“Yes, he is. But, as far as I know, they have a very complicated relationship. After the war, Klimov retired and became a mercenary, while Romanov rose to admiral's rank. However, their disagreements didn’t prevent them from conducting a joint operation.”
“To hell with their diplomacy! Now we need to figure out what to do with the probability of a mutiny in our territory. I propose that we act immediately! To bring down the whole blow of our Navy on Elizabeth right now, without waiting for further unrest, to put things in order with an iron hand!” suggests Onodera. Morgan and Truman are in a hurry to support him.
“We agree. We can’t lose a minute!”
“Gentlemen, I suggest refraining from hasty actions,” Jenna again speaks. “I understand the temptation to cut the Gordian knot, but we will have to act on our territory, against our fellow citizens.
“Crews consist of people, each of whom has relatives in the colonies, as well as among the refugees. And now we will order them to use weapons against their own family. And the Queen for sure will use this fact for her propaganda. And then even greater unrest will be unavoidable.”
“Then what do you propose, young lady?” Mrs. Beatriz bores into the Chairman’s assistant. “What is the alternative?”
“I propose to reduce the degree of social tension, and then the Queen can’t bring it to a boil and blast. She draws her strength from the despair of people brought to starvation and from their fear of the pirates’ arbitrariness. And by using the Navy, we ourselves will cross a line.
We must outwit her. First, start my poverty reduction program. We must first solve the elementary problems of supplying food, water, and air in our colonies, preventing the growth of hunger.”
“Listen, Eisenberg, what is your secretary girl suggesting?! Giving billions of poor bastards a valuable resource? And what do we get from this, except for damages?!”
“Morgan, please, let her speak . . .”
“We will get their loyalty while also providing them with greed and fear. By giving people even a little bread, water, and air, we will make them afraid to lose these benefits, which means that they will think three times before enlisting in the Queen's army. Elizabeth says that they have nothing to lose—and now they will have something to lose.
“In addition, now our principal task is to keep the rebels from the Free Zone from uniting with our cowardly fellow citizens. Elizabeth says that all the people of the cosmos are one. And we will show that this isn’t true: there is a clear boundary between us and them.
“Let our poor hate their poor and vice versa. Our people will have something; they won’t have anything. And so they will never unite. On the contrary, they will hate and despise one another. So it will be necessary to throw some good bones for our fellow citizens, and I could offer to temporarily allow entry into our Martian territories, which will greatly ease the problem of refugees . . .”
The loud crackling of a broken pencil in Mr. Onodera's fingers interrupts Jenna.
“Excluded! Mars must remain inviolable! We have just gotten rid of the overpopulation crisis on Earth, and we should not create the same trouble on Mars. Look at the Union—their Martian administration has also closed the borders. Don’t touch Mars!”
“I agree that our Martian possessions must remain inviolable. With each passing day of the crisis, the Martian land is becoming more expensive. So be it!”
“You know, there is a certain amount of reason in the proposals of young Miss Jenna, and at another, more favorable time, we could compromise. But not now; we can’t feed all these refugees. So, let Elizabeth start her war, if she wants—and we will blame her for all the hardships and calamities of wartime. Of course, we will need to reassure ourselves about the crews of our own Navy, but this is quite feasible. So I support Onodera—the force solution, immediately. Arthur, what do you say?”
“And what can I say, Beatriz, when everything is settled?” Arthur Eisenberg looks around at the richest capitalists of the solar system. “I vote: we will suppress possible mutinies with an iron hand. Destroy the Queen and her gang as soon as possible. Use all the strength . . .”
“I agree.”
“I agree.”
“I agree.”
“I agree.”
“Accepted unanimously. Let it be so.”
***
“Your drinks, girls. One Bloody Mary and one White Russian.”
“Thanks. So you’ve made up your mind?” Olga asks, giving Anastasia her cocktail.
The radar operator doesn’t answer right away, taking time to meditate and peering at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Then she takes a couple of gulps of the White Russian. And only then does she answer.
“Yes. My contract expires on the first of January, and I won’t enter into a new one. In a few hours, my navy service is over. At least on our ship.”
“You didn’t just come up with this idea, did you?”
“Naturally. Not now. And not even in Tartar.”
Anastasia pauses to look around the crowded bar.
“I began to think about leaving the game immediately after the Martian War, more than a year ago. But then Grond happened, then there was the evacuation, and so on. And then we were tightly blocked in Tartar before the Queen broke through to help us. Then, I told myself, if I get out alive, that’s all. I'm over it.”
Anastasia Melnikova, who had been in the Bolshevik crew for four full years, reported her decision to the captain right after the cruiser entered the protected parking lot on Ladoga-7, a large Union colony where he came for emergency repairs after the battle in the heart of Tartar. Starting at the beginning of the next year, which would begin in just a few hours, she would leave the Bolshevik and quit her military service.
“I know that everyone is talking about me: a rich girl has hired a legendary warship in search of adventure. I won’t argue; that’s exactly how it was four years ago, when you still lived at your station. And I got everything I wanted, at the highest level. But now I have had enough wars and disasters. I want to live a little more quietly.”
“Do you have any regrets?”
“About what? What I am leaving?”
“No. About coming to our ship four years ago.”
The red-haired beauty smiles tiredly.
“Not at all. Everything has wonderful. It’s just that this stage of my life is over.”
Olga carefully evaluates her words. After serving on the Bolshevik for half as long as Nastya, she thinks about whether she wants to hang her uniform jacket on a nail in a couple of years. It seems that no, she can continue. In addition, there is another reason, a little more prosaic; unlike Nastya, she has nowhere to go beyond the Bolshevik.
“And what are you planning to do next?”
“I don’t know. First, I just want to live with my parents for a couple of weeks, maybe a month. They have a small, cozy villa on Ceres. And then? Then I don’t know. Maybe I'll settle down somewhere in the civil administration. I have two civilian diplomas, and my dad has connections. Maybe I’ll be a boss somewhere on a distant world. But I will return to military service only by mobilization.”
“With all your combat experience? You’ll immediately be promoted to Commander; the General Staff Academy will wait for you . . .”
“No, the shooting is finished; my youth is over. I have posttraumatic stress disorder, and I want to write memoirs, like Erich Maria Remarque.”
“You won’t return to Earth?”
“There’s nowhere to return to. Grond will be there for a long time, maybe forever.”
“Will you miss it all?”
“Yeah. Especially you, comrade.”
The girls laughed amicably, but no one hears; a long and loud party is going on around. According to the old tradition of rich colonies, the celebration of the New Year begins a few days before midnight on December 31st. Grond didn’t abolish this tradition but rather introduced his own corrections into it—patrons of expensive bars and clubs celebrate
not only the advent of the new year but also the end of the first year of the Grond era.
For more than a year, the hurricane has crushed the distant Earth, erasing from its face cities, countries, and peoples. A whole year, from January to December: an uninterrupted catastrophe, endless wars, endless streams of refugees, and eternal hunger. Just surviving this year is already a serious achievement, which billions have failed to achieve. Saving some property and not being thrown out of one’s home planet in underpants—that deserves another red star on the list of personal victories. And making a profit on everything that has happened, turning a worldwide catastrophe into a source of cash—this is the highest degree of success. And this is an excellent occasion for a multi-day party in honor of the New Year, which is mixed with joy for another military victory.
Fairly entrenched in the numerous wars and disasters, the civil Matrix of the solar system rose from the ashes, passing to everyone the long-awaited news about the victory of the Wasp Queen and the Union over the Space Reich. Every inhabitant of the cosmos had the opportunity to observe a crushing blow to the heart of the Boddicker Empire in all its details; the propagandists of the Red Dawn didn’t miss their chance. The defeated pirate squadrons, the burning Citadel, and, most importantly, the tens of thousands of released captives, many of whom languished in the camps for years—all turned in favor of propaganda. Everything was a testament to Elizabeth's success. The success promised has been acquired, and the success so great that everything disappears in the glow of its beautiful radiance.
Olga, who remembers the battle in the bowels of Tartar from the first to the last second, knows perfectly that the reality and its consequences are very different from those shown in propaganda films. She knows that, despite its large losses, the Boddicker Navy has retained combat capability and is now recovering at an accelerated pace. She knows that the Citadel wasn’t completely destroyed; she knows perfectly well that the Fuehrer has survived. And most importantly, the sergeant remembers how difficult the way out of Tartar was, where every hundred kilometers had to be gained with a fight. She remembers all this in detail, and the decision of Anastasia to get out of the game doesn’t at all seem to Olga to be rash and incomprehensible.
Saved by an urgent resuscitation, Sergeant Voronov continued to fight, covering a heavy retreat from the cavern. Each thousand kilometers of the way along the fairway were won with a fight: breakthroughs of minefields, fights against guard ships and torpedo and laser attacks, and then another large-scale battle within Tartar, which had to be sustained without support from the outside—the Union ships withdrew. The return trip resulted in a lot of losses; two warships were killed, and another was shot down and left by the crew. At the decisive moment, one of the transports with the rescued civilians had to be sacrificed—by pushing it to the center of the fairway, Klimov used this ship like a shield against the pursuers’ shells and covered the rest of the squadron.
Having withstood another battle on the Limb border, the squadron broke free into outer space, heading into the Free Zone. They weren’t pursued—Boddicker no longer had the strength for a good chase.
Regarding further developments, Olga only has a fragmentary view; immediately after they broke into open space, Chernova took her to the medical compartment. It was only after leaving the resuscitation capsule that Olga learned that, having withdrawn from Tartar, the combined squadron split. The Queen led her forces and transports with rescued civilians deep into the Free Zone, while the Bolshevik went to the Union's military base for emergency repairs.
Let the Free Zone exult now; then it will understand that the war is far from over. On the contrary, the war is just beginning. But that will be later, and right now, everyone has a New Year in their plans—the last New Year that the crew of the legendary cruiser will celebrate all together.
The girls silently drink cocktails for a while, watching the endless party. Olga lazily scans the news, noting that a warship of the Red Dawn docked to a private dock. This isn’t Comrade Andrei with his team; the Bolsheviks haven’t seen the Snake Plissken squad since the battle in Tartar. No, it’s someone else; they brought several rescued civilians. If the owners of the private sector of the Ladoga Seven colony are against such a visit, they don’t show it; no one will quarrel with Elizabeth now. The Union control room also gives permission to enter; now the unloading begins. Olga watches several dozen civilians running to meet their loved ones saved from concentration camps.
“Sergeant Voronov to the cruiser!”
“They are calling me. Cheers, friend.”
“Na zdorov’e!”
Anastasia overturns another glass of a White Russian for the health of Olga Voronov, but she has already left, going into the ring corridor. Going up to the Union sector, Olga thinks about what gifts to buy; maybe she can get live crawfish or beer for the Captain and the Commander, or maybe a big can of real black caviar?
“Warning! Torpedo attack! Warning! Torpedo . . .”
A blast wave coming from somewhere below splits the deck flooring, throwing the girl to the ceiling. Dozens of small fragments jump off the armored cloth of the evening suit. Immediately, the lights go out, and then s a characteristic roaring sound that can’t be confused with anything else— somewhere nearby, the air bursts into holes. The war again is back again . . .
06/02/2016.
23:38
To be continued…
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GROND SPACE DYSTOPIA series:
GROND-I: THE RAVEN HIGH
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XCFT4D1
GROND-II: THE BLITZKRIEG
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B078X14W2F
GROND-III: ALL THE KING’S MEN
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07CQ1MTGZ
GROND-IV: A KIND WORD AND A GUN
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07G2RGW6P
A King Word And a Gun Page 25