Alarm of War (14 page)

Meanwhile, I am being trained in Tactical on the
New Zealand
. The skipper is Commander Julie Grey. She is a tiny woman, slender with short grey hair. She is attractive enough in a very severe way. She is pleasant, a bit formal, and can be one ruthless bitch in the training skirmishes we have.

I love it. And to my surprise, I seem to have a knack for it. I still want to be a Fleet Historian, of course, but in the meantime I must confess I am enjoying Tactical. We keep having all of these exercises where they create a tactical situation without telling you what is. You have to figure it out from the political background memos, from reports from other ships in your Battle Group, and from your own sensor reports. You look at all this data – most of it conflicting – and you try to find a pattern. You try to figure out what the enemy is doing. And if you are lucky enough to figure that out, then you have to figure out a way to counter it. It is fascinating, frustrating, stressing and rewarding, all at the same time. Twice now Grey and Alex Rudd have teamed up against me and I have either fought them to a draw or won. ‘Course, I have also been completely buggered about five times.

But I am learning how they think, how they like to move the pieces on the board, and what they don’t seem to pay attention to. We have more exercises coming up and I have some ideas that might just surprise them.

T
he summons was unexpected. Emily was in her cabin, pouring over endless reports and wondering what she would do for dinner, when a very young naval rating nervously appeared at her door. “Captain’s compliments, Lieutenant. She wondered if you would like to join her for dinner in her wardroom at 1900 hours.”

Emily looked at her watch, it was already 6:30 p.m. Half an hour to get cleaned up and make sure her uniform was presentable.

The Captain’s Wardroom was surprisingly small. The dinner table could seat six, but was only set for two. A steward in a white jacket silently served them sea bass with fresh vegetables and a large salad, poured white wine into their glasses, then departed.

“Well, Emily, you are off to a pretty good start,” Grey observed, raising her wine glass. Emily felt a surge of anger, struggled to keep it off her face.

The corner of Captain Grey’s mouth twitched. “Something you’d like to say, Lieutenant?”

Emily put her glass down hard on the table. “With all respect, Captain, I don’t understand my final training evaluation. My overall rating was “Poor,” which I thought was inaccurate and unfair.” Part of her could hardly believe she was saying this to the Captain, but she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying more.

“Really?” Grey seemed surprised. “Do you think you did as well as Laura Salazar? Or Richard Burke? Or Watterson?” All three of them had been transferred to the prestigious Second Fleet on the basis of their training evaluations, which mystified Emily even more.

In for a penny, in for a pound…
“Yes, Ma-am, I most certainly do.”

“And is there anyone else you think did well enough to deserve a good evaluation?” Grey asked blandly.

“Yes, Ma-am. Andrew Lord did a very good job on the convoy protection mission. He thought it all out before hand and stationed his ships where they could support each other quickly. And he didn’t allow himself to get lured away from the freighters.”
Unlike that jackass Salazar.
“Bob White did a brilliant job on the outpost attack.”

“And yourself, of course,” Grey added dryly.

“Yes, Ma-am.”

“I see from your record that you are a would-be historian, Emily,” the Captain said. “Have you studied the history of monarchies and empires?”

The sudden change in topic took Emily off guard. What was this about?

“Yes, Ma-am. Mostly old Earth, of course, but we studied the rise of the Sultenic Empire and the Tilleke Empire, and there was a course just on the Dominion at the Academy.”

“And what did you learn about their stability?

Emily relaxed a little. This was home ground for her. “Monarchies are surprisingly stable, unless you have a very poor king or queen. Typically, if the monarchy was moderately progressive, it lasted longer. If it was too totalitarian, or if it was radically progressive, it became unstable and vulnerable. England, Spain and Germany were pretty good examples on old Earth. China was the outstanding exception to the rule, because it was both repressive and stable, at least until the plague hit. The Sultenic Empire and Victoria are good modern day examples of stable moderates. The more repressive, totalitarian regimes tended to survive for a shorter time, and typically had a cataclysmic failure, usually by war or assassination, followed by civil war.”

“Now tell me, Lieutenant, how does your performance evaluation relate to all of this?”

“Ma-am?” Now she was confused.

“Come now, Lieutenant, your file says you are smart. Are you smart?” Grey sipped her wine and looked at Emily expectantly.

Annoyed, Emily opened her mouth to speak, then closed it with an audible ‘snap.’ She could almost hear her father’s voice in her ear:
Emily, you are smart as a whip, but you don’t always listen too good. You’d be amazed at what you can learn when you just shut up and listen.

Okay, so Salazar, Burke and Watterson all got good reviews – which they didn’t deserve - and promptly got transferred to Second Fleet, commanded by Grant’s father. She could guess that Lord and White, who deserved good reviews, had been passed over because they had received poor reviews, just like she had. That told her that Second Fleet had enough clout to get the people they wanted…and that Captain Grey had made sure that no one in their right mind would want her. But that was nothing more than normal arm wrestling between Fleets competing for scarce leadership talent, wasn’t it?

There had to be more to this. Emily looked hard at Captain Grey, who smiled blandly back. Emily’s mind raced. Second Fleet. Easily the most prestigious Fleet in the Navy. Admiral Skiffington was a national hero, the hero of the Battle of Windsor. He was one of the most widely recognized persons in the entire Victorian Kingdom. Hell, his approval ratings were higher than the Queen’s! Why would Home Fleet try to-

The realization stopped her cold.
Fine historian you turn out to be
, she chided herself ruefully. Did you forget the thing you learned in your first year of college: The greatest threat to any kingdom is not foreign armies, but domestic intrigue. And where do you find domestic intrigue? She stopped as a new realization swept her, one that made the palms of her hands sweat.

“I apologize, Ma-am,” she told Captain Grey. “I didn’t realize until just now that this is a job interview.”

Grey’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. “Perhaps you should explain, Lieutenant.”

Emily paused to take a long sip of her wine, thoughts racing through her head. “‘The task of the Home Fleet is to protect Victoria and the Queen from any dangers, domestic or foreign,’” she quoted from the Fleet Manual. “And history is rife with examples that the greatest threat to a monarchy is from domestic sedition and treachery rather than attack from the outside, although that happens a lot, too.” She took a very deep breath. She was about to be really clever, or finish her career with a bang.

“You are worried that Second Fleet – Admiral Skiffington – is getting so powerful and so popular that he might subvert the government, perhaps by force, perhaps not. Admiral Skiffington has so much power and favor that he can pretty much hand pick whoever he wants, so I would guess that you have been fudging reports on promising new officers in order to keep them in Home Fleet.” Emily paused. “You want to give yourself a better chance in case this ever turns into a shooting war. This” – she waived her hands around to indicate the dinner – “is a job interview to see if I am more interested in advancing my career or protecting the Queen.”

She stopped.
I can’t believe I just said that.

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Grey’s mouth. She shook her head and combed her fingers through her hair, then tilted her head up to the ceiling. “I think you should come in now,” she said.

The door to Captain Grey’s office opened. Emily stood up automatically. Vice Admiral Alyce Douthat walked briskly in. Emily saluted.

Douthat waived her back into her seat. “At ease, Lieutenant. This is a social occasion, after all.” She sat down, smiling warmly at Emily and Captain Grey, reminding Emily of her plump little grandmother.

Emily had loved her grandmother, but never entirely trusted her.

“I hope you don’t mind if I join you and Julie for desert, Emily,’ she said. “Julie has a chef who makes the best chocolate mousse tort this side of Darwin.” She patted her ample stomach. “If it weren’t for him, I’m sure I’d still be as thin as when I was before my children, but we all have to make sacrifices, don’t we?” She turned to Captain Grey. “And do you think your steward might find an espresso? I’d kill for a good espresso.”

They sat silently for a moment, Admiral Douthat and Captain Grey smiling at Emily and Emily sitting in numb shock. The steward came in and set down desert plates and espresso. After he left, Admiral Douthat took a bite of the chocolate mousse tort and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Amazing,” she breathed. “Somehow he makes it better every time.”

“He’s mine, Admiral,” Grey smiled. “You can’t have him.”

Douthat snorted, took another sip of her espresso and turned to face Emily.

“And you, Emily. You are a very insightful young lady; this
is
a job interview, though I must say that you surprised us a little by recognizing that fact. And you’ve passed with flying colors. Now the question is, do you want it?” She was smiling, but her eyes were shrewd and probing.

Unexpectedly, Emily felt a surge of strong emotion, like she had the day her father hugged her at her college graduation. The past few years had been difficult. Endless hours of study, helping care for her mother, watching her be slowly taken by her illness. Then working in a mindless job with no hope of advancement, and the risky choice of joining the Navy. And now this, the totally unexpected chance to watch history being made, from the inside.

“Oh yes,” she said softly. “I want it.” Then Admiral Douthat startled her by suddenly leaning forward. “Do you now work for or report to anyone in Second Fleet?” she asked harshly.

Emily felt a flush burn through her cheeks. “No, Ma-am, I do not!”

Admiral Douthat exchanged a long look with Captain Grey, then tilted her head to the ceiling. “Merlin!”

“Yes, Admiral?” the computer voice replied.

“Assess veracity of the last statement by Lieutenant Emily Tuttle.”

A pause. “There is a ninety nine percent probability that the statement by Lieutenant Tuttle is true. I note that she is demonstrating signs of stress. Her heart rate has increased to-”

“Stop.” The Admiral nodded and patted Emily’s hand. “Welcome to the Home Fleet, Emily Tuttle. It won’t always be easy, but it will be the most important thing you’ll ever do.”

Emily blinked. “What would you have done if I hadn’t accepted?” she asked.

Admiral Douthat gave her a level look. “This isn’t a game, Emily. We are taking risks here. If you hadn’t accepted, you would have been mustered out immediately and discharged from the Fleet. However, we wish you no harm. There is a small college on Cornwall that is looking for a history instructor. You would have been given an excellent reference and the job would have been offered to you. You’d have a better chance at a career there than you would have had on Christchurch.”

Emily studied her evenly, then, without turning her gaze, called out, “Merlin!”

“Yes, Lieutenant Tuttle?”

“Assess veracity of the last statement by Admiral Alyce Douthat.”

Douthat’s eyes widened and she shot Emily an appraising look. Beside her, Captain Grey snorted in amusement. “I told you, Admiral!” Admiral Douthat pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully.

“There is a sixty percent probability that the statement by Admiral Douthat is true,” Merlin reported.

“Close enough,” Emily said. “Now what?”

Douthat smiled grimly. “Now, Emily, we do what the Home Fleet has always done: We protect Victoria and the Queen from all dangers, foreign and domestic.”

T
he man didn’t bump into him, Hiram noted, but rather stepped in front of him. And
then
stopped. They were on the main promenade deck of the Atlas space station. It was dinner hour and the promenade was crowded with sailors, constructions crews, retail clerks, Fleet bureaucrats, contractors and God alone knew what else, all going home or on their way to an evening meal.

Without consciously thinking about it, Hiram took the man in at a glance, noting the bald head, the slight Oriental fold to the eyes, the weathered skin, and the radiating sense of…he groped for moment, trying to define it. Stillness. Yes, that was it, a pervading sense of
stillness.
And with that, he knew. He placed his hands together as if praying, then raised them to his forehead and bowed slightly.

“There are many paths to the Light,” he intoned in greeting.

The shorter man’s eyes widened fractionally, and then he put his hands together and bowed in return. “And each man must find his own,” he replied. He looked up, smiling. “Are you a follower of the Light, then, Lieutenant Hiram Brill?”

Hiram shook his head. “No.”

The man inclined his head. “Then you are both observant and well mannered, in my humble experience a rare combination from Victorians, and a most welcome surprise from a member of the Victorian Fleet.”

Hiram smiled inwardly at the pleasant delivery of such a pointed insult. So you don’t like Victorians much, eh? And yet you are here, and you specifically sought me out. He let his mind wander for a moment, his face going blank in what Cookie liked to call his “Village Idiot” look. The Light was a society of reclusive religious orders located on Canaan. All worshiped the same god. They lived simply, in thousands of small towns and villages scattered across their world, forbearing large cities. Curiously, those among them who did not become full time monks usually became scientists and engineers, so their level of technology was among the highest in the human universe. Pirates had raided them in the early years, and once the Tilleke Empire had tried to conquer them. The Light had suffered terribly, had learned their lesson and built a military force capable of protecting themselves. The last pirates who had gone into their sector looking for easy plunder had been utterly destroyed, save for one small ship, which had been allowed to escape so that it could spread the word:
Leave us alone…or die.