Badger by Kindal Debenham Page A

for them.” Nivrosky paused and touched another control. “More recently, the Odurans seem to have set their sights on a broader view of the conflict.”
    A wave of purple marks spread like a stain along the border. The systems they highlighted sometimes carried multiple marks, and it was simple to figure out why when Nivrosky continued. “Each of these marks represents an Oduran raid in the past eight months. While none have been attacks in large forces, each strike has claimed Celostian lives. Nearly forty-seven supercarrier-class merchant ships have been intercepted and destroyed. Their crews have been killed or captured. Nearly twice that many personal craft, independent merchantmen, and passenger liners have been taken. Those times when the Navy has been there to stop them, our patrols have been hit hard enough to put several of our ships in the docks, and our crews have taken heavy casualties.”
    Nivrosky fell silent for a moment. Nobody made a sound until he continued. “What caused this shift in policy is unknown. Only a few of our intelligence assets have managed to penetrate Oduran space, and very few have managed to make contact since the last major campaign. As a result, we lack the information we need to anticipate further Oduran operations. Fortunately, we had the chance to obtain a few intelligence reports that may shed further light on the situation.” He turned and gestured to another officer. “Commander Kenning, could you summarize your findings for us?”
    Jacob blinked, surprised. Kenning stood, his friendly demeanor barely hidden behind a veneer of professionalism. He began his report in a somewhat indulgent tone which Jacob hardly thought appropriate for a military officer, but the others didn’t seem to notice.
    “During my work at the Intelligence Center on Tiredel, the reports I have received about the situation on the other side of the border have been less than glowing. With your permission, High Admiral?”
    Nivrosky nodded, and Kenning touched a control.
    The projection of the known systems was replaced by the images of three people. One was a nondescript man in an Oduran military uniform standing at attention. The grey and purple tunic he wore was marked by a row of awards for valor in battle, as well as a rank bar marked with three gold slashes. A second man, in long flowing robes, was in the middle of a rousing speech, his arms outstretched and his open mouth wide. His blue eyes were filled with a self-righteous fury Jacob had only seen in the worst of fanatics, and he did not doubt that whatever the speech was he was giving, he had very little peaceful intent.
    It was the last image that captured Jacob’s attention however. The man who stood there had a hard, unyielding expression, with features that could have been sculpted in granite. He wore formal attire, a severe dark suit with a matching black shirt beneath. His collar was open, and instead of a tie a large, ostentatious medallion glimmered on his chest. Inscribed on the medallion was the symbol of the Oduran League, a world with two hands encompassing it.
    Whil Kenning spoke, the third figure grew more distinct and the others faded. “This is President Myron Banks, the central authority of the Oduran League. He has been in power for nearly twenty years since the death of his father and by all accounts rules as a virtual dictator within the League. While technically the League is an alliance of the various governments it represents, in actuality Banks is free to appoint any members of his family or friends he desires to lead the various League governments. As far as we know, he has not hesitated to place them in places of influence and authority or to use the Oduran military to quell any uprisings or protests against the League. For that reason he has been able to maintain power and prevent the dissolution of the League.”
    The information was hardly new, but Jacob tried to focus. As annoying as Kenning could be on a personal