A Call to Arms - eARC Read online

  It was an escape he very much needed. Captaining a heavy cruiser was challenging and time-consuming enough, but Edward had the extra burden of being crown prince. That meant keeping tabs on everything that was happening in the Palace, the government, and—for that matter—the entire Star Kingdom.

  At least, that was what it theoretically meant. In actual practice, Edward had been more than a little lax on that latter set of duties. His ship’s travel schedule often kept him away from Manticore—or even out of the system entirely, given the Navy’s more aggressive anti-piracy stance after Secour—when there were meetings and Parliamentary events that he should be keeping an eye on. At the same time, his lack of anything approaching free time had forced him to mostly ignore the Palace’s daily reports.

  It had been a nagging sore spot between him and his father for a long time. Eventually, the King had given up trying to press Edward on the point, but Edward knew that his father’s frustration and disappointment were still there.

  Every time the guilt bug bit—and it bit on a fairly regular basis—he promised himself he would do better. Accordingly, as he headed home for his impromptu escape he promised himself that after a few hours with his family he would head to the Palace and check in with his father. He was exactly four and a half hours into that escape when his father called one of the King’s Own security men assigned to Edward and requested the Crown Prince’s presence at the Palace.

  Edward’s first concern, that the King was having some serious medical problem that his haphazard skimming of the daily reports had missed, lasted until he reached the Royal Sanctum where his father was waiting. King Michael seemed a bit more frail than the last time Edward had seen him, but was clearly and thankfully not anywhere near death’s door.

  The resulting sense of relief lasted until Edward found out that he’d been summoned for a meeting with Chancellor Breakwater.

  The final souring of a previously wonderful day came when he learned the precise topic of the meeting.

  He couldn’t let his annoyance show, of course. He was the Crown Prince, he was at the side of the King, and the need to maintain absolute solidarity in public was one of the first lessons he’d been taught by his grandmother as a young child.

  But years in the Navy had taught him how to seethe invisibly. He did so now, passionately, all the way to the conference room.

  He’d given up an afternoon of board games with his wife, son, and daughter for this?

  They reached the conference room to discover no surprises at all awaiting them. Chancellor Breakwater was there, of course, as were First Lord of the Admiralty Cazenestro, Admiral Locatelli, and Defense Minister Clara Sumner, Countess Calvingdell. Flanking Breakwater in support of his side of the issue were his two strongest allies in his ongoing anti-Navy crusade: Earl Chillon and Baron Winterfall.

  Edward eyed the latter as he rounded the table toward the chair that had been reserved for him at the far end. Several years ago, in the aftermath of the Phobos debacle, King Michael had warned Edward that Winterfall was someone who needed to be watched. At the time, Edward hadn’t been convinced.

  But seeing Winterfall here brought back those memories. Especially since the typical service life of one of Breakwater’s political sock puppets was only a couple of years. The fact that Winterfall was still around was strong indication that the young man hadn’t yet outlived his usefulness to the Chancellor.

  Maybe that was the real reason Edward had been so resistant to keeping up with Manticoran politics, he mused as he found his seat at the table. Not the inconvenience of distance or even the chronic lack of time, but the fact that he hated the genteel infighting and backbiting that seemed to have become a permanent part of the Star Kingdom’s operational machinery.

  Maybe that was one reason he’d gone into the Navy, in fact. Not just to protect his home and his people—though those were certainly important—but because the whole naval structure was different. There were politics, certainly—far more than he liked. But in the end, when push came to shove, there was always a clear line of command, and a clear set of regs and standing orders that everyone followed.

  And as King Michael grew steadily more frail, Edward was also increasingly aware that the day was coming when he would never again hold a space-going command. When he would be embroiled in these dirtside politics for the rest of his life.

  Across the table, Breakwater was watching him, though clearly pretending to be studying his tablet, and Edward wondered yet again why the Chancellor hadn’t used the Crown Prince’s neglect of his political duties as yet another stick with which to beat the Navy. Certainly it was an easy enough target.

  The answer, unfortunately, was probably that Breakwater had decided that Edward’s disengagement from the political fray suited his own purposes.

  He felt his lip twist. Yet another reason for him to feel guilty.

  “We appreciate your time, Your Majesty,” Breakwater said after the formalities and greetings had been dispensed with and everyone was once again seated. “Your Highness,” he added with a respectful nod to Edward.

  Respectful, but with an odd half-frown to it, as if he was wondering why exactly the Crown Prince had even been invited to this get-together.

  Edward wasn’t offended. Breakwater liked to be in control of his environment, and adding an extra person to the group weakened that control.

  Besides, Edward was wondering about that himself. With luck, maybe he and the Chancellor would find out together.

  “As you all know—as most of you know,” Breakwater corrected himself with another nod toward Edward’s end of the table, “MPARS is once again in the midst of a logistics crisis. We have far too few ships to patrol the regions we’ve been assigned to protect, particularly the Unicorn Belt. The ships we do have are undercrewed and are forever struggling to obtain spare parts and orbital dock space.”

  Which wasn’t exactly true, Edward knew. In fact, Breakwater’s whole diatribe was edging close to outright falsehood. MPARS might not have any sizeable ships, but they had a half dozen converted ore and mining craft that had been refitted as patrol-and-repair ships. As for personnel, they’d stolen over three hundred officers and enlisted from the RMN five years ago for their ill-fated Phobos project, and as far as Edward knew they’d never given them back.

  He looked over at Cazenestro, waiting for the First Lord to call him on that one. To his surprise, though, the rebuke didn’t come.

  “It’s not any better in the Navy,” Cazenestro said instead. “In case you hadn’t noticed. If you’ll look to the bills you and your colleagues have passed over the past few years, you’ll see that the various planetary infrastructure rebuilding and expansion programs are still getting first priority in terms of resources and personnel.”

  “Yes, thank you, I understand that,” Breakwater said, just as coolly. “And I would be the last person to take food from the mouths of babes.”

  There was, Edward knew, an opportunity there for a very sarcastic comment regarding Breakwater’s policies. Fortunately, everyone present had too much class to take the easy shot.

  “But that same rebuilding has led to more miners than ever plying the asteroid belts, and their lives and safety are also important to the Star Kingdom,” Breakwater continued. “And it cannot be overemphasized how important the raw materials so obtained are to our current rebuilding—”

  “If you please, My Lord,” Calvingdell interrupted in her clear soprano. “I believe we’re all well acquainted with your views and thoughts on this matter. Can we please move to the bottom line?”

  “If you insist, My Lady,” Breakwater said, inclining his head to her even as his eyes gave a small flash of annoyance. Clearly, he still had some drawing-room oratory he’d wanted to trot out. “The bottom line is that the Navy has a group of ships that it really has no use for, and which MPARS desperately needs. Namely, the seven Pegasus-class corvettes.”

  “You must be joking,” Locatelli said, his voice a sort of disbelieving outrage. “If you’d ever bothered to study naval tactics you’d have learned that corvettes are the ship of choice for flank protection and long-range triangulation.”

  “I have studied tactics, thank you Admiral,” Breakwater said, his own voice the smooth confidence of a man who’s anticipated the objection and has already formulated a counter-argument. “The only reason you use corvettes that way is that there’s not much else you can do with them. Your Salamander-class destroyers are equally effective for that kind of duty: almost as fast, and better armed.”

  “Except that we only have six destroyers,” Cazenestro pointed out. “Losing the corvettes would cut our useful flanking force in half.”

  “That assumes you actually have need of a flanking force,” Breakwater said. “But that leads us to the real core of our proposal. At the moment the Navy’s forces are split into, I believe, three groups: Green Task Forces One and Two in the Manticore-A system, and Red Force out at Manticore-B. Distributing your forces that way means that, at any given time, only three spots in the entire Star Kingdom are truly safe.” He lifted a finger. “Whereas if the seven corvettes were with MPARS and patrolling other regions of our space—”

  “Just a moment,” Locatelli interrupted. “Are you suggesting that the corvettes would still be armed?”

  “Of course,” Breakwater said, frowning as if that was obvious. “They wouldn’t be much use against your roving pirates if they weren’t.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in pirates,” Calvingdell said mildly.

  Edward focused on her. Calvingdell had taken over the Ministry four T-years ago, after the Phobos investigation came to an end and the former Defense Minister, Earl Dapplelake, had handed in the final report and his resignation. Completely unnecessarily, in Edward’s opinion, especially given that the report hadn’t laid even a hint of the blame at the Defense Minister’s own door. But Dapplelake had considered the debacle ultimately his responsibility, and neither the Prime Minster nor the King himself had been able to talk him out of stepping down.

  Calvingdell wasn’t a bad choice to fill his shoes, really. She understood people and numbers, and could deal with both.

  The problem was that she didn’t understand the Navy. Not the way Dapplelake had understood it. Certainly not the way Cazenestro or Locatelli or Edward himself understood it.

  And like a miscalibrated impeller wedge, that blind spot might end up costing them. Badly.

  “There are a lot of things I don’t believe in,” Breakwater said, his eyes focused directly on hers now. Like a Kodiak Max targeting the weak one of the herd, the irreverent thought flickered through Edward’s mind. “But I’m willing to concede that my knowledge is imperfect, my opinions not always correct, and the future may throw some surprises our direction. Even if there are no genuine threats out there right now, diversifying the Star Kingdom’s defensive capability still makes sense.”

  “Hardly,” Cazenestro said, throwing a sideways look at Calvingdell that probably wanted to be a glare but couldn’t quite bring itself to cross the line of propriety. “If a threat does present itself we need to be able to counter with a strong and focused response. I doubt an attacker would sportingly hold off his operation while we gathered our ships together from every corner of the Kingdom.”

  “On top of which, MPARS has no training in the use or maintenance of such weapons,” Locatelli added. “It would take years to bring your people up to speed.”

  “Which is why we’re not asking that all seven corvettes be transferred at once,” Winterfall spoke up. “Nor is there need for them to be armed. At least, not yet.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “Explain, please,” Cazenestro said, his voice cautious.

  “Chancellor Breakwater is looking to the future,” Winterfall said. “But if the past has taught us anything, it’s that small steps are often the prudent course.” He tapped a key on his tablet, the command popping a set of diagrams and data pages onto the tablet lying on the table in front of Edward. “I’ve therefore taken the liberty of working up a compromise suggestion.”

  Edward picked up his tablet, mentally shaking his head as he skimmed through the report. Just as he had back in the early Phobos debate, Winterfall had picked the precise psychological moment to undercut the whole basis of both Breakwater’s suggestion and Cazenestro’s objections.

  “So you’re saying you don’t want the missiles at all?” Cazenestro asked warily.

  “As I said, perhaps in the future,” Winterfall said. “If and when we get solid proof that there’s a threat to the Star Kingdom, we’ll want as many armed ships as possible. Until then—” he gestured to the tablet “—I think a pair of hull-mounted rescue pods would be more useful to MPARS’s primary mission of search and rescue. It would also make sense to take the opportunity to also do a complete overhaul and upgrade. If we needed to rearm them in the future, we’d want to make sure all of their systems were fully serviceable and up to date. We should probably also fit them to tow other ships in an emergency.”

  “Interesting,” Calvingdell said as she scrolled down the pages. “So the rescue pods would simply replace the missile box launchers?”

  “Exactly, My Lady,” Winterfall said. “And the launchers could always be restored. The necessary connection points are already there, and I understand box launchers are designed for relatively easy removal and replacement.”

  “Relatively being the key word,” Locatelli rumbled. “Have you run the design by anyone else?”

  “Not the full design,” Winterfall said. “But everything in it is off-the-shelf technology, so I don’t anticipate any major surprises.”

  “It would certainly be a welcome sight to a distressed mining ship,” Calvingdell commented.

  That point, at least, was unarguable. Edward ran his eye down the list of emergency equipment, spare parts, tools, and survival gear that would make up the bulk of one of Winterfall’s proposed rescue pods, all arranged so that individual sections could be split off and dropped alongside a ship in distress. The second pod, in contrast, was a last-ditch solution for when all the repair gear failed: a compact life pod where survivors of a wrecked ship could huddle together, cramped but safe, while the corvette ferried them back to port.

  “I’m sure it would be,” Cazenestro said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that this would pull seven vital warships out of service.” He looked at the King, who had been watching the verbal duel in silence. “I presume, Your Majesty, that you recognize the potentially dire situation this would leave us in.”

  “I do,” the King said. “But I also recognize that Chancellor Breakwater is correct. MPARS’s resources have been stretched beyond the limit, and that situation needs to be addressed.”

  Edward stared down the length of the table. Was his father actually agreeing with Breakwater’s transparent grab for ships and power? Especially after Secour?

  “We would, of course, take another page from Baron Winterfall’s list of small steps,” the King continued. “We should begin by transferring just two of the corvettes to MPARS instead of all seven.” He gestured to Cazenestro. “Do you have a suggestion as to which two, My Lord?”

  Cazenestro looked like he’d just eaten something sour. But he knew an order when he heard one. “Probably Ares and Taurus,” he said reluctantly. “They’re currently attached to Red Force at Manticore-B, which is where the bulk of the MPARS patrols are anyway. They should feel right at home there. Though it seems to me, Your Majesty, that there’s no reason to remove their box launchers or approve their transfer until it’s been confirmed that Baron Winterfall’s modules are actually practical.”

  “Agreed,” Michael agreed. “And of course, the transfer can’t take place until MPARS has men and women capable of crewing them. Chancellor Breakwater’s first task will be to have those crews chosen, after which you’ll arrange for them to be run through the Academy and Casey-Rosewood.”

  Cazenestro sat up a bit straighter. “They’ll be coming to us, Your Majesty?”

  “I doubt standard MPARS training includes corvettes, My Lord,” Michael pointed out dryly.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I understand that,” Cazenestro said, floundering a bit. “But there’s no significant difference in the basic systems between those ships and the ones MPARS already has in service. In fact, the primary differences are all combat systems.”

  “And the tactical training to use them, of course,” Calvingdell murmured.

  “Of course,” Cazenestro agreed. “Neither of which are MPARS priorities. My thought was that I could simply detach some of my instructors on a temporary basis to handle the degree of familiarization they’d need where the core systems are required.”

  “As Baron Winterfall said, those ships might someday be pressed into combat,” Breakwater put in smoothly. “In such an event, the fact that the crews had undergone military training might prove crucial to their success and survival. In fact,” he went on, as if the thought had just occurred to him, “it might be a good idea if all MPARS personnel underwent such training.”

  “An interesting proposal,” Michael said, turning to Cazenestro. “My Lord?”

  “Under current conditions, I’m afraid that would be impossible, Your Majesty,” Cazenestro said stiffly. “We simply don’t have the facilities to accommodate such an influx of new people.” He glowered at Breakwater. “Unless the Chancellor would be willing to fund an expansion for those facilities.”

  “Unfortunately, Parliament’s budget has little room for such extras at the moment,” Breakwater said. “But again, we can leave that for the future. We’ll just focus on training the corvettes’ future crews and leave the full regimen for another day.”