Authors: Kennedy Hudner
Hudis paused a moment while a servant entered the room to refresh their drinks. The man, goggle-eyed behind thick glasses, topped off water glasses and put out a fresh bottle of cold white wine. He fussed over the table until one of the admirals snapped at him: “That’s enough, man. Get out and don’t bother us again!” The servant bowed hastily and withdrew, apologizing as he went.
There are only three other nations of note,” Hudis continued. “Sybil Head and the Sultenic Empire will sit on the sidelines as long as there are no attacks on their principal planets. There is even some chance the Sultenics could be persuaded to side with us if we are doing well, but if things go as planned they will not have time to mobilize.
“Refuge will side with the Vickies, but we’ve known that all along. Their navy is small, however, and by the time they mobilize, the fate of Victoria will have been decided.”
The admiral frowned. “There is a fourth nation, The Light. What of them?” he queried.
Hudis barked out a short laugh. “The Light? A bunch of religious fanatics with a small navy made up of small ships. They’re not a serious threat!”
The Tilleke cocked his head thoughtfully. “Hmmm…we have had dealings with The Light. They can be quite…nettlesome.”
Hudis snorted in derision. “How many battleships do they have? How many cruisers?”
The Cape Breton admiral had been listening. “Oh, The Light has a military force, all right, but their entire doctrine is defensive, not aggressive. They have enough forts and ships to make invading The Light like wrestling with a porcupine; you can win, but you might regret it later.”
“And your fleet building?” asked the Tilleke admiral. “Is the Dominion on schedule?”
“Our fleet will be twice as large as the Vickies think it is by the time we launch the attack,” Hudis said, unable to keep a note of smugness out of his voice. “When we give you the signal, we will be ready to attack Victoria from two fronts, while the Tilleke Empire deals with the Vickie fleet that goes to rescue the Arcadians.”
“And don’t forget our force,” said the Cape Breton admiral. “It won’t be as large as yours, Citizen Secretary, but it will give the attack a formidable edge.” This was overt posturing, of course. Cape Breton would supply access to the worm hole into Victorian space and some supply ships, but its navy was small and antiquated.
The meeting broke up. One by one, Hudis shook the hands of the foreign admirals, except for the Tilleke admiral, who would have been repulsed by the idea of touching a commoner. “This is our moment,” he told them. “Our time to strike against the Vickie oppressors, to take our rightful place. All of us our depending on you. Don’t fail us.” And then they were gone, leaving only Hudis and Admiral Mello, leader of the Dominion Space Fleet. Admiral Mello shared the brusqueness of his soldiers.
“Pretty words, Citizen Secretary,” he said. His rolling vowels gave away his upbringing in the streets of Cape Town, a coal mining region in Timor. “But it doesn’t change the fact that if the Vickies have one fucking whiff of what we’re up to, it will be
us
who’s walking into a trap, not them.”
Hudis shrugged. “Security is good, Admiral. Less than fifty people in three nations know about this. And no one else will know until the operation begins.”
The admiral was not placated. “It also doesn’t change the fact that even if the plan works, our force will still be smaller than the Vickies’.
Hudis said: “Well, Admiral, when you are small force attacking a larger adversary, it is always important to remember the first rule of military strategy.”
The admiral looked puzzled.
Hudis smiled humorlessly. “The first and most important rule, admiral: If you take on a bigger adversary, you’d better win.”
• • • • •
When Hudis returned to his suite, he was not surprised to find Colonel Inger from the Dominion Security Directorate waiting for him. Hudis knew what he was there for and looked sourly at him.
“How many this time, Colonel?”
Colonel Inger made a show of looking at his notes. “Three, Citizen Secretary. Perhaps four.”
“Who?” Hudis demanded.
“Two drivers who have seen the Cape Breton people. And the waiter.”
Hudis had a fleeting image of the thin waiter with thick glasses and receding hair who had hovered over the tables. “Well, which is it, have we been infiltrated or are you going to murder three people because you think they
might
be spies?”
Inger eyed him with barely restrained distaste. “If you put it that way, Citizen Secretary, yes, I am going to murder three people because I think they might be spies.”
“Do you have any evidence they are spies?” Hudis pressed.
Colonel Inger steepled his fingers in front of him. “I have no evidence they are not, Citizen Secretary. Do you?”
“And the fourth?” Hudis asked testily. “You said there were four?”
“The fourth is a soldier in the Dominion military. He was assigned to escort our admiral and his staff. He knows that they were here. He may not know who the Cape Bretons are, but he will certainly know that there was someone from Tilleke here.”
“One of ours, then!” Hudis said sharply. “We don’t kill our own people!” Colonel Inger stared at him expressionlessly.
How can a man with this much power be so naïve?
Inger wondered.
“No,” ordered Hudis. “Send him back to Timor, under guard if you must.”
“And the others, Citizen Director?”
“Take care of them as you see fit,” Hudis snapped irritably. There was never really any question about it. Nothing could be allowed to risk Family Reunion.
Colonel Inger bowed and left. Hudis poured himself a small cognac and stood by the window. After several minutes of watching the ocean and sipping the smooth liquor, he felt his shoulders loosen and his mind slow its ceaseless darting about. War has a way of letting the Colonel Ingers of the world reach a prominence and stature they could never achieve in peacetime, he mused. In peacetime, we keep our predators restrained, hobbled. But the chaos of strife nurtures them, exhilarates them. Makes them…ambitious. He turned away from the window and poured a second cognac.
How ambitious? We’ll need the good Colonel Inger for some time, Hudis thought to himself. But afterwards?
T
he waiter with the thick glasses waited stoically until his shift ended. Soon now, very soon, they would come to kill him. Or not. But if they did, he could not run, could not try to escape. The Abbott was clear on that point. “You must live long enough to drop your package, Reuven, and then you must wait,” the Abbot had instructed all those months ago. “This is the terrible risk, I know, but if you suddenly disappear then they will
know
that they have been discovered and all will be undone.”
But the shift ended without incident. He changed into street clothes and walked several blocks to the harbor, to a bar he drank at two or three times a week. It catered to locals, not tourists. It was dark and noisy. One or two of the regulars waived at him. The bar tender nodded in silent recognition and passed over his usual beer without a word. He took it and sat at his usual corner table. In the middle of the table was bowl of peanuts and dried fruit. And a small, flickering candle.
This is why he chose this bar. If he were ever caught with a candle in his room, questions might be asked. Someone might take note and wonder. But here every table had a candle; it was the owner’s attempt at creating an illusion of intimacy. And so he sat, beer in hand, staring at the dancing flame. And in his mind he recalled the Three Doctrines:
The First: God beckons. Our task is to seek the Light.
The Second: There are many paths to the Light. All are difficult. A man must strive.
The Final Doctrine: Death in search of the Light is not death.
His name was Reuvin. He was a Devote from the planet Canaan, sent to Darwin years earlier to spy on the Dominion agents there. For four years he had watched, listened and reported things of little consequence. Then several months ago there had been a meeting with a man The Light knew was a prince of the Tilleke Royal Family. The others were unknown, but clearly from different nations. Security at the meeting had been very tight, preventing Reuven from learning its purpose. He waited. Eventually he learned there would be another meeting. New instructions had come from the Church. Urgent instructions. And now here he was, about to make his final drop.
He stood and walked to the bathroom at the back of the bar. No one else was there. Moving quickly, he went to the waste bin, which was half full of discarded paper towels. He reached into it, groped around and then withdrew a paper towel wrapped around a hard object. He hurriedly unwrapped it, fearful someone else might enter. He withdrew a pair of black glasses with thick lens, identical to the ones he was wearing. He removed his glasses, wrapped them in the paper towel and replaced it at the bottom of the bin. Putting on the new glasses, he returned to his table.
The relief he felt was almost palpable. He had done it. His mission was over. He sipped his beer unconcernedly, not bothering to look around. They were there or they weren’t.
God has a plan for us all.
Then, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself, he spread his hands out toward the candle flame and swept them back towards his face. “
There are many paths to the Light
,” he murmured softly. “
And each must find his own.
” A deep feeling or serenity and peace flooded through him. He had done all that had been asked of him.
Now let them come.
L
ieutenant Hiram Brill took a deep breath, stood and walked to the podium. “Good morning,” he said. No matter that he had given briefings twenty times before, he could still hear the tremor in his voice. His audience, the ten senior admirals of the Victorian Fleet Council, stared at him stone-faced. The senior admirals for the Home, Second and Third fleets were there. Home Fleet was permanently stationed in Victorian space; Second, the largest of the three, was assigned to patrol the border with DUC; and Third on a constant series of “courtesy visits” to the other inhabited sectors, a not-so-subtle reminder to everyone that Victoria was the biggest, badest military power in the known universe.
In addition to the Fleet admirals, there were the commanders for Logistics and Personnel, Operations, and Intelligence. The meeting was chaired by Admiral Giunta, the First Sea Lord. Ten admirals all together, staring at one lowly lieutenant.
“Today’s briefing concerns recent developments between the Tilleke Empire and the Arcadian sector,” Brill continued. “As you know, five months ago Emperor Chalabi declared that unless Arcadia sold Tilleke ziridium at heavily discounted rates, he would deny Arcadian freighters transit rights to pass through Tilleke space. Although this is in violation of the Darwin Accords, the Emperor…”
“We are well aware of the history! Tell us something we don’t know, Lieutenant,” snapped Admiral Skiffington, head of Second Fleet.
Brill’s face flushed. He darted a quick glance at Rear Admiral Teehan, head of the Victorian Intelligence Bureau and his ultimate boss. Teehan placidly returned his gaze.
“Of course, Admiral,” Brill said more calmly than he felt. “Under protest from the League, the Emperor has not closed the shipping lanes to Arcadia, but within the last four weeks three Arcadian freighters have disappeared.”
“Yes, yes, we
know
that, Lieutenant,” Skiffington growled. “Do you have anything new to add, or is this briefing a waste of our time?” He swiveled in his seat to look at Admiral Teehan. “Really, Jeffrey, it’s bad enough that you’ve sent a
lieutenant
to brief us, but this is old news.”
“Give the boy a chance, Admiral,’ Teehan replied evenly. “There’s more.”
“And the
Lieutenant
is here at my express order, Admiral.” Admiral Giunta stared coldly at Skiffington. There was a spark of tension in the room. There was little love lost between the two men. Everyone knew that Admiral Skiffington wanted Admiral Giunta’s job as First Sea Lord, and had been actively lobbying with members of the Legislature to get it. Giunta nodded at Brill. “Continue.”
“What has not yet been made public is that tomorrow the Arcadian ambassador will formally protest to the League and petition the League to impose civil and military sanctions against the Tilleke Empire for piracy.”
“Well,” said Vice Admiral Alyce Douthat, Home Fleet, in a mischievous tone, “
that
should get a reaction from the good Emperor.
“This is obviously a job for Second Fleet,” Admiral Skiffington declared. “After all, Second Fleet has more combat experience than any other Victorian unit.”
The Home and Third Fleet admirals bristled at that remark, but before they could say anything, Brill spoke again. “Forgive me, Admiral, but there is something more. When the Arcadian ambassador makes his request, he will also announce that Arcadia and the Dominion of Unified Citizenry have entered into a mutual assistance pact. Starting immediately, all Arcadian freighters crossing Tilleke space will be escorted by DUC military vessels.”
“Well, well,” muttered Vice Admiral Katherine Penn, Third Fleet. “Isn’t
that
interesting?”
“That is preposterous,” Skiffington fumed. “Why would Arcadia look to the Ducks, for Christ’s sake! Why wouldn’t they come to Victoria? We’ve got the best fleet and we’re closer.” Left unspoken was that the Dominion had only been involved in one military confrontation in the past few years and had lost to Admiral Skiffington himself.
“Maybe it’s because the Arcadians don’t like us very much,” suggested Vice Admiral Penn. Arcadian freighters had to pass through Victorian space in order to reach at least six of its markets. The Darwin Trade Accords prohibited any tax or tariff on goods being shipped through any Sector, but it did allow for customs inspections. The Victorian Legislature promptly passed a law requiring that all shipments passing through Victorian space be inspected for contraband, hazardous materials and prohibited goods. Victoria had a limited number of customs inspectors, however, and inspection delays could tie up a valuable freighter for four or five weeks. To avoid that, shippers usually offloaded their goods at special customs warehouses, owned either directly by the Victorian government itself or specially licensed private businesses. The slow inspection process meant that a shipper was forced to keep a lot of his goods in Victorian warehouses for weeks, sometimes months. And the warehouse fees were steep.
Very
steep. The Arcadians had complained for years of the high storage fees, to no avail. Victoria was the central shipping nexus, and it shamelessly exploited it.