“But this is different. This is something completely outside our previous context.
“It’s quite possible that one of the Ambassadors has secret orders to try to wring some additional advantage for his own country out of the peace talks,” he added. “Or…”
He broke off and swore. “It’s the Russians.”
Ted blinked. “How can you be sure?”
“If necessary, the Ambassadors have orders to cede space the aliens already hold in exchange for peace,” Fitzwilliam said. “Give us ten years of breathing space and we might be able to… renegotiate the agreement. No one really wants to surrender human-settled systems, but we might not have a choice. And that would include the surrender of New Russia.”
“The Russians would be furious,” Ted said, very slowly. “But would they want to prolong the war in hopes of liberating their world?”
“They’d be dependent on us to liberate their world,” Parnell added. “They’re down to their last carrier, I believe, and only a handful of frigates. There would be no liberation unless we or one of the other spacefaring powers did the heavy lifting.”
“And someone might well have started to pressure the Russians into making concessions while they’re down,” Fitzwilliam said. “The Russians have suffered the worst of any of the spacefaring powers. Someone else might have decided to take advantage of their weakness.”
Ted frowned, more perturbed than he cared to admit. “Have we taken advantage of their weakness?”
“Not as far as I know,” Fitzwilliam said. “But if the war ended with a return to the status quo…”
He allowed his voice to trail off suggestively. Ted barely heard him. If there was a spacefaring power that had good reason to hate the aliens, it was the Russians. Even if the war ended tomorrow on decent terms the Russians would still need decades to rebuilt their lost military and economic strength. And New Russia sat on a handful of tramlines, tramlines the other spacefaring powers would want to use. It was quite possible the Russians feared losing everything in the wake of a peace agreement that left the aliens in control of New Russia… or losing influence and power even if they did recover New Russia.
And there was a team of Russian observers on the ship.
“Watch the Russians,” he ordered, “but don’t take your eyes off anyone else.”
Parnell smiled. “We’ll try, sir,” he said. “But the diplomats are very good at checking their cabins for bugs. I think we’ll have to watch from a distance.”
He shrugged. “With your permission,” he added, “we will provide dummy access codes to the CAG. He can send them to the blackmailers and… hopefully, they’ll use them. And then we will know who they are.”
“And then we can remove them,” Fitzwilliam said. “Five days to Target One, Admiral. And we still don’t have any idea what the Russians — or whoever the blackmailers actually are — want.”
Ted nodded. The blackmailers had played a card when they’d forced Schneider to work for them under threat of exposure. They wouldn’t have shown their hand unless they had something in mind for him, some way to use him for best advantage. And that meant they intended to use him soon, or they wouldn’t have run the risk of exposing themselves. And that meant…
He shook his head. “Give me a nice naval battle any day,” he said. He looked at Parnell. “Give them the dummy codes, but make damn certain we can override them if necessary. I don’t want them to be in any position to harm this ship. If the techs think we can let them think the virus is in place when it isn’t, do it. If not, Schneider will have to tell them that he doesn’t have access permission to upload anything to the main command network. He certainly shouldn’t have that permission.”
“Aye, Admiral,” Parnell said.
“There is an alternative,” Fitzwilliam mused. “We pretend to discover the affair and put both Schneider and Labara in the brig. Or claim we caught him trying to upload the virus. They’d pull in their horns and pray to escape discovery, instead of causing further trouble. Then we can honour the agreement with the… happy couple at a later date.”
“We might not learn precisely what the blackmailers had in mind,” Parnell pointed out. “Or just who they were. We have suspicions, Captain. Nothing more.”
“No proof of anything, beyond attempted blackmail,” Ted agreed.
He glared down at the deck. Naval combat was understandable. The enemy wanted to kill him and he wanted to kill the enemy. But this counter-intelligence work was like shooting at shadows, with the added disadvantage that some of the shadows might shoot back. And that shooting the wrong shadow might be disastrous. Accusing the Russians — or anyone else — of involvement in the affair would not go down well without very real proof.
And the only way to get that proof was to let the blackmailers proceed, praying all the time they could keep them from doing any real damage.
“Shit,” he muttered. “They must have been out of their minds.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ted felt the tension rising throughout the CIC as War Hog made her first transit into Target One. The aliens had been surprisingly — and suspiciously — absent during the last few star systems, but he had no doubt they would encounter the enemy in Target One. It was, after all, a major alien settlement, even without the orbital facilities they’d smashed to rubble during their last visit. And besides, there were several tramlines leading in and out of the system. The aliens would hardly leave it undefended.
A green icon popped back into life on the display and he sighed, minutely. The odds against running into an alien battlefleet on the other side were staggeringly high, but the aliens had managed to do things he would have thought were impossible before. He watched as the display updated, revealing a flurry of signals from Target One, but little else. The aliens, it seemed, hadn’t invested in repair efforts.
Probably a good idea on their part, he thought. Target One was the only major alien world with a confirmed location. It would make a suitable target for any human raiding formation — and taking out repair ships and yards would cost the aliens dearly. They’d probably prefer to end the war before they started rebuilding the system. But it doesn’t really matter.
“Take us through the tramline,” he ordered. “And then launch stealth probes on ballistic trajectories.”
“Aye, sir,” Janelle said, relaying his orders to the bridge. She sounded harried — and he didn’t blame her. As his aide, she’d ended up handling quite a few of the complaints and whining from various ambassadors and their staffs. And some clear attempts to get on her good side, on the assumption she would continue to have ties with the Royal Family. “All ships are reporting ready to go.”
Ted braced himself. If they were wrong, if an alien fleet was lying in wait, the attack would begin… now. Nothing happened. The seconds ticked away, the display stabilised and started filling up with passive data. No missiles came raging towards them, followed by swarms of angry starfighters. Instead, there was nothing.
“Hold us here,” Ted ordered. “Inform me when the probes pick up something — anything — of value.”
He settled back in his chair and tried to relax as the probes flew into the system, heading directly towards Target One. They were close to undetectable, he knew; the aliens would have to be very lucky to catch even a sniff of their presence. But they also had their limitations. Their passive sensors wouldn’t pick up anything that wasn’t radiating a signature into space, while the further they moved from their mothership, the greater the time delay.