Imperial Gambit: Archangel One, page 1
Imperial Gambit
Archangel One
Evan Currie
Copyright © 2022 Evan Currie
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Prologue
Imperial World Kraike
“Well, Fleet Commander,” The Empress spoke softly to herself as she looked over the report. “Not precisely what I expected from you, but impressive nonetheless.”
“Indeed,” The Emperor said, looking over his daughter’s shoulder. “It would appear that Fleet Commander Mich has learned a degree of… subtlety from his recent tribulations.”
The Empress nodded absently, considering the situation.
Traditionally, a Fleet Commander of the Empire had little need for anything of the sort. Subtle interactions were not, after all, a hallmark of the Empire in the modern era. As a rule, power… well, ruled. Subtle interactions were for the weak.
Still, there was a good argument that the Empire was weak in the region that the Fleet Commander was working. The Free Stars were a useful location to the Empire, providing disposable training options for Imperial crews and commanders, as well as some vital materials on occasion. The material in question this time was extremely valuable, enough so that under normal circumstances the Empire would have secured it a long time past. However, it was located too deep in the Free Stars and too far from Imperial borders to be properly secured.
Allowing the locals, in this case the Hele Protectorate, to secure and mine the material for the Empire had been an acceptable alternative. Now, however, this little band of pirates… of all things… had placed the weakness of that arrangement out in the open for all to see.
“If they’re so pitiful as to lose their most vital star to a small band of pirates who, by all reports, intentionally crippled their own fighting capabilities in order to preserve the lives of slaves…” She shook her head. “I agree with the Fleet Commander, I believe. Returning the system to the Protectorate is an… unpalatable option.”
“Agreed,” The Emperor said as he turned to look out over the great city that sprawled out from the base of the Imperial tower. “What level of forces do you intend to leave in the area?”
The Empress took a breath, both considering the question and recognizing the test inherent in it.
It was tempting to leave a squadron, at least, if not a full Fleet Element. The Neutron Star material there was of inestimable value to the Empire, especially given their recent loss to the potential Xenos who had teamed with the cowards and traitors of Oather space. However, as she had come to know more well than she’d have preferred, the logistics of stationing any element that large so far from the Empire’s lines would be… problematic.
“A single ship, I believe,” she said after a moment. “Nothing large. Something disposable, but with long range capabilities.”
The emperor nodded, “Reasoning?”
“If the Imperial flag isn’t sufficient to deter the locals, then an appropriate fleet can be dispatched to… instruct them in the forms of respect the flag deserves,” she said firmly. “If they leave it be, then we gain the materials at minimum cost. If they have the audacity to assault the system despite our ship, then we gain an excellent bit of propaganda to shake up the border worlds and an excuse to dispatch a fleet to correct their error. It will be good training.”
“Acceptable.”
She smiled slightly at the approval in her father’s voice, but the slight smile on his face disappeared a moment later.
“What preparations should be made?” he asked.
Another test, she thought, mind running over the possibilities. “Preparations, father?”
“Should they test the Imperial resolve, there will be inevitable disruptions.”
“Our fleets will lay waste to them.”
“Of course, but in the interim, the Empire will be without a shipment, possibly more, of the Neutron Star Material,” The Emperor said patiently.
“Ah,” The young Empress slumped slightly. “I had missed that. Yes, we should stockpile materials then.”
“Very good.”
“I will make a note and…”
“Your Majesty!”
The Empress twisted, glaring at the intruder to her personal offices. She clamped down on the anger at the intrusion, though, knowing that none of her people were likely to burst in without cause.
“What is it?” She demanded in a cold tone she’d practiced until it could flay a being down to the soul if needed.
The intruder was an officer she recognized, part of the Intelligence division, and not the sort she’d have expected to come rushing in to interrupt her time with her father.
“Your Majesty,” he said stiffly, bowing tightly. “Elements of the eighth fleet have returned to Imperial space.
A cold chill went down her spine.
“Elements?” She asked softly, rising from her desk and stepping out from around it. “What of the rest?”
*****
Imperial Command
This is insanity. What could have happened to draw Commander Birch into such a position?
The reports from the survivors of the Eighth Fleet were damning, somehow the entire group had been lured into a trap and defeated entail. Only the Commander’s final order prevented a total loss by all official accounts, but that made no sense to her as she read over the words drawn from the interrogations and reports of the survivors.
Emilia Starsbane had not expected this outcome of assigning her old friend to the problem of the Oather colonies. None of them had.
These Xeno are becoming more than a mere affront to humanity, they are becoming a personal insult to my own name.
“What of Fleet Commander Birch?” She demanded softly, her tone brooking no doubt to the seriousness of the question.
“Apologies, your Majesty,” An intelligence officer spoke up. “Her ship was struck down moments after she ordered the retreat.”
Emilia’s face froze, anger waging a war with sorrow and winning handily.
They dared… She seethed internally. They dared strike down Helena’s ship? I will make them pay for this.
“I want full reports of all actions taken by the eighth since they left imperial space to the conclusion of the final battle,” She ordered. “And I want them by morning.”
The intelligence officer choked, “Your Majesty…”
“By morning, Sub-Commander, or you will not like the consequences.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Emilia rose from the command center, eyes lingering on the displays that showed the current disposition of the ships that had once been part of the Eighth Fleet.
You’ll be avenged.
*****
Confederation Detention Facility Ares, Former Mars Orbit
Helena Birch looked around the small cell with some distaste, but in all honesty, she had seen far worse in her years. She’d even been a guest in one or two that made her current facilities look rather upscale.
An occupational hazard of an intelligence officer in the field, I suppose.
Her career had been atypical for the Imperial Forces. She’d spent more time in the field than in the command chair than the vast majority of Imperial Officers. Most of which spent no time in the field, intentionally at least, and if they did it was normally a fairly cushy rear echelon position or, for those that weren’t total wastes, a front forward combat position.
Her time had been spent well past the front lines, normally working with limited resources while surrounded by enemies of one type of another.
Well, my resources are a little more limited than normal, I have to admit that much, she thought wryly. But the surrounded by enemies part does feel rather comfortably familiar.
The people who’d taken her prisoner had been rather nice about things, oddly enough. The food was good, the accommodations… while not up to Noble specifications, were certainly not particularly objectionable to her…
And I have the feeling that if I did object, these people would be happy to find me something more suitable…
That was the issue she was dealing with, actually. Thus far they hadn’t even attempted an interrogation. Beyond asking her name and confirming that she had commanded the fleet, which she’d seen little point in lying about given that they’d captured elements of the fleet’s computer systems, there hadn’t been much question as to her identity.
Still, it had been weeks now, perhaps more than a month.
Long enough for the surviving elements to get home to the Empire. I hope most made it.
The intervening time had been largely one of boredom, though again her captors had been rather pleasant about providing entertainment. Most of which had been translated to Imperial with atrocious accents, but it was an impressive attempt, nonetheless.
Most of her fellow Fleet Commanders would likely have been puzzled in the extreme by the treatment, but Birch was familiar with the technique being employed. It wasn’t one that the Empire made much use of, however, largely due to the impatience of those in the command structure.
The soft touch was the sign of a true professional, som
Who are these people?
*****
Admiral Gracen eyed the woman on the screen curiously.
They had taken prisoners before, something the enemy had not yet attempted as best they could tell, but this woman represented the highest ranked Imperial Officer they’d managed to get their hands on. What that would mean going forward, honestly no one seemed ready to make any guesses at.
From their observations, however, the woman was disciplined, intelligent, and observant in the extreme. Gracen had little doubt that she was cataloging every detail she’d been exposed to, on the off chance she got a chance to report it back to the Empire.
That was why they were carefully censoring her access to anything resembling intelligence assets. Even the entertainment being provided was being pulled from TV and Movies from the last century, well prior to the Block War and sanitized of anything that might give hints about realistic combat deployments.
Conversations with her had been inconclusive to this point, however, as she was also clearly trained in counter-intelligence techniques.
Which was, to Gracen’s mind, the single best piece of news they had yet.
You didn’t give someone that level of training if they weren’t expected to need it, as a rule, and if they needed it… it meant that they had something worth protecting.
Gracen was already fighting off elements from other branches who wanted access to the woman, too many of them locked into the stupid way of doing things.
Torture was somewhat out of vogue in the Confederation and its allies, but too many people still thought that there was a difference if you just called it ‘Enhanced Interrogation’ instead. Gracen would be damned if she let any of those ham-handed imbeciles near this woman.
There were ways to filter out bad intelligence from good even when using enhanced techniques, but ultimately the downsides of acting like barbarians were too entrenched for her taste. Sooner or later, they’d be releasing these people. Sending them home with stories of monsters to regale their fellows with was not in the interest of the Confederation so far as Gracen was concerned.
Getting good intel, however, was.
“When will you begin?” Gracen asked, looking at the Intel Man standing silently beside her.
Gregory Magg shrugged, “Shortly I expect. She’s adjusted well to the new location, not even opted to complain about the facilities. Mildly surprising, and a little disappointing since we’d prepped a nicer set of quarters for her to move to once she did. I think she knows the play, though.”
Gracen snorted, “Most likely. That woman’s been on the sharp end more than once in her life.”
“That would be our read as well. Intelligence, maybe, at the very least she’s done time in the trenches.”
Gracen nodded, thinking to the report from the Odysseus… and from Odysseus him, her, or itself.
She had little love for the entity in question, or any of them, but the information that came from Odysseus in this case fit with the intelligence officers’ expectations near perfectly. She almost wished that she could have kept the Odysseus in Sol Space a while longer, just to have access to the mind-reading capabilities of the ship, but the flagship and its entire squadron were still required to show the flag and respond to any further Imperial interventions.
How are they going to react to this?
*****
Chapter One
NACS Odysseus Task Group, Edge of Priminae Space
Commodore Eric Stanton Weston stood over the bridge from the admiralty deck, looking on as his people got around to their jobs. The group had been reinforced and gained a few ships in response to the losses they’d taken to entrap the Imperial fleet some weeks earlier.
Some ships, like the Bo, were still in port for repairs and would be for the foreseeable future. They’d taken a beating to make sure that the enemy held in place long enough for Admiral Rael and the Priminae forces to close in and drop the boom on the enemy, but that was sometimes what had to be done, he supposed.
Now they were looking out over the edge of the space claimed by the Priminae, waiting really, to see what the Empire’s next move would be.
Eric was, himself, looking out at the star cluster that made up the core of Imperial territory, or as best they could be certain.
Captain Passer and the Rogues had scoped out the edges of Imperial space during the first few encounters they’d had with the Imps. Since then, reports from Steph’s Archangel squadron had expanded on that information, as well as filling in a lot about a section of space on the far side of the Imperial stars from the perspective of humanity.
They were a long ways off, however, at least in terms of stellar distances. Almost a thousand lightyears from the edge of Imperial Space to the first star systems that the Priminae considered their own. Earth was a little farther, though canted off slightly negative to the Galactic plane.
That meant that even at the maximum warp available using the Imperial and Priminae drives, it took weeks for ships to move between the two stellar polities.
Assuming they managed it, the remnants of the fleet should have reached Imperial space not long ago. How much more time, I wonder, before we see a response here?
In many ways, the strategic movement of ships mirrored the tactical deployments he was becoming used to since captaining the original Odyssey. Strategy was less about being clever with maneuvers and much more about just knowing the math that defined the options available to yourself and your enemy.
If you knew the math, and you knew your enemy, there was shockingly little they could really do to surprise you… it took getting really clever to pull off that sort of thing in space.
It wasn’t impossible, though.
You just needed to get… creative.
*****
Captain’s Ready Room
“Oh dear.”
Miram looked over at the sound of a voice where she’d been quite certain that there was no person to create such a sound, sighing almost inaudibly when she saw the familiar form of Odysseus standing in the corner. He was in his more subdued look, one that incorporated tasteful cosmetics and modern looking armor in the place of the antique and bizarre look he’d originally preferred.
She much preferred this look, which was likely the reason he had chosen to appear in it.
“Precisely, Commander.”
“Please don’t do that,” Miram said wearily. “It’s creepy to have your thoughts responded to.”
“Apologies,” Odysseus said with a shrug. It is… my nature.”
“Understood, just try, please.”
“I will, Ma’am.”
Miram nodded curtly before she visible pulled her train of thought back where it had been before being derailed as it had been.
“What was the oh dear for?” She asked, curious.
“The Commodore is thinking about getting… creative, Ma’am.” Odysseus said, almost sourly as he genuinely looked discomforted by the thought.
Not that I can blame him for that, she thought. The idea of Weston getting creative was enough to put her on edge too.
“The Commodore is the Commodore, Odysseus,” was all she said aloud. However, her smirk in his direction, and Odysseus’ own returning smile, was all they needed to communicate her true thoughts and confirm that he’d heard them.
She’d come to… not like the entity precisely, but certainly appreciate him more once he’d stopped acting out with his… she wasn’t even really certain what his issues were, if she were honest, but the more seriously he’d taken shipboard discipline the more she found it easy to, in turn, take him seriously as well.
“I’m sure that he’ll get plenty of chances to be creative in time,” she said after a moment. “But for now, there’s no sign of any enemy.”
Odysseus nodded, “Most likely a few weeks before we’ll see a concerted response, at a minimum.”
Miram glanced over curiously, “Did you calculate that, or someone else?”
The entity flushed, or appeared to, slightly.
“The Commodore, Ma’am,” He admitted.
Miram nodded, unsurprised. “And you understand the basis of his calculation?”
“Yes ma’am. Transit time, reaction time, politics.”
