Ричард Бейкер - Valiant Dust

“Fregattenkapitan Harper of SMS Panther, who happens to be the senior officer in His Imperial Majesty’s service present in this system,” said Kalb. His voice took on a tone of disgust. “The Aquilans objected to our landing. There was a battle in orbit, and the Aquilans won. They require us to withdraw from the planet.”

“They can’t do that!” Bleindel checked to make sure the alley was clear, then headed off in what he thought was the right direction, making the best speed he could. “As long as we’re in control of the capital, the question of which government is legitimate remains open. This situation is retrievable.”

“Not while the Aquilans are in orbit and we are not,” Kalb said. “They can scrub us off the planet any time they please with targeted kinetic strikes, and I have no ground-based batteries that can take on an enemy cruiser. Now, you must excuse me—I have twenty-two minutes to get the rest of my troops off this miserable hellhole. And that means you have twelve minutes to get to the mosque, or we’ll leave without you. Kalb, out.” The screen went dark.

Bleindel swore and came within a hair of throwing his comm unit against the alley wall. He looked around once more, then broke into a ragged, painful lope.

He made his pickup with thirty seconds to spare.

25

Tanjeer, Gadira II

Five weeks later, the gardens of El-Badi Palace still showed the scars of the fighting. Sikander could see ugly bare patches where mortar bombs had scythed down flowering shrubs or blasted away century-old trees, and one of the more handsome fountains was now missing its centerpiece sculpture; as he understood it, the leaping dolphins had been deliberately riddled with mag-rifle fire by insurgents who could find no other way to express their anger at the sultan after occupying the palace grounds. He wondered if the sculpture would be repaired, replaced, or perhaps redesigned entirely.

“I am glad they allowed you to come down and say good-bye, Sikay,” Sultana Ranya Meriem el-Nasir said to him, and drew herself closer to his side. They strolled slowly through the least-damaged part of the gardens, surrounded by vigilant guards who kept a respectful bubble of space around the two of them as they walked. “I was worried that I would not get a chance to see you before you left.”

“A request from a planetary sovereign requires attention. Commodore Thompson really had no choice but to comply.” A small Aquilan squadron now orbited overhead: Pandarus and Paris had arrived shortly after the Dremish withdrawal, along with a commodore and his staff to establish a temporary Commonwealth station in what had clearly become a sensitive system. Hector herself had departed ten days ago with the aid of a fleet tug, returning to Caledonia for repairs … and leaving Sikander behind, since Acting Captain Chatburn had thrown him off the ship at the first opportunity. Now a courier ship prepared to depart for Caledonia in a few hours, and Sikander had been ordered to be on board.

“Are they really going to charge you?” Ranya asked. “From what I have heard, you are the hero of the day.”

“The board of inquiry has not even begun its deliberations,” said Sikander. That, of course, was why he was no longer serving aboard Hector. Officers facing accusations of the sort hanging over his head couldn’t remain in their billets, especially not when their commanding officers had drawn up the charges. Consequently, Sikander and Darvesh had been temporarily assigned to the Fourth Cruiser Squadron staff while the Commonwealth Navy tried to decide what to do with him. “Commander Chatburn filed serious charges against me, but I’ve heard that Commodore Thompson is something of a poker player. Apparently he was quite impressed by my so-called bluff against the Dremish, and it helps that I was right.”

“I once read that back on ancient Terra, there was an empire that had a military decoration for officers who won battles by disobeying orders,” Ranya said.

“The Military Order of Maria Theresa, from ancient Austria. I ran across that story just a few days ago when examining my own situation. It turns out that it’s a little bit of a myth that it was only awarded for disobeying orders.” Sikander looked back at Ranya and smiled. “But it was awarded for officers who exercised their own initiative, especially for acts ‘that might have been omitted by an honorable officer without reproach.’ If this were ancient Austria, I’d like my chances.”

Ranya laughed. “I will see to it that you leave with a Gadiran decoration, by the way. Your superiors may have a hard time censuring you after the Sultanate of Gadira publicly thanks you for your intrepid actions.”

“For that reason only I would be honored to accept. There are others who deserve recognition more than I. Captain Markham, for example.” Sikander paused to study a flower bed full of spectacular yellow-orange blooms—Gadiran sunroses, perhaps? He was not entirely sure, but he thought that it might have been the very spot where Sultan Rashid had captured Elise Markham during his garden party on the day he’d met Ranya. The memory of Captain Markham brought both a smile and a shadow to his face; far too many of his shipmates had joined her in death. Chief Torpedo Mate Maroth had been killed by a grazing hit near the torpedo room. Pilot Second Class Long had died in the hangar conflagration, Lieutenant Isaako Simms when sick bay was smashed by a direct hit from a K-cannon. Many more had been injured, some severely: Magdalena Juarez had lost most of her hand to a bad electrical burn, but remained on her station without even acknowledging her injury for twenty-four hours straight as she fought to keep the Old Worthy under power and patch the worst of its damage. Hiram Randall had survived a fractured skull and severe concussion, but it would be months before he could return to active duty. The engineering experts on Commodore Thompson’s staff doubted whether Hector herself was worth repairing; at the very least, she’d be in the yards for the better part of a year.

Ranya recognized that his thoughts had turned to more serious matters. She merely stood and waited by his side for a long moment while he gazed over the tropical flowers and thought about the men and women he knew who would not be going home. Finally, Sikander gave himself a small shake and smiled for her sake. “I saw the intel reports this morning,” he said. “Congratulations on the capture of Salem el-Fasi. That must come as a great relief to you.”

“It does,” Ranya replied. “He didn’t really pose a threat, not after the insurgents stood down and allowed the Royal Guard to retake Tanjeer, but there is much he must answer for. Weeks of pointless fighting around Meknez, for example.”

“Any sign of his friend Bleindel?”

She shook her head. “As far as we can tell, he disappeared in the Sidi Marouf after the Dremish withdrawal. I suppose he saw no reason to prop up a puppet if that puppet wasn’t actually on the throne. Which reminds me: Please let the Commonwealth authorities know that Gadira would be greatly interested in extraditing him if he turns up again.”

“I will,” Sikander promised. He doubted that Otto Bleindel would present himself for apprehension any time soon; as far as he could tell, it was still an even chance whether the Empire of Dremark would go to war with the Commonwealth of Aquila over “the Gadira incident,” as it was being referred to in general newscasts. The diplomatic furor almost defied description, but the fact that both sides seemed unwilling to push the issue to general hostilities struck him as a hopeful sign. The Dremish had gambled on bold action to improve their position, and lost: The whole business of being caught backing coups and launching small invasions had left them with little support from the other great powers in the Coalition of Humanity. Sikander had heard that Dremark might disavow the whole thing as a case of local commanders exceeding their orders, in exchange for which the Commonwealth government would pretend to believe them.