PART ONE:
If anything's gonna happen, it'll happen on the Hamster Watch. - - proverb on board Merrimack Lieutenant Glenn (Hamster) Hamilton was Officer of the Watch when the Emergency Action Message came in. She passed the EAM to the cryptotech for confirmation, and immediately paged John Farragut on his personal com. “Captain's presence requested on the command deck.” Captain Farragut's voice came back, “What's this about?” An instant's blank panic showed on Hamster's face. The Captain was often in Roman company. Hamster could not afford to explain. She answered quickly, “Gypsy's hair.” And immediately clicked off. She stood over the com, feeling the eyes of the command deck upon her. Spoke to anyone, her eyes dead ahead, “If what I just said gets back to Commander Dent, every man jack and jane on this deck will walk the plank.” And she took the com back up, “Commander Dent, your presence is request on the Command Deck.” The lieutenant had not requested speed from either of them. She did not want to sound alarmed. And Captain Farragut was going to arrive like a missile anyway. John Farragut blew through the hatch like a gust of fair wind, wearing the sky blue uniform of ship's captain. One of the Marine guards at the hatch announced, “Captain on deck.” Farragut's presence announced itself. He was a big man, fair-haired, blue-eyed, an irresistible force. Energy radiated from him. Nearly forty years old now, he kept the bright enthusiasm of a boy. Captain John Farragut had lately been Commodore Farragut. But that had been a field promotion and temporary. His Attack Group One had disbanded. The two League of Earth Nations ships had stayed behind at Planet Zero. The U.S. ships Rio Grande and Wolfhound were headed back to Fort Eisenhower. And the two Roman ships Gladiator and Horatius separated out on orders from Caesar Romulus. The space battleship Merrimack remained alone in very deep space, in orbit around the dead world Telecore. Telecore had begun life as a Roman colony, built to outflank American expansion in the Sagittarian arm of the galaxy. Telecore had ended life consumed by the Hive. The Hive was a great soulless evil that existed only to eat. Captain Farragut liked to know his enemy. He had been in the lab with the xenoscientists, observing how newly emerged gorgons behaved, when he received Hamster's summons. Farragut spoke before anyone could tell him, “The balloon went up?” Specialists on at their close-packed stations on the command deck traded looks. Somehow, from what Hamster said, John Farragut had figured out war. “Looks like it, sir.” Lieutenant Glenn Hamilton nodded toward the forward communications shack, where the cryptotech had cloistered himself with the EAM. “Waiting on confirmation.” Commander Egypt “Gypsy” Dent entered the deck. She had left her ferocious hair in her cabin. Her brown eyes squinted, narrow, half-asleep. Hamster advised her softly, “It's war, sir.” Gypsy was awake now. “Who declared?” said Farragut. “I'm fixin’ to be almighty unhappy if it was us.” He could not believe the Joint Chiefs would strand him out here in the deepest end of the Deep End, sitting on the biggest ship in the U.S. Naval Fleet, while the U.S. declared war without so much as a stand by for heavy rolls to warn him. But Hamster answered, “They did, sir.” They. Rome. The Imperial Government of Rome establishes the following facts: Although Rome on her part has strictly adhered to the rules of international law in her relations with the United States during every period of the recent Emergency in the common defense against the Hive, the Government of the United States has used the Emergency to abridge the right of Rome to its own government, and continues to usurp the lawful authority of Rome over her own armed forces under pretext of a common defense against a threat that has been diminished to inconsequence in order to perpetuate oppression and to enforce a treaty coerced under most extreme circumstances. The United States violates Roman borders at will, and denies Rome the autonomy and security to which every nation is entitled, in actions consistent with an organized crime racket rather than a civilized nation. Pledges extracted upon threat of being fed to monsters cannot be bound by law. The Government of the United States has thereby virtually created a state of war. The Imperial Government of Rome, consequently, discontinues diplomatic relations with the United States of America and declares that Rome considers herself as being in a state of war with the United States of America. VIII.xiii.MMCDXLVI CAESAR ROMULUS. “And you are all rotten people and don’t deserve to live no more,” Tactical added in a low mutter into his console. “Thank you, Mister Vincent,” said Farragut. Loose comments were what got Marcander Vincent bucked down to the Hamster Watch in the first place. Farragut asked Lieutenant Hamilton, “Where do we stand?” “We have the text of the President's request to Congress to declare back at 'em,” said Hamster. To the Congress of the United States: On the morning of August 13, the Imperial Government of Palatine, pursuing its course of galactic conquest, declared war against the United States. The long known and the long expected has thus taken place. The forces endeavoring to enslave the entire galaxy now are moving into free space. Delay invites greater danger. Rapid and united effort by all free peoples who are determined to remain free will insure a victory of the forces of justice and of righteousness over the forces of inhumanity and of totalitarianism. I, therefore, request the Congress to recognize a state of war between the United States and the Imperial Government of Palatine. MARISSA JANE JOHNSON. “Congressional recognition is 'imminent,'” Hamster added. Farragut looked to the Com Tech, “Nothing from Congress yet?” “Not yet, sir.” “'kay.” Farragut drew alongside Commander Dent, his hand between her shoulder blades. Spoke low, “If approval comes in before I get back, keep it quiet. There's something I have to do first.” “Understood, sir.” Their heads were close together. Gypsy narrowed brown eyes at him, assessing. There was a time, during the last hostilities, when Farragut used to have standing orders: Should Merrimack ever fall into enemy hands, Captain Farragut must kill his cryptotech. During that time, Merrimack had in fact been captured by Romans. Yet the cryptotech, Qord Johnson, was still alive to this day and authenticating the EAM in Merrimack’s communication shack right now. Someone else had orders regarding the cryptotech in case of capture now. You never could trust John Farragut to kill his own people. Farragut still had his orders regarding the Roman patterner, whom Merrimack carried on board. In case of war, the captain's first task -- to be carried out immediately and without question -- was to take Augustus down. The Roman patterner was the single biggest threat to U.S. security. Farragut’s order was clear. Neutralize the threat. Do not try to capture Augustus or to salvage information from him. As Admiral Mishindi said, “Just drop him.” Qord Johnson emerged from the communications shack. He looked to the captain, the XO. “Sir. Sir.” He passed the EAM to Farragut. “Emergency Action Message confirmed. Rome declared War. President Johnson presented her declaration to Congress.” Then it was real. War. Gypsy studied the captain’s eyes. Asked quietly, “Do you want me to do it, sir?” Farragut shook his head. “If Augustus hears anyone but me coming to visit him, he'll know something's up.” That was true. The crew and Marines on board Merrimack went out of their way to avoid crossing Augustus' path. Most men on board would like to have these orders. Captain Farragut could not ever delegate something like this. The day he delegated because he could not carry out an order for himself was the day he delegated command of his ship. He motioned to one of the Marines flanking the hatch. “Do you have a single stage piece on you?” The sergeant fished a small backup weapon from his boot pocket. Surrendered it, grip first. Farragut checked the load. Head busters. Low velocity projectiles, only meant to pierce a human body, not tear through and through. The point detonated only upon abrupt contact with human DNA. The sergeant reminded Farragut uneasily, “That piece is coded to me, sir.” Felt stupid saying that to the captain. Would feel stupider if he hung the captain out there pulling the trigger of a gun that wouldn’t fire for him. Weapons on board ship were coded to their proper users. They would not fire for anyone but their coded owner. But everyone on board Merrimack, company and crew alike, belonged to Captain John Farragut. Farragut assured the Marine benevolently, “Son, there’s nothing on this boat I can't shoot.” Even so, he depressed the trigger half way. A green light confirmed recognition. He let up the trigger. Clicked the safety off. Cocked the piece. Slipped it into his jacket pocket like a street thug. “Do you want a Marine guard?” Gypsy asked. Farragut shook his head, no. “Gypsy, he can hear a gnat spit.” “He'll hear you.” “Good bet,” Farragut agreed. “But that's okay. He likes to pretend I don't exist.” Augustus never stood up when the captain entered his compartment. Most times he did not even bother look at him at all. “I'll be right back.” Farragut moved out fast. He did not try to soften his footsteps. He had to sound normal. This task had to be done. He saw the wisdom and necessity of it. And he knew how to kill – and not just at a distance. Farragut had beheaded the Roman Captain Sejanus on the command deck of his own ship with a sword. He knew how to do this. This was just another Roman. The most abrasive, off-pissing, caustic, sadistic son of a Roman bitch he had ever known. The most loyal. With a courage beyond question. He was having a son of a hard time with this one. He would get only one shot, if that. He would not be able to say anything. No regrets. No goodbye. Could not even look him in the eyes. Augustus could read Farragut's eyes. And Augustus was extremely fast. No one outdraws a patterner. Just kill him quick, a shot in the back, if Augustus' back presented first. A prickle like fear stung his mouth. He tried to blank out his thoughts. Stop thinking and just move. Sounds of his ship around him were all normal. Booted footsteps on eight decks. Voices through thin partitions -- less of them at this hour of the Mid Watch. Steady low hum of six mammoth engines. Thunk of rubber balls in the squash court. Air rushing in the vents. Water moving through conduit. Hiss of hydraulics. Patter of a dog who needed its nails cut. His ship was an industrial beauty. Spare. Utilitarian. Thin partitions were only in place to keep things from passing compartment to compartment. Anything that might be tucked within walls on a passenger ship -- conduit, pipes, struts -- were all on view. There were no ceilings, only the under sides of the decks above. And more of the ship’s inner workings were clustered up there in the overhead. You could see what she was made of. Except for things dangerous or secret or in need of heavy containment, Merrimack was right there for you. Farragut slid down the ladder to the corridor which accessed the torpedo rack room. At six foot eight, Augustus was difficult to billet. A torpedo rack was the only place he could fit horizontally. Farragut made a conscious effort not to slow his stride. Wondered if Augustus could read deadly intent in a man's footsteps. He hoped Augustus would not look when the hatch opened. Couldn't remember a time when he ever did look. Augustus' pattern of disdain for Farragut's authority would serve now. The patterner slept most of the day. There was a good chance Farragut would catch him sleeping. He was probably going to murder Augustus in his rack. Farragut kept his right hand in his pocket, gripping the sidearm. Don’t even show the piece, he decided. Just point and shoot through his pocket. The space beyond the hatch was tight. The instant that hatch opened, he would be very close to his target. Point blank in fact. His throat tightened up as he neared the hatch. He fought off the personal reaction. To hell with it. Big breath. Hold it. His left arm was supposed to be reaching to pull the hatch open, but he suddenly could not move it. He hadn't heard a thing. Two invincible, cable-reinforced arms had locked around him from behind, pinning his left arm across his chest, his right arm locked against his side. A large hand closed over Farragut's right hand, the one gripping the sidearm inside his pocket. Squeezed. The weapon discharged. The bullet lodged in Farragut’s deck boot. The head did not detonate. The shot itself had made barely a pop. No one was going to come running to investigate. The rough cheek pressing hard against Farragut's temple pushed his head to an unnatural turn, forced his chin into his own shoulder. Immobile. Augustus' breath puffed against his ear in a whispered growl. “I have the same orders.” Order STRENGTH AND HONOR from Amazon.com |