Wreaths of Empire Page 7

  Iverson inclined his head. “Permanent?”

  “Regrettably.”

  “I’ll have to clear it with the general commanding that sector—”

  “Don’t. Just take care of it quietly and let me know when it’s accomplished.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “About the other matter…”

  “Uh…” Iverson scratched his head. “Lafrey arrived on time. She went to Greatmount as expected. Her mother did pass away; I checked on that. Nothing suspicious.”

  “So what do we make of it?”

  “Not a lot, sir. We were expecting her to show up about this time, either way. She may have stopped en route, or not.”

  Gellner huffed.

  Iverson spread his hands. “Wait and see, sir. That’s all we can do.”

  “Wait and see,” Gellner complained. “That’s what this whole infernal war has turned into. Wait and see.”

  Gellner indicated the door. “Get lost, Iverson. Let me think.”

  Iverson nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Gellner reached for a storage slot in his desk, then stopped the movement when he noticed that Iverson was watching him.

  “Something else, Major?”

  “No, sir.” Iverson saluted and left.

  Alone again, Gellner retrieved a small, flat, octagonal device from the storage slot. He set it on the desk in front of him and studied it. Once, he would never have considered using a neuralstim as an escape from pressure. But once, he’d been young and idealistic. And once, ordering the deliberate death of a subordinate would have been unthinkable.

  Once.

  But what was one life compared to the end of a decades-long war?

  And he himself wasn’t immune from repercussions, either. There was the possibility that he could bear the brunt of any fallout if things went wrong. But it was worth it. Anything was worth it to bring this wretched war to a successful end.

  He set the timer on the neuralstim, leaned back, and allowed waves of pleasure to banish the cares of command from his mind.

  TWO

  Jade lay in bed hoping to fall asleep, trying to convince her eyes to stay closed and her mind to stop working. Both refused to cooperate. The dull tan wall, blurry and indistinct, wavered persistently in her visual fields, while her mind insisted on tugging her across lightyears of space and eleven years that seemed a virtual infinity of time. She tossed and turned while her mind conjured up the same images over and over again.

  Captain Mears-Hadley lying dead on Retribution’s blood-stained deck.

  The stream of bodies disappearing into the blackness of space.

  Stone-faced Colonel Reichert preparing to deliver his verdict.

  The bleak, nightmarish surface of Covenant.

  The dreary, repetitive headlines of war, upon which not even the best journalist could put a convincing spin.

  The mysterious, hostile Gara’nesh.

  The orgy of destruction at Felton 114.

  Ship-keeper Nahanni. Reichert’s shuttle leaving Retribution with Nahanni on board.

  Felton 114.

  Captain Mears-Hadley—

  Not again!

  Jade awoke to a flash of disorientation, for a moment not knowing where she was, but only knowing she didn’t want to be there. Then the barracks-like quarters asserted themselves with stultifying solidity, and the disorientation passed almost as suddenly as it had come. The vision of Felton 114 faded.

  The chrono readout on her visual implant informed her that it was just after six am standard time—one hour before the negotiations were due to commence. What the local time was, she didn’t know, nor did it matter. There weren’t any locals to care about such things. She wondered what time of day it was for the Gara’nesh.

  Jade hauled herself out of bed and went through her customary exercise routine. At the end, she experienced twinges in a few muscles that didn’t normally bother her, but she expected that, since the conference center’s grav fields were set for Earth norm, not the lighter Windward gravity to which she had become accustomed. Attendees from even lower-grav worlds would certainly notice the difference more than she.

  She showered off her sweat, then pulled on the two halves of her dress uniform. The edges touched and meshed together into a seamless whole. She brushed her hair into place and applied the merest hint of makeup; Ashton’s Star blazed brightly enough over Windward to tan most people whether they wanted it or not—some people liked the effect, while others went to extremes to lighten their skin tone. Jade accepted it.

  She touched up her full lips with pale bronze lipstick, remembering as she did so that Troy had always liked that particular shade.

  Troy…she had missed him for so long. Gradually, the longing had faded as she told herself she’d done the right thing, but it had never gone away completely. She’d forced herself to live with the regrets and even, on rare occasions, to welcome them. A touch of martyr complex? A hint of pride that she’d suffered in the cause of peace?

  Never one for breakfast, she sipped a cup of coffee and thanked her strong constitution that transition lag never affected her very much. A few extra minutes to get going in the morning and that was all.

  She tossed the cup into the recycler, exited into the corridor, and followed the colored strips on the walls towards the negotiation center.

  The actual room where the negotiations were to be held formed a nidus between the human and Gara’nesh portions of the conference center. Despite the early hour, minor functionaries, guards, and maintenance technicians scurried this way and that, attending to a myriad of last-minute tasks.

  The door to the room was shut, flanked by a pair of guards in full combat suits.

  Level A Clearance Only

  In case anyone coming this far didn’t know that, large red letters made it plain. Jade halted to be scanned and identified.

  “Commander Lafrey, I presume.”

  Jade pivoted towards the source of the unfamiliar voice. A bulky man, round-faced, his brush-cut sandy hair protruding in short spikes, stood behind her, within arm’s reach. A band of freckles ran across his nose and spilled onto his cheeks. Relaxed, friendly, manner open, his face invited trust and welcomed confidence. But his mouth was too large, and positioned far enough above his chin that it seemed to crowd his nose.

  The silver spiral-inside-a-triangle symbol of a political officer glistened on the breast of his maroon uniform. Below that, a small galaxy symbol, indicating his rank.

  Despite his manner, her hackles rose.

  “Major Iverson?” Jade queried. She had studied this man’s service file last night. Typical Political officer. He’d followed the usual career path, received the usual commendations. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as she could tell. She wondered why a relatively low-ranking officer had been assigned to the peace conference. Surely it rated a full colonel if not a Political general.

  “Correct.” He nodded. “Are you checking out the facilities?”

  “Yes.”

  He rested a hand lightly on her arm. She resisted the impulse to jerk it away. “Let me show you.”

  He submitted to a scan, and the door slid aside. In the negotiation room, interior lights shone from concealed niches. A pair of technicians worked on a console, one standing, the other lying on his back underneath.

  A transparent partition divided the oval room in two. Visible on the far wall, a large hologram of eccentric circles—the insignia of the Gara’nesh Suzerainty—shone in a shade of metallic green. Jade looked over her shoulder to where the silver on black spiral galaxy symbol of the Hegemony sparkled on the wall behind her.

  Iverson gestured to the partition. “The Gara’nesh see farther into the ultraviolet than we do. Their light would be both harmful and painful for us.”

  “And our light is correspondingly dim for them,” Jade added.

  “They enjoy higher ambient temperatures.”

  “And the negotiations must be conducted in person, since they have an aversion t
o holographic representations.”

  Iverson’s fleshy lips twitched. “I see you’re well informed on our adversaries.”

  “I’d hardly be much use to Admiral Stalker otherwise,” Jade replied.

  “You have a reputation,” Iverson commented. He moved down a step to examine one of the consoles, and looked back up at Jade.

  She remained where she was. “Of what sort?”

  “Of being…how shall I put it?” Iverson waved a chubby hand. He smiled. “Highly competent, if not completely orthodox.”

  “Would you care to explain that statement?”

  “In your attitude towards the negotiations.”

  Jade cocked an eyebrow. “You know my position?”

  Iverson shrugged. “I know everyone’s position. You hope to see a permanent peace treaty enacted.”

  “I’m sure our philosophical stances about the negotiations are diametrically opposed.”

  Iverson’s expression remained friendly. “The official position of the Political Bureau, which I’m instructed to uphold, is that the negotiations are at best unnecessary, and at worst dangerous.”

  “I wasn’t aware the Political Bureau had a position of its own,” Jade said.

  A slight tightening of Iverson’s cheeks preceded his response. “The Political and Ideological Bureau is capable of independent thought outside of the dictates of the Central Committee.”

  “What a novel idea.”

  “Your reputation doesn’t do you justice.” Iverson’s mouth barely moved.

  Jade tried to remain pleasant. “We shall have to disagree, then, shan’t we?”

  Iverson’s freckles pulled together. “Please remember, Commander,” he said, “that I am the official expert on the Gara’nesh, no matter what you know—or think you know. My opinion is what matters.”

  “I’m here to assist Admiral Stalker, that’s all,” she replied simply.

  Iverson’s too-pink lips curved into a bland smile. Jade wondered how much time he spent practicing it.

  “In that case, I hope we can remain on neutral—if not friendly—terms.”

  “Fine with me.” Jade nodded. “Just keep in mind who’s the senior officer and act accordingly.”

  Iverson’s smile froze. He chewed his words. “Rank is not the only thing that matters.”

  “No, but it helps. In future, Major Iverson, kindly address me as ‘ma’am’.”

  The door opened again before Iverson could reply. Charles Stalker entered, followed by a pair of guards in black uniforms who took up station on either side of the entrance. The technicians closed an access panel, picked up their tools, and departed.

  “Ah, Jade,” Stalker descended three steps. “At it early?”

  “It wouldn’t look good to walk in at the last moment, sir.”

  Stalker checked the time. “Ten minutes. I see you and Major Iverson have met.”

  “We were discussing the arrangements.”

  Stalker surveyed the room. “Everything appears to be in order.” He glanced at Iverson. “No doubt the Political Bureau will be recording everything?”

  “As will Intelligence,” Iverson replied, staring hard at Jade.

  “Of course,” she said. “And the Admiralty too, no doubt.” She touched Iverson’s shoulder as she crossed towards Stalker, speaking softly towards the Political officer. "Cuts down on misunderstandings.”

  “We’ll be over here, Jade,” Stalker pointed to where an arced console curved across the front of the room. Five chairs were positioned directly behind it, with several others behind and flanking them. “Governor Travers on the left, then me, Central Committee Member Maricic in the center, with Admirals Gellner and Koharski on the right. Aides in the second row, including you and Major Iverson. Everybody else gets the back benches.” He indicated the rows of seats occupying the rear of the room.

  Stalker touched a sensorpad in front of his seat. The surface of the console illuminated with a highly schematized map of the colonized galaxy, both human and Gara’nesh. Red graphics highlighted contested star systems. He turned it off again.

  “We must present a unified front,” said a man’s high-pitched voice from the rear of the room. Jade recognized it instantly and turned, as did Stalker and Iverson. Fleet Admiral Lewis Gellner entered, accompanied by two women. “The Gara’nesh will pick up on the slightest sign of weakness or indecision.”

  “But we don’t have an acceptable numerical superiority,” protested one of his companions, an older woman with iron-grey hair and a lined face. She wore the uniform of a first admiral. “Without that—”

  “I concur totally with your sentiments, Admiral Gellner,” the second woman interrupted. “Whatever we think in private, it’s essential that we speak with one voice.”

  “Committee Member present!” one of the guards snapped belatedly.

  Stalker, Jade, and Iverson saluted and Stalker said, “Welcome to Covenant, Member Maricic.”

  “Thank you, Charles.”

  Stalker continued, “May I introduce Commander Jade Lafrey, Sector 7's chief of Intelligence, and Major Blair Iverson.”

  Maricic’s eyes passed over Iverson without a flicker and focused on Jade. She held out her hand. Jade took it, her mind numb and her chest tight. She had never before been in the presence of a member of the Central Committee. As one of the ruling body of the Hegemony, Maricic was practically a law unto herself, excepting the handful of other Members. It really didn’t matter how many admirals and diplomats were at the conference—the outcome would be up to Maricic.

  “Commander,” Maricic said, her voice low and cultivated. “A pleasure to have you on the team. Admiral Stalker has spoken highly of you.”

  Maricic appeared to be in her early thirties, but Jade knew from studying her dossier that she had already seen forty.

  Jade couldn’t remove her gaze. Maricic was, by anyone’s standards, a beautiful woman. Finely proportioned, she moved elegantly, clad in a shimmering turquoise garment that was half uniform, half gown, and totally stunning. Cut short at the sides, her jet black hair trembled on the tips of her ears, and fanned at the back to reach between her shoulder blades. A pair of sapphire and diamond earrings matched a necklace glittering around her throat. Her slender nose had the perfect amount of flare.

  Flawless skin and lips possessed of the merest suggestion of fullness made for an unforgettable face. But it was Maricic’s eyes which caught and held Jade. People had told Jade more than once of the effect of her own green eyes. But looking beyond long, curved lashes into Maricic’s pale grey eyes was like looking into a mist, and equally unrevealing.

  “I’m honored to meet you, Committee Member,” Jade murmured. Stalker continued, “Fleet Admiral Gellner, Chief of Naval Operations.”

  Jade let go of Maricic’s hand and faced the slight, dark, fidgety Admiral.

  “It’s been a long time, Commander,” Gellner said, his smile flat.

  “Very long, sir.”

  “Six years ago, was it?”

  “More like ten, sir.”

  Gellner chuckled. “Time flies.” He addressed Stalker, “She was a raw lieutenant right out of officer training when she was assigned to my staff. Nervous to beat anything.”

  “Not any more, sir,” Jade said, her ears warm.

  “First Admiral Cylena Koharski,” Stalker completed the introductions, “Chief of Technical Support.”

  The older woman accepted Jade’s greeting with a curt nod. Despite Koharski’s ash-colored hair, Jade guessed the admiral to be in her fifties.

  Gellner looked behind as the door slid open again. A knot of people entered. Gellner beckoned to the leader, a middle-aged man wearing an olive-colored suit, who stepped forward. “Richard. We were just performing introductions.” He gestured. “Do you know Commander Lafrey and Major Iverson? Governor Richard Travers.”

  Jade shook hands with Sector 4's civilian governor. “We’re acquainted,” she said.

  “May I suggest, ma’ams and sirs—” Ive
rson spoke for the first time since the introductions began.

  “Yes?” Maricic demanded.

  Iverson pointed to a red light that winked on Gellner’s console. “The Gara’nesh delegation is approaching. I think it would be advisable if we were to be seated. The Gara’nesh would consider it a mark of respect.”

  Jade shot him a surprised glance. Iverson looked amused.

  “Very well.” Maricic moved down the steps and settled herself in her chair.

  The three admirals and Governor Travers did likewise, followed by Jade and Iverson. A rustle from the rear indicated the cluster of functionaries, aides and observers subsiding. Richard Travers’ aide—a young, jittery-looking female civilian—sat on Jade’s left, and Stalker’s—an equally juvenile male lieutenant—sat on her right, separating her from Iverson.

  “As a matter of protocol,” said Iverson, “I’d suggest that one of the admirals speak first. For Member Maricic to speak without proper introductions being performed would be considered inappropriate.”

  “What about Richard?” Maricic asked. “He’s a diplomat.”

  “Uh, no. An admiral would be more…uh…respectable than a governor.”

  “Charles?” said Gellner. “You’re better at speeches than I am.”

  Stalker acquiesced gracefully. “Fine.”

  Jade held her breath as the moment approached. The Battle of Felton 114 and her first meeting with one of humanity’s enemies had been the pivotal, defining incident of her life, setting the course that she had subsequently followed. How had she ever had the temerity to think that an academy-raw lieutenant could bring about peace by rescuing a Gara’nesh commander? Her naivete had brought her the unwelcome attention of the Political Bureau. It could have gotten her killed.

  And yet, it had also brought her here, to what might prove to be another pivotal moment.

  A door in the middle of the far wall slid open. The low hum of conversation from the functionaries stopped as if a switch had been thrown. A half-dozen barrel-chested, spindly, humanoid figures filed silently into the other half of the negotiating chamber and—sat? perched?—in tubular metal constructions that looked as though they would be painful for human use.