Empire at Gloran, page 6
“Can he do that, if pirates are hitting colonies on the other side?” Iveta asked pointedly.
Phil considered his words carefully. Studied the two women as everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence.
“This does not leave this room,” he said.
Phil waited for both women to nod before he continued.
“I have extremely strong doubts about the pirate story,” he said. “It might have been them, but that looks like a heap of bullshit to me. Iveta, you just spoke the thing that has been niggling at the back of my mind since Tralfa first showed up. Who stands to gain?”
“Who does?” she asked now, leaning in predatorially.
“Dalou used to fund a lot of pirates, just to keep things stirred up,” Phil replied. “As did Aditi and everyone else. Dalou has a lot of other places to invest now, starting at Urwel and working down both frontiers, towards Meerut and across the long front with Aditi. That’s a generation getting started, and a few centuries working out. Ewin…let’s face it, the Princes couldn’t find their own asses with both hands, a map, and a flashlight right now. Yaumgan probably has active espionage and insurgency funds, but we’re in the wrong place and both Gloran and Ewin generally leave them alone.”
“That leaves Aditi, Phil,” Heather pointed out with no emotion in her voice whatsoever.
“It does,” he agreed. “And I can’t prove anything. Plus, Kaur and her folks have been as good as anyone from Ladaux on this operation, so I will not cast doubt on them. However…”
He left it dangling there.
“However,” Heather took up the thread, “if Aditi did get Gloran focused inward on them in a military way, they might not be paying attention if some Aditi colonies suddenly sprung up on long-ignored planets closer to Vilahana, where the Consensus might be able to dominate trade coming in from the galactic arm.”
“Which, I will point out, includes more than just Aquitaine,” Phil said. “We happen to be closest. Nothing more. Karl VIII will send ships at some point. She can’t not do that. Corynthe, Lincolnshire, and even Salonnia will likely get in on it as well. Plus whoever else wonders if these new worlds represent an opportunity to get rich as a merchant or pirate. That’s one of the reasons First Lord Naoumov authorized me to license and sell Pulse technology. That short-circuits any pirates from our end in a hurry, meaning that nobody can come in here and just run rampant after we leave.”
“So we really are building a fortress here?” Iveta asked.
Phil started to speak and Heather waved him to silence, turning to face her First Officer. Her Jessica Keller clone with her own—earned—pirate nickname. The Junkyard Bitch. Meanest warrior on the block.
Any block.
“More classified information you can never repeat, Iveta,” Heather said.
Iveta Beridze had been chosen specifically to sit here in situations like this, so Phil leaned back and watched.
Iveta sobered and nodded.
“Aquitaine faces Fribourg on the frontier towards the galactic core,” Heather began. “Salonnia on the galactic east or anti-spinward. Lincolnshire towards the edge. Once you get out of the arm itself, stars thin out considerably, to the point that neither us nor Fribourg ever really moved west. Established a few bases and forts, but that was it.”
Iveta nodded silently, absorbing things. Heather glanced over at Phil.
“Per Phil, and these are matters at and above his level, there are hints and suggestions by historians that study such things,” Heather continued, pausing only to give Iveta the untaken chance to speak. “The phrase used in conversation was Imperial Aquitaine. Think along the lines of the Imperial Rome that replaced the Republic in the early Common Era that used to be how calendars were measured.”
“Imperial?” Iveta confirmed with a shaky voice.
Phil and Heather both nodded.
“Rome transformed over the course of two generations of civil wars,” Heather spoke. “Then became radically expansionary, because most empires in history have had that problem. Expand or collapse, without much steady state in between.”
“So we’re forcibly uplifting the Balhee Cluster to modern technology, to keep future First Lords and First Centurions from being able to just waltz in here and conquer a more backwards people?” Iveta asked penetratingly.
“You will not repeat that, Junkyard,” Phil said. “Except and only if it comes up at whatever Court Martial brings down both me and Petia Naoumov. These are her orders, working quietly with a few folks in the government. And a few outsiders who understand. Karl VIII is not aware of this, but has advisors who are.”
“Denis Jež,” Iveta said as her eyes got huge. “Keller’s most dangerous commander.”
“Most dangerous?” Phil asked, confused.
He had lots of good things to say about the man who had been his squadron and fleet senior command centurion, back in the day, but most dangerous wasn’t usually among them.
Not in any squadron where Tomas Kigali and Alber’ d’Maine served.
“When we came close to both a general and a civil war five years ago,” Iveta said. “The Horvat Affair. After Keller had effectively won, all the commanders around her gathered together to decide what the future should look like. Jež was the one that laid out the plan that was eventually accepted. His plan. Plus, the Red Admiral himself had previously handed an Aquitaine commander control of the most dangerous Imperial warfleet ever assembled. Again, Jež. Not the most aggressive. That would be Kigali, with d’Maine a close second. Jež is probably the smartest by an arm length, though.”
Trust her to have gone that deep into Keller and the Merry Men. And to understand the implications that had caused Jež to retire to St. Legier and become a trusted senior advisor to the Emperor. A man Casey Weigand referred to publicly as an uncle.
That Denis Jež.
Phil nodded. She understood where things were, from the terrible awe that was in her eyes now.
It was nice to be able to surprise and maybe frighten a woman like Junkyard occasionally. Phil had been concerned that he’d gotten predictable, when so many people had been able to upset his plans. In the end, it had merely been the fog of war, and he’d managed to get inside everyone else’s decision curve again, forcing them to respond to him.
Hopefully, the Emperor of Gloran, one Adric Kerenski, would take the most predictable route to handle things, and Phil could just be another messenger from afar, bringing trade and development to yet another Balhee Cluster nation.
Without Kongō and her sisters coming to the dance.
THIRTEEN
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC MARCH 18, 412 RAN URUMCHI, CARINAE II OUTER ORBIT
Heather had everyone organized like this was a promenade, in spite of Iveta’s folks all being prepared to unleash unmitigated mayhem at the drop of a hat.
Juvayni was right ahead of Forktail, because this was a Gloran world. Captain Sugawara didn’t care, and was going to escort Urumchi as well as Morninghawk ever had. Li Jing and Aranyani on one wing. Shadowbolt and Storm Petrel on the other, with Viking in the high slot rear above Hollywood and the corvettes in a sphere outside that. Tralfa had gone ahead to Derragon, but Varmint, bitching all the way into Jump, had made it back to Meerut and then caught up with the squadron at the last waypoint.
Right now, Esser Jones and crew were more or less hiding in Hollywood’s shadow, just like she was with Urumchi.
Good thing, too, as Phil had called this one.
“Leyla?” Heather asked, turning to look at her Science Officer, currently face down on her screens, typing furiously.
“I got two squadrons, I think,” she replied. “Big, gnarly battleship that identifies itself as Glanthua’s Stand in high orbit, with a handful of cruisers that look like lesser versions of Juvayni. Plus a mess of smaller ships.”
“Command Cruiser, Heavy Cruiser distinction?” Heather asked, going back to the old way of doing things, before the Expeditionary classes.
“Yeah, Khan’s bigger. These guys are showing a smaller power curve, but better shielding, so maybe combat variants,” Leyla said. “Other squadron is more interesting. They have flags identifying themselves as a Penal Fleet team. Two Type Five frigates and a Type Five Heavy. The one Khan said they were building recently as a command variant, because it has a third, big engine, attached directly to the boom instead of the pair on the secondary hull like everyone else. Same as Glanthua’s Stand does it, but half the size.”
Interesting. Frigate wolfpack, probably capable of taking a pirate Raider like Hollywood apart at the frames. Even an Enforcer would have gotten the short end of the stick eventually, but probably only after crippling at least one of the Type Fives.
“What about the planet?” Heather asked next.
“I have orbital debris suggesting a station at one point,” Leyla replied. “It got smashed, but we knew that already. There is a freighter nearby, so maybe they have the components to build a new one, or are just taking the place for now. The frigates are close to that, but below it, like they have been sending shuttles down regularly, or bringing survivors up. The big force is above them and facing outwards.”
“Threatening?” Iveta asked.
“Negative,” Leyla said sharply. “Laagering, if anything. Got comm traffic coming in for Phil.”
“Route it and keep watch,” Heather ordered. “Iveta, you have Tactical. You also have the flag until Phil calls for it.”
Iveta nodded.
“Aquitaine Squadron, this is Beridze, aboard Urumchi, I have the flag,” the woman said on the general line. “Standing orders. Standing expectations. Juvayni, you have the point as needed. Forktail, stay in close escort. Everyone else stand by. If all goes well, we’ll step down in two hours and start on long watch at lower alert levels. If not, you have your firing lanes assigned.”
Heather nodded. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Gloran ships were designed to get up close and duel. Not as close as the sharks half of her force had been designed to maul, but enough to make themselves a pain in the ass.
That was why Iveta had the flag.
FOURTEEN
DATE OF THE REPUBLIC MARCH 18, 412 RAN URUMCHI, CARINAE II OUTER ORBIT
Phil was in his seat on the flag bridge, Harinder across from him, and Kohahu off to one side. She could return to training and qualifications later, but having the young woman handy now meant that she was prepared to answer questions as they came up.
The frontier separating Gloran and Dalou was much fuzzier and more amorphous than the others, mostly because the big, open mouth of the Cluster itself, pointed straight up when seen from Ladaux, ran right across the territory involved and mostly acted as something of a river keeping the sides separate.
Few wars between the two, with both more likely to tangle up with Aditi trying to drive wedges into the space. Doubly so now.
Around him, all the main flag bridge crew were on alert and hyped, even though Iveta was controlling things currently. Her orders would route through his people if combat broke out, for as long as it took to extricate himself from this mess.
“I have a call for you, Phil,” Harinder notified him. “Channel nine. Light-speed lag about two and a half seconds.”
Out a ways, but not impossible. Close enough that they could sail down to the edge of the gravity well in a few hours, or short hop.
Not close enough to shoot at each other. Even the tightest beams would diffuse after traveling through so much solar wind. Still, all of his ships were defensive, just as the group over there.
Two nervous badgers, waddling up to each other as if for a sniff.
Phil nodded to everyone, checked against last minute messages, and drew a breath before speaking.
“This is War-Captain A.Q. Tanel, speaking for the Emperor,” a man said as he faded into existence. “To whom am I communicating?”
Phil only had a bust in the projection, but the man gave the impression of tallness. Perhaps greater than his own. Lean, though, like an athlete who had kept the training up, even as the man himself appeared to be in his mid-fifties, give or take. A decade older than Phil then, for what that might be worth.
Widow’s peak hair slicked back, with a handspan at the top still dark brown and both sides white, like racing stripes that just accentuated his sharp prow of a nose and big cheekbones. Predatory bird, maybe.
“This is First Centurion Philip S. Kosnett of the Republic of Aquitaine Navy,” he replied. “Currently in route to Derragon at the Emperor’s invitation, but we heard about Carinae II and took a short detour to see if we could offer any assistance here.”
He waited for the man to react. Just enough lag to make conversation awkward, but Phil preferred it this way. At Ewinhome, it had kept his people safe when Doysan IV got drunk. And stupid.
Later, it had put him in a position to control the outcome when Kalidoona needed to run what basically ended up as a soft coup that saw all the other troublemakers brought to heel.
“What kind of assistance could Aquitaine offer, First Centurion?” Tanel replied at last, his voice harsh and not quite dismissive as professional diplomats master young, in order to be able to speak without technically offering insult.
Phil chose to ignore it. Gloran culture was all about the warrior, rather than the Blood Princes. They saw themselves tougher than everybody else.
After a year in the Balhee Cluster, Phil didn’t figure he had anything left to prove. At least in a positive way.
There were always bad examples to be made, he supposed.
Still, he smiled. These folks were looking at the tonnage of destructive firepower he’d brought with him, rather than anything else. Almost made Phil wish he could have brought a Construction Legion with him.
Maybe next time.
“What do you need, War-Captain?” Phil asked simply.
No emotional loading on his words or his tone. Simple inquiry, if they chose to take it at face value. Which they should. Aditi or the old Dalou would have parsed for esoteric meaning, but they were all about that sort of thing. Ewin? Ass, map, flashlight, still lost.
Phil was rewarded by the screen freezing at the far end. Somebody pausing things, likely so they could argue with each other without the company listening. The joys of electronic diplomacy. And another one of the reasons he liked cocktail parties instead.
Got people talking. In a good way.
“How long do you intend to remain at Carinae, First Centurion?” Tanel came back now, having hopped over several intervening conversations to land on this one.
“If the Emperor is here with you, we will let him determine our schedule,” Phil replied. “We can remain on station while being resupplied, or depart for Derragon. As you prefer.”
“We are investigating the attack that functionally destroyed this colony,” Tanel said baldly, finally showing some emotion.
Good ones, too. The warrior who is upset that he wasn’t able to protect people counting on him, rather than an aggrieved Prince or Dalou nobleman who had all his investments in a planetary development scheme destroyed.
“Understood, War-Captain,” Phil said. “As noted, I am happy to place my resources at your disposal to assist. Or, if that would be better, we can withdraw to Derragon and await the Emperor’s pleasure there.”
It was informative, watching the man’s face cycle through several emotional states. Tanel had obviously never really spent time as a formal diplomat, where folks learned to lie with their eyes and keep their own counsel at all times.
“Just like that?” Tanel demanded, like he didn’t believe.
“Just like that,” Phil agreed. “Cruiser-Captain Khan extended the Emperor’s invitation to visit Derragon as part of our tour of Balhee Cluster capital worlds. My only regret is that we were unable to do it sooner, such that the Emperor has a small situation on his hands here, at the same time as he has guests. However, it would not offend us if we should need to delay such festivities, given the serious nature of things below us. A crime has been committed, War-Captain. Those responsible need to be brought to justice.”
Tanel’s eyes started big, then got hot, then got icy as he listened. A nod as Phil’s speech finished. An agreement, however unspoken at present.
Warriors, speaking a language that civilians and others might not understand. If they had done their research, Phil knew that his past as both a pirate and a squadron commander facing off against the most dangerous Imperial Task Force ever assembled would come up.
That ought to open some doors and smooth some egos.
The line froze again. As Phil had expected. Like him, there were probably several people silently off screen, listening and offering advice.
Phil had literally spent years preparing for this sort of conversation.
A.Q. Tanel came back after a few moments.
“Your understanding is most commendable, First Centurion,” he said firmly. “The Emperor would gladly host you and your captains. I am given to understand that you would prefer a simple reception, rather than the grand formality of a State Dinner and Reception?”
“It makes it easier to talk to people, War-Captain,” Phil said. “To make friends because you have done the work of understanding one another, rather than spending time listening to formal speeches that obscure as much as they communicate. But that is me. What would best serve the Emperor of Gloran?”
More pause. This wasn’t Ewin’s First Minister Bereoa, a smooth diplomat used to maneuvering around fragile egos. If Phil understood Gloran, this War-Captain might be the senior-most active duty officer in their fleet, or such a man recently retired to take up a position as an advisor to Kerenski. One of the Lords of the Fleet back home, rather than a mere First Centurion like Phil was.
