"Probably not, sir," Howell acknowledged. For that matter, he doubted he would care to go after them even if he'd been the Empire or the Rishatha. Occupation of an El Grecan colony was unlikely to prove cost effective.
El Greco had been a scholar's world, renowned for its art academies and universities, before the League Wars. Then the Rishatha moved in during the First Human-Rish War, and alien occupation came to the groves of academe.
El Grecans might have been high-brows and philosophers, but that hadn't meant they were airheads, and the Rishatha soon discovered they'd caught a tiger by the tail. The academics of El Greco warmed up their computers, set up their data searches, and turned to the study of guerrilla warfare, sabotage, and assassination as if preparing to sit their doctoral orals. Within a year, they had two divisions tied down; by the time the Sphere gave it up as a bad deal and left, the Rishatha garrison had grown to three corps ... and was still losing ground.
The El Grecans hadn't forgotten a thing since, and they'd decided to turn their surviving universities in a new direction. El Greco no longer produced artists, sculptors, and composers; it produced physicists, chemists, strategists, engineers, weapons specialists, and one of humanity's most advanced R&D complexes. The best mercenary outfits in this corner of the galaxy were based on El Greco, and most of their personnel held reserve commissions in the planetary armed forces. No doubt El Greco could still be had by someone the size of the Empire or Sphere who wanted it badly enough, but the price would be far too high for the return, and no mere Rogue World—or even an alliance of them—wanted the El Grecan Navy on their necks.
More to the point, Commodore James Howell didn't especially want the El Grecan Navy on his neck.
"Excuse me, sir, but are you certain this is something we want to do?"
Control snorted with a wry, almost compassionate amusement and drew deeply on his cigar before he responded.
"Look at it this way, Commodore. The El Grecans are good, no question, but they're only one system. Their entire Navy and all their mercenary outfits together have less firepower than Admiral Gomez, nor do they begin to have the information sources Soissons has. Since your squadron is already completely outgunned, adding one more set of enemies to the mix shouldn't really matter all that much, should it? After all, if we ever face a stand-up fight, we lose even if we win."
"I realize that, sir, but we don't have the same kind of penetration against El Greco. We know what Fleet's going to do before it does it; we won't have that advantage against the El Grecans."
"Ah, but we will!" Control's eyes glittered with true humor. "You see, we're killing several birds with one stone here. "First, your raid on Ringbolt will be targeted on the bio-research unit of the University of Toledo. We have reason to believe they were running close to a dead heat with GeneCorp, so we can recoup our earlier failure.
"Second, hitting a Rogue World offsets the idea that someone's gone to war against the Empire. We have, but it's important that no one realize that. We can get away without hitting any more of the sector's Rogue Worlds— most of them don't have anything worth stealing anyway— but we have to hit at least one to look like 'real' pirates.
"Third, the El Grecans, like the Jungians, want to demonstrate that they aren't behind our attacks, so there's already been a good bit of joint contingency planning—that's now we found out about these maneuvers. Better still, they've accepted the principle of joint command and coordination if they do get hit. The Jungians haven't done that, but even if your attack brings the El Grecans into the field, we'll have good intelligence on their basic posture and operations.
"And fourth," Control's eyes narrowed, "a few of Gomez's people—especially McIlheny—are getting suspicious about our operational patterns. Phase Four at Elysium nailed anyone who might've identified your vessels, but the ease with which you got in was a pretty clear indication you had very, very good intelligence. Even the governor general is finding it hard to ignore that evidence, and McIlheny's got Gomez chewing the bulkheads over it. If you hit a Rogue World with the same kind of precision, it should suggest you have multiple intelligence sources, which may divert some of the heat."
"I was afraid of that when Elysium was selected," Howell murmured, and Control shrugged.
"You weren't alone. It was a calculated risk because we needed an Incorporated World target. Crown Worlds have such low populations that even a total burn-off like Mathison's World doesn't produce the kinds of casualty figures we need to hit Core World public opinion with. Besides, most Core Worlders figure anyone willing to settle a colony world knows the odds and doesn't have much kick coming when he craps out. But an Incorporated World is something else. Elysium has senatorial representation, and you'd better believe those senators are screaming for action after what happened to a third of their constituents!"
"I know, sir." Howell looked down at his hands. "Does that mean we do the same thing on Ringbolt?" he asked in a neutral voice.
"I'm afraid it does, Commodore." Even Control sounded uncomfortable, but his tone didn't flinch. "We can't change our pattern for the same reason we need to hit a Rogue World in the first place. It has to look like we're treating everyone we hit in precisely the same fashion."
"Understood, sir," Howell sighed.
"Good." Control tossed a small chip folio onto the desk and stood. "Here's your intelligence packet. We don't anticipate any problems with it, but if Commander Shu has questions, she should send them back through the usual channels. We can't afford any more direct contact for a while."
"Understood," Howell said again, rising to escort his visitor from the cabin. He forbore to mention that this meeting hadn't been his idea, partly out of diplomacy but also because he'd found it useful after all. Face-to-face discussions filled in nuances no indirect contact could convey.
They paused outside the personnel lock and Control wrung his hand again, not quite so crushingly this time.
"Good hunting, Commodore," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Howell replied, coming to attention but not saluting. Their eyes met one last time, and then Vice Admiral Sir Amos Brinkman nodded sharply and stepped through the hatch.
Chapter Sixteen
Lieutenant Charles Giolitti, Jungian Navy, on assignment to the MaGuire Customs Service, took the time to double-check his data as the boarding shuttle drifted towards the free trader Star Runner. He'd been intrigued when he first accessed the download—and noted the ship's list of auxiliaries—and he wanted to be certain he'd read it correctly.
The information was unusually complete for a recent arrival, he observed cheerfully. It wasn't unheard of for a foreign-registry vessel to arrive with absolutely no documentation, and that was always a pain. It meant its every centimeter must be scrutinized, its every crew member exhaustively med-checked, and its bona fides thoroughly established before any of its people were allowed groundside. Tempers tended to get short all round before the process was completed, but the Jung Association hadn't lasted for four centuries without learning to keep a close eye on visitors. In this case, though, Giolitti had a full Imperial attestation from the Melville Sector, which should cut the crap to a minimum.
He screened quickly through the technical data, eyebrows quirking as he noted the rating of Star Runners Fasset drive. She was as fast as most cruisers—which, he thought wryly, coupled with her limited cargo capacity, was a glaring tip-off as to her true nature. Not that Jungians minded smugglers ... as long as they didn't run anything into the Association.