“The ship’s systems will automatically alert you if Colonel Rogero comes within ten meters of you,” Marphissa said.
“Excellent.” On something as small as a heavy cruiser that might produce too many false alarms, but if so she could have the alert parameters changed. “Then there’s one other thing.” Iceni smiled to lower the tension. “General Drakon has suggested that I look at changing the rank titles within the mobile forces. That would make clear our break with the failed Syndicate system.”
Marphissa nodded. “No one has any love for the Syndicate command structure. We’re not working in business jobs. We’re mobile forces.”
“Exactly. I did not want to use the same titles that Drakon has adopted for his ground forces. You’re not ground forces.”
Marphissa nodded again, emphatically this time.
“I looked for a rank structure from earlier times, but not one that was the same as the Alliance now uses,” Iceni said. “I believe we need to avoid that as well.”
A third nod, very strong. “We are not a . . . minor subset of the Alliance.”
“I agree. Someday . . . well, here.” Iceni brought up a file and pivoted the display floating above her desk so that Marphissa could see it. “This is a rank structure that was once used in part of the Syndicate Worlds before all forces were unified under a single corporate system.”
Marphissa gazed at Iceni in disbelief. “The Syndicate Worlds once allowed local variations in how things were done?”
“It is hard to believe, isn’t it? That was more than a hundred and fifty years ago. These were star systems that, back then, had been absorbed into the Syndicate Worlds recently enough that they still retained some individuality.” “Absorbed” was a nice way to describe what had actually been a conquest without combat of a small group of star systems next to both Syndicate and Alliance space that had foolishly tried to stand apart from both powers. Neutrals had been low-hanging fruit in those days, and the Alliance had been eager to avoid outright fighting. If the idiots running the Syndicate Worlds hadn’t attacked the Alliance they might have been able, over time, to similarly acquire control of minor coalitions like the Rift Federation and the Callas Republic. Instead, both had ended up associating actively with the Alliance during the war.
What will happen to their supposed independence now?
Iceni wondered.
Will the Alliance formally take them over? Surely, they wouldn’t just let them go back to acting on their own. I should ask Black Jack about that when his fleet returns. He must be the one making that decision.
Iceni raised her forefinger to point to parts of the display. “As flotilla commander, you will be Kommodor Marphissa. Depending on their seniority, their sub-CEO or executive rank, individual warship commanders will be Kapitan First, Second, or Third rank, and below that the lower executives and subexecutives will be Kapitan-Leytenant, then Leytenant, and Leytenant Second rank, and, finally, the most junior will be Ships Officers.”
“I think this change will be welcomed,” Marphissa said. “It’s good that it’s not the same as that of the Alliance and is also different from the structure put into place by General Drakon. The mobile forces, I mean the warships, will like being distinct in that way.”
“Is any part of the new rank structure unclear?” Iceni asked.
“Is there no rank above Kommodor?”
Iceni laughed. “You’re already worried about that? Atmiral.”
“Atmiral,” Marphissa murmured, as if trying on the title.
“We need a few more warships before there will be any call for an Atmiral, Kommodor Marphissa.”
* * *
THEY
were thirty light-minutes from the jump point for Kane. Iceni, seated on the bridge of the heavy cruiser, turned to Marphissa. “Kommodor, take the flotilla to the jump point for Kane and order all units to be prepared for action upon exit at Kane.”
“Kane?” Marphissa asked, plainly having expected Taroa. “Is there an estimate of what we may face there?”
“I will brief you when we have entered jump.”
That left five hours at point one light speed. Iceni stayed on the bridge, watching her display where the warships, moving at about thirty thousand kilometers a second, crawled across the vast distances inside a star system. At the same velocity, a journey to the nearest star, Laka, would require nearly twenty-five years.
The old and proven jump technology would allow the flotilla to reach Kane in about six days, though, taking a shortcut through a still-poorly-understood dimension in which distances were much shorter.
As they finally approached the jump point, Marphissa looked at Iceni. “Permission to proceed with jump to Kane?”
“Permission granted. All units are to be at combat readiness status one when we exit at Kane.”
“Yes, Madam President.” Marphissa passed along those orders to the other warships with them, then ordered the jump.
Iceni felt the odd twisting as the endless bright stars against an eternity of black space vanished. In their place, the outside views now showed the monotonous, dull nothingness of jump space. Though human ships had been transiting jump space for centuries, it had never been explored because there was no known way to explore it. Ships could not deviate from their paths between the small areas in space called jump points where jump space could be accessed from normal space. Human sensors could detect nothing except the gray void.
And the lights. As Iceni watched, one of the mysterious lights of jump space bloomed ahead. No one had ever learned what those lights were, what caused them, or what they meant, if anything. There were rumors and superstitions, of course. When Iceni was in normal space or on a planet, she inwardly mocked those who thought the lights were signs of some powerful otherness watching humanity. But when in jump space, a region where no human really belonged, Iceni always felt a chill inside when she saw one, as if she were gazing on something whose face could not be comprehended by the human mind. At such times her father’s old stories of the living stars seemed to have extra force.
There was also no way to send messages between warships, or any means of communication with the regular universe. Secrets could not be compromised. “Kommodor, it is time to discuss our mission.”
To her credit, the new kommodor took the news without flinching. “A battleship?”
“Yes.”
Marphissa made an uncertain gesture. “This should be . . . interesting.”
“Yes,” Iceni repeated, hoping that it wouldn’t be too interesting.
Six days later, the heavy cruiser at full combat alert and Marphissa looking fiercely determined, the flotilla prepared to exit at Kane. “If the battleship is combat ready and anywhere near that jump point,” she commented to Iceni, “then the result will be a short battle indeed.”
“Are you ready to find out, Kommodor?” Iceni asked, trying to look and sound completely confident.
“Yes, Madam President.”
The gray nothingness of jump space was replaced by stars and blackness, Iceni struggling to overcome the effects of exiting jump so she could focus eyes and mind on her display and learn what awaited them at Kane.
CHAPTER NINE
ALARMS
sounded on the cruiser, targeting systems that hadn’t been impacted by the transition from jump space locking on to the large ship near the jump exit but waiting for human approval before they fired. Using tricks she had learned long ago, Iceni managed to fight off the disorientation caused by jump exit and grimly focused on her display.
There was something big there, all right.
Nervous laughter erupted on the bridge as everyone else recovered enough to view their own displays.
“A freighter,” Marphissa said. The huge, boxy merchant ship loomed within less than a light-minute of the jump point, clearly headed outward with its cargo. The Syndicate Worlds might be collapsing, violence and economic uncertainty might be breaking out everywhere, but business was still business. “Should we intercept it?”
“No,” Iceni replied. “We need trade to continue in this region. We need to encourage people to trade with us. Wish the freighter’s crew well and assure them that Midway remains safe for everyone who wishes to do business there.”
While Marphissa did that, Iceni studied her display. They had arrived at a jump point only five light-hours out from the star Kane, whose solar system was smaller in diameter than that of Midway’s. The nearest planet to the flotilla was only twenty light-minutes away, far enough from the star’s warmth to be very cold indeed. Closer in to the star were two gas giants, one at three light-hours from the star and another one and a half light-hours out. Beyond them, close enough to Kane to benefit from the heat of the star, were three inner planets, one a bit too cold for comfortable human habitation, one a bit too hot, and the third, at only seven light-minutes from Kane, just right in human terms. It was that planet that held the bulk of the human presence in the star system, in towns and cities clinging to the edges of continents that remained mostly unsettled.
But it was that gas giant one and a half light-hours from the star that held Iceni’s attention. She could see the mobile forces facility orbiting that gas giant and see one of the large moons that also orbited the planet, but there was no sign of the battleship. Either it truly was hidden behind the curve of the planet, or her information had been false and the mission a fool’s errand.
It would be nearly five hours before the people on Kane’s main inhabited world saw the arrival of the flotilla, but Iceni knew she should send them a message to arrive at about the same time as the light showing the arrival of the warships. What the message should be had depended on what she found when they arrived here.
“No fighting apparent anywhere in the star system,” Kommodor Marphissa commented. “Only peaceful communications and movement detected.” She pointed. “But we do have opposition to worry about.”
About four light-hours from the flotilla, orbiting Kane close to where the gas giant swung about the same star, were several warships. “One heavy cruiser, three light cruisers, and six Hunter-Killers,” the operations specialist confirmed with unusual speed. Since Iceni had ordered their line worker ratings changed to specialist designations, the morale of the crew had shot upward remarkably.
Iceni rubbed her chin, trying to read significance in the positioning of those forces. “Can we tell if the Syndicate Worlds still controls this star system, or has someone else taken over?” Midway, with its hypernet gate and strategic importance, had also gained a more substantial ISS presence than less important star systems had to deal with. Some, like Kane, which had a decent world for humanity but nothing otherwise special to distinguish them, were backwaters that since the discovery of the hypernet had seen little interest from the Syndicate Worlds. While that had kept Kane from receiving much investment, it had also kept the numbers of snakes and their facilities to much lower levels. Until recently, if Kane had bucked Syndicate authority, it would have been only a matter of time before the central government sent mobile forces in either to accept unconditional subservience or pound the planet into surrender, a much more cost-efficient solution than stationing a large ISS presence in the star system.
But who did the mobile forces here now answer to? Are they still enforcing Syndicate rule?
Not knowing that made it hard for Iceni to decide who to present herself as.
“All of the communications we’re seeing reflect Syndicate Worlds’ procedures and use their nomenclature,” the communications specialist said.
“Which might just mean they haven’t changed anything yet,” Iceni muttered.
I have to go with my gut on this, and my instincts tell me that so far the Syndicate Worlds is still running things here. Maybe the authorities in Kane are just paying lip service to the Syndicate Worlds, but I don’t think that they’ve formally abandoned Syndicate rule.
She tabbed her own communication controls, placing a real-appearing avatar of a woman who didn’t look like her to appear as the sender when the message went out. “This is CEO Janusa, operating on orders from the Syndicate Worlds’ government on Prime. We have just arrived from Midway, having reestablished Syndicate control in that star system, and will proceed to your mobile forces facility for resupply and refitting. For the people, Janusa, out.”
Kommodor Marphissa gave her a slight smile. “I suppose if you want someone to impersonate a Syndicate CEO, using a real CEO is the way to go.”
“Former CEO,” Iceni corrected, but smiled back. “There is a certain attitude, a way of talking, that becomes habit. They won’t have any files on a CEO Janusa here, but Kane doesn’t get all that much traffic from elsewhere in Syndicate space, so their news was always far behind developments elsewhere. If they ask who I am, I’ll tell them that I was recently promoted by the new government on Prime.”
“Do you believe they will let us proceed to their mobile forces facility?”
“If they do without any objection, it may well mean that our intelligence was faulty or that the battleship has already left. But if they object and attempt to delay our going there, it will be a strong sign that our prey is indeed present. We won’t wait for their reply, Kommodor. Order the flotilla on a vector to intercept the mobile forces facility.”
“At what velocity . . . CEO Janusa?”
Iceni only pondered that for a moment. “Point one light speed. I am a brash, new CEO. I have no time to waste plodding through an unimportant star system. I have important business elsewhere, and I want everyone watching to know that I am important and have important business to conduct.”
“I will keep your importance in all matters in mind, CEO Janusa,” Marphissa replied.
“That’s how you have always dealt with CEOs, isn’t it?” Iceni asked, her earlier mockery shifting to an unpleasant self-appraisal. “We are all so important.”
Marphissa was bold enough to answer truthfully. “Not all CEOs were alike, but all had to be treated the same way.”
“OBSTLT,” Iceni added sardonically.
“Or Be Subject to Life Termination,” Marphissa agreed. “I chose to back you, all of the commanders of these warships chose to back you, because we believed you were different enough in important ways.”
“You backed me because you saw an opportunity for greater advancement.”
“That was not the only reason, and in some cases not the reason at all.” Kommodor Marphissa grinned. “I have just contradicted a CEO to her face.”
“You obviously haven’t made a habit of that in the past.” Iceni regarded her carefully. “What is it you want, Kommodor? You and the others?”
“We want you to care as much about what happens to us as you do about what happens to you.”
“You don’t believe in asking for small things, do you?” Iceni looked back at her display. “I have a responsibility to those who work for me. Don’t assume that makes me some sort of . . .
humanitarian
.”
“I would not presume to accuse you of such a thing, Madam President.”
“Good.” Iceni let her gaze rest on the inhabited planet. Nearly five light-hours distant, so her message would not be received there until that time had elapsed, and any reply would take at least as long even if sent immediately. At least ten hours before she received any answer, and she had slept poorly earlier due to worries about what they would find here at Kane. “I am going to get some rest. Notify Colonel Rogero that it will be approximately forty hours before we expect to employ his ground forces. And notify me of any significant changes in the situation.”
“Yes, Madam President,” Marphissa said, all business again. “What about the readiness state of the warships? Do you wish them maintained at condition one?”
“No.” There had been times when Iceni had been under the command of CEOs who kept their crews at maximum combat readiness for days at a time so they would be “ready for anything.” The actual result had been that the crews were totally exhausted when they finally encountered the enemy, and thus far from being ready. She would not repeat that mistake. “Bring the warships back to standard cruising readiness state. Make sure every unit commander knows that I want the crews well rested when we get close to that gas giant.” There wasn’t anything
humanitarian
about that, either. It was simply good planning.
Nonetheless, the wave of relief that swept through the junior officers and specialists on the bridge was so strong that it almost felt like a physical thing. Iceni suppressed a smile, recalling the days when she had resigned herself to indefinite time on a bridge duty station while the enemy was still several light-hours distant. Everyone on the bridge knew that their target was a battleship, yet all of them seemed confident and cheerful. She could not understand it.
As Iceni closed the hatch on her stateroom, she felt the sense of respite that came from being behind a locked barrier. How long had it been since she could go out among others without worrying about who was at her back?
She felt more confident about Marphissa, though. The woman showed every sign of being smart, capable, loyal, and willing to speak truth to power. That last was often regarded by CEOs and sub-CEOs as an annoyance at best, but Iceni knew the value of that quality in a subordinate when married with the other virtues. Assuming that Marphissa really was all of those things, particularly loyal.
Did they really decide to back me because they thought I would care what happened to them? I suppose I do care, to the extent that I wouldn’t abandon them to the enigmas when things seemed hopeless. That was my responsibility as the CEO in charge of the star system. That’s how I operate—I do my job right—and not taking care of them now, when my fate rests on how well they perform in battle, would be foolish.
She lay on her bunk, gazing upward, wondering why the memory of the cheerful confidence in the crew made her feel rewarded. Their opinions didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. She had been taught that all of her professional life.
But, then, she had rebelled against what she had been taught, hadn’t she?
Because that system had failed.
* * *
“CEO
Janusa.” The man sending the message seemed to be cautiously welcoming. Iceni didn’t recognize him. “I am CEO Reynard. Welcome to Kane. I congratulate you on your victory in the Midway Star System and would be appreciative if you would forward me the details of the fighting there so that I can learn from your example.”
He’s not a CEO. He’s talking like a sub-CEO, trying to flatter me as a way of gaining information. Interesting.
“CEO Reynard” had taken on a concerned look. “I must inform you that our mobile forces facility orbiting the fourth planet was recently picked clean of supplies by another Syndicate flotilla. If you will instead proceed to the second planet, I will ensure that your flotilla receives any support that it requires. That will allow you to resupply as quickly as possible so you can proceed with your assignment. For the people, Reynard, out.”
So, “Reynard,” what is your real name and what is your real game? Have the Syndicate Worlds been overthrown here? What happened to CEO Chan, who was in control here the last I heard? He could have been swept up by the snakes, in which case you could be a Syndicate replacement, promoted rapidly after the ISS cleaned out the CEO ranks in this star system.
He also seems eager for us to leave. One thing I can be certain of is that “Reynard” doesn’t want us going to the gas giant. That’s a good sign.
“Maintain course for the mobile forces facility about the gas giant,” Iceni ordered Marphissa.
She thought about her next step, then activated her comms.
“This is CEO Janusa responding to CEO Reynard. Unfortunately, I lack the time for a diversion to the second planet of this star system. My flotilla will proceed to the mobile forces facility, where I am certain I will be able to acquire whatever I need. For the people, Janusa, out.”
Another message. “This is CEO Janusa to the commander of the flotilla located near the fourth planet of this star system. I am here under direct orders from the government at Prime. I wish to be contacted by your commander as soon as possible. There are urgent requirements that necessitate changing your tasking.”
Those requirements being the need to get you farther away from that mobile forces facility so I can have a free hand there.
“CEO Janusa is really throwing her weight around,” Kommodor Marphissa commented after Iceni finished sending the second message.
“She’s a real bitch,” Iceni agreed. “That will ensure that no one questions whether she’s a real CEO. Have you had any luck informally contacting the commanders of any of the warships in that other flotilla?”
“I’ve sent them some feelers via the unauthorized back channels in the comm system, but no replies yet.”
“Let me know the instant there are. I’d much rather collect those warships as additions to my flotilla than have to fight them.”
They were twenty-eight hours’ travel time from the mobile forces facility.
The next message came seven hours later, from the facility orbiting the gas giant rather than the inhabited planet. “CEO Janusa, please alter vector and proceed to the second planet. I regret to inform you that we have had an outbreak of serious illness following the last flotilla’s visit to this facility. We have yet to identify a successful treatment. More than half of our personnel are already incapacitated. For the people, this is acting facility commander Sub-CEO Petrov, out.”