A Rising Thunder

“Define ‘good idea,’” Admiral Stephania Grimm replied with a wry smile.

“Well, it just seems to me it would have been simpler all around to sit on them,” Captain Dumbrowski said. “I mean, they wouldn’t be going anywhere without our permission. We could’ve just kept them cooling their heels right here until it was all over one way or the other, without ever bringing the Beowulf end into it at all. Seems to me that keeping Beowulf up our sleeve as a holdout card in case we need to play it even worse later on might have a lot to recommend itself.”

“In some ways, I’m inclined to agree with you,” Grimm acknowledged. Given their positions and the role they had to play, she and Dumbrowski knew quite a lot about the thinking behind this part of the plan. And in Grimm’s opinion, the captain had a very valid point. But…

“It’d be a hard call for me, either way,” she said finally. “I’m sure it was for everyone else involved, too. In fact, even though no one’s told me this in so many words, I think it was ultimately the Beowulfers who made the decision, not anyone at our end. And I think the deciding factor was probably that they’re really and truly royally pissed off at this Mesan Alignment. There’s no way in this universe they’re going to sit on the sidelines when we go after them, and they’re about as disgusted as anyone could possibly get with the way Kolokoltsov and the Mandarins have botched the entire situation. For that matter, they’re disgusted as hell with all the rest of the League for letting itself get turned into such a bitched up mess instead of a star nation in the first place. So this is their way of punctuating all the reasons they’re doing what they’re doing — jumping ship to sign up with us, I mean. And I think they want to draw Admiral Tsang in, get her to openly commit to her part of ‘Operation Raging Justice,’ so they’ll have that additional evidence of just how fast and loose with the League Constitution Kolokoltsov’s apparatchiks are really willing to play.”

She paused, lips pursed in thought, then shrugged.

“Anyway, senior and better-paid heads made the decision, not us, so that’s the way it’s going to be. And,” she smiled slightly, “I have to admit I’m going to be interested as hell to see how it all works out in the end.

* * *

“All right, Harper,” Honor said as she watched HMS Cantata’s icon disappear from her plot. “Why don’t you go ahead and put me through to Admiral Filareta now?”

* * *

“Fleet Admiral, we have an incoming communications request.”

Filareta glanced at Admiral Burrows and arched one eyebrow at the announcement. At 14,875,000 kilometers, the grossly outnumbered Manty wall of battle remained motionless, holding position relative to the planet, fifty light-seconds from his own far larger formation. He was astonished that they hadn’t even begun accelerating away from him, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“I wondered how much longer it would take them,” he said.

“Frankly, I’m surprised they managed to wait this long, Sir!” Burrows replied with a harsh chuckle.

“Who’s the message from, Reuben?” Filareta continued, turning his back on the main plot to face Captain Reuben Sedgewick, his staff communications officer.

“It’s from Admiral Harrington, Sir,” Sedgewick replied, but there was something odd about his tone, and Filareta frowned. Any light-speed com request had to be coming from Tango Two if it had reached them this soon, and he was a little surprised Harrington was there, instead of with Tango One. But that wasn’t enough to account for the odd note in Sedgewick’s response.

“Is there a problem, Reuben?”

His own tone was a bit colder than it had been.

“It’s just…” Sedgewick paused, then shrugged very slightly. “It’s just that she asked for you, specifically, by name, Fleet Admiral. And she, ah, asked for you as the commanding officer of Eleventh Fleet.”

Filareta felt his expression stiffen. He gazed at the com officer a moment longer, then looked back at Burrows. The chief of staff’s amusement had vanished, and he met his superior’s eyes with a frown.

“So much for operational security,” Filareta observed.

“Yes, Sir.” Burrows shook his head in disgust. “Somebody must have blabbed back on Old Terra.”

“One of the many joyful disadvantages of having to come the long way round while the other side can get intelligence reports directly through the damn Junction.”

Filareta’s light tone was almost whimsical; his expression was not.

“I wonder how long they’ve known?” Burrows continued, thinking out loud.

“That is an interesting thought, isn’t it?”

Filareta showed his teeth. Burrows had an excellent point. If the Manties had learned of his orders far enough in advance, there was no telling what sort of welcome they might have decided to set up.

Stop it, he told himself firmly. Yes, they must have known you were coming, but knowing a two hundred-kilo sumo wrestler is about to rip your head off doesn’t help a lot if you weigh fifty kilos dripping wet. It only means you can watch it coming longer, not that you can get out of the way. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you can beat the bastard once he gets his hands on you!

“Time to the hyper limit, Yvonne?” he asked calmly.

“Just under six minutes, Fleet Admiral. Call it one-point-five-seven million klicks.”

“Thank you.”

Filareta looked at Burrows again. Their current velocity, relative to Sphinx, was up to 3,882 KPS; by the time they crossed the hyper limit, it would be up to over five thousand, exactly as Approach Bravo specified. At that velocity, it would take twenty-six minutes just to decelerate to zero, and they’d be the next best thing to 3.9 million kilometers inside the limit when they did. From that position, they’d need another twenty-six minutes to get back across the limit where they could reenter hyper- space.

All of which meant they theoretically had six minutes in which they could break off with relative impunity… after which, they would be stuck inside the Manticore-A limit for the next best thing to an hour.

Interesting timing, a corner of his mind thought. Did they wait this long to contact us — and let us know they already knew we were coming — in an attempt to panic me into breaking off before we cross the limit?

“Bill.”

“Yes, Fleet Admiral?” Admiral Daniels looked up from his console.

“I want the entire fleet scheduled for an alpha translation twenty seconds short of the limit.”

“Excuse me, Sir?” Daniels looked as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. Which wasn’t too surprising, perhaps, given his superior’s decision to go with Approach Bravo.

“Is that a problem for you, Admiral?” Filareta asked, looking at his operations officer coldly.

“Uh, no, Sir. Of course not! I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

Filareta continued to eye him coolly for a second, then relented.

“I didn’t say we were actually going to translate,” he pointed out. “We can abort any time up to the last fifty seconds of the cycle, correct?”

“Yes, Sir.” Daniels nodded, his eyes narrowed as understanding dawned. “You just want to have the extra three minutes in hand if you need them, is that it, Sir?”

“Exactly.” This time, Filareta smiled. “It’ll give me at least another couple of minutes to think, anyway.”

Daniels nodded again, more energetically, and began passing instructions while Filareta looked back to the communications officer.

“All right, Reuben,” he said. “Put it on the main display.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Filareta turned towards the indicated display as the holo image of a very tall woman appeared above it. She wore a white beret, rather than the black beret that was standard for Manty flag officers, but he recognized her immediately from the file imagery. Even if he hadn’t, her skinsuit carried the four broad cuff bands and four golden stars of a fleet admiral, and the six-limbed creature on her shoulder would have been sufficient clue if it hadn’t. She also had remarkably cold brown eyes as she gazed out of the display at him.

Alexander-Harrington’s recorded image stood motionless for a moment, until Sedgewick entered the “play” command.