It wasn't good.
He closed his eyes, silently cursing the Baron. There was no denying that the initial plan of the Baron, to have a temporary armistice, was indeed a good one, no matter how humiliating it might be. Later, once things were finished, the blame for the humiliation could be shifted back to the Baron and away from the shoulders of the Imperial line.
It was the inner intent of the Baron which was disturbing. Already he was trying to marshal support from the other clans against the Imperial blood, while quietly working to extend the armistice far out beyond the original intent. It was obvious now that the true intent was to let the armistice continue, place the ultimate blame on the Emperor, and then somehow seize power himself. When that was accomplished this new fleet would fall into his hands, he would overawe the humans with it and thus secure victory and his own control of the throne.
The alternative, the Prince realized, was to preemptively strike on the humans right now. But the problem was that the fleet was not yet ready for that. It would be at least another six eights of days before the fourth carrier came on line. All battle simulations had shown that the full strength of twelve carriers was needed for an overwhelming victory. Beyond that, the twelve carriers would need more than forty eighties of fighters and. more importantly, trained pilots, for them to be useful. So far he had drawn pilots only from those hrai truly loyal to the throne. That was the difficult part of the equation. Far too many of the Imperial Guard pilots had been lost at Vukar, and it would be at least another year before their losses were made good.
If he delayed, his military strength would grow, and the humans would weaken, lulled by the false peace. That they would be so stupid had caused him to lose whatever respect he had once held for them as foes worthy of the testing of steel.
There was the chance as well that some in the Confederation military might try to get the hard evidence regarding the new fleet and its intended target. That they even had suspicion of its existence had been a blow, the information revealed by their all so foolish traitor.
Turning her had been so easy, he thought with a cold smile. Her only son had been captured during the Third Enigma campaign. That was a prize to be sure. Her discontent with the war, and her political ambitions to replace the president were known. The discreet passing of a holo of her son alive, and in confinement had broken her will. To have a Foreign Minister of the enemy working for you was indeed a great thing. She had been promised much and if, when the Confederation was destroyed and she was still useful, they would keep her as a puppet. The only problem with her was that it appeared that she was under suspicion and thus blocked from certain key information, especially regarding the reports of a Confederation secret project to build a new class of weapons. That was a concern as well, for if their side delayed, they might reach their goal and shift the balance of the war. It was another argument against delay, even though every passing day made the Confederation weaker and the Empire stronger.
Yet if he delayed, the discontent in the Empire at the humiliation of peace would grow as well, and be focused upon the Emperor by the maneuvering of the Baron.
It was a balancing act which had to be played out delicately, and he sat in the silence of his war room, lights dimmed, and quietly formed his plans.
Prince Thrakhath returned to his desk and settled back down, punching up the latest reports on his screen. From the ambassador all was still going well. The Confederation government was starting to protest more loudly about the endless minor violations of the truce.
"Look, it's all perfectly legal, you've got the papers, the titles are transferred, now get off this bridge," Jason snapped.
The lieutenant looked down again at the sheaf of paper in his hand and back up at Jason.
"Ah, Mr. Bondarevsky, I've been ordered to have you wait until the peace commission has fully reviewed this matter. You and your people are to leave this ship at once."
Jason turned away and punched into a ship comm line.
"Gloria, how's reactor?"
"Up and cooking, sir."
"Masumi, we on line yet with pulse engines?"
"Can give you maneuvering thrust."
Jason looked back at the lieutenant.
"Mister, if you don't want to go for this ride, you'd better clear the bridge."
The lieutenant looked at him and a thin smile crossed his features.
"Good luck, sir," he whispered, snapped off a salute, and left the bridge.
Jason went over to his old command chair, and sat down, a light puff of dust swirling up around him. He looked around at his skeleton crew which were manning the bridge. Normal ship's complement was just under five hundred personnel — he had only thirty-five. Nearly three quarters of a full crew were either support for the three squadrons the ship would normally be carrying, or for the weapons systems, but even without them, running the ship was going to be a chancy operation. And with only three Ferrets, and a Sabre on board that had yet to be transferred off, he felt very naked.
"The Lieutenant has cleared the landing bay," Sparks announced on the comm, "and is back aboard the docking station."
"Close off the docking collar, Sparks, and disconnect external power."
"Already done, sir, docking collar disconnected, external power cut and withdrawn."
Jason looked over at his helm crew.
"Take us out of here."
A barely perceptible vibration ran through the ship as Masumi tapped into the reactors, lighting up the nuclear pulse maneuvering engines. He felt a cold shiver run down his back.
"Velocity at 225 meters per second," helm announced, "heading 31 degrees, negative 8."
"By God, we're on our way," Jason laughed, coming to his feet
A cheer went up on the bridge, the crew laughing, slapping each other on the back.
"Ship 2291, respond please."
It took a moment for Jason to realize that the incoming message was for him, the caller using his ship's decommissioned identification number.
The communications officer looked over at him and Jason raised his hand, signaling for her not to open a line.
"Ship 2291, you are in violation of peace commission procedures for title transfer. You are ordered to turn your vessel about and return to the decommissioning yard at once.
"Ship 2291, you are . . ."
"Turn that damn thing off, Jason snapped and the communications officer switched the speaker off.
"Helm, set course for jump transit point 17A and let's get the hell out of here."
"Come on, you two," Jason said, looking over at Ian and Doomsday and they followed him off the bridge.
Picking up a small package he left the bridge and started down the corridor out to the hangar bay. Reaching the bay he paused and looked around. It actually looked big for a change. It was, of course, almost empty of fighters, and it seemed strange to see it like this. He opened the package up and unfolded the commissioning flag of Tarawa. He hung it back up in its old spot, next to the roll of honor. A light film of dust was on the honor roll and using his shirt sleeve he wiped it off, stepped back and without any feeling of self-consciousness, he came to attention and saluted
He heard a light clicking of heels and looked over his shoulder to see Sparks at attention, saluting as well. She came to at ease and smiled.
"It's good to be back with our friends, Jason."
He smiled, realizing that for the first time since he had known her she had called him by his name. It took him a moment to even recall hers.
"It certainly is, Janet."
Her features flushed a bit
Ian coughed in a very self-conscious manner and nudged Doomsday.
"Come on, buddy, let's go clean up the pilot ready room," and the two left.