Throne of Stars (88 page)

“Will do,” the sergeant major acknowledged. “It’s going to play hell with our training schedule, though.”

“Needs must.” Roger shrugged. “If it was easy, it wouldn’t need us, would it?”

“He was remarkably . . . unresponsive,” Chubais said.

“Not surprising.” Siminov touched his lips with a napkin. He was having dinner in his sole “legitimate” establishment and enjoying a very nice pork dish in wine sauce. “He’s got enough muscle that we’d have to bring in every gang we have. And then we’d probably bounce.”

“It would cause him a fair bit of trouble,” Chubais pointed out. “Cops would be all over it.”

“And they’d find a perfectly legitimate restaurant that was having gang problems.” Siminov frowned. “Maybe they’d harass him a little bit, but not enough to shut him down. No, I want what’s mine. And we’re going to get it.”

“Sergeant Major,” Captain Kjerulf said, nodding as the NCO entered the secure room.

“Captain,” Sergeant Major Brailowsky said, returning the nod.

“Have a seat,” Kjerulf invited, looking around at the four ships’ captains already present. “I’ve had my own people sweep the room. The posted agenda is readiness training and the next cycle of inspections. That is not, in fact, accurate.”

No one seemed particularly astonished by his last sentence, and he turned back to Sergeant Major Brailowsky.

“Sergeant Major, do you know Sergeant Major Eva Kosutic?” he asked coldly.

“Yes, Sir,” the sergeant major said, his face hard. “She was in my squad back when we were both privates. I’ve served with her . . . several times.”

“So what do you think about the idea of her being involved in a plot against the Empress?” Kjerulf asked.

“She’d cut her own throat first,” Brailowsky said without a trace of hesitation, his voice harsh. “Same with Armand Pahner. I knew him, too. Both as one of my senior NCOs and as a company commander. I was first sergeant of Alpha of the Three-Four-Two when he had Bravo Company. Sir, they don’t come any more loyal.”

“And I would have said the same of Commodore Chan, wouldn’t you?” Kjerulf said, looking around at the other captains. One of them was . . . looking a tad shaky. The other three were stone-faced.

“Yes, Sir,” Brailowsky said. “Sir, permission to speak?”

“You’re not a recruit, Brailowsky,” Kjerulf said, smiling faintly.

“I think I am,” the sergeant major said. “That’s what this is about, right? Recruiting?”

“Yes,” Kjerulf said.

“In that case, Sir, I’ve known half the NCOs in Bravo of Bronze,” Brailowsky said, “and I know what they thought of the Prince. And of the Empress. Between the two, there was just no comparison. That Roger was a bad seed, Sir. There was no
way
they were going to help him try to take the Throne.”

“What if I told you they’d changed their minds?” Kjerulf asked. “That while you’re right about their nonparticipation in the so-called coup attempt, they’d come to think rather better of Roger than you do? That, in fact, they’re not all dead . . . and that he isn’t, either?”

“You know that?” Captain (Senior-Grade) Julius Fenrec asked. He was the CO of the carrier
Gloria
, and he’d been listening to the conversation with a closed, set expression.

“I met someone who identified herself as Eleanora O’Casey,” Kjerulf admitted with a shrug. “It
could
have been a setup to try to get me to tip my hand, but I don’t think so. Can’t prove it, of course . . . yet. But she says Roger is alive, and she used the parable of the prodigal son, which I think has more than one level of meaning. She also slipped to me that Eva Kosutic is alive, as well. And fully in the plan. I don’t know about Pahner.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Captain Atilius of the
Minotaur
said nervously.

“No,” Kjerulf agreed, his face hard. “but I’ve seen the confidential reports of what’s going on in the Palace, and I don’t like it one damned bit.”

“Neither do I,” Fenrec said, “And I know damned well that Adoula thinks I’m too loyal to the Dynasty to retain my command. I’m going to find myself shuffling chips while some snot-nosed commander who owes Adoula his soul takes my ship. I don’t like that one damned bit, either.”

“We’re all going to be shuffling chips.” Captain Chantal Soheile was the CO of HMS
Lancelot
. Now she leaned forward and brushed back her dark hair. “Assuming we’re lucky, and we don’t have an ‘accident.’ And the rumors in the Fleet about what’s happening to the Empress—I’ve never seen spacers so angry.”

“Marines, too,” Brailowsky said. “Sir, if you’re going to make a grab for the Empress . . . Home Fleet Marines are on your side.”

“What about Colonel Ricci?” Atilius asked.

“What about him, Sir?” Brailowsky asked, his eyes like flint. “He’s a Defense Headquarters pussy shoved down our throats by the bastards who have the Empress. He’s never had a command higher than a company, and he did a shitty job at that. You think we’re going to follow
him
if it comes to a dynastic fight, Sir?”

He shook his head, facial muscles tight, and looked at Kjerulf.

“Sir, you really think that jerk Roger is alive?”

“Yes.” Kjerulf shrugged. “Something in the eyes when O’Casey was dropping her hints. And I don’t think O’Casey is the woman who left Old Earth, Sergeant Major. If the Prince has changed as much as she has . . . well, I’m going to be interested to meet him. Roast the fatted calf, indeed.”

“Are we going to?” Soheile asked. “Meet him?”

“I doubt it,” Kjerulf said. “Not before whatever’s going down, anyway. I think they’re getting ready for something, and since they seem to be planning on its happening soon, I’d say around the Imperial Festival.”

“And what are we going to do?” Fenrec asked, leaning forward.

“Nothing. We’re going to do
nothing
. Except, of course, to make sure the
rest
of Home Fleet does nothing. Which is going to take some doing.”

“Hell, yes, it is,” Atilius said, throwing up his hands. “We’ve got four carriers! We’re talking about four carriers from three different squadrons taking on six full
squadrons
!”

“We’re liable to get some help,” Kjerulf said.

“Helmut,” Captain Pavel of the
Holbein
said. He’d been sitting back, quietly observing.

“Probably,” Kjerulf agreed. “You know how he is.”

“He’s nuts for Alexandra,” Pavel said.

“So are you—which is why you’re here.”

“Takes one to know one,” Pavel said, his face still closed.

“You in?” Kjerulf asked.

“Hell, yes.” Not even the most charitable would have called the expression which finally crossed Pavel’s face a smile. “I figure someone else will get Adoula’s balls before I get there. But I’m still in.”

“I’m in,” Fenrec said. “And my officers will follow me. Regular spacers, too. They’ve heard the rumors.”

“In,” Soheile said. “If Roger doesn’t move—and, frankly, I’d be astonished if he’s changed enough to grow the balls for that—I say we do it ourselves. The Empress is better dead than what’s going on, if the rumors are true.”

“They are,” Kjerulf said bleakly, looking at Atilius. “Corvu?”

“I’ve only got two more years to pension,” Atilius said unhappily. “A desk is looking good about now.” He looked miserable for a second, then straightened his shoulders. “But, yeah, I’m in. All the way. What’s the line about sacred honor?”

“‘Our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor,’” Pavel said. “That’s what we’re putting down for sure. But this had
better
be about restoring the Empress, not putting that pissant Roger on the Throne.”

“If any of us survive, we’ll see to that,” Fenrec said. “But how are we going to signal commencement? I assume the idea is to keep the fleet from getting close enough to support Adoula’s forces with kinetics and Marines.”

“Ain’t one damned Marine going to board a shuttle, Sir,” Brailowsky said. “Except to kill Adoula.”

“The Marines are going to have another job, Sergeant Major,” Kjerulf said. “What the Marines are going to do is put down an attempted mutiny against the Throne by their own ships.”

“Damn,” the sergeant major said, shaking his head. “I was afraid it would be something like that.”

“That, and certain duties on the Moon,” Kjerulf said, and looked around at the others’ faces, his own grim. “I don’t know everything Greenberg and that weasel Wallenstein have been up to. I may be chief of staff for the fleet, but they’ve cut me out of the loop on a lot of stuff, especially right here on Moonbase. I’ve got a really bad feeling that Greenberg’s changed the release codes on the offensive launchers, for instance, but there’s no way to check without his knowing I’ve done it. If he has, I’ll be locked out for at least ten to twelve hours while we break the lock. That’s if everything goes well. And it’s also why I need you and your ships in close to the planet.”

“Speaking of Greenberg . . .” Soheile murmured, and Kjerulf smiled thinly.

“I have it on the best of authority that he won’t be a factor. Ever again,” he said.

“Oh, good,” she said softly, showing her teeth.

“But for right now, he definitely
is
a factor,” Kjerulf continued. “On the other hand, there are a few things
I
can get away with—routine housekeeping sorts of things—without mentioning them to him, either. Which is how the four of you got detached from your squadrons. I picked you because I figured I knew which way you’d jump, sure, but sliding you and Julius both out of CarRon 13 is also going to make a hole in one of the squadrons Greenberg’s been counting on, Chantal.”

“Umf.” Soheile frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. “Probably the right call,” she agreed. “I was thinking that having the two of us in the middle of his squadron might make La Paz think twice about jumping in on Adoula’s side when he couldn’t be sure who we’d fire on, but you’re going to need us here worse, especially with the way Gianetto’s reinforced Fourteenth.”

“And not knowing which way Twelfth’s going to jump,” Fenrec agreed sourly, and looked at Kjerulf. “Any read on that?”

“No more than you’ve got,” Kjerulf admitted sourly. “The one thing I’m pretty sure of is that Prokorouv’s captains will back him, whatever he decides. And whatever I may think,
Gianetto
trusted him enough to give him the outer slot covering Old Earth.”

“Yeah, but the one thing Gianetto’s dispositions prove is that as an admiral he’s a freaking wonderful ground pounder,” Laj Pavel pointed out.

“That’s true enough, and one of the few bright points I see,” Kjerulf agreed. “We’re still going to get the piss knocked out of us holding on, even if Prokorouv decides to sit it out with Twelfth. If I can get the launchers on line, Moonbase can cover the outer arc while you people fend Gajelis off, but in the end, they’ll plow us under no matter what unless Helmut gets here on schedule.”

“He will,” Fenrec said, then barked a harsh laugh. “Hell! When was the last time any of us ever saw him miss his timing, however complicated the ops schedule was?”

“There’s always a first time,” Atilius pointed out dryly. “And Murphy always seems to guarantee that it happens at the worst possible time.”

“Granted.” Kjerulf nodded again. “But if I had to pick one admiral in the entire Navy to depend on to get it right, Helmut’s the one, when all’s said. No one ever called him a sociable soul, but no one’s ever questioned his competence, either. And if he comes in where I expect he will, and if Thirteenth is already down fifty percent . . .”

“I see your logic,” Chantal Soheile said, and gave him a tight smile. “You really are killing as many birds per stone as you can, aren’t you?” She grinned at him again, then frowned. “But this is all still way too nebulous to make me what you might call happy. I know a lot of it has to stay that way, under the circumstances, but that brings us back to Julius’ point about the signal to start the op. Was O’Casey even able to set up a channel to tell us when to move?”

“No. But I think we’ll probably get all the signals from Old Earth we’re going to need to know when to start the music. We’ll just ignore the orders we don’t like. The orders I’ve already had cut to move all your ships back to the L-5 Starbase, preparatory for overhaul, should be good long enough to get us through the Festival. If nothing actually happens, then we play things by ear. But that’ll keep you all semidetached from your squadrons at least through the end of the Festival. Not to mention keeping you inside all the ships that aren’t actually in dock. And I’ll make sure all the ships in dock
stay
in dock.

“When the ball goes up, you four move to hold the orbital positions, and hold off Gajelis—and Prokourov, if it comes to that. You may have to deal with the Moonbase fighter force, if I can’t get them to stand down. God knows I’m going to be trying like hell, as well as trying to get the missile batteries up
and
talking to all the captains that aren’t bought and paid for by Adoula. All we have to do is hold the orbital positions, far enough out that they can’t get accurate KEW down to the surface, until Helmut gets here. At that point, with Helmut outside and us inside, Adoula’s bastards are either going to surrender or be blown to hell.”

“If we don’t get blown to hell first,” Atilius said.

“Our lives, our fortunes . . .” Pavel said.

“I got it the first time,” Atilius said.

“They’re not going to be at their best, Sir,” Brailowsky said. “Leave that to us. And when the time comes, you can bet we’re going to be having some serious discussions with the Moonbase fighter force, Sirs.” He wasn’t grinning, but it was close.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself, Sergeant Major,” Soheile said.

“Ma’am, I’ve been pretty damned mad about what was happening on Old Earth,” Brailowsky said soberly. “I’m very happy to have a chance, any chance, to do something about it.”

“Vorica, Golden, Kalorifis, and all the rest of CarRon Fourteen are Adoula’s,” Soheile said, shrugging at the sergeant major’s elan. “Eleventh is going to be split, but I think it’s going to go three-to-one for Adoula. Thirteenth won’t be split anymore—not with me and Julius both here—but there’s a good chance Fifteenth will be. Sixteenth . . . I don’t know. Wu’s been playing her cards as close as Prokourov has. But Brettle, La Paz, and Mahmut are as much Adoula’s as Gajelis, and so are their flag captains. So figure all six of Gajelis’ carriers, two of La Paz’, three—at least—of Brettle’s, and probably at least three of Mahmut’s, from the Fifteenth. That’s fourteen to our four, and all of them are going to fight like hell. That’s damned near four-to-one odds. Even
if
the rest sit this one out. If Prokourov gets off the decicred and comes in on Adoula’s side, as well, then we are truly screwed if Helmut doesn’t get here right on the dot. And, sorry, Sergeant Major, that’s going to be despite the Marines. There’s only a squad or two on each of those ships.”