Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (10 page)

Zhang tried to hide a smile. He had Udinov hooked. Now he just had to reel him in. “Why indeed, Admiral? Perhaps he is afraid of questions that will be asked…or that he will face opposition if he is forced to divulge his plans. If he is called out openly, he will have to respond, to clearly state his intention to prevent this fleet from ever returning home. Perhaps he has even convinced himself he is saving Earth by remaining out here, that the enemy would follow us back if we discovered a way home. But is that a valid concern?”

The Russian admiral didn’t answer. He was staring down at the deck, deep in thought. “Yes, perhaps it is time to push for a meeting,” Udinov finally said, his voice distracted. “Now that we have escaped the immediate pursuit, we must make some decisions about how to proceed. And it is not for Admiral Compton to do so unilaterally, without even discussing it with the other commanders.”

Zhang just nodded. Udinov was a member of a wealthy and influential family in the RIC, just as Zhang himself was in the CAC. They both had much to lose if they never returned home, as did most of the other senior officers in the fleet. The CAC admiral was a creature of his station and his upbringing, so he failed to fully acknowledge that even those without status and wealth might mourn being lost for the rest of their lives, that the common spacers and junior officers had friends and loved ones, that they too might miss their homes.

“I will contact Lord Samar, and discuss this discretely with him. I am confident he will agree that a carefully executed attempt to find a way home is preferable to simply fleeing deeper into the unknown.” Samar was the highest-ranking Caliphate commander, and another man of wealth and power back on Earth. “And Admiral Peltier as well.” Udinov looked over at Zhang. “I would say you should approach Chen, but I fear the good admiral will blindly support Compton.” Chen was the commander of the CAC contingent. The CAC was a traditional enemy of the Alliance, and Compton had fought many battles against Chen and his fleets. But the CAC admiral had sworn to follow Compton, and he was well known as a man of his word.

“Don’t worry about Chen, Admiral. If you are able to bring the Caliphate and Europan contingents over, I can promise you the CAC forces.” There was an icy coldness to his voice. Udinov didn’t know what his new ally was planning, and he was fairly certain he didn’t
want
to know.

“Very well, Lu,” he said. “I will contact Peltier and Samar and advise you of their statuses.” He looked around, seeing that the room was still deserted. “I better not risk coming here again, but I will send you a messenger if I have anything noteworthy to pass along. Meanwhile, I will request that Admiral Compton convene a meeting of the senior commanders of the fleet to discuss next steps. With any luck, we will have the Caliphate and Europans supporting us by that time. Then we can force the admiral’s hand.”

Zhang just nodded. Forcing the admiral’s hand wasn’t what he had in mind.

But it’ a good first step
.

*  *  *

Harmon walked into
Petersburg
’s wardroom, nodding to several of the officers present. He’d spent the entire day reviewing the ship’s weapons stocks, and now he was here to relax. At least that’s what he hoped they all thought.

“Hello,” he said, the portable AI clipped to his belt translating his speech into flawless Russian. Most of the officers in sight were clearly ethnic Russians and other Slavs. There were a few of Indian descent as well, though they were a clear minority.

The Russian-Indian Confederacy was an odd conglomeration. Most of the Earth’s other Superpowers had come about through the aggregation of similar ethnic groups or the alignment of geographic realities during the Unification Wars. But the RIC had been a product of military, not political, reality.

The Indians had found themselves caught between the Caliphate and the newly-established Central Asian Combine, and they suffered devastating losses when those two powers fought each other. Only the assistance of a newly resurgent Russia had saved even a segment of the old Indian subcontinent from depopulation and apportionment between the CAC and the Caliphate. In the end, about half of what had once been India joined the new Russian Superpower. The Indians weren’t given the same status as the Russians, but they weren’t subjects either—more like junior partners. The ranks of the navy, especially the officers, had long been dominated by Russians, though the ground forces were more evenly divided between the two groups.

“Max, welcome.” one of the officers said, with a heavy accent, but without the assistance of an AI. He looked around the table at the other officers. “This is Captain Max Harmon. He is here checking on our weapons stocks.” He looked over at Harmon. “He is going to get us some of those Alliance heavy warheads. I promised him I can attach them to our Bekuskan missiles.”

“I said I’d try, Vanya,” Harmon answered, smiling as he did. “No promises. We’re running low on those fleetwide.”

“We cannot fire promises at the enemy, can we?” Vanya turned toward his comrades and spoke Russian to them for a few seconds, and then they all roared with laughter.

“Come, Max, sit. Have a drink.” Vanya gestured toward a chair and pushed a glass and a tall pitcher across the table. “It is…” He said something in Russian, and the officers around the table burst into laughter once again. “Moose piss, my Alliance friend…that is as closely as I can translate. It is homemade, and to call it vodka would be a sacrilege. But it is what we have, so we drink, no?”

Harmon nodded and walked across the room, taking the offered seat. He shuddered to think of what was in the noxious substance in the pitcher, but he knew RIC custom well enough to realize he had no choice. Besides, the more they all drank, the likelier it was tongues would loosen.

He grabbed the pitcher and poured himself a tall drink. Then he looked around the table with a smile and downed it in one gulp to the loud cheers of his new acquaintances. He slapped his hand down on the table. “Moose piss indeed, my friend,” he said, reaching for the pitcher and pouring himself another before handing it around the table.

“Will you join us,” Vanya said, gesturing toward the cards on the table.

What is the game?” Harmon knew what they were playing, but feigning a bit of ignorance about gambling could only help him.

“Is called Vint. Is very old Russian game.” Vanya’s accent was growing thicker with every glass he drained. “We could teach you.”

“You could…” Harmon looked around the table. “…or we could play a true gambler’s game…”

He could feel the eyes around the table focusing on him.

“And what would we gamble for, Captain?” It was the slightly sterile tone of his AI translating one of the other officer’s remark. “Currency is of little value to us now.”

“Well…if you are willing to accept my word as an officer, I will stake something rare indeed. I can’t help you with vodka, but I have a bottle of bourbon back in my quarters on
Midway
. My last bottle. The real thing, twenty years old, direct from Kentucky back on Earth. Cost a month’s pay. It goes down like honey, but even if you Russians can’t appreciate it, you can get almost anything if you trade it to some officers on the CAC ships.” He glanced around the table, looking for reactions—any clues about contact with CAC personnel.

“And what would you have us put up against it?” Vanya asked.

Harmon smiled. “Well, you could stop pretending you don’t all have something decent stashed somewhere and dig out those vodka bottles. It’s not gambling unless you put up something you don’t want to lose, is it?”

The officers leaned in and spoke among themselves for a few seconds. Finally, Vanya turned back toward Harmon. “Very well, Max my friend. We each bought a case of extraordinary vodka before we reported to
Petersburg
. That was two years ago, but we have been frugal. We will put up a bottle each. We play until only one man remains, and the winner takes all.”

Harmon smiled. “Agreed.” He reached out and picked up the deck of cards. “Now slide down that pitcher again. I may have to get used to this moose piss if you sharks strip me of the last of my bourbon.”

*  *  *

“I suspect Captain Harmon has a greater purpose than simply organizing weapons supplies.” Udinov was in his quarters watching the Alliance officer on his screen. Harmon was walking down a corridor from the main magazine to the central lift. He wasn’t doing anything suspicious—at least Udinov hadn’t managed to catch him involved in anything that was remotely out of line with his stated reason for being on
Petersburg.
But that didn’t allay the admiral’s concerns.

“I am inclined to agree, Admiral,” replied the officer standing next to Udinov. Anton Stanovich had been the Russian admiral’s aide for years. Stanovich’s family had long been retainers to Udinov’s, and young Anton had gone to the naval academy with the express purpose of replacing his father at Udinov’s side. “Though I can offer no proof to support that assertion.”

Udinov stared at the image of Harmon, but his mind was drifting, trying to rationalize what was going on. He knew the Alliance officer was very close to Admiral Compton, filling much the same role that Stanovich did for him. “Nor can I, Anton. Not yet at least.”

Harmon had been spending a fair amount of time socializing with
Petersburg
’s officers. Indeed, he’d become quite the sensation, highly sought after for his expertise in poker. He’d become quite popular since he’d won a stash of high quality vodka at poker and then immediately shared it with his new acquaintances in a bit of a drunken blowout.

There was nothing particularly suspicious about any of that on its face, but Udinov had dug a little deeper, accessing whatever information he could on Harmon. Aside from a spotless service record—and a mother who was another of the Alliance’s top admirals—Harmon had seen service with both Compton and Augustus Garret. It was all interesting information, and further evidence that Max Harmon was an extraordinary young officer who had Terrance Compton’s complete trust. But none of it set off any alarms. Not until his people managed to gain access to his personal files.

Max Harmon was a decorated officer, one of the Alliance’s best by any account. But he’d rarely taken shore leave, preferring to remain aboard ship, spending time alone or with his friends and shipmates. He was far likelier to stay in his quarters reading than to seek out the company of others, and he’d tended to avoid any formal functions as well, unless attendance was mandatory. He had a few close friends, but little social contact beyond that.

He’s shy
, Udinov thought.
An introvert. And yet he comes to a ship belonging to another power, where another language is spoken, one he needs an AI to understand, and he goes to the wardroom and introduces himself—and sits down and plays cards with a bunch of strangers. And two days later he is the talk of the ship. No, that doesn’t quite make sense. Not if he’s here just to organize our weapon stores. It’s got to be more than that. He’s here to gather information. That means Compton suspects something is going on.

But nothing was going on, not yet at least. Udinov has listened to Zhang’s concerns, and he’d seen enough truth in them to take steps to prepare. But Udinov’s first action would be to discuss the future with Compton, to urge the admiral to convene a strategy session as soon as possible. He hoped the matter could be settled with words, that pressure from him and the other contingent commanders would sway the Alliance admiral.

Nevertheless, the fact that Compton was already clearly concerned suggested that perhaps Zhang was correct.
If Compton wasn’t planning to impose a course of action, regardless of what the rest of the admirals think, why would he have his number one aide over here sniffing around? Why would he feel he needed to spy on me?

“Anton,” Udinov said, speaking softly even though they were alone, “I want you to stay close to Captain Harmon. Talk to some of the men who’ve played cards with him. Invite him to a special game. Feel him out and report back to me with anything you discover…even if it’s only your gut feel.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Stanovich snapped to attention. “At once.” The officer bowed his head for an instant, and then he turned and walked out the door.

Udinov’s eyes dropped back to the screen. The ship’s AI was tracking Harmon, following him around the ship, switching cameras as the Alliance officer moved. He was in the lift now, heading back to deck 8, probably to the wardroom again. By all accounts, Harmon’s work on
Petersburg
was done. He should have left hours before, heading for the next vessel on his list. But he was hesitating, making excuses to remain.
To keep spying on me…

Udinov flipped on his com unit. “Sergei, I need you to do something for me,” he said softly, quietly.

“Certainly, Admiral,” came the crisp reply. Sergei Rostov had commanded
Petersburg
for the five years Udinov had flown his flag from the battleship. The two worked seamlessly together, almost like a machine.

“I want to keep Captain Harmon onboard for several days…without him knowing he is being detained. Perhaps you can come up with some issues in the magazine, possibly sabotage some of the ordnance, make it appear to be damaged. You can ask that he inspect all of it, that he request additional supplies from Admiral Compton.” Udinov paused for a few seconds. “Something like that. You can flesh it out a bit.”

“Yes, sir. I am sure I can come up with something plausible.” There was a short pause then:  “And if the ruse is unsuccessful—if he attempts to leave despite my efforts—do I allow him to go? Or should I have him detained?”

Udinov hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of the outright abduction of Compton’s number one aide. But letting him off
Petersburg
while things were undecided wasn’t the most appealing option either. He stared down at the com, and finally he spoke softly, grimly. “Then arrest him.”

“Yes, sir.” Rostov’s tone suggested he understood very well the import of Udinov’s orders.