Pas de Deux

© 2019 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  rabbi-tom


Varan was on duty supervising a routine maintenance inspection of the Kith’s secondary armament when all of the lights abruptly snapped to emergency blue. A three-note chime was heard over the intercom, and every member of the crew perked up their ears as Captain k’Jen’s voice was heard. “All stations, all personnel, attend.”

“The Fleet Commander has authorized a Step One alert for all units on the Terran border. I repeat, Step One alert. Finalize all inspections and expedite any repairs. Secure the ship for combat maneuvers.” There was another three-note chime and the intercom went silent.

“Aka, the Terrans then?” one rating asked no one in particular.

Another said, “They’ll fire on their own ship. I think if they’re that crazy, they’ll attack us.”

“That hasn’t happened yet,” Varan cautioned. “Let’s get to work and get the weapons ready.”

Less than a cycle later, Varan touched the intercom. “Gartabin, secondaries ready.”

“Very good, Subcommander. All division command staff briefing in five fractions.”

“Yes, sir.” She left the compartment as quickly as she could, headed for the officer’s wardroom and managing to get there just ahead of the Command-Second. As soon as everyone had settled down, Captain k’Jen dimmed the lights and activated the holoprojector.

Terrans had often remarked on the fact that the Kashlani were quite open about the strength of their fleet, thinking that it was a propaganda ploy to intimidate the Confederacy. However, it was Imperial policy to be honest about it, while the size of their merchant fleet (a truer measure of a nation’s strength and resiliency) was a closely guarded secret.

A huge swath of the border between the Empire and the Confederacy was awash in small gold points as thirty-five thousand warships of all types began phasing out of hyperspace, with two dreadnought battle groups centering on Downtime Station. Any conversation died immediately as the staff officers took in the sight.

In the stillness Gartabin k’Jen said, “These are elements of the First and Third Fleets. Supply transports and parts of two Army battle groups are still awaiting orders to deploy. The Kith, Baraxjir and the rest of our patrol division are still under regional command until or unless the Fleet crosses the border.

“At this moment, we will not invade Terran space,” he said, and Varan felt the tight knot in her liver loosen slightly. “The Supreme Marshal and the High Admiral have chosen to send an unmistakable signal to the Confederate government, so the fleets are here to see how they will respond.” The lights brightened slightly. “Questions?”

“What are our orders if they decide to attack?” Varan’s superior asked.

“We patrol and defend,” k’Jen replied. “Terran ships approaching the border will be challenged and turned back. Any that do not will be attacked and disabled.”


***


Admiral-General al-Sakai crumpled the piece of hardcopy in her fist. The paper detailed the note from the Imperial Embassy to the President, explaining the “demonstration” at the border while at the same demanding that the furs that attacked their diplomatic staff with a hemorrhagic virus be given to them “immediately.”

Well, that was a matter for the President, to whom al-Sakai issued very specific orders. The lioness and the Cabinet were already in space and in the process of declaring a state of emergency. The Colonies, caught between the Confederacy and the Empire, could be reliably expected to follow suit and join their military forces to Terra. The Imperial message offered a priceless opportunity, and Sarafina was known for being adaptable.

She had already contacted Felix, and given him a single word. By the time she saw the end of this day, her son would be in command of the entire Confed Fleet, and the Colonies would either bow or be crushed.

The leopardess’ lips drew back from her teeth in a feral expression as she stepped into the command center, waving aside aides who saluted her. The center was one of several in Sol System, this one tunneled deep beneath Mount Kenya. A few more centers were in space, with one in synchronous orbit if it became necessary for the nation’s command authority to abandon Terra.

The Admiral-General mused on abandoning the home world anyway, just for appearance’s sake.

Several analysts were already jacked into the strategic planning AIs, their faces vacant. What they’d have to say when they came out of datatrance was apparent to al-Sakai as soon as she saw the numbers of Imperial ships on the border – Terra was outnumbered. Not fatally, but the balance was clearly in favor of the shlani.

Time to even the odds, then. The addition of the Colonials would help redress the imbalance, but she had one more piece for the board.

She stepped into a databooth and sat down, a privacy barrier immediately activating around her. The barrier was designed to foil eavesdropping by any means; not even a lip-reader could make out what was being said through the visual distortion field.

“Command interface,” the leopardess said. “Authority Olympus 258469A.” She had no AI interface port behind her ear; speech would have to suffice.

“Accepted. Voice ID verified. DNA verified. Orders?” the AI asked. It had a pleasant voice.

Al-Sakai’s tail held still. “Blue Thunderbolt. Accept command priority override Uluru 6885.”

“Command priority override accepted, two-person rule abrogated. Option Blue Thunderbolt active. Target?”

She bared her teeth again. “Gwath ka-shlal,” she snarled.

“Target accepted.”