CHAPTER FOUR
Captain Barrington Moreau was in a shallow, restless sleep aboard the Dominion of Man War Cruiser Dorian when his aide, Lieutenant Cottros Meekan, awakened him with the bad news.
Meekan was waiting outside the shuttle bay when Barrington arrived. “They’re saying it was some kind of undetected infection,” the lieutenant said as he punched the hatch release. “They’re still hoping they can still save the leg, but they’re warning that it’s going to be touch and go.”
“Understood,” Barrington said, his heart pounding as the two men hurried across the bay toward the shuttle Meekan had prepped for him. Seven days ago, Lieutenant Commander Eliser Kusari, Dorian’s engineering officer, had been badly wounded in the Dorian’s brief battle with the unidentified Troft warships at the flicker-net trap. Even as they escaped from the battle, Dr. Lancaster, the ship’s chief medical officer, had warned Barrington that Kusari’s leg would have to be amputated.
But Barrington had refused to allow the operation. The Cobra Worlds’ records indicated that Qasama had incredibly advanced medical capabilities, and he’d gambled that he could get Kusari there in time to save his leg.
The gamble had worked. Against all odds—and the private expectations of most of Barrington’s officers—Shahni Omnathi had agreed to take in their wounded. Not only had the Qasamans’ medical magic saved Kusari’s leg, but it had likewise brought all the rest of the Dorian’s severely wounded men back from the brink of death.
Only now, it appeared, some of Barrington’s relief had been premature.
And it couldn’t have happened in a worse way, and to a worse person. Though Kusari was quiet and generally nonconfrontative, he was nevertheless one of Barrington’s strongest supporters among his officers. More than that, his patron in the Dome was an equally strong ally of Barrington’s patron. Kusari’s death would be a serious blow to Barrington’s standing, especially in his ongoing clash with Tactical Officer Castenello. “Did they say what he wanted to talk to me about?” he asked Meekan.
“No,” the aide said. “Just that he was calling for you.”
Barrington hissed between his teeth. Normally, there wouldn’t be a need for the captain to fly to the surface to talk to his engineering officer. Radios were everywhere, and with Dominion scrambling technology there was no chance the Qasamans could listen in on any ship-to-shore communications.
But in this case, Barrington wasn’t worried about the Qasaman eavesdropping nearly as much as he was worried about his own officers getting an earful. Kusari had been quietly looking into ways to identify the Troft ships they’d fought at the flicker net, and he might have thought of something new that he hadn’t yet had a chance to relay to his captain.
If so, it could be vital that Barrington get that information before anyone else. Especially Castenello.
The shuttle’s pilot, copilot, and Barrington’s five-man Marine guard were already strapped into their seats as Barrington climbed through the hatch. “Do you want me to go with you, sir?” Meekan asked.
“No, that’s all right,” Barrington said as he dropped into his seat and started strapping in. He was already making a suspiciously big deal about this by going down to Qasama personally. He had no intention of turning it into a parade that Castenello would be bound to notice. “I left a message with Commander Garret that he’s to take my watch. Go to CoNCH and make sure he has everything he needs.”
“Yes, sir.” Meekan hesitated. “Good luck, sir.”
It wasn’t exactly the correct farewell for the situation, Barrington mused as the shuttle dropped away from the Dorian and headed groundward. But he understood what the younger man had been trying to say. Good luck dealing with the Qasamans. Good luck to Kusari.
And good luck to Barrington himself if Kusari didn’t make it.
The Qasamans had a van waiting for them at the landing area that had been set up earlier to handle the Dominion medical shuttles. Three minutes after climbing out of the shuttle into the heavy and oddly aromatic Qasaman air, Barrington and the Marines were striding through the front door of the hospital.
A middle-aged woman in hospital garb was waiting for them. Her smock was rumpled, Barrington noticed, and there were deep stress lines in her face. “Follow me, please,” she said, turning and striding quickly down the right-hand corridor.
“Has there been any change?” Barrington asked as he and the Marines followed.
“Commander Kusari is still alive,” the woman said over her shoulder. “That’s all I know. In here.”
She led them through a door into a wide corridor with doors opening off both sides and a circular nurses’ station in the middle of the corridor. There was a ring of monitors on each of the two central desks, and as the group passed the stations Barrington noted that one of the monitors showed an overhead view of an operating room. Grouped around the table were half a dozen white-robed people, working feverishly on their patient’s leg.
Even with the patient’s face half covered by the anesthetic mask it was clear that it was Kusari.
And he looked terrible.
Barrington felt his stomach tighten as they hurried past the station and the monitors. Even that quick glimpse had been enough to show the gauntness of Kusari’s face and the tenseness in the shoulders of the surgeons working on him. Kusari was in serious trouble, and Barrington could only hope he would be in time to hear whatever the commander had to say.
“In here,” their guide said, stopping beside a closed door with what seemed to be warning signs in Qasaman script. “Through the airlock is a changing room where you’ll need to strip down and don sterilized clothing.” Her eyes flicked to the Marines. “I’m afraid there’s only room for one in there, but there are two other rooms. Shall I take your escort to them?”
“Yes, thank you,” Barrington said. He turned and pointed to two of the Marines. “You, and you—go with her. The rest of you stay here.”
He turned back to find the woman had the door open, revealing a short passageway that ended in another door. “In there,” she said, pointing. “Don’t open that door until I close this one.”
“Understood,” Barrington said, stepping into the corridor. He reached the second door and glanced over his shoulder to confirm the woman had closed the first behind him. Then, bracing himself for the worst, he pushed open the second door and stepped through.
He got two steps before he stopped short, blinking in confusion.
It wasn’t a changing room, at least not like any such facility he’d ever seen. This room was narrow and curved, with a single row of a dozen seats at the far end that faced a glass wall. Beyond the glass, sunk three meters below him, was an operating room, dark except for a few muted lights.
As near as he could tell, it was the same operating room he’d just seen on the monitor outside. Only now, it was deserted.
His first horrified thought was that he was too late. That Kusari had died on the table and been removed while Barrington was covering those last few meters to the changing room door.
And then, his brain caught up with him. Tearing his eyes away from the empty operating room, he focused on the space he was standing in.
Aside from Barrington himself, there was only a single occupant. He was seated in one of the center chairs, his back to Barrington, making no move or sound. Perhaps, Barrington thought through his frozen brain, he was waiting for his visitor to take the lead.
And now that Barrington finally had it figured out, he decided he might as well. Whatever was about to go down, he’d already lost the opening gambit. He might as well face the rest with some dignity. “Good morning, Your Excellency,” he said. “Nicely played.”
“Thank you,” Shahni Omnathi said without turning around. “My sincere apologies for the deception. I needed to talk to you in private, and this seemed the only way to do so.”
“And Commander Kusari?”
“Alive, perfectly well, and recovering nicely.”
“You took a risk, you know,” Barrington pointed out. “What if we’d tried to contact him before I came down? Or his Marine guards?”
“Oh, I’m quite sure you did call him, Captain,” Omnathi said. “You or your people. We’d taken the precaution of shielding his room from all transmissions. As to his guards, they’d already been informed he was being moved here to the hospital for further tests, which was I’m sure what they told your men.”
“Clever,” Barrington said. “What if I called my ship or my Marines right now?”
“This room is also shielded,” Omnathi said calmly. “At any rate, there’s no need for dramatics or concern. I merely wish that I be allowed to ask you a question, and that you give me an honest answer. After that, you and your Marines will be free to leave.”
“What if you don’t like the answer?”
“You’ll still be free to leave.” Omnathi half turned, presenting his profile to Barrington. “Come now, Captain. It’s not like we haven’t already made private agreements together. Surely a private conversation isn’t so far out of line.”
Barrington grimaced. Yes; the Squire, with Jody Moreau Broom and her friends aboard. Most likely headed to their deaths. “You could have just invited me,” he pointed out, circling around the end of the row of seats and coming over to Omnathi.
“Would you have consented to come without your guards?”
Barrington sighed as he sat down beside the Qasaman. The Cobra Worlds records had indicated that Omnathi was extremely good at reading and manipulating people. He should have remembered that before he went charging off to the shuttle. “I’m here,” he said. “Ask your question.”
“Thank you.” Omnathi gestured toward the empty operating room below them. “First, I want you to understand why I chose this place for our conversation.”
“I assume because this is the room where you saved Commander Kusari’s leg,” Barrington said. “That was the record of that operation you had playing in the nurses’ station, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Omnathi confirmed. “And you’re correct: I wanted to remind you of what we did here. Not just for Lieutenant Commander Kusari, but also many others of your crew.”
“I’m not likely to forget,” Barrington said, some of his anger fading away. He did indeed owe Omnathi and the rest of the Qasamans. And the Shahni was right; he wouldn’t have come here without his guards.
That might not prove a good thing. For either of them. “What do you want to know?”
“You’ve been searching for us for a long time,” Omnathi said. “That effort has cost a great deal of effort, as well as the lives of many people on Caelian, Dominion, and Cobra Worlds citizens alike.” He paused. “Very simply: why?”
There were lies Barrington could tell, he knew. Easy lies. Believable lies.
The Dominion was looking for lost colonies. The Dominion was concerned about all human lives. The Dominion wanted to look at the damage the recent Troft attack had inflicted so that they could help.
They were lies Commodore Santores would have ordered him to tell, lies that would help defuse Castenello’s inevitable list of charges at the next Enquiry Board that the tactical officer chose to call.
Lies that Barrington was weary of telling. To others, and especially to himself.
“The Dominion of Man is at war,” he said. “We’re fighting a consortium of Troft demesnes—we’re still not sure how many are in the group.”
“How are you doing in that effort?”
“When we left Dominion space about nine months ago, not too well,” Barrington admitted. “Right now—” He shook his head. “No idea. At any rate, our mission was to get around the Troft Assemblage, contact the Cobra Worlds, if they still existed, and—” he braced himself. “Try to draw off some of the enemy.”
“You mean lure them into an attack?”
Barrington nodded, his throat aching. “We were supposed to build a military presence on the Cobra Worlds,” he said. “More realistically, the appearance of a military presence. Certainly neither our task force nor Aventine has the resources or infrastructure to create a genuine threat. But the planners at Asgard—that’s where our military command is located—didn’t think that would matter. Once the enemy noticed the build-up—and we fully expected the word to get back to them quickly—it was hoped they would withdraw forces from the battle front and bring them here.”
“And we would be left to their mercies?”
“No, not entirely—” He broke off as the word suddenly penetrated. “You said we?”
“Of course, we,” Omnathi said, his voice going dark. “It’s perfectly obvious what Commodore Santores’s new plan is. Instead of luring the Trofts to the Cobra Worlds, you intend to lure them to Qasama.”
“I didn’t—” Barrington broke off. Tired of the lies. “Yes,” he confirmed. “For whatever it’s worth, I don’t like the plan. Any of it. I never liked it from the start. Neither did my patron back in the Dome.”
“But you were desperate,” Omnathi murmured. “You of the Dominion. And desperate people do whatever is necessary to survive.”
Barrington looked sideways at him. He’d expected the Qasaman to react to the revelation with blazing fury or at least a cold, bitter rage. But there wasn’t any such tone in the other’s voice. “I don’t expect you to understand,” he said. “Our culture—”
“On the contrary—I understand all too well,” Omnathi interrupted. “We faced that same decision during the Troft invasion. Many times.” He shrugged. “Which doesn’t mean we agree with your conclusion or your plan, of course.”
“Of course,” Barrington said. “As I said, I don’t like it myself.”
“But you have no alternative to offer?”
“No, I don’t,” Barrington said, frowning as a sudden thought struck him. Barrington himself certainly had no alternative plan…but sitting beside him was a man who was reputed to be the best strategist on Qasama. “But perhaps you do?”
Omnathi gave a little snort. “You give me far too much credit, Captain. The finest minds in your Dominion of Man have puzzled at this problem for months without an alternative. Yet you expect me, who has only now heard the true situation, to find a solution all the others have missed?”
“I don’t give you any more credit than you deserve, Your Excellency,” Barrington countered. “And to be perfectly honest, I don’t know how much effort those fine minds on Asgard and in the Dome put into this plan. The Cobra Worlds have been half history and half myth for so long I doubt the planners even thought of the citizens as human beings anymore. If they didn’t care to factor in the cost of colonist lives, the idea of luring a Troft force to their destruction may have looked good enough that they stopped right there with their planning.”
“What about the lives of you and the others aboard your ships?” Omnathi countered “Don’t they matter?”
“In a war, sacrifices have to be made,” Barrington said. “And this isn’t quite the straight-up suicide mission you’re probably thinking. There’s one more piece to the strategy that I hadn’t mentioned: there’s a second task force coming in behind us, and already on its way. Once the Trofts have launched their attack on us, the secondary force will suddenly appear behind them and catch them in a cross-fire. With luck, we’ll destroy them completely. At the very least, there should be considerably fewer ships to rejoin their allies on the Dominion front.”
“Perhaps,” Omnathi murmured. “Though they would be fools to send so many ships to this battle that even their total loss would seriously diminish their efforts at the primary front.”
“If the balance of power isn’t already right on the edge,” Barrington said. “It might be. And if they’re thinking tactically, which they may not be at that point. There are indications they may be on the edge of desperation.”
“An ironic statement, if I may point that out.”
Barrington winced. “No argument there,” he conceded. “But the number of ships lost or not lost may not matter. Troft alliances are notoriously fragile, and a solid defeat here might induce some of the members to withdraw and pursue a separate peace with the Dominion. At any rate, any uncertainty or chaos we can create in the Troft ranks is to our advantage.”
“Even if it costs you your lives?”
Barrington felt his throat tighten. “We’re the defenders of our worlds,” he said. “If by our deaths we can secure peace and freedom for those worlds, that’s our job. Yes, even if it costs us our lives.”
For a moment the room was silent. Barrington gazed out at the empty operating room, wondering how many such rooms it would take to treat all the casualties if the Trofts took the bait.
Too many, he suspected. Far too many.
Beside him, Omnathi stirred. “I will consider the problem,” he said. “Perhaps there is another way.” He half turned toward Barrington. “My question is whether Commodore Santores would accept an alternative if it was offered to him.”
The reflexive words—of course!—unexpectedly stuck in Barrington’s throat. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I personally would grab a better plan with both hands. But there are those who believe Asgard’s plans and pronouncements come straight from God’s mouth. They might require more convincing.”
“Commodore Santores?”
“Not so much him,” Barrington said, a small pang of guilt flickering through him. Dominion Fleet personnel weren’t supposed to talk about their fellow officers this way. Particularly not to outsiders.
But with hundreds of thousands of civilian lives hanging over the chasm, propriety no longer seemed so important. And the more information Omnathi had, the better his chances of coming up with an alternative plan. “But Captain Lij Tulu is definitely one of them. So are a few of my officers.”
Omnathi chuckled. “You might be amused, Captain, to know that throughout much of Qasama’s history the words of the Shahni were also considered to be on a level with those from heaven. Our peoples—or our cultures at least—are not so different than you might imagine.”
“Perhaps,” Barrington said. “Though our military structure isn’t necessarily an accurate reflection of the Dominion in general.”
“Your overall culture isn’t like that?”
Barrington ran the question over in his mind. The Dominion’s strong centralized government; planetary and local governments whose job was largely to carry out the Dome’s orders; people who accepted those orders without complaint…
“But of course, that’s not really relevant to the problem at hand,” Omnathi continued. “I appreciate your honesty, Captain. Though it’s no less than I would expect from a member of the Moreau family. I will consider our joint problem, and search to my fullest ability for a solution.” He gestured. “And now, your two Marine guards will have finished preparing themselves to join you in the operating room. You had best go and assure them that all is well.”
“Before they start shooting,” Barrington agreed, standing up. “Thank you, Your Excellency. I’ll look forward to our next meeting.”
“As will I,” Omnathi said, remaining seated. “Farewell, Captain Moreau.”
Barrington again circled the line of seats, wondering distantly if the Qasamans were really going to just let him and the Marines leave. He had, after all, just threatened their entire world with destruction. There were plenty of war theorists on Asgard who would agree that this was practically the definition of a justifiable preemptive strike.
He was still waiting for some kind of move against him when their shuttle settled back into its place in the Dorian’s hangar bay.
Meekan was waiting for him outside the main hatch. “We received a call from the Qasamans half an hour ago, sir,” the lieutenant said as the two men headed for the elevator. “I understand Commander Kusari is all right now?”
“Yes, he’s fine,” Barrington said.
“Ah,” Meekan said. “Did they tell you what the problem was?”
“It seems to have been a false alarm,” Barrington said. Clearly, Meekan was hoping for more details.
Barrington wasn’t about to give him any. Not yet. He would upload the bare bones of his visit into the data stream, but that was all. “Inform Commander Garrett that I’ll be taking back the watch as soon as I reach CoNCH,” he told Meekan.
“Yes, sir,” Meekan said. “And I know he’ll be anxious to see you. He hasn’t put it on the data stream yet, but it looks like Ukuthi has left.”
Barrington frowned, something cold running up his back. “Ukuthi’s gone? Where? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Meekan said. “Garrett said a first-approximation on the vector wasn’t very helpful—it didn’t point to any known system. He was going to keep fine-tuning the data in hopes of having something more useful before he released it.”
“Good,” Barrington said grimly. “Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll go see how he’s doing.”
He headed to the elevator, a hard knot forming in his stomach. Ukuthi, a senior commander of the Balin’ekha’spmi demesne, had worked very hard to nurture this arrangement with the Dominion on behalf of his demesne-lord. Why would he suddenly leave now, especially without telling Barrington what was going on?
But the Troft was gone, and there was nothing Barrington could do about it. Which was just as well, given that he had a far more urgent matter to attend to.
He had no illusions that he was smarter than the strategists on Asgard. Maybe there were no other practical alternatives to the plan they’d come up with to siphon off some of the forces threatening to overwhelm the Dominion.
But he was damned if he was going to sacrifice the lives of fellow human beings—Cobra Worlds citizens or Qasamans—without at least taking a crack at it himself. And that meant pulling up and studying every detail of the task force’s plan.
And if he or Omnathi did find some alternative…
Barrington scowled. He’d told Omnathi that Santores wasn’t one of those who believed orders from Asgard carried divine weight. But that didn’t mean the commodore would violate them without a very good reason. If he or the Qasaman came up with an alternative, it would be up to Barrington to sell it to both Santores and Lij Tulu.
But surely he could. After all, both of them were reasonable men.