verbal sallies.
Still, it was nerve-racking to wait, wondering what they were up against.
“You know the skippers of the ships tied up at High Brunswick,” Vicky finally said to Captain Bolesław.
“Yes. The skipper of the Savage , now Reprisal , spent four years just down the hall from me during my Academy years. He was a bit of a rounder. If there was a prank going on, he was likely at the bottom of it. He finished below the middle of the class. I never would have expected him to get a battleship in my Navy. But then, maybe the Reprisal isn’t in my Navy now. Time will tell.”
Yes, time will tell.
Vicky decided she might as well spend some of the time getting a good nap. She was asleep when they reached midpoint in their approach, and the convoy flipped over and began to decelerate toward Brunswick.
The nap had turned into a good night’s sleep and she felt well rested and refreshed by a fast shower and a new set of whites when she returned to the bridge.
“Anything happen?” she asked the officer of the deck.
“Not a thing, Your Grace. The captain is in his in-space cabin, and I have orders to wake him if anything new develops, but it’s been a very quiet watch.”
Vicky turned toward the sensor station. A chief had the watch there.
“Anything to report?”
“The ships at the station are still observing strict emissions control, Your Grace. We have made a thorough analysis of theplanet’s public network. It appears normal. The media is reporting the usual stuff. Cat up a tree. Dog bites dog. We have successfully hacked the police net. There’s nothing like a security presence. The lieutenant told me to tell you that he doesn’t think the Security Consultants have actually landed on Brunswick.”
“Is he absolutely sure of that, Chief?”
The senior countermeasures tech looked pained. “Beg your pardon, ma’am, but there are no absolutes in this game.”
“Pardon me for showing my ignorance. Thank you, Chief.”
“You’re welcome, Your Grace.”
“Would Your Grace care for a cup of tea?” the OOD asked.
“Please.”
Vicky noted that sometime during her nap, a command chair had been added next to the captain’s. On its back was stenciled: GRAND DUCHESS .
Vicky settled in and soon found a steaming mug of tea at her elbow.
She sipped it while staring at the main screen; it showed the planet ahead of them getting larger. Still, it stayed a mystery.
Then the screen lit up. “Stand by for a formal declaration by Count Korbinian, Lord of Karenhall.”
“Runner, wake the skipper,” the OOD ordered, and a seaman striker dashed off.
Captain Bolesław was back on the bridge in a moment, still buttoning up the shirt of his fresh undress whites.
“Has the message come in?” he asked.
“Only the alert,” the OOD said. “Nothing of substance.”
The captain settled into his chair. A chief steward’s mate had a steaming mug of tea waiting for him when he absentmindedly put his hand out while staring at the main screen as if to will it to give up the next message.
So, of course, the screen obeyed the will of the skipper and did.
A man appeared. He looked thirtysomething; his face was yet unlined by age and experience. The red uniform he sported would have been comical for all the gold and silver dripping from it . . . except for the large silver death’s head on each lapel.
As he spoke, Vicky’s eyes were drawn back repeatedly to those two grinning skulls.
“I am Count Korbinian, Governor General of Brunswick, and the Lord Protector of the Imperial Security Zone in which allgood subjects of Brunswick reside. Unknown ships approaching Brunswick, know that we hold your silence to be clear evidence of hostile intent and we will use deadly force on you if you approach this station. Return from whence you come, or face the most serious consequences. This message will not be repeated.”
And the screen went back to its view of still-distant Brunswick.
“It took him that long
Still, it was nerve-racking to wait, wondering what they were up against.
“You know the skippers of the ships tied up at High Brunswick,” Vicky finally said to Captain Bolesław.
“Yes. The skipper of the Savage , now Reprisal , spent four years just down the hall from me during my Academy years. He was a bit of a rounder. If there was a prank going on, he was likely at the bottom of it. He finished below the middle of the class. I never would have expected him to get a battleship in my Navy. But then, maybe the Reprisal isn’t in my Navy now. Time will tell.”
Yes, time will tell.
Vicky decided she might as well spend some of the time getting a good nap. She was asleep when they reached midpoint in their approach, and the convoy flipped over and began to decelerate toward Brunswick.
The nap had turned into a good night’s sleep and she felt well rested and refreshed by a fast shower and a new set of whites when she returned to the bridge.
“Anything happen?” she asked the officer of the deck.
“Not a thing, Your Grace. The captain is in his in-space cabin, and I have orders to wake him if anything new develops, but it’s been a very quiet watch.”
Vicky turned toward the sensor station. A chief had the watch there.
“Anything to report?”
“The ships at the station are still observing strict emissions control, Your Grace. We have made a thorough analysis of theplanet’s public network. It appears normal. The media is reporting the usual stuff. Cat up a tree. Dog bites dog. We have successfully hacked the police net. There’s nothing like a security presence. The lieutenant told me to tell you that he doesn’t think the Security Consultants have actually landed on Brunswick.”
“Is he absolutely sure of that, Chief?”
The senior countermeasures tech looked pained. “Beg your pardon, ma’am, but there are no absolutes in this game.”
“Pardon me for showing my ignorance. Thank you, Chief.”
“You’re welcome, Your Grace.”
“Would Your Grace care for a cup of tea?” the OOD asked.
“Please.”
Vicky noted that sometime during her nap, a command chair had been added next to the captain’s. On its back was stenciled: GRAND DUCHESS .
Vicky settled in and soon found a steaming mug of tea at her elbow.
She sipped it while staring at the main screen; it showed the planet ahead of them getting larger. Still, it stayed a mystery.
Then the screen lit up. “Stand by for a formal declaration by Count Korbinian, Lord of Karenhall.”
“Runner, wake the skipper,” the OOD ordered, and a seaman striker dashed off.
Captain Bolesław was back on the bridge in a moment, still buttoning up the shirt of his fresh undress whites.
“Has the message come in?” he asked.
“Only the alert,” the OOD said. “Nothing of substance.”
The captain settled into his chair. A chief steward’s mate had a steaming mug of tea waiting for him when he absentmindedly put his hand out while staring at the main screen as if to will it to give up the next message.
So, of course, the screen obeyed the will of the skipper and did.
A man appeared. He looked thirtysomething; his face was yet unlined by age and experience. The red uniform he sported would have been comical for all the gold and silver dripping from it . . . except for the large silver death’s head on each lapel.
As he spoke, Vicky’s eyes were drawn back repeatedly to those two grinning skulls.
“I am Count Korbinian, Governor General of Brunswick, and the Lord Protector of the Imperial Security Zone in which allgood subjects of Brunswick reside. Unknown ships approaching Brunswick, know that we hold your silence to be clear evidence of hostile intent and we will use deadly force on you if you approach this station. Return from whence you come, or face the most serious consequences. This message will not be repeated.”
And the screen went back to its view of still-distant Brunswick.
“It took him that long
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