Gabe flinched as the cruisers opened fire again, this time in successive bursts of plasma. The firing pattern destroyed waves of targets, triggering the traps in succession rather than all at once. Plasma cannon tore at distant rocks, blasting them to rubble, and in exchange, waves of missiles shot back at them. The fleet was ready this time, showering those missile volleys with countermissiles, gravitic pulses, and even plasma bursts. Those few projectiles that reached their targets expended themselves against fortified shields, and no further ships fell prey to them.
Then he had no more time to watch the long-range attack because he was nearly on top of his own target. Gabe lined up his plasma rifle, placing the aiming reticule over the nearest MSSR. He cleared his throat. “Anvil, are you in range to fire on the rock yet?”
“Just about, Stroke-Four. We think you should hold off and stay close to us. We can pound that rock from a distance, and they’ll have to close to stop us.”
Gabe raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Sounds good, Anvil. Solid plan. We’ll stay with you.” As he decelerated, he pondered over the situation. He signaled the rest of the rigs in his flight element. “Stick with the Anvil, but keep moving. You don’t want to give those MSSRs an easy target.” He matched actions to words and started to circle the escort craft, adding a random juke in to keep things unpredictable. From there, he watched as the Anvil lined up the shot.
The escort craft drifted forward a short distance, the turrets shifting on the top of the craft. Its own maneuvers slowed as the targeting systems drew a bead on the onrushing asteroid. There was a moment’s pause, and then the cannon opened fire, sending bursts of plasma far more powerful than any rig’s weaponry shooting in at the target. Gabe narrowed his eyes and the rig’s sensors zoomed in. There was a steady, fifteen-second barrage, and then Anvil’s weaponry fell silent for a heartbeat.
Then the lance came into play, sending a scarlet beam sweeping out toward the asteroid. Just as the rock was shaking from the impact of the plasma bursts, the beam of particles stabbed deep into the stone. The contact with that stream of annihilation lasted for only a few seconds, but when it snapped off, a gigantic hole had been drilled into the asteroid, and the remaining minerals around the gouge glowed as the rock radiated heat. The rock now tumbled wildly off its previous course, and there were no thrusters left to correct it.
Despite himself, Gabe raised his eyebrows in surprise again. He had expected a rather impressive performance, but the effectiveness of the Anvil’s assault had gone far beyond those expectations. When he considered the fact that the new rigs he had been promised would be of equal or superior quality, he found himself suddenly far more motivated to return and begin the calibration training again.
The apparent threat of the Anvil’s barrage was clear to more than just himself, however. All three MSSRs boiled forward, accelerating as quickly as their bulky, armored frames would allow. No missile launches came in from the asteroid, though he was sure that would change once Anvil kept pounding at it. Gabe widened his eyes to pull his sensor view back a bit, and started to boost forward. “Flight, get ready for incoming MSSRs. They seem to be a little bit upset.”
Another of his wingmen spoke over the channel. “Four, this is Five. I have all three of them on incoming tracks. Do we each pick a rig, or what?” Gabe frowned over the question as indecision paralyzed him. There was almost no chance that a CSR would survive an engagement with an MSSR, especially head-to-head. There had to be a better solution. In a flash, one came to him. He forced the words out past the sudden fear gnawing at him.
“No, Five, let’s try something new. Concentrate your fire on the closest rig, and then roll to target rig number three. Keep an eye on the other rigs too. We want to overwhelm them piecemeal, not ignore them so they can line up a perfect shot on us.”
“Confirmed, Four.”
Gabe started forward, and the other two CSRs came up alongside him. He settled his aiming reticule and blinked. The signal told the sensors to ping the enemy rig with a laser, allowing for a more accurate description of the remaining distance and the position of the target. It would also give away his own position, but he figured that it would convince the MSSRs to focus on him rather than the rookies in his flight. He grinned as the red number marking the range to target rapidly counted down just below the sensor contact.
As they approached, all three MSSRs opened up, their heavier weapons pouring bursts of plasma fire toward him. Gabe grunted as he began to dodge the incoming shots. His ping had attracted more attention than he had intended, but at the very least they were firing on him just as planned. He kept an eye on the target as he wove his way through the waves of pulse fire and watched as the range fell. There was a long moment that seemed like eternity, and then the number flashed from red to green. “Flight, open fire!”
He fired as well, when he could manage it during his evasive maneuvers. His short bursts of plasma were joined by two steadier streams that shot out toward the unsuspecting MSSR. The rig easily dodged his attempts to strike it, but the other CSRs bracketed it with their shots. Its armor glowed and sparked as blast after blast tore into it, and then the MSSR’s protection finally succumbed to the fire. Three shots slipped in under the plating on its right arm, and that limb separated from the rest of the body with a sudden explosion. More bursts tracked the rig as it tumbled away, and two more explosions ripped further holes in the MSSR.
Gabe opened a channel. “Good kill, Five. Good kill.” He shifted his fire to the next MSSR in line, and then he realized with horror that the other rig was closing to point-blank range. The heavy plasma gun’s bursts tracked toward him, each shot shaving through space closer than the one before. He slid left, away from the shots, but he already knew it was too late. There was little hope he would survive a direct hit, and the enemy rigs had far too good a read on him.
Then a sudden burst of plasma fire tore past him in the opposite direction, so close he could have sworn he heard the energy sizzling through space. One shot struck the MSSR in the left shoulder. It vaporized the armor, and the mechanisms beneath shattered like glass. As its arm nearly detached, a second burst caught the rig dead center on its torso. The entire rig exploded in a rush of light and shrapnel.
Then they were past the remnants of the MSSR, and Gabe nearly forgot to roll as he had planned. Twisting around, he found the last enemy rig attempting to run for deep space perpendicular to its previous course. He set his sights on it and pulled the trigger. Plasma bursts sped after it, the first few falling short as the MSSR increased its speed. Then Gabe managed to sweep his shots across it, walking hits up its right leg and into the tetherdrive mounted on its lower back. The rig’s speed abruptly fell off as the drive spluttered and died, and then a surge of gravitic energy tore the MSSR in half.
With that, the danger was officially past. Gabe scanned the immediate area for threats and found the path to the asteroid clear. He triggered his communication systems again. “Stroke Four to flight. Who do I owe dinner?”
“Anvil here. We accept gift cards.” Gabe raised his eyebrows and glanced back to the escort craft.
“You made that shot? From all the way back there?”
“Confirmed, Stroke-Four. You’d be amazed what kind of targeting systems you can fit into a ship when you don’t have to worry about all that dancing you were doing.” The cocksure tone of voice brought a smile to Gabe’s face, and he shook his head.
“Well, next time I guess we’ll just have to leave them all to you, Anvil.” He killed his smile and started a scan of the other nearby firefights. From the look of things, nearly every single one had turned out in favor of the Wayfarers. Only four of the twelve asteroids remained intact, and those were under heavy bombardment as the Samar-class escorts closed in. None of them had MSSRs remaining nearby, those having been destroyed or scattered through an application of their superior firepower. Comparatively few CSRs had been destroyed, and most of them were now flying in space uncontested by enemy forces.
Then a new signal came in, one that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “All rig forces, please respond. We have enemy rigs assaulting Formation Alpha. Return to the fleet immediately.”
The Deliverance rocked as yet another MSSR made a firing run. Deep within the confines of the cruiser’s gravity bubble, Susan did not feel the motion. Seeing it on the holographic projection of the fleet failed to make the attack any less terrifying, however. Every burst of particle fire chipped away at the fields and armor protecting the thin layer of hull that separated her from an airless death in space. Susan had seen far too many ships left drifting in the void, beyond hope of salvage and crew beyond reach of rescue, to discount that possibility in her own future. Flood, a broken hulk nearby, was far too good an object lesson for her taste.
She felt her lips twist as she considered the situation. Both battlewings above and below the main fleet had quickly dealt with their targeted asteroids. The escort craft had proved extraordinarily effective at clearing out the rigs—or at least driving them away when they had attempted to assault the smaller groups. The cruisers had then followed up by destroying the asteroids at long range and absorbing the missile attacks as needed.
The final asteroids approaching the main group had so far escaped the same fate. Though the six ships of the core battlegroup had taken up position to intercept them and absorb the missiles the rocks would throw at them, the MSSRs had swarmed in firing. Thirty-eight of them, each with a heavy repeating plasma rifle, had strafed the cruisers. Spread out and unable to call on escort craft for support, the cruisers had to rely on their own sensors and plasma cannon to interdict the rigs, but Susan had quickly found that the rigs were attacking from angles that would have forced the ships to fire on each other if they missed the small craft. Most of the cannon were firing uselessly as a result, hoping to hit the evasive craft by chance.
It was as if the drill Gabriel had sprung on the fleet was repeating itself. The ships could only spread so far before they would be isolated from each other; besides, if they spent too long attempting to pick off the small craft, the asteroids would slip by unmolested. Proximity alarms and frustrated cursing mixed in the air of the bridge, and Captain Ndigwe was beginning to look a little strained under the pressure. Given how steady she was most of the time, Susan could not imagine the state of the rest of her crews.
The only factor that had prevented the loss of all four ships had been that each had reinforced their defensive screens. While the screens could shrug off most of the plasma fire from the MSSRs, the repeated strafing runs were accumulating to the point where even the cruiser-class shielding and armor would succumb. Worse, if they fired on the asteroids ahead, there was no way the screens could take the punishment from both missiles and rigs, and so the asteroids were drawing closer unmolested.
Now all thirty remaining CSRs had curved back toward the main group. She left the escort craft to the task of eliminating the remaining rocks on the perimeter, since they were too far out and too slow to respond in time—likewise the wings of the fleet were too slow to reach them before the shields failed. For a moment she considered ordering the escorts from the battlewings to join in the fight, but it would merely have encouraged the rigs to dash out to the edges of the Wayfarer formation instead. Better to meet them and destroy them here.
As the CSRs closed in, she wondered if they would be able to handle the remaining MSSRs without escort support. Then she heard Gabriel’s voice over the communication net, his tone calm. “CSR flights, stick together and take them down one at a time. We need to buy the cruisers enough time to escape or cluster.”
Susan shook her head. Though the assumption made sense considering the situation, she still had no intentions of drawing her ships closer together or running. Not when the asteroids were still a threat. The only real question was how she could eliminate the threat of the MSSRs while sparing her own rig forces. Her frown grew as she studied the situation. The strafing runs against her cruisers were causing damage, true, but the rigs surely could not hope to maintain the assault long enough to cause any real damage. Why were they still attacking?
The mystery drew her eyes back to the last group of asteroids. Most had already been shattered and were unable to move back onto their destructive course. All except one. Her eyes narrowed. That particular rock seemed to have been shielded by the others, as if they had been meant to absorb fire for it. The fragments were not a real threat anymore; once the rocks were in gravitic range, she could easily tether them in place and prevent them from descending to New Sonora. The only real threat that remained was a single asteroid she could destroy at any time.
At least, she could if the MSSRs were not strafing her ships. Understanding flowered, and she smiled. That asteroid must have been a failsafe, either rigged with an obscene amount of countermeasures or missile traps to surprise the Wayfarers. The MSSRs were stalling the cruisers until it could get closer, either to the fleet or to New Sonora. Perhaps the missiles on that rock were meant to target and destroy her ships, or worse, would target the city and bombard it. If her cruisers were to destroy that final rock, then the purpose of the enemy mission would be finished. That was why they continued their assault; they still believed they had a chance at victory.
Only a moment’s hesitation stopped her from giving the order. The simplest way to resolve the conflict would be to remove the asteroids, but then the remaining MSSRs would simply scatter and run back to their base. Even with their speed advantage, the CSRs would be unlikely to catch them, and given the carnage those rigs would cause if they turned on the pursuers, it would be foolish to try. Another strafing shook the Deliverance with repeated hits, and her eyes narrowed. These opponents deserved to be left with a harsh impression of the firepower of the Wayfarer fleet, especially after their traps had destroyed the Flood.
A move occurred to her, and Susan nodded to herself. She laid a hand on her console and triggered her communications. “CSR units, this is Command. Recommend that you attack the final remaining rocks at position Alpha Four. Eliminate that threat to New Sonora at all costs, then prepare to break vertically on my mark.”
Gabriel’s voice appeared again. “Command, are you sure? It’s looking pretty ugly for you in there.”
She bit back a sharp retort. “Confirmed, Stroke-Four. Attack your assigned target, and maneuver as ordered.”
For a long, painful moment, the rigs seemed to hesitate between following her directions and following the obvious course led by Captain Gabriel. Then another signal reached her from Stroke Four, and she relaxed. “Orders confirmed, Command. All CSRs, target the rocks and await further orders.”
Susan watched as the blips representing the rig forces curved away from her fleet, racing toward the asteroid drifting closer every minute. As they changed course, the MSSRs made yet another run on her cruisers, and all six ships shuddered under the barrage. Redemption lost power to three of their particle cannon on the starboard side, while Foundry took a severe hit amidships. Deliverance weathered the worst of the barrage without fully losing her shields, but Susan knew it was only a matter of time.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Then it was as if an alarm bell had been rung, and all thirty-eight of the MSSRs swerved off and rushed at the CSRs. They fired at long range, though the odds of scoring a hit were drastically low. Susan smiled at the desperation the maneuver showed. Her guess had been right—they were attempting to divert the fleet from the asteroid until it could get closer. By now an intelligent opponent would have realized they were outgunned and that continuing could only lead to more casualties. Unfortunately for them, she had more planned for them than a simple slugging match. She activated the communications again to give orders to the ships, and she could not restrain the smile that grew, cruel and hard, on her lips.
Gabe looked back over his shoulder and saw a wave of red blips chasing after him and the rest of his pilots. Each one represented one of the MSSRs that were now in prime firing position for easy kills. He wondered for half a moment what the admiral could be thinking, then shoved that thought aside. They had a job to do, and they would do it, even if she wasn’t planning on helping.
The rock loomed ahead in the darkness. It was still on a direct course for New Sonora, and it was easily twice the size of any rock he’d seen before. The CSRs would not have time to push the rock off course gently—any attempt to stop it that way would end when their pursuers arrived. Instead, they would have to do it in one extended firing run past the rock, taking out the thrusters and other additions the enemy had planted in the stone and knocking it away. Then they just would have to hope the Outriders couldn’t compensate for the damage before it was too late.
He was already planning that run in his head when he heard Delacourt’s voice over the communication net again. “CSR units, prepare for course change. Scatter on my mark.” Gabe glanced back in shock. They were nearly to the rock, and she wanted them to juke now? The MSSRs were nearly on top of them, some still firing wildly in their wake. If they anticipated the juke and closed the distance by cutting to the inside of their turn, the CSRs would be slaughtered for nothing.
He was about to say so when Delacourt spoke again. “Repeat—prepare to scatter in five, four, three, two, one. Mark!”
The orders left no time to argue. He either trusted her or he didn’t. With a desperate prayer for protection from the Lord, Gabe changed course as sharply as he could. Around him the rest of the CSRs broke away as well, scattering in all directions as if they were a rain-drop hitting the ground. The pressure of that turn strained at the CSR’s joints, but Gabe still managed to roll in order to see the MSSRs he knew would be coming after him.
He managed to get the enemy rigs in his sights just as an avalanche of plasma cannon fire from the cruisers crashed down on them. His jaw fell open as the heavy weapons shattered the MSSRs; they broke like toys beneath the shoes of an enraged child. Most of the shots missed, but each hit ripped the target to shreds. With the volume of fire and the clustering of the enemy rigs, it was a massacre.
As wrecked MSSRs tumbled forward and the survivors scattered in a frantic dive, the fire from the cruisers shifted. Explosions rocked the asteroid, ripping away chunks of rock with terrifying ease. Missiles started to launch, this time heavy, planetary bombardment-style weapons meant to flatten cities. Apparently Delacourt had anticipated the projectiles because the cruisers swatted them as well. All of them bloomed out into bright balls of thermonuclear fire.
When the fire finally died out, all but eight MSSRs were dead, and the asteroid was badly mauled. The remaining MSSRs had no fight left, their sense of superiority obviously ruined by the horrifying application of force. Gabe suppressed the urge to whistle. If Delacourt’s intention had been to knock the stuffing out of their foes, she had just accomplished that in the most brutally effective display possible.
Still, it would be a shame not to follow it up. He cleared his throat. “CSR flights, this is Stroke-Four. Form up and chase down the stragglers. Let’s make this one a clean sweep.”
Delacourt’s voice broke in just as he had rolled onto an intercept vector for the nearest MSSR. “Negative, Stroke-Four. Recommend you let them run. Sensors have a solid lock and we are tracking them.”
Gabe paused, his sights hovering over the MSSR’s retreating form. “You’re tracking them, Command? What’s the point?”
The admiral’s voice answered him in a mix of frustration and annoyance. “Humor me on this one, Stroke-Four. We’ll finish off the asteroid. Just return to the fleet.”
He sighed and shook his head. The things the Lord asks a person to bear for Him. He keyed his communications. “Stroke-Four to all CSRs; stand down and return to base. Mission is complete.” A series of acknowledgments cascaded back to him from the other units, their voices ranging from relief and amusement to frustration and sullenness. None refused the order, however, which was amazing all on its own.
The fleet unleashed another volley and smashed the asteroid to pieces behind him. Gabe shook his head again as he turned back toward the Deliverance. She had used the entire rig corps as bait. What insane tactic would she come up with next without letting him know? As the final rock broke up, something told him he was going to envy that rock by the time Delacourt was done with him. At the very least, he hoped the end would be quick, but he knew it was far from guaranteed.
“Are you nuts?”
The tone in Captain Gabriel’s voice was unmistakably sincere, and that made it all the more painful to hear it. Susan restrained a sigh and met his eyes.
“I am quite sane, Captain Gabriel, though I would appreciate a bit more of the respect I am due as a superior officer.”
He began what had to be a sarcastic retort. Then he glanced at Elder Miller and stopped himself. When he spoke again, it was in a more measured tone, though his frustration strained at his voice. “I apologize, Admiral. I would just like to know how you arrived at the conclusion that we need to send part of the fleet away at the very moment in time when we are the most at risk. Ma’am.”
Susan glanced at Elder Miller, hoping he would begin to see why she did not want to share her strategic plans with his son any more than necessary. At the very least, her success had silenced Colonel Mccalister, but just when she had won on that front, Captain Miller seemed determined to take his place. “It is simply what has to be done, Captain. We have managed to trace the enemy MSSRs back to their point of origin, and from there we can easily calculate the launch point for the asteroids. The recent battle should have reduced their complement of MSSRs severely. A small portion of the fleet might be able to locate and destroy the facility before any further danger is presented to New Sonora.”
Gabriel opened his mouth to reply, but Elder Miller spoke first. “Admiral, I have to admit that your plan is disturbing to me. While I am more than happy with your efforts so far in our defense, I do not know if an offensive strike against our opponents will solve anything. In fact, it may stir our enemies to greater acts of hatred and murder in revenge.”
She looked at the Speaker. “You are right, Elder Miller. This strike will not solve anything in the long term.” Gabe muttered something, but Susan merely clenched her jaw and continued. “In all honesty, it is unlikely that anything we do will resolve the long-term situation. That is the reason we have chosen to leave New Sonora instead. The destruction of the asteroid launch facility would provide us with a greater measure of security for New Sonora, and for the evacuation that will proceed once Epoch arrives.”
Elder Miller frowned. “Still, would it be necessary to sacrifice the lives of more people to guarantee that safety? The casualties they have already taken must have discouraged them. They cannot sustain much more of this type of campaign. If there is any way to avoid more conflict, that is the route I would choose.”
“No, Father, she’s right.” Susan turned in surprise to look at Captain Gabriel. The rig pilot seemed subdued. “Our enemies aren’t going to give up now. Look at the resources they are already using against us, at the effort they’ve already spent. If we don’t put a stop to them now, it will only get worse.”
The Speaker studied his son. “You did not seem to believe so before, Gabriel. Why the sudden change?”
Gabriel gave his father a hesitant smile. “The Lord sometimes asks us to do things we don’t want to do, Father, and sometimes He sends an unlikely messenger to do the asking.” Elder Miller blinked at the words, and the rig pilot turned back to Susan. “Admiral Delacourt, what part of the fleet are you taking along? If Deliverance will be in the task force, I believe the Lord will help us get the new rig types ready for the strike.”
Uneasy, Susan shifted her feet. “I had planned on taking Deliverance, Foundry, and Healing. That should give us the necessary firepower without stripping too many ships from the defense fleet.” She paused, and forced herself to continue. “Colonel Mccalister could coordinate the fleet drills in my absence.”
Gabriel nodded. “Could I suggest a few of the escort craft as well? Anvil packed quite a punch last time, and they were more effective than I had thought they would be.” He smiled faintly. “And I think they would love to get some payback for Flood anyway.”
“I will consider it, Captain Gabriel. Thank you for your support.” Susan turned back to Elder Miller. She was not quite certain why, but perhaps the rig pilot’s words would turn the tide in her favor. “Elder Miller, do we have your permission to leave?”
The hesitation was plain on the Speaker’s face, but he nodded slowly. “You do, Admiral. I don’t like it, but as my son has said, the Lord does not ask easy things of His people.” He looked up. “You are sure of this course, Susan?”
She held his gaze for a moment. “Yes, sir.” Then she turned to Captain Gabriel. “Get the rigs aboard Deliverance, as many of the new units as you can. I need our ships to be ready to deploy as soon as possible. The sooner we can leave, the better.” Her smile was sudden and vicious. “From what I’ve seen, these Outriders have had every opportunity to take free shots at your people. Now it’s our turn, and I intend to start hitting back as soon as possible.”
Bennett struggled to keep a smile on his face. It was incredibly frustrating when a client failed to follow simple directions, and even more so when they insisted on ignoring them at the worst possible time. He already had complaints filling his electronic mailbox from Commodore Dubois and Chancellor Ripley, despite his explicit instructions to use a less traceable manner of communication to contact him. At such a delicate time, he could not afford to have his involvement discovered now.
The source of their complaints was obvious. Neither man had been pleased about the results of the asteroid strike over New Sonora. The chancellor was nearly apoplectic with rage at the fact that a battle had taken place so close to his planet, and gave several rather unsubtle suggestions on how to avoid drawing even more attention to the fact that they were planning on wiping out the Wayfarers completely. Dubois’ message was almost worse. The commodore informed Bennett in a rather terse way that the rest of the Guard was now starting to take notice of the attacks on New Sonora, and that if Bennett Securities insisted on continuing such useless maneuvers, they could at least do them more subtly—or risk losing his support.
Despite that, their transgressions paled beside the client who now stood in his conference room. Admiral Nevlin was a tidy man, fastidious in his Directorate uniform and well groomed in his appearance. Not a single white hair was out of place, and his face held little suggestion that he was a full flag officer in the Directorate Naval Forces. He likely would have been horrified to know that the very spot where he stood had once been stained with Elder Evans’ blood, but Bennett had kept that fact to himself. He had other concerns besides the tediously clean nature of his client—such as his celebrity.
He chose his words carefully. “Admiral, while I appreciate the effort and cost of coming to speak with me directly, I thought we had agreed that a person of your stature would need an extra level of discretion. Why did you not use our mutual contacts to get a message to me? Why did you come personally?”
The last question had a bit of a hard edge to it, but the admiral did not seem to notice. He was preoccupied with the hologram of the fleet above him. His answer reflected the sort of distracted disdain most officers of the Directorate maintained for their mercenary counterparts. “You needn’t worry about your security, General Bennett. I regularly avoid the media on personal errands, and I took extra precautions to make sure no one has tracked me to your location.” Admiral Nevlin smiled. “I would be more worried about a leak concerning one of my other…friends…before I would expect someone to reveal you.”
Bennett very carefully did not snort in contempt. He was aware, as were most of the admiral’s acquaintances, of Nevlin’s series of mistresses. The man insisted on bragging about them, despite his clumsy attempts to keep them a secret. Many reporters were aware of them as well, but the Directorate had ways of making sure their war hero remained untarnished. If it meant a few newspeople were slightly richer from bribes—or slightly less alive from bullets—it wouldn’t matter. An association with Bennett Securities, however, might convince the Directorate that Admiral Nevlin had outlived his usefulness as a poster child and needed to suffer an accident of the fatal and inconvenient kind.
All of which would ruin Bennett’s plans. He sighed. His plans still required the fool, which meant he would need to clean up any messes he’d now created. Then a thought occurred to him. “Do not worry about that, Admiral. I was simply curious.”
“Curiosity?” Admiral Nevlin met Bennett’s eyes. “That would be a rather unfortunate trait for a mercenary to develop, General.”
With an open-palmed gesture meant to placate, Bennett smiled. “Please understand, the motivations and desires of a client are crucial to how I achieve those ends. My comprehension of those aspects of my work will only turn to your favor.”
He waved at the hologram of the fleet. “When we began our relationship, I believed that I adequately understood your concerns. A group of Directorate officers have determined that the Wayfarers must be eliminated for the good of the Known Worlds. Am I correct?”
Admiral Nevlin nodded. “Of course. Their supposed Speaker has been a thorn in our side for years now. His ‘prophecies’ about our eventual defeat and their support for draft dodgers, discharged personnel, and refugees all weaken our ability to maintain the war effort.” He paused. “And, of course, they have always been a little too soft for what was needed to win this war. Anyone who does not advocate any necessary means to the end of the Wild Colonies has no place among us.”
Bennett nodded amiably. “Which is something I understood completely. However, your personal visit conveys the impression that there is something more. Something you perhaps don’t share with your Directorate comrades?”
Admiral Nevlin’s eyes narrowed. His mouth quirked slightly, as if he had tasted something sour. “You mean besides concern over your previous failures? Yes, I suppose there is.” He turned and began to pace back and forth. As he passed Bennett, the admiral glanced up at him, his expression fierce. “There is something of a personal matter that I wish for you to see to before you are finished. You will be suitably compensated.”
“I see.” Bennett allowed himself a slight smile. His hunch had proved correct once again. “May I ask the target?”
Nevlin continued to pace. “There is an officer among the Wayfarers. I once served with her. She was discharged some time ago for a variety of reasons.” The admiral paused long enough for a silence to settle. “She must die. Preferably in a manner that proves the conclusions of the court martial about her faults of character. Do you understand?”
“Of course. Her name?” Curiosity now made a true appearance in Bennett’s soul as he considered the new information. There had always been rumors about the desperate naval action that had won Nevlin his fame. Now Bennett found himself uneasy to discover that the officer who had truly been in command—and who had managed to destroy several bands of Riaskat pirates with an outnumbered Directorate force—was his opponent. It did, however, match the reports he had received from the battle.
Nevlin came to a halt. “Susan Delacourt.” There was another pause, and then Nevlin smiled. “Make it painful, if you can. Proof would be rewarded, though it is not necessary.”
“I will see it done, Admiral Nevlin.” Bennett gave a short, perfunctory bow. When he straightened, he placed a sterile, professional smile on his lips. “Now to other business. My allies and agents on the planet will soon see to it that the Wayfarers are placed under an embargo. Their possession of an unregistered fleet should be more than enough to provide an excuse.” He waved a dismissive hand. “For the rest of our plans to succeed, I need only be certain that your end of the bargain is arranged.”
Nevlin’s face grew grim. “You’re talking about the convoy. The Concord.” Bennett nodded, and the admiral shifted uneasily. “Are you certain this step is necessary, General Bennett? It will go poorly for us if not handled well.”
The admiral was understating the situation, of course, but the risks were more than justified by the rewards. Bennett nodded. “A wise man plans for every eventuality, Admiral Nevlin, and I would not risk my arrangement with you if it were not necessary.” He tilted his head to the side, studying the man. “Besides, it was my understanding that you gain even more from this move. A tragedy to spur further recruitment and military spending.”
Admiral Nevlin met his eyes again. Hesitation was plain on his face, but the light of hatred still shone in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper. “Your arrangements are already made, then?”
“They are. I have units standing by.” Bennett studied his client, knowing he took a chance by not presenting the plot as already done and beyond recall, but he was not about to stick his neck out without some support. Not yet. “We wait only for your confirmation.”
For a long minute, the Hero of Riaskat bent his head in thought. Bennett imagined he could see the emotions struggling within Nevlin’s mind: Hatred warring with loyalty, human decency fighting with ambition, cowardliness locked in a death grip with courage. The battle continued for the duration of that moment, and then the decision was made. He saw it in the way the admiral’s brow furrowed, the way his lips formed a flat line.
He saw it in the anger in Nevlin’s eyes when they fell on him, and his heart rejoiced because of the words he knew were about to come. The admiral spoke. “Do it. Make sure no detail can be traced back to us.”
Bennett inclined his head, presenting the picture of obedience. “Of course, Admiral Nevlin. You do not have to worry about it any further.” The client nodded and walked toward the exit. With a smile, Bennett straightened up and addressed the vacant space where his employer had once been. “And soon enough, our enemies—my enemies—will not have to worry about anything, ever again.”