Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 (21 page)

“They wouldn’t do
that,” said the Captain, feeling the headache coming back from where it had
been retreating.  “We’re too valuable a scouting asset to be riding herd on a
collection of rust buckets.  Aren’t we?”

“I would have thought
so before they saddled us with them,” said Jackson.  “But you never know with
the admiralty.  Anyway, I just wanted to see what your take was.  I’ll be up to
relieve you shortly.  Jackson out.”

Mei Lei thought about
what her first officer had said for a moment.  Surely they wouldn’t waste a
state-of-the-art resource like
Joan de Arc
to permanent convoy duty. 
They had a lot of space to cover out here.  And something going on that they
didn’t quite understand, but looked like it might develop into trouble.  If
they couldn’t see that her battle cruiser was much more valuable scouting…

“Ma’am,” called out the
helm, looking over his shoulder.

“Yes,” she said,
looking up, her eyes widening as she saw the tactical display.  “That damned
idiot.”

“Yes ma’am,” said the
helm.  “He’s putting on some gee to move ahead of Merlson’s ship.”

The convoy was actually
decelerating at about a hundred gravities, working their way down to point one
c so they could translate back into normal space at their destination.  Dupfers
had cut back on his decel, letting his ship fall up on the freighter to his
front, as he put in enough side vector to move around the offending leader.

“Get
Gazelle
on
the com,” ordered Lei, looking over at the com tech.  “Tell her to match
velocities with that maniac and board him.  I want him thrown in their brig and
kept there until I tell them to release him.  They are to put an officer aboard
to con the ship to destination.”

The com tech nodded and
turned back to her station, getting to work.

Maybe we can have a
nice little naval engagement once we get rid of this cluster
, she thought.  Even
thinking of bringing the ship into battle brought a smile to her face.  At
least there she could open fire on the offending miscreants.

*     *     *

The trivee projected
the face of the Admiral into a holo field at the front of the room, the GNN
logo in a wrap around at the bottom.  The beautiful Asian woman was standing
next to him, and the picture kept switching back between the officer and the
reporter.

“No,” said Grand High Admiral
Gabriel
Len
Lenkowski, the location noted as a chamber aboard the
superbattleship
Vakyrie
.  “I don’t believe that the IIB has done much of
a job on this investigation.  They determined that an innocent woman, Dr.
Lucille Yu, a scientist that is a necessary component in the
Donut
Wormhole Project, was guilty, without any proof whatsoever.  They incarcerated
this woman on Purgatory and closed the case.”

“So you believe that
someone else was responsible for the death of the Emperor?” said the young
woman, whose name, Joan Wang, showed below her picture.  “Even though the
killer was identified as one Ensign Mark O’Brien, of the Emporal Protection
Force?”

“That young man was
just the pawn used in this assassination,” said the Admiral, an angry scowl on
his face.  “Hell, he had no motive to kill the Emperor.  We believe he was deep
conditioned by someone to override his inhibitions of harming the Imperial
family.”

“But he was deep
conditioned to protect the Imperial family as well, was he not?”

“Damn right he was,”
said the Admiral, nodding his head.  “Like all members of the Emperor’s Guard. 
But someone has found a way around that conditioning.”

“And how is that
possible?” asked the reporter, her face serious.  “I thought there was no way
to get through that kind of conditioning.”

“That’s what they say,”
said Lenkowski, the scowl growing deeper.  “That’s what they say.  But I
believe someone has found a way around that.”

“And who would that
be?”

“When I find out you
will know,” said Lenkowski, looking straight into the camera.  “When I find out
everyone will know.”

“What our viewers want
to know is why you took it upon yourself to assault an Imperial prison with a
military force to take a woman out of lawful custody,” said the reporter.  “In
fact, according to the IIB and the Imperial Prison Commission you released
twenty-three other prisoners, and had hidden their location from the proper
authorities.”

“That is because the
proper authorities had them in detention illegally,” said the Admiral, his
voice rising.  “I am not about to allow those people to disappear again.”

“And that is why you
are staying on this warship in orbit around the planet?” said the reporter.

“I don’t want to get
into a conspiracy theory,” said the Admiral, nodding.  “Neither do I want to
disappear like those people you have been asking about.”

“So you take the law
into your own hands?”

“I am a sworn officer
in the Imperial Navy,” said the Admiral, glaring out at the invisible
audience.  “The oath I swore was to defend the Empire against all enemies,
foreign and domestic.  And I think we have an enemy domestic in this case.  And
so I acted.”

“And you are above the
law that is calling for you to report to a hearing of the Lords Council?”

“I am responsible to
the Emperor,” said the Admiral.  “And when an Emperor is seated, I will answer
to him.”  Lenkoswki looked into the camera for a moment, a tear starting in one
eye.  “Augustine was a good man and a good Emperor.  He did not deserve what
happened to him.  And the people of the Empire do not deserve to have his
leadership taken away.  I will find out who is responsible.  And I will see
that they are brought to justice.”

The holo switched to
the face of another woman in the Capitulum studio of the Galactic New Network,
looking straight into the camera.

“Patriot fighting a
battle against those who took the life of the Emperor,” said the woman.  “Or a
megalomaniac with no control on his power.  What do you think, Imperial
Citizens?

“And in further news,
the capital has completely shut down all activity as it goes into official
mourning for the Emperor and his family.  The Imperial Athletic Games,
scheduled to have begun next week in honor of a thousand years of Empire, have
been cancelled.  All flags are flying at half-mast.  And…”

“Off,” yelled Interim
Prime Minister Theo Streeter, the Duke of Coventry, and the holo died.  He
turned his angry face on the woman in charge of the Lords’ security, Sergeant
of Arms Countess Judy Decker.  “Why can’t you get him before a justice
committee?” he screamed at the woman.  “He is making a mockery of the Lords. 
Of the entire Parliament.”

“And how do you propose
I do that?” asked the woman, standing up and going face to face with her
superior.  “He is sitting on a twenty million ton warship, one of the most
powerful in the fleet.  Which is surrounded by other warships.  What do you
want me to do?  Order a broadside to broadside battle with Customs’ cutters
against battleships.  I’m sure that would play out well on the news.”

“And still no luck on
getting naval personnel to see that they are violating the law?”

“Not a chance,” said
the woman.  “Fleet is loyal.”

“And what about a
surgical strike,” said the Duke, looking at the ceiling and thinking.

“With what?  IIB
Commandoes?  SWAT?”

“Yes,” said the Duke. 
“Exactly.  With those people.”

“He is surrounded by
Imperial Marines, minister,” said the woman, her voice rising in exasperation. 
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have naval commandos aboard as well.  The
best of the best.  They would go through anything we sent their way like a
laser through paper.  No, as long as he is aboard that ship he is beyond our
reach.”

“Then maybe we need to
take that ship out,” said the Duke under his breath, visualizing the
superbattleship going up in an explosion and solving all their problems.

“I’m not sure I heard you
right, minister,” said the Countess, a frown on her face.

“You just keep trying
to get him before our committee,” said the Duke, pointing a finger at the
woman. 
And I’ll see what else can be done.  If I can ever get that damned
agent to act.

*     *     *

“The scouting pods will
be going in within the next six hours, my Lord,” said the officer, standing at
the doorway of the Admiral’s private command room.

Low Admiral
Hrisshammartanama grunted in acknowledgment as he stared into the holo tank
that occupied the center of the room.  It showed the local area, ten light
years in diameter.  A dozen stars occupied the view, only one of which was of
interest.  And around that star were the vector arrows of the Low Admiral’s
force, moving toward the target in hyper VII.

I wonder if we will
ever find a way to go faster
, thought the Low Admiral, thinking of how far
they were from the imperial capital.  Almost two years travel time at their
best rate.  And five centuries before it would have been almost a decade, while
they were still limited to hyper VI. 
And in that time these humans have
developed travel through three levels of hyper, from IV to VII.  What drives
them so?  And is there any way we might be able to incorporate their drive
within our own Empire?

The Low Admiral gave a
head toss of negation at that thought.  The emperor had declared that this
species was to be destroyed.  Then he thought of the humans that still survived
within the Empire, though they only survived at the sufferance of the Emperor,
and only that they might be of aid against their kinsmen. 
But such a waste
,
he thought, willing the holo view to expand and show more of the local area. 
More stars filled the field, more with the icons of inhabited systems, numbers
underneath showing what they knew of those clusters of planets.  Two other
systems showed the icons of Ca’cadasan assault forces, all timed to strike at
more or less the same time.

The only thing we don’t
know is how many ships are in each system,
he thought, staring at the stars as if
willing them to give up their information. 
They could be empty of vessels,
everyone out on patrol.  Or we could fly into a system brimming with warships,
and no one will know what happened to us, only that we didn’t return from our
mission
.

Hrisshammartanama
grunted and scoffed at that idea.  He was sure that his ships were superior to
those of the humans.  He was also sure that they could swarm him under by
weight of numbers if they possessed that advantage.  But that was unlikely, was
it not?

The Admiral walked from
his private room and onto the bridge, waving the crew back to their positions
as he walked to his chair. 
They are doing important work
, he thought,
looking at the viewer that showed the star ahead, and the vector arrows of his
assault force moving into place.  Ahead were the three scouting pods, eight
ships each.  Curving to the side were the containment forces, moving to seal
off the system and keep leakers from getting out to carry the word to others. 
To either side of his ship were the other battleships, paired up with the
cruisers and escorts they carried with them, the standard deception of the
fleet that would hopefully fool the enemy as to his numbers, for just a while. 
And behind were the troop transports and their escorting vessels, there to
complete the conquest of the system as soon as he smashed the vessels and
anti-ship defenses of the enemy.

“Any indication that
they know we are here?” he asked his tactical officer.

“No, my Lord,” said the
officer.  “We have had no contact with their vessels since we took out that
squadron of their scouts a couple of hours ago.”

The Low Admiral grunted
at the remembrance.  There had been five ships in that group they had found in
hyper VI, all just under a million tons.  They had fought skillfully.  And they
had died quickly, overwhelmed by the Ca’cadasan ships.  But they had left a
positive impression on the Admiral.  This was not an opponent to be taken
lightly.  He had tried to impress that on the captains, but wasn’t sure they
had seen his point. 
They will learn
, he thought, turning away from the
tactical officer and looking at the main viewer. 
They will learn, or they
will be replaced by death.

“They are surely detecting
us by now, my Lord,” said the sensory officer.  “We are well within detection
range for hyper VII.”

“And they will be
confused by what they are seeing,” said the tactical officer, a smug look on
his face.  “They will wonder, and worry, and finally panic.”

And that they will not
do, you pompous fool
,
thought the Admiral, shooting a glare at the oblivious officer. 
This is not
a species that panics.  It is species that perseveres, and I hope we can knock
them out quickly.

Chapter 9

War is hell, but that's
not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and
courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love.  War
is nasty; war is fun.  War is thrilling; war is drudgery.  War makes you a man;
war makes you dead.  Tim O'Brien,
The Things They Carried.