Alarm of War

That was too much for Emily. Laughter spluttered from her lips before she could stop herself, then she realized that Sgt. Kaelin was staring right at her. Still fighting the giggles, she thought, What the hell…and winked at him. Kaelin continued to stare at her without any change of expression, then abruptly turned and walked away.

Later that afternoon, dragging in from a five mile run — her years in the library had not prepared her for this — Sgt. Kaelin was standing in front of the administration building, hands on his hips.

“Tuttle! My office. Now!” he bellowed. Sure she was in for it, Emily broke ranks and walked quickly to his office. By the time she got there, he was already behind his desk. She marched up to his desk, stood at attention and saluted.

“Recruit Tuttle, reporting as ordered, Sergeant!”

Kaelin looked at her in silence for a long minute. Finally, he leaned back in his chair. “Tuttle, you are a problem, do you know that?”

“Sir, no Sir! Emily shouted, wondering ruefully what had possessed her to wink at him earlier.

“What are you, Tuttle, twenty-seven?”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

“And you’ve studied some, got yourself a fancy degree.” He gestured idly to a personnel folder on his desk. “I’ve looked at your transcripts, Tuttle. You’ve studied a lot about military history and structure.” He tapped a file with one calloused finger. “A lot about military culture, too.” He pursed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, and I looked at your intelligence tests, Tuttle. You are pretty bright, pretty damn bright.” He looked at her coldly. “In fact, I’ll bet you think you are better than anybody else here.”

This time, Emily did not shout her response as all recruits are supposed to. She looked right at Kaelin. “No, Sergeant,” she said softly, “I don’t. Older, maybe, but not better.”

Kaelin sighed, then, curiously, ran his finger over the corner of her personnel folder, as if touching something there. “Tuttle, the average age of the kids coming through here is nineteen. They’ve had almost no experience at anything other than high school. They are as green as green can be. They think they’re all grown up, but they’re still kids. Hell, most of them haven’t even been laid.” He looked up at her. “You know what we do here?”

Emily knew. The Fleet took raw, scared kids and taught them discipline and skills. It showed them that they didn’t know a damn thing, and then taught them what they needed to know to be soldiers. It taught them they could do things they never would have dreamed of a year earlier. It taught them pride. It taught them that failing your fellow soldiers was worse than death.

“Yes, Sergeant, I know.”

“And do you know why, Tuttle? Do you understand the purpose of the training?” He paused a moment, then answered the question himself. “Someday, Tuttle you may be at helm of a war ship going into harm’s way. Perhaps against bad odds. You are going to give an order to attack, and you have to be able to rely on the fact that your crew — some who will be only a little older than the kids we have here — will obey that order, will follow you and attack because you have told them to. That all starts right here, Tuttle, on these training fields.”

He stopped talking for a moment and turned away, staring out the window.

“I know that, Sergeant,” Emily said.

“You are a bit older, Tuttle. You know what we are really doing when we get into a recruit’s face and give em’ hell,” he continued, still looking out the window. “But they don’t.” He turned back to her and his eyes bored into hers. “Do not interfere with what we are doing here, Tuttle, or I will have your ass. Do you understand me?

Emily braced herself. “Sir, yes Sir!” she shouted.

Kaelin jerked his head at the door. “Out,” he ordered. She started for the door. “And Tuttle!” She turned back, questioning. “One more goddamed wink out of you and I most certainly will have your ass. Got that!”

She nodded, and then fled.

Chapter 4

P.D. 950

The Conspirators

On Darwin

The third person at the meeting sat slightly apart from the other two. Arrogant, vain, xenophobic and ruthless in the sureness of his superiority, Prince RaShahid was a Royal Born of the Tilleke Empire. But he was not in his homeland now. He was visibly uncomfortable in such close physical proximity to free born commoners. The prince had taken the chair furthest away from Hudis and Dreyer, but they were well within his privacy zone and Prince RaShahid made no effort to conceal his discomfort. Nor his distaste. On Tilleke, after all, a commoner was not allowed to be closer than twenty feet of a Royal, on pain of death. For Hudis and Dreyer to even sit in his presence would have been an unpardonable insult on Tilleke.

Inwardly, Hudis despaired. How would he ever forge these three wildly disparate nations into a force to defeat the Vickies? He restrained a sigh. One must work with the tools at hand, he reminded himself.

Hudis cleared his throat. “I think perhaps it is time we also hear from our honored guest from the great Empire of Tilleke. Prince RaShahid, you honor us greatly with your presence here.” From the corner of his eye Hudis could see the grimace of distaste of Dreyer’s face. Didn’t she understand the need for this?

Prince RaShahid bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of Hudis’s homage. “I send you greetings from His Most Sovereign Majesty, the Emperor of Tilleke. My father…” The Prince paused slightly, savoring the words that bestowed on him his personal power and status. “My father has sent me as his personal emissary to hear your concerns and convey his wishes in this matter.” Another pause. “I speak for the Emperor.”

Hudis raised an internal eyebrow. Did he really? If this arrogant young pup was authorized to speak for Emperor Chalabi, that meant that the Emperor was not merely interested in what the Dominion and Cape Breton wanted to do, but that the Emperor had already decided on a course of action. He glanced at Dreyer, who stared back with studied, professional blandness. Good, she understands as well, he thought with relief.

“What are the Emperor’s thoughts on this matter?” Hudis inquired.

Prince RaShahid bowed his head again. “As you know, my father, His Most Sovereign Majesty, has as his first and most pressing duty the safety and well-being of his people.” Hudis kept his face expressionless. Just a week earlier, as part of his briefing for this meeting by the Dominion Intelligence Directorate, he had been shown video footage of the now-famous Arcadian delegation that had affronted the Emperor in some way. It had given him nightmares.

The Colonel from the Dominion Intelligence Directorate who briefed him had been a short, stocky man with a no-nonsense attitude and a scar across his cheek that suggested he had not always served the DID from behind a desk. He had been characteristically blunt when briefing him about the need for proper etiquette around the Tilleke royalty.

“Do not fuck with these people, Citizen Secretary. These people think they are God,” he warned flatly. “Once the Prince is in the same room, be respectful at all times and keep your physical distance. On his home world no commoner may get closer than twenty feet to him, under penalty of death. The Prince’s protocol officer has granted you a special dispensation: you may sit in his Royal presence, but you may not sit within ten feet of the little bastard. Get any closer and it is a sign of disrespect. Do not challenge him directly. Do not make any jokes at his expense. In fact, stay away from humor entirely. The Tilleke have no sense of humor and are suspicious of those who do. Whatever you do, do not say anything disrespectful about the Emperor. These people are very, very touchy.”

“For the love of God,” Hudis had complained. “We are meeting in the heart of Darwin! What is the Prince