No Honor in Death (41 page)

"First, Mister Devall takes over as Second Officer.  His junior will take the gunnery post.  I believe Sub-Lieutenant Amiri is capable enough."

"Aye, sir.  I think so too."

"Then," Siobhan continued, feeling drained after the emotionally charged meeting and her earlier brush with death, "change the warhead on one of the ready torpedoes for a log buoy system.  Feed all the depositions into the ship's log.  That way, if we don't make it, at least the torpedo'll make it back to our side with all the information."  He nodded, taking notes on his personal computer.

"Finally, a question, Gregor."  He looked up, into her weary, lined face and intense eyes.  "What happened on the day the
Victoria Regina
got ambushed?  I'm curious, not out for retribution.  The time for that has passed."

He glanced away and stared at the far bulkhead for a few moments, not because of any reluctance to speak.  That had vanished in the last few hours.  But he wanted to gather his thoughts, remember the day in question and his own role in the disgraceful events.

"Commander Forenza arranged for an unscheduled meeting with the tender, right after a coded message from Admiral Kaleri.  God knows why.  There was a lot of that in my time here. Hush-hush stuff that only Forenza and her familiars like Kery knew about.  For a long time, I believed she was engaged in special covert duties, not corruption.  Mind you, it was a good cover, especially with Kery-the-spook hovering in the background."

"You knew about Kery being SSB?"

"A few of us did.  Forenza let it slip one day, when I was pressing her on something I didn't like.  Like I said, we had an unscheduled re-supply.  Forenza always handled the paperwork and dealt with the tender captain herself so I have no idea what was really going on that day, like all the other times.  Probably just more of the same.  Except that time, there was another ship with the tender.  Forenza said it was an undercover SSB ship and -"

"The
Mykonos
, right."

"Yeah."  Pushkin smiled at Dunmoore's quick, intuitive mind.  She was
good
! "It didn't have that name then, but it was the same one.  We docked with the tender, who'd already docked with the spook tub, and Forenza went on board.  The distress call came in at that moment.  I relayed it to 31st Battle-Group and 3rd Fleet, then tried to get Forenza to come back.  But she ignored me."

Siobhan suddenly grinned as she realized something Pushkin obviously hadn't noted.  "Tell me Gregor, did it ever occur to you that you're responsible for Forenza getting fired?"

"Huh?"  He looked at her with dumb surprise.

"Very eloquent response, Mister Pushkin," Siobhan replied dryly.  "You relayed the distress signal to 3rd Fleet, right?"  He nodded.  "Did you tell Forenza you did that?"

"No." He slowly exhaled, frowning.

"Think about it, Gregor.  You told 3rd Fleet about the
Victoria Regina
getting clobbered.  By doing that, you also gave them your position, which was close enough to the action for a quick helping hand. They obviously expected you to offer support in accordance with standing orders.  When Forenza didn't act on the signal, Admiral Nagira had the perfect excuse to relieve her over Kaleri's objections.  He probably had his jaundiced eye on her already at the time, even if it was only for gross misconduct. Now, would she have moved had she known you signaled 3rd Fleet?"

He shrugged, uncertain.

"It doesn't matter.  Whether you forgot to tell her by accident, or your subconscious directed your actions that day, you're the one responsible for her relief." 
And my arrival as pinch hitter slash detective.  Oh, Nagira, you rotten prick!

Pushkin looked at her, pleased with the idea.  "I hadn't thought of it, sir."

Siobhan laughed.  "I know, Gregor.  You should see the shit-eating grin on your face.  Taking the logic a bit further, I guess I have you to thank for my appointment as skipper of the
Stingray
." She made a wry face.  "In any case, Gregor, I absolve you of any responsibility for that day and take back the nasty comments I made."

He shrugged, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.  "No need to, sir.  I deserved the tongue-lashing for that and many other things."

"Oh," she winked, "maybe.  Maybe not."  She slapped him on the shoulder.  "C'mon Number One.  Let's go see how the ship's holding together."

Gregor Pushkin followed her out of the conference room, smiling like a little boy in a candy store.  She had called him 'Number One.'  For some strange reason, the familiarity and confidence the nickname implied made him feel better than he had for a long time.  Now, he really knew why Ezekiel Holt felt so strongly about Siobhan Dunmoore.  It gave him an unexpected feeling of kinship with the crippled officer, like belonging to a select club.

The club of those who'd fallen under Captain Siobhan Dunmoore's magic spell.

TWENTY-TWO

"Captain on the bridge."

Siobhan took her seat from Pushkin.  Ten minutes to emergence and end-game in the enemy-occupied Cimmeria system.  She did not feel anything beyond a certain fatalism, as if her actions, from the start, had been programmed to bring them here and now, across Brakal's hawse.  Not many shared her calm acceptance and nervous glances followed her every movement, trying to divine the future she held in her scarred hands.  Siobhan had seen battle and death close-up more often than most.  The
Victoria Regina
had taken her dying blows only a few months ago, nearby.  She had also lived her greatest moments of glory aboard the
Don Quixote
on and near Cimmeria, five years ago.  A lifetime of war.

"Battle stations, if you please, Number One."

"Sir."

The second-watch crew noticed her use of the familiar nickname. News of the last few hours had rapidly spread through the
Stingray
, and a sense of normalcy was setting in, a sense they could begin to trust each other and their officers again.  Siobhan enjoyed the subtle feeling of a crew coming together.  It was happening just in time, too.

Maybe she should thank Lieutenant Drex's shade for that.  United and no longer plagued by the secrecy surrounding the past, they had a much better chance of surviving the immediate future, though the full responsibility for that still sat squarely on Dunmoore's shoulders. She had plunged headlong into battle, counting coup after coup, and her native pride and stubbornness would not let her stop now.  The ship's name, and her own, would be cleared once and for all.  Even if it killed them.

Within minutes, the first-watch crew, what Siobhan called her varsity team, were taking their stations.

The officers and non-coms had a new spring in their step, even though their tired faces were studiously expressionless, hiding any worries and misgivings they felt.  They would see this through, if only to atone for their previous actions, and give Dunmoore their very best.

The flow of people ceased yet Lieutenant Shara shined by her absence.  Young Ensign Sanghvi still held the Sailing Master's post.  Dunmoore frowned.  Shara might be contemptible as an officer, but she knew her job as navigator, and her skills would be much needed.

"Where is Lieutenant Shara, Number One?"

"Dunno, sir."  Pushkin paged her, but without success.  The minutes to emergence ticked by, and still no Sailing Master.

"Send a security detail to her quarters," Siobhan ordered, sensing that something was very wrong.  The answer wasn't long in coming.  Lieutenant Devall, newly elevated to Second Officer, and proud of it, reported in person.

"I am sorry, sir.  Lieutenant Shara is incapacitated."  He lowered his voice so only Siobhan could hear.  "Dead drunk, sir.  She downed a fifth of whiskey.  I have the doctor in her quarters right now.  Shara may have alcohol poisoning, but she'll live to feel the hangover."  There was no sympathy in Devall's voice.

"Well done.  Thank you, Mister Devall.  You may carry on."  A strange silence enveloped the bridge.  Siobhan sat back thoughtfully.  She felt little surprise at Shara's reaction.  The Sailing Master knew her role in Helen Forenza's schemes did not stand the same scrutiny as the others'.  Her career would end with little honor once they returned to base.  Shara's behavior towards the Captain and her peers had ensured no one would speak up in her defence.  But in truth, she was another victim.  If only of her weaknesses.  Had she possessed a stronger character, she might have kept free of the taint she now bore.

"Ensign Sanghvi,"  she met the young man's nervous eyes with a smile, "it appears you are now the
Stingray
's Acting Sailing Master."
Why is it that the junior navigator on a starship always ends-up being a shavetail on his first tour
?  But Siobhan knew the answer to that one.  She too had been junior navigator on her first starship assignment.  It was a demanding job but had no real leadership responsibilities, perfect to give a novice some time to find his footing in new surroundings.  And to develop four-dimensional, multi-universe thinking in young, malleable minds, preparing them for the demands of warship command.

"Yes, sir."  He sounded embarrassed, and more than a little scared of his Captain.

"Just relax and think things through, Ensign.  I know you can handle the job.  You can count on the First Officer and myself to back you up."

"Sir."  Sanghvi nodded and swallowed, his prominent adam's apple bobbing like a buoy in a storm.  Then, bravely, he said,  "I'll do my best, sir."

"I know." Siobhan smiled again, and Pushkin could see her magic work on the young man.  Amazing how people responded to her, now that they could look her in the face without embarrassment.  Oh, some might curse her for driving them hard, but they respected her all the more for it.

Sanghvi turned towards his console and ran a full, by-the-book pre-emergence check.   It steadied his nerves.  When the Ensign glanced at the helmsman on his right, Chief Guthren smiled back reassuringly, almost fatherly.  "Set and ready, sir.  Five minutes to go."

"How close to the planet will we emerge, Mister Sanghvi?"  Siobhan already knew the answer, but it was a good question to get the kid thinking about his new job.  Sailing Masters had to stay one or two moves ahead of the ship, to better plot a route through navigational hazards and enemy obstacles.

"Two-hundred thousand kilometres, sir," he replied after a short pause during which he queried the computer.  "It's a little close, but still within the bounds of emergency jump procedures."  He sounded like a navigation manual, but at least it proved he knew the theory of his business.  That was a good start.

"Okay.  Now, the moment we're back in normal space, take the ship on a bee-line to the planet's north magnetic pole.  We'll duck under the magnetic belt and go silent.  No one will find us there."

"And then, sir?"  Pushkin asked for the benefit of the others.

"Then," Siobhan grinned in that chilling way she had, "we wait for opportunity to sail by.  I can't bring myself to leave this enchanting place without kicking sand in Brakal's face one last time."

The gas giant's strong magnetic field played havoc with electronic gear, and even the heavily shielded scanners suffered from random blank-outs.  But it hid the frigate from anything the Shreharis had.  During the short dash to the planet, Chief Penzara had pin-pointed the convoy's position and declared the humans to have at least half an hour, if not more, breathing space before it too dropped back to this universe.  No other enemy contacts appeared on screen, however, and that worried Siobhan.  The Cimmeria system had a standing assault force to defend it against marauding humans.  By all rights, it should be vectoring on the convoy's planned course, to ensure the
Stingray
caused no more damage.  There was a time when Siobhan had played many a cat-and-mouse game with the Cimmeria Assault Force, before the stalemate eroded the fighting edge of both humans and Shreharis.

"He's emerged!" Penzara suddenly announced.  The tactical display on the main screen flickered and then stabilised with the convoy's new position.  "A bit early if you ask me, sir.  He could've gone on for another few minutes."

"Brakal's looking for us.  He's nervous about the idea of an in-system ambush." 
Does he know the system as well as I do?
  Siobhan rubbed the scar on her jaw line, a gesture Pushkin had begun to recognize as deep concentration.

"He won't see us here though," Pushkin noted.

"I'm not even sure if he'll look or think about looking.  Shreharis don't use planetary magnetic fields for camouflage.  Their electronics have less shielding than ours, and become practically useless.  Shrehari captains get nervous when they can't see, hear or operate their defensive screens.  Plot their expected course, Chief."

"A straight line for Cimmeria.  Not terribly imaginative, sir."  Pushkin didn't yet know what Dunmoore intended, but he was sure it didn't involve heading for home without a farewell attack.

"No, but quick.  He's less vulnerable on a direct course in normal space.  Remember, he still outguns us.  Mister Sanghvi, what is the closest we can jump near this planet and not tear the ship apart?"

"Two planetary diameters, sir.  But it's not recommended due to stress on the hull and the drives."  The kid Ensign sounded almost comically earnest and self-conscious.  But that was understandable.  He was one of the most junior officers on board while the Sailing Master was usually a very senior and experienced Lieutenant.

"Our drives have already suffered from that red-line jump," Pushkin reminded her, suddenly realizing what Siobhan was thinking.

"True, Number One.  But they'll take a little more.  Mister Guthren, the moment, the convoy drops below our horizon, edge the ship to the opposite side of the planet.  By the way, what's this stink-ball's name again?" 
As if I didn't remember.

"XP-2513, sir,"  Sanghvi helpfully supplied.

"Thank you.  Once we have XP-2513 between us and the convoy, Mister Sanghvi, you will plot a micro-jump to intercept the convoy just about,"  she pointed at the tactical display, "here.  On emergence, Mister Amiri, fire off two missiles at the centre transport, but concentrate your guns on the
Tol Vakash
.  I don't intend to hang around, so Mister Sanghvi, you'll have to plot another micro-jump to the edge of the outer asteroid belt, between planets five and four, the moment you have a fix.  This one will be strictly hit and run.  The faster, the better."

"To prove we can do it?"  Pushkin asked softly, so only Siobhan could hear.  His voice held a hint of reproach.

"That, and to give Brakal another bloody nose, Gregor.  I still have a score to even up with him.  Anyways," she raised her tone, a knowing smile on her thin lips, "how can I resist such a perfect target?"

"He's below our horizon, sir."

"Thanks, Chief.  Mister Guthren, take us out of here."  She smiled mischievously at the cox'n.  "Dona Quixote rides again." 
And you thought I didn't know my old nickname
.

Guthren began to chuckle uncontrollably.

"Nothing, Commander.  It is as if she has vanished, or never came here.  Maybe she changed course while we were in hyper space and is even now running for her side of the line."

Brakal grunted, stroking his chin.  "Maybe, Urag.  But Dunmoore has fire in her soul.  I ask myself, would I run or attempt another ambush, were I in her place?  And my answer is always the same: ambush."

"Even with four kills?"  Jhar asked.

"Even with ten, my friend,"  Brakal grinned, "as long as I see a chance for more.  No, Dunmoore must be in-system somewhere, biding her time."

"Then she must believe herself a magician.  She cannot approach us without being seen from afar.  This is hopeless for her."  Jhar sounded unconvinced by his own words.  Strange how the thought of a female warship commander came naturally to him now.  How good would trained Shrehari females be at the art of war?  Certainly they were fierce enough and cunning enough when necessary.  Then, the thought of several females on board his ship, to be fought over by the males, to excite lusts best reserved for battle, made him shudder.  How do humans do it?

"Huh."  The Commander stared at the empty tactical display on a side-screen.  "Off-hand I can think of several things she might wish to attempt.  But none that could ensure her the surprise she needs for success."

"The asteroid belt would seem to me a good place," Urag ventured.

"Indeed,"  Brakal was pleased to see his officers really
think
about this.  "It offers concealment, cover and protection.  But the convoy will not pass closely enough for a successful ambush.  Even the convoy commander is not that stupid.  Still..."  He turned his gaze on the slowly moving star field displayed on the main viewscreen.

Urag's console blipped and the Gun Master turned towards his instruments.  "Commander a contact."

Brakal came to life.  "Identify and place on screen.  It must be her!"

"Too late."  Urag's tone rose to communicate something of the urgency he suddenly felt.  "She has emerged ahead of us and launched two missiles on the troopship
Vannatikar
at point-blank range.  She fires on us."

The view screen's placid star field vanished to show the angry shape of the human frigate.  It was broadside to the
Tol Vakash
and its guns winked brightly, spewing plasma at the Imperial cruiser.  A blinding explosion momentarily blotted out the cruiser's visual receptors.

"The
Vannatikar
is gone, Commander," Urag announced angrily.  "With the twelve hundred soldiers of the
Altukaras
Regiment."

"Open fire, Urag.  Helm, increase speed to intercept.  She will not escape us this time."  The
Tol Vakash
shook under the weight of the
Stingray
's full broadside.  "You are mine, Dunmoore."

Moments later, Brakal had the satisfaction of seeing his return fire splash on her shields and eat through the force screen, blackening the hull below with the appetite of voracious energy.