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CHAPTER FIVE

"He's looking much better," Sarah said. It came out sounding more like a question.

"He does, he really does," Raeder agreed. He looks like death warmed over, he thought. Clearly the Invincible wasn't going anywhere soon. "Ms. Ju was looking better too, I thought."

"Oh, much," Sarah agreed.

In fact the XO had looked dreadful lying in her container of pink goo.

Maybe it's the gel; pink isn't Ju's color, Sarah mused, then her lips tightened. Get real, she thought. It was the humongous radiation burns. 

The gel anesthetized as it cured, so the XO was feeling no pain, but it was still a trial seeing her like that.

"It's disconcerting," Raeder said as though reading her mind. "She's always so pulled together, so serene."

Ju's eyes hadn't been able to focus on them, and what was left of her black hair stuck to her scalp in clumps. It was probably all going to fall out.

They ought to just shave it off, he thought. Spare her the inconvenience.

He couldn't help but feel a little angry seeing both the captain and the XO so wan and helpless. As though things would have been different if he'd been on the Invincible when the missiles started flying.

The good news was that the ship was fine. The crew also, including the flight crew, had all come through the action pretty much unscathed. But it was cold comfort under the circumstances and he worried that a new captain would be appointed before Knott could take the helm again. It would be well-nigh unbearable if they had a commander thrust upon them who was to captaining what William Booth was to security officers.

At least Knott and Ju were being treated in the Invincible's own sick bay. The reason given by the ship's senior officers was that they didn't wish to overburden the base or CBC's hospitals. Especially when those institutions had a surfeit of their own badly injured to care for. Indeed they'd opened the ship's facilities to the base's overflow of wounded.

Actually they'd reasoned that it would be harder to replace a captain while he was resident on his own ship. Not that Star Command wasn't perfectly capable of it, but they hoped to make it difficult at least.

Peter and Sarah walked on silently, each lost in their own thoughts, until they came to a break in the corridor. Sarah would be going back to Main Deck; Raeder, over Booth's spluttered objections that he was the security officer, was required to attend a debriefing regarding the recent attack. They looked into one another's eyes and smiled. He gave her arm an encouraging squeeze that he'd rather was an embrace and they parted.

* * *

As Peter left the shuttle's austere compartment to emerge into the hastily repaired tunnel leading to Marjorie Base, he thought about the meeting to come.

How the attack could have happened was the question of the day in Star Command, and an Admiral Smallwood had been sent to head the investigation. Smallwood was short and slight in build, with a big nose and quick, abrupt movements. He was famous throughout the service for grandiose schemes that sometimes worked.

Kind of a strange choice for an investigator, Raeder mused. Though to be fair, he himself was a strange choice for this meeting. Much as I hate to admit it, Booth might have been the more logical choice. As the man himself had insisted. That is, if the criteria for attendance was assigned duties. The activities on Main Deck didn't seem directly connected to the problem at any rate.

Then again, there was his role in uncovering Senior Lieutenant John Larkin as a Mollie infiltrator. Of which I am justifiably proud.

Not that it seemed to have accrued him much good karma. What it probably had done was win him the notice of the mysterious and powerful Marine General Scaragoglu. That and my somewhat over-the-top rescue of Paddy. Which I would do again for anyone who needed a hand.

Which he suspected Scaragoglu knew and would exploit at need. Not a good feeling if you valued your peace of mind.

As he approached the meeting room an aide came up to him and handed him a message chip, then spun on his heel and marched off before Raeder could question him. With a shrug he fitted it into his reader.

Commander Raeder, it read, please join me in my quarters after the meeting. It was signed by Admiral Smallwood. A sudden chill of excitement raced down his spine.

Something's up, he thought with a secret smile.

* * *

The room was dimly lit to accommodate any holo displays the admiral might want the system to throw before them. The people who sat at the round table were all commander or higher in rank, and universally solemn.

Smallwood had begun his discourse with the information that the Mollie/Fibian raiders had leapt safely from jump point to jump point by broadcasting either legitimate Commonwealth trader's signals or, worse, valid Star Command military codes.

"Stolen, or bought," Smallwood said, his small, dark eyes darting from face to face. "Or we have a Mollie agent in a sensitive place." His glance flicked to Raeder and away. "Been known to happen before. They followed the signal out guns blazing, so to speak, and annihilated three picket corvettes that we know of. Going out, there's no telling how much damage they'll be pleased to accomplish." He folded his hands in front of himself. "This is because we essentially did them no damage. They jumped in at high velocity, hit the moonbase and planet as they passed and did a slingshot maneuver around the sun to jump out again. So I must concede that the speed and unlikelihood of the attack here, of all places, made a response in force . . . problematic, at best." He glared around the table. "Regrettably we were not at our best that day."

Some of the officers around the table met that glare with stone faces, others glanced at fellow officers, or at the notescreens before them.

"What most disappoints me, of course, is that we did not capture one Mollie or Fibian."

"Sir," said Captain Miyashi, who could not let that pass, "it is their policy not to allow themselves to be captured."

"Don't I know it," Smallwood said glumly. "Only extreme diligence has prevented those Mollie prisoners we do have from committing suicide. Still, it's our policy to capture valuable intelligence assets—and I would prefer that our policy be the one implemented."

"They've filed suit," Miyashi said. "They claim that by denying them the right to kill themselves we're forbidding them to practice their religion."

"I don't like those people," Smallwood said. "The Mollies would rather die for their cause than live for it. As for the Fibians, for all we know they're some kind of group mind and losing an individual might be as unimportant to them as trimming our fingernails is to us."

A gloomy silence descended briefly.

"Well," the admiral said, "I guess it's impossible to stop someone in a Speed from killing themselves if they really want to. Our pilots are to be congratulated for keeping them from crashing into the main dome of this station. And will be, officially," he went on with a glance around the table. "If there's nothing else you ladies and gentlemen have to contribute," he said, "then I'll close this meeting. Thank you for coming." He rose and left the room, his aides falling in behind him.

* * *

"Come in, Commander," the young ensign said.

She swept her arm out to encompass the small room behind her. Admiral Smallwood was sitting on the couch, reader in hand, one leg crossed over the other. Without looking up the admiral gestured to a chair.

"Please take a seat, Commander. I'll be with you in a moment." He glanced at his aide. "You're excused, Ensign. See that no one disturbs us."

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, sir," Raeder said. He took a chair opposite the couch and looked around the room. Odd that the admiral isn't seated at the desk, he thought. He imagined that a short man like Smallwood would usually take advantage of such a prop.

The desk itself was not large, true, but the chair behind it was enormous. He wondered what the front of it looked like. The back appeared to be covered with genuine leather of some sort. Quite an extravagance for a little base like this one.

Smallwood tapped off his reader and put it down, then leaned back to study the commander, one arm thrown along the back of the couch, his legs crossed.

"How are things going on the Invincible, Commander?"

"Very well, sir," Raeder said. He paused to see how this would be received. Then, with a smile, he continued, "Captain Knott is looking better every day."

"Captain Knott looks like hell," Smallwood asserted. "And his XO looks worse. But neither of them is seriously incapacitated, so you needn't think Star Command is going to replace them with whatever's left in the barrel."

Raeder couldn't help but grin at that. Not that he was pleased to be so easily read, but the captain's status was good news.

"Your loyalty does you credit, Commander."

"If it does, sir, then the credit goes to Captain Knott. He's an outstanding officer."

Smallwood raised one brow, but smiled. He shifted his posture so that he faced Raeder more directly, his hands folded in his lap.

"As you know, Commander, the Commonwealth isn't doing very well in this war. Despite the exceptional efforts of the Invincible and ships like her, too much antihydrogen is being used up. As you've just experienced, the Fibian fleet is raiding deeper and deeper into the Commonwealth, and defensive deployments and convoy duty are eating deeper and deeper into our scant fuel reserves. We're making some headway against the pirates, at least. The fact that we can handle them differently during wartime is a great help there."

I couldn't agree more, Raeder thought. In peacetime pirates were to be treated as innocent until proven guilty, even when caught red-handed. Being allowed to treat them as the enemies of the Commonwealth that they were greatly simplified things.

"However," the admiral continued, "hard as it is to believe considering the number of planets that stand against them, the Mollies are slowly, but definitely winning this war."

Raeder struggled not to gape at the admiral. To hear someone in his position put it so unequivocally . . .  

"You seem very definite, sir," he said.

"Setting aside the virtually insurmountable difficulty of our enemies having all the fuel resources at their command. Indeed," Smallwood interrupted himself, "the fact that we didn't win the war in the first few weeks pretty much nailed the outcome in their favor. But setting that aside, as I said, they also have an ally with what seem to be unlimited numbers of ships and personnel to throw behind the Mollie cause. Did you ever wonder why they would do that, Commander?"

With a shrug Peter said, "Antihydrogen. Has to be. It wouldn't surprise me to find that after the war the Fibians simply take the antihydrogen fields from the Mollies. In fact the Mollies may well have promised to give them up in return for Fibian aid. The Interpreters have been railing about its corrupting influence for awhile now. It might well be to prepare their flocks for that eventuality."

A deep chuckle rose from behind the desk.

"Give the boy a drink, Ralph. I told you he was smart." General Kemal Scaragoglu slowly spun the chair around to regard a stunned Raeder with a pleased smile. "Close your mouth, Commander; you'll catch flies, and that's not a mission you've been tasked with."

Peter closed his mouth and tried to look respectful. Since not even my acting talents would make pleased look convincing at this point. 

"I'd no idea you were on the base, sir," he hazarded.

"Well, that's good," the general said, raising his brows. "It's nice to know that something's still working." He looked pointedly at the admiral. "C'mon, Smallwood, I know you have a cache of the good stuff."

Smallwood threw him a sour look, then rose and left the room.

"As for you, Commander," Scaragoglu said, "there's no need for you to look like you just bit down on something sour and smelly. You didn't come off too badly in our last joint venture."

No, but Sarah did and Aia Wisnewski and . . . the list is probably endless where Scaragoglu is concerned. In all truth it was Sarah's suffering that mattered to him most, his resentment was on her behalf. And it was no thanks to Scaragoglu that any of them had made it back.

"And what's the reward for good work?" the general asked quietly, almost tauntingly.

Smallwood reentered carrying a tray with three glasses on it, each bearing an amber-colored tot. Scaragoglu gave him an amused glance, as if to say the pointed absence of the bottle wouldn't keep him for asking for more if he wanted it.

"Why don't you continue outlining our plan for the commander," the general said expansively. "This is not for repetition," he said to Raeder, his eyes hard.

"Of course, sir." It goes without saying, Raeder thought. Though with Scaragoglu, nothing did; he left nothing to chance.

The admiral settled himself on the couch and took an appreciative sip of his whisky.

"Maker's Mark," he said, smacking his lips. "Wonderful stuff. To the Commonwealth, gentlemen."

They raised their glasses, Scaragoglu's eyes sparkling with pleasure.

"An excellent drink for toasting," he agreed. "Now, if you would, Admiral." He gestured at Raeder with his glass. "Then, perhaps we can make another."

Raeder felt excitement grab him by the back of the neck, his heart rate rose and he waited for Smallwood to begin.

"In the priority of outcomes to this war that we'd prefer," Smallwood began, "first would be, we win: all the antihydrogen is ours and the Mollies are moved to another quadrant of space altogether never to be heard from again. Second: it's a draw, the Mollies remain where they are, but we have at least some access to the antihydrogen, the Fibians aren't a factor. These are the least likely outcomes, unfortunately."

"Don't be negative, Ralph, go on," Scaragoglu said quietly.

"Very well," Smallwood said, throwing the general a sour look. "Third: we lose, the Mollies hand over the antihydrogen to the Fibians as payment for their aid and we come to some sort of trade agreement with the Fibians regarding the antihydrogen. Of course the most likely scenario at this point is four: we lose, the Commonwealth falls apart and the Fibians annihilate us planet by planet."

Scaragoglu sat and blinked at the admiral, his expression unreadable. The memory of his remark about negativity hung in the air like a bad smell.

With a sigh, the general said, "Well, we aren't quite at that point yet, fortunately. And it behooves us to avoid such a fate by any means possible." He turned to Raeder with a smile. "Don't you agree, Commander?"

Peter felt a thrill of fear, so mixed with excitement he couldn't tell one from the other. He sat forward, his eyes on the general, and nodded slowly.

"In the short term," Scaragoglu said, "our goals are twofold. And first we must stop this type of deep raiding. I concede it's something of a compliment to us that they're copying our tactics so assiduously. But if the worst comes to pass," he gave a dark-eyed glance at Smallwood, "I want them to sincerely believe us too tough a nut to crack. I want them so frightened of us that the last thing they would conceive of in their worst nightmares is attacking a human world. We must find and stop this raiding party cold."

Raeder nodded. Hard to do, he thought. They've been gone two days. Hard, but not impossible.

The general leaned back, like a big cat settling in contentment.

"You will pursue them as part of a deep-penetration raid into Fibian space. Intelligence keeps spotting more and more new fleet units of Fibians. It's time we knew more about this ally of the Mollies."

"Me, sir?" Raeder asked intently.

"You, Commander." Scaragoglu gave him a lazy smile. "Who better?"

Me? Raeder thought. Certainly not by my lonesome. 

"Is this meant to be a reconnaissance in force?" he asked.

"One of the things I like about you, Commander, is that you get right to the heart of the matter." The General nodded. "Yes, it will be a reconnaissance in force."

I'd need at least a corvette, Peter thought. But that wouldn't be sufficient to destroy the Fibian raiding party. For that I'd need . . .  

"The Invincible?" he said in a near whisper.

Scaragoglu nodded. "The very same," he said.

"But the captain . . ."

The general shook his head. "Modern medicine can work miracles, and does, every day. But it's not that good yet. Captain Knott and Ms. Ju will remain behind to heal. Your assignment to the captain's chair is purely temporary, Commander." He grinned. "At least for now. Knott and Ju will be returned to their current berths upon your return." He turned to Smallwood. "The admiral will continue this briefing," he said. "I'm afraid I must go."

"You mean you aren't here to brief me on this mission?" Raeder asked. Scaragoglu gave him a pitying look, and he could have kicked himself for speaking out.

"You don't need to know why I'm here," the general said. Then he gave Raeder a truly evil smile. "But you might consider me your guardian angel." He stood and raised his glass on high. "Gentlemen," he said, "I give you the success of the mission."

Raeder and the admiral rose to join him. "The mission!" they said in unison, then tossed off the whisky.

"Ah!" Scaragoglu said, moving from behind the desk. "That is one fine whisky."

"Better sipped," Smallwood said.

"As is life," the general said. "When we reach a certain age." He shook the admiral's hand, then Raeder's. "May we all soon have such leisure."

After he'd left Raeder and Smallwood remained standing, Smallwood staring into his empty glass as though looking for something.

"I've ordered your sick bay cleared of patients," he said at last. "Over your Doctor Goldberg's, and the base hospital's, objections. The Invincible is fueled up and resupplied, all personnel not wounded are aboard. Therefore, as soon as the last patient is removed I think you should begin your mission." He handed Peter the reader he'd been perusing when Raeder had first entered. "This contains what intelligence we have on the Fibian raiders, along with the most up-to-date projections on their next target. We've also got a linguistics expert who can read and speak the principle Fibian language."

Smallwood's eyes suddenly shifted and Raeder said, "Sir?"

The admiral's mouth tightened and he shifted his shoulders as though to better settle his uniform jacket.

"The man is the best we could come up with on short notice," he said. "In fact he's one of the best linguists in the Commonwealth. The only reason you were able to get him at all was the general's influence."

Peter found the note of defensiveness in Smallwood's voice somewhat alarming.

"I'm grateful, sir," he said aloud, trying to project enthusiasm.

"Unfortunately, the man is an intense arachnophobe," the admiral said in a rush.

"Ah," Raeder said calmly. Oh, shit, he thought. "How did he manage to become so expert in a language spoken by beings who so closely resemble spiders?" he asked. Because frankly there's something so kinky there that it worries me more than the arachnophobia. 

"I'm afraid I don't have that information," Smallwood said, stiffly. He reached out and took Peter's glass from his hand. "Well, Commander, you should be going. You've a million things to do, I don't doubt."

What no handshake? No, "Go forth my boy and make us proud," speech? 

Smallwood hastily put down the glasses and shook Peter's hand.

"Come back," the admiral said. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir. I will."

He stood back and saluted, Smallwood returned it crisply and, with a precise spin, Raeder was on his way.

 

 

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