"Mostly their older stuff, some of it from the war against the Varni. So where the hell is the new equipment?"
"Poised somewhere else," Turner replied.
"It's those damn heavy assault ships that have me worried," Blucher said. "Look closely there-" and he pointed at the screen, " — those are armored space-to-surface landing craft. Each of those ships can handle a brigade of Imperial marines. This isn't a maneuver. The marines stay close to Kilrah, they're part of the Imperial line. If they're deploying their Imperial assault legions, this is an attack to take possession."
He pointed at another ship. "Look at this one, it's got one hell of a radiation signature. I bet the damn thing's packed to the gills with thermo nukes. Blast down the ground defenses, then send in the assault troops to mop up."
Geoff could not contain himself any longer.
"Sir, if you know all this, how come Fleet Intelligence doesn't?"
Both Blucher and Turner looked at Geoff in surprise. Blucher shook his head and laughed.
"Where did you pick up this babe in the woods?"
Geoff bristled slightly at the insult, but a sharp look from Turner stilled him from making a retort.
"Look, son," Blucher said, as if lecturing a child, "we don't exist out here as far as Confed goes. We're outside the law, settling where we want and the hell with Confed surveys, permission, taxes, and what have you. We knew about the Cats a full year before any of your official histories will ever acknowledge it. Over on their side there's some Cats like us, outside their laws as well. Fallen warriors, dishonored and clanless, living on the edge. We trade with them, they trade back, on occasion we kill each other for profit, or just because we have to and the hell with what our supposed legitimate governments say. Now, does that answer your question?"
Geoff wanted to press the point. Humanity was looking at the potential for one hell of a war. The intel that the Landreich and other frontier smuggling posts had was invaluable, but again there was the look from Turner and he stepped back.
Blucher continued to study the ships intently for several more minutes and then finally looked back at Turner.
"Anything else?"
Turner hesitated for a moment and finally reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, lead case. Opening it up he produced a thin wafer.
"Cat, memory wafer," Blucher said.
"I know. You got a system that can handle it?"
"Let me see."
Turner held the wafer as if not willing to give it up.
"Don't worry, we've played with these before."
Turner handed it over. Blucher touched the pager on his unit and a moment later the door into the room opened.
"Fetch me a Cat model five unit and be quick about it."
The young officer returned less than a minute later with a small handheld unit of obvious Kilrathi make, placed it on Blucher's desk and departed without a word. Blucher popped the unit open, a small holo field appearing. He then slipped the wafer in, punched several keys, and waited. A single document appeared on the screen an instant later. Blucher cursed softly, punched several more keys while watching the holo display.
"Only one thing on that wafer and this is it," and he motioned for Turner to come around to the other side of his desk. Geoff craned forward to look. The document looked ancient, as if written by hand on aging parchment. A red claw was emblazoned at the top of the document, the symbol appearing again at the bottom next to what he assumed was a signature.
"It's an Imperial communique from the Emperor," Turner whispered in awe. "I've seen a couple, the usual diplomatic bull. But this looks like something for internal use."
Frustrated, he looked back at Blucher.
"Got anyone here who can read Cat?"
"Give me a minute."
Blucher produced a camera from a desk drawer, snapped a photo of the image in the holo field, pulled out a memory cube from the camera and slipped it into his own unit. Seconds later a copy of the document appeared on his screen, this time in translation.
Blucher started to read it, Turner leaning over his shoulder and following. Frustrated, Geoff could only watch their expressions. Both of them seemed to react at almost the same instant, a look of shock that quickly changed to a bitter expression of rage.
Turner finally looked over at Geoff.
"It's the Imperial authorization for full-scale offensive operations against the Confederation and any other territories occupied by humans or their allies."
"So now we've got it," Geoff replied.
"Damn it all," Turner snapped, "but it doesn't say when or where. This is nothing but some formalized piece of ritual crap."
"What else do you want?" Blucher replied. "Their timetable, attack plans, and schedule for when their commander goes to the head?"
"It would have been nice, damn it. Why even go through the bother of getting this to us?"
"Who was it that sent it?" Blucher asked.
Turner looked straight at him, then shook his head.
"All right, I understand."
"No," Turner replied. "It's not that. I don't know who the hell passed it off to us, or why. That's what has me confused."
"Don't you see? It's a little game within a game for some Cat on the other side. This document must have gone out to all the head honchos, clan leaders, maybe even their admirals and key military administrators. It's a ritual for them. Someone wanted to tip us off, but not necessarily betray their side either, so there's no plans. Maybe they want to derail the attack for their own purposes, or even feel that now is not the time. Maybe they're hoping to drag a stink onto one of their rivals. Sooner or later someone will leak that we've got this thing, and they'll point their claw at a foe and have him eliminated. It's untraceable, that's for certain. It doesn't give us a damn thing other than clear knowledge they're coming, and any damn idiot could figure that out."
"Not the Confed government," Hans interjected.
"They don't even qualify for the status of idiot," Blucher said casually.
Geoff felt that he should take insult at the exchange but in his heart, at this moment, he could not help but agree.
"We need to get this back to Confed Fleet Headquarters now," Turner said.
Blucher sighed and pushed himself back from his desk.
"You'll have to fly it."
"What the hell are you talking about? You've got a burst signal facility here."
"Its down."
"What the hell do you mean, it's down?"
"Just that, Winston. Down, kaput. Remember, there's an embargo on us terrible sinners out here. We lost it three weeks ago. We can receive, but we can't send. We're trying to smuggle the replacement parts in right now, but it might be a month or more before we get them."
"Welcome to the Landreich," Hans said with a smile.
"So it's McAuliffe then," Vance interjected. "That's the nearest burst signal station that can relay back to Earth on a secured line."
Blucher laughed. "Theirs is down too."
"What the hell is going on?" Turner snapped. "We're talking about McAuliffe, damn it."
Blucher shrugged his shoulders. "It went off-line, that's all I know. Most likely solar storm activity in their system."
"That's a week by transport," Turner said angrily.
"Take Krugers ship. I think we can spare that. Hell, it's shot to ribbons again, not much use in the fight coming up."
"I think I should be consulted on this one," Hans announced.
Blucher smiled. "You son, have officially been drafted into the Landreich militia."
"The hell you say."
"The hell I do say," Blucher announced. "Considering your service, would the rank of first lieutenant suit you?"
"Hell no," Hans snapped. "I'm independent, the last damn thing I need is to get tangled up in this."