Bellegarde turned away from the porthole and leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes as the troopship fired maneuvering jets and swept into the flight deck. He thought of the vidcall to Trish, how he had broken off their three-year affair. Her tears had awakened a tearing sensation in his chest. She had to have known that having an affair with a married man, a Confederation officer no less, would be complicated and lead to either heartbreak or scandal. He had known the same, but Trish had given him all of those things that Melissa had either refused to give or had been incapable of giving. Trish had made him feel whole after twenty-one years of living with a woman who despised his career, who despised everything he believed in. Melissa had talked him out of wanting children, and now, at forty-six, it seemed too late. Though he often found himself feeling uncomfortable around children, he figured that she had taught him that feeling, and he would never forgive her for that. But he stayed married to her, more out of pity than anything else, and had numbed his sorrow with alcohol.
He suppressed a sudden chill as he considered whether he had made a terrible mistake in saying good-bye to Trish. But the admiral had advised him to end the affair, and Bellegarde had complied, both because he had great respect for Tolwyn and because Tolwyn controlled his destiny. Bellegarde wanted a promotion to rear admiral and a fleet to command. Adulterers and sloppy drunks rarely ascended to that particular throne. Keep your nose clean and do what they tell you had been Bellegarde's motto for his entire Confederation career, though he only partially lived up to the ideal. Tolwyn had somehow learned of his failings and had at least given him the chance to redeem himself. Bellegarde had not passed up that opportunity, painful though it was. He opened his eyes as landing skids thudded to the deck.
After the usual check-in and greetings from a few of the pilots who continually invited him to their nightly poker game, Bellegarde accessed the shipboard data net and learned that the admiral was in his quarters. He caught a lift and rode impatiently with two ordnance specialists who stood at attention and would not speak in his presence.
In the corridor outside Tolwyn's hatch, Bellegarde touched the intercom and identified himself. The admiral's distracted greeting piped through the speaker. Bellegarde moved inside and found Tolwyn seated at his comm terminal in the narrow living room, staring at a large flat screen mounted on the bulkhead.
The words accessing inter-ship communications channel glowed on the screen. Tolwyn whirled in his chair. "Good to have you back, Richard. Welcome to the Lafayette system. Have a seat."
Bellegarde crossed to a leather sofa. "Good to be back, sir. I came as soon as I heard."
"Yes, I hated cutting short your leave, but the situation has grown markedly worse."
"I read the briefing you sent along. Where is she now?"
"At Tartarus, launching an attack on Lethe. 1 sent the Tiger Claw, the Mitchell Hammock, and the Oregon to intercept. Paladin's already on board the Claw."
"Excellent. But couldn't we spare more ships?"
"No. In fact we still haven't received word from the Chippewa and the Olympus's escorts. We're down seven capital ships in just three days. Recent intell indicates that the cats are mobilizing in the K'n'Rek system. Seems two of their destroyers and a ConCom were taken out by a Confederation supercruiser. The details are still sketchy, but it seems Aristee left Mylon and traveled through Kilrathi space."
"That seems foolish."
"Yes, it does." Tolwyn paused, and Bellegarde sensed he was holding something back.
"Communications established," came a cool computer voice from the admiral's terminal.
Tolwyn swung back to face the screen. "Excuse me for a moment."
Space Marshal Sandra Gregarov appeared and gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. Her double-breasted uniform with ornate lapels, her curly blonde hair brushed with gray and deftly styled, and her probing hazel eyes afforded her a presence that radiated grace and command. And for as long as Bellegarde had known her, he had never witnessed a single word escape her lips that had not been carefully measured. A supreme diplomat, politician, and an enormously successful line captain during the Pilgrim war, Gregarov had been the joint chiefs' first pick for the
Confederation Navy's highest ranking post. She had served in that position for two years now and had earned a large measure of respect for the freedom she gave and the trust she placed in her subordinates. She had even won the hearts of the Senate, a feat Admiral Tolwyn himself had yet to accomplish. Then again, Tolwyn wasn't in the business of making friends, and his impatience and short temper underscored that. Just as well. Bellegarde would hate to serve a man whose agenda leaned more heavily on pleasing senators than winning wars.
"Ma'am, I assume you've read my latest report," Tolwyn began steadily.
"I have. And frankly, Geoff, I'm worried. My staff has been swamped by Terran News people. Seems a shuttle of survivors from Mylon Three escaped the attack and jumped to Ymir before the Tiger Claw arrived on scene. They sought out the press and gave some unfavorable interviews. I've had to evade the accusations that Confederation forces wiped out Mylon."
"But you didn't-"
"Of course not. We can't afford a public witch hunt for Pilgrims. Not yet, anyway. The press believes we're still investigating the incident. But I can't feed that cock-and-bull story to the Senate. They demand and deserve answers. Bill Wilson's betrayal has already made their faith in us wane. I'll be jumping back to Earth within the hour."
"Then you know what you have to do."
She learned toward the camera, her gaze growing more intent. "Yes, I need to assure them that this mess will be cleaned up swiftly and decisively and that, as previously ordered, any technology valuable to the Confederation will be recovered. Can I do that?"
"With certainty."
"Thank you, Geoff. I'll keep you informed." She broke the link.
"Well, there it is, Richard." As Tolwyn swiveled back, he drew in a deep breath and suddenly appeared much older than his sixty-two years. His watchphone beeped. "Yes?"
"Admiral? Intelligence drone from K'n'Rek just came in," Radar Officer Abrams said. "Data is being uploaded to your terminal, sir."
"Very well. Come have a look, Richard."
Bellegarde rose and stood over Tolwyn's shoulder as the admiral accessed the report. Long-range reconnaissance video showed a thin, tube-shaped haze slowly dissipating in space. Data columns identified the object as the remains of a ship or ships. The officer who had made the report noted in his comments that the haze's composition included elements found in Kilrathi plastisteel and that he suspected that a gravity well had been responsible for the devastation, though no known well existed in the region. The report also indicated that two Kilrathi battle groups had jumped out of the system, their suspected destinations Ymir and Nephele. A third battle group had jumped, its course still unknown.
Tolwyn bolted from his chair. "Mr. Bellegarde. Let's get to the bridge. We need to get the hell out of here ASAP. And we need ships in Ymir and Nephele even sooner."
"Yes, sir." Bellegarde rose and followed Tolwyn to the hatch. "And sir? Regarding that report. How could a gravity well be responsible for destroying those Kilrathi ships? My physics tells me that wells don't suddenly appear and vanish."