Original Work Shadowed Glory (Morningstar V)

Hi, everyone

Shadowed Glory is the fifth book in the Morningstar series, following on from Exiled To Glory, Stolen Glory, Tarnished Glory and Desperate Glory. It will probably not make much sense unless you have read the first three books in the series, although there will be a short introduction at the start, so I am happy to forward copies of the first three books to anyone willing to provide comments for this book.

As always, I welcome comments and feedback. Everything from spelling mistakes to logic errors or contradictions would be very welcome.

You can purchase the first novel and read a brief introduction to the universe through the links below:

The Chrishanger

An Introduction To The Morningstar Universe

I hope to keep a steady pace, but there will be a pause - my family and I have a lot to deal with right now.

I’ve been working on expanding my list of ways for people to follow me. Please click on the link to sign up for my mailing list, newsletter and much - much - more.

The Chrishanger

Thank you

Chris

PS – if you want to write yourself, please check out the post here - Fantastic Schools - Call For Submissions . We are looking for more submissions.

PPS – I’m looking for more beta readers. Please PM me if interested.

 

Prologue I

From: The Political Biography of Leo Morningstar. Baen Historical Press. Daybreak. Year 307.

The outbreak of open war between the Daybreak Republic and what came to be known, variously, as the Secessionist Alliance, the Cognoscenti, and the rebels was greeted with a certain relief on Daybreak itself. They were a warrior people, who saw success in battle as proof of their own superiority, and so a newborn war offered the chance for their established leaders to prove themselves worthy once again and up-and-coming young commanders to rise to the very top. Indeed, given how military success and political success were closely interlinked on Daybreak, it is unlikely Daybreak would have considered peace negotiations even if such negotiations had been possible. They were not, of course. The Republic simply had too many enemies for anything less than total victory or total defeat to be contemplated.

And yet, despite this, the opening moves of the war provoked a political crisis on Daybreak, centred on the figure of Admiral Alexander Blackthrone. Scion of the long-established Blackthrone Family, who could trace their ancestry all the way back to the Founders (and never let anyone forget it), it was his misfortune to be in command when the phoney war gave way to open conflict. His dispositions during the First Battle of Yangtze might have been entirely reasonable, based on what he knew at the time, but they turned out to be suicidal when faced with what was later described, quite rightly, as a superweapon surprise and his squadron was decisively defeated. His contingency plans, which few had taken entirely seriously, proved inadequate to deal with the disaster, although they bought enough time for a counter-attack - the Second Battle of Yangtze - to evacuate the planet and give the rebels a bloody nose. It was not enough to save his career, and he was summoned back to Daybreak to face a general court martial. Few expected him to do anything other than fall on his sword.

His career was interlinked, for better or worse with the career of Commander Leo Morningstar, who was the first to make direct contact with the rebels, the first to realise just how dangerous a threat they posed and the first to take a mixed fleet of Daybreakers and Colonial personnel into battle. Given how Leo Morningstar had interacted with the Blackthrone Family, detailed in earlier chapters, it is ironic indeed that he might have proved the salvation of his commanding officer. However, it is undeniably true.

The irony only grows deeper as one realises precisely why Leo Morningstar succeeded in the first place. The treachery of Commander Sun Li, a colonial-born officer in naval intelligence, convinced the Admiralty to place heavy restrictions on the careers of other colonial-born officers, a degree that understandably alienated officers and enlisted men who had spent their lives in service to Daybreak. Many of those officers were reassigned to harmless postings, such as asteroid mining stations, or simply invited to take early retirement. Others were placed under the command of Leo Morningstar, and expected to assist him in refitting a fleet of surplus and/or outdated naval and commercial vessels for military service. It is greatly to the credit of Leo Morningstar that he recognised that these officers and enlisted deserved better treatment from the Navy, and that he argued their case to his superior. And it was this that allowed the so-called Gypsy Squadron to harass the rebels and play a major role in the Second Battle of Yangtze.

Some men are born to be at the heart of the storm. Leo Morningstar is one such man. But being recalled to Daybreak meant taking his talents into a very different environment, where wars were fought with a combination of forthright and manly speech and shadowy manoeuvres that everyone pretended didn’t exist, yet everyone knew everyone engaged in. It meant moving from a realm he understood to a world with unwritten rules and conventions that were never discussed in his Academy years.

And in a bid to do the right thing, it is no surprise that he ran into trouble he couldn’t handle.

 

Prologue II

The study was strikingly shabby, for a man whose mere word was law across the republic.

It was a large chamber, but it looked smaller because of the cluster of mismatched chairs, sofas and tables that had been thrust together without rhyme or reason. Valuable antiques dating all the way back to Old Earth rested besides furniture that looked to have come out of a charity shop and a command chair pulled out of a starship too badly battered in combat to be worth restoring and returning to active city. The walls were lined with bookshelves, their contents a mixture of history, politics and fiction from a dozen different genres; the lighting was oddly misplaced, casting strange shadows across the room. The only hint of true modernity was a simple computer terminal resting on a desk and even that looked strange, a boxy machine right out of a romantic fantasy about the past. It was a very strange place to be.

And yet, Louis Blackthrone reflected as he was shown into the chamber, it said much about its owner. Grand Senator (Admiral) Tobias Sullivan had no need to bow to convention, no need to present himself as anything other than what he was, a man with the power and influence to do pretty much whatever he pleased as long as he didn’t go too far and overextend himself. Sullivan had a long history as a naval commander, and a politician, while his family were wealthy businessmen who’d built an empire that stretched across the republic and even – some whispered – into the Beyond. And he had an eye for talent and loyalty. His army of clients, some in very powerful places indeed, served him well. Few would pick a fight with Sullivan without taking the precaution of making out their will first.

He was shorter than Louis had expected, as he rose from a shabby sofa to greet his guest, shorter and uglier. Cosmetic surgery was seen as a sign of moral weakness on Daybreak, but few would have raised eyebrows if Sullivan had altered his looks to be more acceptable. His skin was tanned, his lips set in a genial smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes; his body, what little could be made out under the loose tunic he wore, hard and muscular. His family was proud to proclaim that no one was ever born into their family, that they were expected to become worthy of the family name. Louis had to admit, as they exchanged handshakes, that Sullivan had done his family proud. He wasn’t powerful enough to be an autocrat – the system would never allow it, as his lessers banded together to bring him down – but he was as close to all-powerful as a single man could become. It made him wonder, deep inside, just what would happen when Sullivan finally died. His heirs weren’t anything like the father’s match when it came to gathering and wielding power, influence and patronage. He doubted they could keep his empire after their father’s death.

“Louis,” Sullivan said. His tone was light, friendly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Thank you,” Louis said. “And it’s good to see you too.”

Sullivan smiled the smile of a man who knew they were both being polite. “Would you like tea? Or coffee?”

“Please,” Louis said. It was a sign he was welcome, although he doubted it was truly so. “Tea would be great, thank you.”

“Of course.” Sullivan motioned for Louis to pick a chair, any chair, while he prepared the tea. It said something about him that he was doing it himself, rather than summoning a serving maid, but Louis didn’t know what. Keeping a retinue of servants was another sign of moral weakness, yet everyone understood a man like Sullivan needed someone to take care of such details while he worked to keep his empire alive. Did he not trust his servants? Or was it a simple reluctance to let himself be babied? Making tea was hardly a difficult task. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Milk, please,” Louis said. It felt awkward to accept a mug of tea from such a powerful man ... perhaps that was the point. It was a disconcerting experience. The mug itself was chipped and old, yet in better condition than the one Sullivan himself used. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“You’re welcome,” Sullivan said. “It is always good to see you again.”

They exchanged polite nothings for long moments, comparing notes on families, friends, and football clubs. It was expected of powerful politicians that they would fund such public institutions out of their own pockets, forcing them to give back something of what they owed to Daybreak. Louis himself backed two and he was fairly sure Sullivan backed more, which was oddly appreciated because everyone understood his refusal to take sides. How could he betray one of his clubs in favour of another?

“I’ll get to the point,” Louis said, when they’d exhausted the small number of unimportant topics they could discuss. “My family requires your support.”

“It does, does it?” Sullivan’s eyebrows crawled upwards so slowly Louis knew it was an affection. “What could you possibly want from me?”

Louis hid his annoyance with the ease of long practice. Sullivan knew what Louis wanted or he wasn’t the man Louis knew him to be. Sullivan would probably have planned for the meeting well in advance, working out just how much he was prepared to offer his rival and what he wanted to demand in return. Louis, in turn, had tried to work out what Sullivan might want, although there was no way to know for sure. There was nothing obvious, nothing at all. They might wind up owing him a favour to be redeemed at a later date. And failing to pay the debt would cripple the family.

“My cousin has been recalled home to face a general court martial,” Louis said, bluntly. He didn’t see any point in being coy. “We want the charges dropped.”

Sullivan raised his eyebrows again, this time much more naturally. “And you are sure the Senate will go along with me?”

“Yes,” Louis said.

“And you don’t think Alexander Blackthrone deserves to be put in front of a firing squad, pour encourager les autres?”

Louis kept his face under tight control. If Admiral Alexander Blackthrone had fucked up spectacularly, particularly if the fuck up had been entirely predictable, Louis would have throw him under the oncoming battleship without a second thought. Loyalty was all very well and good, and it was the bread and butter of an extended clan like his family, but you couldn’t defend the undefendable. Nor was there any point in playing out a losing hand. The failure had to be removed for the good of the family. There was no other rational choice.

But Admiral Alexander Blackthrone hadn’t fucked up by the numbers. He’d been caught by surprise, his fleet pinned down and shot to pieces by an enemy armed with a weapon no one knew existed ... and he’d recovered well, launching a counterattack that had given morale a shot in the arm after the early painful defeats. The family’s media connections had been talking that up for weeks, trying to influence public opinion by pointing out that the only battle that truly mattered was the last one and that had been a victory ... from a certain point of view. It was hard to tell if the campaign had had any effect on public opinion. The first defeat had been costly as well as embarrassing. And too many families were mourning the dead for anything to be taken for granted.

“There is a certain danger in putting officers caught in unexpected situations in front of a court martial board,” Louis said, after a moment. “They cannot be held accountable for failing to predict the unpredictable.”

“Some would argue that the disaster could have been predicted,” Sullivan pointed out, mildly.

Louis shrugged. “You know as well as I do that there are always people sitting behind desks, light-years from the front lines, who will argue as much,” he said. “You also know that those people rarely have any real feel for what is truly going on.”

“True.” Sullivan’s tone didn’t change. “It could be argued he chose to ignore the warning signs.”

“And warning signs are, by their very nature, pieces of an incomplete jigsaw that are tricky to put together until it is too late,” Louis said, curtly. “If we tried to draw up contingency plans for every piece of hypothetical technology, from FTL communications to microjump missiles, we’ll all go mad. His dispositions made perfect sense based on what he knew at the time.”

“So you have said, time and time again,” Sullivan said. “And what would you say to the families of the men who died under his command?”

“I would say, they knew the risks when they signed up,” Louis said. “You would say the same.”

Sullivan didn’t bother to argue. It was true and they both knew it. They’d been naval officers in their time, real naval officers. Daybreak scorned the REMF and anyone with political ambitions knew that heading to the front was the quickest way to win acclaim, citizenship and an open passage to political power. They knew the ideal of naval service, they understood the allure of grandiose and complicated plans for victory; they also understood the realities that made such plans more dangerous to the men trying to carry them out than the enemy. It was easy to nitpick, when your arse wasn’t on the line. It was harder to do it when you might have to be the one getting your arse blown away.

“It could be you, next time,” Louis pointed out. “Or one of your clients.”

“Quite,” Sullivan agreed. “But it isn’t quite the same, is it?”

Louis shrugged. A client could be ditched, if they went too far. No one would blame Sullivan for discarding someone who made themselves a liability, if it were clearly their fault. There were limits to loyalty and everyone knew it. But he had to save a cousin ...

He leaned forward. “What do you want?”

Sullivan lifted his eyebrows, once again. “You’re being very direct today.”

“You were a naval officer for years,” Louis said, sardonically. “Do you not understand the value of directness, when set against a growing emergency?”

“Quite,” Sullivan agreed. He made a show of stroking his chin. “What do I want?”

Louis waited. Sullivan would want something – of course he would. It was the nature of humanity for someone to want something, in exchange for his services. No one did anything without an expectation of something in return, even if it was just sincere gratitude or the private knowledge they’d done a good thing. And no one entered politics, certainly not at the level they shared, without wheeling and dealing and a great deal of secretive backroom favour-trading. Sure, being forthright and manly was a virtue – and having foreign politicians hanging around served as a comforting standard of wetness against which local politicians could measure their own behaviour – but there were limits. Sullivan wanted something, in exchange for what Louis wanted. And he wouldn’t hesitate to name his price.

Sullivan smiled, drawing out the moment. “I want something. Yes.”

“And?” Louis didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “What do you want?”

Sullivan told him.

 

Chapter One

Leo felt naked.

It wasn’t true, of course. He wore his groundside dress uniform, so heavy and uncomfortable that it was hard to forget he was wearing it, and carried his cap in his hand as he stood before the Board of Inquiry. He’d had to arrange the dress uniform to be tailored at short notice – his original uniform had been left behind on Yangtze – and he couldn’t help feeling that he’d picked the wrong tailor. It was just a little too uncomfortable for his peace of mind. But perhaps that was a good thing. He had no friends in this room.

The chamber was large and yet completely bare, save for a single military-issue folding table and three chairs. The men sitting in front of him wore their own dress uniforms, the white outfits bearing mute testament to lifetimes in naval service and careers that moved from the military to the political sphere and then back again, insofar as there was any real difference between the two. Leo had never met any of the Board of Inquiry before, but he knew them by reputation. Admiral Bainbridge, a tall dark-skinned man; Admiral Wellstone, a shorter woman with a pinched face; General Singh, a pale man with a neatly trimmed beard and a reputation for never losing a battle, no matter the odds against him. Leo wasn’t on trial – he knew he wasn’t – but it still felt as though he was being judged. Perhaps he was. The Board of Inquiry knew, all too well, just how easily reputations could grow in the telling.

Admiral Bainbridge spoke with quiet authority. “Would you, in your own words, tell us precisely what happened at First Yangtze?”

It’s all in my report, sir, Leo thought, hiding his irritation as best he could. He’d written out a full report as soon as he’d reached safety, then dispatched it and the sensor records to higher authority. He doubted the Board of Inquiry hadn’t read it. They’d certainly have raised a stink if his report had never reached them. You know what happened there.

He took a breath. “The enemy caught Task Force Yangtze by surprise, sir,” he said, as calmly as he could. “They deployed a device to trap our ships in realspace and then struck the fleet with thousands of missiles. The fleet was badly damaged and had to fight its way out of the system, only a handful of ships making it clear before it was too late. The planet itself surrendered shortly afterwards.”

“You were not assigned to Task Force Yangtze,” General Singh said. “What were you doing in the system?”

Leo wondered if the question was an attempt to unsettle him. It didn’t matter.

“I was returning to report to Admiral Blackthrone,” he said. That had been included in his report too. “The enemy fleet arrived before my ship entered orbit. I made the decision to remain in stealth, rather than trying to intervene in the engagement.”

Admiral Bainbridge leaned forward. “And you did not try to jump out at once?”

“I believed it was vitally important that we had a solid record of the engagement,” Leo said, calmly. “There were no reinforcements within reach, sir; there was nothing to be gained by trying to leave before the dust settled.”

“Did you expect Admiral Blackthrone to be defeated?” Admiral Wellstone sounded as though she was biting into something sour. “On paper, the odds were in his favour.”

“No, Admiral,” Leo said. “I expected him to win or to extract his ships with minimal losses. I had no inkling of the looming disaster until it was too late.”

“And yet, you were the one who captured the rebel arsenal ship,” Admiral Wellstone said. “A ship that has no practical value, unless the target can be pinned down in realspace. Why didn’t you assume the worst?”

Leo felt his face heat. “With all due respect, Admiral, there was no suggestion such technology was even possible. We planned for faster missiles, with heavier warheads, or overpowered energy weapons. If we’d encountered either of those, we could have jumped out, preserving much of the fleet for a later engagement on better terms. Instead, we were caught by surprise.”

He paused. “Hindsight tells us we should have wondered why they’d built the ship,” he added. “But hindsight is a wonderful thing.”

“Quite,” Admiral Bainbridge agreed. “What did you do following the defeat?”

“I returned to my squadron and laid plans to transfer my command to our secondary base and carry out delaying operations against the rebels,” Leo said. “I also attempted to get back in touch with Admiral Blackthrone, while planning on the assumption it wouldn’t be possible. And then ...”

Admiral Wellstone raised a hand, cutting him off. “Why did you prepare a secondary base well before it was required?”

Leo sensed danger, although he wasn’t sure why. “Our base started life as a pirate base before we captured it, last year,” he said. “It was quite possible the rebels had either obtained the coordinates from the pirates themselves or their agents on Yangtze, Admiral, and if that were the case I feared we could be attacked at any moment. I saw to the establishment of a second base, completely off the books and when the war started in earnest transferred most of my command there. And it turned out to be a wise precaution, as our base was attacked shortly afterwards.”

“And you had reason to suspect the location would leak from Yangtze?”

Leo leaned forward. “Admiral, with all due respect, there were a lot of people on Yangtze who sympathised with the rebels,” he said. “The attempted coup last year took many of them off the playing field, but we don’t know how many remained in place, ready to get back in touch with the rebel network and continue relaying information to their offworld bases. I had no way to be certain there were no spies with access to the coordinates, no way to be sure the location was completely safe. And I had no way to know if the information had leaked until the enemy fleet arrived. I hoped for the best and assumed the worst.”

Admiral Bainbridge shot his fellow Admiral a look. “Do you believe the contingency planning held up to the crisis you faced?”

Leo hesitated. “Overall, sir, I believe so.”

“You believe so?” Admiral Bainbridge sounded stern. “In what manner do you believe so?”

Leo took a breath. “The general thinking was that the squadron could handle anything the rebels threw at it, sir, or jump out if it turned out we’d underestimated the enemy,” he said, resisting the urge to point out he’d said that once already. “All our contingency plans were based on that assumption, and there were no plans for a near-total defeat. The plans we did have managed to cope with the crisis, which was all that we could ask for at that point.”

“And when you reported back to Admiral Blackthrone,” Admiral Wellstone said, “did you have any doubts about his ability to handle the crisis?”

“That’s not a fair question,” General Singh said, sharply.

“But I would like an answer,” Admiral Wellstone said. “Commander Morningstar?”

Leo felt sweat prickling down his back. The question was dangerous. Asking a junior officer, and he was still very much a junior compared to any flag officer, to criticise his superior was a severe breach of navel etiquette. There were times when misconduct had to be reported, true, but misconduct was very carefully defined. Leo couldn’t point to a single thing Admiral Blackthrone had done that met the legal definition of misconduct, let alone anything more serious like gross incompetence or outright treason. He’d planned as best as he could, based on what he knew at the time, and it was his misfortune he hadn’t know something very important indeed.

“You may speak freely,” Admiral Bainbridge said. “Regardless of the outcome, court martial proceedings are sealed. Admiral Blackthrone will not know who testified for or against him.”

And I can believe as much or as little of that as I like, Leo thought, grimly. The proceedings might be sealed, but Admiral Blackthrone wasn’t stupid. There weren’t many officers with both the means and the motive for landing Admiral Blackthrone in hot water and Leo himself would top the list of suspects. The hell of it is that part of me wants to do just that.

He took a breath. “Admiral Blackthrone was caught by surprise, just like the rest of us,” he said. There was simply no point in suggesting otherwise. He hadn’t seen the looming disaster and nor had anyone else, at least as far as he knew. If an analyst had spotted the thread and filed a report, only to have that report dismissed ... the Board of Inquiry would dig it up and throw the book at the officer who’d dismissed it. “When he realised that he’d been pinned down, and his fleet was being shot to pieces, he took action to extract his remaining vessels from the cauldron before it was too late.”

“Taking heavy losses in the process,” General Singh mused.

“At that point, heavy losses were inevitable,” Leo pointed out, sharply. He had nightmares about the brief and bloody engagement. “He got as many ships out of the trap as he could, sir, and it worked. He did about as well as anyone could.”

Admiral Bainbridge’s expression was unreadable. “And afterwards?”

“Admiral Blackthrone arranged for his fleet to be repaired and resupplied, while dispatching my command on a raiding mission that hopefully knocked the enemy back long enough for the fleet to be reinforced and prepare to go on the offensive again,” Leo said. “When given an opportunity to engage the enemy on better terms, Admiral Blackthrone took it – and gave us a victory.”

“Wars are not won by evacuations,” General Singh pointed out.

“There was no hope of recovering Yangtze,” Leo countered. “Getting the evacuees off the surface and out of the system was the best we could do, sir, and even that was costly. Our victory may not have been decisive, nor did we give the enemy enough of a bloody nose to make them hurt, but we did as well as we had a right to expect.”

He paused. “And Admiral Blackthrone deserves full credit for not only planning the operation, but committing to it and carrying it out. It was in the finest traditions of the navy.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment. Daybreakers were supposed to seek victory at all times, to go on the offensive time and time again until the enemy was truly beaten ... to soak up losses, no matter how high, as long as victory was in the offing. It was dishonourable to retreat if there was still a chance of victory ... and anyone who retreated would face accusations of a lack of moral fibre, even charges of being an outright coward. Admiral Blackthrone had been right to flee Yangtze, in both engagements, Leo knew, but that wouldn’t save him from the whispers. There were just too many people who had reason to tear his family down.

“An interesting argument,” Admiral Wellstone said. Her tone was oddly light, contrasting with her words. “But you would support your commanding officer, wouldn’t you?”

Leo was torn between a sudden flash of anger and an urge to giggle like a loon. He had no love for the Blackthrone clan, although he was honest enough to admit that Admiral Blackthrone had proved himself to be a better man than his nephew ... and, to be fair, that his wretched nephew had grown up a lot over the past year too. If there had been a clear case that Admiral Blackthrone was as incompetent as a man could be, Leo would have buried the knife in his chest without a second thought. And yet, there was no such case. Leo certainly hadn’t seen the looming disaster. Nor had anyone else.

“No, Admiral,” Leo said. “I support the navy, to which I swore my oath.”

“And you served under Admiral Blackthrone, who gave you a command far beyond your rank,” Admiral Wellstone said. “Are you a Commander or a Lieutenant-Commander? I’ve quite lost track.”

In truth, Leo wasn’t sure. His promotion to Commander had never been quite fixed. Such promotions, particularly when made in the field, needed approval from the Admiralty and it hadn’t arrived before the war started in earnest. The Paymaster Corps was going to have a field day trying to figure out how much they owed him; technically, he was owed the commander’s stipend, as a starship commander, even though he didn’t have the rank that should have gone with the post. It was something he’d intended to sort out during the last two weeks. But instead he’d been trapped in useless meetings that could have been handled with a handful of messages.

“I have held both ranks,” he said, finally. Technically true, at least for the moment. “And I believe I acquitted myself well.”

“You are not on trial here, Commander Morningstar,” Admiral Bainbridge said. “We are trying to determine if we should recommend a court martial for Admiral Blackthrone or not.”

Leo took a breath. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Of course,” Admiral Bainbridge said. “We need your honest observations.”

“Yes, sir.” Leo braced himself. Some officers were good at hearing things they didn’t want to hear. Some blamed the bearer of bad news. “My first contact with any member of the Blackthrone family was at the Academy, where I clashed with then-Senior Cadet Francis Blackthrone. Our relationship was ... unpleasant, sir, and I wound up beating the stuffing out of him, for which I accepted NJP and a stern warning that if it happened again NJP wouldn’t be an option. He left the Academy at the end of the year and I didn’t see him again until he was assigned to Task Force Yangtze, four years later.”

He paused. “That was when I met my second member of his family, then-Commodore Alexander Blackthrone. Despite my record as both commanding officer of RSS Waterhen and de facto Sector Commander, I was relieved as commander and forced to serve as XO to Francis Blackthrone, who assigned me to Boulogne as naval liaison and, in my absence, managed to lose Waterhen to a rebel attack. I was forced to mount a desperate gamble to reclaim control of my ship.”

Admiral Wellstone cleared her throat. “Is there a point to this, Lieutenant-Commander, or are you merely rehashing your grievances?”

“Let him finish,” General Singh said.

Leo shot him a grateful look. “Admiral Blackthrone then assigned me to a infiltration mission that went sour, costing me Waterhen,” he continued. “And then I was assigned to take command of a squadron of worn out ships that had been hastily pressed into service, with crews that were understandably dissatisfied at best and outright mutinous at worst. And then ...”

He paused. “I have no reason to be grateful to the Blackthrone family, Admiral. I have plenty of reason to dislike them. And yet, despite that, I am pointing out that Admiral Blackthrone did as well as could be expected, after running into an enemy superweapon that caught him by surprise and forced him to fight on extremely disadvantageous terms. He also allowed me to ameliorate the treatment of colonial personal, after the treachery of Commander Sun Li cast a long shadow over their careers. His conduct deserves respect, Admiral, and I say that as someone who would quite like to see his family take a tumble.”

“You have nerve, Commander,” General Singh said. “Did you ever consider joining the Marine Corps?”

Admiral Bainbridge snorted. “This is not the time for a recruitment speech,” he said. There was a hint of a smile in his tone as he addressed Leo. “Your argument is that we can trust your opinion because you have an excellent motive to bury a knife in their backs and you are not doing so, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Leo said.

“And you do not think he should have prepared for a superweapon surprise?” Admiral Bainbridge met his eyes. “Not even considered the possibility?”

“Admiral, there are hundreds of superweapons that are just around the corner ... or so we are assured,” Leo said. “I’ve seen people telling me we can design missiles that travel faster-than-light in realspace, or teleporters, or a dozen other ideas that don’t exist outside science-fantasy. If we try to plan for them all, devoting resources to prepare for threats that may never exist, we’ll run right into the Superiority problem in reverse. The planning was as good as it could be, under the circumstances. We were just caught by surprise.”

“I see,” Admiral Bainbridge said. “Do you feel he should be put in front of a court martial?”

Leo blinked. That was hardly his call. “No, sir,” he said, finally. “Instead, the battle should be studied carefully, then learned from.”

Admiral Bainbridge nodded. “Thank you for your time, Commander,” he said. “Please don’t leave the planet, at least without permission from the Admiralty. You may be called upon to testify again, or you may be reassigned without further ado. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Leo said.

He sighed inwardly as he saluted, then left the compartment. He’d already been to see his family and there wasn’t much else he wanted to do on Daybreak. The debriefings had been interesting at first, a chance to see the engagements from different points of view, but now they were just going over the same ground time and time again. He wanted a new ship and crew, a chance to get back out there and stuck into the rebels before the war was over ... hell, he’d accept another outdated ship if it meant getting back into space. But he had no idea if there was a ship waiting in his future. If Admiral Blackthrone was put in front of a court martial, Leo would have to remain on the planet to testify.

And everyone wants a scapegoat for the defeat, he mused, as he made his way out of Admiralty House. The thought bothered him, in a manner he couldn’t quite articulate. He didn’t like Admiral Blackthrone very much, but the man had earned a certain degree of respect. If Admiral Blackthrone’s family can’t save him, he’s doomed.

“Leo,” someone called. “Long time no see!”

Leo turned and blinked. “Ruth?”