Shadow of Freedom-eARC (58 page)

That wasn’t the right verb, and he knew it, but it came close. It was as if he and his ships were so sublimely unimportant that the Manty admiral couldn’t even be bothered to send someone to squash them. Francis Thurgood had never been one of those Battle Fleet idiots, and he’d never felt any particular urge to die for the honor of the flag. The lives of the men and women under his command were far too important to waste doing stupid things. But still that sensation of being casually brushed aside…

Better that than being turned into glowing wreckage
, he reminded himself.
Not that your
career
isn’t going to get turned into wreckage when Old Terra finds out about this. Alonso y Yáñez will probably realize you did the right thing, but that prick Rajampet sure as hell won’t. The civilians are going to be looking for scapegoats, too, and you can bet your bottom credit they aren’t going to put any of the blame on Verrocchio. Hell, they’ll probably turn him and Hongbo into
martyrs!
The courageous civilian administrators who stayed at their posts while the military cut and ran on them. Blech
.

“I suppose we should head back to Flag Bridge,” he said out loud, pushing back from the table. Wayne and Commander Merriman followed him out of the briefing room, and he tried hard to shake free of the numb dejection which had flowed over him in the last three and three-quarters hours.

It had taken the Manties roughly three hours and twenty minutes to reach Meyers, and Trondheim had surrendered the planet to them as soon as they did. No doubt they’d been “discussing” his options with him throughout their approach. Of course, it had taken another twenty-five minutes for Trondheim’s lightspeed message to overtake Thurgood’s fleeing command. Which meant he’d been up to a base velocity of almost 79,000 KPS, and only 89.6 million kilometers from the hyper limit—and safety—when
Edgehill
received the confirming transmission.

Trondheim’s career would be going down the toilet, too, he reflected. For that matter, plenty of other careers were going to get turned into mush right along with his before this rat fuck of a war was over. But at least
his
people were going to live to fight another—

His thoughts cut off abruptly as an alarm shrilled.

“Hyper footprint!” Captain Macpherson snapped. “Multiple hyper footprints at zero-zero-zero by zero-zero-two! Range eight-niner-point-seven million kilometers!”

Thurgood’s breathing seemed to stop as the blood-red icons appeared on the master plot directly ahead of his battlecruisers. How—?

The range was still the next best thing to five light-minutes. It was going to be a while before they had any lightspeed sensor results, but gravitics were FTL, and he watched silently as a pale-faced Macpherson leaned over a sensor rating’s shoulder, staring at the detailed information from CIC. The ops officer’s eyes darted from side to side, absorbing the data, and then she straightened slowly.

“From the impeller signatures, CIC makes it at least six of those big battlecruisers of theirs, Sir. Looks like they’ve got four heavy cruisers and at least four light cruisers—or maybe those outsized destroyers—to back them.”

“I see.”

Thurgood looked back at her for a moment, then clasped his hands behind him and walked slowly over to the communications section. He paused behind Lieutenant Commander Lister, waiting for what he knew had to come.

No wonder they didn’t chase us
, his mind reflected in the still calm that followed utter disaster.
They didn’t have to. All they had to do was send somebody back up into hyper to tell the people they’d left there where they had to go to intercept us. And all
I
managed to do was to build up enough velocity I can’t possibly avoid running right into that fucking long-ranged missile basket of theirs!

He felt his jaw muscles ache with the pressure of his clenched teeth and forced himself to relax them. No doubt those fleeing freighters were going to find
themselves
picked off, too, he thought. Which meant Verrocchio and Hongbo weren’t going to manage to run out on their mess after all. That was something, at least.

“We have a message request, Commodore,” Lister said quietly. “It’s from a Rear Admiral Oversteegen.”

“I’ve been expecting it, Olaf,” Thurgood replied with a thin smile. “I suppose you’d better go ahead and put him through.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Michelle Henke rose behind her desk as her day cabin’s door opened. The man who stepped through it was of average height, with the dark hair and eyes which seemed to be the norm here on the planet of Meyers. He was well dressed, although the cut of his clothing was a T-year or two out of date by the latest Core World fashions, and he extended a well manicured hand as he approached her.

“Prime Minister Montview,” she said, reaching out her own hand. His grip was surprisingly firm, not the perfunctory squeeze too many politicians had perfected from too many T-years of shaking voters’ hands, and his dark eyes met hers.

“Admiral Gold Peak,” he responded.

“Please, have a seat,” she invited, reclaiming her hand and indicating the pair of armchairs arranged on either side of the coffee table.

“Thank you.”

Montview accepted the invitation, and Chris Billingsley appeared as if by magic. Michelle’s steward was resplendent in perfectly turned out mess dress uniform, with a white towel over his left forearm which ought to have seemed out of keeping with his battered prizefighter’s face but somehow didn’t. He carried a tray of finger sandwiches, which he placed on the coffee table. Then he gathered up the silver coffee pot embossed with HMS
Artemis
’ crossed-arrow coat of arms and poured two cups.

“Will there be anything else, Milady?” he inquired.

“Just make sure Alfredo has fresh celery, please, Chris,” Michelle replied.

“Of course, Milady.”

Billingsley bowed slightly to her and to her guest, then withdrew, pausing to check with the treecat arranged on the perch behind Michelle’s desk. Master Sergeant Cognasso just happened to be the Marine sentry posted outside Michelle’s cabin door, and Alfredo—celery stalk clutched in hand—watched her and the prime minister with apparent indifference.

Appearances, of course, could be deceiving.

“Thank you for coming, Prime Minister,” Michelle said as the door closed behind Billingsley.

“It wasn’t exactly as if attendance was discretionary, Admiral,” Montague pointed out with a disarming smile. “Although the invitation was phrased with admirable courtesy, I thought.”

“There was no point being impolite,” Michelle responded with a smile of her own. Then her smile faded. “Of course, I’m afraid we’ve been rather less polite with some people than with you.”

“I presume that refers to Commissioner Verrochio and Vice Commissioner Hongbo?” Montague inquired, and she nodded. “Ah.” He nodded, then shrugged slightly. “Understandable, I suppose.”

Michelle sat back with her coffee cup, studying him thoughtfully. Thomas Montview was officially the prime minister of King Lawrence IX, titular ruler of the Kingdom of Meyers, which covered about three quarters of the surface of the planet of Meyers. In fact, Lawrence Thomas and his entire family had been little more than figureheads ever since Frontier Security’s arrival in the Meyers System. Still, the House of Thomas had provided a useful interface, and the Thomases had survived better than most local dynasties who found themselves engulfed by the protectorates system. They’d actually retained a sizable percentage of the family wealth, and everything Michelle and Cynthia Lecter had been able to find in the local system databases suggested that Lawrence and his parents and grandparents had done their best to mitigate the weight of the OFS yoke for the population of Meyers. They’d been active in philanthropic pursuits, and they’d given a great deal of support to public education out of their private coffers.

None of which meant they hadn’t had to make their own accommodations with the Frontier Security system, and Montview, as Lawrence’s prime minister, had been the primary local front man for Lorcan Verrochio’s administration. It was apparent that he’d done quite well out of his position, but he was something of a cipher as far as Michelle and Lecter had been able to determine.

“I’m afraid the two of them—and especially Commissioner Verrocchio—took it rather less philosophically than that,” she said now.

“I’m sure they did.” Montview sipped his own coffee. “They had so much more to lose, after all. And I feel certain their superiors back on Old Terra are going to have a few harsh words for them, as well.” He smiled thinly. “The one thing you can depend upon is that everyone in OFS has a scapegoat ready and waiting should the need arise.”

“I should take it, then, that you weren’t too fond of Frontier Security?” Michelle asked lightly, watching Alfredo out of the corner of her eye.

“No one who’s ever had the dubious privilege of being gathered to Frontier Security’s protective bosom is ‘too fond’ of it.” Montview’s tone was as light as Michelle’s own, but there was a measured bite buried in it. “The more closely you find yourself compelled to work with them, the less fond of them you become, however.”

Alfredo waved his celery stalk casually, confirming Montview’s sincerity. The fact that the prime minister didn’t care for Frontier Security didn’t automatically make him a paragon of virtue, but it was definitely a point in his favor.

“Well, Mr. Prime Minister, as it happens, we’re not too fond of Frontier Security—or the Solarian League in general—at the moment, ourselves.” Michelle shrugged. “I think we can all take it as a given that relations between the Star Empire and the League are going to get worse before they get better.”

“Would you be terribly disappointed, Admiral Gold Peak, if I told you that didn’t come as a huge surprise?” Montview inquired, and Michelle chuckled.

“Not at all, Mr. Prime Minister. I only mentioned it as a preface to what I really wanted to speak to you about.”

She paused, head cocked, and he frowned thoughtfully. Then he shrugged.

“I would presume that what you’re leading up to has to do with the long-term political situation here on Meyers,” he said, and Michelle nodded. She wasn’t really surprised by his comment—she’d already come to the conclusion he was no dummy—but she was pleased by his directness.

“Precisely,” she agreed. “At the moment, I have no definitive instructions on political administration of territory captured—or liberated—from the Solarian League.” Which, she refrained from mentioning, was because she had no instructions about capturing or liberating that territory in the first place. “Because of that,” she continued, “I’m afraid I’m rather in the position of making things up as I go along. That gives me a certain degree of freedom, although it also obviously means any arrangements I might put in place would be subject to review by higher authority. On the other hand,” she looked directly into Montview’s eyes, “there aren’t a great many ‘higher authorities’ in the Star Empire.”

Montview sat back in his armchair, sipping coffee and regarding her thoughtfully. It was clear to Michelle that he’d done his homework on her just as thoroughly as she’d done hers on him. What she wasn’t certain of was whether or not he realized she was effectively putting the honor of the House of Winton on the line. She couldn’t be certain even Beth would honor every detail of any arrangement to which she committed the Star Empire, but she was positive her cousin would never betray or abandon anyone Michelle had agreed to support.

“I believe I appreciate your position, Milady,” Montview said, and Michelle raised mental eyebrows as he addressed her as a member of the Manticoran peerage rather than by her naval rank. “Should I conclude from what you’ve just said that you’re considering an arrangement which would involve my King?”

“I am,” Michelle confirmed, leaning back in her own chair and resting her elbows on its arms to steeple her fingers in front of her. “Of course, the exact nature of that arrangement would depend on a great many factors.”

“Factors such as…?” Montview raised his eyebrows as he allowed his voice to trail off.

“At the moment, Mr. Prime Minister, no one outside the Meyers System knows what’s happened here. No hyper-capable unit made it out, which means it will be some time—probably T-months, in fact—before anyone else realizes anything’s happened at all. That gives us some time to work with. Unfortunately, we’re in what you might call a…dynamic situation, and my military capabilities are a bit lopsided.” Michelle showed her teeth briefly. “I’ve got oodles—that’s a technical term, Mr. Prime Minister; it means lots and lots—of
naval
combat power, but I’m severely strapped for
ground
combat power.”

Montview nodded gravely, although Michelle doubted that he truly realized just how short of ground troops she actually was. Colonel Liam Trondheim, the senior Gendarmerie officer present, had surrendered the system to her as soon as her ships entered Meyers planetary orbit. He hadn’t had a great deal of choice about that, under the recognized interstellar laws of war. For that matter, Michelle had been perfectly willing to take out every Gendarmerie base on the planet from orbit (also as the interstellar laws of war permitted for planets which
didn’t
surrender), and he seemed to realize that fact.

She rather regretted that Brigadier Yucel hadn’t been here to do the surrendering herself. Everything she and Cynthia Lecter had been able to dig up on the brigadier suggested she was an ugly piece of work, even by the standards of the Solarian League Gendarmerie. On the other hand, according to Trondheim, one reason he’d been so quick to surrender was that Yucel had taken two full battalions of her best troops (although Michelle doubted Yucel’s definition of “best troops” would have matched her own) off to the Mobius System. She didn’t like to think about what someone like Yucel might have been doing with those troops, but she felt confident, somehow, that Sir Aivars Terekhov would experience no insurmountable difficulty in dealing with the brigadier.

Here in Meyers, however, Michelle was left with the problem that she simply didn’t have the troop strength to garrison what she’d captured. The planet Meyers itself was home to 3.6 billion people. Another thirty-two thousand lived on the next planet out, Socrates, which was very like the Sol System’s Mars but with a slightly thicker atmosphere. The Truman Belt was home to another 843,000 people, most committed to routine mining and other resource extraction. And then there were the two hundred thousand living on the moons of the gas giant Damien, mining the planetary atmosphere for hydrogen and rare gases.