Changer of Worlds

need to give some thought to where we go from here. I’ve been thinking that it might be worthwhile to hang around here in Melchor for a while and use the system as a pirate lure, since this is the main magnet for our shipping at the moment. But if we do that too obviously, the local pirates—and probably Wegener—are going to get hinky. So what I was thinking was—”

Commodore Anders Dunecki replayed the brief message and clenched his jaw against the urge to swear vilely.

“Is this confirmed?” he asked the messenger without looking up from the display.

“Yes, Sir. The SN made the official announcement last week. According to their communique they picked off Lydia a couple of weeks before that, and Commander Presley is almost a month overdue.” The nondescript man in civilian clothing shrugged unhappily. “According to the SN they took him out in Hera, and that was where he’d said he was planning to cruise with Lydia. We don’t have absolute confirmation that it was him, of course, but all the pieces match too well for it to have been anyone else.”

“But according to this—” Dunecki jabbed his chin at the holographic screen where the message footer was still displayed “—it was a heavy cruiser that nailed him.” He paused, looking at the messenger expectantly, and the other man nodded. “In that case,” Dunecki said, “what I want to know is how the hell the SN managed to run a ship that powerful into the area without our hearing about it. There’s no way John Presley would have been careless enough to let a heavy cruiser sneak up on him if he’d known she was there to begin with. And he damned well ought to have known!”

The rage Dunecki had struggled to conceal broke through his control with the last sentence, and the messenger sat very still. Anders Dunecki was not a good man to anger, and the messenger had to remind himself that he was only the bearer of the news, and not the one responsible for its content.

“I didn’t know Commander Presley as well as you did, Sir,” he said carefully after a long moment of silence. “Or for as long. But I’m familiar with his record in the Council’s service, and on the basis of that, I’d have to agree that he certainly would have exercised all due prudence if he’d been aware of the escalation in threat levels. Actually, as nearly as we can tell, at least two heavy cruisers, and possibly as many as three have been transferred into Saginaw in the last month and a half, and there are some indications that more will be following. Apparently—” he allowed himself a predatory smile despite the tension in Dunecki’s cabin “—losses in the sector have gotten severe enough for the Navy to reinforce its presence here.”

“Which is probably a good thing. Or at least an indication that we’re really beginning to hurt them,” Dunecki agreed, but his glass-green eyes were frosty, and the messenger’s smile seemed to congeal. “At the same time,” the commodore went on in the same chill tone, “if they’re increasing their strength in-sector, it means the risks are going up for all of us… just like they did for Commander Presley. Which, in turn, makes timely intelligence on their movements more important than it ever was before. And that consideration is the reason I’m particularly concerned about Wegener’s failure to warn us about this in time for Lydia to know she had to watch her back more carefully.”

“He may not have known himself,” the messenger suggested, and Dunecki snorted harshly.

“The man is Interior Minister Wegener’s nephew, for God’s sake! And he’s Premier Stolar’s brother-in-law, to boot—not to mention the civilian head of government and military commander- in-chief of the sector.” The commodore grimaced. “Do you really think they’d send so many heavy units into his command area without even mentioning them to him?”

“Put that way, it does sound unlikely,” the messenger agreed. “But if he knew about them, why didn’t he warn us? Sure, we’ve lost Lydia, and a good chunk of our combat power with her, but by the same token we’ve also lost an equally good-sized chunk of our raiding ability. And that translates into a direct loss of income for Governor Wegener.”

“If you were talking about someone placed lower in the chain of command, I’d be tempted to agree that he didn’t know ahead of time,” Dunecki said. “As you say, losing Lydia is going to cut into his revenue stream, and we’ve always known he was only in it for the money. But the fact is that no one in the Confed navy or government would dare send what sounds like a couple of divisions of heavy cruisers into his bailiwick without telling him they were coming. Not with his family connections to the Cabinet itself, they wouldn’t! The only possible conclusion Stolar or Wegener’s uncle could draw from that would be that whoever was responsible for withholding information distrusted the good governor, and that would be a fatal move career-wise for whoever made it. No, he knew about it and decided not to tell us.”

“But why?” The messenger’s tone was that of a man speaking almost to himself, but it was also thoughtful, as if his own mind were questing down the path it was apparent Dunecki had already explored.

“Because he’s decided the time’s come to pull the plug on us,” Dunecki said grimly. The messenger looked up quickly in surprise, and the commodore chuckled. It was a grating sound, with absolutely no humor in it, and the expression which bared his teeth could scarcely have been called a smile.

“Think about it,” he invited. “We’ve just agreed that we’ve always known Wegener was only in for the money. He certainly never shared our agenda or our ambition to achieve an independent Prism. For that matter, he has to know that we regard Prism as only the first step in liberating the entire sector, and if we manage that—or even look like we might come close to it—not even his connections to the Cabinet could save his job. Hell, they might actually go as far as throwing him to the wolves in a big, fancy inquiry or criminal trial just to prove how lily- white and innocent they themselves were! And greedy as he is, Wegener’s also not stupid enough not to know that. Which means that he’s always had some point in mind at which he’d cut off his relationship with us and do his damnedest to wipe out the Council and retake control of the system. From what happened to Lydia and what you’re saying about additional reinforcements, it sounds to me as if we’ve been successful enough that he’s finally decided the time is now.”

“If you’re right, this is terrible,” the messenger muttered. His hands wrapped together in his lap, and he stared down at them, his eyes worried. “Losing the intelligence he’s provided would be bad enough by itself, but he knows an awful lot about the Council’s future plans, as well. If he acts on the basis of that knowledge…”

He let his voice trail off and looked back up at Dunecki.

“He doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does.” Dunecki’s tone surprised the messenger, and his surprise grew as the commodore gave him a grim smile. “Of course he doesn’t,” Dunecki told him. “The Council has always known he’d turn on us the instant he decided it was no longer in his perceived interest to support us. That’s why we’ve used him solely as an intelligence source rather than try to involve him in our strategic thinking or operational planning, and we’ve been very careful to use false identities or anonymous contacts whenever we dealt with him. Oh, he knows the identities of the public Council members from the independence government back in Prism, but so does everyone else in the star system. What he doesn’t know is the identity of anyone else. And the only regular warships he knows we have are the ones he himself managed to ‘lose’ in our favor, like Lydia.”

The messenger nodded slowly. The Council for an Independent Prism had been around for decades, and he’d been one of its adherents almost from its inception. But unlike Dunecki, he’d never been a member of the inner circle. He was confident that the Council trusted his loyalty, or they would never have assigned him to the duties he’d carried out for the movement, but he was also a realist. He’d known that another reason he’d been chosen for his various assignments was that the Council was willing to risk him because, in the final analysis, he was expendable. And because he was expendable—and might end up expended and in enemy hands—his superiors had always been careful to limit the information they shared with him, but he’d been active in the movement long enough to know that it was only in the last four or five years that the CIP had become a serious player even by the somewhat elastic standards of Silesia. What he didn’t know were the ins and outs of how the organization had made the transition from an ineffectual fringe group to one which had managed to seize effective control of half a star system, but he knew Anders Dunecki and his brother Henryk had played a major role in that accomplishment. And although his commitment to the CIP’s ultimate goal was as strong as it had ever been, he was no more a stranger to ambition than anyone else who had committed twenty years of his life to the forcible creation of a new political order.

Now he watched Commodore Dunecki with a carefully blank expression, hoping the time had come for him to learn more. Not merely out of simple curiosity (though he certainly was curious) but because the decision to share that information with him might be an indication that his longtime loyal services were finally about to earn him promotion to a higher and more sensitive level of the movement.