Alarm of War

Admiral Douthat gave her a level look. “This isn’t a game, Emily. We are taking risks here. If you hadn’t accepted, you would have been mustered out immediately and discharged from the Fleet. However, we wish you no harm. There is a small college on Cornwall that is looking for a history instructor. You would have been given an excellent reference and the job would have been offered to you. You’d have a better chance at a career there than you would have had on Christchurch.”

Emily studied her evenly, then, without turning her gaze, called out, “Merlin!”

“Yes, Lieutenant Tuttle?”

“Assess veracity of the last statement by Admiral Alyce Douthat.”

Douthat’s eyes widened and she shot Emily an appraising look. Beside her, Captain Grey snorted in amusement. “I told you, Admiral!” Admiral Douthat pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully.

“There is a sixty percent probability that the statement by Admiral Douthat is true,” Merlin reported.

“Close enough,” Emily said. “Now what?”

Douthat smiled grimly. “Now, Emily, we do what the Home Fleet has always done: We protect Victoria and the Queen from all dangers, foreign and domestic.”

Chapter 23

P.D. 952

A Message

In Victorian Space, on Space Station Atlas

The man didn’t bump into him, Hiram noted, but rather stepped in front of him. And then stopped. They were on the main promenade deck of the Atlas space station. It was dinner hour and the promenade was crowded with sailors, constructions crews, retail clerks, Fleet bureaucrats, contractors and God alone knew what else, all going home or on their way to an evening meal.

Without consciously thinking about it, Hiram took the man in at a glance, noting the bald head, the slight Oriental fold to the eyes, the weathered skin, and the radiating sense of…he groped for moment, trying to define it. Stillness. Yes, that was it, a pervading sense of stillness. And with that, he knew. He placed his hands together as if praying, then raised them to his forehead and bowed slightly.

“There are many paths to the Light,” he intoned in greeting.

The shorter man’s eyes widened fractionally, and then he put his hands together and bowed in return. “And each man must find his own,” he replied. He looked up, smiling. “Are you a follower of the Light, then, Lieutenant Hiram Brill?”

Hiram shook his head. “No.”

The man inclined his head. “Then you are both observant and well mannered, in my humble experience a rare combination from Victorians, and a most welcome surprise from a member of the Victorian Fleet.”

Hiram smiled inwardly at the pleasant delivery of such a pointed insult. So you don’t like Victorians much, eh? And yet you are here, and you specifically sought me out. He let his mind wander for a moment, his face going blank in what Cookie liked to call his “Village Idiot” look. The Light was a society of reclusive religious orders located on Canaan. All worshiped the same god. They lived simply, in thousands of small towns and villages scattered across their world, forbearing large cities. Curiously, those among them who did not become full time monks usually became scientists and engineers, so their level of technology was among the highest in the human universe. Pirates had raided them in the early years, and once the Tilleke Empire had tried to conquer them. The Light had suffered terribly, had learned their lesson and built a military force capable of protecting themselves. The last pirates who had gone into their sector looking for easy plunder had been utterly destroyed, save for one small ship, which had been allowed to escape so that it could spread the word: Leave us alone…or die.

To offset their limited military force, the Light was rumored to have a far-flung network of spies, moles living on every inhabited world who kept on eye on everyone because anyone could someday pose a threat. They were also great explorers, believing that the study of the Universe was a direct homage to God.

So why would someone from the Light — and an intelligence officer if Hiram’s suspicions were right — come all this way to see a lowly lieutenant in the Victorian Fleet?

The answer was simple: They wouldn’t.

Hiram blinked. The man from Canaan was watching him intently.

“You bring me greetings from my mother’s sister, Cornelia, but you are here because you need to see my superior, Admiral Teehan, the director of Fleet Intelligence,” Hiram said matter-of-factly.

The man’s eyes twinkled with delight, like a teacher who has seen a student solve a particularly difficult problem.

“Your aunt said that you would understand this,” he said warmly. “That makes it so much easier. I am Jong. I have a message for Admiral Teehan.”

Admiral Teehan made little effort to hide his displeasure. “For years we have asked for help from the Light, but you always refused. When we asked you about new research projects by the Sultenic Empire, you refused. When we couldn’t find the pirates raiding the old trade route between Sybil Head and the Dominion, you refused. When we heard stories of the Dominion building a new colony, you refused. Now you come waltzing in and say that you have something urgent to tell me.”

Jong did not reply, but merely handed a data stick across the desk. Teehan frowned. “What’s this?”

“Many years ago the Light placed an acolyte on Darwin, in one of the resorts that caters to the needs of offworlders who wish to meet together discreetly. Our agent was a waiter. He became over time a trusted employee of the hotel; they used him to serve food at these meetings. A year ago-”

“A year ago?” Teehan snapped. “Something happened a year ago and you’re only telling us now? You people really take the cake, you know that?”

“Admiral,” Jong said, a hint of weariness in his voice. “If we have offended you in some way, I deeply apologize. We are giving you this information because we think it may be very important to you. When we first received it, we were not sure of its import, but now with the Tilleke preparing for war, we think you should see it and judge for yourselves.”

Teehan did not look happy, but took the data stick and inserted it into his computer. A video appeared, but it was immediately clear to all of them that the camera was defective. There was no audio at all. The left side of the picture was washed out, a scratchy white glow instead of a normal image. In the right side of the picture was a spotted image of a tall man. He wasn’t in uniform, but everything about his erect posture, powerful build and authoritative stance screamed “soldier.”

“This is Admiral Omar Hassan al-Bashir,” Jong explained. “He is a member of the Royal Family. He is important in Tilleke society, a favorite of the Emperor’s, a personal friend of Prince RaShahid, and considered by the Light to be one of the foremost military strategists in the Tilleke Empire.”

Despite himself, Teehan was grudgingly interested. “Okay, so who’s he meeting with?”

Jong sighed. “We don’t know. The camera was built into our agent’s glasses. In fact, the lens was the camera. But, as you can see, it didn’t work properly.” He waived one hand in a vague circle. “This is all we have.”

“You are wasting my time, Mr. Jong,” Teehan said irritably. “This is nothing. A speck of information totally out of context. This is a picture of a man who might be on vacation for all I know. This doesn’t tell us anything we need to know.”

Jong’s composure cracked a little. “Surely you do not fail to see the implications of this, Admiral.”

“What implications?” Teehan asked coldly.

“They are not subtle, Admiral.” Jong glanced at Hiram. “Even your young lieutenant here sees them, don’t you Lieutenant?”

Hiram didn’t answer, but leaned forward to study the image. Hmmm… Behind Admiral Omar Hassan al-Bashir there was a man standing up against the wall, hands folded in front of him. He was staring straight at the camera, which meant that he had been watching the waiter very closely. A bodyguard, probably. A special bodyguard for a member of the Tilleke Royal Family. Hiram suspected that if he enlarged that portion of the picture he would see