"I'm tired of excuses, Admiral," he grated. "If they are excuses and not a cover for something else. I find it remarkable that your units are so persistently elsewhere when these pirates strike!"
Gomez glared back at him with barely restrained fury, and he sneered.
"At best, your complete ineffectualness cost nine million lives on Elysium, and now this." His nostrils quivered as he inhaled harshly. "I suppose we should be grateful that the million-and-a-half people in Raphael weren't imperial subjects. No doubt you and your people are, at any rate. At least it didn't require you to face the enemy in combat!"
Rosario Gomez rose very slowly and put her own hands on the table. She leaned to meet him, her eyes flint, and her voice was very soft.
"Governor, you're a fool, and my people won't be the whipping boys for your failures."
"You're out of line, Admiral!" Treadwell snapped.
"I am not." Gomez's words were chipped ice. "Nothing in the Articles of War requires me to listen to insults simply because my political superior is under pressure. Your implication that I'm unconcerned by the massacre of civilians-any civilians, imperial or El Grecan-is almost as contemptible as your aspersions upon the integrity and courage of my personnel. If you're feeling pressure from Old Earth, then you have no one to blame but yourself, and I will not stand by and watch you try to shuffle the onus for your own failure off onto the uniformed people of my command!"
Her eyes were daggers, and the tip of one index finger tapped like a deadly metronome as she counted off points.
"I've stated the force levels I believe the situation requires. You have rejected my requests for them. I've shared with you every scrap of intelligence in our possession. You have failed to produce a single useful additional insight into it. I've stated repeatedly my belief, and that of my staff, that we've been penetrated at a high level, and you have disregarded the notion, despite what happened at Elysium. And although you now apparently feel free to besmirch the honor of people who have been working themselves into a state of exhaustion to find solutions, you have failed to suggest a single further avenue we might pursue.
"I believe it must be apparent to any outside judge that you have singularly failed to move one step closer to a solution of this problem, yet you feel free to call my people cowards? Oh, no, Governor Treadwell. Not on my watch. I will welcome any court of inquiry Fleet or the Ministry of Out-Worlds would care to nominate. In the meantime, your statements constitute more than sufficient grounds for a Court of Honor, and you may retract them or face one, Governor, because I will not submit to the slanders of a political appointee who has never commanded a fleet in space!"
Treadwell went absolutely white as the last salvo struck, and McIlheny held his breath. Fury smoked between those two granite profiles, and the colonel knew his admiral well. That last blow had been calculated with icy precision. The Iron Maiden didn't know what retreat was, but she was a just, fair-minded person, acutely sensitive to the total unfairness of such a remark. She knew precisely how wounding it would be, which said a great deal about her own emotional state. Yet it had been born of more than simple fury. It was a warning that there was a point beyond which Lady Rosario Gomez would not be pushed by God or the Devil, far less a mere imperial governor, and McIlheny prayed Treadwell retained enough control to recognize it.
Apparently he did. His knuckles pressed the tabletop as his hands clenched into fists, but he made himself sink back into his chair. Silence hung taut for a long moment, and then he exhaled a long breath.
"Very well, Lady Rosario." His voice was frozen helium, but the venom was suppressed, and Gomez resumed her own seat, eyes still locked with his. "I... regret any aspersions I may have cast upon your honor or that of your personnel. This-this slaughter has affected my judgment, but that neither excuses nor justifies my conduct. I apologize."
She nodded curtly, and he went on with that same frozen self-control.
"Nonetheless, and whatever our past force structure differences may have been, we now face a significantly graver position. The Empire hasn't suffered such casualties, military or civilian, since HRW-II, and the El Grecans' losses are proportionally far worse. You will, I trust, agree that it is no longer sufficient merely to deter or stop these raiders? That it has become imperative that we locate, pursue, and destroy them utterly?"
"I do," Admiral Gomez said shortly.
"Thank you." Treadwell produced a tight, bitter smile, devoid of any hint of warmth. "I may, perhaps, have been in error to oppose your earlier requests for lighter units. That, however, is now water under the bridge, and I have personally starcommed Countess Miller and Grand Duke Phillip to lay the situation before them. My impression is that they are fully aware of its seriousness, and the grand duke informs me that Senators Alwyn and Mojahek are pressing for a more vigorous response. I feel, therefore, that it has become far more likely that Lord Jurawski will respond favorably if I renew my request for additional battle squadrons with your support."
Gomez's lips thinned, and McIlheny felt her silent, sour bile. Months had passed while Treadwell held out for the heavier forces-months, he was certain, in which Gomez could have made major progress had her own, far more modest requests been met. They had not for one reason only: Treadwell had refused to endorse them. Deep inside, McIlheny knew, Gomez shared his suspicion that Treadwell saw this as his last opportunity to command, however indirectly, a major Fleet deployment, and he wondered how the governor's conscience could deal with the dead of Elysium and Ringbolt.
Not, perhaps, too well, judging by the exchange which had just ended.
Yet Treadwell was right in at least one respect. The situation had changed. The pirates, or whatever the hell they really were, had to be hunted down and destroyed, not merely stopped, and the political pressure to use whatever sledgehammer that required could no longer be ignored.
"I still feel that response is neither required nor the best available," Gomez said at last. She flicked her eyes briefly aside to Amos Brinkman, who had sat prudently silent throughout. He showed no inclination to break that silence now, and her gaze returned to Treadwell. "Nonetheless, Sir, anything that gets us off dead center is better than nothing. I will support you if you will also request an immediate dispatch of all available light units in the meantime."
Treadwell sat like a stone, his mouth as tight as her own, and matched her glower for glower. Then, at last, he nodded.
***
Soft music played in the background as Benjamin McIlheny leaned back and plucked at his lower lip. The latest report from his handpicked internal security commander lay on the desk before him, and it made disturbing reading.
Enough Elysium survivors had been interviewed to conclusively prove that Commodore Trang had been duped into letting the enemy into decisive range without even alerting the planet. The colonel had run every possible reason for such suicidal overconfidence through the tactical simulator, and only one of them made any sense. The pirates had to have been detected on the way in, and that meant they had to have been identified as friendly. And, given the high degree of alert the entire sector had maintained for months, no system commander could have been fooled. Therefore, the incoming warship must have been friendly... or else have arrived at such a time and under such circumstances that Trang's people had very good reason to "know" it was.
So. Either it had been a real Fleet unit, or else it had timed its arrival to coincide with a scheduled arrival by something that was. Only there had been no scheduled traffic. McIlheny knew, for he'd personally read every official communication to Elysium. There were many ways pirates could have gotten their hands on ex-Fleet hulls-some members of the Ministry had argued for years that Fleet disposal policies were badly in need of overhaul-yet that wouldn't have helped without proper transponder codes and a scheduled arrival. A low-level agent might have provided the codes or, at least, enough data to cobble up something that looked legitimate, but no one below flag rank could have engineered a false shipping
report to open the door.
No. Someone of the rank of commodore or-McIlheny shuddered-higher must have inserted a fake schedule into Trang's routine message traffic. Someone with access to the authentication protocols required to sneak it in and the ability to abstract and wipe the routine acknowledgment Trang must have sent back. Worst of all, someone who knew there would be no heavy units in the system when the raiders arrived.
The penetration was worse than he'd thought. It was total. Whoever was behind it must have access to his own reports and Admiral Gomez's complete deployment orders-must even have known El Greco was pulling its units out of Ringbolt for maneuvers.
He closed his eyes in pain at the scale of the treason that implied, but it wasn't really a surprise. Not anymore.
All right. No more than forty people had access to all of that data, and he knew precisely who they were. Any one of them might, conceivably, have passed it to someone outside the loop who had the command authority to doctor Trang's starcom traffic, but if they could do that without his spotting them, their chain of communications had to be both short and hellishly well-hidden. In his own mind, it came down to no more than a dozen possible suspects... all of whom had passed every security check he could throw at them. It couldn't be one of them, and at the same time, it had to be.
He straightened and lifted a chip from his desk, weighing it in his fingers. Thank God he'd arranged a link to Keita. He was becoming so paranoid he no longer completely trusted even Admiral Gomez, and the deadly miasma of distrust and fear was getting to him. He'd started seeing assassins in every shadow, which was bad enough, if not as bad as the sense that nothing he did could stop the inexorable murder of civilians he was sworn to protect.
But worst of all was his absolute conviction that whatever twisted strategy lay behind these "pirates" was winding to its climax. Time was running out. If he couldn't break this open-if he wasn't permitted to live long enough to break it open-the vermin orchestrating the atrocities were going to succeed, and that was obscene.
He stood, face hard with purpose, and slipped the chip into his pocket beside the one already there. One would be dropped into his secret pipeline to Keita; the other would be delivered to Admiral Gomez, and both contained his conclusion that someone of flag rank was directly involved with the raiders. But unlike the one to Keita, Admiral Gomez's stated unequivocally that he would know the traitor's identity within the next few weeks.
Benjamin McIlheny was a Marine, bound by oath and conscience alike to lay down his life in defense of the Empire. He would deliver those chips, and then he would take a little vacation time... without extra security. It was the only way to test his theory, for if he was right, the traitor couldn't let him live. The attempt to silence him would confirm his theory for Sir Arthur, and Sir Arthur and the Cadre would know what to do with it.
And who knew? He might actually survive.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Alicia took aInother swallow and decided she'd been wrong; Ching-Hai did have one redeeming feature.
She rolled the chill bottle across her forehead and savored the rich, clean taste of the beer. Monsieur Labin's offices boasted what passed for air-conditioning on Ching-Hai, but the temperature was still seven degrees higher than the one Megaira maintained aboard ship. No doubt the climate helped explain the locals' excellent breweries.
The old-fashioned office door rattled, and she straightened in her chair, lowering the bottle as Gustav Labin, Yerensky's Ching-Hai agent, stepped through it. Unlike Alicia's, his round, bland face was dry, but he didn't even crack a smile as she wiped a fresh drop of sweat from her nose. Not because he lacked the normal Ching-Haian's amusement at off-worlders' want of heat tolerance, but because he was afraid of her. Indeed, he regarded her with a certain fixed dread, as if she were a warhead which might choose to detonate any time. He'd been looking at her that way ever since he arrived to find her sitting amid the ruins of the botched hijacking, and Tisiphone had needed only a single handshake to confirm that Labin had known nothing of his (now deceased) partner's intentions... and that "Captain Mainwaring's" reputation as a dangerous woman had been made forever.
Now he lowered himself into his chair and cleared a nervous throat.
"I've completed the manifest verification, Captain. It checks perfectly, as-" he hastened to add "-I was certain it would." He drew a credit transfer chip from a drawer. "The balance of your payment, Captain."
"Thank you, Monsieur. It's been a pleasure." Alicia kept her face straight, but it was hard. Those poor, half-assed hijackers had been totally beyond their depth. Killing, even in self-defense and even of scum like that, never sat easily with her afterward, yet Labin's near terror amused her. If he ever saw a regular Cadre assault he'd die on the spot.
And the universe would be a better place for it, Tisiphone observed. This man is a worm, Little One.
Now, now. He's all of that, but he's also our ticket to Dewent... whenever he gets around to mentioning it.
The Fury sniffed, but it was her probe which had discovered Labin's shipment. Given its nature and the stature Alicia enjoyed in his eyes, they hadn't even had to "push" him into seeing her as the perfect carrier.
"Ah, yes. A pleasure for me, as well, Captain. And allow me to apologize once more. I assure you neither Anton nor I ever suspected my colleague might attempt to attack you."
"I never thought otherwise," Alicia murmured, and he managed a smile.
"I'm glad. And, of course, impressed. Indeed, Captain, I have another small consignment, one which must be delivered to Dewent, and your, um, demonstrated expertise could be very much a plus to me. It's quite a valuable cargo, and I've been concerned over its security. Concerned enough," he leaned forward a bit, "to pay top credit to a reliable carrier."
"I see." Alicia sipped more beer, then shook her head. "It sounds to me like you think your 'concern' could end in more shooting, Monsieur, and I prefer not to carry cargoes I know are going to attract hijacks."
"I understand entirely, and I may be worrying over nothing. Certainly I have no solid evidence of any danger. I merely prefer to be safe rather than sorry, and I'm willing to invest a bit in security. I thought, perhaps, an increase of fifteen percent over your fee to Anton might be appropriate?"
"My fee to Mister Yerensky didn't include combat expenses," Alicia pointed out, "and shuttle missiles are hard to come by out here. I expect replacing expenditures to cut into my profit margin on this trip."
"Twenty percent, then?"
"I don't know...." Alicia allowed her voice to trail off. Thanks to Tisiphone, she knew Labin was willing to go to thirty or even thirty-five percent to secure her services, and while she wasn't particularly interested in running up the price, neither did she wish to appear too eager. Tisiphone could shape his decisions, but she couldn't guarantee something wouldn't come along later and make him wonder why he'd chosen a given course.
"Twenty-five," Labin offered.
"Make it thirty," she said. Labin winced but nodded, and she smiled. "In that case, if I may use your com?" She reached for the terminal, and Labin sat back as she entered a code. A moment later, the screen lit with Ruth Tanner's face.
"Yes, Captain?" Megaira asked in Tanner's voice.
"We've got a new charter, Ruth. We'll be headed to Dewent for Monsieur Labin. Ready to crunch a few numbers?"
"Of course, Captain."
"Good." Alicia turned the terminal to face Labin and leaned back. "If you'll be good enough to settle the details with my purser, Monsieur?"
***
I do not like this cargo, Tisiphone groused.
"I'm not crazy about it myself," Alicia replied, frowning at the chessboard. She and Megaira had taught the Fury the game, and Alicia and Tisiphone were surprisingly well-matched, though it took both of them together just to lose to the AI.
None of us are, Megaira put in, but we needed one going to Dewent.
"Exactly." Alicia nodded and started to reach for a knight.
 
; Wouldn't do that, Alley, Megaira whispered. Her bishop'll-
Will you two cease that?!
Cease what, Tis? Megaira asked innocently.
You know very well what. Or did you truly think you could think so softly I would not hear you?
"It wath worth a try," Lieutenant Chisholm said from a speaker. "And only a nathty, thuthpithous perthon would have been lithening, anyway."
No one except one who knows you, you mean.
Alicia bit her lip against a giggle, but she didn't quite dare take advantage of Megaira's kibitzing now. So she moved her knight, instead, and sighed as Tisiphone's bishop lashed out and captured her king's rook.
Check, the Fury said smugly.
"You really are a nasty person. If I was virtuous enough not to listen to Megaira, you could've reciprocated by leaving my poor rook alone."
Nonsense. You yourself call this a "war game," and one does not surrender an honorably gained advantage in war, Little One. Nor, I suppose, the mental voice grew more thoughtful, even a dishonorably gained advantage.