The Secretary of the Board, Mark Ashworth, watched the interplay and waited. Catching the Chairman’s nod, he launched into the first of the matters raised during the previous Board meeting. Beside him the secretarial droid recorded everything said around the table. As the discussions flowed around each item, the Chairman drew a response from the relevant member then summarized their comments and made a decision that no one could argue against, even when it might not be exactly what the Board member put forth.
There were times Secretary Ashworth wished he could leave his post and vanish into obscurity. He was privy to far too much and therefore a risk in the Chairman’s eyes. Ari Khamenei had completely changed the culture of the original Consortium, a looser and less predatory group than it had become under his Chairmanship. Not satisfied with simply manipulating politicians, bureaucrats and, through them, governments, Ari Khamenei nursed ambitions of having them completely in his control. He had already achieved this on several colony planets, but his ultimate targets were the governments of Earth itself—and they had just handed him the tools to achieve it.
“Item Four, I believe.” Ari Khamenei waited while everyone shifted in their seats in anticipation. “The good news, my friends, is the Confederation Parliament and the World Treaty Organisation Council have approved our licence to build a self-protection squadron of ships to defend our holdings against pirates and other criminals.” He let the murmur of relief run around the table. “The Confederation’s Council of Presidents and the World Treaty Organisation Fleet objected, but some well-placed leaks suggesting damage to the economies of certain member states of the Confederation soon ensured their votes were favourable.”
The Chairman looked down the length of the table. “Mr Gondal, your division’s proposals, please.” To everyone present, he added, “Your approval of the allocation of resources and financing is required, Members.”
“Thank you, Mr Chairman.” Mr Gondal, Director of Inter-Corporate Finance, practically preened in his obsequiousness. “Members will see on their displays the proposals for the building of twenty destroyer class vessels, eight cruisers and four starship class.” He paused as there was a sharp intake of breath around the table. “As you would expect, this is a somewhat larger force than we have approval for, and it will be expensive.”
“Expensive? This is likely to wipe out all our profits for years!”
The Chairman’s predatory smile was back. “That would be true, Madam Mallick, if we were paying for it.” He gestured to the Director of Inter-Corporate Finance. “Continue, please, Mr Gondal. Explain the funding.”
Captain Heron gazed at the huge building dock in its orbit above Mars. Almost as large as the smaller of the planet’s two moons, geologists had noted that it had a gravitational effect on the planetary surface. It dwarfed the very large shape nestled within the gaping tunnel of the construction berth. Though the ship was already recognisable in its form and purpose, it still lacked most of its armament, two thirds of its outer hull covering and much of its internal fittings. Not for the first time the Captain was struck by its resemblance to the ocean-going submarines that navies operated on Earth in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.
“Vanguard,” he murmured to himself, taking an instant liking to the ship’s name. “First of Class. First into the fray. An appropriate name.” Turning away from the viewscreen he thought about the briefing he’d been given after receiving his orders. It had taken a lot of string pulling, but the Admiral supported him. His command would be receiving some of the finest and most dedicated officers in the Fleet. Some were already on their way to join him on the Vanguard.
“Captain Heron?”
He turned to find a Lieutenant-Commander approaching. Returning the salute, he said, “Yes?” He glanced at the man’s name tag. “Commander Franzen.”
“I’m the Admiral Constructor’s Staff Officer, sir. I’ve a launch on standby to take you to the Dock. Then I’m to see you to your accommodation and show you the office you will use during the completion of the ship.”
“Thank you.” He hesitated. “As you would expect, Commander, I’ve a lot of questions—perhaps you can provide me with some answers as we go.”
Lieutenant-Commander Franzen smiled. “I’ll do my best, sir, but the Admiral wants to give you a full briefing himself in the morning.”
“Mr Chairman, if I understand Mr Gondal correctly, the Fleet is paying for our building programme. Is that correct?”
“Partially, Mr Chang.” The Chairman smiled. “Indirectly and discreetly, of course,” he demurred, and paused a few beats to allow the Board members to enjoy and savour his little joke, though inwardly they were rolling their eyes at his theatrics.
Chairman Khamenei continued. “Through subsidiary companies of the World Treaty Organisation Council procurement services and the Confederation’s preferred supplier lists, we have managed to acquire ownership of WeapTech, taking it completely out of Fleet control. Coupled with that and other companies we own and control through false front corporate arrangements, we now own wholly or in part the four main building docks and the eight repair stations.” Again, he waited while the buzz of interest subsided. “It has taken years to achieve this, one small step at a time.”
And one key bureaucrat or political figure at a time, he added in his thoughts.
“We now own the plans for all the ships and systems they have in build, and the beauty of it is that we have spread the cost of our ships to the overall cost of theirs. Now, as to the cost of the weapons fit, owning WeapTech gives us access to the most innovative weapons and systems. We plan a two-for-one arrangement in which the Fleet buys two systems, pays for three, and we get the third.”
“But surely they will suspect this! Their costs will absolutely explode.”
“Not necessarily. We have experts in the field making sure the accounts stand up to intense scrutiny.” He smiled in that horrible way of his that was really just a stretching of his lips. “So, the profit from building the Fleet’s ships will cover a substantial part of the cost of ours.”
“You said the cost will be partially covered by escalating the cost to the Fleet, Chairman. Where will the rest of the money come from?”
“The planetary colonies we provide protection to, Mr Chang. We are not a charity. We do not provide protection services for nothing. A levy is being made on the populace of each of the colony worlds. It is quite a reasonable payment for each of them to make and a very substantial payment to us.”
The Chairman took his eyes off Mr Chang and pinned them on the Director of Inter-Corporate Finance. “Mr Gondal, please explain to Mr Chang the interim provisions, which will provide immediate cover.”
“Yes, Mr Chairman, certainly. We have in hand the conversion of a number of freightliners and escort ships as well as patrol cruisers and quasi-starships. Several more are to become landing ship platforms to support troop landings where we need them.” Mr Gondal nodded toward another member. “Our shipping operators, under IP Holdings, have been required to provide suitable ships for the conversions, and these are the ships we will show to the NEC and WTO inspectors.”
“What about crews and troops?” The questioner was a corporate attorney seated near the bottom of the table. “The agreement passed by the Confederation Parliament and ratified by the WTO set a number of limits, Mr Chairman.”
In response, the Chairman looked at another Board member. “Mr Nkandla, I believe you have the details for that.”
“Yes, Mr Chairman. Mr Tchetchnya is correct, but as our subsidiaries include all the licensed private security companies providing corporate security to almost every Earth-registered company as well as several governments and a number of NGOs, it could be said that we have exceeded those limits already.”
He paused as a titter of laughter ran round the table.
“We don’t want to give cause for suspicion, so we will maintain that these are totally independent companies competing with one another for contracts. By si
mply doubling the numbers employed by each and allocating them to ships or colonies under the relevant company logo—we contract them, of course—we can put a considerable force under arms, and, at least in appearance, remain well under the limits imposed.”
“Indeed, Mr Chairman,” said the Director of Corporate Security, a man who reeked of smug confidence. “We will crew the ships in a similar manner, by contracting the shipping companies to provide crews for our patrol fleet. The records will show that the majority of the people we have at our disposal are engaged by others and not us—until it suits us to show our full hand.”
“Welcome, James. Take a seat.” The Constructor Admiral waited until his guest was seated, then seated himself on the comfortable Chesterfield sofa opposite. “Got to grips with your new command yet?”
“I think ‘getting on top of it’ is the appropriate phrase, sir,” said James with a chuckle. “She’s far more complex than I expected, but she’ll be a major asset to us when the work is complete.”
“There’s still a huge amount to do, of course, and you’re reliant on the Dock for all power and atmosphere maintenance, but your Engineering Commander is joining soon, the formidable Mary Allison.” The Admiral smiled. “Knowing her, I rather think there will be some rapid movement in completing the Engineering side of things.”
“I am hoping so, sir, but I am more than a little concerned about several things.” Captain Heron leaned back. “There are delays in the delivery and fitting of equipment and vital installations. I keep running into the usual excuses: ‘our suppliers are experiencing difficulty’ or ‘we’re having to renegotiate the costs.’ Then, when the equipment is delivered, there is some other excuse, or they try to substitute a substandard unit for the specified item.”
The Admiral sighed. “I’ve seen the claims for increased costs. We used to have complete control of manufacture and supply of all these things, but now we are in the hands of contractors. Tell your people I want to know if anything is substituted for any component, or any change is made to any aspect of the ship or her structure. I don’t blame the people doing the work. The orders are coming from their employers—and a few of their placements here.”
“Surely we can hold them to the contract and the specifications?”
“We can, but we have to prove that what they’ve installed or modified doesn’t comply with our specs. That’s not always so easily done. That’s why I’ve insisted that your key specialists are assigned early, and as soon as they’re here, I want you to have them run tests on every system. Any defects, any defaults, I want to know.”
Always an astute listener, James Heron asked, “Do we suspect sabotage, sir?”
“Possibly, though I don’t want to contemplate it at this stage. Just let me say that something does not seem quite right, but I haven’t put my finger on it yet. We have a number of ships in build, and suddenly they are all having supply problems. I’m told that the raw materials have trebled in price for the nano-processors among other reasons. Add to that there are shortages on a range of essential components. If I could prove it, I’d call bullshit, but the suppliers all send me their revised schedules—all very apologetic, of course—and then give me a lengthy spiel about competition, increased demand and so on. Since we are their largest customer, I’d very much like to know who is buying.”
The Captain sat quietly as he mulled these assertions. This explained a great deal about the shortages. “My brother-in-law Theo mentioned something the other day about the IPC building its own fleet of protection cruisers. Could they be the reason we’re being shortchanged?”
The Admiral laughed. “The Commander-in-Chief said you were quick on the uptake. You got it in one, James, but so far we can’t prove anything. We do believe that WeapTech, DockCor and Galactic Design are all part of it, but the difficult part is sorting out their ownership. Ever since they were privatised, it has become so tangled that no one is certain who is pulling whose strings anymore.”
“Theo is absolutely certain that all the anti-monopoly laws have been breached. He was opposed to these privatisations from the start, and I suspect he may be right.”
“Oh, I’m sure he is. For now, just do your best to make sure we get your ship completed and to specification.”
Marcus Grover stared at the man behind the desk. “What do you mean the freight charges to ship my produce to Pangaea City are now double the cost? Who the hell can afford that, Terrien? It’ll push prices up on everything, and I won’t be able to pass it on, as you well know. Everything is on contracted prices.”
Terrien Hurker smiled, his expression arrogant as always. “That’s not my problem, Grover. I get my orders from company headquarters. I don’t make these decisions. You want to ship your food cultures to Pangaea City, you have to pay the going rate.”
“I’ll just damned well ship my produce with PanCal then! His wave skimmers may be slower and smaller than yours, but he’s a damned sight more reasonable.” Marcus fumed. “And a damned sight less smug about it.” Thrusting himself out of the chair, he said, “You can forget my business in future!”
“As you like,” Terrien Hurker replied with smug amusement. “But there’s one thing you might want to know. PanCal is now a part of Pangaea Transshipment Corporation. You can talk to them if you like, but you’ll find their shipping rate is the same as ours. Good luck.”
“When the hell did that happen?”
“Oh, so you haven’t been following the news then? What a shame. Remember that big wave piercer they built? He borrowed the capital for it from the Colonial Development Bank of Pangaea.” The nasty smile was back. “An increase in the interest rates meant they couldn’t cover the financing costs. Such a shame really. Such nice people. PTC had to rescue them, so we did, and now we seem to be the only viable option to ship your produce. You have my rates. The PTC Trader will be calling next week should you wish to ship anything.”
Speechless, Marcus glared at the arrogant little man behind the desk. “That’s bloody robbery!”
“No, it’s business, Grover. Oh, and by the way, I hear you need to cover your credit for all those new modifying generators as well. I’d think carefully about your position if I were you.”
“How the hell do you know about that?” Marcus fumed. The bastard had him and he knew it. If he couldn’t ship his produce—synthesised protein for replicating meat—to the wholesale buyers in Pangaea City, he couldn’t meet his payments to his creditors without raiding his limited reserves. He sat down again. “Alright, Hurker, you win. I have two full containers to ship—but you probably know that already. On the shipping charges, I will be taking this up with the Chamber of Agriculture and the Governor’s office. We negotiated a contract that set the shipping costs for twelve months.”
“So you did. However, the new owners feel obliged to charge a realistic price. They’ve reviewed all the existing contracts and adjusted them to reflect our margins.” Like all men with aspirations above their abilities, Hurker had risen to his present position by manipulation, a little blackmail, and his ability to network. Being married to a woman whose family had all the right connections—something she never let him forget—had given his ambition spurs. Now he enjoyed showing these upstart ‘old settler’ types his power over them. After all, Grover was a descendent of one of the first settler families on New Caledonia, and a descendent of one of the original settler party to Pangaea. In the mind of newcomers like Hurker, that meant they thought it gave them the right to decide how the planet should be developed and shared with later settlers like him. Well, now they were learning that it was him and the IPC that held all the power.
He decided to twist the knife in a little deeper. “I’ll have to check, of course, that there is room for two containers—there’s quite a demand on hold space at present. I’ll get back with you on that.” It was a lie, of course, but he would let Grover stew in anger for a day or two before he came back groveling in desperation.
The stumbling figure sank ca
refully into cover, his sense of danger sending the adrenalin surging in his system. What had he seen? Carefully he checked his weapon. Still three-quarters charged. Moving very slowly and carefully he scanned the surroundings. The semi-desert landscape shimmered in the heat. His throat was dry, and he was hungry. His ration pack was empty, as was his water supply. He startled to attention when he detected a flicker of movement.
Using his optic visor, he scanned the area. Nothing. But he was absolutely certain he’d seen something. He scanned again. There was something, but no matter how he adjusted the visor, he couldn’t make it out.
Carefully he backed away from his cover, keeping it between himself and the suspicious object. When he judged himself out of sight, he rolled into a shallow gully then worked his way down it, his intention being to circle around whatever or whoever he’d seen. He froze in shock as the needle punctured his arm and penetrated the thin fabric of his shirt.
A figure dressed in camouflage stepped into view and caught the weapon just as it slipped from the victim’s grasp.
“Who are you?” he gasped as the poison began to take effect.
“The Angel of Death.” The figure chuckled. “Though I prefer to be known as Seth. You caused my principal a great deal of difficulty with your obstinate refusal to accept his requests.”
“Requests? They were … they were immoral. I wasn’t elected to commit treason …” His voice weakened as he contorted in pain. “What about my family…?”
“If they accept the offer made to them, nothing will happen. If they decide to be awkward, there will be repercussions, but that is for others to decide. You took the money and failed to deliver. Your family are of no interest to me.” The assassin paused to watch his victim. “They are not in my contract. You are.”
“Are you going to leave me here?”
Captain James Heron: First into the Fray: Prequel to Harry Heron: Into the Unknown of the Harry Heron Series Page 3