Curious—and youthful—faces peeked into the edge of the screen.
Ah, fame, thought Mitchie.
Sheu waved them away and composed his features. “Ma’am, I’m commanding the squadron as senior captain. It’s a temporary unit, we’ll be broken up when we reach the fleet.”
With that face the word “senior” should mean graduation parties, not command. Mitchie would rather do this next part as question and answer but the time lag was too long. She’d have to make a speech.
“Commander Sheu, I don’t know how closely you’ve followed recent events in the Fusion. The Council of Stakeholders is mostly dead. A new group has seized power. And another faction is preparing to wage civil war.
“My mission is to ensure the Fusion provides its promised reinforcements to the Combined Fleet. We also need to make sure whatever new government arises respects the peace treaty with the Disconnected Worlds. All of that will require more firepower than just my ship. Do you understand?”
Turning the camera off would be an expression of weakness. So would fidgeting, nail chewing, or humming. Mitchie had polished her acting skills in years as an undercover intelligence agent. Now she used them to project calm interest in Sheu’s answer.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m not sure how we can help. Our orders are to proceed directly to rendezvous with the Combined fleet.”
“And they need your support. But this is a major crisis that will determine if the Combined Fleet will get any reinforcements from the Fusion or if humans will be at war with each other again. We need to brainstorm the best way to respond to this as the Disconnected Worlds units on the spot.
“I’m inviting your squadron captains and XOs aboard for a meeting to determine the best course of action. Joshua Chamberlain has the most room for everyone. Coordinate with my co-pilot on maneuvers.”
As a higher-ranking officer her ‘invitation’ would be considered an order. A meeting wouldn’t conflict too much with their existing orders. Bringing them onto her ship would establish psychological dominance.
“Yes, ma’am. We should be able to report aboard in less than an hour.” The kid actually saluted.
She snapped one back. At least the guy wasn’t green enough to hold it until he saw her return it. Sheu dropped it after five seconds. She turned away from the comm box.
“Mthembu, take care of the rendezvous. Make them do the hard part. I need to prepare a reception.”
***
Sixteen visiting officers overflowed the galley. She’d considered briefing them in the cargo hold but sitting the captains at the table added a useful formality. They’d been in free-fall since the ships rendezvoused so stuffing the executive officers in odd corners wasn’t a strain on them.
Setta and her deckhands passed out free-fall friendly snacks. Feeding them was another way to bond them to Mitchie as a new leader. Fresh fruit, sandwiches, and pastries managed to tempt all the visitors into eating something.
Sheu wasn’t as young as he’d seemed on the screen. He was almost exactly Mitchie’s age. He just didn’t have the I’ve-lost-count-of-how-many-times-I’ve-almost-been-killed lines she was used to seeing on the faces of ship crews.
A couple of JG’s did have those lines. Chit-chat while waiting for the rest to arrive confirmed they were mustangs, enlisted men commissioned after serving in the Third Battle of Bonaventure. Neither minded being staked out as bait for Mitchie’s trap, or possibly they hadn’t made the connection.
The other light cruiser was the last to send its command staff over. The senior was a Lieutenant Commander Zimmerman, apparently only junior to Sheu because same day promotions handled seniority in alphabetical order. He gave a bitter laugh as he explained it.
Once everyone was introduced Mitchie plunged into the briefing. The Fusion’s deceptions and the resulting carnage shocked them. The Harmony’s restrictions on individual freedom offended them. She cut short the video of the Committee of Public Safety’s executions—a couple of lieutenants looked ready to vomit.
Her crew hadn’t been bothered. Which may be because my crew was pushing body parts out of the way during search and recovery missions.
“This is the part of the briefing where I tell you the plan. The situation is too fluid for a plan yet. We will have to assess what’s happening on Pintoy and respond appropriately. We need to all focus on our goals.
“First goal: make sure whatever new government arises isn’t a threat to the Disconnected Worlds. There are too many historical precedents for a weak government trying to unify its people by starting a war. A prompt show of force could prevent us from having to missile a city. Destroying one city could avert a war which destroys multiple planets.
“Second goal: make them abide by the peace treaty. Free transit for our ships, fair treatment for Disconnect citizens.
“Third goal: make them deliver reinforcements to the Combined Fleet. The Fusion built hundreds of warships it couldn’t crew. They’re sitting in parking orbits waiting for some revolutionaries to grab them. We need those ships attacking the Betrayers, not the Disconnect or rival Fuzies.”
That left the officers looking grimmer than the videos of Pintoy had.
“Right now the available resources are my unarmed ship and your squadron. Clearly some have to continue on to the Combined Fleet. You’re not just needed as warships, you need to inform Admiral Galen of the situation here.”
The body language of the captains let her judge which way they wanted to go. Sheu’s hero worship of her wasn’t shared by everyone else. Zimmerman was suspicious of the entire situation and resented the interruption in their flight. The lower-ranking officers were worried but didn’t seem to have useful ideas.
“We do need to have a presence in Pintoy,” said Sheu. “Something more intimidating than, pardon me, ma’am, a freighter.”
“I agree,” said Mitchie.
Zimmerman snapped, “You can’t abandon your command to go off like this.”
Mitchie said gently, “If Commander Sheu’s ship goes to Pintoy, command of the remainder if the squadron would devolve to the next highest ranking officer.”
He tried to keep a poker face, but she could tell Zimmerman liked the thought of taking command.
One of the mustangs asked, “How many ships do we need to make a difference?”
“Just one warship would be a significant presence,” said Sheu.
“Yes,” agreed Mitchie. “A second and third would let us show the flag in more than one place if we need to, or send messages.”
Lieutenant Snyder, commanding the destroyer Walking Rollo, asked, “Has any of this been reported to the DCC?”
Everyone looked at Mitchie.
“No, I’d only planned to report to Admiral Galen,” she said. Even Sheu’s expression turned down at that. “I hate to give up another courier, but you’re right.” The one time I try to follow the chain of command somebody talks me out of it.
“Then I’ll volunteer to take that message back, ma’am,” said Snyder.
“Good. Hopefully they can send some diplomats back with you.”
“Ma’am?” One of the XOs was too shy to ask her question straight out.
“Go ahead, Ensign.”
“It sounds like you need intel types more than warships.”
“Yes,” agreed Mitchie. “But y’all are who I have. I want you all to check your crews for anyone with useful experience or aptitude. We need intelligence agents, Mandarin interpreters, open source analysts, and covert operatives. If you have anyone like that transfer them to here or one of the ships going to Pintoy.”
“Which are the Joshua Chamberlain and Audie Murphy,” said Zimmerman.
A lieutenant spoke up. “We should have a second warship at Pintoy. I’ll bring St. Aubrey.”
Another volunteered his destroyer as well.
“Very well,” said Mitchie. She wanted to thank them but it would damage the little bit of authority she’d managed to hold over the group. “Commander Sheu will lead
the Pintoy squadron. Commander Zimmerman, take the remaining ships to the Combined Fleet. I’ll have data crystals with this briefing and some other files for you and Lieutenant Snyder. Everyone check your crews for special talents and transfer them to the Pintoy squadron before we boost.”
Bosun Setta waved a covered basket as she floated in the corridor.
“And feel free to take some more cookies on your way out.”
A wave of “Yes, ma’ams” came back as the officers started moving.
Joshua Chamberlain, Dirac System, acceleration 10 m/s2
Guo looked up from his datasheet as Mitchie entered their cabin. “Have you read this ultimatum of Ping’s?” he asked.
“Just enough to convince me I didn’t want to read the rest. It’s huge.” She leaned on the back of his chair to see what he was looking at.
“Yes, they buried the key bits under piles of philosophy and pleas for reconciliation. But it means war. War with the insurrectionists, and war with us.”
Mitchie moved to the bed to face him. “Ping sounded like he wanted peaceful coexistence when he handed me this thing.”
“I’m sure he did. And he’s not demanding political control. He wants to impose bottom-up social controls. Any world that doesn’t exercise enough control he’s threatening war on.”
“What kind of controls?”
“No stipends.”
“Sounds like home.” Akiak’s impoverished children and invalids were assisted by private associations. The able-bodied could work or starve.
“Yeah? Does providing mandatory government make-work sound like home?”
“Hell, no. That sounds like it would violate the anti-slavery clauses.”
“It would. Along with the rule that everyone have a supervisor responsible for his decisions.”
She gave that one a moment’s thought. “What about small businesses and freelancers?”
“They don’t exist,” said Guo in grim tones. “Everyone is part of a chain of command, tying the whole planet into a single organization.”
“Whooo. Yeah, he does want war. Guen would go down fighting over that. What else is in there?”
“Family rules. Fathers have supervisory control over kids until they’re transferred to a new supervisor as an adult. Research restrictions. Closes a few loopholes in the old Fusion rules. And there’s the ‘Good Neighbor Policy.’” Guo gave the phrase a sarcastic lilt. “All worlds complying with the Harmony’s rules are required to enforce them on worlds that aren’t.”
“Shit. He wants to renew the war with the Disconnect.”
“Oh, we can be disconnected at the political level if we implement his social rules.”
“Sure. I don’t think any one of the Disconnected Worlds could enforce that without civil war. And I’d be one of the rebels.” Mitchie fingered the empty spot on her belt where her holster would go.
“I can pull the excerpts of the bad stuff into a file for you,” Guo offered.
“No, I’d better read the whole thing. I need to be a player in this argument. Have to make friends with the Committee of Public Safety, keep them on our side. Or with whoever’s in charge when we get there.”
Guo chuckled.
Mitchie looked up at him. “How Confucian is this?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s your philosophy. How well does this plan implement it?”
He thought for a few moments. “The structure fits well. People are happier when they’re integrated into a family or a strong group. Forcibly incorporating people who don’t believe in it is a huge shift from tradition. Confucians are supposed to educate people, not coerce them.”
“So this isn’t appealing to you?”
“No.”
She kept her eyes locked on him, wanting more of an answer.
Guo said firmly, “I swore an oath to protect our people’s freedom. If this was better for all of them, and I’m not sure it is, I’d still fight to keep it from being forced on them.”
Mitchie walked over and kissed him.
Pintoy System, acceleration 10 m/s2
“Joshua Chamberlain to Traffic Control. Request clearance for Pintoy landing.” Mthembu sounded frustrated. They’d been in the system for hours without a peep from Traffic Control. Sheu’s ships had completed their jumps and gathered into a loose formation behind the freighter.
The comm box picked up a transmission. “Lyke Star to Joshua. Give it up.”
Mthembu picked up the mike. “Lyke Star, what happened to Traffic Control?”
A minute went by. “Don’t know but they’re gone. We’re all on watch and avoid. So be careful.”
“Oh. Thank you, Lyke Star.”
Another minute. “Good luck, Joshua.”
The Coxswain’s Mate turned to Mitchie. “What do we do now, ma’am?”
“We keep going. Fire up the radar and do visual checks. We’ll just have to dodge if anyone gets in our way.”
There wasn’t much traffic in the system. The ship-to-ship bands had a steady chatter of ships announcing their intentions. Nobody complained about getting plumed.
“Audie Murphy to Joshua Chamberlain, come in please.”
It was Sheu’s voice so Mitchie answered it herself. “Chamberlain here.”
“Ma’am, I think we found a solution to the parking problem.”
Both leaving the squadron in orbit and landing it on Pintoy had hazards. Mitchie had delegated the decision to Sheu, who’d postponed it.
“Glad to hear it. Where?”
“We heard an ad for the ski resort on Matsu. They sound hungry for business, so they’d have plenty of room for our ships.”
Pintoy’s moon was a methane-atmosphere iceball. If this was the place Mitchie had heard of before, ‘ski resort’ was a euphemism for casino. As a base for the squadron it had the advantages of proximity, shore leave, and safety from revolutionary mobs.
“Sounds worth a try.”
“If you land with us we can transfer the specialists over without an EVA.”
“Agreed.”
Matsu, moon of Pintoy, gravity 2.2 m/s2
Joshua Chamberlain’s turbines spun harder to get full thrust from the lighter atmosphere. The exhaust blew ethane snow off the concrete landing pad. Once the flurries settled a crawler came out from the insulated tunnel extending from the resort domes. An accordion tube expanded behind it. At the ship the crawler’s cab lifted off its chassis to meet the cargo hold airlock.
Ensign Jones met her in the dome. “Volunteer detail ready, ma’am!” she said with a salute. The spacers formed up behind her in two lines.
“Good morning, folks. I’m Commander Long. Stand easy.” Not that standing at attention was a strain in this gravity. “I’ll chat with each of you before we go down to the planet.”
Jones had files ready for each one with a summary of their applicable experience. Most had tours in Intelligence or Shore Patrol before the fleet expansion pulled them onto ship duty.
Mitchie approved them all. She was in no position to be fussy.
After a Gunner’s Mate led the enlisted to the ship Mitchie turned to Ensign Jones. “That was a solid audition for adjutant. Good work.”
Jones flushed. “Actually, ma’am, I want to be a covert operative.”
“How much intelligence experience do you have?” Not that an ensign could have experience unless she was a mustang. Jones looked far too young to be one.
“I was selected for Intel my senior year at Academy,” said the ensign. “They sent me to Tactical at graduation.”
“Analyst or operative?”
“They had me tracked to be an analyst. But you need operatives more.”
Which was true. “How much tradecraft training have you had?”
“No formal training. I’ve read several books.” A visible blush—she was as pale as Mitchie. “Including everything I could find about your career.”
“Most of that is bullshit.”
“I’d be glad for any training
you can give me, ma’am.”
“You wouldn’t be able to use my special methods.”
Another blush. “How could you tell?”
Because you didn’t say ‘fuck you, bitch’ when I said you couldn’t. “Gut instinct.”
“Even so, you mostly used conventional methods. I’ve studied how to do them.”
“That’s not the same as practical training.” Still, only one of the other volunteers was willing to do undercover work, and his background was police, not intelligence. If this butterbar could do the job Mitchie could use her results. “What would you use as a cover identity?”
“Stranded tourist. Captain sold my ticket to a rich guy fleeing the mob and left me here. Gives me a reason to hate Pintoy’s upper class.”
“And if I need you to infiltrate the upper class?”
Jones thought a moment. “I’d do it openly, as your aide. You have connections to the old and new governments. They’d suck up to me to get access to you.”
Mitchie stared at her junior. That’s . . . actually a good idea. Maybe she does have some talent for this. “Very well, Ensign. Welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“That’s enough ma’ams for now. We’ll be working together too closely for that. What’s your name?”
“Heidi, ma’am. Uh, sorry.”
Mitchie chuckled, not at the mistake but the name. It fit her blonde braids too well.
Capitol City, Planet Pintoy, gravity 9.4 m/s2
Guen was waiting as Mitchie slid out of the car. “We’re already in session. They’re waiting for you.”
There went Mitchie’s hopes of actually getting a briefing on what the Committee of Public Safety was other than ‘those guys who set up the guillotines.’
“Don’t be formal. We don’t use parliamentary procedure. It’s all first names.” Guen took Mitchie’s arm and led her into the building. They passed by the stairs and headed straight for the door flanked by six armed guards. “Just belt it out. If anyone asks a question give them a one line answer and go back to your pitch.”
The guards opened the door for them. They marched into the meeting room, followed by Guen’s bodyguards. “Damn, we need to find some private time soon. Here we go. Good luck.” Guen led her to the center of the room.
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