Winds of Vengeance (26 page)

The Mule stood motionless for a moment, looking at the two people responsible for his existence. “Please forgive me, but I have duties to attend to.” He turned and walked out of the room.

“Let’s go, Ana…H2…there’s nothing we can do here.” Cutter’s voice was soft, his tone one of defeat.

“No, Father…I am staying here.”

Cutter turned toward the first enhanced hybrid. “H2…it is very possible that President Harmon will have no choice but to order the Marines in…and with the losses they suffer there is no way to know what will happen when they break in. It will be very dangerous.”

“Perhaps. Indeed, almost certainly. But that is of no account.” He paused. “I have occupied a unique positon all my life. Yet, I have spoken long with Achilles…and I have watched the speeches in Victory City, the demonization of the Mules, nary a word of the injustice that has been maintained against them for so long offered in defense of their actions.”

He looked at Zhukov and then back to Cutter. “I love you both, and I always will, no matter what happens. But I must be with my people now, whatever fate awaits them. I have found myself, and for all the confusion I have endured, it is in the new generation even now coming into being that the answer awaited me. For I am the first of the Mules, though my abilities do not match those who came after me, and I have watched as my brethren worked to produce more of our kind, laboring in every way to make them superior to themselves…stronger, healthier, smarter. That is the creed of the Mules, to strive to better ourselves. I am proud to have been the first, and I no longer resent those who came after me, who exceeded my abilities.”

He stepped forward and hugged Zhukov…then Cutter. “Go, for there is no reason for you to be here if things go badly. Return to your people. As Achilles said, you will always be welcome among us.”

H2 paused for a few seconds. Then he turned and followed Achilles’ path.

*    *    *

“We can’t allow a man like Jacques Diennes to become president. We must stop him, at all costs.” Erika West felt odd in the civilian clothes. For forty years, she had rarely gone out wearing anything but her uniform. But the garb of the navy’s commander was too conspicuous for a clandestine meeting…and no one could know what was being discussed here, no one but her companion.

“I agree. It is an uncomfortable thing for me to say. My life has been one of discipline, of obedience. I do not lightly interfere with the democracy of the republic. But Diennes will lead us down the road to destruction. He will have the NBs and the Tanks at each other’s throats. That will tear the Corps apart…and then the republic.” Connor Frasier was also dressed in a civilian suit. He was uncomfortable skulking around, but West had insisted they meet in person, and he had agreed. There was no guarantee that any com link was entirely secure. And what they had to say now was for each other’s ears only.

“President Harmon is worried. He thinks he is going to lose.” A short pause. “And he probably is.” West moved toward the door, and punched one of the buttons on the access panel. The small screen displayed the hallway outside. It was empty, deserted. The apartment block was new, and its inhabitants hadn’t moved in yet. It was the perfect place for a quiet meeting…and anyone who saw them would take the pair for lovers having some secret affair. Not the republic’s top two military commanders plotting a coup.

“What is he going to do about the Mules? The standoff can’t go on forever.” Frasier’s voice was a bit halting. Ana Zhukov was at the compound, even then trying to negotiate some kind of end to the logjam, and West knew Frasier was worried about his wife.

“He wants to repeal the Prohibition…I’m sure of it. But the Assembly will never go along with it.”

“That is another reason we must take action. We must secure control of the republic, impose the repeal of the Prohibition, make peace with the Mules…and ensure that President Harmon remains in office, at least for the foreseeable future.”

“That violates our oaths of office, Connor. It makes us traitors.” West had initiated the meeting, but now doubt was creeping into her voice.

“Only if we fail.”

West was startled by the matter-of-fact statement from the straight-laced Marine. “Success makes it right?”

“History would suggest it does. At least in one sense. But here is another justification. What is the alternative? To allow democracy to operate unfettered…and destroy itself? Because I don’t see any option. I am reluctant to suggest there is anything my Marines cannot do, but there is dissension, and widespread sympathy for the Mules among the Tanks. I like to think training and Marine pride will be enough, but I truly don’t know what will happen if we are ordered forward, and the fight turns into a bloodbath.”

“Well, here’s another question to ask yourself. Will your Marines follow your orders to overthrow the government?”

“We are not seeking to overthrow the government. Only to keep the status quo in place…and eliminate the dangerous opposition.”

“It sounds almost patriotic when you put it that way.”

Frasier stared back at West. “We are trying to save the republic, Erika. There is nothing more patriotic than that. Unlike the politicians now maneuvering for position, we do not seek power, nor do I believe Max Harmon does. When the deed is done, we will return to our normal command structure…and when the current crisis has passed and the radical elements are suppressed, I have no doubt President Harmon will step down as well.”

“Except we will have created a precedent, one that makes it acceptable for the military to step in and suspend elections and arrest troublesome elements of society. Do you think that damage will quickly fade, that the next president, and the one after, will ever look to his Marine and navy commanders without a certain mistrust?”

Frasier sighed. “No, perhaps not. But there is only one question that needs to be answered here. What choice do we have?”

West shook her head sadly. “None.” She reached out her hand. “So we do this?”

Frasier returned her gaze, reaching out and grasping her hand. “Yes…we do what we must.”

Chapter Twenty-One

From the Log of Admiral Frette

It has been several weeks since I dispatched
Cyclone
with the warning that we have encountered and defeated a force of First Imperium warships. I had very little intelligence to include in the message…indeed, I do not have much more now, save for the increasing likelihood that the microscopic remains we have discovered are indeed from
Hurley
.

I find myself increasingly unnerved, though I have made certain to hide it from my staff and other members of the fleet. I am consumed with the belief that we are moving forward into a deadly encounter, perhaps even a trap. But I have no evidence to support my feelings, and while intuition is recognized as a component of command decisions, it cannot be the only factor. My memories of the fleet affect my judgment, but I have no reason to expect we face a situation as grave as that Admiral Compton led us through so long ago.

I have imagined Erika reviewing the message, wondered about her reaction. She is more courageous than I, calmer and cooler in a crisis. We are fortunate that she succeeded Admiral Compton as fleet commander, and that Max Harmon is still president. Had this encounter occurred later, if Harmon had lost the election and been replaced by someone less capable, less trustworthy…whatever we are about to face would have been a hundredfold worse.

I fear what awaits us out here…but I am buoyed by my confidence, in my own people, and in those still on Earth Two. Whatever is about to happen, I believe the fighting spirit that carried the fleet to triumph three decades ago will sustain us…and take us again to victory.

I hope…

Flag Bridge – E2S Compton

System G47

Earth Two Date 12.09.30

“I can’t be sure, Admiral. The AI is still chewing on it, but the best it’s been able to offer is a solid maybe.”

Frette stared across the flag bridge at Kemp. The tactical officer had spun around in his chair to face her, and she could see in his eyes what he truly thought. “Your best guess, Commander?”

Kemp sighed softly. “Admiral…” He sighed again. “I think it’s
Hurley
. What’s left of
Hurley
.” His tone was grim, but there wasn’t much doubt in it.

Frette nodded. They hadn’t found much, only a few tiny bits of metal, microscopic traces of what might have once been a spaceship. The chemical composition tests were inconclusive. The analysis was effective at ruling out the possibility the small bits of debris were from a republic spaceship, but far less so at conclusively proving it. And so far, every test had failed to exclude the possibility. Frette knew the mathematics, and at some point the lack of a negative result became something close to a positive. And if they weren’t there yet, it wasn’t far off.

“I concur.” Her voice was somber. She turned, speaking to everyone on the flag bridge. “It shouldn’t be a surprise. We know there are First Imperium ships out here, we’ve fought a battle.” She hesitated for a few seconds. “I know we all told ourselves maybe
Hurley
was just damaged, maybe she’d managed to escape, to hide somewhere. But we all knew the likelihood that she was gone. I don’t underestimate what we are all feeling about the loss of our comrades, but we have to remember now, what we have discovered is a far graver problem than the loss of
Hurley
. Indeed, our own fleet has lost more personnel than
Hurley’s
complement, and unless the force we fought was alone…” She frowned. It was clear that she didn’t believe that, not for a second. “…we are facing the worst crisis since the days of the old fleet. That is not to suggest that
Hurley’s
loss is not a tragedy.” She paused. “It is just one we cannot afford to dwell upon. Not now. Not when the survival of the republic may be at stake.”

She regretted the last part the second it came out of her mouth. She had been thinking that of course, and she suspected most of the few remaining Pilgrims in the fleet had as well. But the younger generation, those born on Earth Two, had never experienced the kind of unending sequence of disasters the fleet had somehow survived. They had never faced not just defeat, but total destruction. And, frankly, she didn’t know how they would handle a struggle like that.

The flag bridge was silent, every eye on her. She sat quietly for a moment. Then she took a deep breath. “Very well…I want this system searched from end to end. I want intense scans of every meter from the primary to the outer reaches. We’re looking for warp gates, stealth ships, probes, even energy trails…or hints of something that might have been energy trails.”

She stared at the display. The fleet had only found one warp point other than the one they’d entered through, but Frette was too old a spacer to think that was anywhere near conclusive. And if there was a warp gate leading to more First Imperium forces, she damned sure wanted to know where it was.

“I want four search groups sent out…a cruiser and four frigates in each.” She stared down at her workstation, her fingers moving across the screen, dragging icons representing ships of the fleet. She glanced toward Kemp. “Sending you the breakdowns now.”

“Yes, Admiral.” The tactical officer turned back to his board, his hands moving over the keyboard, implementing the orders Frette had given him.

“The battle line, and the rest of the fleet, will assume station twenty million kilometers from the primary. All ships will remain on yellow alert, ready to respond to any threat.”

“Yes, Admiral Frette.” Kemp’s reply was quick, sharp. But there was the slightest hint of concern there too.

Frette picked up on her aide’s uneasiness. She knew keeping the fleet on alert would gradually wear her people down, and if it went on long enough they would be exhausted if they ended up in battle again. But she wasn’t taking any chances. She didn’t like splitting up the fleet, sending small, vulnerable squadrons to the far ends of the system…but it was the only way her people could complete a thorough scan without it taking weeks. And, if anything was out there she had to know it immediately.

She turned her eyes back to the display. Something was out there. She could feel it.

*    *    *

“
Starfire
, this is fleet command. Prepare to receive communique from Admiral Frette.” Commander Kemp’s voice blared through Strand’s earpiece.

“Fleet command, Captain Strand here. Standing by.” Josie Strand sat back, waiting for the response. She’d served in the navy since graduating from the Academy a year ahead of her class nine years before. She’d served most of that time in Earth Two’s own system, patrolling the warp gates and the approaches to the planet, and she’d gotten used to the annoying delay in two-way communication. But now
Starfire
was more than thirty light seconds from
Compton
, and the gap between sending and receiving coms was just over a minute. It was enough to make a conversation frustrating, if not outright impossible. And she knew, in theory at least, it was also enough to seriously impact tactical actions.
Starfire
was moving away from the flagship at close to 0.1c, and that meant every two minutes put another second into each side of two-way communications.

Strand looked over at her tactical officer. Arleigh Hahn had been a year behind her at the Academy, and they had served on the same ship for five years, the past three on
Starfire
. Strand had occupied Hahn’s current chair for much of that time, as
Starfire’s
tactical officer and exec…until Captain Horatius retired, and Admiral West saw fit to promote her to the first command of a capital ship for a non-pilgrim. She knew it was a position years ahead of what she might have achieved in the old navies, the ones that had contributed ships to the fleet so many years before. But Earth Two had its own bizarre situation, and a twenty plus year gap of ages that sliced through its society. The forty-something captain that might have commanded
Starfire
simply didn’t exist, at least not this side of the Barrier, and for the last few years, the high command had been trying to seek out the top candidates among the oldest of the new generation and give them their stars.