The conference room was silent, the usual rustling still.
Ping began describing an alternate rule for ships approaching a foreign planet.
Mitchie started breathing again. Declaring hostages too valueless to bargain for was the recommended doctrine. She realized she wouldn’t have been able to do what Guen had. Having lost Guo and found him again she was more desperate to keep him safe.
The cynical part of her wondered how much Guen’s tough posture was enabled by her new relationship.
Guen was commenting on Ping’s latest amendment, accepting it with a modification. Both were speaking in perfectly calm tones.
So was this an escalation that should be reported to Bachak, or routine diplomacy?
PHS Kongbu, Danu System, acceleration 0 m/s2
Being a hostage wasn’t Guo's preferred job, but it was steady work. He sat belted to a chair in the background of Ping’s broadcasts. No need to say anything, though he was allowed to join in on the text commentary of the various analysts making Kremlinological interpretations of Guen’s latest offhand remark.
Or he could use his datasheet for leisure reading. That usually seemed a better use of his time.
The real-time negotiations were midway through their sixth day. Guo’d considered proposing a seventh-day rest but chosen to let Ping work himself to death if he chose. He had faith in Guen’s stamina.
The conference area was open to the flag bridge proper. When some of the ratings began signaling for officers’ attention Guo turned his attention to them. He wasn't trying to gather classified information. It just had to be more interesting than Ping’s blather.
The discussion stayed too quiet for him to make out until it worked its way up the chain to Admiral Chang. A lieutenant approached him to report, “Sir, several large freighters have entered the system from the Argo gate. They claim to be logistics elements of the Combined Fleet under pursuit by Betrayer forces.”
“The enemy is laboring hard on their disinformation. Thank you, carry on.”
Guo wondered if the Combined Fleet was really coming this way. The last thing they needed was a three way fight among humans. Maybe they’d get really lucky and Admiral Galen could broker a truce. He considered his previous interactions with Galen. No, diplomacy was not the man’s strength.
Ping was equally dismissive when Guen relayed the news of the arrivals. She ignored his reply and went back to arguing about transit rights.
When Guo finished his novel he scanned the unread books in Kongbu’s library. A ship with this much processing power should have a better selection. He settled for re-reading a history of the Spring and Autumn Period.
The lieutenant reported again to Chang. “There's more ships jumping in. The latest group is a cruiser squadron. Their emissions signature matches Fusion-built light cruisers. Peltast-class.”
“Is there any way we can verify their identity?” asked Chang.
One of the staffers spoke up. “Sir, one’s transponder is identifying it as the FNS Medon. The captain of the Medon was a classmate of mine. If we get him to make a long statement I should be able to tell if it’s really him.”
“Very well. Make the request.”
Unfortunately for Guo’s entertainment the supposed Combined Fleet ships had arrived four light hours away. He decided to get a good night’s sleep while waiting for the reply.
He was back on the flag bridge in time for the transmission.
“Video tightbeam from the Medon, Admiral,” reported a rating.
“On display,” ordered Chang.
A Chinese man in a rumpled uniform appeared. Guo noted the lines on his face, the familiar mark of service in the Combined Fleet. He made all the Harmony spacers look young in comparison.
“Xi, you lousy son of a bitch,” he began. His Mandarin had the distinctive accent of one who’d grown up speaking Cantonese. “We’ve been out here fighting constantly, lots of us dying, for all of humanity, and what do we find when we get back? You bastards are playing politics, blowing up the ships we need to survive. You need to get your thumbs out of your asses and report for duty. Maybe that would be enough to stop the Betrayers again. And tell your commander he should commit suicide to apologize for his failure. Gaai out.”
Silence fell on the flag bridge.
Admiral Chang asked, “Lieutenant Commander Xi, is that your classmate?”
The officer replied, “Yes, sir. He normally only talked like that when drunk, sir.”
“Combat fatigue is equal to four shots of whiskey,” said Guo.
Chang’s glare made Guo decide to not make more quips that day.
“Intelligence, what’s your current assessment?” demanded Chang.
“Sir, ships have been jumping into the system at maximum safe rate, with the wide dispersion resulting from such close intervals. Logistics ships and different warship classes have been intermixed. We assess that they’ve made similar max-rate transits recently and their unit cohesion has been disrupted. Multiple ships have transmitted a message from Admiral Galen describing a retreat in the face of a multi-system Betrayer offensive and demanding all combat units be placed under his command per the Treaty of Lapis.”
“You think it’s real?”
“Given the number of warships that have jumped in, yes, sir.”
Guo admired the courage of the intelligence officer. She hadn’t flinched at all.
Chang turned to his aide. “Please notify Daifu Ping I need to meet with him at his earliest convenience.”
Guo checked his datasheet. It was almost time for Ping to begin the day’s negotiations anyway. He looked at the conversation channels. He could only access the ones for Ping’s various flunkies and minions.
They were panicking. Disbelief warred with calls for retreat or attack. One analyst was convinced this was a hoax by naval officers plotting a coup against the Council of Elders.
Ping arrived and was almost dragged into Chang’s private office. Ten minutes later muffled shouting could be heard through the soundproofed walls. Nervous flunkies found excuses to be elsewhere.
A bit later the hatch burst open. Chang held Ping by the arm. He kicked off the bulkhead, pulling Ping over to the Tactical holotank.
“Look at our formation. The disk faces the enemy so every ship’s anti-missile defenses can bear on them. We can stop any number of missiles they throw at us.” Chang added an inward-pointing arrow in the plane of the disk. “If the Diskers, or, Heaven help us, the Betrayers attack only the few ships on the near edge can counter incoming missiles. They’d be overwhelmed.”
“So we can redeploy to face them,” said Ping.
“That will give us the same vulnerability against the CPS. Given how undisciplined their fleet is I don’t know if they could resist attacking us. We need a political solution or we have to retreat from this system.”
“Very well,” said Ping. “I will force the negotiations to a conclusion.”
A flunky had been blathering on tax policy to fill time in Ping’s absence.
Ping floated in front of him. “It appears the Combined Fleet is retreating from a Betrayer counter-attack. We will need to join them to present an effective defense. Let us immediately agree on the current draft of the truce proposal so we can begin operations against the Betrayers.”
Halfway through this Guen had waved her placeholder out of the way as she took the focus of the camera. She smiled slightly as she thought on Ping’s words. “No,” she said.
“What?”
“I said no.”
“But . . . you have to! There’s a Betrayer fleet bearing down on us. We have to pull together.”
“There were Betrayer fleets bearing down on us when you participated in the Fusion’s attack on the Disconnected Worlds. There were Betrayer fleets bearing down on us when you decided to replace the Fusion with a government of your cronies. Now another Betrayer fleet is coming. The only difference is that you, personally, are in the line of fire this time.”
G
uen stepped toward the camera, her face filling the display wall. “I just hope your transmission lasts long enough for me to see the look on your face as you die.”
The transmission from the Dread cut off.
Ping spun to face his backdrop audience. “What the hell is she thinking? She can’t be serious.”
“Maybe she wants revenge for her father’s murder,” said Guo. “There are suspects on this ship.”
The flunkies began babbling, each trying to come up with a theory that would please Ping.
Admiral Chang’s voice cut through them. “Likely she knows it will take the Combined Fleet five days to reach us and wants to use that time to extract concessions.”
That made Ping straighten out again. “Of course. And she expects Admiral Galen to take her side for additional leverage.”
Guo thought Galen’s leverage would take the form of three hundred missiles hitting Kongbu at half of lightspeed, but decided to stay silent.
“Should we offer concessions on the Unification Plan?” asked a flunky.
“No,” said Ping. “We don’t have the leverage to make them accept that. Pull up the Coexistence draft and let’s see what concessions we can offer.”
Chapter Nine: Clash
FNS Dread, Danu System, acceleration 0 m/s2
Guen was enjoying herself. She’d responded to Ping’s offered concessions with a list of demands. She and Wayne were whiling away the wait by learning a free-fall dance. A few of the ratings had converted a hanger into a dance hall for off-duty spacers. The fad was spreading through the crew. Now the civilians were joining in.
The wallflowers included Mitchie. She was in no mood for dancing.
A yeoman entered the conference room, datasheet in hand. “Madam Chairwoman?” he called.
Guen pushed off from Wayne to meet him. It would have worked if they hadn’t been practicing a twirl. She went spinning in the wrong direction.
Kicking off from the wall, Mitchie grabbed Guen before she could bounce off the deck. She pushed on the deck with her hand to send them toward the yeoman. She twisted to get a foot in a loop as they landed and leveraged Guen’s shoulder to put her facing him.
“Thanks,” said Guen over her shoulder. Then she put on a dignified expression to greet the yeoman.
Mitchie tried to calm her pulse. Guen had broken a sweat with the dancing. The only times she’d smelled Guen’s sweat before—well, Guo had been there.
The yeoman’s datasheet contained a written response from Daifu Ping. Guen started scrolling, then searched for a specific item.
“Here we go,” she said. “‘Return of Ambassador Guo Kwan is agreed to, on condition that he go to a Combined Fleet unit.’ Ready to take him back to your fleet?”
“Hell, yes,” said Mitchie.
“I hate to give you up, but you deserve to have him back. Give him my love.”
“Thanks.” She went through the hatch and headed for the hangers.
Joshua Chamberlain, Danu System, acceleration 10 m/s2
Usually having Mitchie at the controls meant Hiroshi could relax and watch to see if there were any new tricks to copy. Not this time. From the moment the battleship’s cutter had delivered her she’d been bouncing with nervous energy.
It was affecting her piloting. His latest sextant sights said she’d overcorrected on their last course adjustment. They’d gone from a quarter degree of minus yaw off-course to three eighths of plus yaw.
“How’s it look?” Mitchie demanded.
And normally she didn’t micromanage unless they were in critical operations. Which this wasn’t. A simple point A to point B, zero-zero at destination, was the easiest course a torchship could do.
Hiroshi answered, “Not perfect, but we can wait a few hours before the next correction.”
“Good.”
Mitchie wasn’t being chatty. Neither pilot nor co-pilot wanted to start a conversation with her in this mood. Hiroshi hoped Mthembu wasn’t shadowing her piloting. The coxswain was clumsy enough without starting to imitate someone else’s mistakes.
A faint clicking caught at his ears. A malfunction? Turning his head located it. Mitchie was fiddling with the thrust lever for the aeroturbines. Just flipping it back and forth. Fidgeting.
The shock he felt surprised him. The principle of ‘Don’t touch controls you’re not using’ had been driven deep.
There wasn’t any harm in it. With no air for the turbines to act on they were shut down until the converter room mechanics connected power to them again. But still . . . spaceship controls were not for playing with.
“Ma’am?” asked Hiroshi.
Mitchie pulled her hand back into her lap. “Yes?”
“If you want to meet the Senior Chief as he boards, I’d be happy to handle the docking maneuvers with Kongbu.”
She thought a moment. “Sure. Take the con, I’ll check if there’s an acceleration bunk ready in the hold.”
“I have the con, ma’am.”
When the hatch closed behind Mitchie, Hiroshi waved Mthembu into the empty piloting couch.
“Is she having combat fatigue?” asked the co-pilot as he strapped himself in.
“Bachelor fatigue, I think. This was the first time they’ve been apart in four years. Or she’s just worried about what happened to him while he was in enemy hands.”
***
Pressing the landing gear against the hanger’s deck was a relief. Kongbu was a huge ship, but its hangers were designed for fighters and cutters, not a freighter. Even one as small as Joshua Chamberlain was a snug fit.
“Kongbu Operations, this is Joshua Chamberlain. Thrusters off, we are at rest in dock,” said Hiroshi.
“Acknowledged.”
The hanger doors closed. He glanced at the bridge instruments. They showed air pressure outside, steadily increasing to breathable.
Ops spoke again. “Joshua Chamberlain, Elder Ping invites your whole crew to dine with him in the flag mess.”
That was not in the agreed routine for the pick-up. “Please thank the Elder for us but our orders are to immediately rendezvous with the Combined Fleet.”
“I’m afraid the Elder insists.”
“He can insist all he wants. We’re staying aboard.” Hiroshi thought an invitation to the captain might be sincere, but wanting the whole crew off the ship meant trouble.
“Then your ship will remain here until you do.”
“Hold us against our will and we will destroy your vessel.”
Ops sounded amused. “Joshua Chamberlain, you are an unarmed freighter. You can’t do a thing to this ship.”
“I can fire our torch. It will melt your decks and fry your life support. The nose of our ship is built for aerobraking. It can push through your decks until it reaches the hull.”
Mthembu had been alarmed by the conversation. Now he looked ready to panic, his eyes wide. He unsnapped a shoulder strap.
Hiroshi waved him down. He flipped the switch on his mike. “Relax, I’m bluffing.”
“You can’t do that,” said Ops. “The safety interlocks would keep your torch from firing.”
Switch on. “This is an analog ship. The only interlocks are manual mechanical ones. If I press the throttle lever the torch will fire plasma through your deck.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I am Hiroshi, son of Nobunaga, of Moonlight on Shining Water, Centurion of the Shishi Imperial Legion. From birth I heard tales of warriors who slit their bellies open if they failed in their orders and held their hands in fire to intimidate their enemies. I will carry out my orders or kill those who prevent me from doing so.”
A longer pause this time. Mthembu was frozen.
“Joshua Chamberlain, the Ambassador is on his way.”
“Thank you, Ops.” Hiroshi turned the mike off again. “See, bluffing works,” he said to Mthembu.
“Sir, you sounded a lot more sincere threatening them than you do telling me you’re bluffing.”
“That’s a skill. You co
uld learn it.”
***
Guo took a deep sniff of Joshua Chamberlain’s air as the inner airlock hatch opened. A slight scent of rain meant healthy algae cultures. Oil from over-lubricated ventilation fans. No burning or dust. The apprentices had done a good job.
As he came through the hatch Mitchie slammed into his torso and wrapped her limbs around him. Her head tucked under his chin as if they were standing together instead of floating. Guo hugged her tight, with both arms, handholds be damned. He bent his face into her hair. She smelled warm and tired, smelled of home.
They drifted out into the hold in a slow tumble. His duffle bounced off the deck going the other way.
“You’re alive,” said Mitchie. “I saw you in the videos but I couldn’t believe it until now.”
“What are you worried about me for?” he chided mockingly. “You’re the one wrestling with admirals and getting into battles. I just talked to people.”
“Ha,” she said. “You had a rougher time than that.”
“Some of it.” Deep breath. “There’s things I need to tell you about.”
“I’ll bet.”
Mitchie’s handcomm chirped. Hiroshi said, “Ma’am, we need to go before the Harmony comes up with another excuse to try to keep us.”
She pulled it from her pocket without lifting her head from Guo’s neck. “Right. Two minutes.”
They were two meters off the deck, and five from the hull. Mitchie pulled a ten meter line with a weight on the end from her thigh pocket. The two acceleration mattresses were hooked to the deck not far from the airlock. She caught the handle on one with the first swing of the line.
A tug left them coasting toward the mattresses, with enough time to sneak in some kisses before strapping in.
“We’re secure. Go,” Mitchie reported.
Over the PA Hiroshi declared, “All hands, we are maneuvering. Acceleration will begin when we’re clear of the battleship.”
Joshua Chamberlain, Danu System, acceleration 20 m/s2
Boosting at twenty gravs was uncomfortable, but everyone wanted to get away from the Harmony fleet as fast as they could. Hiroshi put them on course for the Combined Fleet as their safest option. Of course, just boosting straight toward them would leave Joshua Chamberlain flashing past as the fleet decelerated toward the other human ships.
Torchship Captain Page 28