“It will be my pleasure, your Honor,” Thorella replied, shaking the older man’s hand before he put on his cap and opened the door to leave. The smell of coming rain was strong in the night air. “You know where to reach me.”
As the younger man walked to his waiting speeder, Borge returned to his study to contact his staff. They all had a great deal to do tonight.
“Blast it,” the president said, “how did he find out? The entire bloody Council and Senate is up in arms, screaming that the Executive has withheld vital defense information from them without due cause. Borge has asked for an emergency Council session this morning, and no doubt putting my head on the chopping block will be the topic of discussion.” He had no doubt what the result would be if Borge somehow managed to push through a vote of confidence.
Zhukovski shrugged. “Is not so difficult that he found out, given nature of information,” he said. “Anyone gets idea that Kreelans are backing off, word spreads like fire, and to devil with security.”
“That does not help us, Evgeni,” Admiral L’Houillier said, exasperated. “The fact that your people came up with some analysis like this on the war and were not able to keep it secret–”
“What do you propose I do, admiral?” Zhukovski retorted before his superior could finish. “Shoot my entire staff, their families and friends? Everyone wants war to end, and is willing to pass on good news to others, rules and regulations be damned. But leak of Kreelan ‘withdrawal,’ as good Senator Borge might say was, perhaps, premature.”
“Meaning?” the president asked sharply.
Zhukovski called up a galactic map on the table’s holo system. “Information that Borge received was initial analytic conclusion,” Zhukovski explained in his rumbling voice. “Young analyst of mine saw pattern of sharply increased losses among Kreelan ships and ground forces in battles over last few days, without apparent reason. Further, she found that far fewer Kreelan ships are now in human space than week ago, and offensives on and against many of our colony worlds have suddenly and inexplicably collapsed.” He frowned. “It is as if Kreelans have suddenly lost will to fight. This is information she initially reported informally to me, and I presume is same information received by Borge.”
“I sense a large ‘but’ coming up, Evgeni,” L’Houillier said.
Zhukovski turned his good eye on the senior admiral, nodding his head gravely. “Indeed, it is so. Analyst continued her good works, and discovered what I believe to be Truth, with large T.” The other two men were silent. “Her analysis of STARNET reporting shows that large number of Kreelan warships have passed through trans-Grange and Inner Arm sectors on what looks like converging vectors.”
“Well, where?” the president said impatiently. “Dammit, Evgeni, spell it out!”
“We have only been able to plot location to spheroid of about eight-thousand cubic light years, centered toward galactic hub, past Inner Arm rim worlds.” He sat back, waving his hand dismissively. “But that is immaterial.”
“Why, Evgeni?” L’Houillier asked him.
Zhukovski eyed him closely. “Because, my dear admiral, if projections of my analyst – completed as of this evening – are correct, as I believe they are, no fewer than three thousand Kreelan warships are massed in that sector for what can only be final chapter in this war: total destruction of humanity. And those are ships we know about. There could be more. Many more.”
The other two men sat silent, dumbstruck.
“Three thousand,” L’Houillier whispered finally. “Evgeni, that is impossible! How could they mass that many ships, and so quickly? We do not have half as many warships in our entire fleet!”
“Exactly my point,” Zhukovski said as he took another sip of the over-sweetened tea. “Why Kreelans suddenly die like flies in combat, like drunkards or fools, I do not know. But with three or four thousand ships, even drunkards or fools can destroy Confederation Navy and every colony populated by homo sapiens.”
“Lord of All,” President Nathan whispered, “what shall we do? Evgeni, even if you are completely wrong – which, unfortunately, I doubt – if that information were to reach the press, we’ll have an interstellar panic on our hands. The government will collapse.”
“Borge will not hesitate to use it against you, Mr. President,” L’Houillier said. While he was supposed to be apolitical, the Grand Admiral had no illusions about Borge’s own lust for power, and had no doubt that he would use any tool available to further his own cause. “Nor can we legally keep the information from the Council, even if there were no leaks.”
Nathan nodded. His political position had just disappeared, vanished into a bottomless morass. But that was not his real concern; the people of the Confederation were. “I’ll have to strike a bargain with him.”
“Better to be bitten in throat by venomous snake,” uttered Zhukovski, not relishing the president’s position. He himself despised Borge and his sycophants, avoiding them whenever possible. Unlike L’Houillier, he made no effort to disguise his personal or political likes and dislikes.
“Believe me, Evgeni,” the president said, “I would much rather jump into a pit of such snakes than give Borge this kind of leverage.” He thought of how long he and Borge had been friends, before Borge had changed, been consumed by a lust for power that had made him into something alien, despicable. It’s strange, Nathan thought, how well I thought I once knew him. I wonder what ever made him change into something so evil? “But I don’t have any choice, do I?”
The two military men looked at each other, then at the president – their commander-in-chief – for whom they had worked for many years. They could not exactly call each other friends, but they were close and respected one another.
“No, sir,” L’Houillier said flatly, wishing there was some other way out, “you do not.”
“And what of the Kreelan fleet?” Nathan asked. “Is there anything we can do?”
“I have already taken liberty of calling operations officer,” Zhukovski said, exchanging a look with L’Houillier. The woman, competent though she was, was a political animal who would jump at any chance to get ahead. “I gave her ‘hypothetical’ scenario to model on command computers, to see what best fleet reactions would be.” He winked at L’Houillier. “I explained that Grand Admiral was most interested in such extreme cases to get more money for fleet expansion, and would be most grateful. Results should be available in another hour.”
“Evgeni, you are incorrigible,” L’Houillier said with a wry smile. “You are worse now than as a midshipman.”
They were silent then, each of them turning Zhukovski’s grim news over in their heads.
“Well,” the president sighed, “I guess there’s not much for it. Thank you gentlemen, and please keep me apprised of the results of the simulations. If you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”
The two Navy officers got up, saluted, and left the president as he called in his aide and began to prepare to meet Borge’s onslaught.
“You realize, admiral,” Zhukovski said quietly as the two of them walked down the corridor to the elevators, “what simulations will say?”
“Of course, Evgeni,” L’Houillier said glumly. “Despite Laskowski’s best efforts to show that she can come up with a plan for victory, the computers will show that we are about two thousand ships short. Even if we concentrated every battle group in a single place to defend against a massed Kreelan attack, we would still be outflanked and destroyed, no matter how poorly the enemy fought.”
As they made their way back to Joint Headquarters, Zhukovski wondered about the Kreelans’ sudden lapse of fighting spirit. He made a note to ask someone who might just know.