn new tricks.  If we do not change our ways, this war is lost."  He laughed humourlessly.  "
Bach
!  It was lost the moment they managed to stop our invasion in its tracks."

"Did you use such defeatist talk before the Council?"

"I may be a bitter, over-aged warship Commander, Jhar, but I am not that stupid, or suicidal.  No, I spoke to the council of initiative, of small scale action and local victory.  Of fighting magic with magic.  And it was as if I spoke to a granite wall, but with even less intelligence than the dumbest stones.  The end result is that I shall no longer be given an assault force to, in the words of Admiral Trage, waste in senseless attacks.  We shall sail alone, and on the end of a short tether.  I am no longer to be trusted. So be it, then! "  He drank deeply again, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  "Still, I have won more victories than those vacuum brains can even dream about, and they lecture me on winning and losing."

"Especially Trage."

"Yes, especially Trage.  That piece of maggot-eaten product of a human's intestine has the temerity to lecture me, the most experienced commander in the Deep Space Fleet!  And he has only commanded a ship for two turns, in peacetime, before climbing into the cesspit of intrigue at the Admiralty.  I wish I could slice open his belly, slowly pull out his intestines and garrotte him with them."

"You would get much help, Commander.  Trage remains on the Council only because he has friends in the
Tai Kan
.  But it is enough."

The Commander shrugged.  He cared nothing for admirals and their fancies.  Yes, he was old for his rank, but he much preferred his duties to the higher glories of an admiral's robes.  At least on his ship, he knew who the
Tai Kan
agents were, and they in turn knew the crew would ensure they died horribly if anything happened to him.  There was no loyalty beyond that which a commander wins on his own warship.  And no honor.

"May Trage and the rest of the Council die of an internal rotting disease passed on by their poxed concubines."  He drank again.

Jhar sensed his Commander was becoming morose, and that alarmed him for it could lead to a sudden fight with the first man to look at him or say something offensive within earshot.  But he had just the thing to fire up the anger again.

"I fear, Commander, I have further bad news for you," Jhar growled.

"Speak."

"The Council's displeasure appears to have been more public than you might expect.  Our ship's turn in the dry-dock has been set back again."

The older man swore as he pounded his thick fist on the scarred table again.  "They go too far.  How long the delay?"

"Fourteen days."

"Argh!  More time to wallow in the slime of the home world.  I long for the day we return to the war and I can turn my anger on humans."

"And I, Commander.  But fourteen days before we enter dry-dock it shall be.  Do you wish to hear what the noble Yard Master said when I told him you would object?"  Jhar smiled evilly as he asked the question, for he knew his Commander would find a way to damage the Yard Master permanently for his insolence.  Even if the Yard Master came from a family which claimed greater nobility.

"What are the mutterings of a REMF to me?"

"REMF, Commander?"  Jhar looked at him in surprise, for the word sounded suspiciously like something in the human tongue.  Thanks to his study of humans and their tactics, his superior had picked-up a surprising amount of expressions which gave Jhar and the rest of the crew a fascinating and oft amusing insight into the humans' ways.

"Rear-echelon mother-fuckers," the Commander intoned in Anglic, causing a few surprised heads to turn in his direction.  When they saw who had spoken, they quickly ignored him again. News of the Council's displeasure travelled fast indeed.

"In the Noble Tongue it means 'Incestuous fornicators who hide from battle.'  The home world is filled with them.  But tell me anyway, Jhar.  It might amuse me."

"As you wish, Commander.  He said honor-less sons of turds who ape weakling humans have no business on a warship, much less claiming membership in the Warrior caste, and he did not care a maggot's fart for whatever words you chose to yell at his closed door."

The Commander looked at his Second with apparent fury for a few heartbeats, then burst out laughing.  He pounded the table with murderous amusement.

"Ah, Jhar," he said, when he had drowned his laughter in the remainder of his ale, "you know how to cheer me up.  Yard Master Hralk, having the courage of a diseased pimp, will regret his words before the sun rises and will sleep in fear for a long time, waiting for my revenge.  A revenge that will never come.  Letting him squirm is revenge enough."

This time, Jhar joined his Commander in laughter.

"Enough," the Commander finally said.  "We must plan, for I do not intend to let the Empire fail in its noble task through the stupidity and cowardice of the Council.  They cannot see the hurt we have inflicted on the humans by our assault on the battleship, for they see only three ships lost against one.  But where we can afford to lose paltry escorts with questionable crews, the humans cannot afford to lose a single capital ship.  Destroy enough of theirs, even if we lose three small vessels for each, and we are still ahead.  We can produce six cruisers for every one of theirs.  And the humans will have learned to fear us.  Cause and effect, Jhar.  Soon, the humans will give each heavy warship a large number of consorts which can no longer be used elsewhere, and which will no longer be available to fight, since we will not attack where they are strong.  In that, there is opportunity to recapture the initiative."

"Your crew is behind you, Commander," Jhar said, fierceness glowing in his deep-set black eyes.

"Yes, except for the
Tai Kan
spies."

"Accidents happen, Commander."

"That they do," he mused, stroking his heavy jaw.  "There is opportunity and glory out there, Jhar.  We will get it and may the Council choke on their whores' teats.  Come, let us return to the
Tol Vakash
.  I long to pace my bridge again."

With those words, Commander Brakal rose to his impressive height, staring down the few officers who had the temerity to glance at him, and strode out of the tavern, proud and arrogant. Let the Council and their stupidity go to hell.  Brakal knew he was right, and so did a growing number of young firebrands waiting to take their first commands.  A following was easy to build when the gutless excrescences wearing the proud robes of Admirals failed to bring glory to the Empire.  Out in the alley, Brakal took a deep breath of the city's fetid air and waited for Jhar to catch up.

"Tell me, my friend," he asked his Second, "what is the word among the officers of Shrehari Prime?"