Fifty

As she stood at the podium of the conference room, Admiral Laskowski took smug satisfaction in the looks of grim submission on the faces of L’Houillier and Zhukovski. There was no longer any question of who was really in charge now. The man who sat at the head of the conference table had decided that issue when he had personally approved of Laskowski’s plan, and reinforced it with the fourth star he had given her, promoting her on the spot to full admiral for her role in discovering the Kreelan homeworld. Technically she was still junior to L’Houillier, but that was a mere technicality. He and Zhukovski had only pushed forward their retirement dates by arguing against her strategy. And now, here they were, mere spectators to the operation that she had devised, that she was now in charge of in all but name, reviewing it for her president’s pleasure.

It was all her dreams come true.

“Mr. President,” she began, “the attack plan is fairly simple, necessarily so because of the huge number of vessels involved.”

This brought a barely audible grunt from L’Houillier. They had lost another ten ships to collision at the last navigation checkpoint. Zhukovski’s great eyebrows knotted as a frown chiseled itself from his glowering face.

Laskowski cast L’Houillier a disparaging look, but said nothing. You are finished, old man, she told herself. “As I was about to say, sir, the three battle groups – Lysander, Ulysses, and Heraklion – will jump into the system simultaneously from three different vectors.

“Lysander, the main battle group of which Warspite is the flagship, will engage the Kreelan main body that now orbits the homeworld. Our job will be to pin down the Kreelan fleet, and if possible destroy it en masse. Once that has been accomplished, we will proceed to neutralize the homeworld itself through orbital bombardment and, if and when appropriate, Marine landings.”

Borge nodded magnanimously. His ignorance of military strategy and tactics allowed him to be properly impressed.

“Ulysses,” she went on, “smaller than Lysander, will execute a similar operation against the moon that has been identified in orbit around the primary target.

“We don’t have detailed information on the defenses for either target, but we don’t believe at this time that planetary defense will be a major factor in the engagement: our primary threat is the enemy fleet.”

This brought a raised eyebrow from Zhukovski to L’Houillier. The latter only shook his head in tiny, hopefully unnoticed movements. Merde, Zhukovski could imagine him saying. To himself, he thought: We know nothing of this system other than the fact of its existence and that many Kreelan warships are already there. And already we have made potentially fatal assumptions about it.

“The third group, Heraklion,” Laskowski continued, her voice slowing as she sought to impress the president with the third group’s real significance, “is the smallest of the three, but carries the greatest destructive power of all our forces. Should it be necessary and you authorize it, Mr. President, this group will employ thermium weapons against the planets in the system, and the kryolon devices we have brought along can help ensure… a final solution to the Kreelan problem.”

“I’ve heard of the thermium devices,” Borge said, intrigued, “but not of the kryolons. What are those?” He had not been briefed on the full array of military hardware prior to the fleet’s sailing, but such details he found utterly fascinating.

“Kryolon bombs are proverbial ‘ultimate weapon,’ Gospodin Prezident,” Zhukovski rumbled, interrupting Laskowski’s monopoly on the man’s attention. “They were designed many years ago, to destroy star of enemy system, and thus planets in orbit. They have been in carefully guarded storage for these years, until very recently.” He paused. “None ever has been used, even operationally tested, and so true power of weapon is not known.” He did not add that he thought with all his heart and soul that those weapons should have been destroyed long ago, rather than fall into the hands of a madman like Borge.

“Really?” Borge asked, his mind already contemplating the ramifications for his reign after he had defeated the Kreelans. No system would dare oppose me while I have control of such weapons, he thought. And, perhaps, he thought hopefully, more could be built. That was an option worth pursuing, but now was not the time.

Turning his attention back to Laskowski, who stood simmering at the head of the table after Zhukovski’s interruption, he asked, “And how do you plan to employ these weapons, admiral?”

“Sir,” she said, shooting Zhukovski a frigid glare, “we have brought them as an insurance policy. If you do not feel that the issue of the Kreelan problem has been resolved with the use of the fleet in conventional operations or with the thermium devices, the kryolons are a way for you to resolve the situation… utterly and permanently.” She was careful to phrase her words in such a way as not to imply the possibility that the fleet could fail. She was sure that her plan would work.

“Very good, admiral,” Borge said contemplatively. “Very good. Thank you.” Then, looking at each of the faces clustered around the table, he said, “Well, if there is nothing else, ladies and gentlemen…? No? Then this meeting is concluded. Please inform me when we are within thirty minutes of jumping into enemy territory. Thank you all, and carry on.”

The attendees stood and filed out, eager to get back to their stations and away from the cloying political atmosphere that shrouded Borge and those closest to him.

As they left, a huge Marine officer entered the room, shouldering aside the departing officers with little regard to their rank or stature. Thorella.

“And what good news do you have for me, general?” Borge asked as the last of the attendees had departed and the doors hissed shut.

“I split up the prisoners as you requested, sir,” Thorella said, smiling. “I had Mackenzie transferred to the Golden Pearl where we’ve had Camden locked up.” Eustus had not been on the shuttle that brought Reza and the others to Warspite’s hate-filled landing bay. He was a gift from Borge to Thorella, a political pawn that had been lost through the administrative cracks in the fleet’s preparations to attack the Empire. It was a gift that the younger man planned to enjoy immensely. “I’ll have to give her credit,” he said, shaking his head in wonder, “she certainly took her last flight in class. What a ship! No wonder you took it over for your personal quarters.”

Borge chuckled. “Rank hath its privileges, my friend,” he said, thinking of what was going to happen to Mackenzie at young Markus’s hands. All of the prisoners would be set aside for Thorella’s pleasure. He had certainly earned it.

As if reading his mind, Thorella asked, “What about Reza and the two blues?” He wanted them most of all.

“In time, Markus, in time. I shall not deprive you of your rewards. But his public visibility makes him a very valuable political commodity, much more so than Mackenzie or that cretin Camden. So you shall have to have your fun with them until Reza’s raison d’être is no more.”

Thorella nodded. It was what he expected, and it would do. For now. “Is there anything else you want me to work on in the meantime?”

Borge shook his head. “No, my friend. The wheels have been set in motion, and now we must simply wait.” He smiled. “I suggest that you retire to our new ship and… enjoy the wait.”

His pitch black eyes twinkling, Thorella thanked his master and left.

Behind him, Borge quietly laughed to himself.

***

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Enya asked quietly, her eyes darting up and down the corridor to see if they had been followed.

“This is where he said–” Braddock did not get the chance to finish as the stark gray metal door to one of two dozen container storage rooms lining the corridor suddenly hissed open.

“Quickly,” a heavily accented voice said from the darkness beyond, a dimly seen hand gesturing for them to come in. “Voiditye. Enter.”

Exchanging a worried glance, Enya and Braddock did as they had been ordered. The door closed behind them, the lock bars automatically sliding into place to hold the door closed.

“Admiral?” Braddock asked the shadowy figure looming in front of them.

“Da,” Zhukovski’s voice replied. The darkness was suddenly peeled back a meter or so as he turned on a small electric lamp that stood on a hexagonal container squatting between the three of them. Beside it was a device with shifting numbers and tiny waveforms on its display: an anti-surveillance unit. “Forgive choice of place for meeting,” the admiral said, gesturing about them at the shadowy stacks of containers and pallets, “but circumstances dictate… radical approach to most basic problems.”

“Why are we here, admiral?” Enya asked cautiously. “Surely, this is not some crude joke?”

Zhukovski allowed himself a humorless smile. “I most sincerely wish that it was joke, young lady,” he told her, leaning against the container with his good arm, “but things are most serious, and – I fear – out of control. You see, Admiral L’Houillier and I believe that fleet is on course for rendezvous with disaster. Admiral Laskowski, fleet operations officer, has illustrious president’s ear, and has convinced him that our fleet can destroy Kreelans.” The smile flickered away. “And, for insurance, we have kryolon bombs to finish job.”

“Lord of All,” Braddock whispered. “I thought those were only a… a myth. I’d heard about them – everyone in the fleet has – but I never thought they were real. My God, I thought the thermium bombs were horrible enough…”

“They are real, young Councilman,” Zhukovski said ominously. “All too real.”

Enya suddenly interrupted. “What are these things?” she demanded, not sure that she really wanted to know.

Braddock turned to her. Even in this light, she could tell that he was pale, and she began to feel afraid. “They’re doomsday weapons, Enya,” he told her. “If rumor holds true, any one of those bombs can destroy a star, setting an entire system aflame, destroying every planet in its orbit.” He looked at Zhukovski, who nodded.

“But why would anyone build such weapons?” Enya asked, horrified at the magnitude of it.

“Simple,” Zhukovski said. “They were designed for time such as this, when only apparent solution to conflict is stellar genocide. And that might not be bad idea if only one weapon existed. But there are over a dozen, exact count even I do not know because of stringent security.” He eyed the other two. “Slight overkill even for Kreelan homeworld, da?”

Braddock’s insides turned to ice. “A dozen of those things controlled by Borge…” He let the thought drift off into the darkness of the abyss it promised.

Enya finished the thought for him. “No planet in the Confederation would be safe, ever again, from the threat of total destruction,” she whispered. “Borge would hold absolute power over everyone. And if they have some now, they could build even more.”

“There is worse.” The old admiral looked at the floor, then at Enya. “Your young Camden is under arrest,” he said softly. “He was charged with treason, and is being held in location that I have not yet discovered.” He looked into Enya’s eyes. “Sentence was by presidential order: he is to be put to death, along with Gard and Mackenzie.”

“No,” Enya breathed. “No! I don’t believe it! Borge cannot get away with such a thing! I’ll–”

“He can, dorogaya,” Zhukovski interrupted gently but forcefully, “and he will, unless he is stopped. Borge’s insanity knows no bounds, and all those around him have begun to fear him. That is why we must meet like this, because nowhere else is safe. People fearing for their own welfare will gladly point finger at someone else to escape suspicion. This fear has become fire, fanned by winds of Reza’s alleged treason and proclaimed chance by president for victory over Kreelan enemy. And if what I believe is true, Reza and others – including Camden – will not survive coming encounter. Borge will have no more use for them; having won his great victory and returning home like Caesar, they will disappear, no doubt in unfortunate accident.”

“And the Council is just as bad,” Braddock said. “They’re all terrified of him… including myself.” He clenched his fists. “But, what can we do?”

“Kill him,” Enya said quietly. She had lived her entire life under oppressive human rule, and knew that any cruelty visited upon humanity by the Kreelans had been inflicted a thousand-fold by Mankind upon itself in times past and present. And future, she thought bleakly, a vivid image playing in her mind of Erlang’s sun exploding, obliterating her home and everything they had lived, suffered, and died for all these years.

“Enya,” Braddock said uneasily, “I don’t like Borge any more than you do, but he’s the legal successor to Nathan, and–”

“I wonder,” Zhukovski grumbled. At Braddock’s questioning glance, he continued, “I have uncovered… discrepancies… in Borge’s past, and in past of others who now are closely associated with him. Questionable things have been – how do you say? – tidied up. And I do not believe that Reza Gard killed Nathan. Assuming assumption is correct,” he smiled at that particular turn of phrase, “hypothesis leaves obvious question of who did?”

“Thorella,” Braddock murmured to himself, thinking of how he and Borge seemed to work together a bit too closely, and how so much of what the younger man did was concealed in shadows, out of sight. From what he himself had seen, and from what he had heard from Reza and Nicole over the years, the man certainly had what Braddock considered an antisocial personality, to say the least. “Borge had the motive,” he went on, thinking aloud. “He never made any secret about his ambition to become president, although he had hardly advocated assassination to get there. He and Nathan had been friends for years.”

“Reza and Thorella gave him both the opportunity and the instrument he needed,” Enya joined in. “Reza was the perfect scapegoat, the one person no one would believe because he had been raised in the Empire, and it would be easy to label him a turncoat and a traitor. And enough people in key positions knew that if Reza had really wanted to, he could easily have killed Nathan. No security system could stop him.”

“But Thorella was the actual killer,” Braddock continued. “With Borge’s backing, he could have gained access to the security system and somehow reprogrammed the sentinel monitors to show Reza killing Nathan.” He shook his head. He knew that what they were thinking was pure speculation, but there did not seem to be any other explanation, and too many of the known facts fit the theory all too well. “Lord of All,” he whispered.

“Almost perfect crime,” Zhukovski said quietly. “If we allow him to succeed, he will have begun with murder of President Nathan what could be murder of millions of people, whether we win or lose in coming battle.”

“Are you planning a coup, admiral?” Braddock asked. In his heart he knew the answer, and from the grim set of Enya’s jaw he saw that she had already thrown her lot in with whatever Zhukovski had in mind, but he had to ask the question. For the sake of posterity, if nothing else.

Zhukovski suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Councilman, I have served Confederation for many years,” he said slowly, “and always have I served civilian leaders. That is not only tradition and written law; I believe with all my heart that it is best way, best for all people in Confederation. So do many other officers who are not content with present leadership. They are not fools, they can see darkness in future, but they are bound to laws that have kept Confederation and its predecessors free.” He looked squarely at Braddock. “There will be no military coup,” he said firmly. “But… senior officers in Navy and Marine Corps will support new civilian leader.” He paused. “They will support you.”

“Me?” Braddock almost laughed. “Why me?” he said.

“Because there is no one else they would trust, Tony,” Enya told him. “You know that as well as I.”

Zhukovski nodded. “You are only survivor of purge that has swept vestiges of previous government away, Councilman. You have done well in your time in office, and fact that you are well-decorated Marine does not hurt either. You hold respect of officers and enlisted alike.” He shrugged. “If you will not accept, then we must face destiny with Borge at the helm.”

“That doesn’t leave me much choice, does it?” Braddock asked quietly.

The old admiral shook his head. “None, councilman,” he said. “None, if you wish to save Confederation from tyranny.”

“Erlang is with you,” Enya said, giving Braddock a reassuring squeeze with her hand. Turning to Zhukovski, she asked, “What must we do?”