Turn 64, Day 1
Centaurus system, Allied Nations of Earth
The warp point in front of the frigate Outreach was the fifth probe mission, and it certainly hadn’t become blasé. Every transit through a new jump point was an experience in fear and wonder, and so Outreach’s captain, Commander John Ford, had a small catch in his voice as he ordered his ship through the jump point, leaving behind the combined Alliance task force and known space.
The Coalition frigate materialized one hundred and ninety-two light minutes from an orange star, with a secondary red dwarf star offset even further away to the right of the primary. As Commander Ford’s stomach lurched and he struggled to hang on to its contents, alarms started blaring. He looked around his command’s small bridge as he tried to understand what was happening.
The sensor officer’s voice was blurred and sluggish, but his report was by the book. “Unidentified drive field contact at 5.5 light seconds range, bearing 270, not moving at this time. Multiple small objects detected at one-half light second distance, estimate buoys of unknown type.”
Commander Ford struggled to focus through his body’s disorientation. “Continue our turn back towards the warp point! Get those scanners up!”
The bridge crew was firming up as the frigate came around to point back at the warp point it had entered the system through. The sensor officer’s voice was under better control as he made his next announcement. “Long range sensors up! We now show four contacts, now at 090 relative. All are cruiser class, still not moving. One hundred forty-seven small objects surrounding us at point five light seconds are confirmed as buoys.”
Commander Ford stared at the wall mounted display showing the tactical plot. Those ships had to be Raiders, but they could have fired at them already and had passed up the chance. What were they doing? His thoughts were interrupted by the comms officer.
“Sir! Incoming message from the alien ships!”
Commander Ford nodded. They wanted to talk, and apparently that was why they hadn’t fired. He glanced at the mission clock. He had thirteen seconds before they jumped out. He thought about it for a couple of seconds and then nodded to himself again. If they failed to return Admiral Ruston would know why. He had to take this opportunity. “Very well. Helm, come to a halt but be ready to accelerate into the warp point on my command. Comms, put the transmission up on the main screen.”
The main screen at the front of the bridge flickered and then lit up to show, inexplicably, a human woman in a Coalition naval uniform. She was standing in front of a short but solid-looking Raider in some sort of armor. As Commander Ford and his bridge crew gaped at the monitor, she began to speak. “Outreach, this is Commodore Bonaventura. I am speaking to you from the D’Bringi starship Imperial Favor. I have been asked to communicate for the D’Bringi as they have not managed to fully decipher our language yet. May I come aboard?”
Commander Ford settled back into his chair, his mind racing. “I…” He stopped and marshalled his thoughts. “Commodore, I’m happy you are alive, but this situation is…unprecedented. My ship was just supposed to probe this warp point, we are overdue now. I am going to jump back to Centaurus and turn this information over to Admiral Ruston, and he will decide how we move forward. Will the…D’Bringi allow a ship to return to this system without firing on it?”
Commodore Bonaventura turned to the Raider behind her and spoke in something that certainly wasn’t English. After a second the Raider in armor waived his arm and spoke in a more liquid form of whatever language Commander Bonaventura had used. “Keeper-Cleric Half-Hand agrees to allow you to depart, and further agrees that one ship may return in peace, if it does not leave the warp point.”
“Very well. An Alliance ship will return shortly.”
Commander Bonaventura’s right eyebrow arched and she smiled. “Well, well, well. The Alliance. Things have changed. I look forward to your return, Commander.”
The monitor flickered out and Commander Ford nodded to his helmsman. “Chief Mikonos, take us through to Centaurus.”
“Aye, aye sir.” The frigate nosed into the warp point and disappeared. An immeasurably short time later it appeared in the Centaurus system to be confronted by five Allied warships sitting atop the warp point with their weapons and scanners hot.
Commander Ford, while struggling with transit effects that seemed so much worse for having suffered two jumps in less than five minutes, waived at his comms officer, who turned to his board and tried to set up a link. Before he could complete his task a button lit up on his console, signaling an incoming transmission. Sighing in relief, he punched the button and routed the comm link to the bridge monitor.
“Commander Ford, you are late!” Admiral Ruston looked like he was caught between relief and fear as he peered at the bridge crew of the Outreach.
Commander Ford’s bloodshot eyes focused on the Admiral. “Yes sir. But I’ve got good reason sir. It will be easier if I send the recording to you. It looks like the Raiders, who call themselves the D’Bringi by the way, want to talk.” He turned from the monitor and pointed at the comm officer, who then sent the recording of their conversation with Commodore Bonaventura to the Admiral.
The Admiral looked stunned at Commander Ford’s announcement that the D’Bringi wanted to talk, and looked down at his console to watch the video that had arrived from the Outreach. As the Admiral watched the video, Commander Ford saw the blood drain from his face. Finally, Admiral Ruston looked up from the monitor at his station. “I know the Commodore and that is definitely her. I thought she died at Saturn with her squadron. I…” Commander Ford didn’t quite know how to decipher the look on the Admiral’s face. It was a complex combination of loss and anger, overlaid by relief and hope and a bunch of other emotions harder to identify.
After a few seconds Admiral Ruston came back to himself. “Very well. I’m going to send a message back to the fleet, and then I’ll transfer to your ship and we’ll go back through and see what these ‘D’Bringi’ want to say.”
“Very well Admiral, we’ll be ready.”
Fifteen minutes later the Outreach transited back to the D’Bringi system with Admiral Ruston aboard. After giving them time to recover from the transit, the alien ship sent a comm request to the Outreach. After mentally preparing himself, Admiral Ruston nodded to the comm officer and the connection was made. The bridge monitor lit up to show Commodore Bonaventura standing on the alien bridge, again with the short, stocky alien D’Bringi in armor behind her. “Karen, it is you! I wasn’t sure, but…”
Commander Bonaventura smiled. “But it is me, Jonas. I was in my life pod for maybe fifteen minutes before the D’Bringi took me on board. The D’Bringi that captured me turned me over to Keeper-Cleric Half-Hand, and I’ve been here since.” The D’Bringi behind her rumbled something, and she nodded. “The Keeper-Cleric proposes a truce, to be followed by negotiations towards a more permanent peace treaty.”
Admiral Ruston carefully controlled his face. “That’s welcome news, but after the attacks they’ve made, particularly the attack on Triton, it’s going to take some convincing for our governments to be willing to sign any treaties with them.”
Commodore Bonaventura glanced behind her, and then turned back to the monitor. “I’ve discussed this with the Keeper-Cleric, and he says that the D’Bringi did not attack Triton. He claims that there are many other races in known space, and the attackers could have been any of them.” The Commodore’s face was carefully neutral as she spoke. “In any case, I’ve been told by the Keeper-Cleric that I will be returned to your custody as a sign of good will, and that they are willing to discuss returning the remaining spacers they hold as part of treaty negotiations. He says that they will send a cutter to transport me over to the Outreach immediately.”
Admiral Ruston settled back into his chair. “Very well. We will prepare to receive you.”
The D’Bringi rumbled again, and Commodore Bonaventura nodded. “See you soon.”
“Good. We’ll talk more once you are aboard. Ruston out.” He turned to Commander Ford. “Commander, prepare to receive the Commodore.” Commander Ford began to turn away, and Ruston put his hand on the other officer’s arm, stopping him. “I’ll be there to meet Commodore Bonaventura. I’ve known her since she was an ensign, I think I’ll be able to tell if she’s herself or not. In any case, I want armed security crew at the access hatch, just in case. Those ships can destroy us, but I’ll be damned if I’m just going to give them this or any other Coalition warship. I want you here, watching those ships for any signs of…well, anything. If they do anything unexpected, you are to transit back to Centaurus, immediately. Don’t wait for my order, just do it. Understood?”
Commander Ford braced to attention. “Understood.” He turned to his second in command. “Have the Master at Arms and his team meet the Admiral at the docking bay.”
Five minutes later, with six armed and armored crew members arranged around the small docking bay, Admiral Ruston waited as a D’Bringi cutter docked with the human frigate. He watched as the light over the boarding hatch turned green, indicating that a good seal had been established, and nodded to the rating standing by at the hatch. The rating pulled a small lever and the hatch rolled back, opening to reveal Commodore Bonaventura standing on the far side. She took a look around the bay and raised her hands, slowly, and stepped onto the human ship. Once aboard, she stopped when Admiral Ruston raised his hand. “Turn around, slowly, please, Commodore. Slowly.”
Seeing the armed crew members arrayed around the bay, all watching her anxiously, she nodded and slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees. She was wearing a standard Coalition ship-duty uniform, basically a deep blue overall. It wasn’t skin-tight, but it did make it clear that she wasn’t carrying anything bulky or hidden. Admiral Ruston nodded at her, and as she put her arms down, he gestured at the rating behind her, who raised the lever on the board in front of him, causing the hatch to close and seal. A few seconds later the light over the hatch turned red, indicating that the D’Bringi cutter had moved away.
Commodore Bonaventura smiled. “Admiral, I…”
Admiral Ruston gestured to the armed crew members. “Take the Commodore to my cabin and post a guard.” He turned back to the Commodore. “Commodore, you will accompany the guard to my cabin, and you will stay there until I send for you. Understood?”
The young Commodore braced to attention. “Understood, sir. May I ask…”
“We’ll speak once we are back in Centaurus. I intend to inform the Keeper-Cleric that we will return to Centaurus to conduct your debriefing, and that our future actions, including our desire to begin negotiations, will largely be based on their treatment of you, and of the other Alliance crews that I believe they are holding.”
Bonaventura nodded. “They’ve treated us well, sir. There are four hundred and thirty-two of us currently in the custody of the Keepers, to my knowledge, all here in this system.”
“Very well.” He watched as the security team escorted the Commodore out of the bay, then returned to the bridge. “Commodore Bonaventura is aboard. Open a channel to the D’Bringi.”
It took a few seconds for the connection between the ships to stabilize. “Keeper-Cleric, I intend to speak with my officer concerning her treatment by the D’Bringi. We will return to our system to do so. If it is acceptable to you then one of our ships will return here six hours from now to coordinate future communications with you.”
The Keeper-Cleric sat silently for a few seconds, then a low rumble emitted from the armored figure. A D’Bringi device translated the Keeper’s message into broken English. “Acceptable.”
The Outreach jumped back to Centaurus thirty seconds later, and the entire human task force moved fifteen light seconds away from the warp point. Admiral Ruston dispatched a message back to the Allied Fleet informing them of the latest developments, and then had Commodore Bonaventura brought to his office, which was actually the frigate’s officers mess. When Commodore Bonaventura entered the mess, he gestured for her to sit across from him. She braced to attention then sat in the chair he had offered.
“Commodore, it appears that you’ve been treated well.” His tone was non-committal.
In contrast to the Admiral’s neutral appearance, Commodore Bonaventura was smiling as she looked around the mess. “Yes, Admiral, by their standards the Keepers did treat us well. It is a relief to be back, though.”
Admiral Ruston leaned forward. “What are these D’Bringi hoping to achieve by returning you. Are they trying to influence me?’
Commodore Bonaventura frowned. “No sir, but I could see how you might think that.” She leaned back and considered the Admiral’s statement for a second. “Or at least, they aren’t trying to influence you in the way that you mean.” Seeing the Admiral’s incomprehension, she continued. “Maybe if I give you the overview of what happened, you’ll understand a bit better.”
Admiral Ruston waived his hand in assent and settled back into his chair. “Go ahead, Commodore.”
Commodore Ruston frowned in thought. “It’s been almost two years since the battle over Saturn and the destruction of my task force.” There was a hitch in Commodore Bonaventura’s voice and she paused briefly to collect herself. “We didn’t know them as the D’Bringi yet, they were still just “the aliens” to us. After the battle they swept the combat area for life pods and rescued as many as they could. That fact alone convinced me that they weren’t the fanatical killers we all feared that they were. When they found out that I commanded the human warships, they separated me from the rest of the survivors and took me to their commander. Believe it or not, his name and title was B’Regost-Large Group Leader Skull Splitter, and I soon learned that he was a scary old D’Bringi fleet commander who had survived numerous attempts on his life, uncountable personal combats, and at least several fleet engagements.”
Admiral Ruston held up his hand. “I’ve got so many questions, but first, they spoke English?”
Commodore Bonaventura shook her head. “Not really sir. Well, kind of, and a bit of Russian as well. Skull Splitter never said, but I think that the D’Bringi have been watching us for a while. Or at least, the Keepers have. It’s kind of complicated. At any rate, the D’Bringi have a very hierarchical society, and as the surviving leader of the human forces around Saturn, that gave me some status. Old Skull Splitter was impressed by the way we fought, too, and that gave me even more status with them.”
“Skull Splitter? Really?”
Commodore Bonaventura laughed. “Really. And if you saw him, you’d agree that it suits him.” She paused and marshaled her thoughts. “I get the feeling that its more of a title than a name, kind of like, say, the Duke of Marlborough, or something like that. I don’t have the whole picture, but the D’Bringi don’t really have a centralized government, more like an ‘association’ of sorts. Skull Splitter is the leader of the military forces of Clan B’Regost, and the Leader-by-Right of the assembled clan forces that attacked us at Saturn. Based on what the Keeper-Cleric told me, the D’Bringi have three major clans, the B’Regost, the K’Rorin, and the T’Chau. And of course, the Keepers.”
“The Keepers aren’t a clan?”
“Not really.” She looked confused for a few seconds, then continued. “You have to understand, I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to learn their language, and help them learn ours, so that I could get to know them better. “I’m not an expert though, and its been slow going. I can understand them most of the time, and they us, but I’m sure that things are still getting lost in translation. As I understand it, the Keepers are separate from the Great Clans, but it really seems to be steeped in their impenetrable traditions in ways I can’t begin to understand. The simple version is, the Clans are interested first and foremost with their own fortunes, and only secondarily with the well-being of the D’Bringi race. The Keepers, on the other hand, claim to be only concerned with the well-being of the D’Bringi as a whole.”
“They ‘claim’ to be concerned with that?”
Commodore Bonaventura nodded. “Yes sir, they claim. Like I said, their entire society and all of their interactions are overlaid by centuries of traditions and even more centuries of history, that includes great alliances and great betrayals, and vendettas that have lasted for millennia.”
“They’ve been in space that long?” That was one of the Alliance’s biggest concerns. They were new to interstellar space, but it was possible that the Raiders had been out there for centuries or even thousands of years. The possibilities were frightening when viewed through the prism of the Raider’s hostility.
Commodore Bonaventura frowned. “I…I don’t think so, sir. Oh, they claimed that they invented the warp points and that their fleets rivaled the stars in number, but…” She paused and settled back in her chair thoughtfully. “That doesn’t match what I saw, sir. I never saw a ship larger than the cruisers that attacked us at Saturn, and aside from the four cruisers the Keepers have here and the nine that attacked us at Saturn I’ve never seen any more D’Bringi warships.” Seeing the frown on the Admiral’s face she continued. “I know, just because I haven’t seen them doesn’t meant they don’t exist. But, well, its kind of just everything I’ve seen and heard. All of the Clan nobles I’ve seen carry a vast variety of ancient weapons that actually look well-used, not like antiques at all. Skull Splitter took me on a tour of one of their assault transports during the trip out of the system. Their ground troops use powered armor that looks to be every bit as good, if not better than ours. They are equipped with projectile and beam weapons that again are as good or better than ours. But every armored trooper is armed with a close-combat weapon, a sword, axe, or pike, made out of hull armor, and they are expected to use them! Hell, based on the training that I saw, I think they prefer the close-combat weapons and train with them as their primary weapons. They are good with those weapons, but I can’t believe that they are superior to the ranged weapons both sides carry. It’s like someone took a high-tech civilization and pasted it on top of a bunch of old-style Vikings. I don’t think they’ve actually been in space all that long. I don’t know the extent of their travels, but based on what I’ve seen I’d be surprised if they’ve done much colonization or building of their economy. I can say with certainty that colonization, trade, and industry held absolutely no interest for Skull Splitter, at any rate.”
“That would explain a lot.” At the Commodore’s inquiring look, Admiral Ruston continued. “All of the reports from the Saturnine colonies agreed, the Raider troops were highly disciplined and good fighters. But, inexplicably, they seemed to prefer close-combat with edged weapons to other methods of accomplishing their goals, even when it led to increased casualties on their side. There was a mining supervisor on Tethys named Graves, he organized his miners into a resistance group and attacked the Raiders, or the D’Bringi, when they approached his mine. If that was a human combat unit in the same situation, they almost certainly would have pulled back at the first sign of resistance and built up their strength before attacking with overwhelming strength behind an artillery and air barrage. Instead the D’Bringi charged forward into the face of the miner’s attack and suffered casualties that otherwise might not have been necessary. Oh, they won the battle and scattered the miners without too much loss, but the point was, they didn’t have to suffer any losses if they had handled it differently.”
“That sound about right, sir. The D’Bringi would have viewed the miner’s resistance, after their space forces were defeated, as unlawful defiance by civilians. Were the casualties heavy on our side?”
Admiral Ruston frowned thoughtfully. “No, no they weren’t. And they could have been so much worse. After what happened at Triton, we feared the worse for the colonies at Saturn, but the D’Bringi just looted everything they could steal and left with a minimal loss of life. Even Graves’ miners, once they stopped shooting, were allowed to surrender.”
Commodore Bonaventura nodded. “That makes sense. Like I said, D’Bringi society is very hierarchical. Civilians rarely pick up weapons and fight, that sort of thing is left to the Clan troops whenever possible. A civilian who fights after the armed forces of his clan are defeated is either the worst, most despicable thing that the D’Bringi can conceive of, or it can be a heroic act beyond all honor, depending on how the D’Bringi decide to view it. The D’Bringi know what other races are different, and sometimes seem to make allowances. Or they viewed this ‘Graves’ and his miners as heroes. It’s difficult to say. As long as those miners were offering resistance, they were legitimate targets, but the second they laid down their weapons there was no honor in killing them, and the D’Bringi are all about honor. At least, their conception of honor, which doesn’t always seem to align with ours.”
“How did you end up with the Keepers?”
“I stayed with Skull Splitter until we left the Solar System. After we jumped out, Skull Splitter’s fleet met with the Keepers, and he turned all of us over to the Keeper-Cleric. I’ve learned since that while the Great Clans will raid other races, or fight wars against them, the Keepers are responsible for protecting the D’Bringi threats from outside threats. This causes a lot of tension, as the Great Clans, when they aren’t fighting each other, tend to launch raids on outsiders fairly often. This makes it fairly difficult for the Keepers to keep the peace, as you would expect. In fact, during my time with the Keepers, I found information that leads me to believe that the D’Bringi have conquered at least one other race close to their home world.”
“And these Keepers? You said they want to negotiate peace, but based on what you’ve told me I’m not sure they view peace the same way we do.”
Commander Bonaventura nodded. “They don’t, but the Keeper-Cleric is aware that we have different views of the concept. Based on my conversations with the Keeper-Cleric he is desperately interested in peace with humanity, if he can achieve it with honor. However, you should be aware that no matter what we sign with the D’Bringi, they will launch raids into our territory if they see an opening or perceive weakness on our part. The Great Clans will not be able to resist the temptation to raid us under those circumstances, not with so many rising clan lordlings desperate for honor. If those lordlings cannot get honor through combat, then they will find honor through fighting each other, their superiors, or their counterparts in the other clans. It is an old story for them.”
“It isn’t entirely unknown to us, either.” The Admiral’s dry tone made the Commodore chuckle.
“Yes, sir. At any rate, I think Half-Hand will negotiate in good faith, but we will always have to be on guard for any incursion from the D’Bringi. They will test us every chance they get, and if we show weakness, well, it could be bad.”
Admiral Ruston was lost in thought. “Very well, Commodore. You’ve done well. I want you to write up a report of your experiences over the last two years and we’ll send it off to the Allied Fleet.”
Commodore Bonaventura smiled. “The Allied Fleet? Things must have changed back home, huh?”
Admiral Ruston nodded. “Yes, they have. The Raider threat brought the Soviets and us together to face them as a united military force. It helped that neither of us had enough fleet strength to fight them separately, but together, well, that was different.”
“Yes sir. I was there on Skull Splitter’s command deck when he realized that our fleets weren’t going to fight each other and instead were standing together against him. It took some time for him to accept that we weren’t going to fight each other, or even fight separately. That was immediately after we left Saturn, headed for the combined fleets at Jupiter. He believed that the sight of his fleet approaching would force the human fleets to separate out of distrust of each other, and that he could then engage them separately. When they didn’t and it became clear that they intended to fight together, well, he was angry, but accepted that his plan wouldn’t work. He lost a lot of honor backing down, though. That was why they went on to loot the colonies at Uranus. He had to do something to placate the other clans and his own clan chiefs.”
Admiral Ruston frowned in thought for a moment, trying to remember something that had been nagging at him as he talked to the Commodore. Finally, he had it. “Commodore, one thing isn’t adding up. Based on what you’ve said, the D’Bringi are primarily raiders, and their primary goal is to gain honor both by fighting during raids, and by bringing back loot from the raid. That matches what they did at Saturn and Uranus perfectly. But it doesn’t explain Triton at all. Someone destroyed the Soviet picket corvette there and then the colony. Over three hundred thousand Soviet citizens, humans, died at Triton. That doesn’t sound like the D’Bringi, but who else could it be?”
Commodore Bonaventura faced the Admiral with a pensive look on her face. “I’ve been wondering about that same thing, Admiral. It doesn’t sound like the D’Bringi at all, and the Keeper-Cleric was adamant that the D’Bringi hadn’t attacked Triton. But…well, you remember what I said about the D’Bringi having a culture weighted down by centuries of traditions and vengeance honor and vendettas? Well, they are very experienced with intrigue, lying, and subterfuge. There are currents, both overt and covert, underlying everything the D’Bringi I met were doing. Both Half-Hand and Skull-Splitter appeared to be bluff, formidable old warriors, honest and dependable, but…well, I have enough experience with the D’Bringi to know that anyone who actually was what those two appeared to be wouldn’t last for ten minutes in D’Bringi high society. Their clan politics are cutthroat, sometimes literally. I don’t know that they did it, and they deny it, but… they are certainly capable of something like that, even if it is out of character.”
“Very well, Commodore.” Admiral Ruston stood and turned towards the door, and then turned back. “Use my office to begin your report. I’ll have the mess chief bring you some food. And,” his expression warmed for the first time, “welcome back, Karen.”
She smiled back at him as he left the cabin. The smile fell from his face as he made his way to the bridge. The coming months were going to be hard. He feared he knew how things were going to go, and if he did then the Alliance might not last. Of all things, the offer of peace from the D’Bringi might be the thing that drove the Coalition and the Soviets apart.
It took six and a half hours for the message from the Outreach to get to the Allied Fleet at the warp point to Sol in the Sigma Draconis (Moskva) system, relayed by a scout positioned at the warp point that linked the two systems. Once it arrived at the Fleet, General Lebedev relayed it on to the Earth. Once there it ignited a firestorm. The news that the D’Bringi wanted to talk, and perhaps negotiate a peace treaty, electrified the Coalition’s Senate, while in Russia the news was met with disbelief and anger. To the Russians, the D’Bringi denials of responsibility for the deaths of the colonists at Triton rang false. A meeting between the Alliance Guidance Council fell apart into acrimony when the Soviet representatives accused the Coalition representatives of being willing to sell Soviet dead for peace.
After a week, and several high-level meetings between the Soviet and Coalition governments, the two nations agreed to at least speak with the D’Bringi representatives. A meeting was scheduled with the D’Bringi Keeper-Cleric for early next month, and representatives from both nations were dispatched from Earth to Centaurus (Leningrad). At this point, though, it appeared that Admiral Ruston had been prophetic about the effects of the D’Bringi peace offer.