A Choice of Treasons
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Authors: J. L. Doty
A Choice of Treasons
To save himself he had to save two empires . . . but when he tried,
his options were limited to a choice of treasons.
by
J. L. Doty
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
A Choice of Treasons
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Copyright © 2011 by J. L. Doty
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ISBN#
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Version 02011.08.18
A Choice of Treasons
Contents
Chapter 23: Betrayal Upon Betrayal
Chapter 30: Treason Upon Treason
Chapter 35: The Fruits of Betrayal
“Mr. Ballin, is there a fight waiting for us or not?”
The bridge of the imperial heavy cruiser
Invaradin
was silent as everyone waited to hear York’s verdict, but the silence was suddenly broken by the XO’s voice blaring from
allship
, “Down-transition in ten minutes and counting.”
York had spent the last twenty minutes trying to raise the imperial embassy on Trinivan, but had run into some suspicious interference. Ten minutes from down-transiting blind into a supposedly neutral system and Captain Telyekev wanted him to make the call.
“Mr. Ballin, is it Federals?”
“I’d be guessing, sir.”
“Then take your best guess.”
York couldn’t prove anything one way or another, but his gut was telling him this was a trap, an ambush. “I haven’t been able to pick up any kind of interference signature. Just broad spectrum.” But the interference shouldn’t be there at all, though York kept that thought to himself.
“Any idea what’s causing it?”
York turned away from his console, craned his neck to look through the maze of instrument clusters that crowded
Invaradin’s
bridge. He could see only Telyekev’s head, a faint shadow in the darkened lighting, though the captain’s eyes were bright sparks reflecting the dim glow of his console.
Telyekev stared at York and waited. Olin Rame, the XO, peered past one end of the navigation console, while Rame’s two assistants peered around the other end. Anda Gant and her assistants at the scan console had turned almost completely about to look at him. At the weapons console Franklin Stara and Paris Jondee had also turned his way: Frank frowning intently, Paris with a one-sided grin. And Magdalena Votak, encased so completely in helm controls little of her could be seen by the rest of them—York wondered if she too was peeking through some little slit in the instrumentation that enclosed her. They were looking at their
lifer
, York Ballin, their lucky charm, the man who was supposed to guess with clairvoyant certainty if they were going to live or die.
York looked Telyekev in the eyes, nodded. “It’s got to be
feddies
, sir.”
Telyekev seemed to shrink. “Thank you, Mr. Ballin. Sound general quarters. Then contact
Nostran
and the
Diana
and tell them to cut drive and coast while we go in for a look-see.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” York spoke into his pickup. “Watch condition red.”
In his implants the computer demanded,
Confirm status change.
“Red status confirmed,” York said.
A loud, irritatingly unpleasant horn burped once, was followed immediately by the steady clang of the alert klaxon. York switched his implants into
allship
and spoke precisely. “Watch condition red. All hands, this is not a drill. Repeat: this is not a drill.” He repeated the message once more, recording it, then put it on continuous replay and switched his pickup to the exterior com. “
Nostran
, this is
Invaradin
.”