A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [22]
Kellum grumbled. “It just takes so damned long to get ekti any other way.”
The private comm channel crackled and Zhett’s eager voice came over it. “Just checking in, Dad. All deliveries finished. Is Jess still there?”
“Indeed he is, my sweet.”
“Jess, want to go for a ride with me in a grappler pod? We can look at the rings—”
“I can’t stay long, Zhett—clan obligations.”
“Your loss.” She sounded flippant. “You’ll regret it later.”
After Zhett had signed off, Jess looked at her father. “I probably will.”
9
TASIA TAMBLYN
The EDF battle group cut through space in a show of force impressive enough to intimidate the unruly Yreka colonists. Any one of the three enhanced Juggernauts should have been enough to do the job, but Admiral Sheila Willis had also included five Thunderhead weapons platforms, ten Manta midsize cruisers, and sixteen full squadrons of Remora fighters.
The Grid 7 fleet lumbered into the system like a strutting bully flexing his muscles. To Platcom Tasia Tamblyn, it seemed like overkill against a handful of disobedient settlers, not to mention a huge waste of stardrive fuel. Wasn’t the EDF supposed to be at war with a real enemy?
Tasia entered the private platcom’s lounge just off her Thunderhead’s bridge deck. Images of Admiral Willis and all the ship commanders attended the virtual meeting via projection. The Admiral’s flagship Juggernaut had been christened Jupiter, both after the king of Roman gods and also in memory of the first great setback against the hydrogues.
“I want to complete this mission without collateral damage—if possible.” The Admiral’s expression was pinched, her short gray hair plastered close to her skull. She looked like a strict old schoolteacher and spoke with just a hint of a drawl. “In fact, my preference would be to have no shooting at all. The Yrekans are not the enemy, just misguided colonists.”
Tasia nodded, agreeing with the commander’s attitude, but she knew she was in the minority here.
“With all due respect, Admiral,” said Commander Patrick Fitzpatrick III in his usual superior tone, “anybody who defies the King’s direct orders is technically the enemy. Just one of a different sort.” The young man had dark hair and dark eyes, with patrician features and thick eyebrows that looked painted on.
Tasia squelched an irritated sigh. She had saved Fitzpatrick’s balls once or twice during realistic combat and emergency exercises, yet he still scorned anyone he considered to be beneath him. More than once, as a scrappy student in the lunar military academy, she’d used her knuckles to show him the error of his spoiled and narrow-minded ways, but even a stint in the infirmary hadn’t altered the kleeb’s attitude.
However, Fitzpatrick played political games better than Tasia; plus, his grandmother, Maureen Fitzpatrick, had been Hansa Chairman during the reign of King Bartholomew, so he felt privileged. Tasia kept stepping up in the ranks, too, but she achieved it through superior performance. Now Fitzpatrick sat in the captain’s chair on a Manta cruiser, while Tasia commanded a large Thunderhead platform. And both of them were only in their early twenties.
Admiral Willis’s holographic image turned as if she were looking at all the commanders projected around her. “Nevertheless, this is an act of benevolent discipline, not aggression.”
“Yeah,” said Fitzpatrick. “Let’s get all paternal on their asses.”
As far as Tasia was concerned, he could stick his head out into hard vacuum.
She admired what the Yreka colonists had accomplished since the founding of the settlement forty years ago. Not as hardy or ingenious as Roamers, perhaps, but they had shown true backbone. Yreka should have been a strong