“Surrender to a bunch of murderers?” He waved a hand at the display.
Caitlin opened her mouth, and then closed it again without speaking. The admiral was right. They couldn’t surrender, not when it meant their certain deaths. The only thing they could do was keep firing, and pray for a miracle.
“Father,” Henrietta said, “they saved my life…”
“Be quiet,” Justinian snapped.
Caitlin watched numbly as one of their remaining superdreadnaughts vanished from the display, followed quickly by one of the smaller ships. The enemy switched their fire to other targets and, suddenly, the admiral’s ship was targeted heavily. New damage started to mount as enemy missiles slashed into the hull. The shields were failing…
“Admiral…” she began.
And then the hammer of God struck the ship. There was a brief moment of fire and pain, and then nothing.
“Admiral, the last of the enemy ships is trying to surrender,” Raistlin reported.
Marius stared at him.
“They’ve cut weapons and drives, sir,” he told him. “They’re only maintaining their shields.”
“Hold fire,” Marius ordered. The darker part of his mind told him to finish the job, to obliterate the madmen who’d fought an impossible battle and lost. But he refused to listen to it. “Toby, launch a Marine Recon unit to secure the damaged ship.”
“Aye, sir,” Vaughn said.
“And send a message to Harmony,” Marius added. “Inform them that we have won the battle and that we require their immediate surrender in order to end further bloodshed.”
“Aye, sir,” Raistlin said.
It took an hour to receive Harmony’s unconditional surrender. Marius spent the time checking on his ships. The savage battle had inflicted far more damage than it should have, leaving too many of his ships out of commission for the time being. At least they’d have access to Harmony’s shipyards, once the surrender had been finalized.
He was still mulling over the possibilities when Vaughn called him and informed him that he had sent a file to his private database. Marius opened the file and watched in horror as Bester was purged of unreliable elements, men and women who had surrendered—along with their families. He’d promised them safety—and now they were dead.
Gritting his teeth, he looked over at Williams, who was surveying the reports from the teams that had been dispatched to secure the shipyards, and felt cold rage pouring through his heart. No wonder Admiral Justinian had refused to surrender. He had had good reason not to trust Marius’s promises…
Damn you, he thought angrily. He wasn’t sure if he was angry at the commissioner, at the Senate, or at himself for not realizing that leaving someone like Scudder in charge was asking for trouble in the first place. What are you going to do next?
Chapter Forty-Six
Messages from the Senate have absolute priority on the Interstellar Communications Network. Everyone else has to pay. The advantages this gives the Senate in reacting to events on the Rim cannot be underestimated.
Earth/Harmony System, 4098
The war had disrupted parts of the ICN. Some sections were delayed because the message had to be conveyed across the interstellar gulf by a starship. But Earth received news of the Battle of Harmony and the death of Admiral Justinian within three weeks of the battle, just in time for New Year’s Day.
Grand Senator Rupert McGillivray found himself considering it as the Senate Committee met at his mansion for the seventh time since the war began. President Yang had made a brief speech to the Senate—and Earth’s news networks—about the end of the war, but everyone knew that his speech had been little more than platitudes. The real decisions would be made in private, well away from the media and the cheering crowds. They did so love a hero, Rupert told himself dryly, yet their cheers wouldn’t last. The mob was always fickle and heedless of any long-term concerns. The Senators couldn’t allow themselves that luxury.
He poured wine into three glasses, passed one to each of his guests. “Lady and Gentlemen, I give you the New Year,” he said, holding his glass high. They echoed him and sipped their wine, the finest champagne from Gaul. “May it be long and peaceful.”
“One would hope so,” Grand Senator The Honorable Carlton Brockington said. He put his glass down and frowned. “There’s no point in dissembling, not here. The war is won. We no longer need Admiral Drake.”
“We may need him to deal with the remaining warlords,” Rupert pointed out mildly. “None of them pose a threat on the same scale as Admiral Justinian, but they do need to be crushed before their example spreads any further.”
“They’re small fry,” Brockington said disdainfully. “Now that we have assured ourselves of the loyalty of the Federation Navy, we can crush them one by one without his help. Let’s face it; he has a fleet that is loyal to him, and a reputation with the mob.” He snorted. “He’s a threat merely by existing. We need to remove him now.”
“We have our contingency plans,” Grand Senator Alison Wallisch said, nodding in agreement. “We can activate them now.”
Rupert kept his face expressionless.
“There is no need to hurry,” he reminded them. “He is going to spend months repairing his ships and securing the remains of Admiral Justinian’s little empire. We don’t need to order his death now.”
“This is precisely the time to order his death,” Brockington said firmly. “The longer we leave him alive, the greater the chance he will decide to act independently.”
“And there was the little matter of his formal complaint,” Alison added. “I don’t know how that got out into the public sphere, but the mob is up in arms about it. The man is dangerous.”
Rupert shrugged. He did know how Admiral Drake’s formal complaint had reached the media; the Brotherhood had slipped it to one of the better reporters in the system. Admiral Drake had demanded that the people responsible for the Bester Massacre be relieved of command and tried for mass murder, reminding the Senate that they’d given their word that there would be no recriminations or retributions. If they were punished harshly, he’d added, it might put the brakes on the insurgency developing within the sector. The Senators had not appreciated his candor, not least because the people responsible for the slaughter had been appointed by the Senate. It had been, Rupert considered, a brilliant public relations move.
“Very well,” he said finally. “May I offer a suggestion?”
They looked at him warily.
“If we send the execution order through the ICN, there is a good chance that the message will be intercepted and decrypted by someone loyal to Admiral Drake,” Rupert pointed out. “I suggest sending the message on a courier boat, one of the fast pickets we use to scout new systems. That would maintain security, and there would be no warning to the target.”
“We need to move fast,” Brockington said. “Besides, the codewords for authorizing the operation are…not likely to arouse suspicion. The ICN will get the message there faster than any starship.”
“And besides, we will be able to deny all knowledge of an ICN message,” Alison added, nodding. “A starship is far more likely to raise eyebrows.”