Torchship Captain

by Karl K Gallagher

  “That was very brave of you.” Guen had been horrified when she saw policemen dying in the riots, not admiring. Saying so would be a quick way to die at the hands of the mob.

  Jozzy shrugged. “I was just angry at what they did to Thun and his boys.”

  Handclaps caught their attention. Professor Corday stood at the far side of the room. Wide doors had been opened onto an equally large room.

  “Could the primary guests please join me in the next room?” he said. “Friends and aides are welcome to keep enjoying the buffet. You’ll be able to hear everything.”

  Jozzy and Guen joined the parade into the next room. There were no tables, only a ring of chairs facing the center. They were spaced widely enough to walk between.

  Professor Corday stood in the middle.

  Guen took a seat on the far side. Jozzy sat to her right.

  The professor began, “Thank you all so much for coming. I’ve heard you wonder why you were chosen. It’s simple. You are all the most popular people among those who matter. It used to be the Stakeholders and the rich mattered. Now it’s the stipend kids. We are the ones who matter now.

  “The old government is gone. Some dead, some fled, the rest ignored. The Navy refused calls to intervene because the people asking had no authority. They were remnants. The police are hiding in fear of the stipend kids, or protecting the richest neighborhoods for under the table payments. There is no government on Pintoy.

  “Now the old order made anarchy sound good. But it’s not working well for us. People are in danger. We need to keep the public safe.

  “I propose that we become a Committee of Public Safety. Our personal followers combined will give us the full support of the stipend kids. With that the middle class will endorse us to restore order.

  “Are you willing to take on this burden?”

  The silence hung heavy. Even the buffet room had hushed, listening for the answer.

  Someone spoke up. “Yeah, I guess. Somebody has to.”

  More murmurs of assent spread around the circle. Guen said, “Yes.”

  A contrarian said, “Can we do it? I think it’s a good thing if we can, but I don’t know how to run a committee. None of the people I know here do either.”

  Professor Corday nodded to him. “Wayne Searcher, you make a good point. Does anyone here have experience in government?”

  Kimmie Z said, “Guen Claret was a stakeholder.”

  The professor turned to Guen. “Did you learn how to run a committee meeting?”

  “Yes, the Council had a class on the procedures,” answered Guen.

  Before she could get to the “but” someone said, “I nominate Guen for chair.”

  Jozzy seconded.

  “All in favor?” said the professor, raising his hand.

  Guen was the only one without a raised hand.

  “Congratulations, Guen,” said Corday, taking the only empty seat.

  Everyone waited expectantly.

  Well, you wanted to do this with stakeholders. Now you’re doing it with rebels. Guen stood. “When we ask people for their support we have to tell them what we’re going to do. Two things have to come first: stopping the pee-kays and food distribution.”

  Committee members nodded in approval as she continued.

  An itch traveled between Guen’s shoulder blades, like a knife point seeking a place to sink in.

  Joshua Chamberlain, Tiantan System, acceleration 0 m/s2

  “Traffic Control has cleared us for a parking orbit,” reported Hiroshi.

  “Good. I’m sure Ping’s been informed of our arrival by now. I’ll see if he’ll come along quietly.” Mitchie had to admit she was whistling past the graveyard on that.

  She kept her initial message to the minimum. MUST MEET TO ARRANGE YOUR RETURN TO FLEET. LONG, CMDING J.C. The comm box forwarded it to Tiantan’s relay satellite.

  Tiantan shone ahead of them. Some considered it the Terraforming Service’s best work. No deserts, no swamps, no uninhabitable plateaus. The small ice caps gave way to forests then grain fields followed by rice paddies in the equatorial zone. The mountain ranges were thin, shaping weather patterns with the least loss of usable land. The shallow oceans supported abundant life. The night side glowed with the lights of small towns and cities focused on learning.

  Too damn manicured, thought Mitchie. It’s like living in a greenhouse.

  The response came from Traffic Control. “Ma’am, they want us to land. Specific coordinates on the planet. Should I comply?”

  “Yes. That’s the meeting I requested.” I hope.

  A terse reply from Stakeholder Ping invited her to join him at the Mansion of Contemplation. That sounded like a good place for a quiet chat. She didn’t mind the direction to come alone.

  Joshua Chamberlain, Tiantan, gravity 8.7 m/s2

  The landing pad was less than half a klick across. Most worlds wouldn’t let a cutter land on something that small, let alone an analog ship. Hiroshi placed them exactly on the crossing stripes in the center.

  Before debarking Mitchie called Guo and Setta to the bridge. “I want to clarify the chain of command. First Mate, Pilot, Bosun.” Guo, Hiroshi, and Setta nodded in turn. “Our orders are to bring Stakeholder Ping back to the Combined Fleet. Our mission is to make the Fusion supply its share of reinforcements.”

  She considered ordering them to return to the Fleet if anything happened to her. But Guo wouldn’t let an order get in the way of rescuing her. That’s why she’d put him in command over the more qualified Hiroshi. No sense adding the extra step of hitting the pilot over the head to Guo’s rescue plan.

  “If anything happens to me take whatever action best carries out the mission.”

  A chorus of “yes, ma’ams” came back.

  A driver waited in a four-seat scooter at the base of the ship. “I will take you to the Green Place,” he said in Mandarin.

  “I’m supposed to go to the Mansion of Contemplation,” she replied, stumbling over the last phrase. Her Mandarin was still weak.

  “Same. Green Place is nickname.”

  She sat in the seat next to him. Both hands grasped the front rail as he accelerated. The speed was insignificant compared to her ship’s peak velocity but it felt very fast down here with all those things to bump into.

  The scooter screeched to a stop where the pavement changed to gravel. She had a third of a klick to walk. She thanked him politely anyway.

  From there the structure looked a pure, bright green. Her niece had a plastic toy frog that color. As Mitchie walked up the gravel path she started to pick out dark and bright spots, placed next to each other to fool the distant observers. Then the broad patches of grass-green became mosaics of slightly different shades. She stopped as it sank in. The entire four-story building was covered with jade. Stones of different shades, some striped, all selected and fit together to look identical from a distance. Knowing how they did things on Tiantan it had probably all been done by hand.

  The Mansion didn’t have the look she’d expected. Mitchie studied the doors and windows. As the Sinophone movement’s headquarters it should have a classical Chinese architecture. The two pagoda roofs did draw on that. The walls below them were curved, not straight, almost if the building was trying to be a bubble under a hat. The doors were marked with decorative arches that didn’t match the rest. Then it hit her—the walls were imitating a Mongolian yurt. The doors had Japanese torii arches. The clashing windows must draw on another tradition she didn’t recognize. The Sinophones were trying to draw all the Asian descendants into their faction by representing them in this building.

  A middle aged Chinese woman met her inside the doorway. “Welcome to the Mansion of Contemplation,” she said in, thankfully, English. “Please come with me. You must prepare for your meeting with Daifu.”

  So Ping had a new title. Mitchie tried to remember what the word meant as she followed the lady through narrow hallways to a small room. Unlike the works of art decorating the rest of the b
uilding, the contents of this room were fully modern machines.

  “You must be dressed properly for your audience. Please remove your outer clothes and stand under the measurement arch.”

  As she peeled off the jumpsuit Mitchie realized why she was instinctively obeying someone she disliked. The woman looked and sounded like Shi Bingrong, Guo’s predecessor as first mate.

  Standing under the arch was insufficient. The woman made an impatient twirling gesture with her finger. Mitchie obediently turned around. I would have saved this hassle if I’d gone back to get my dress uniform. But no, I had to rush after him.

  The big machine started to purr. Mitchie accepted a cup of tea to be polite. Before she finished it a drawer slid out with clothes.

  It wasn’t an Akiak Space Guard dress uniform. The grey fabric was a shade too dark. The command and pilot badges were embroidered in silver thread instead of being metal pins. And it hadn’t produced shiny low-quarter shoes to replace her boots.

  “Thank you. That’s impressive work,” said Mitchie as she started dressing.

  “I apologize for not replicating your ribbons. I couldn’t find a good enough image.”

  “That’s fine. Everyone who needs to know what I’ve done already knows.”

  She led Mitchie to a large circular chamber. Flunkies of various types lined the walls. A round table held a dozen Chinese ranging from double Mitchie’s age to decrepit. Given Fusion tech the oldest might be nearly two centuries.

  Stakeholder—now Daifu—Ping swiveled his chair to face Mitchie. “My fellow teachers, I present the famous and infamous Michigan Long. Our liaison to the Disconnected Worlds.”

  An interpreter stood behind the table, translating their conversation for whichever of the leaders didn’t know English.

  Ping wore a conventional suit, though the fabric bore a semy of butterflies and bamboo leaves instead of pinstripes. The others wore Confucian Revival robes except for one in the uniform of a Fusion Navy admiral.

  Mitchie decided to ignore the rest. “Mr. Ping. Admiral Galen ordered you to return from Pintoy to the Combined Fleet with no detours. You will return to Joshua Chamberlain with me.”

  The flunkies chuckled.

  “And if I do not?” asked Ping. “Your ship is unarmed.”

  “Your dossier on me is thorough. But you missed the incident where I killed a recalcitrant man by hovering over him on my ship’s torch. He was baked into the soil.”

  Ping thought for a moment. “Murtaza?”

  “Yes.”

  “It had always seemed odd to me that a man died in your presence without it being your fault.”

  “Then you’re coming.”

  “No. Please contact your ship.”

  Mitchie pulled her datasheet from her pocket. “Hiroshi. Any news?”

  “Uh, ma’am, three warships just touched down around us. Two destroyers and a light cruiser. The Fusion Navy markings are painted over. They say Protectors of Harmony now. Each one has a laser pointed at us.”

  “Sit tight. Long out.” She shoved the datasheet back into the pocket. “Firing on my ship would be an act of war. Your last war with the Disconnect didn’t go well for you.”

  “I doubt the Defense Coordinating Committee would go to war over a clearly documented act of self-defense. I’m prepared to bet my life on it.”

  The flunkies also being wagered were silent.

  “If you’re not going to obey Admiral Galen’s order why are you talking to me?”

  “You are Disconnected. A very useful thing right now.”

  Mitchie watched warily as Ping stood and began to pace.

  “We have order here. The stipends have ended. Everyone works for their keep. The riots were suppressed.”

  “How many deaths did that take?” interrupted Mitchie.

  Ping looked to the admiral.

  The officer shrugged. “The obedient lived. The rebellious died. We didn’t count them.”

  So thousands dead at least, thought Mitchie.

  “We are grounding our society in traditional principles so everyone may lead a happy and fulfilled life. Our best teachers will lead us toward a proper understanding. Then we will have harmony.

  “But to truly live in harmony we must have peace with our neighbors. Other worlds are in chaos. Murder in the streets goes unpunished. They must restore order to be good neighbors. When we have that the volunteers training for the militia can join the Fusion Navy and resume our fight against the Betrayers.

  “An ad hoc group has seized power on Pintoy. As a Disconnected Worlds representative you are a neutral party. I wish you to deliver the Harmony’s statement to them. The sooner a new order is established the sooner we may deliver the ships we promised to the Combined Fleet.” Ping held a data crystal out to Mitchie.

  “I presume you included a complete copy of the Master’s works?”

  “No. Pintoy has libraries if they want to emulate our success. But there are many European-derived social philosophies. We don’t care how they organize their society. Just that they do organize it, in accordance with human nature, and not force people into unnatural patterns until they explode.”

  Mitchie took the crystal.

  “Safe journey, Commander Long.”

  On the way out the Bing-lookalike handed her a neat bundle tied with a pastel ribbon—her jumpsuit.

  Guo took Mitchie’s hand to pull her up the last few rungs of the ladder.

  “We’re leaving,” she said.

  “Nice outfit.” Guo reeled in the rope ladder, securing it in the cargo hold airlock. “He’s not coming, then.”

  “No. He’s covered every angle and is willing to be violent. So he’s maneuvered me into being his messenger. I hate that.”

  “Messenger duty isn’t that bad.”

  “Not that. Everything I’ve done Ping saw coming and blocked. Now I’m doing a job for him because that’s the best way to try to do our mission.”

  Guo sealed the airlock. “He has a lot more resources than we do.”

  “It wasn’t that.” Grudgingly. “He outsmarted me.”

  “Good. That should happen sometimes. Humility is good for you.”

  Her fist hit his triceps hard enough to bruise. Guo only grinned.

  “I’m going to the bridge. We need to get off this rock.”

  Chapter Four: Disorder

  Joshua Chamberlain, Danu System, acceleration 10 m/s2

  The comm box grabbed a daily news dump whenever they were close enough to a relay buoy. The news from Pintoy had been ‘Planet In Chaos, Nobody Knows What’s Happening’ the whole trip. Today there was actual news.

  An oversized datasheet hung in the galley for when the crew wanted to watch a show together. Now it displayed the new rulers supervising executions.

  Guo complained, “Guillotines? And a Committee of Public Safety? Did they have a coup by historical reenactors?”

  “Couldn’t be,” answered Hiroshi. “We got them all.”

  “Looks like you missed the French ones.”

  Mitchie looked up from her datasheet. “Damn, that is Guen. How the hell did she wind up in charge of this?”

  No one answered. On the big screen more heads went into baskets.

  Guo said, “It’s a revolution. Anything can happen. At least we know she’s alive.”

  “If she hasn’t been assassinated since this footage.”

  Mthembu yelled down the open bridge hatch. “Ma’am, can you come up?”

  Mitchie joined him on the bridge. “What’s up?”

  “Traffic Control sent out a notice about a naval convoy transiting the system. It’s not Fusion Navy. Bonnie ships. I thought you might want to know.”

  “I would. Thank you, Coxswain’s Mate.”

  She fed the data feed from Traffic Control to the nav box. The convoy’s course went straight from gate to gate. Clearly headed for the front. A wide cylinder marked an exclusion zone. The Fuzies were afraid to let any civilian traffic pass close to the warships.r />
  Joshua Chamberlain was not civilian traffic.

  “Mthembu, plot a course. I want to make a close approach with option to rendezvous.”

  “Yes’m. How much accel can I pull?”

  “See if you can keep it at ten gravs.”

  While the co-pilot wrestled with the navigation computer, Mitchie took out the telescope. She could see the convoy. Eight ships in a sloppy formation. She meditated on the sight.

  “Ma’am, I can do it at fifteen gravs. They have too much of a head start for ten gravs.”

  She secured the telescope and looked over his work. “Do it.”

  He gave the crew two minute’s warning of the acceleration increase. Then they had three days of thrusting to match position with the convoy.

  Mitchie intended to wait until they were inside ten light-seconds from the warships to contact them. That much lag made a conversation only irritating instead of impractical. The convoy spoiled the plan by sending a voice-only message at fifteen light seconds.

  “Convoy Three-Zero-Eight to unknown torchship. Maintain your distance. Ships violating the convoy security zone will be fired upon.”

  She made a verbal reply. “Akiak Guard Ship Joshua Chamberlain to Convoy Three Oh Eight. I must speak to the convoy commander.”

  The thirty second delay gave her a chance to remember that Joshua Chamberlain was chartered to the Bonaventure Defense Force rather than the Akiak Space Guard. Oh, well. They won’t know any better.

  “Stand by,” said the comm box’s speaker. Then its screen lit up. “This is Lieutenant Commander Sheu, commanding the cruiser Audie Murphy. Who am I speaking to?”

  Mitchie activated the camera. “This is Commander Michigan Long, commanding the Joshua Chamberlain. I need to speak to the squadron commander.” She managed to not end her transmission with “kid” even though that was the youngest lieutenant commander she’d ever seen.

  Sheu left his camera running while waiting for an answer. He almost jumped out of his seat when her image appeared.

  “Is that really Michigan Long?” said an off-screen voice.

  “I think it really is her,” answered Sheu. “My God.”