Chapter 26: Cold Weld — Part 7

Kris smiled, leaning back and waiting. “I’m sending you a picture of Jerem Johnson, acting Diplomat of the Vodian Coalition. As far as I know, we’re in a hospitable mood today. You called us here, so tell us what you want.”

Kris had never been known for his courtesy, and as a pilot he was known for his arrogance. A small data screen glowed with new information. Kris had transferred a full sensor scan of the Baron’s ship, from weapon’s potential to shielding capability, to his combat specialist — Devon. Its weapons were useless against the Intrepid. Its pulse deflectors weren’t designed for battle. The ship wasn’t even retrofitted with modernized weaponry. Kris took this into account as he spoke to Baron Thomson. As Baron Thomson thought about his next words, Kris studied his features. He looked more a scientist than a Baron, with disheveled hair and skin that hadn’t seen sun in decades. In contrast to his pale skin, he was built like an ox. Had he devoted his life to body building, he would have been a solid slab of tone and form.

Baron Thomson had his head turned, and was speaking calmly and quietly with somebody off to his right, he turned back to the view screen, looking a little nervous. “I thank you for your patience, but diplomacy’s not my strongest trait. I’ve been sent by the Triple Union to ask for a military alliance against the Grison Cynosure.”

This surprised Kris, having expected trade negotiations to be the first thing on the Baron’s mind, and then perhaps an alliance. Jerem took over communications before Kris could say anything stupid. Kris let his eyes shut once he was off screen, since he woudn’t be needed for the majority of the conversation. Devon was monitoring sensors, and Jerem would sort out the alliance issue. As far as Kris was concerned, nothing exciting could possibly develop from the stream of useless courtesies. Nothing important to a ship’s Captain, at any rate.

The Intel Officer monitored the transmissions closely, decoding the information and cleaning out the static with a thoroughness that often impressed his superiors. He could only fathom every third or fourth word; the rest was destroyed by distance distortion or undecipherable for other reasons, but the information he did glean was often enough to give the Grison Armada information superiority in battle. The two ships weren’t discussing trade — that much was apparent. He managed to piece together six or seven sentences, and his dark face broke into a frown of concern. The Vodians were normally antisocial, but this sounded an awful lot like a martial discussion. He called to his commander, continuing to transcribe the information as he decoded it.

“Sir, two ships have made contact across the border. I think you’d better listen to their transmissions.” The Intel Officer typed rapidly onto his computer, trying to capture every word.

His Commanding Officer, Commander Hite, moved slowly to the station, and put a small speaker into his ear. Listening carefully, he frowned slightly at the words.

“Notify General Riley. I know we’re not supposed to interfere in Coalition affairs, by order of the General herself, but this is something out of the ordinary.”

“General Riley is hailing us from her ship, sir.” The Communications Officer said, his face made ugly by the bright green hue of his phosphor radar screen.

General Riley’s ancient face materialized on a view screen set immediately to the left of the transmission console.

Hite spoke quickly and politely, “General, I was about to contact you and inform you of — ”

General Riley interrupted him. “My Intel Officer has been monitoring a most disturbing transmission from the neutral boundary between enemy and unknown space, something I’m sure you’re also aware of. We’ll have to take care of this problem before it gets out of hand. Prepare to surrender authority of your flagship to me.” In ten minutes General Riley’s pod docked with the flagship and in five she was on deck speaking with the Commander. “Have you an update on their conversation?”

Hite almost stammered. “It’s hard to translate what little we’ve gathered into something coherent. The ships are using low range, low wattage, encryption pulsed transmission bursts. They’re discussing a mutual alliance of some form. The ships are identified as being Ambassadors from the Triple Union and the Vodia Coalition.”

Riley considered for a moment the severity of the situation. “My orders from Emperor Grison are precise: No hostilities against the Vodia Coalition. A refute from the Vodia Coalition would be costly, they are a dangerous subspecies and have never shown hostilities to anybody who hasn’t directly attacked their home worlds.” General Riley studied the situation closely, putting the pieces together in her mind, considering. “But perhaps a show of force is needed, to make our position understood. Navigator, tell the wing to align for attack, we’re only to target the Triple Union’s dignitary, unless I order otherwise.” The ships jumped into twisted space. “Think of it as target practice.” The General sat down in the command chair.

Despite her advanced age, nobody questioned Riley’s command. Those who did suffered brutal injuries or death. It was rare for Riley to let somebody else take the pleasure of the kill for her, and her reputation for swift aggression was what earned her the position as head of Grison’s military forces. Once, during a mutiny, she had simply opened all the airlocks after donning a suit, and then flew the ship back in solo for a fresh crew. Remembering the mutiny with no small amount of pleasure, Riley allowed herself a contented smile. Her motto, ‘An Unquestioning Crew is a Breathing Crew,’ was blazoned across the entry hatch of her personal flagship. Few in the Grison Cynosure were ignorant of the history behind those words.