A Dark and Dirty War, page 7
Amali, on the other hand, since he was the number two of the most powerful human zaibatsu in history, needed no favors from Lauzier. Ruggedly handsome, with short, sandy hair, a firm jaw, and intensely green eyes, he possessed a ruthless streak not unlike Lauzier’s and a keen eye for his fellow human beings’ weaknesses, follies, and foibles. And as fellow upper crust Pacificans with an unquenchable appetite for power, they not only shared a common background but an instinctive understanding that they could help each other. Or so he believed.
He dropped into the seat beside her and took a sip from the whiskey glass in his hand.
“Escape?” She let out an inelegant snort. “From this gilded cage? Not going to happen.”
“No.” Amali shook his head. “Of course not. I just wish we knew our heading. This uncertainty risks driving several of our fellows around the bend. Carl, for example. He buttonholed me at the bar just now, already half-sloshed, and it’s not even seventeen hundred hours yet. Talked nonsense while I served myself. Something about conspiracies to overthrow the established order via our kidnapping.”
Lauzier grimaced. Carl Renzo was married to Senator Judy Chu of Arcadia, one of the most feared politicians in the Senate. A wealthy, indolent socialite by inclination and lack of other talents, Renzo could charm the shell off a Nabkhan sand beetle when he wanted. His family fortune had paid for Chu’s political rise, and his glad-handing now helped her consolidate power. But Amali’s comment didn’t surprise Lauzier. Like many whose every whim was satisfied at hyperspeed, Renzo wasn’t equipped to handle this sort of adversity.
“He’s a big boy, and we’re not his keepers.”
Amali took another sip and nodded. “Indeed. Any new thoughts about the situation?”
“Other than it was a targeted inside job commissioned by parties unknown?” She shrugged. “No. That they didn’t harm us speaks volumes, but I can’t tell yet in what language.”
— Ten —
When she heard a rap on her open office door, Kathryn Kowalski looked up and smiled.
“What brings you to the operations center, Zeke? Come in and grab a pew.”
Commodore Ezekiel Holt, no longer wearing an eye patch thanks to postwar regeneration therapy that also gave him a new leg, dropped into a chair across from Kowalski.
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hi. Any news?”
She shook her head.
“No. But it’s early days yet.”
“Well, I have some for you, which is why I made a detour to operations on my way back from a meeting with the Director General of the Colonial Office Intelligence Service.”
Kowalski cocked an eyebrow. “Do tell. Well connected, are you?”
“There’s considerable back and forth between them and us on various issues, conversations we keep hidden from most people outside Fleet intelligence and counterintelligence.”
“And also from politicians and the wider bureaucracy, I hope.”
“Of course. Even the Colonial Secretary doesn’t know much about what happens.” He gave her an amused look. “The colonials operate quite an intelligence gathering network in places we can’t or won’t go, by the way, including the Protectorate Zone, one the CNI envies. And that’s why I’m here. They admit to having agents on Kilia Station and most worlds with a renegade human population, which we already suspected. But they also seeded the area with interstellar subspace relays, which wasn’t specifically mentioned as forbidden by the Treaty of Ulufan. So in effect, they can communicate with their people directly rather than rely on avisos to act as mobile arrays.”
Surprise lit up Kowalski’s features.
“Would they give us access for the duration of this mission so we can speak with Siobhan directly?”
“We’ve got it, though I’m afraid to think about the quid pro quo they might ask later on.”
“What protocols did you negotiate?”
“I didn’t so much negotiate anything as acquiesce to their stipulations. Messages to and from Task Force Luckner will pass through me only. They will also provide anything their people pick up about Athena and the pirate ships.”
“That’s wonderful. Not being solely reliant on avisos will considerably cut down on communications delays.” She let out a soft sigh. “But we should really think about either partnering with the Colonial Office permanently or covertly seeding the Zone with our own relay constellation. Operating Q ships beyond useful radio range for weeks on end isn’t optimal.”
“At least Siobhan can use its facilities to call home.”
“Sure, but we’re still at the mercy of the resident Colonial Office agents who control access to their network.” Kowalski made a face. “We really need a change in our way of thinking. It’s fine and well that we — the Fleet — follow the Treaty of Ulufan to the letter, but since Kilia should be part of the Commonwealth sphere in the first place... Well, you know what I think about the subject. Any idea how many people our friends have on Kilia?”
Holt’s lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement.
“They established a consulate that oversees the section of the Zone that should be ours, those human-colonized star systems closest to the Commonwealth sphere. But it’s mostly a cover for the Intelligence Service which ranges much further afield.”
Kowalski let out a grunt.
“Good Lord. A well-kept secret, it seems.”
“Oh, it gets even better. My friend over there volunteered the name of the intelligence station chief on Kilia because Siobhan and I worked with him twice while we were in Iolanthe, a chap by the name Mikhail Forenza.” When her eyes widened, he nodded. “Yes, Helen Forenza’s brother. He’s her complete opposite — competent, brilliant, courageous, and ruthless in pursuit of his duty. There was no love lost between them. Mikhail Forenza gave me the impression he was relieved she’s no longer among the living. If Siobhan takes Task Force Luckner to Kilia, he’ll give her every bit of help he can without playing spy games. He owes her, if not his life, then, at the very least, his freedom. And no, I can’t discuss that particular action even with you, Kathryn, sorry.”
“Understood. If you’re good with Forenza being in on this, then I’m okay as well. Not that I have a say in the matter. I just worry about Siobhan retrieving the abductees safe and sound.”
A sardonic smile tugged at Holt’s lips. “Do I detect more than just concern for the latter in your tone?”
Kowalski raised both hands in surrender.
“Guilty as charged. If there was any justice in our beloved peacetime Navy, she’d be sitting in this chair right now, and I’d be out there leading the charge. The mission to find Athena could be what finally tips the scales in her favor before it’s too late.”
“Didn’t she miss the promotion cut-off line for the last time the other day?”
“Yes, but the Grand Admiral can promote someone out of sequence in recognition of meritorious service, and the Fleet needs officers like her more than ever.”
He gave her a knowing nod.
“So, you engineered Siobhan taking this command instead of simply sending out Battle Group 30 or 31 under their own flag officers.” His flat tone made it a statement. “Did you also engineer the hijacking?”
She chuckled.
“You give me too much credit, Zeke. I merely applied one of Siobhan’s favorite expressions — victory is a matter of opportunities clearly seen and swiftly seized. And boy did I see and seize this one from my perch as operations director for the Rim and Protectorate.”
“Why would keeping her in the Service be a victory? She’s one of those best placed in stasis during peacetime with her pod marked ‘decant in case of war,’ right?” When Kowalski didn’t immediately reply, Holt said, “Humor me. I’d like to hear your reasons, even if they might match mine. Both of us fell under her spell long ago.”
“You of all people know true peace is becoming more and more of an illusion, not only along every frontier except the one between the Shrehari Empire and us but also within the Commonwealth. That junket around the colonies to convince the local yokels of Earth’s benevolence is as much an acknowledgment as any. But these minor conflicts are part of an ongoing, dark and dirty war, Zeke, the sort our current crop of senior and flag officers barely understand, even though they paid close attention in Siobhan’s classes.
“We need fighting admirals who aren’t afraid of upsetting politicians and zaibatsus if it means pacifying sectors before they erupt in fire and blood, the sort of flag officers that peacetime navies consider excessive risk-takers capable of tarnishing the establishment’s reputation. But, unfortunately, a decade later, there are precious few left in the senior ranks beside Siobhan.”
Holt nodded.
“I can’t fault a single thing you said. But, yes, it’s getting worse out there. Though the people around here, both at Fleet HQ and in the Palace of the Stars, refuse to open their eyes.”
“For the latter, willful blindness is normal. Acknowledging there are problems means finding and implementing solutions. And the only effective ones wouldn’t please those fixated on short-term profits, the people in whose pockets most of our politicians live. Unfortunately, while that malady hasn’t quite infected our own higher-ups, their proximity to the Senate, the SecGen’s office, and the bureaucracy ensures paralysis whenever the right decision conflicts with political aims. We need to move Fleet HQ off Earth, Zeke. Get it away from Geneva’s cesspool to a place where asking for forgiveness rather than permission is the easier option.”
“And remove the military from civilian control? That’ll go over like a bottle of radioactive champagne at the SecGen’s Armed Forces Gala.”
Kowalski waved away his objection.
“I’m not proposing we go that far. The Senate would still control budgetary appropriations, and the government would still formulate defense policy. However, Fleet’s day-to-day running, especially around operations and procurement, needs to be removed from direct political and bureaucratic influence. Move this HQ out of the core worlds and rebuild it on someplace like Caledonia, where we already own a fair chunk of the planet and are closer to our vital operational areas, and a lot of the current problems become moot.”
“It would take a Grand Admiral with more gumption and ruthlessness than any I’ve seen in my career.”
A mysterious smile lit up her face.
“Not so much gumption as deviousness. We’ve already moved several of our institutions to Caledonia — the Academy, the War College, Officer Candidate School, the various Special Forces and Pathfinder Schools, our main Basic Training School, and the list goes on. All we need to do is quietly move the HQ functions over in bits and pieces until only an empty shell remains here on Earth.”
Holt let out an amused chuckle.
“And then ask for forgiveness, no doubt.”
She pointed at him.
“Precisely. Give that commodore his second star. He gets it.”
**
“Check, and I believe, mate.” Dunmoore looked up from the chessboard and gave Pushkin a triumphant smile.
He stared at the board for a few seconds before letting out a disconsolate grunt as he reached out with his index finger and tipped his king over on its side.
“Nicely done, Skipper. At this point, I think we can call each other equal in skill and cunning.”
As the loser, he removed the remaining pieces, placed them on Dunmoore’s desk, flipped the board around, and tucked them into their slots. That done, he folded the board in half and set it aside.
“Do you think we’ll find Athena at Kilia Station?”
She shook her head.
“Doubtful. Whoever organized a slick operation like this knows we planted operatives there. Or at least I damn well hope we did. There’s no better listening post to spy on doings in this part of the Zone than Kilia. Everything illegal gets laundered there before it’s sold in the Commonwealth.” She made a disgusted face. “I still can’t believe our idiotic diplomats let it become part of the Zone.”
“As you said, too much money passes through Kilia. Did you decide on what you’ll do once we arrive?”
Dunmoore shrugged.
“There aren’t many options since we’re in this as overt Navy units. If I still had Iolanthe, I’d take the covert route and infiltrate the local spacer-for-hire community. Instead, we’ll need to rely on more direct methods.”
“Like painting them with the targeting sensors of five warships. They’ll understand that if a few well placed nuclear-tipped missiles strike Kilia’s outer crust, they’re goners.”
“The people running it are savvy, Gregor. I’ve met them in person. They know Commonwealth starship captains won’t open fire in a way that could kill ten thousand sentient beings in one go, at least not now that this part of the galaxy is nominally at peace. So no, offering violence while flying the Commonwealth flag won’t work. If we could pass as a squadron of mercenaries, perhaps. But there’s no way to disguise who we really are. Besides, Kilia has teeth of its own, and I’d rather not get my people killed for the sake of Athena and its passengers when there are alternatives.”
Pushkin scoffed at her words.
“Even the lowliest of our spacers is worth more than that entire shipload of political grifters.”
“Perhaps, but we have a mission to accomplish, Gregor.” Dunmoore stood and stretched. “I’m due for a session in the gym.”
“As am I. See you there.”
— Eleven —
“Once we find Kilia’s current position, we’ll jump inward and emerge at her hyperlimit in silent running mode. I hope you have sufficient practice — I know Salamanca can turn herself into a hole in space. Kilia might be one step above a pirate’s nest, but my visits during the war proved there is nothing wrong with her sensors and weapons.”
Dunmoore looked around the flag conference table at the holographic frigate and corvette captains. Task Force Luckner had dropped out of FTL at Kilia’s heliopause half an hour earlier, and she’d immediately called her command team together so she could check on the status of her other ships and discuss the next steps.
“Jan Sobieski can be as good a hole as Salamanca, accounting for her greater age, sir,” Captain Kardas replied in a confident tone.
“So can Arthur Currie,” Captain Sani added.
Charles Martel’s commanding officer didn’t seem quite as confident when he met Dunmoore’s eyes.
“As you know, she’s due for a refit, so I’m afraid we might show some emissions leakage, but we’ll do our best.”
“Understood. And Sackville?”
“I confess we don’t practice as much as we should, but we’ll do our best as well.” A faint air of embarrassment hung over Lieutenant Commander Qiao.
Dunmoore privately gave him kudos for admitting what she suspected was true of the four. Running silent was a mandatory drill that should be given as much importance as the others, but with memories of the war fading away, only warships on anti-piracy patrol used it in real-time.
“Sir?” Pushkin raised his hand. “If I can offer a suggestion, let’s watch each of the ships go silent in turn and check for emissions before heading inward. It’ll give us a chance to make any necessary corrections.”
“Excellent idea, Gregor. Set up a test run once we’re done here, including Salamanca, even though we certified her silent running processes a few weeks ago. The others can check her. It’ll be good training for their sensor operators.”
She briefly glanced at the three frigate captains to see if any of them seemed worried at being tested by the redoubtable Siobhan Dunmoore after calling their ships ready for silent running. But they kept their composures.
“Any questions or comments?” When they shook their heads, she said, “Thank you. Stand by for orders from Commander Pushkin concerning the silent running drills and a navigation plot from Commander Khanjan.”
Dunmoore stood, imitated by the others, and left the conference room via the flag CIC. There Attar Khanjan, a lanky fifty-something with jet black hair and a drooping gray mustache, waited at his station for Salamanca’s sensor sweep results. Pushkin joined her a few moments later.
“I guess Qiao is the only honest one besides Piotr Rydzewski,” he said as he took the operations director station to prepare for the test. “There’s no way the frigates are as polished as we were back in the day. And in a few years from now, Salamanca will be no better.”
“Possibly, perhaps even probably.” Dunmoore took the command chair. “Flag officers rarely leave their offices to sail with their commands nowadays. Too much administration and too few formation exercises. Oh, I’m sure they practice silent running, but for an hour or two, not an entire watch, let alone a whole day.”
“And they won’t have their chief engineers crawling all over the place trying to stem the slightest remaining emissions either.”
“Perhaps.” After a second or two, Dunmoore let out a snort of derision. “You know what, Gregor? I just realized we’ve become annoying old grumps with too many war stories and not enough respect for those who came after us. You know, the people we found irritating when we were young, with our entire careers ahead of us. So let’s let our captains prove themselves. If they don’t meet my standards, we’ll help them fix the issues. If they do, then I’ll give them a nod of approval.”
Pushkin allowed himself a soft grunt.
“A good thing we keep these conversations among us, then.” He paused. “Maybe we do sound a little bitter at times.”
“There’s no maybe about it, Commander,” Khanjan said without turning to face them. “But that’s par for the course in the Readiness Evaluation teams. We’re past our best before date and acutely aware of the fact. My buddies in the Fleet Security Professional Standards Division are the same. That’s why we’re both chosen as the much-hated and feared inquisitors, capable of destroying careers with one terse report.”
