Re: Hull 721, plot arc the second
Posted: 2013-07-18 07:11pm
Shortish update-
On board the target, they were able to catch the first winds of what was happening. Partly because they were expecting something like it, although the timing and schedule were unfortunate. There was still much to be done.
The ship was at least partly functional, had left the Corellian system at least in a fit state to manoeuvre and launch small craft, but not much else. Perhaps it would have been easier with a world's resources, but with only the bit juggling capablities of themselves (and the droids), a tender and a heavy frigate, they were slowly coming back to life as an effective warship.
If the enemy would only give them time- which they really ought not to do, but the ship's reputation was acting as their shield, helping create the illusion that she was closer to fighting efficiency than was actually the case. A straight attack, hard and heavy, might have got results.
Well, apart from the secret location, the mines and the fireships. Thin defences, that Lennart had no desire to see put to the test, but they were there just in case. The tender's crew were the least happy about it all, but they were behaving for the time being. The group was under emission control, which they were suffering from.
How they were keeping in contact with the galaxy at large was the small craft, which could in theory be tracked if there was anything nearby with the sensors to do it. Which there were probe droids out to detect anyway. The fighters dumping data packets into the system all flew dog- leg courses that were more tentacle in practise, accompanied by scouting and sanitation sweeps that helped sweat the Corellian ale out of them.
The one relevant and most common asked question, though, was why continue to prosecute the siege at all. Good question, the captain thought looking at the map tank display of the sector. The answer being that if we cut and run, we have nowhere to go and nothing to do but join the rebellion, which would be missing the point of getting this far.
I keep going over and over it looking for another option, some kind of way out, and keep digging deeper and deeper. Entirely apart from what blood we have drawn, and bad blood generated as a result, every move we made trying to clear our names dragged us further into the mess.
The worst of it is that I may be the least radical person on board. The crew have been with me, or ahead of me, every step of the way, especially the ones that I now see lead over the cliff. I can't tell them that we've gone too far, at least not without a better alternative. They're ready to spit in the Empire's eye, and are going to get all of that and more, if the rumbles are true.
The blue one must be laughing himself silly. He has been given every available option to play us for fools and use me as a bloodhound, and all he had to do was swallow a little bile to do it. He's reaping the harvest of this and letting me take the controversy, and I have been played for such a sucker. I still think I could take him in a ship to ship duel, though.
What the crew want to do is to improve the situation by shooting something, but who? There are lots of people we could have a go at, given the little things like shielding and power distribution to the guns working properly, but to what effect, to do what in the way of good?
Successful defensive engagements, like vaporising an Inquisitor, are not enough- that much I will agree to- but the people trying to kill us, their instructions come from Imperial Centre. Come to think of it, given a certain string of practical jokes in my youth, I probably am a credible candidate to commit regicide.
Well, that's their motivations taken care of- although the crew of the Swiftsure had taken a calculated risk, which was that the crew of Black Prince would have their priorities out of joint to the extent that the sensor and signal gear would be left to last as the most difficult and intricate job, and that there would be no-one willing to inform them of the preparations against them.
In fact there were three separate sources, in the nearby sectors- people who had heard the news conference and had chosen to stick their necks out. Again, the course of action to be followed as a result of the intel was the hard part. They couldn't really code faster without cracking civil computers and starting their own botnet. Which had been considered, but it clashed with emcon.
The tender had been sorted out, the robopsychology labs had produced some answers and sufficient fear in the droid ranks, everyone was back to their proper name who wanted to be with some interesting and potentially beneficial things done to pension plans, but normal still meant sixteen, eighteen hour days.
At that rate, they only had to buy a little more time. They would soon regain the ability to act, if they could find something sensible to do. The prospects for going vigilante were excellent- but with a capital ship? With the crew, and the crew's families, hostage?
Many ships had an Association, a club of sorts that included ex crew, crew's families, starship spotters, enthusiasts and usually the odd rebel spy; they were very much a holdover from the republic fleet, and discouraged if not outright banned under the Empire.
Although supposed to be a support group and mutual aid association for the families mainly, under the malign neglect they usually received they were usually a source of grumbles, unhappiness, misinformation, occasional far too accurate information, and general getting in the way. Managed properly they could be a very useful asset to secure and reassure, but that seldom happened.
Black Prince didn't have much of one, as a third recruitment tier unit with crewmen from all over the galaxy it would be difficult to look after any of them really, and the bulk of the association would probably consist of lawyers and naval provosts chasing them for various offences civil and military, real and hypothetical; would have been useful at the moment, though.
Pass the word, to such as would get it- include that in the next data packet run, things were happening and it was time to up and move for your own safety? Where to? Not here, that was certain, not Corellia the trail was too hot there, what about Vineland? The sector they had last operated in- that might work. Hopefully it wasn't too late.
At least they knew there was an assassination squadron being assembled. It seemed at times- such as this- that very few of those who fought for the Empire were actually on the same side. Their rival in the elite certainly had no qualms about fratricide.
Let them plan and recruit, and consider covert curveballs that could delay and frustrate the improvised squadron, and buy time to organise, code, and be ready to meet them. Then, how to turn that- there was much to be done in terms of planning to avoid defeat, no sense in planning for it; how to turn what would hopefully be a victory into long term survival?
Thanks to Nerveless, they did actually have a copy of the ops order. Swiftsure hadn't tried to nal-hutta them, that would have been too easy, but the truth wasn't far off- their own sector group had tried to substitute them in place of the ship actually being asked for, as being much more expendable.
That had had a useful political effect; the people of the Nerveless had become very grumpy and usefully disloyal, and had gone along with their captain's schemes, and he remembered quite a lot about the spying trade. They were willing at least, and perhaps competence could be slowly built on that.
There's another equaliser to be had, Lennart thought. If Olghaan brings his friends, and I bring mine. Who else is there who would be willing to stick their neck out on the strength of this, for the cause of reform?
Trapped between actually counter- revolutionary Rebels and degenerate revolutionary Imperialists, who's going to hold a middle ground whose only advantage is that it is more civilised and humane? Who are the fanatic moderates?
Certainly not the blue man, and we must try to corrupt his files soon, that may be essential if my parents and sister ever want to see natural daylight again. Use the droids' intrusion routine? He has no sense of humour- which makes it perfect. Now here is a frightening thought, what are Lord Vader's politics?
He's the dark side apprentice. An evil bastard- literally considering his rumoured parentage- in his own right, but is he really so much of a fool that he doesn't care whether he inherits a going concern or not? He has to have noticed that Palpatine's government is, of late, spiralled down into a backstabbers' charter and guarantee of chaos.
If that is true, he may be the closest thing I have to top cover. Galactic Spirit, we're truly doomed- either way.
The only other credible alternative I can think of, Convarrian- now he is old money, and also old politics. He's no natural believer in the old order, although he won't say or do anything until he has a better chance of victory. Using one of his most undisciplined and unpredictable subordinates as a catspaw? It would be nice if the catspaw really was attached to the cat.
There was a beep at his door. It was about time, he thought- the trick with total monitoring systems was, as ever, to know when not to act on the information received. He knew com-scan were closing on it.
The door slid open, and there were his daughter and one of the signal interpretation section leaders, Lieutenant Ervel Orbiac. Rafaella was looking as she must have done when she was a student, active and energetic, switched on in a way that he had only hoped he would see.
She was dressed in local garb, something that had largely gone to pot- not over Corellia, but much earlier; the fact was, Imperial dress and deportment regulations were damn hard to come up with a sensible excuse for; it was plain the only thing the maternity jacket could possibly have in its' favour was 'Because'.
There were really very few possible arguments why the crew of a spaceship, in space, should have a uniform that was so perversely unsuitable for work and survival in cold, vacuum, radiation conditions.
If the idea was confidence in the ships' systems, then why was the uniform the thing of absurd itchiness and palaeolithic fabric that it was? If it is possible to operate in shirtsleeve comfort, why not do so? In practise Black Prince's crew tended to wear whatever worked for them, as long as nobody officious was looking.
There were versions of the Stormtrooper bodyglove that were intended to fit under the more specialist armour sets, rad, nova and dungeon trooper suits, that had the performance needed for comfortable day wear shading to emergency survival suit;
but the most common users were regular troopers surreptitiously upgrading who at least had the physical shape not to look blobby in something where the clue was in the name bodyglove.
Lennart had had a fun argument with Severian about that, he had said (feeling embarrassedly patriarchal) that it would not be a good idea for Rafaella, already drawing enough attention from being the captain's daughter, to go sashaying about the ship in curve- tight, provocative gloss black.
Severian knew exactly what he meant and actually agreed, practically speaking, having been the lone woman in a barracks of two hundred men, but she couldn't just let that one pass by.
In the end they had compromised that were practical issues involved, that Rafe was young, troubled and didn't need her abilities to cope that heavily tested yet, that there was a balance to be struck, and that she, Severian, was indeed highly provocative. It probably wasn't the right time to be working on brothers and sisters for Rafaella, but what the heck.
Rafaella had come aboard with virtually nothing except the prison overall she stood up in, and needed to be equipped out of ship's stores; there was a corner of her mind, the one her father worried about, that wanted to be dark and sleek and seductively deadly-
but the rest of her thought of wallscreens cracking over skulls, and decided best not. She had ended up in an engineering fire and shock proof coverall, one of the middle layers of damage control gear.
Orbiac, who was his usual scruffy self, began by splurting out words so rapidly they tripped over each other, 'We've found it, we've got it, the originator, the exchange codes, ten to the forty- seventh my fnording glunt, none of the possible alternatives make sense, they even gundeck their randomness reports, we caught an echo beacon, it just popped itself to logic elements, we've got it.'
Lennart looked at him, motioned him to one of the office chairs, to him 'Breathe.' And to his daughter 'interpret.'
'We intercepted a copy of the operations order from Imperial Centre to Swiftsure.' Rafaella said, and her father was very happy about that 'we.' 'It makes no sense, it almost looks as if it's them that are being set up-'
'Extract first, interpret later. The text, including the headers and routers?' Lennart asked for and got it, put it up on the holotank. Hm. 'It appears to be from 1030 Glittanai all right, and I'm about to do what I told you not to, because look at the originator.'
The two naval officers could make sense of the garble of code and abbreviations, Rafaella couldn't and concentrated on finding what islets of sense she could discover in the sea of acronyms. 'What's a Mox Slosin, PIOIB?'
'Messenger boy from the Palace, basically. Where's Shandon? Call him,' He asked Orbiac, and prodded at his desk com, 'Brenn? We've got something, a com intercept that just might be too good to be true. Ready room three.'
Brenn acknowledged sounding as if he had just got out of bed, which he had, and Lennart turned back to the holotable, trying to put himself in the head of Swiftsure's commander. Were they expecting us to intercept and crack this, or not? Where was the message frame, how did we come by this? Are our com-runner droids better streetfighters than their com droids?
This isn't enough, it's barely a figleaf of a go code. They must have been privately briefed, which is a window of opportunity to exploit perhaps. Slosin is a dark sider and, now let me recall- we had him down as one of the dogs.
A loyal Inquisitor who famously described himself, to people who ought to at least have had the grace to laugh, as a hammer to beat the galaxy into the shape Palpatine wants of it.
A more brutal and obvious example of the basic divide here it would be hard to find. The naval ops order is signed by, oh now, that's interesting, a Vice-Admiral might mean something out at the coal face but at Ultimate Headquarters is barely a clerk typist.
It's entirely possible what's his name, Olghaan on the Swiftsure doesn't have sufficient paper authority to put a task group together at all. I wish I could smell if that was a message or an opportunity.
Brenn and Rythanor aren't here yet, may as well go from square one. 'All right, now that I'm up to speed you can start telling me how you see this.'
'Logic filter.' Orbiac said. 'It doesn't justify the actions Swiftsure has already taken, not formally.' Shovel Orbiac was one step above a clown most of the time, but was tolerated for it because he saved all his common sense and mother wit for his job.
'The people who accept this as the word of authority are, hm, the well conditioned? We can't crack messages that are only written between the lines.
This is enough for the captain of the Swiftsure, and for the local forces who- we think there are indications- have decided to go along with it, because of the Emperor's writ they think is behind it.' They were probably right to think so, of course.
'In other words, I've screwed this up.' Lennart said, as Shandon Rythanor and Iel Brenn came into the ready room, heard him, a raised eyebrow from the nav and a look of bafflement from the com scan chief. 'What I should have done is pretend we were operating under secret instructions from Centre, and we could have got away with incredible things.'
'I thought we already had, and the current stangstorm was the result of Coruscant finally realising it and deciding to get us for it.' Brenn pointed out. 'What have we got, the original operations order?'
Lennart brought that back to the projector, and Brenn looked through it, said 'They must have been privately briefed, it's hardly enough otherwise. Is it just me or is this us out of options?
We can't exactly be pretending to save the empire from itself and from a regicidal conspiracy when the emperor has just decided conspiracy and fratricide is actually business as usual, and he'd rather have us dead?'
'I'm still not joining the Alliance, certainly not without a written contract and a chance to finally use that whoopee cushion.' Lennart said. 'Have you considered that we may be the last people the authorities want investigating any of this- assume there are authorities, for the moment- because we're prime candidates for joining it? That they suspect we actually have, and are playing at least a double game?
Authority's man, the blue one, we've fed him some information but not much, and I've stopped talking to him since that business with my sister. We need to spike him, I think, the next thing we do say to him I want laden and layered with all the worms, tionese equines, virii, bugs and assorted nasties you can physically fit in- and think of some good disinformation to nest them in, at that. We're never going to get a clear hearing- never mind fair for now- through him.'
Rafaella was horrified, said 'Alrika, your sister, you can't just-'
'I'll never get them out, or free, by playing along the way he seems to want me to. Telling him and the official investigation to go shove it and dumping it all to Vader instead has more possibility about it, especially in what we hope the aftermath will be.
What does this give us tactically?' He changed the subject. 'We're not going to be able to avoid a fight, so what advantages can we take from this- can we feed them misinformation, contradictory orders? Predict flight paths to join and ambush?'
With what, Brenn wondered until he remembered the two fireships. 'Either way-' meaning to say more, but the time for grumbling was over and the time to act was almost upon them.
Shook his head, added 'We're running too many probes for my taste, I think the odds are against us getting the information we need to set up a well aimed deception without giving our own position away.
Swifsure's picked a group of seconds because they think some of them are loyal to Palpatine, some of them are crazy and some of them are desperate, but all of them willing to fight us. In detail they might be wrong, but timing and aiming subversion- that is going to take more detail than we have to be sure.
At the moment, we could wing it. If we can pick someone who we're sure is loyal to the cause of tyranny and whom the universe would be better without,' he added that bit heavily, squeezing the words out, 'we could use the shuttles to set an ambush, torpedoes and an asteroid.
What a situation, though. I can't think of any way it could have avoided being like this, short of rolling over and waving our legs in the air, and if they're right to read between the lines the way they do the Empire's beyond reform, but it's still a drakh sandwich.'
'Unless we survive we'll never figure it out. Shandon, you look like the singularity got your tongue, nothing to add?'
Quite a dangerous thing to ask, in view of the com scan chief's last known frame of mind. 'Three problems- they know us, will expect it and will try it themselves, one on one even with Swiftsure we have an EW/IW edge but not in a concerted action.
We have a graffitti incident that our only defence against is that it is so much like what we would do we couldn't possibly have been stupid enough to be that obvious, and the nearby sector groups are starting to position themselves according to how they think it's going to play out. We haven't got many friends.'
'Tell me more about this graffitti incident.' Lennart said.
'It seems that, under the influence of program or programs unknown, a work division of the Executor's astromechs went a little bit mad, and decided to paint the emblem of the Open Circle Fleet two kilometres tall on the starboard hull glacis.' Rythanor said.
'It's obviously made your day. You're right, that's so totally and obviously us we'd have to have been completely insane to have done it, I'd prefer to avoid offending Lord Vader, that's absurdly counterproductive- which I presume means we did?'
'Not deliberately, but...given the sleazebaggano incident, I'm taking no bets. This was a fleet circular, mandating inceased droid security measures- we recieved by remote commo droid. We need something to cannibalise because we are running out of those.' Rythanor said.
'The fleet tender in companion orbit?' Lennart suggested. 'Has something changed, by the way- you took a hard hit and it's a pleasant surprise you've bounced back so soon, but still a surprise. What's up?'
'The weight of uncertainty has gone, things have finally fallen into shape. I know what I'm doing, now; we're here, we're in shit, and we're going to fight.'
'That's the situation at it's essentials, all right.' Lennart said, thinking, well, he is the com scan chief, perhaps when you take all the crud away that really is all it boils down to... 'Swiftsure and her group won't go banging about space at random, probably won't do a deep search because of the ambush possibilities it gives us;
unless they're wildly optimistic they'll use the one place they know we have assets, the wing elements over Veren Porphyr, as the beginning of the battle- play. Do we have enough intrusion to tell where they're assembling?'
'Scouts and probes, maybe, not information relayed; I wonder how deceptive they think they need to be- how far out of the loop we are? Do any of the locals have the authority to stop this happening?'
'Does Lord Vader?' Rafaella suggested.
'I'm not about to ask him and find out, because you only know what he's like from the news and a much manipulated reputation. The fact that he hasn't taken against us already is a positive sign,' Lennart said with his fingers crossed, 'but he certainly has no respect for complainers or losers.
He won't stop it before, unless to blow both sides to bits- defensively weak that thing may be be but galactic spirit, the firepower the Executor can dish out- I think as much as it is realistic to hope for is that he gets involved after the shooting is done. If fortune is with us, maybe during. In the meantime- torpedoes and a handy asteroid, you say?'
On board the target, they were able to catch the first winds of what was happening. Partly because they were expecting something like it, although the timing and schedule were unfortunate. There was still much to be done.
The ship was at least partly functional, had left the Corellian system at least in a fit state to manoeuvre and launch small craft, but not much else. Perhaps it would have been easier with a world's resources, but with only the bit juggling capablities of themselves (and the droids), a tender and a heavy frigate, they were slowly coming back to life as an effective warship.
If the enemy would only give them time- which they really ought not to do, but the ship's reputation was acting as their shield, helping create the illusion that she was closer to fighting efficiency than was actually the case. A straight attack, hard and heavy, might have got results.
Well, apart from the secret location, the mines and the fireships. Thin defences, that Lennart had no desire to see put to the test, but they were there just in case. The tender's crew were the least happy about it all, but they were behaving for the time being. The group was under emission control, which they were suffering from.
How they were keeping in contact with the galaxy at large was the small craft, which could in theory be tracked if there was anything nearby with the sensors to do it. Which there were probe droids out to detect anyway. The fighters dumping data packets into the system all flew dog- leg courses that were more tentacle in practise, accompanied by scouting and sanitation sweeps that helped sweat the Corellian ale out of them.
The one relevant and most common asked question, though, was why continue to prosecute the siege at all. Good question, the captain thought looking at the map tank display of the sector. The answer being that if we cut and run, we have nowhere to go and nothing to do but join the rebellion, which would be missing the point of getting this far.
I keep going over and over it looking for another option, some kind of way out, and keep digging deeper and deeper. Entirely apart from what blood we have drawn, and bad blood generated as a result, every move we made trying to clear our names dragged us further into the mess.
The worst of it is that I may be the least radical person on board. The crew have been with me, or ahead of me, every step of the way, especially the ones that I now see lead over the cliff. I can't tell them that we've gone too far, at least not without a better alternative. They're ready to spit in the Empire's eye, and are going to get all of that and more, if the rumbles are true.
The blue one must be laughing himself silly. He has been given every available option to play us for fools and use me as a bloodhound, and all he had to do was swallow a little bile to do it. He's reaping the harvest of this and letting me take the controversy, and I have been played for such a sucker. I still think I could take him in a ship to ship duel, though.
What the crew want to do is to improve the situation by shooting something, but who? There are lots of people we could have a go at, given the little things like shielding and power distribution to the guns working properly, but to what effect, to do what in the way of good?
Successful defensive engagements, like vaporising an Inquisitor, are not enough- that much I will agree to- but the people trying to kill us, their instructions come from Imperial Centre. Come to think of it, given a certain string of practical jokes in my youth, I probably am a credible candidate to commit regicide.
Well, that's their motivations taken care of- although the crew of the Swiftsure had taken a calculated risk, which was that the crew of Black Prince would have their priorities out of joint to the extent that the sensor and signal gear would be left to last as the most difficult and intricate job, and that there would be no-one willing to inform them of the preparations against them.
In fact there were three separate sources, in the nearby sectors- people who had heard the news conference and had chosen to stick their necks out. Again, the course of action to be followed as a result of the intel was the hard part. They couldn't really code faster without cracking civil computers and starting their own botnet. Which had been considered, but it clashed with emcon.
The tender had been sorted out, the robopsychology labs had produced some answers and sufficient fear in the droid ranks, everyone was back to their proper name who wanted to be with some interesting and potentially beneficial things done to pension plans, but normal still meant sixteen, eighteen hour days.
At that rate, they only had to buy a little more time. They would soon regain the ability to act, if they could find something sensible to do. The prospects for going vigilante were excellent- but with a capital ship? With the crew, and the crew's families, hostage?
Many ships had an Association, a club of sorts that included ex crew, crew's families, starship spotters, enthusiasts and usually the odd rebel spy; they were very much a holdover from the republic fleet, and discouraged if not outright banned under the Empire.
Although supposed to be a support group and mutual aid association for the families mainly, under the malign neglect they usually received they were usually a source of grumbles, unhappiness, misinformation, occasional far too accurate information, and general getting in the way. Managed properly they could be a very useful asset to secure and reassure, but that seldom happened.
Black Prince didn't have much of one, as a third recruitment tier unit with crewmen from all over the galaxy it would be difficult to look after any of them really, and the bulk of the association would probably consist of lawyers and naval provosts chasing them for various offences civil and military, real and hypothetical; would have been useful at the moment, though.
Pass the word, to such as would get it- include that in the next data packet run, things were happening and it was time to up and move for your own safety? Where to? Not here, that was certain, not Corellia the trail was too hot there, what about Vineland? The sector they had last operated in- that might work. Hopefully it wasn't too late.
At least they knew there was an assassination squadron being assembled. It seemed at times- such as this- that very few of those who fought for the Empire were actually on the same side. Their rival in the elite certainly had no qualms about fratricide.
Let them plan and recruit, and consider covert curveballs that could delay and frustrate the improvised squadron, and buy time to organise, code, and be ready to meet them. Then, how to turn that- there was much to be done in terms of planning to avoid defeat, no sense in planning for it; how to turn what would hopefully be a victory into long term survival?
Thanks to Nerveless, they did actually have a copy of the ops order. Swiftsure hadn't tried to nal-hutta them, that would have been too easy, but the truth wasn't far off- their own sector group had tried to substitute them in place of the ship actually being asked for, as being much more expendable.
That had had a useful political effect; the people of the Nerveless had become very grumpy and usefully disloyal, and had gone along with their captain's schemes, and he remembered quite a lot about the spying trade. They were willing at least, and perhaps competence could be slowly built on that.
There's another equaliser to be had, Lennart thought. If Olghaan brings his friends, and I bring mine. Who else is there who would be willing to stick their neck out on the strength of this, for the cause of reform?
Trapped between actually counter- revolutionary Rebels and degenerate revolutionary Imperialists, who's going to hold a middle ground whose only advantage is that it is more civilised and humane? Who are the fanatic moderates?
Certainly not the blue man, and we must try to corrupt his files soon, that may be essential if my parents and sister ever want to see natural daylight again. Use the droids' intrusion routine? He has no sense of humour- which makes it perfect. Now here is a frightening thought, what are Lord Vader's politics?
He's the dark side apprentice. An evil bastard- literally considering his rumoured parentage- in his own right, but is he really so much of a fool that he doesn't care whether he inherits a going concern or not? He has to have noticed that Palpatine's government is, of late, spiralled down into a backstabbers' charter and guarantee of chaos.
If that is true, he may be the closest thing I have to top cover. Galactic Spirit, we're truly doomed- either way.
The only other credible alternative I can think of, Convarrian- now he is old money, and also old politics. He's no natural believer in the old order, although he won't say or do anything until he has a better chance of victory. Using one of his most undisciplined and unpredictable subordinates as a catspaw? It would be nice if the catspaw really was attached to the cat.
There was a beep at his door. It was about time, he thought- the trick with total monitoring systems was, as ever, to know when not to act on the information received. He knew com-scan were closing on it.
The door slid open, and there were his daughter and one of the signal interpretation section leaders, Lieutenant Ervel Orbiac. Rafaella was looking as she must have done when she was a student, active and energetic, switched on in a way that he had only hoped he would see.
She was dressed in local garb, something that had largely gone to pot- not over Corellia, but much earlier; the fact was, Imperial dress and deportment regulations were damn hard to come up with a sensible excuse for; it was plain the only thing the maternity jacket could possibly have in its' favour was 'Because'.
There were really very few possible arguments why the crew of a spaceship, in space, should have a uniform that was so perversely unsuitable for work and survival in cold, vacuum, radiation conditions.
If the idea was confidence in the ships' systems, then why was the uniform the thing of absurd itchiness and palaeolithic fabric that it was? If it is possible to operate in shirtsleeve comfort, why not do so? In practise Black Prince's crew tended to wear whatever worked for them, as long as nobody officious was looking.
There were versions of the Stormtrooper bodyglove that were intended to fit under the more specialist armour sets, rad, nova and dungeon trooper suits, that had the performance needed for comfortable day wear shading to emergency survival suit;
but the most common users were regular troopers surreptitiously upgrading who at least had the physical shape not to look blobby in something where the clue was in the name bodyglove.
Lennart had had a fun argument with Severian about that, he had said (feeling embarrassedly patriarchal) that it would not be a good idea for Rafaella, already drawing enough attention from being the captain's daughter, to go sashaying about the ship in curve- tight, provocative gloss black.
Severian knew exactly what he meant and actually agreed, practically speaking, having been the lone woman in a barracks of two hundred men, but she couldn't just let that one pass by.
In the end they had compromised that were practical issues involved, that Rafe was young, troubled and didn't need her abilities to cope that heavily tested yet, that there was a balance to be struck, and that she, Severian, was indeed highly provocative. It probably wasn't the right time to be working on brothers and sisters for Rafaella, but what the heck.
Rafaella had come aboard with virtually nothing except the prison overall she stood up in, and needed to be equipped out of ship's stores; there was a corner of her mind, the one her father worried about, that wanted to be dark and sleek and seductively deadly-
but the rest of her thought of wallscreens cracking over skulls, and decided best not. She had ended up in an engineering fire and shock proof coverall, one of the middle layers of damage control gear.
Orbiac, who was his usual scruffy self, began by splurting out words so rapidly they tripped over each other, 'We've found it, we've got it, the originator, the exchange codes, ten to the forty- seventh my fnording glunt, none of the possible alternatives make sense, they even gundeck their randomness reports, we caught an echo beacon, it just popped itself to logic elements, we've got it.'
Lennart looked at him, motioned him to one of the office chairs, to him 'Breathe.' And to his daughter 'interpret.'
'We intercepted a copy of the operations order from Imperial Centre to Swiftsure.' Rafaella said, and her father was very happy about that 'we.' 'It makes no sense, it almost looks as if it's them that are being set up-'
'Extract first, interpret later. The text, including the headers and routers?' Lennart asked for and got it, put it up on the holotank. Hm. 'It appears to be from 1030 Glittanai all right, and I'm about to do what I told you not to, because look at the originator.'
The two naval officers could make sense of the garble of code and abbreviations, Rafaella couldn't and concentrated on finding what islets of sense she could discover in the sea of acronyms. 'What's a Mox Slosin, PIOIB?'
'Messenger boy from the Palace, basically. Where's Shandon? Call him,' He asked Orbiac, and prodded at his desk com, 'Brenn? We've got something, a com intercept that just might be too good to be true. Ready room three.'
Brenn acknowledged sounding as if he had just got out of bed, which he had, and Lennart turned back to the holotable, trying to put himself in the head of Swiftsure's commander. Were they expecting us to intercept and crack this, or not? Where was the message frame, how did we come by this? Are our com-runner droids better streetfighters than their com droids?
This isn't enough, it's barely a figleaf of a go code. They must have been privately briefed, which is a window of opportunity to exploit perhaps. Slosin is a dark sider and, now let me recall- we had him down as one of the dogs.
A loyal Inquisitor who famously described himself, to people who ought to at least have had the grace to laugh, as a hammer to beat the galaxy into the shape Palpatine wants of it.
A more brutal and obvious example of the basic divide here it would be hard to find. The naval ops order is signed by, oh now, that's interesting, a Vice-Admiral might mean something out at the coal face but at Ultimate Headquarters is barely a clerk typist.
It's entirely possible what's his name, Olghaan on the Swiftsure doesn't have sufficient paper authority to put a task group together at all. I wish I could smell if that was a message or an opportunity.
Brenn and Rythanor aren't here yet, may as well go from square one. 'All right, now that I'm up to speed you can start telling me how you see this.'
'Logic filter.' Orbiac said. 'It doesn't justify the actions Swiftsure has already taken, not formally.' Shovel Orbiac was one step above a clown most of the time, but was tolerated for it because he saved all his common sense and mother wit for his job.
'The people who accept this as the word of authority are, hm, the well conditioned? We can't crack messages that are only written between the lines.
This is enough for the captain of the Swiftsure, and for the local forces who- we think there are indications- have decided to go along with it, because of the Emperor's writ they think is behind it.' They were probably right to think so, of course.
'In other words, I've screwed this up.' Lennart said, as Shandon Rythanor and Iel Brenn came into the ready room, heard him, a raised eyebrow from the nav and a look of bafflement from the com scan chief. 'What I should have done is pretend we were operating under secret instructions from Centre, and we could have got away with incredible things.'
'I thought we already had, and the current stangstorm was the result of Coruscant finally realising it and deciding to get us for it.' Brenn pointed out. 'What have we got, the original operations order?'
Lennart brought that back to the projector, and Brenn looked through it, said 'They must have been privately briefed, it's hardly enough otherwise. Is it just me or is this us out of options?
We can't exactly be pretending to save the empire from itself and from a regicidal conspiracy when the emperor has just decided conspiracy and fratricide is actually business as usual, and he'd rather have us dead?'
'I'm still not joining the Alliance, certainly not without a written contract and a chance to finally use that whoopee cushion.' Lennart said. 'Have you considered that we may be the last people the authorities want investigating any of this- assume there are authorities, for the moment- because we're prime candidates for joining it? That they suspect we actually have, and are playing at least a double game?
Authority's man, the blue one, we've fed him some information but not much, and I've stopped talking to him since that business with my sister. We need to spike him, I think, the next thing we do say to him I want laden and layered with all the worms, tionese equines, virii, bugs and assorted nasties you can physically fit in- and think of some good disinformation to nest them in, at that. We're never going to get a clear hearing- never mind fair for now- through him.'
Rafaella was horrified, said 'Alrika, your sister, you can't just-'
'I'll never get them out, or free, by playing along the way he seems to want me to. Telling him and the official investigation to go shove it and dumping it all to Vader instead has more possibility about it, especially in what we hope the aftermath will be.
What does this give us tactically?' He changed the subject. 'We're not going to be able to avoid a fight, so what advantages can we take from this- can we feed them misinformation, contradictory orders? Predict flight paths to join and ambush?'
With what, Brenn wondered until he remembered the two fireships. 'Either way-' meaning to say more, but the time for grumbling was over and the time to act was almost upon them.
Shook his head, added 'We're running too many probes for my taste, I think the odds are against us getting the information we need to set up a well aimed deception without giving our own position away.
Swifsure's picked a group of seconds because they think some of them are loyal to Palpatine, some of them are crazy and some of them are desperate, but all of them willing to fight us. In detail they might be wrong, but timing and aiming subversion- that is going to take more detail than we have to be sure.
At the moment, we could wing it. If we can pick someone who we're sure is loyal to the cause of tyranny and whom the universe would be better without,' he added that bit heavily, squeezing the words out, 'we could use the shuttles to set an ambush, torpedoes and an asteroid.
What a situation, though. I can't think of any way it could have avoided being like this, short of rolling over and waving our legs in the air, and if they're right to read between the lines the way they do the Empire's beyond reform, but it's still a drakh sandwich.'
'Unless we survive we'll never figure it out. Shandon, you look like the singularity got your tongue, nothing to add?'
Quite a dangerous thing to ask, in view of the com scan chief's last known frame of mind. 'Three problems- they know us, will expect it and will try it themselves, one on one even with Swiftsure we have an EW/IW edge but not in a concerted action.
We have a graffitti incident that our only defence against is that it is so much like what we would do we couldn't possibly have been stupid enough to be that obvious, and the nearby sector groups are starting to position themselves according to how they think it's going to play out. We haven't got many friends.'
'Tell me more about this graffitti incident.' Lennart said.
'It seems that, under the influence of program or programs unknown, a work division of the Executor's astromechs went a little bit mad, and decided to paint the emblem of the Open Circle Fleet two kilometres tall on the starboard hull glacis.' Rythanor said.
'It's obviously made your day. You're right, that's so totally and obviously us we'd have to have been completely insane to have done it, I'd prefer to avoid offending Lord Vader, that's absurdly counterproductive- which I presume means we did?'
'Not deliberately, but...given the sleazebaggano incident, I'm taking no bets. This was a fleet circular, mandating inceased droid security measures- we recieved by remote commo droid. We need something to cannibalise because we are running out of those.' Rythanor said.
'The fleet tender in companion orbit?' Lennart suggested. 'Has something changed, by the way- you took a hard hit and it's a pleasant surprise you've bounced back so soon, but still a surprise. What's up?'
'The weight of uncertainty has gone, things have finally fallen into shape. I know what I'm doing, now; we're here, we're in shit, and we're going to fight.'
'That's the situation at it's essentials, all right.' Lennart said, thinking, well, he is the com scan chief, perhaps when you take all the crud away that really is all it boils down to... 'Swiftsure and her group won't go banging about space at random, probably won't do a deep search because of the ambush possibilities it gives us;
unless they're wildly optimistic they'll use the one place they know we have assets, the wing elements over Veren Porphyr, as the beginning of the battle- play. Do we have enough intrusion to tell where they're assembling?'
'Scouts and probes, maybe, not information relayed; I wonder how deceptive they think they need to be- how far out of the loop we are? Do any of the locals have the authority to stop this happening?'
'Does Lord Vader?' Rafaella suggested.
'I'm not about to ask him and find out, because you only know what he's like from the news and a much manipulated reputation. The fact that he hasn't taken against us already is a positive sign,' Lennart said with his fingers crossed, 'but he certainly has no respect for complainers or losers.
He won't stop it before, unless to blow both sides to bits- defensively weak that thing may be be but galactic spirit, the firepower the Executor can dish out- I think as much as it is realistic to hope for is that he gets involved after the shooting is done. If fortune is with us, maybe during. In the meantime- torpedoes and a handy asteroid, you say?'