Alarm of War

from laughing at the pained expression on his face. “Yes, Alex. It seems Lieutenant Tuttle moved the ziridium to freighters-”

“There were no freighters,” Rudd blurted angrily. “All she had was ten destroyers-” He stopped in mid-sentence, slow realization settling like a stone in his stomach. Commander Grey nodded sympathetically. “It was a mining colony, remember? The first thing she did when the exercise started was to commandeer all of the mining ships, have them empty their holds and report to the supply station. She transferred the processed ziridium to the mining ships and sent them to the nearest Victorian world.”

“And the laser mines in the chaff cloud?”

Grey grimaced. “That was a nasty touch, wasn’t it? Laser sleds she stripped off the mining ships. She had forty three of them. She slaved them ten at a time to four sensor platforms and strung them out in the chaff cloud. Very limited range, of course, but very powerful.”

Rudd was disgusted with himself. “So I lost eight ships and the ziridium?” he asked, with more than a hint of despair.

“Actually, you lost ten ships.” Grey finally permitted herself a broad smile. She chided herself for enjoying this, but the look on his face was priceless. “She also mined the supply station, Alex. She blew it up when your ships were close by. Dublin was destroyed and Stein was heavily damaged.”

Rudd had to laugh. “She mined the station? A five hundred million unit supply station?” It was beautiful. It was something he would have done if he had been playing the defender.

Captain Grey leaned closer to the screen and lowered her voice. “What do you think, Alex, is she a keeper?” This was a sensitive subject. For years Second Fleet had raided Home Fleet for skilled officers, and used Home Fleet as a dumping ground for Second Fleet’s rejects. Admiral Douthat had objected, of course, but Fleet Personnel had generally given Admiral Skiffington his way. One of those rejects was Michael Bishop, now serving as New Zealand’s Tactical Officer. He was ponderous, unimaginative and enjoyed picking on his subordinates. Grey had been looking for a replacement for months.

Rudd nodded in reply. “She needs more training, of course, but she’s creative and ruthless” — he smiled — “all the characteristics required for making Captain someday. I’d suggest you make her the Assistant Tactical Officer to start with.” He grimaced. “She’ll have to survive Lieutenant Bishop’s tender mercies, but if you bring her along fast, then maybe in nine months…?”

“Good,” Captain Grey replied. She smiled. “When you write up her evaluation, Alex, make it look mediocre. I don’t want to lose this one, too.”

After Rudd had left, Grey sat at the communicator and dialed a number. In fact, she was calling her own communications server, which in turn connected her through an encrypted line to a small stateroom on board the Atlas space station. A deep male voice answered. “Hello?”

“Sir Henry? It’s Julie Grey.”

There was a pause, then the com screen came on. An elderly, elegant looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and a shock of white hair looked back at her. “Always a pleasure to hear from you, Captain Grey,” he said formally.

Grey suppressed a smile, from his tone you would think they were barely acquainted. Sir Henry was always cautious and discrete. She had known Henry Truscott since she was a girl of five, when he used to bounce her on his knee and tell her stories of the faraway lands he had visited. Grey’s father had died before she was a year old. Sir Henry had become a “special friend” of her mother’s, and though they never married and after a time no longer shared a romantic relationship, he had remained a family friend and was as close to a father figure as Grey ever had. Sir Henry did not have a job as such, but was said to be “influential” at the court of Queen Beatrice. In fact, although his name did not appear on any public table of organization or list of high governmental officials, Sir Henry was the most valued advisor to Queen Beatrice and the Royal Family. His influence ran from foreign affairs to matters of security. It was Sir Henry who had helped Grey get a posting in Home Fleet, not merely out of respect for her mother or affection for her, but because he wanted officers in Home Fleet that he could trust.

“We have just finished running the qualifying exams for Tactical.” She looked at him intently. “I have someone you may want to meet. She’s only a Second Lieutenant, but she’s already a standout. With a little bit of time…”

“We may not have much time, Julie,” he said gravely.

Grey stiffened. “Do you know some-”

He shook his head. “Nothing concrete, at least since that intercepted message I told you about. But things are in motion. The Tilleke are intimidating Arcadian shipping as it passes through Tilleke space. The Sultenic Ambassador has issued a formal complaint and is threatening sanctions against Victorian vessels in it space unless we reduce tariffs. And the DUC have gone surprisingly quiet, which makes me nervous.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “If any of these reach crisis, Her Majesty will ask the Fleet to show the flag.”

“And that means the Second Fleet will be on the move.” Grey finally saw where he was going with this.

Sir Henry nodded. “On the move and possibly in harm’s way, so of course he’ll ask for more ships.”

“Not from Home Fleet?” she protested.

“No, but he’ll get them from Third Fleet, and then Admiral Skiffington will have the largest Fleet Victoria has ever seen.” He looked grim. “And this could all happen soon, Julie. Very soon.”

“Have you spoken to the Queen? Couldn’t she-”

Sir Henry sighed. “It’s been a year since her husband’s death and she has — “ he looked up at the ceiling, groping for the right words — “tired of political intrigue. Queen Beatrice has withdrawn from an active role; she spends most of her time in her library or her garden.”

“But surely the First Sea Lord-” she sputtered. “You could warn him!”

“Warn him about what, the suspicions of an old man he considers little more than a family retainer? Admiral Giunta is faced with a possible military action, the first since the Battle of Windsor. Admiral Skiffington is the only Fleet commander with any combat experience. Giunta will use the tools he has.”

Grey thought furiously. “And the Princess?” Princess Anne was twenty, and the only direct heir to the throne. If anything happened to her, several cousins and her uncle would all be in position to make a claim, a nightmare Grey did not want to think about.

Sir Henry nodded. “I think it might be wise to send Princess Anne on a tour, perhaps to Space Station Atlas, somewhere where she is physically separated from the Queen in case someone should…become ambitious.”

“Atlas! But that’s the primary naval base. What makes you think she would be safe when she is surrounded by Second Fleet war ships?”

“Because she will be on a Home Fleet ship, surrounded by Home Fleet sailors and under the eye of my favorite Home Fleet captain,” Sir Henry explained.

Grey inwardly groaned at the thought of having Princess Anne under her charge. Security would be a problem, and who would take care of her?

“I’ve already spoken to Admiral Douthat,” Sir Henry said. “She agrees that the Princess would be safer with Home Fleet than anywhere else. I will arrange to have her visit Atlas in the next week or so.”

Grey sighed. Princess Anne had a reputation as being smart, acerbic, and…hard to handle. She came by it naturally, Grey thought ruefully. Queen Beatrice was a formidable woman…or had been. And her father the King had been as well. Something in the Churchill genes. It was hard to picture the Queen retreating to her garden.

“And my aspiring Second Lieutenant?” Grey asked.

Sir Henry considered for a moment. “By all means go ahead and vet her, Julie. I trust your instincts on this. But be prepared to bring her along much faster than usual. We may soon have a need to know who we can rely on and who we can’t.”

I hope you’re wrong, Uncle Henry,” she said fervently.

He gave a short laugh, totally devoid of humor. “Not half as much as I do, Julie.”

Chapter 19