Alarm of War

their own. But it’s a classic example of maskirovka. The Egyptians coordinated the deception and the Israelis, who were no dummies, were completely taken in.”

Hiram sat back and sipped his drink, his eyes going unfocused as he thought. “So the critical part of all of this is that Israel believed the Egyptians were not a serious adversary.”

“Yup,” Emily nodded. “Israel’s intelligence service filtered everything they learned through the accepted concept that the Egyptians were screw-ups and could not effectively project force.”

Now Hiram looked troubled. “At the briefing today, Admiral Giunta told the other admirals a joke: ‘What does DUC stand for?’”

Emily shrugged.

“DUC stands for “Defective Universal Coil.” Hiram said. It was a reference to the many equipment breakdowns that had plagued the Dominion ships patrolling Tilleke space.

Emily began to smirk, then caught herself. “So we are applying a demeaning stereotype to the Dominion, making them look …” She groped for a word.

“Ineffectual?” he suggested.

“Yes, that’s it. You’re telling me that the highest Admirals in the Fleet think the Dominion forces are ineffectual buffoons.”

Hiram shrugged.

Emily sat back and let her mind run. “Gods of Our Mothers, Hiram, are you telling me that the Dominion are faking these breakdowns so that we will think they are bumbling idiots?”

Hiram shrugged.

“Stop doing that!” she said crossly. “You goddamn know something you aren’t telling me.”

“Sorry, Em.” He smiled. “Remember the tug boat captain, Peter Murphy? I spoke to him about the types of repairs the Dominion ships have needed. Mostly they’ve been single items that are delicate, like universal coils, mixing valves and injector heads.”

Emily didn’t know a lot about space ship engines, but she knew enough. “Each of those is hard to diagnose, but easy to repair once it has been identified as the problem.”

Hiram nodded. “You could swap out a good universal coil for a defective one, then creep into a Victorian ship yard for repairs. It might take the ship yard several days to figure out what the problem is. And during that time, a fully armed Dominion warship is sitting within easy shooting range of our ship yards.”

“But…but,” Emily spluttered, unwilling to accept what he was saying was right, but aghast that it might be. “But once they’re repaired, they’re leaving, going back to Tilleke space.”

“Yeah, sure. But in the meantime we have gotten completely blase about having Dominion war ships anchored near our space stations.”

“You told Admiral Teehan about this?” she asked.

“Of course. He reminded me that the Dominion are our allies in the fight against the Tilleke.”

“You realize, don’t you, that for this entire thing to work for the Dominion, it means that the Dominion has to be working hand-in-hand with the Tillies? That’s a little hard to swallow.”

Hiram grimaced. “Of course I do! That’s the part I can’t accept myself, but…” his voice trailed off.

Suddenly Emily remembered the last week of Camp Gettysburg, when Hiram tickled to the fact that another training exercise was about to be sprung on them.

“You’re scaring the hell out of me, Hiram,” she told him grimly.

“I know, but think about it. If you were the Dominion and wanted to attack Victoria, how would you go about it?” he asked.

Chapter 35

At the Royal Palace on Cornwall, Victorian Space

They walked slowly through the formal Palace garden, an incongruous pair. She was slender, almost elfin, with flowing raven hair and piercing green eyes. He was bald as a stone and looked to have been hewn from a block of wood. He trudged stolidly alongside her, hands behind his back, acutely conscious of the three guardsmen who trailed quietly in their wake.

“I fear I make your guards nervous, Your Grace,” he said dryly.

“It is their job to be nervous, Ambassador. They were born to it.”

He sighed. “I am not an ambassador, Your Grace.”

“True,” she conceded, “but it is more pleasing to call you ‘Ambassador’ than to call you a spy.”

“Perhaps it would please Her Grace to talk to our Ambassador rather than someone without any official standing.”

She ignored this. They continued walking.

“I am aware of your…arrangement with the Queen, Ambassador Jong.”

Jong shook his head. “I am a great admirer of the Queen, Your Grace, but I have no spec-”

She laughed without humor. “Ambassador Jong, please do not diminish the high regard I have for you by insulting my intelligence. One of the reasons why my mother has been able to deal so adroitly with our own bumbling, incompetent Foreign Office is because you have been feeding her critical information about the other Sectors, the Sultenic Empire, Arcadia, but in particular the Dominion of Unified Citizenry.”

Jong tried bluster. “Really, Your Grace, how could I possibly meet with the Queen of Victoria? Your security apparatus would not countenance-”

“Poor Sir Henry,” Princess Anne replied. “He will not be very happy if he learns what mother has been doing, will he?” Her voice hardened. “My mother is a monarch, Jong. She understands the use of power…and how to keep it. She knows that if she is to retain power, no one is ever to know everything she knows and does. Even Sir Henry is not exempt from that mandate.”

Jong said nothing. He marveled at her, so much like her mother. What she lacked in her mother’s experience, she made up for with sheer force of will.

She stopped and turned to him. “The Queen is ill, Ambassador Jong. Very ill. She is no longer ruling, no longer watching over the Foreign Office.” She combed her fingers through her hair, a gesture that endeared him and disturbed him at the same time. “I need to do that, but I can’t rely on reports from the Foreign Office alone. I think you understand that. I need you to help me as you’ve helped my mother.”

“And Sir Henry?” Jong asked, all pretense gone. “Sir Henry is not enamored with The Light. He will be reluctant to let you see me.”

“You managed to secretly see my mother all this time,” said the Princess. “You will do no less for me.”

Chapter 36

At the Wormhole from Gilead into Victoria

The courier drones emerged into Victorian space like a flock of sparrows, then broke into a dozen groups, each weaving for a moment to take star sightings and locate itself. First one, then ten, then a hundred and more all turned toward Cornwall and accelerated, each carrying the dying message of the Bawdy Bertha.

Just out of sensor range to the “south,” Admiral Kaeser’s Second Attack Fleet flew onward. It was still a full day’s flight from Cornwall.

On the far side of Victorian space, Admiral Mello’s First Attack Fleet, using transponders that identified them as a convoy of grain carriers from Cape Breton, passed Victorian Space Buoy #5 and plowed their way toward the Victorian home world.

Victoria slept.