A Dark and Dirty War, page 20
“It’s a sad state of affairs when the Fleet is forced to keep dangerous politicians in check.”
Holt shrugged.
“The Special Security Bureau won’t do so because it uses dangerous politicians or allows itself to be used by them in pursuit of more power. Without a proper federal police force, who’s left? Us, and not even all of us, because there are plenty of high-ranking people wearing a uniform who’ll prostitute themselves in return for wealth, power, and influence. Let’s hope Siobhan’s next expedition into the Zone gives us actionable intelligence so we can rope in the delightful Sara Lauzier before she makes more political enemies conveniently vanish at the hands of unidentified pirates while giving colonial independence ambitions the kiss of death.”
“If we’re right.”
He nodded.
“If. But I can feel it in my bones, Kathryn. Before the Navy let me return to space in Iolanthe, I was doing this sort of thing when they beached me after the loss of Shenzen. And I went back to it after leaving Iolanthe. The only difference between the corrupt admirals I investigated then and the corrupt politicians we’re looking at now is a matter of scale, both in venality and evil influence. Trust me when I say this. Sara Lauzier is into something that could get her a life sentence on Parth if she were anyone other than the SecGen’s favored eldest daughter and heir.”
“Fair enough. But it still shouldn’t be a naval officer’s job. Instead, the Commonwealth needs a true federal police, one with a professional standards branch that investigates malfeasance and corruption across the federal government, politicians included, police forces, and the Fleet.”
“No arguments here, but good luck getting the Senate to vote for its creation, let alone a SecGen signing off on the enabling legislation. So many people in this city would find themselves in the crosshairs of your professional standards branch, and they can’t allow that to happen.”
Kowalski gave him her sweet smile.
“Where there’s a will and all that, Zeke. First, we need a core of flag officers with the same vision making their way to the top. You, me, a few others, and Siobhan Dunmoore because we need a fearless, damn the torpedoes type who’ll stiffen backbones and terrify the opposition.”
**
With their armament hidden, the Q ships Thespis and Gondolier looked like innocuous, rather worn out bulk carriers in need of maintenance, the sort plying star lanes across the known galaxy. Though smaller than Iolanthe, one of the largest warships in the Fleet, they made Voivode class frigates look like corvettes.
Of different designs, both started life as armed commercial ships but were taken into the Fleet during the war. They emerged from their sojourn in a Caledonia shipyard with heavier guns, stronger shields, upgraded reactors and drives, complete combat system control suites, and cargo holds turned into missile launchers capable of overwhelming salvos. Their only true weakness compared to purpose-built warships lay in more lightly armored hulls.
Dunmoore was pleasantly surprised to see a third Q ship, the much smaller Pinafore, at the rendezvous along with her larger sisters. A pirate captured during the war, she’d been bought into the Navy and refurbished, though her chief strength lay in her speed, agility, and, like the others, cargo holds filled with modular missile launchers.
“We must have received our orders just after you went FTL at Dordogne’s heliopause, Admiral,” Lieutenant Commander Johan Darrell, Pinafore’s skipper, said. “Since we were in the general neighborhood, we booted the drives to eleven and arrived here a few hours ago.”
“Are you good for a two-month cruise?”
Darrell, a dark-complexioned man in his late thirties with hawk-like features, hooded brown eyes, and short black hair nodded.
“We are, Admiral. And carrying a full wartime load. We haven’t fired a shot in anger since our last resupply.”
“Excellent. Glad you’re with us.”
Thespis’ captain had been another pleasant surprise — Commander Thorin Sirico, her former combat systems officer in Iolanthe, still as piratically debonair as before, though with a few strands of silver in his mustache and goatee.
“I missed your class at the War College by one semester,” he’d said the moment they made radio contact. “You left for the Readiness Evaluation Division just as I arrived.”
“And how were the irregular warfare classes?”
Sirico had given her a sly grin. “I spent a lot of time running the seminars, Admiral. My course report made a special mention of it, recommending I return as an instructor after my tour of starship command.”
“And would you want to do so?”
“Perish the thought.”
Dunmoore had never met her third Q ship captain, Commander Adele Leung of Gondolier. She was in her early forties with a lean, narrow face, short dark hair, and watchful eyes. But she gave the impression of calm competence. The Fleet would not appoint questionable officers in Q ships — the consequences of a mistake in peacetime could be much worse than most of what a regular warship captain might experience.
“I’m sure you’re impatient to find out about our first target. You’ve heard of the Athena hijacking by now, correct?” All three, who’d joined Dunmoore, Devall, and Pushkin in the flag conference room via holographic projection, nodded. “What the official story has so far omitted is that I led the task force which brought Athena home. When we reached her, thirty-six of the Commonwealth’s leading citizens had been taken off by the abductors aboard three Arkanna-built sloops of human design who fled the moment we appeared at Galadiman’s hyperlimit. Our mission is finding those thirty-six and terminate the abductors who belong to a criminal organization made up of Fleet veterans calling themselves the Confederacy of the Howling Stars.”
— Thirty —
Dunmoore recounted the Task Force Luckner Redux expedition, what they’d discovered in Drex’s computer core and what they learned from the Colonial Office. Her captains’ surprise that it had a network of agents and subspace relays was evident. She finished with her suspicions about who led the mercenary squadron.
“We’ll begin by visiting the Abaddon system, which, according to the navigation logs of Vuko, the Howler ship we boarded, is one of their primary transportation nodes. But before leaving this rendezvous, we’ll attempt to contact the Colonial Office consul on Kilia for updates. Lieutenant Commander Khanjan, the battle group’s N6, is already working on it.”
“Attar Khanjan?” Leung asked with a slight air of surprise.
“Yes? You know him?”
“We served together in Belisarius during the war.”
“Then you’ll be able to renew your acquaintanceship in due course. He also wears the N2 hat and will handle intelligence briefings.” When Leung nodded, Dunmoore let her eyes roam around the table. “Once the Colonial Office gives us an update on conditions in the Zone, you’ll receive a navigation plot from the flag CIC, and we’ll be off. I’ve been given plenty of latitude in dealing with the Howlers and other criminals we might encounter. And since Commonwealth law doesn’t apply in the Zone, I can take whatever actions I deem necessary, provided they’re congruent with the Laws of War and the Universal Code of Military Justice. Any questions?”
Contrary to the captains she led on her previous mission, Dunmoore saw nothing less than eagerness in their eyes. Of course, this sort of operation was a Q ship’s reason for being, and they’d been in the Zone before, hunting as undercover naval vessels. But it was a double-edged assignment.
While Q ship personnel were almost the only ones facing actual combat nowadays, their missions were classified to the extent that promotions boards wouldn’t be aware of details. Thus, they might discount such service as not being a plus compared with those who’ve never fired a shot in anger since the war and operated under a flag officer’s gimlet eyes instead of a distant SOCOM HQ’s distracted gaze.
“Will we operate as Navy units or under assumed identities, and what about uniforms?” Devall asked.
“No transponders from the moment we go FTL across the boundary, masking in place, but personnel in uniform unless I say otherwise. I’ll take care of any interaction with outsiders if it proves necessary. Captains Devall and Sirico know my methods from firsthand experience. I enjoy creeping up on a target, waving a false flag if necessary, before we strike without warning.”
“Oo-rah, Admiral!” Devall pumped his fist in the air at hearing her quote Iolanthe’s motto.
She smiled at him. “I figured you might like that. Any other question?”
When they shook their heads in turn, Dunmoore said, “Thank you. Stand by for orders, and welcome to the 101st Battle Group, where fortune favors the bold.”
As the holograms vanished, Pushkin, Devall, and Guthren gave her broad grins.
“What?”
“You quoted two mottoes with wartime credentials in the space of ninety seconds,” Dunmoore’s flag captain said. “I’d say that sets the right tone for the 101st. And you finally got your fondest wish from ten years ago — a squadron of Q ships.”
“Let’s not turn sentimental.” Dunmoore stood. “That was then. This is now. We’re hunting rogue members of our own species, not the Shrehari, and humans can be notoriously devious.”
When they entered the flag CIC, Lieutenant Commander Khanjan glanced over his shoulder.
“Admiral, we received an intelligence packet from Kilia Station on the Colonial Office net, encrypted, for your eyes only.”
“Excellent. Route it to my command chair.”
Less than a minute later, she read Forenza’s missive on her virtual display, and it confirmed her instincts. Abaddon was the Howlers’ true hub, and his agent there spotted more than the usual traffic to and from their planetside lair in the weeks following her recovery of Athena.
“I understand you and Gondolier’s skipper served together in Belisarius during the war, Attar.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Did she detect a faint hint of hesitation in his tone?
“Just between my staff and I, is there anything I should be aware of?”
Khanjan shook his head without turning around.
“Nothing worthy of note, sir. She was a solid officer then, though we weren’t exactly close. You know how it is. She had her circle of friends and I had mine.”
“Understood. Let’s send sailing orders for Abaddon out to the battle group. As soon as everyone is synced, execute.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
**
“Hey, Zeke.” Kowalski stopped to let Holt catch up with her on the way to the transit station shortly before the sun was due to kiss the tops of the Jura Mountains boxing in Greater Geneva to the northwest.
“Sorry, I didn’t call or visit for a chat in the last few days. Lots happening in my world.” He looked around to make sure no indiscreet ears hovered within listening distance. “You heard Athena docked upstairs and disgorged her entitled and overly pampered guests.”
“Yes.”
“Apparently, Sara Lauzier wasn’t happy with her father pressuring the Fleet to promote Siobhan for her actions.”
“Could she be annoyed because the Navy rescued Athena rather than the SSB’s tame mercenaries?”
“In part, I suppose. But I think it’s more a matter of timing. Perhaps not all those she wanted gone were taken off, and it’s possible something else was supposed to happen before the rescue.”
Kowalski gave him a curious look. “Such as?”
He shrugged as they resumed walking.
“An incident to further discredit sovereignist movements in the Rim Sector? Another hijacking or kidnapping? A political assassination? At this point, we should consider Sara Lauzier capable of anything in furtherance of her ambitions. She wants the SecGen’s job, and she wants it right after her father’s successor finishes his or her first term in office.”
“Ooh, she’s ambitious, no question.” Kowalski grimaced. “Sara wants to parlay six years as a senator — I won’t say provided she’s elected, because that’ll happen, no matter what — into the Senate making her SecGen?”
“That’s what we hear. I’d say the disappearance of several potential opponents who traveled in Athena with her just made the goal more attainable, and she can buy a lot of support from core world senators by espousing a hard line against colonial independence. Plus, there’s the whole knowing where the bodies are buried advantage after working closely with the sitting SecGen for almost twelve years. That being said, I sure as hell hope Siobhan’s promotion to rear admiral is substantive and can’t be undone by anything short of a court-martial.”
Kowalski shook her head.
“No fear. Because she held a wartime formation command as a commodore and earned her task force a battle honor in the bargain, she qualified for substantive flag rank and only needed the board’s blessing for an out-of-sequence promotion. Sara Lauzier can’t do a damn thing about it, even though I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried. She enjoys a reputation for vindictiveness.”
Holt allowed himself a mild chuckle.
“Imagine her finding out Siobhan’s heading deep into the Zone with four Q ships, intent on recovering the missing thirty-six and teaching this Confederacy of the Howling Stars a profound object lesson.”
“How about we make sure Sara doesn’t? All it takes is her speaking with papa, and we receive recall orders from the Palace of the Stars.”
“Ah.” He raised a finger. “But is he aware we’re using the Colonial Office’s clandestine subspace relay network to speak with her? Does he even know about the network? From what I gathered, the Office’s Intelligence Service trusts politicians as little as we do and keeps such a low profile that most people at the senior levels of government don’t even realize it exists. At this point, the 101st is beyond recall as far as everyone can tell, save for those of us read into the relevant top secret special access codename. But please tell me the CNO hasn’t briefed the Grand Admiral, or if he has, that Sampaio hasn’t briefed the SecGen on this little expedition.”
“Sampaio knows, and he’s not telling Lauzier père. This is the sort of mission where politicians prefer plausible deniability, so they can appear shocked when word leaks out and immediately chastise a Fleet that looks as if it’s turned rogue. But you didn’t expect any different, now did you? The Grand Admiral needs to know.”
“If I told you the CNI doesn’t brief Sampaio on every underhanded thing his people do — and some of them would outrage the average citizen, let alone our esteem senators — would you be shocked?”
She shook her head.
“Of course not. The Grand Admiral needs just as much plausible deniability as the SecGen when it comes to you secret squirrels stashing your illicit nuts. I think Sampaio might not even want to hear the details of Siobhan’s wild ride through the Zone, just in case.”
**
Once more a passenger in her own flagship while the 101st was in hyperspace, Dunmoore whiled away the hours and days by playing round-robin chess with Pushkin, Devall, and those on the staff brave enough to face her, by reading, and by running simulations for both her people and the flagship’s crew.
“Did you ever figure we’d end up almost back where we started, Admiral?” Pushkin asked as he set up the board on Dunmoore’s day cabin dining table. “Us playing chess on our way to a fight. You the commanding officer, me your right hand.”
“I tried hard not to figure anything in the last five years, Gregor, ever since I understood the toes I stepped on while at the War College were connected to vindictive personalities who felt no compunction about making promotion boards down-rate me.”
“It probably didn’t help that you were entirely correct in your dissection of why the war dragged on so long.”
She gave him a wry smile.
“There’s no probably about it. But I suffered from delusions of grandeur. After all, I came up with and led the raid on Shrehari Prime, a tactical maneuver with strategic consequences. Since it resulted in Brakal suing for peace, I thought myself untouchable because I dealt with facts. You understand what that was, right?”
Pushkin nodded.
“Hubris.”
“Which, inevitably, led to Nemesis. The ancient Greeks were right about so many things concerning human weaknesses and the consequences thereof.”
“But the timeline reset itself before any damage became irreversible, thank the Almighty.”
“Considering the circumstances that led us to be aboard this ship at this time, wearing brand spanking new rank insignia, I might as well do so even if I’m not a believer in God, let alone predestination.”
He gave her a sly wink.
“Call it luck, then. You were well known for making your own luck during the war, and as with so many of us, peacetime left you at loose ends. The circumstances surrounding Athena’s hijacking triggered the right chain of events, and your luck returned from wherever it was hiding.” He held up both hands, fists clenched. “Your pick.”
When she pointed at his right hand, he unclenched it, showing a white pawn.
“Let’s see if my luck is sufficient to continue the winning streak I’m on.”
— Thirty-One —
“I can think of better things to do with my Saturday evening,” Commodore Ezekiel Holt muttered as he and Rear Admiral Kathryn Kowalski climbed out of the self-driving staff car she’d arranged for the ride to the Palace of the Stars’ Assembly Hall.
Both were resplendent in gold-trimmed, dark blue Navy mess uniforms with miniature medals on the left breast and gold braid stripes denoting rank on their tunic cuffs — a broad one with the executive loop on top for him, a broad and a narrow one, the latter with the executive curl for her. The Palace, illuminated by countless floodlights, shone like a beacon in the Geneva night beneath a cloudless sky.
“It’s not like we have a choice, Zeke. The SecGen specifically asked that the flag officers who dreamed up the Athena rescue scheme attend his annual Armed Forces Gala. So put on your best smile and use the time to hone your observation skills. There will be a test Monday morning.”
Holt shrugged.
“The Special Security Bureau won’t do so because it uses dangerous politicians or allows itself to be used by them in pursuit of more power. Without a proper federal police force, who’s left? Us, and not even all of us, because there are plenty of high-ranking people wearing a uniform who’ll prostitute themselves in return for wealth, power, and influence. Let’s hope Siobhan’s next expedition into the Zone gives us actionable intelligence so we can rope in the delightful Sara Lauzier before she makes more political enemies conveniently vanish at the hands of unidentified pirates while giving colonial independence ambitions the kiss of death.”
“If we’re right.”
He nodded.
“If. But I can feel it in my bones, Kathryn. Before the Navy let me return to space in Iolanthe, I was doing this sort of thing when they beached me after the loss of Shenzen. And I went back to it after leaving Iolanthe. The only difference between the corrupt admirals I investigated then and the corrupt politicians we’re looking at now is a matter of scale, both in venality and evil influence. Trust me when I say this. Sara Lauzier is into something that could get her a life sentence on Parth if she were anyone other than the SecGen’s favored eldest daughter and heir.”
“Fair enough. But it still shouldn’t be a naval officer’s job. Instead, the Commonwealth needs a true federal police, one with a professional standards branch that investigates malfeasance and corruption across the federal government, politicians included, police forces, and the Fleet.”
“No arguments here, but good luck getting the Senate to vote for its creation, let alone a SecGen signing off on the enabling legislation. So many people in this city would find themselves in the crosshairs of your professional standards branch, and they can’t allow that to happen.”
Kowalski gave him her sweet smile.
“Where there’s a will and all that, Zeke. First, we need a core of flag officers with the same vision making their way to the top. You, me, a few others, and Siobhan Dunmoore because we need a fearless, damn the torpedoes type who’ll stiffen backbones and terrify the opposition.”
**
With their armament hidden, the Q ships Thespis and Gondolier looked like innocuous, rather worn out bulk carriers in need of maintenance, the sort plying star lanes across the known galaxy. Though smaller than Iolanthe, one of the largest warships in the Fleet, they made Voivode class frigates look like corvettes.
Of different designs, both started life as armed commercial ships but were taken into the Fleet during the war. They emerged from their sojourn in a Caledonia shipyard with heavier guns, stronger shields, upgraded reactors and drives, complete combat system control suites, and cargo holds turned into missile launchers capable of overwhelming salvos. Their only true weakness compared to purpose-built warships lay in more lightly armored hulls.
Dunmoore was pleasantly surprised to see a third Q ship, the much smaller Pinafore, at the rendezvous along with her larger sisters. A pirate captured during the war, she’d been bought into the Navy and refurbished, though her chief strength lay in her speed, agility, and, like the others, cargo holds filled with modular missile launchers.
“We must have received our orders just after you went FTL at Dordogne’s heliopause, Admiral,” Lieutenant Commander Johan Darrell, Pinafore’s skipper, said. “Since we were in the general neighborhood, we booted the drives to eleven and arrived here a few hours ago.”
“Are you good for a two-month cruise?”
Darrell, a dark-complexioned man in his late thirties with hawk-like features, hooded brown eyes, and short black hair nodded.
“We are, Admiral. And carrying a full wartime load. We haven’t fired a shot in anger since our last resupply.”
“Excellent. Glad you’re with us.”
Thespis’ captain had been another pleasant surprise — Commander Thorin Sirico, her former combat systems officer in Iolanthe, still as piratically debonair as before, though with a few strands of silver in his mustache and goatee.
“I missed your class at the War College by one semester,” he’d said the moment they made radio contact. “You left for the Readiness Evaluation Division just as I arrived.”
“And how were the irregular warfare classes?”
Sirico had given her a sly grin. “I spent a lot of time running the seminars, Admiral. My course report made a special mention of it, recommending I return as an instructor after my tour of starship command.”
“And would you want to do so?”
“Perish the thought.”
Dunmoore had never met her third Q ship captain, Commander Adele Leung of Gondolier. She was in her early forties with a lean, narrow face, short dark hair, and watchful eyes. But she gave the impression of calm competence. The Fleet would not appoint questionable officers in Q ships — the consequences of a mistake in peacetime could be much worse than most of what a regular warship captain might experience.
“I’m sure you’re impatient to find out about our first target. You’ve heard of the Athena hijacking by now, correct?” All three, who’d joined Dunmoore, Devall, and Pushkin in the flag conference room via holographic projection, nodded. “What the official story has so far omitted is that I led the task force which brought Athena home. When we reached her, thirty-six of the Commonwealth’s leading citizens had been taken off by the abductors aboard three Arkanna-built sloops of human design who fled the moment we appeared at Galadiman’s hyperlimit. Our mission is finding those thirty-six and terminate the abductors who belong to a criminal organization made up of Fleet veterans calling themselves the Confederacy of the Howling Stars.”
— Thirty —
Dunmoore recounted the Task Force Luckner Redux expedition, what they’d discovered in Drex’s computer core and what they learned from the Colonial Office. Her captains’ surprise that it had a network of agents and subspace relays was evident. She finished with her suspicions about who led the mercenary squadron.
“We’ll begin by visiting the Abaddon system, which, according to the navigation logs of Vuko, the Howler ship we boarded, is one of their primary transportation nodes. But before leaving this rendezvous, we’ll attempt to contact the Colonial Office consul on Kilia for updates. Lieutenant Commander Khanjan, the battle group’s N6, is already working on it.”
“Attar Khanjan?” Leung asked with a slight air of surprise.
“Yes? You know him?”
“We served together in Belisarius during the war.”
“Then you’ll be able to renew your acquaintanceship in due course. He also wears the N2 hat and will handle intelligence briefings.” When Leung nodded, Dunmoore let her eyes roam around the table. “Once the Colonial Office gives us an update on conditions in the Zone, you’ll receive a navigation plot from the flag CIC, and we’ll be off. I’ve been given plenty of latitude in dealing with the Howlers and other criminals we might encounter. And since Commonwealth law doesn’t apply in the Zone, I can take whatever actions I deem necessary, provided they’re congruent with the Laws of War and the Universal Code of Military Justice. Any questions?”
Contrary to the captains she led on her previous mission, Dunmoore saw nothing less than eagerness in their eyes. Of course, this sort of operation was a Q ship’s reason for being, and they’d been in the Zone before, hunting as undercover naval vessels. But it was a double-edged assignment.
While Q ship personnel were almost the only ones facing actual combat nowadays, their missions were classified to the extent that promotions boards wouldn’t be aware of details. Thus, they might discount such service as not being a plus compared with those who’ve never fired a shot in anger since the war and operated under a flag officer’s gimlet eyes instead of a distant SOCOM HQ’s distracted gaze.
“Will we operate as Navy units or under assumed identities, and what about uniforms?” Devall asked.
“No transponders from the moment we go FTL across the boundary, masking in place, but personnel in uniform unless I say otherwise. I’ll take care of any interaction with outsiders if it proves necessary. Captains Devall and Sirico know my methods from firsthand experience. I enjoy creeping up on a target, waving a false flag if necessary, before we strike without warning.”
“Oo-rah, Admiral!” Devall pumped his fist in the air at hearing her quote Iolanthe’s motto.
She smiled at him. “I figured you might like that. Any other question?”
When they shook their heads in turn, Dunmoore said, “Thank you. Stand by for orders, and welcome to the 101st Battle Group, where fortune favors the bold.”
As the holograms vanished, Pushkin, Devall, and Guthren gave her broad grins.
“What?”
“You quoted two mottoes with wartime credentials in the space of ninety seconds,” Dunmoore’s flag captain said. “I’d say that sets the right tone for the 101st. And you finally got your fondest wish from ten years ago — a squadron of Q ships.”
“Let’s not turn sentimental.” Dunmoore stood. “That was then. This is now. We’re hunting rogue members of our own species, not the Shrehari, and humans can be notoriously devious.”
When they entered the flag CIC, Lieutenant Commander Khanjan glanced over his shoulder.
“Admiral, we received an intelligence packet from Kilia Station on the Colonial Office net, encrypted, for your eyes only.”
“Excellent. Route it to my command chair.”
Less than a minute later, she read Forenza’s missive on her virtual display, and it confirmed her instincts. Abaddon was the Howlers’ true hub, and his agent there spotted more than the usual traffic to and from their planetside lair in the weeks following her recovery of Athena.
“I understand you and Gondolier’s skipper served together in Belisarius during the war, Attar.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Did she detect a faint hint of hesitation in his tone?
“Just between my staff and I, is there anything I should be aware of?”
Khanjan shook his head without turning around.
“Nothing worthy of note, sir. She was a solid officer then, though we weren’t exactly close. You know how it is. She had her circle of friends and I had mine.”
“Understood. Let’s send sailing orders for Abaddon out to the battle group. As soon as everyone is synced, execute.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
**
“Hey, Zeke.” Kowalski stopped to let Holt catch up with her on the way to the transit station shortly before the sun was due to kiss the tops of the Jura Mountains boxing in Greater Geneva to the northwest.
“Sorry, I didn’t call or visit for a chat in the last few days. Lots happening in my world.” He looked around to make sure no indiscreet ears hovered within listening distance. “You heard Athena docked upstairs and disgorged her entitled and overly pampered guests.”
“Yes.”
“Apparently, Sara Lauzier wasn’t happy with her father pressuring the Fleet to promote Siobhan for her actions.”
“Could she be annoyed because the Navy rescued Athena rather than the SSB’s tame mercenaries?”
“In part, I suppose. But I think it’s more a matter of timing. Perhaps not all those she wanted gone were taken off, and it’s possible something else was supposed to happen before the rescue.”
Kowalski gave him a curious look. “Such as?”
He shrugged as they resumed walking.
“An incident to further discredit sovereignist movements in the Rim Sector? Another hijacking or kidnapping? A political assassination? At this point, we should consider Sara Lauzier capable of anything in furtherance of her ambitions. She wants the SecGen’s job, and she wants it right after her father’s successor finishes his or her first term in office.”
“Ooh, she’s ambitious, no question.” Kowalski grimaced. “Sara wants to parlay six years as a senator — I won’t say provided she’s elected, because that’ll happen, no matter what — into the Senate making her SecGen?”
“That’s what we hear. I’d say the disappearance of several potential opponents who traveled in Athena with her just made the goal more attainable, and she can buy a lot of support from core world senators by espousing a hard line against colonial independence. Plus, there’s the whole knowing where the bodies are buried advantage after working closely with the sitting SecGen for almost twelve years. That being said, I sure as hell hope Siobhan’s promotion to rear admiral is substantive and can’t be undone by anything short of a court-martial.”
Kowalski shook her head.
“No fear. Because she held a wartime formation command as a commodore and earned her task force a battle honor in the bargain, she qualified for substantive flag rank and only needed the board’s blessing for an out-of-sequence promotion. Sara Lauzier can’t do a damn thing about it, even though I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried. She enjoys a reputation for vindictiveness.”
Holt allowed himself a mild chuckle.
“Imagine her finding out Siobhan’s heading deep into the Zone with four Q ships, intent on recovering the missing thirty-six and teaching this Confederacy of the Howling Stars a profound object lesson.”
“How about we make sure Sara doesn’t? All it takes is her speaking with papa, and we receive recall orders from the Palace of the Stars.”
“Ah.” He raised a finger. “But is he aware we’re using the Colonial Office’s clandestine subspace relay network to speak with her? Does he even know about the network? From what I gathered, the Office’s Intelligence Service trusts politicians as little as we do and keeps such a low profile that most people at the senior levels of government don’t even realize it exists. At this point, the 101st is beyond recall as far as everyone can tell, save for those of us read into the relevant top secret special access codename. But please tell me the CNO hasn’t briefed the Grand Admiral, or if he has, that Sampaio hasn’t briefed the SecGen on this little expedition.”
“Sampaio knows, and he’s not telling Lauzier père. This is the sort of mission where politicians prefer plausible deniability, so they can appear shocked when word leaks out and immediately chastise a Fleet that looks as if it’s turned rogue. But you didn’t expect any different, now did you? The Grand Admiral needs to know.”
“If I told you the CNI doesn’t brief Sampaio on every underhanded thing his people do — and some of them would outrage the average citizen, let alone our esteem senators — would you be shocked?”
She shook her head.
“Of course not. The Grand Admiral needs just as much plausible deniability as the SecGen when it comes to you secret squirrels stashing your illicit nuts. I think Sampaio might not even want to hear the details of Siobhan’s wild ride through the Zone, just in case.”
**
Once more a passenger in her own flagship while the 101st was in hyperspace, Dunmoore whiled away the hours and days by playing round-robin chess with Pushkin, Devall, and those on the staff brave enough to face her, by reading, and by running simulations for both her people and the flagship’s crew.
“Did you ever figure we’d end up almost back where we started, Admiral?” Pushkin asked as he set up the board on Dunmoore’s day cabin dining table. “Us playing chess on our way to a fight. You the commanding officer, me your right hand.”
“I tried hard not to figure anything in the last five years, Gregor, ever since I understood the toes I stepped on while at the War College were connected to vindictive personalities who felt no compunction about making promotion boards down-rate me.”
“It probably didn’t help that you were entirely correct in your dissection of why the war dragged on so long.”
She gave him a wry smile.
“There’s no probably about it. But I suffered from delusions of grandeur. After all, I came up with and led the raid on Shrehari Prime, a tactical maneuver with strategic consequences. Since it resulted in Brakal suing for peace, I thought myself untouchable because I dealt with facts. You understand what that was, right?”
Pushkin nodded.
“Hubris.”
“Which, inevitably, led to Nemesis. The ancient Greeks were right about so many things concerning human weaknesses and the consequences thereof.”
“But the timeline reset itself before any damage became irreversible, thank the Almighty.”
“Considering the circumstances that led us to be aboard this ship at this time, wearing brand spanking new rank insignia, I might as well do so even if I’m not a believer in God, let alone predestination.”
He gave her a sly wink.
“Call it luck, then. You were well known for making your own luck during the war, and as with so many of us, peacetime left you at loose ends. The circumstances surrounding Athena’s hijacking triggered the right chain of events, and your luck returned from wherever it was hiding.” He held up both hands, fists clenched. “Your pick.”
When she pointed at his right hand, he unclenched it, showing a white pawn.
“Let’s see if my luck is sufficient to continue the winning streak I’m on.”
— Thirty-One —
“I can think of better things to do with my Saturday evening,” Commodore Ezekiel Holt muttered as he and Rear Admiral Kathryn Kowalski climbed out of the self-driving staff car she’d arranged for the ride to the Palace of the Stars’ Assembly Hall.
Both were resplendent in gold-trimmed, dark blue Navy mess uniforms with miniature medals on the left breast and gold braid stripes denoting rank on their tunic cuffs — a broad one with the executive loop on top for him, a broad and a narrow one, the latter with the executive curl for her. The Palace, illuminated by countless floodlights, shone like a beacon in the Geneva night beneath a cloudless sky.
“It’s not like we have a choice, Zeke. The SecGen specifically asked that the flag officers who dreamed up the Athena rescue scheme attend his annual Armed Forces Gala. So put on your best smile and use the time to hone your observation skills. There will be a test Monday morning.”
