“Of course,” Biscoe assured her. “We can set off tomorrow and fly deep into unexplored space for a couple of years, then get to work. Our fabricators are self-replicating. Given a decade or two, we can build up a strikingly formidable industrial base. And we have a complete gene database, allowing us to clone a vast population. It would take us centuries, of course, but it could be done.”
“I see,” Rebecca said. She smiled. “It makes one wonder why it hasn't already been done.”
“It probably has, Madam Ambassador,” Biscoe said.
Rebecca nodded in agreement. It hadn't been that long since the Battle of Earth. Everyone knew the universe wasn't a safe place. She was sure the government would have sent off a whole string of covert colony missions, dispatching them well away from the crumbling galactic civilisation. If Earth was destroyed, if the Solar Union was smashed to rubble, humanity would survive. And one day, the colonies would come back for revenge.
They stopped outside a sealed hatch. “Captain Yasser will see you now,” Biscoe said, as the hatch hissed open. “I’ll show you to your quarters afterwards.”
“Thank you,” Rebecca said.
She stepped into the captain’s office and looked around, interested. It was smaller than she’d expected, decorated with a handful of paintings from the pre-steam naval era. The captain himself was sitting behind a desk, studying a holographic starchart. She couldn't help noticing, as he rose to greet her, that the starchart didn't show any cluster she recognised. Her implants switched into primary mode, searching for a match. One blinked up, seconds later.
The Karana Sector, she noted. Seventy light years from Harmony.
“Madam Ambassador,” the captain said. He held out a hand. Rebecca shook it, firmly. “Welcome onboard.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Rebecca said. “It’s a pleasure to be here. Odyssey looks to be a fine ship.”
The captain smiled. She’d never met a captain who couldn't be flattered by compliments to his ship. “Coffee? Or tea?”
“Coffee would be fine, thank you,” Rebecca said.
She had to smile as the captain keyed the food processor. There were people who swore blind that food processors couldn't match natural food, but she’d never been able to tell the difference. It hadn't really helped with her teleport phobia. What was to stop someone producing endless duplicates of her, each one convinced - and rightly so - that she was the real Rebecca? She’d been told, time and time again, that it was impossible, but she didn’t really believe it. How could she?
The captain looked competent - and, perhaps more importantly, self-assured. His face might have been handsome once, when he’d been younger, but right now he looked as if his jowls were sagging slightly and his brown hair was starting to grey. He hadn't chosen to freeze his appearance then, she noted, let alone have himself turned into a Greek God. Indeed, she couldn’t help noticing that he was a little overweight. But it spoke well of him. It spoke of a man who saw no need to flatter himself.
Maybe not the most imaginative officer in the navy, she thought, recalling the briefing she’d been given along with her credentials. But a solid, reliable man.
She took the coffee and sipped it, silently glad of the chance to collect her thoughts. The Solar Navy and the Solar Diplomatic Service were meant to work together, but the former suspected the latter of being too willing to make concessions and the latter suspected the former of being too willing to resort to gunboat diplomacy and naked force. Rebecca had no illusions about the Tokomak - or many of the other Galactics - yet she knew that humanity couldn't hope to fight and win a war against the entire known galaxy. Diplomacy might just weaken the Tokomak enough to dissuade them from fighting.
“Mountain Blend Coffee,” she commented, finally. A neutral subject was always a good place to start. Besides, most of the naval officers she’d met had been fanatics about coffee. “Do you know when the baseline records were scanned?”
“I’m afraid not,” the captain said. His lips twitched. “I’ve never tasted the real blend.”
“There’s no real difference,” Rebecca admitted. She took another sip. The coffee was strong. “I assume you’ve read the mission orders?”
“I have,” the captain confirmed. “I confess, though, that I am curious as to your interpretation of our orders.”
Rebecca shrugged. Captain Yasser didn't seem interested in small talk.
“I have orders to try to open diplomatic channels with the Kingdom of Harmonious Order and the other galactic powers in that region of space,” she said. “Ideally, I’m to do it without promising more than the Solar Union can reasonably deliver. In the long term, the Solar Union would like a trade agreement and a military alliance; in the short term, my superiors will settle for opening diplomatic channels and getting some limited trade agreements.”
She met his eyes. “Does that match your understanding?”
“More or less,” the captain said. “My superiors want a tactical survey too.”
Rebecca made a face. “I hope you can do it without making it obvious,” she said. “Would we tolerate a spy ship buzzing around the solar system?”
“Probably not,” the captain said. His lips twitched. “But we couldn't tell if a visiting starship was using her passive sensors to record data.”
“True,” Rebecca agreed. She was no military expert, but even she knew that was why most research and development programs were housed in deep space, well away from any prying eyes. “My staff and I will also distribute trade goods to the local merchants in the hopes of making new friends and allies.”
“That might also cause problems,” the captain pointed out. “Local merchant combines might feel threatened.”
“It’s a delicate balancing act,” Rebecca said. “But we have to offer them as many incentives as possible to talk to us.”
The captain nodded. “We intend to depart in four days, barring unexpected delays,” he told her, curtly. “By then, the remainder of the convoy will be assembled and we’ll set off for the first leg of the journey. We’ll be calling in at a couple of bases along the way, dropping off supplies and equipment. You should have plenty of time to prepare for your mission.”
“I hope so,” Rebecca said. “I assume we’ll also be collecting intelligence updates along the way?”
“Of course,” the captain said. “Everything we know is, at best, out of date.”
“A major problem,” Rebecca agreed.
It had been drummed into her head, time and time again, that she could not ignore the time delay. She could recall a time when a message could cross the entire world in less than a second. Now, with the Solar Union spread out over a hundred light years and humanity’s network of friends and allies spread out further still, the time delay was beginning to bite again. Her orders - and the captain’s orders - were vague purely because their superiors didn't know enough to issue more specific instructions. There was certainly no way she could send a message home asking for advice. By the time she got a reply, the problem would have moved on.
And that’s why we have been granted such wide latitude, she thought, sourly. And that’s why we’ll get the blame if things go south.
It was, she conceded, an advantage that they’d been granted so much authority. The Tokomak rarely granted their local commanders anything like as much freedom of action, insisting that all decisions had to be referred to higher authority. But she couldn't help feeling nervous about just how much could go hideously wrong. A mistake could have disastrous consequences when dealing with prickly galactic powers. Even with galactic protocols for diplomatic discussions, laid down by the Tokomak themselves, there was plenty of room for misunderstandings that could lead to catastrophe.
“My staff and I will try to stay out of your way, during the voyage,” she said, putting the thought aside for later contemplation. It wasn't something she could do anything about, at least not until someone invented an FTL communicator. “I plan to spend the time studying the files.”
“You may have to drag your staffers out of the entertainment suites,” the captain said. “We have a civilian-grade full-spectrum holographic entertainment complex.”
Rebecca blinked, then nodded. “For the civilian crews?”
“Among others,” the captain said. “Odyssey is designed for very long-duration missions.”
“I’ll make sure they keep their noses to the grindstone,” Rebecca said. She understood the need to relax and blow off steam, but she also understood the need to do background research before reaching their destination. Even a minor diplomatic mistake - serving meat to a race composed of vegetarians - could cause embarrassment, if not disaster. “They can have some fun after they’re done.”
She smiled, then sobered. “I meant to ask,” she added. “I checked the supply manifest for the freighters. Apart from the trade goods - and the gifts - you’re taking a significant quantity of weapons and other military supplies. Can I ask why?”
The captain looked surprised, just for a second. Rebecca wondered why. Had he not expected her to check the manifests? She’d known ambassadors who wouldn't have bothered, although she had just considered it another piece of background research before setting off on her mission. It was important, vitally so, to make certain that none of the vessels were carrying anything that might cause offense. The last thing humanity needed was more enemies.
“Better safe than sorry,” the captain said, finally. “We’re going to be a very long way from the nearest base, Madam Ambassador. In theory, we can fabricate anything we reasonably need; in practice, I’d prefer to have it on hand when we need it.”
“As long as the locals don’t think we’re planning to arm their sworn enemies,” Rebecca said, dryly. “That’s happened, you know.”
“I would be gratified if we went out there, made all the contacts we could possibly want, and then headed home, our holds crammed with trade goods,” the captain said. “And I would be delighted if we didn’t have to fire a single shot. But it is better to be safe than sorry.”
“Of course,” Rebecca agreed. She finished her coffee and placed the mug on the desk. “And please call me Rebecca. We’re going to be working together quite closely over the next few months.”
“Elton,” the captain said. He looked vaguely embarrassed. “My mother was a huge fan of Elton John.”
Rebecca had to smile. “Compared to some of the more absurd names going in and out of fashion,” she said, “I think you got off lightly.”
“That’s probably true,” the captain agreed.
It was, Rebecca knew. A sprinkling of alien names - and fictional alien names - had made their way into society, even though they guaranteed that the poor children bearing them had uncomfortable childhoods. Elton Yasser was surprisingly normal, compared to some of the truly absurd names out there. There were some people, she felt, who really shouldn't be parents.
She rose. “Thank you for your time, Elton,” she said. “I hope to see more of you after we enter FTL.”
“I’m sure you will,” the captain said. He rose, too. “And I wish you luck with the files.”
“We’ll need more than luck,” Rebecca said. “We’ll need a miracle.”
Chapter Three
We are not unique. Let us not believe that there is anything truly special about humanity. We are smart, but so too are many other intelligent races; we are cunning, but so too are many others. Our sole advantage is a questioning mindset that we have managed to keep, despite the best efforts of our pre-space governments. That is not an advantage we can prevent others from copying. It will not last.
-Solar Datanet, Political Forum (Grand Alliance Thoughts).
“I just had word from Lady Dean,” Biscoe said. “Her captain apologises for the delay, but insists that his engineering crew has finally tracked down the rogue harmonic in her drive systems. Lady Dean should be ready to depart on schedule.”
“Let us hope so,” Elton said. “And Kenny Rogers?”
Biscoe looked irked. As XO, it was his job to keep the merchant starships in line. “Her CO told us that he probably won’t make the rendezvous,” he said. “She’s been delayed at Haverford. Thankfully, she was just begging an escort rather than transporting anything vital.”
Elton nodded. “We can't delay departure any longer,” he said, shortly. “Drop her from the list.”
“Aye, Captain,” Biscoe said. He glanced down at the datapad in his hand. “Those two are our only problem children. The remaining freighters are all ready to depart on your command.”
“Good,” Elton said.
He sat back in his command chair and surveyed the bridge. Odyssey hadn't been designed as a warship and it showed. Her bridge was warmer and friendlier than any standard warship’s command deck, built more to show off the Solar Union’s technological prowess than anything else. He’d honestly wondered if someone had copied the design from a luxury liner when he’d first seen the plans. And yet, he had to admit there was something charming about the design. Humanity’s starships were finally developing a distinctive style of their own.
The main display hovered in front of him, showing Odyssey, the seventeen freighters holding position near the massive starship, and the giant cluster of industrial nodes and fabricators that made up the shipyard. Dozens of other starships and hundreds of floating weapons platforms hovered nearby, constantly sweeping space for signs of trouble. The Solar Union’s immense building program was solidly underway, new starships coming off the slips each month. It seemed impossible that anyone could match humanity’s output, but he knew better than to take that for granted. If the Tokomak ever took the limiters off their fabricators, they would start out-producing humanity immediately.
But that would mean giving up too much control, he thought, grimly. They’d upend their entire economic system just to get at us.
He shook his head in amused disbelief. Humanity hadn't been able to understand the galactic economy, back when they'd first encountered it. The structure just hadn't made sense. It had been years before anyone had realised that the economy had been deliberately hampered, just to keep the younger races from challenging the established order. The Tokomak fabricators were designed to be very limited, ensuring that the Galactics couldn’t move to a post-scarcity society. But now ...
More and more races know how to hack the systems now, he reminded himself. He hadn't been a fan of Hoshiko Sashimi Stuart’s campaign against the Druavroks - it struck him as something that could have easily gone wrong - but he had to admit that it had boosted humanity’s credibility right across the galaxy. The Tokomak won’t be able to stuff the genie back in the bottle.
He shook his head, dismissing the thought. “I assume that all crew have returned to the ship?”
“Yes, Captain,” Biscoe said. “And the newcomers are settling in well, I believe.”
Elton nodded. Odyssey was comfortable. Maybe she wasn't a luxury liner, but she was far more comfortable, certainly, than a regular warship. The short-term crews might be separated from their families, yet they had everything they needed during their off-duty hours. Even the regular crew had large quarters. They’d have real problems adapting if they were ever transferred back to the warships.
“Then inform fleet command that we will be departing on schedule,” he said, finally. He looked at his tactical officer. “Do we have a security update?”
“Nothing particularly new, Captain,” Lieutenant-Commander Steve Callaway said. “There are vague reports of a couple of brushfire wars breaking out, but both of them are at least forty light years off our planned course.”
“Still, better to be careful,” Elton said. The steady collapse of the established order was unleashing all sorts of demons. Countless grudges had been held in stasis under the Tokomak. Now, their holders were making up for lost time. “They may try to seize one of the gravity points along the way.”
He forced himself to relax as time ticked by, a steady stream of updates popping up in front of his e
yes. His ship was ready and raring to go, her crew already starting the endless cycle of training simulations to ensure they were ready to cope with any problems. Elton and his senior officers had devised tactical scenarios covering everything from pirate attack to all-out war, although - if they did get caught up in a war - he knew their only realistic option was immediate retreat. Odyssey was tougher than she looked, but she wasn't a real warship. It was something he had to bear in mind.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Jonathan Williams said. “Fleet HQ has cleared us and the convoy for departure.”
Elton smiled. It wasn't the first time he’d taken his ship out into deep space, but it felt special. This time, they were heading well away from Sol. Maybe it wasn't unexplored space - the Tokomak and their allies had charted the entire region thoroughly - but they would still be the first humans to visit. There were certainly no records, as far as he could tell, that suggested otherwise.
The Long Road Home (A Learning Experience Book 4) Page 3