Winston Peabody and Emily Walton had taken a page out of the Ashtons’ book; since she was some years younger than he, and he wasn’t that old to begin with, all things considered, they had decided to start a family. Emily was roughly a trimester into her pregnancy when Ashton and Ames returned to work.
Even Maia Peterson, who was well over a decade – not so far off one and a half decades – younger than Lee Carter, was starting to talk about children. And Carter, gruff tough guy though he appeared, wasn’t protesting the notion.
Meanwhile, however, something was happening in the Imperial City.
And in – and out – of the Sintaran Empire.
By the time the Peabody baby was born, hostilities were occurring between Sintar and the star kingdoms of Phalia and Garland.
And nobody but the Sintaran Navy and the Sintaran Emperor knew how Sintar was winning.
But they really wanted to find out.
The monarch of Garland was chatting with the Autarch of Annalia.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Gustav,” King James of Garland said, gesturing the Autarch into a comfortable, throne-like leather chair – at least, it would have been leather if it had been real. But the VR simulation was good enough that you really couldn’t tell. Once the Autarch was seated, the king seated himself.
“My pleasure, James,” Gustav Adolph, the Autarch of Annalia, replied. “What may I do for you?”
“Well, you know about those damnable little picket ships of Sintar’s...”
“Not personally, I’m afraid. Those seem to be rather newer than, ah, our most recent...skirmish...with what should have been Pannia, and wound up Sintar.”
“Oh, of course, of course. Sneaky bastards, aren’t they? Well, you’ve heard of their picket ships, though, right? You heard about that supposed freighter complete with escort, that took out a visiting ship? And then that white-eyed bastard emperor insisted on our releasing that lot of pirates, and forced my hand by killing my cousin?!”
“Your cousin?”
“The ranking officer of the destroyed flagship GSN Rampart! Admiral Peter James Schmitt Vorhees!”
“Ah, quite. His name had… slipped my mind,” the Autarch said smoothly. “I’ve… heard a few things, yes. Our intelligence is nothing if not thorough. Is there something you want to know?”
“Several somethings,” James grumbled. “What makes the damn things immune to fire, and why are their crews willing to suicide?”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to know why we can’t kill the damn things! We can see we’re hitting ‘em. But they just keep coming!”
“Mm. That is a good question, and I haven’t an answer for you at the moment. But the suicide remark...?” Adolph wondered.
“Oh. Well, if you haven’t seen ‘em in action, you probably don’t know. They attack mostly by ramming,” James explained. “They run head-on into one of your ships at an ungodly speed, punch through someplace near the engines, and as soon as the plasma vents inside your hull, you’re done.”
“Damnation!” Adolph exclaimed, shocked. “Now I understand. What kind of speeds?”
“We’ve had reports topping ten gravities of acceleration. Sort of hard to obtain those reports, to be sure, because not many of our ships tend to survive encounters.”
“Oh! I see. That’s a very high acceleration, if it’s true. But no, I think the most logical explanation for that is simply that these ships don’t even have crews. That would allow for the very high accelerations, as well as their ability to use them in that fashion.”
“You’re not saying...?”
“Yes, I am.”
“But robot ships are against every treaty and rule of engagement in the books! You know that history!”
“Can you think of a better explanation?”
King James pondered that for a moment.
“No. No, I can’t.” He shook his head. “Damn. We’re dealing with robot ships.”
“I should think it probable.”
“I’ve heard that from a couple of other sources, as well, to be honest. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“I think it wise that you at least consider the possibility, James. My sources have indicated that is the most probable explanation.”
“But what about our inability to take ‘em out, Gustav?”
“That is more problematic, and my advisors tell me even as we speak that we do not know, either. And we need to do so. We must do so.”
“So you’re interested in finding out, too?”
“Oh, very much. Do you have an intelligence network established within Sintar already?”
“Not much of one, no. It’s a little hard to do, especially since that bastard emperor of theirs revamped all their bureaucratic institutions. By which I mean, blew them up.”
“Well, let me see what I can find out for you. We knew Sintar was up to something when they stopped buying warships, but the information was carefully compartmented in their organizations, and no one could get to them. Perhaps the plans of their newer picket ships will be more readily available now they are in operation.”
“That would be greatly appreciated if you can get your hands on those. You have a better developed intel network than we do, and Sintar isn’t likely to come after you because you have the DP literally backing you.”
Gustav Adolph laughed.
“Yes, we do, in more ways than one,” he agreed. “They are good friends of Annalia, the Democracy of Planets. Which means we will be sharing the intelligence with more than the two of us. You do not mind?”
“No. An ally of an ally is a friend, in my book.”
“Very good, then. Let me start my intelligence minister upon it, and I will let you know once there is anything to know.”
“Thank you very much, Gustav.” James rose from his own chair and came to the Autarch, shaking his hand.
“You’re more
