Trade Wars (The RIM Confederacy Book Book 9)

by Jim Rudnick

  The Atlas was on Ghayth. Certain of that, he knew, as he’d spoken to the Base Three commander on the issue of their supply of new camouflage uniforms for their own Provost guards and an argument had ensued. Admiral McQueen would not eat the costs of same via the RIM Navy treasury, and the base commander had said then he was marching over to the landing port to speak to his own admiral in person, as the Atlas had just arrived. Of course, he’d not heard a word from Scott, as the Provost guard uniforms were the Barony’s to bear, no matter whom the Provost guards reported to.

  Can’t be in two places within a day of each other, McQueen knew, and he’d need to check that out too … something was odd about that.

  He sat. He thought about how to get the two big trading planets—Leudie and Faraway—to work together rather than trying to outdo each other, and he still had no answer.

  Chairman Gramsci appeared in the doorway, and as usual, all six arms held tablets, files, and file folders too. He bustled around the table and took his usual spot at the round table that sat the seven of the members, and as he was putting his items in separate piles, in came the Baroness, the Doge of Conclusion, the Caliph, and the Master Adept of Eons too. Not a minute later, the Duke d’Avigdor also walked in, and like the rest, he went over to get a drink or something from the catering table off to one side.

  Admiral McQueen waited and glanced once more at the Agenda. There were generally only minor issues, but he did note the big, in red and capital letters too, notation at the bottom that said NEW BUSINESS.

  The chairman called them to order, and each took their seat with a drink or a pastry. The clerk read the roster, and as all were present, she moved over to the Agenda and the number one item, something about docking rights for new vacation cruisers over on Subal. With the member planet more than three hundred years past their nuclear war, some of the planet’s surfaces had lost much of their radioactivity, and the cruise lines were asking for new docking stations to be built to handle their craft. The thing was, McQueen saw in the reports that backed up their requests, even Subal itself had not asked for the new areas that had been under quarantine for those three hundred years to be opened up.

  “Might I suggest that we move ahead of these arbitrary items and get right to the NEW BUSINESS area first?” the Caliph said, and that made them all pay attention. Pastries stopped halfway to mouths, teas went un-sipped, and even water bottles were left unattended on the table.

  “You ask that, as if you know what that is—” the chairman said and patted one of the files in front of him.

  The Caliph nodded. “No sense in even looking at Subal and the rest of these issues—what we should be talking about is the fact that two of our Confederacy members have issued ultimatums. Either succumb to their wishes or they leave the Confederacy,” he added, and the shocked silence that filled the room did not go un-noticed, McQueen noted.

  So, they’ve now issued ultimatums to the Council, he thought, still trying to find an answer.

  The Master Adept began the discussions. “We do not as yet see what will happen with this issue. Both Faraway and Leudie have issued similar ultimatums. Either they get relief from tariffs issued to try to constrain their trade and commerce or they leave the RIM Confederacy,” she said quietly.

  All of them looked at her.

  “I do not see what will happen is what I want to say right up front,” she said, and she leaned back to let the others talk and plan.

  The Caliph said, “We know, as per our own contacts on both planets, that they do intend to leave if we—if the full RIM Confederacy Council—does not give them relief. Let’s say we do just that—we cancel out every single tariff, say, granted over the past year … what happens then?”

  The Doge of Conclusion jumped in first. “We can’t do that. There are valid and very necessary tariffs in effect—yes, for Conclusion but also for many other Confederacy members too. So killing some—and who’d decide that anyways—is not going to work. Some are needed, some maybe not so much, but who decides?” He shook his head and the white eyebrows on his forehead wafted a bit, as they were so long and hairy. Conclusion had some tariffs that protected their own planetary economy and would fight to keep those up and running.

  “Or, conversely,” the Baroness said, “what if we just took the huge backlog of applications and pushed them all through? While I’m not an economist at all, seems to me that the market itself will decide what’s best for commerce here on the RIM. That would mean that these two members would leave the Confederacy. Which would leave us all without traders here on the RIM,” she said, and everyone in the room could tell that this was not her choice.

  The Duke broke in at that point. “We cannot—in all good conscience—either accept or reject the tariffs that are both pending via their application nor already in effect either. Economists work their whole careers to help their planets excel in commerce, and often tariffs are responsible for some of that success. Our job as the executive committee is to help guide these issues towards the full Confederacy Council and hopefully have worked out all of the details up front.

  “For instance, what does the Confederacy Constitution say about a member leaving? What happens? What can they do and not do with the RIM members once they leave? Can they trade or provide services to same? Or not? There are so many unanswered questions—perhaps as no member has ever left the Confederacy before.

  “We need to understand the issues and the collateral items that will also be necessary for us to help the full council come to a decision, via what we tender to them.”

  His voice was respectful and yet still aimed at getting the committee to see they were in a unique spot—able to lead the issue to the full council but also to shape the arguments too.

  The only one who’d not yet spoken is me, McQueen thought, and he rose and walked over to the windows for a moment first as the hint of a plan came to him.

  He knew the committee was watching him, and he sighed as he returned to take his seat and said, “We do not bow to these ultimatums. We remind the members that the Confederacy Constitution says that should a member leave, then it is up to us—the executive committee—to enact, as we see fit, future intercourse between our Confederacy members and non-members. Just like we do for the occasions when, say, a Pentyaan ship arrives to trade with Novertag or KappaD or Elbo.

  “We do not succumb to this kind of blackmail—and I’d like you all to realize that this is what we face. The Constitution does give us—our committee—up to one full Juno year to make those decisions before the full council can over-ride us. Looked it up, knew this was coming,” he said as an explanation.

  But, he was also aware of something else too. In passing, the Baroness had mentioned she knew there was a huge backlog of new tariff applications … a fact that only someone from within that ministry could have told her. He wondered just how deep her moles ran in the Confederacy government and knew he’d never know that. Still, good to know she was in the know about the ministry.

  The talks ran long. The Agenda with its other issues all so nicely listed got not a single item discussed; the Subal new landing zones went unanswered as well.

  After the meeting, the gray skies of Juno had long since disappeared into the darkness of twilight and now early evening too. McQueen gathered up his files and tablet and slowly walked back down the hallway to the escalator and took it down to the second floor and his office. Nodding to his aide, whom he gave hell to for staying and told her to go home right now, he went through to his office and dumped the items he’d been carrying on the table under the windows.

  Over on the landing ports, he could see the Atlas lifting off.

  Damn … forgot to ask about that two places in two days thingy … will have to get answers on that later …

  #####

  She sat in her favorite love seat in her quarters and sipped her wine.

  Quaran, of course, a vintage Pinot Noir that said please enjoy me with every single sip she took.

  B
eing able to afford the best wines in the galaxy meant the Baroness had tried them all—even wines that cost one hundred thousand credits per bottle. Yet, for her taste buds, the wines she enjoyed most did not have that full, big bold taste. Instead like this Pinot, they had a lighter feel on the palate, less alcohol, and yet still had the traditional cherry flavor she found so very satisfying.

  She smiled. Wines were her best friends—but then she thought for a moment about the Lady St. August and that she’d grown on her. Taking the role of Baroness over had driven a wedge between them at first, and she was lucky that such a role was given to her by the Baron himself before he passed away.

  One day, it’d be her turn to pass over the role of the head of state for the Barony, and she knew now that the lady would be a perfect heir to the role.

  She is going to marry the admiral, and together they’d have more heirs to the Barony title too.

  She sipped again and enjoyed the thickness of the mouth feel of this usually thinner wine, yet it was almost like syrup on her tongue.

  She put the glass down and looked over at the empty seat beside her and the rolled-up plans that were the architectural drawings for the new wing to the Baronial Palace, where the lady and her admiral would live once the wedding had happened.

  The architect had presented the plans, including all of the extras the lady had demanded, and they were all now incorporated within the drawings. The whole wing would lie on the eastern side of the current palace and would entail taking over some of those gardens that she did like to sit over on a patio while she sipped her morning coffee or tea.

  But that was the way life was—changes happened. One could foresee them and work with them, or one could hide from same and say the hell with them.

  Being a Royal is so much better that being a commoner, she thought, and that got a big grin on her face.

  All of her plans were coming to fruition, and that alone was enough to make her smile one more time.

  She sipped again.

  Word from the admiral, who remained on Ghayth, was that their xeno team had found a way to gain access to the wrecked ship’s bridge area and was slowly gaining more knowledge too. The fact that the ship appeared to be at least twenty thousand years a wreck was one thing, but how the ship kept power alive for that was a really interesting item for her.

  “Sounded like an opportunity,” she said to herself, “as that kind of a battery would sell itself.”

  Always the opportunist. She grinned at nothing at all and wondered if she needed a refill yet.

  #####

  He turned to Bram and then realized he was down in engineering with Lieutenant Hartford on something else, and he looked around the bridge but there was no one else he could talk to about this.

  “Engineering,” he said to himself as he got up.

  “Helm—I’m going down to engineering to meet with Bram and the lieutenant—you’ve got the con …” he said to Lieutenant Cooper, and he smiled at him as he turned and went out onto Deck Five.

  It was a long walk, and he took his time, saying hi to just about every one of the crew he met along the thousand feet he had to go. Some were crew that he knew, and some were brand new, but he made sure to introduce himself to one of them.

  Being an admiral meant, among other things, he remembered, that he had to be a face they could relate to. Someone they could remember when he’d just stopped to say hi and introduce himself to them.

  He smiled.

  This was not a matter of working behind the scenes trying to be sneaky, but just a simple way to be an admiral.

  McQueen had said it to him a few times, when they’d been sitting and bonding over a scotch, after all the duty of the day was over.

  Being a person someone knew meant they’d weigh their memories of the person against what that person was asking one to do. In space, duty meant doing things at times that were risky, where one could be killed. And for every navy crewman or crewwoman—it meant they’d do just that, knowing the person doing the asking was someone they knew.

  He was happy to do so, too. He shook hands, he clapped crew on the back when they were busy, and he’d just appeared at their shoulders. He’d helped hold a laser for some tech who was busy with a modification on a biosensor port. He’d held a door for a group of ensigns who were moving some dollies with equipment down the wide deck corridor toward the landing port just ahead.

  He smiled as he entered the wide landing port and noticed a group of Air Force pilots off to one side with some tech instruction going on, and he joined them at the back of the group. The tech didn’t notice him and kept on pointing at the canopy that was disassembled in front of the eleven pilots.

  “As you can see, if you do NOT—big emphasis on the NOT—make the right connection on the closing of the canopy, then should you need to eject, it will be a problem. The icon in your visuals will show a green OK, and that’s what you want. You can, of course, if you’re in a real emergency situation, fly without the canopy at all, or even if it closes un-properly. The icon will be red—but you can still fly as per always. It’s just if you need to—ATTENTION, admiral on the deck.”

  All eleven of the pilots and the tech too came to attention and saluted. Tanner grinned and went around the group ahead of him and up to the front of the small class. He saluted back, said, “As you were,” and smiled at them all.

  “Good to see that you’re learning—always learning is the best thing to do in your lifetime. And the techie here is right—but a small thing to remember. If you do fly with the canopy not secure and you need to do a loop—things can fall out of your fighter—including your coffee cup too,” he said, and that teensy joke got a big guffaw from the pilots.

  He nodded to them and made small talk for about another ten minutes and then left them to go through the rest of the landing port and then down the deck corridor once again. Ahead in a hundred feet was the start of engineering, and the meeting had been scheduled to be held in 5-298, a small conference room that was just ahead. He got there and the door was closed, so he knocked on it and waited.

  Moments later, an engineering ensign opened the door but didn’t face him as she was looking back at Lieutenant Hartford who was talking in front of a white board and making drawings as he did.

  Tanner walked in, and the ensign looked at him, motioned to an empty chair, and turned to walk back to her own.

  After only three steps, she wheeled to look at him again as Tanner settled into the chair, and she snapped to attention.

  “Admiral in the room,” she cried, and her salute was snapped as quickly as possible.

  In the room, the eight occupants all rose and gave the same salute, and Tanner said, “As you were, I’m just here to learn stuff too.”

  They all sat and the lieutenant went back to the white board to continue.

  “As I was saying, Admiral, our latest intel from the alien wreck xeno team came in about three hours ago. We’ve both taken care of the archiving of same, as well as done some reasoning of our own on this new data,” he said as he pointed at the drawings in front of them.

  He bent to pick up a new colored stylus and went back to the board. “As you cans see, what we’re looking at is the access points that they’ve been able to find and use—successfully so far. It appears that the ship’s AI—which is still after what we think is 20,000 years since the ship was active—is still live. Up and running. There is no other way to think on this—AI is something that we use as a term meaning artificial intelligence, which is what we call the functionality we build into our ships. Our weapons. Our fridges and stoves even. It’s what we use … so yes, we are extrapolating and calling the alien ship as having AI in and of its own right.”

  He drew a large square around the photo that appeared on the white board that contained the whole bridge doorway both above and below it.

  “What we found is that these aliens have to be tall. Taller than us. We know that because the only way to unlock—yes, I know the only way we
’ve so far found to unlock would be fairer to say—the bridge door is to have an organic hand on the circle above the door and a foot on the circle on the floor. We noted during our testing that having a foot in a shoe does not work. Only pure flesh worked—so we now also know that these taller aliens did not wear shoes. Naked feet and naked hands are the only things that work; hence that is what these aliens had,” he said as he clicked on the sidebar of the white board and the photo changed.

  Now, there were more pictures of other doors on the ship, some were already wide open, others closed, but above and below each of them, it could be seen that there was a circle above and one below each doorway.

  “Why or how some of the doorways are wide open, we have no idea. We are in the middle—well, the xeno team, I mean—of a complete inventory of the ship. Our drones have flown and recorded every single foot of the ship, and we’ve populated the ship xeno database with that information. We are also in the process of recording all of what we find using still photographs as well as full vid too, and that should be done in a couple of days,” he said.

  Bram spoke up then. “Surely, that’s a big job, Astrin.”

  The lieutenant nodded. “Sir, yes … the ship that we can move around in is bigger than everything we have on the RIM—she’s six hundred feet longer than the Atlas for instance. There are some huge—and I mean big enough to hold a frigate—cargo bays too, and some are chock full of cargo as well. We’re going at this slow, to learn what it is we have here, before we try anything else …” he said.

  Tanner nodded and caught Hartford’s eye. “As far as what I can offer, Lieutenant, is that the xeno team, under my instructions, is to find and record everything before a single button is pushed, before a box is opened, before anything that we do can’t be un-done again. Gathering intel on ancient relics is one thing we can do without risking the team or the planet or the Barony for that matter,” he said, and his voice was plain, yet the room knew he spoke the truth.