One hundred years earlier a virus had destroyed all of the consumable crops Refuge had planted, and turned what was already in storage to rotten mush. Within the space of thirty days, Refuge lost virtually all of its wheat, corn, barely, rice and vegetables. As the threat of immediate starvation loomed, King Adolf, Beatrice’s grandfather, came to the rescue. He sent thousands of freighters carrying foodstuffs. When Victorian’s own supply of foodstuffs ran low, he dipped into the Victorian treasury to buy more from the other Sectors.
Then he sent Victorian’s best agricultural scientists and agronomists to Refuge to trace the cause of the blight and eradicate it. And then, over the next ten years, Victoria supplied Refuge with enough seed stocks to restart the beleaguered planet’s agriculture program. A very grateful Council of Elders from Refuge had asked what Refuge could do to repay Adolf and Victoria for their efforts. Adolf had famously replied: “We are none of us alone. Today we have the honor of helping you, but the day will come when we in turn must ask your favor. We only ask that you remember us with kindness.”
The Council of Elders had replied by building a monument in the middle of a large park, with words carved a hundred feet high out of living rock:
“Refuge honors its debts.”
Grant nodded to himself. Then Livy Wexler caught his eye. “There is one more thing, Captain,” she said. “The last report from our recon drone showed the Dominion fleet around Cornwall is pulling out.”
“Let me guess,” Grant said. “They’re heading towards Refuge.”
Livy nodded.
“Okay, then,” Grant said briskly. “Contact the Galway and the Kent. Rig for full stealth and set a course for Refuge. Let’s see if we can find our misplaced space station.”
“And one more thing, Captain.” She leaned in closer and he thought she was going to whisper something about their night together. “After this meal, we’re out of food.”
“What?” Grant was bewildered. For the past several days he had worried about Tilleke commandoes, Dominion war ships and how to get back to Victoria, but he had never even considered something so prosaic as food. “How did that happen?”
Livy shrugged. “When we left Victoria for Tilleke, we only stocked a week’s worth of food. Everyone thought if we needed more we’d just get it from the supply ships. Then in some of the fighting part of the refrigeration system got knocked out and we lost most of what was left. Now we’ve got enough for one real meal, plus about another day or so of hard rations.
“Suffering Gods,” he said irritably. He ran a hand through his hair. Food? “Okay, check with Galway and Kent and see if they’ve got any to spare.” He shook his head. Food.
On the Space Station Atlas, Admiral Douthat was confronting a belligerent Captain Wicklow. Or rather, being confronted by him.
“What do you mean, mutineers?” Admiral Douthat looked incredulous.
“They disobeyed a direct order during combat, that’s what I mean,” roared Captain Wicklow. “I gave them a direct order to come back to Atlas and rejoin the Home Fleet and they disobeyed. They deserted, I tell you, deserted! And their ring leader is that wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant, Tuttle, who acts above her station and presumes authority she does not have! I want orders for their arrest.”
Douthat eyed him warily. Captain Wicklow was a personal friend of Queen Beatrice’s brother, Harold. He was a mediocre tactician with little sense of strategy, but he knew politics and played it well.
“Captain, I’m sure there is some misunderstanding here. We’ve received a report from the New Zealand that they were attacking the Dominion supply ships-”
“Oh, we attacked, all right!” Wicklow interrupted. “Did that report tell you that Captain Grey recklessly led us directly into an ambush? That because of her negligence we suffered severe damage and loss of life. She used poor judgment, Admiral, very poor judgment.”
Now Admiral Douthat eyed him skeptically. “Captain Grey successfully destroyed the first set of Dominion supply ships and then led the attack to destroy the second group. Are you-”
“Captain Grey was injured, killed or has been displaced by her subordinates,” Wicklow said flatly. “All I know is that she was not in charge at the time we encountered a Dominion force of at least forty ships.” He eyed her through hooded lids. How much did she know? How much could he push this?
“I suspect that her lieutenant, Tuttle, has something to do with this. When I gave her a direct order, she had the audacity to put targeting sensors on my ship and threatened to shoot!” Wicklow raged, while meanwhile a part of him coolly assessed the impact all of this was having on Admiral Douthat. “This is treason, treason in the face of the enemy! I want her arrested, Admiral. I want her arrested and punished!”
Douthat sighed. There was no time for this. Atlas was only a day away from the wormhole to Refuge. There was so much to do. But she ignored Wicklow at her peril.
“Captain Wicklow, I want your full written report on the matter on my desk in an hour. Meanwhile, provision your ship and prepare for orders. We expect to be attacked in force very soon and I will want you ready. Do you understand?”
“My ship will be ready, Admiral. You can count on us.”
You self-righteous little toad, Douthat thought. “Do you have any idea where the rest of the Coldstream Guard was going?”
Wicklow hesitated, thinking it was probably not helpful to tell the Admiral that Tuttle intended to lead yet another attack on the Dominion supply ships. “I cannot say, Admiral. We had a superior force bearing down on us and I knew it was imperative to save as many of our fighting ships as possible. I gave the order to pull back so as to preserve our capacity to take the fight to the enemy on another day.”
Admiral Douthat raised one skeptical eyebrow. “We still have no word on the fate of the remaining Coldstream Guards. File your report, Captain. Attach the ship’s log to it. And make it quick, the Dominion will be here soon.”
Wicklow turned away, suppressing a flutter of concern. He’d forgotten about the ship’s logs. Well, he was sure that a little judicious editing would help them to fully support his story.
Chapter 60
In Victorian Space on the H.M.S. New Zealand
Searching for the Space Station Atlas
Twice the Coldstream Guards saw distant DUC patrols on their sensors, but they were far off and posed no threat. Once they saw a formation of drones, but they couldn’t determine whether they were Victorian or Dominion, and so they coasted on under full stealth, except for the New Zealand. Emily had decided to use the New Zealand as the staked goat. If there were any DUC ships lurking about in stealth mode, she wanted them to see the New Zealand and focus on it, allowing the other ships in the Coldstream Guards a chance to pounce. It was a calculated risk…and it left her edgy and anxious, with sweaty palms and a sour stomach.
Space station Atlas was nowhere to be seen. They had been hunting now for twenty hours and had found not a trace.
“We’ve got to find it,” Chief Freidman said anxiously from the weapons console. “We’ve got to. We’re out of missiles and chaff. We’ve got wounded.” He wrung his hands nervously. “We’ve got to find her. We’ve got to,” he repeated plaintively.
Emily frowned. She had a decision to make, and she had already put it off too long. Chief Freidman was their chief weapons officer. If they bumped into a Dominion patrol now, she didn’t think he’d hold up very long. But who to replace him with? His assistant was killed in the initial fighting, when they’d stumbled into the ambush. Sighing, she glanced at Chief Gibson and shook her head very slightly. Grim faced, Gibson slipped out of his chair and went to his friend of twenty years.