The Price of Conquest

Three hours had passed since the conclusion of what some might call a "fateful" Council meeting. Gaunis used no such labels. He had accomplished what he set out to do. Only time would reveal the effects of his accomplishments and the effects of those things he had not planned. But time alone would not get things done, and he had spent the hours since the meeting ended acting on the decisions made and putting final touches on orders roughed out over the past several days.

He set aside the data card with his recorded orders, stood, and moved across his office into the adjoining view lounge. Indirect lights flickered on as he entered the room. He waved them off, preferring to admire Eminence and the surrounding starscape from a darkened chamber.

The Esprit was still docked, limiting his view of the space station to the ports adjoining the dreadnought's mooring. A handful of spacesuited figures clustered around the open engine hatch of one of the courier ships anchored near the Esprit.

Probably some new problem with one of the th'Maran corridor drive systems, he mused as he studied the deliberate movements of the weightless technicians. The technology behind the new drive system had been one of the few desirable things to come out of the United Galaxy's short-lived alliance with the th'Maran. Ships equipped with their drive system could make an interstellar voyage in half the time it took a vessel using a standard hyperdrive, and their destination could not be predicted based on their trajectory when leaving normal space. Unfortunately, the intricacies of the th'Maran technology were still new to Patrol engineers, and the machinery required constant monitoring and maintenance. Several problems remained, and more than one vessel had been lost due to undetected malfunctions. It was primarily the smaller ships equipped with United Galaxy versions of the larger th'Maran design that experienced problems and losses, yet even the Esprit's corridor system received a complete going-over any time she was near a technical facility.

Gaunis watched a pair of technicians as they made their way from the courier ship to a yacht docked in the adjoining slip. There they were met by a third man who directed them toward the yacht's engine hatch. Slowly, the three crawled across the ship's flank, their suited bodies momentarily blemishing the United Galaxy insignia and admiral's crest that graced the ship's broad, sloping side.

Something about the scene set an attention-getting alarm jangling in Gaunis's head, but a careful review of the picture revealed nothing unusual. He would have missed the implication entirely if not for the fact that one of the technicians hesitated for a moment, his body twisted to gaze back toward Eminence.

Automatically, Gaunis followed the man's gaze, and his eyes swept back across the symbols identifying the vessel as Admiral Len's yacht.

Gaunis had given little thought to the problems presented by Braeum Len's defection, confident that a solution would present itself in the coming weeks. He would never have dared to hope that such a perfect answer would appear so quickly or so close at hand. He returned to his office and called in his aide.

Several minutes later, Gaunis was back in his lounge, seated before the expansive view of Eminence. He watched with satisfaction as a fourth spacesuited figure made its way toward the open drive hatch of Len's yacht, and then closed his eyes in satisfaction.

Nearly an hour passed before Gaunis roused himself. He shifted stiffly in his chair and raised his head to focus on the scene before him.

The work on the ships was done, the technicians gone. The lack of movement turned the scene into a still-life painting.

Gaunis changed position again and waited patiently while the torpid, trance-like state passed. He had long ago accepted the inevitability of the dormant spells brought on by the drugs he used to keep his almost century-old body as vital and active as one half its age. He had learned to take advantage of the periods of lassitude and use them for reflection, allowing his mind to wander from one thought to the next. In this way, he had discovered answers to innumerable questions, spotted developing problems early enough to halt their emergence into full-blown dilemmas, and uncovered trends in the behavior of both individuals and entire worlds, trends he later used to his advantage.

Now he awoke with only one thought in mind, one problem to be faced and dealt with: the Confederacy. His next move depended largely on what the Confederates planned to do. Were they searching for a way to take back Falira, as Renee Andren suggested in Council? Or would they wait to see what the United Galaxy did next?

He thought over the reports he had received from Arecia since the Taasian incident. Gaunis had no delusions that Garrett Atkins would last long as an information source—the Arecian forces weren't that lax—but he would support and reward Atkins' efforts as long as he continued to supply valuable information. And if the young man's first reports were any indication, the information coming out of the Arecian base could prove extremely valuable, not only to the United Galaxy's efforts against the Confederacy, but to the High Admiral's personal ambitions, as well.

Unfortunately, Gaunis's reaction to the information about Shaw's pregnant th'Maran lover had gone awry, leaving Shaw alive and Gaunis without one of the human-th'Maran children rumored to possess abilities far beyond those of their parents. That was a setback, but not a major one. Even now, the people at Gaunis's secret installation on the planet Halycen were using captive th'Maran in an attempt to breed one of the children and determine the truth of the rumors, but it would be months before he saw results from that project.

Gaunis turned his thoughts from his personal plans and considered the other information Atkins had supplied. The Confederacy had sent Kressa Bryant to Calton immediately after the Taasian incident. Gaunis felt certain the woman's trip was tied in with something the Confederacy was planning, but his forces on Calton had been unable to hold onto her long enough to find out why she had come.

He realized with sudden concern that the daily report he required from his people on Calton was long overdue. He climbed to his feet, returned to his office, and activated the comm.

A moment later, his aide answered. "Yes, High Admiral?"

"Commander, have we had any transmissions from Calton recently?"

There was a short pause. "No, sir. No communications have arrived from Calton within the past standard day. The last report was—"

"I remember it. Put in a call to them now. Priority one, immediate reply. I want to know if they've made any progress."

"Right away, sir. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Commander, that is all." He lowered himself into his chair as an inexplicable dread settled over him. With a scowl, he willed the feeling away. There was nothing to be concerned about. After all, what could one woman do against his forces on Calton? Even Richard Shaw's infamous daughter did not have the ability to topple a power structure over two decades in the making. Not single-handedly, at any rate. And even if the Confederacy had a way to get enough men onto Calton to affect a takeover, it was unlikely they would have learned there was anything to take over in the first place. Only three people alive had even an inkling of the full extent of his connections on Calton, and he was one of those three. There would be a logical explanation for the silence from Calton.

"High Admiral?"

Gaunis smiled slightly. Here was his answer already.

"Go ahead, Commander."

"Sir, there is no reply from Calton. Perhaps there is a malfunction in their hyperwave systems."

A day-long, planetwide malfunction? Gaunis swallowed a bitter laugh.

"I highly doubt it." The Confederacy had to be behind it, and there was only one way to respond. "Put me through to the bridge. That will be all."

"Aye, sir. Connecting you with the captain now."

"There's been a change of plans," Gaunis said once the connection was made. "Prepare to leave Eminence immediately."

"Aye, sir. Destination?"

"Calton. We leave within the hour. Gaunis out."

He switched his comm to receive priority calls only, placed a blank data card in the recorder, and began to revise his previous orders.

Ten minutes short of his self-appointed hour, Gaunis stepped onto the Esprit's bridge amongst a flurry of activity. He moved directly to the communication console and handed the data card to the officer on duty.

"Transmit these orders, Lieutenant. Top priority," he ordered, and then stepped toward the command station. The captain surrendered his chair, and Gaunis sank into it.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The main viewer was aimed away from Eminence. Gaunis studied the empty starfield and recalled Admiral Estura's comment in Council: For all we know, one of the Stingrays may be sitting outside Eminence this very instant…

Gaunis pursed his lips. Possible? Yes. But probable? He could not say.

Should he order a search for the vessel, then? No. One capability of the black ships of which he was certain was their ability to elude detection. It would be foolish to alarm the others for such an unlikely probability of success. Still, it was always best to be safe…

"Communications, have you sent those orders yet?" he asked.

"Preparing to transmit now, sir."

"Send them scrambled, code prime."

"Yes, sir. Uh… sir? Did you say code prime?"

"Code prime, Lieutenant. It's always best to be safe."

* * *

"Captain," the call from Lieutenant Dakk shattered the quiet of Stingray One's bridge, "the Esprit is transmitting."

"Hyperwave or standard?" Jonathan asked, his eyes locked on the long-range image of Eminence and the vessels surrounding the space station.

"Both, sir."

"Do they give any indication where the Esprit's planning to go in such a hurry?"

"The transmissions are scrambled, sir. I don't recognize the code."

Jonathan glanced back at the communications post, eyebrows raised. "All right, Dakk. Get the computer working on a way to decipher it."

"I'll try, sir."

Dakk's answer was despondent, which meant there wasn't a chance in hell of the computer coming up with an answer in anything short of a day or two. Jonathan sighed. Well, he hadn't come to Eminence to eavesdrop on Gaunis's communications, although there was little he wouldn't give to learn what those transmissions contained. What he had come for was a chance to keep track of the High Admiral's movements. Now, after three days of waiting, it appeared the man was finally going to move.

"The Esprit's pulling away from Eminence, Captain," the sensor officer said.

"Keep an eye on them."

"Yes, sir. She's starting her corridor run."

Jonathan watched the dreadnought accelerate away from Eminence.

"Prepare a tracking probe," he said and wondered whether the Patrol knew the Stingrays could get a fairly accurate estimate of a vessel's destination by analyzing the hyperspatial disturbance caused by a ship's jump into the "corridor," the term used to refer to the higher energy level of hyperspace used by the th'Maran's interstellar drive system.

He continued to watch the Esprit and listen to the relayed orders and responses as Commander Aerhom and the sensor officer coordinated the launch of a probe into hyperspace to record the dreadnought's passage. Moments after the Esprit disappeared from normal space, the report from the probe came in.

"Captain, there are three likely destinations," Aerhom reported, "but only one of them makes any sense. Calton."

"Calton? But that's—"

—where Kressa is, he finished silently. What was that woman up to?

"What are the other possibilities?" Jonathan asked.

"Selak—that's one of Admiral Isaacson's worlds—or Vsuna," Aerhom said.

"Gaunis wouldn't go to Vsuna by himself, and Isaacson's here at Eminence," Jonathan said. "It has to be Calton. Lieutenant Satra, how long will it take them to get there?"

"A little over one standard day, sir."

"Okay, we'll wait here for ten hours and see if we can find out where any of these other ships are going. Then we'll get to Calton to find out what's happening there."

* * *

Jonathan paced distractedly between Commander Aerhom's navigation post and his own command console, waiting for a report he almost dreaded to hear.

Barely an hour after the Esprit made her corridor jump, his sensor officer reported that four of the dreadnoughts at Eminence were powering up. The vessels belonged to admirals Deroga, Siyeen, Reiger, and Estura. Jonathan put Stingray One on alert, fearing their presence had been detected, but the four warships merely pulled away from the space station one at a time and disappeared into corridor.

Jonathan canceled the battle alert and ordered probes launched to analyze the dreadnoughts' headings. Now he waited impatiently for the results, carefully weighing the options open to him should the four be headed toward the same destination.

"I have the results, Captain," Aerhom said. "There is one destination that matches all four sets of readings. Dar."

"Dar," Jonathan repeated quietly, his eyes locked on the nav board readouts without registering what he saw. "That's a Confederate world."

"Yes, sir," Aerhom said in a low voice.

Jonathan continued to stare at the readings, thinking. Finally, he looked up. "Satra, how long?"

"At least two standard days, sir."

He nodded. In one day, Gaunis would be at Calton; in two, his four hired guns would arrive at Dar. He turned that over in his mind, playing with time, with days, with hours.

It could be done.

He turned to the communications post. "Dakk, hyperwave message for Stingray Two. Record. Mathan, four Patrol dreadnoughts will arrive at Dar in two standard days. Send every ship that can get there, but keep Stingray Two at Arecia as long as possible. I'll be transferring Stingray One to Calton in approximately nine hours to meet the Esprit. We'll do our best to join you at Dar before the dreadnoughts arrive. I'll contact you again when we reach Calton. End message. Send that tight beam, pulsed, and scrambled."

"Aye, sir."

Jonathan returned to his command station. He would have preferred to talk to Mathan directly, but he dare not risk it so close to Eminence. Sending the single short message was dangerous enough.

With a sigh, he settled into his chair, hoping he'd be able to solve the Calton business in a day.

* * *

"We've got another ship leaving Eminence, Captain."

Jonathan sat up in his chair and blinked the sleep from his eyes. He had completed a six-hour rest period less than an hour earlier, but the inactivity on the bridge had lulled him back into a fitful slumber.

"Put it on the screen. Which one is it this time, Lieutenant?"

"Admiral Len's yacht, sir."

Jonathan let out a slow breath. Admiral Len, one of the four who backed Shaw during his court-martial and was now trading illicitly with the Confederacy. Len's ship was the third to leave since the departure of the four dreadnoughts. Admiral Narcia's courier had jumped for Joeger, Narcia's base world, during Jonathan's sleep period. Admiral b'Sora's ship had left soon afterward, headed predictably for b'Sora's home planet.

"Anyone want to place bets on Admiral Len's destination?" Jonathan glanced around the bridge, and then shrugged when there were no takers. "I predict…" He rummaged through his memory for Len's seat of power. "Marika," he said and watched the yacht's progress on the main screen.

"Captain, sensors here."

Jonathan straightened at the worried tone in his sensor officer's voice. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

"I'm getting some strange readings from that yacht, sir."

"And…?" Jonathan prompted.

"I'm not sure, sir. I'm tracking its corridor run, and… I think maybe you should take a look."

Jonathan stood and crossed to the station, beckoning to Satra on the way. He watched the young Teneian as she studied the readings.

"What do you make of it, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Damndest thing I ever saw, Captain. Those are spatial ripples generated by the yacht's drive, but I don't know of any drive that produces an interference pattern like that."

"Could they have another new drive system?"

"I suppose they could," Satra said. "But those are pretty wild readings for— Wait a minute…" She reached to the board, made an adjustment, and watched the readings. "Damn. That engine's completely misaligned. It'll blow as soon as they jump."

"Misaligned?" Jonathan gave the image of the yacht on the viewscreen a troubled glance. "How?"

"It would take a deliberate effort to get a drive that far out of adjustment."

"You mean sabotage?"

Satra nodded gravely.

"Can't they detect what's happening?" Jonathan asked.

"They're going too fast, Captain, outdistancing their own slipstream." Satra glanced from the sensor boards to the screen and back again. "But they should be picking up something on their on-board monitors."

"Unless those were sabotaged, too." Jonathan turned to face the communications post. "Dakk, can you reach them?"

The officer shook his head. "Not with all that interference, Captain."

"Satra, what about a tractor beam? Can we get one on them?"

"They're out of range and moving too fast." Satra's dark eyes reflected the helplessness Jonathan felt. "There's nothing we can do."

Nothing we can do. The words rang in Jonathan's mind with a painful finality as he watched the doomed ship streak toward its death.

A moment later, the yacht was gone, its jump made. But a split second before it disappeared completely, the bright orange-white light of an explosion obscured the stars behind it.

Jonathan clenched his teeth and headed back toward his station. Aerhom watched him as he approached.

"Gaunis?" he asked.

Jonathan nodded stiffly. "ITD, get us the hell out of here. I want to be ready for the High Admiral when he arrives at Calton."