Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe) (27 page)

Lieutenant
Covington shivered and said, “I guess this means the van won’t be receiving any
extra help.”

“Maybe
not initially, Clayton.”  Heskan wished he could give the man better news.

Covington
put on his bravest face and replied, “We’ll make do, sir.”

Tannault
looked sympathetically at his friend before turning to gaze brazenly at
Heskan.  “Can we at least expect additional privateer support, Admiral?”

Heskan
felt his stomach turn at the question.  “Catalina’s Iron Brigade is all we
have.”

“A
shame we’ve strayed so far from corporate values that other firms won’t touch
us,” Tannault remarked before lowering his head.

Heskan
let the snipe go unanswered.  There were much larger matters requiring
attention.  He tapped at the console in front of him and the screen on the
table’s surface flared to life.  “We must continue working on our maneuvers over
the last remaining hours.”  He entered a command to bring up the starting
Seshafian fleet formation.

“Admiral,”
Lieutenant Baldwin of the corvette
Honor
interjected, “I understand why we’ve
devoted so much of our time toward maneuvers and defense but, with respect,
sir, we have it down cold.  Shouldn’t we be focusing more on offense now?”

Heskan
had expected such a question although not from her.  “I understand your
concerns, Jaynee.  I really do.  However, how we move our fleet will be crucial
to the battle plan.  Our maneuvering must be
precise
.”  He emphasized
the word, as he had done for the last two weeks.

Baldwin
nodded her acceptance reluctantly.

“Jaynee,”
Heskan added, “I know you can fight.  I witnessed it personally the last time.” 
He looked around the table.  “I’ve seen you all fight, twice now, and I have zero
doubt in any of your abilities to strike the enemy.  Further, I know that each
of you will give this battle your total effort.  We may be outnumbered, but
we’ll never be outclassed.”

To
his left, Heskan saw the muscles in Vernay’s jaw tense violently as she nodded
agreement.

The remainder
of the briefing lasted less than an hour.  By its end, Heskan was confident
that each captain knew what was expected and there was no reason to belabor
points already made.  Once he outlined the final exercise, he broke the meeting
to give the officers time to get back to their ships and brief their crews.  As
had become ritual, all of the captains filed out of the conference room save one.

“Why
are your meetings always so short?”

Heskan
grinned at the unexpected question.  “Because I’ve been in your position during
ones that went on for far too long.”

Vernay
returned his smile with one of her own.  The expression briefly revealed a young,
attractive woman but the dangerous professional with the single, long braid
reasserted herself.  “You know, you’ve rubbed off on all of us.  I can’t go
five minutes in my own meetings without looking at a chronometer.  Jack’s said
the same thing.”

“Then
every Seshafi sailor owes me a debt of gratitude,” Heskan joked lightly.  His
thoughts turned to the looming battle.  “Whoever is going to be left, that is.”

Vernay
cast a glance toward the door.  “It’s not as bad as it seems, Garrett.”  She sought
eye contact and said earnestly, “I think these sailors are going to owe you
their lives.  Everyone on Seshafi will too.”

The
intensity of her blue eyes pulled at him.  He chuckled to break some of the
power in the moment and quipped, “Where did my ‘Captain, Oh Captain’ curmudgeon
go?”

Cobalt
eyes never wavered.  “You’re going to be safe on the C-Three ship.  Wallace
would never make another attempt like that and the archduke has assured me of
your safety.”

Heskan’s
eyebrows shot upward. 
When did she talk to Covington?

“We’re
going to get through this, Garrett,” Vernay promised.  “I know it.”

“I
like the optimism.”

“It’s
not optimism,” Vernay countered.  “It’s truth.  This is my battle.  It’s my
fight.  If Wallace thinks he can take away my future, he’s going to learn just
how dangerous a Brevic on a mission can be.”

Bolstered
by Vernay’s absolutism, Heskan smiled with her.  “Let’s go see this through.”

The
Seshafian defense fleet had been underway for two hours, led proudly by her C-3
ship.  A herd of corporate media and civilian spectator ships trailed closely
behind.  Media outlets from each corporate zone were represented and various
media ships from the Federation also attended.  Billed as the final skirmish in
one of the most unusual and intense rivalries in modern corporate history, the area
around the chosen battlespace was already shaping up to be a circus.  Private
yachts the size of schooners had entered the system over the last several days
at the rate of three per hour.  The extra traffic had created a docking
nightmare for the orbital at Seshafi Major but also brought an influx of
tourism that the star system had never seen before.  AmyraCorp’s board blessed
the impending battle as a boon of priceless publicity but cursed the likelihood
that the corporation would be unable to capitalize on it after the battle was
over.

Inside
the Seshafian command ship, Chase Fuller paced near the front of the crowded media
room like a caged tiger.  His plan for the upcoming event, made possible by his
untiring efforts and numerous bribes both inside and outside of the corporate sphere,
was perfection personified.  The only potential weakness was if Garrett Heskan had
pulled another stunt and failed to lead from the C-3 ship like a proper fleet
commander should.

The
media man’s eyes widened slightly and his stomach twisted when he saw an aide
enter the room and scan the space expectantly.  Fuller waved a hand to gain her
attention and the woman quickly bolted toward him.  When she was a few steps
away, Fuller irascibly demanded, “Well?”

The
woman smiled and Fuller felt a gush of relief pass over him before she could
speak.  “Confirmed,” she said.  “Baron Heskan was spotted on his way to the
battle bridge.  He’s on board.”

Fuller
pumped his fist in triumph.  “Then I’ve got him,” he growled through a nasty
sneer.  “Good work.  Now fetch me some tea.”  He glanced casually at the
compartment’s chronometer.  The vessel would arrive at the designated
battlespace in slightly under two hours.

Plenty
of time to practice a little bit more,
he thought.  Fuller silently ran through his coup de grace again. 
How many
sailors know that their leader is a bloodthirsty Brevic, Baron Heskan?
  He
could barely contain his smile. 
Does the AmyraCorp board realize they’ve invited
a ‘Vic barbarian into their peerage?
  He sorted through other possible questions
on his datapad before swiping a finger across the screen to conceal them from
prying eyes.  It was the perfect ambush with perfect timing, Fuller knew.  News
that the Brevic Republic had unleashed fusion missiles inside the Helike system
was just reaching the LMA and anti-Brevic sentiment would soon be running at an
all-time high.  Garrett Heskan would be unknowingly walking into a veritable
firestorm when he entered the media room to field questions before the battle. 
He’ll be defeated before the fight even begins…  Has any reporter ever had
such a direct impact over the news as I?
 Fuller smiled cruelly.

“Excuse
me, sir,” a fit man in a perfectly tailored suit questioned after tapping him
politely on the shoulder.  “Did that woman say that Admiral Heskan is on the
ship?”

“Yes,”
Fuller confirmed.  The intrusion was a bit bold but he was in a generous mood. 
Most correspondents would know better than to ask another reporter for such highly
valued information.

“Excellent,”
the man replied.  “When will we see him?”

“That’s the question,
isn’t it?” Fuller said vaguely.  His generosity had limits and this bumpkin
reporter with a fine suit needed to learn his station.  “He’s supposed to be
having the conference right now but, at the minimum, he’ll have to take some
questions before negotiations with IaCom can start.  It should be soon.”

*  *  *

“Tunnel
disturbance,” Lieutenant De Haas announced.  The sensor officer rapidly swept
back a lock of auburn hair as she zoomed out the optical of the Sade tunnel point. 
Unlike a normal warship, all personnel on the C-3’s battle bridge had a
personal communications unit that transmitted every word uttered into the media
room.

While
being fitted for the tiny unit that attached at the ear, Heskan had remarked
that it would make wearing a shocksuit helmet uncomfortable.  Attendants countered
that shocksuits were pointless because C-3 ships were officially noncombatants.
 Even Cooke, they noted, died before lasers or missiles were fired and a
shocksuit would not have saved him.  Unperturbed, Heskan insisted that everyone
on the ship would wear shocksuits.  The decree lasted two days until the
backlash from the media grew into a tidal wave of rebellion.  Every outlet
joined to petition AmyraCorp, stating the C-3 shocksuits would cause a
reduction in the quality of media coverage by hiding the faces in command.  A ruling
from corporate headquarters determining that such excessively protective
measures were not worth the troubles they were causing and put the matter to
rest.

In
recompense to crew safety, security procedures on the battle bridge had never been
tighter.  The media was banned from the compartment and explosive-sniffing
devices were run through the bridge every five minutes.  An armed honor guard
stationed at the entrance ensured only authorized individuals crossed the
threshold.

Upon
reviewing the new protocols, Heskan admitted that a repeat performance by the
saboteurs of Seshafi seemed remote in the extreme.  The added measures made him
more self-conscious about wearing his P-52A pistol during the initial exercises
but he had remained resolute in donning it, if only to demonstrate that
security was not to be taken lightly.  Believing his point made, Heskan eventually
exchanged the standard hip holster for a shoulder holster that disappeared conveniently
under his dark blue service coat.  The concealment reduced his apprehension
about appearing paranoid but did little to diminish the physical discomfort
that came with wearing a sidearm.  It was still unwieldy despite the small size. 
The harness felt tight and made him sweat even more inside the heavy service
coat.  It was also restrictive.  Heskan flexed his shoulders to remove some of
the strain but felt the straps dig in further.

“Ship
count, please,” Cohen ordered as his assistant adjusted settings on the
holo-tank.

Commodore
Dennis Cohen was a non-line officer, holding a commission that recognized his
status as an officer of the Seshafian Navy but prevented him from exercising
general command authority.  In essence, he held all the rights and privileges
of any Seshafian commodore but the chain of fleet command did not pass through
him.  This restriction freed individuals such as Cohen from the standard,
general requirements of line officers and gave them more time to gain proficiency
within their specialty, be it medicine, law or, in Cohen’s case, tactics.  Cohen’s
relative inexperience was yet another disadvantage Seshafi faced.  Before
serving at Nguyen’s side on the C-3 ship during the previous battle, Cohen was
but a professor of line theory at the Seshafian War Academy.  The navy’s brightest
tacticians had been decimated in the stroke that killed Admiral Cooke.

The
holographic tank, three meters by two meters by two meters, dominated the
center of the battle bridge.  A dais ran around the tank with the commander’s
position along the length of its starboard side.  Next to Heskan’s position was
a bank of control consoles that could manipulate the holo-tank into the
clearest possible picture of the ships throughout the battlespace.  Along the
perimeter were communications stations ready to issue the commander’s orders at
a moment’s notice.

Cohen
stared hard at the tank before asking tersely, “Is that all of them?”

De
Haas searched her own screen before answering tepidly, “I believe so.  Let me
recount the disturbances, Commodore.  One moment.”

Seventeen
holographic ships had sprung from the ether inside the tank.  IaCom’s three
line ships were immediately distinguishable from the rest by their size and
position.  Admiral Lane’s second-rate,
Formidable
, led the procession
like a warrior eager for redemption.  Lane’s single defeat, in a career burgeoning
with victories, had come inside this star system.

Differentiating
between brig and snow was harder for Heskan’s eyes.  The Saden fleet was 43
lm
from his own and the resolution of the incoming optics was relatively poor.  He
mentally counted the larger holograms but the total was coming up short. 
Four
brigs that I can see…
 He squinted at the tank, searching in vain for
more.  “Where are the rest of his ships?” he asked no one in particular.

“Seventeen
discrete tunnel disturbances,” De Haas stated confidently.

“Keep
your optical tagged on the tunnel point, Lieutenant,” Cohen ordered.  “Admiral,
I count three line ships, four brigs and ten snows.”

“Concur,”
De Haas added from her station.

Did
Wallace mislead us on his order of battle?  Surely, he must have known we
wouldn’t submit to any terms before seeing his ships in-system
.  Heskan tore his eyes away from
the holo-tank.  A wild thought entered his mind. 
Unless…
  “Commodore,
highlight the ships belonging to Secure Solutions.”

Cohen
fiddled with the tank’s controls.  “It’s a bit difficult at this range,
Admiral, but let me see who I can find.”

Five
minutes later, Heskan had his answer.

“None,
sir,” Cohen said in disbelief.  “I can’t find a single ship that fits a Secure
Solutions profile.  Did you hear word of them pulling out from the conflict?”

Heskan’s
hearty chuckle served only to further confuse his advisor.  “My gut tells me
they didn’t pull themselves out as much as they were pulled out unwillingly.”

A
blank stare from Cohen prompted Heskan to add, “It’s possible they’ve been
delayed by the Commonwealth.”

Skeptical
expressions around the bridge greeted Heskan’s hypothesis.  De Haas finally
asked what everyone was thinking.  “Admiral, why would the Commonwealth risk its
relationship with Secure Solutions and IaCom to do something like that?  The
Hollaran government remains strictly neutral in corporate conflicts.”

“If
my guess is correct, Erika,” Heskan answered with a wry smile, “I don’t think
this was the action of the Hollaran government but more the action of a single komandor.”

Cohen
struggled briefly to fit the pieces together before deducing, “An old ally of
yours, Admiral?  Someone whom you fought alongside?”

Heskan
snorted.  “Alongside, in front of… with, against.”  He glanced at the
chronometer.  “It’s complicated, Commodore, but we’ll know for certain in about
forty minutes when Wallace sends us his updated order of battle.”

“When
are we sending him ours?” Cohen asked.

“Not
yet.”

“Corporate
Skirmish Rule Two Thirty-two states we must send him an accurate update before
hostilities commence,” Cohen pressed.

“We
will.  We’ll send it so it reaches him before the battle starts, Commodore.  I
trust you have one ready for release?”

“Yes,
Baron.  It’s ready to go now if you wish,” Cohen answered.

“Not
yet,” Heskan repeated firmly but smiled again. 
That update of yours is
going to need a bit of refinement.

“We’ve
reached the battlespace, Admiral,” De Haas informed.  “Shall I signal the fleet
to enter the standard holding pattern?”

Heskan
nodded.  “Please, Erika.  Do it exactly like we’ve practiced.”  He looked at
the slice of the holo-tank dedicated to his own fleet and added, “That is, if
you can find a spot for us to park.”  Several of the private civilian yachts
were inside the exclusion zone, contrary to skirmish law.  He grumbled at the
inanity of it. 
How can they take such risks?  This is infinite space,
people!  There’s plenty of room for everyone out here.
  Seshafi’s four
patrol craft, normally supplemented with corvettes, had become overwhelmed by
the amount of civilian traffic around the battlefield.

Cohen
left his station to stand next to Heskan.  “Admiral, I can monitor things here
while you attend to the media.”

“They
can wait,” Heskan said with a faint smile.

“But
you’re expected, sir.”

“That’s
nice.  They can wait.”

Cohen
shuddered visibly and motioned toward his mic.  He discreetly mouthed,
Visual
and audio are being transmitted to them now.

“That’s nice,” Heskan
repeated and cleared his throat.  He dramatically pressed the tiny mic closer
to his mouth.  “I’m sure my friends in the media are willing to sacrifice a small
portion of their Q-and-A time to ensure the brave Seshafian sailors have their
commander at hand just hours before the battle.”  He walked to a nearby console
and sat down.  “Besides, I have very important tasks that must be completed
before I can speak to them.”  He loaded up the Solitaire program.

*  *  *

Heskan
had never enjoyed the ancient card game but it was a ubiquitous program found on
every computer in the galaxy.  He was well into his sixth game when Cohen
interrupted, “Admiral, we have Wallace’s update.”