“But you don’t know what.” That was a statement, flat and brusque, not a question.
“Our best guess is that Kruger wants to stir up trouble inside of Hralgkrak Province,” Williams said. “On Nahaddar, for instance. The Nahad have been growing restive the last few years, and Kruger could see possibilities in stirring up a rebellion there. Richards with his intelligence background, Bondarevsky to organize an aerospace defense, Tolwyn as the resident strategic brain…if it’s true what I’ve heard, that they’re taking a troop transport and a factory ship with them, it would all add up. Start a rebellion on Ragark s flank, train, equip, and support local fighting forces, and throw Landreich forces in at a crucial moment in a typical Max Kruger banzai charge, and you’ve got the ingredients for a disaster out here. The last thing Terra needs is to see Kruger become an interstellar hero all over again. That’s not what the plan envisioned.“
“Then we need to take corrective steps,” Mancini said calmly. “But first we need to find out if your guess is anywhere close to the truth. Don’t we have any sources who could give us an inside look at what Kruger’s up to?”
“Nothing inside his administration,” Williams responded. “You know how loyal the rank and file are to their beloved hero. He’s losing ground with the politicians on the Council, but as far as I can tell that only makes him less likely to share his plans with them. Hmmm…” He paused, trying to remember something he’d heard about the mission Kruger had dispatched. “One thing. There’s a civilian ship involved somehow with the battle group. A tramp frontier scout out of New Plains or some such place. The crew would have had a few days worth of shore leave, and you can bet they wouldn’t obey any orders to keep their plans a secret. Somebody will have talked…”
“Hard to trace,” Mancini said. “You’ll be sorting through idle gossip and useless rumors for months looking for anything significant.”
“Not necessarily,” Williams replied. “These frontier scouts operate on the fringe of the law at the best of times. Most of them have connections with our good friend Mr. Banfeld and his Guild. I think if there’s anything worth knowing, Banfeld’s already found it out. All we have to do is make sure we offer the proper…inducements to win his cooperation.“
“Then I suggest you get started, Commissioner,” Mancini said. “If we’re going to stop Tolwyn and his friends from complicating things out here, we have to discover what he’s up to, and where, so that we can take steps to correct the matter quickly.”
Williams smiled coldly. “I’ll get on it. But I still think you should consider my other suggestion.”
“Assassinating Kruger?” Mancini shook his head. “Too risky. The Cats don’t operate that way, so you can’t throw suspicion on them. And you risk setting him up as a martyr, both here and back home. Do that and you’ll set us back even more than a Landreich victory against Ragark would. No, we keep our hands off Kruger for the time being. We harass him diplomatically, and stir up as much political trouble as we can, and take action to keep bis underlings from putting one over on Ragark. But we leave Max Kruger alone. Let the Cats deal with him, when they bomb that pretty little palace of his into debris.”
CHAPTER 5
“There is no dishonor in caution, so long as the careful Warrior avoids the pitfalls of cowardice.”
Operations Planning Center, FRLS Independence
Deep Space, Oecumene System
1005 hours (TST), 2670.312
When Jason Bondarevsky had commanded the Tarawa many of the most important decisions controlling the ship and its missions had been made in the Operations Planning Center, a large chamber abaft the CIC complex, buried deep in the heart of the ship’s superstructure. Where the Combat Information Center was all computer consoles and monitor screens, crewed by technical experts who monitored the flow of information from inside and outside the carrier constantly, the OPC was an island of calm. A large triangular conference table ringed with chairs filled most of the room, but aside from small computer keypads in front of each seat there were no banks of instruments, no readouts or tactical monitors or viewscreens. The bulkheads were decorated with artwork: a holographic portrait of the Independence in orbit over a blue-green planet; an old-fashioned painting of the San Jacinto fighting a Kilrathi ship at the Battle of Landreich; a holo-still of Max Kruger looking stern and wise, as if surveying the chamber with pride and benevolent interest in the proceedings. The flag of the Landreich dominated one entire wall, a white cross of Saint Andrew on a black starfield impaled by an upright sword, with the motto “Freedom Through Strength” below.
The three-D holo-projector in the center of the conference table showed the image of the Landreich squadron clustered near the jump point to Vaku, eight ships about to leap through hyperspace into the unknown. The assembled leadership of the expedition gathered around the table seemed strangely unaware of the importance of the moment, but Bondarevsky found it hard to think of anything else. In another day, Project Goliath would be fully under way, and there would be no pulling back once they were committed.
Bondarevsky had been in more than his fair share of pivotal battles, usually against overwhelming odds, but today he couldn’t help but feel that this salvage mission was going to be no less important than all those combat actions. It was as much a gambler’s throw as any engagement in space…and Bondarevsky felt oppressed knowing that there wasn’t a great deal he personally could do to contribute to the outcome of the mission until others had made the preliminary judgments as to whether the operation was even feasible.
Admiral Vincent Camparelli, ramrod straight in his chair despite his age and the hacking cough that frequently interrupted his speech, raised a blue-veined hand and called for attention.
“I want to make sure everyone knows what’s expected of them when we go through,” he said, glancing over at Admiral Richards. “The overall conduct of the salvage mission may come under the authority of the Project Goliath staff, but until they actually go aboard the derelict-if it is a derelict-to conduct their initial survey, the operation is a matter for Battle Group Independence. Coordination of our efforts will be extremely important throughout, as I hope you’ll all understand and agree.” His dry, reedy voice might have belonged to an aging professor lecturing on military tactics at the Confederation Space Academy, for all the emotion the old man betrayed. But despite his frail appearance he seemed to have all the facts at his fingertips, and Bondarevsky thought he could still make out the firm and decisive mind that had led a Landreich fleet to victory over the Kilrathi nearly thirty years ago, back in the first days of the Secession crisis.
Glancing around the table, Bondarevsky found himself wondering about the others assembled there. In previous campaigns he’d known the men serving with him. They’d been squadron-mates or members of the same flight wing who lived and worked and played cheek-by-jowl every day; later they’d been fellow ship-captains from the same battle group, men and women of proven competence whose actions and thoughts became thoroughly known over weeks or months of duty on a distant combat station. But this group was largely composed of unknowns, at least as far as Bondarevsky and the other Goliath officers were concerned. It made him edgy to know he’d be depending on total strangers not just for the success or failure of the operation, but possibly for his very survival.