Opening Moves

by James Traynor

  “Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you but they've got a war to fund now. I doubt they're in the mood to hand ten million creds to a bunch of aliens,” Tarek shrugged. “How long do we think it will take, Alexej?”

  “To do it right?” the MAIDEN'S tall pilot scowled. “Three months. To get us patched up enough for a home journey, about a fortnight. But that means only the Malenkov-Okudas will have seen any work. We'll be down to about forty percent of our normal max speed in normal space, and I wouldn't advise to push us into higher bands in the fold either.”

  “But we don't have even a day!” Rául cried. “The Dominion's going to sweep in here like they did before, and this time we are trapped!”

  “Damn it, quit whining, just this once,” Tarek frowned. “We'll patch the engines enough to get us out of the war zone, then we'll take some time to get our ship back to new. This isn't a debate.”

  “We should catch the first transport home,” Rául sulked.

  “There aren't going to be any transports home,” Annie pointed out in her usual calm demeanor. “Anyone with half a working brain will be long gone by now. Only a complete fool would come here on the eve of an invasion.”

  “Or someone really greedy, like us,” Tarek sighed with a weary smile. “In hindsight, we should've just stuck to shifting industrial parts to Kepler in Proxima.”

  “Well, at least even after repairs we'll still be fairly rich,” Alexej pointed out. “Enough to make this still profitable. And on the plus side, we ain't dead yet.”

  “Always a positive,” Annie agreed.

  Tarek leaned back in his chair as Alexej slowly had the MAIDEN decelerate towards the planet. It'd still be hours until they arrived. He closed his eyes and...

  ...a shudder running through the ship had him fully awake again. Blinking his eyes, trying to find his bearings again his gaze shot back and forth across the bridge before his heart beat slowly calmed down again. The time on the chronometer on the console right in front of him had jumped hours ahead. Outside the blue orb of Akvô filled the viewports. The ship moved into position above the planet and closed on a spaceport, the huge, sprawling orbital structure extending for kilometers in all directions. Slowly the freighter aligned with an extended docking tube and clamped on. A light switched to green on the control panel, indicating they had a secure seal.

  “Let's get the passengers off, people. I'm sure they're as glad to be here as we are,” Tarek rubbed his eyes. “And then we'd better do something about those repairs.”

  “And quickly,” Rául pressed. “I don't wanna have to go through all that escaping again.”

  Chicago, Capital of the North American Union

  3rd Week of July 2797 C.E.

  Weighing the tablet in her hands President Jennifer Solwyn took her time with the report on the developing situation on the other side of the galactic arm. She had these kinds of meetings appraising the interstellar situation every day. When things were quiet in the neighborhood they usually consisted of nothing but a list of bullet points about domestic developments in nations or star systems the Union had diplomatic missions or economic designs in, each point linked to actions – send a greeting on some holiday as was expected by a friendly head of state – in turn. To streamline the process and lessen the administrative workload the President conducted this daily business on a secure comm with the Secretary of State.

  This was no such occasion. The outbreak of war between multi-system powers demanded a different appraisal; and besides the SECSTATE and the head of the Union's intelligence service, the highest serving officer of the Union's military had joined her in person. “That's some rather specific data your sources have been able to gather. Well done, Mr. Campbell.”

  The head of the NAU's Central Security Directorate nodded in acknowledgment. “Our sources in Érenni space are pretty effective, Madam President. One of our best field agents is out there now, plus we receive a lot of data from civilian ships selling their flight data.”

  “People actually do that?” Secretary of State Randolph asked, his eyebrows skeptically raised. “I always thought that was something only found in those 'secret agent' feeds on the net.”

  “You'd be surprised how much Reuters or any other newsfeed agency would pay for good combat footage,” Campbell smiled slyly. “And it seems this battle was the biggest thing in a century or two. Given that this time period includes such things like the Ukhuri Rebellion and that big war the Rasenni fought, well...” He left if to each of them to reach their own conclusions.

  “I've got some of our best analysts looking over the footage.” The chairman of the Union's Joint Chiefs of Staff and senior officer of all branches of the Union's military, General James Alistair Ulysses, spoke up. “We're looking for weaknesses in the Dominion's tactics and technologies, observing their firepower and investigating whether or not they can be considered a likely threat to us.”

  “Our position is one of caution,” the CSD's director looked at the President. “We know they're highly aggressive, and while we're still trying to ascertain what actually happened to the colony, the preliminary results don't look good. In general, we've got limited data and are still looking at an incomplete picture.”

  “Planetary annihilation,” Randolph observed darkly, pointing at the holographic representation of the Érenni colony at Senfina. “They've killed every living thing down there."

  “As I indicated, we are still working on the specifics, Madam President.” Campbell glared at Randolph. The two men came from opposite ends of the political and professional spectrum.

  Campbell looked back on six decades as a spook. He was a cold and analytical man who wouldn't make any statement until he was utterly sure it was correct. For him, information was the only real medium. Emotions and opinions were irrelevant, especially where decisions playing with the lives of others were concerned. Quite frankly, if it didn't have cold hard facts behind it, it wasn't worth talking about, not to the national leadership.

  Randolph on the other hand was a man of beliefs and convictions, a typical political animal. He looked at a larger picture and tried to gauge what the thoughts and emotions behind the actions he saw were. Humanitarian interventions, grand gestures to encourage foreign and domestic goodwill, holding the moral high ground against alien species; these points came as easy to him as breathing air.

  To Jennifer Solwyn these two opposite views had turned out to be quite useful, with each using very different methods to come to a conclusion, sometimes even the same one. In this case it was to agree that the Ashani Dominion would, ultimately, be a strategic threat to Earth and the Union. “Anything from the Érenni government?”

  “Nothing, Madam President. They're still in utter turmoil. Their ambassador was barely coherent when I asked her for a statement. It's hit her pretty hard,” Randolph reported. “From what we understand they're trying to invoke the Pact's mutual defense treaty, but it seems their fellow worlds are less than willing to help.”

  “Are you kidding?” Solwyn said with a hint of shocked disbelief. “The Pact isn't going to protect the Érenni? But they're a founding member!”

  Randolph shrugged uncomfortably. “The Tuathaan Clanholds might, but no one else has offered to send ships, at least not yet.”

  “But I thought they were supposed to be an alliance, right? I mean, if one Pact world is attacked all the others respond. Isn't that the point of having a damn system like the Pact in the first place?!”

  “That's the general theory, but it seems the facts are a little bit more complicated,” Campbell answered this time. “The way we understand the legal ramifications, the common defense clause in the Pact's charter is geared against the Rasenni Empire. They've historically been the great territorial threat the members of the Pact have faced. Nobody's bothered to update the charter because nobody's wanted to relinquish any degree of sovereignty. Despite what the treaties say, we don't predict the Pact will unite, at least not until it's potentially too late for the Érenni. Som
e are overconfident and think the Dominion won't try to tackle them. Others are just plain scared and hope to remain unnoticed. It comes down to none of them wanting a war, and certainly not with a committed opponent like the Ashani. Especially not after they've shown what they can do in this opening round.”

  “The Dominion's hit the Pact and broken it into its component pieces,” SECSTATE Randolph pointed out with distaste. “It was to be expected without a strong, guiding force behind them. They just don't have the same moral fiber we humans do. They lack the sense of working for a better future and the greater good.”

  Director Campbell glared at his colleague. “I'm sure the fact that our own species is divided into three major power blocks, and at least several dozen independent star systems, did just slip Secretary Randolph's mind. And regarding the Pact: with all due respect to the Secretary of State, those are opinions, and rather uninformed ones at that. I don't see how he can comment on the morals and ideals of races he has no real understanding of.”

  “But the evidence is there for all of us to see!” Randolph defended. “They refuse to help each other in their time of greatest need! It's tragic, and I am pleased we didn't pursue stronger ties with them because they are untrustworthy, self-interested and totally amoral!”

  “The United Nations in the late 21st century also provided the treaty framework to curb global war by multilateral action, and yet we got the Khanate, the Khalifate and the Third World War, and the First Solarian War, and the Second, too! Nations do act out of self-interest! Everything else would be madness. Your bigoted generalizations don't…”

  “Gentlemen, please.” President Solwyn's voice was a calm, clear soprano, but it cut through the two men's argument like a laser scalpel. Heated discussions between her Secretary of State and the director of the CSD were getting more and more frequent, especially on the issue of relations with alien races.

  Campbell favored working with other powers to expand the Union's influence abroad with the idea of such an option also giving it more clout in the inner-human political machinations. Trade with foreign powers was advantageous to the Union's wealth, and good relations with alien nations carried at least the threat of them weighing in on disputes in favor of the North American Union.

  Randolph's opinion was to keep Earth and the Union isolated from the alien influences, not only because they were a rogue factor in the game of human power blocks but also because he saw their ideas, customs and morals as detrimental to human society in general.

  Striking a balance between the two of them would have been perfect: all the economic and diplomatic gains without any undue influence. But to Jennifer Solwyn that seemed like an impossible compromise right now. “Let's keep to the issue at hand, gentlemen: the Ashani.”

  Campbell sighed, then composed himself. “We believe they will try to go for the Érenni home world itself, Madam President. If our foldspace charts are correct holding Senfina allows the Dominion to bypass other major colonies of the Republics. The star systems between Senfina and the Érenni home world aren't fortified enough to warrant individual operations. The Dominion's advance won't be threatened from there. And after the fanatical attack on Senfina we're no longer convinced their defenses will hold.”

  “They don't have the stomach for war,” Randolph added, and not to Campbell's pleasure.

  “For our response, Madam President, I'd recommend offering food and medical aide, but nothing more at this time,” the CSD's director stated. It was an empty gesture of goodwill. The trip to Érenni space took commercial craft almost three months. He sincerely doubted the Dominion would sit back and wait for that long to finish what it had started. And there would be the danger of commerce raiding, too.

  “At least we agree on that,” Secretary Randolph nodded, oblivious to Campbell's thoughts.

  “What's the position of the Armed Forces, General Ulysses?” Solwyn looked to her Chief of Staff.

  “We know little about Ashani capabilities yet, Madam President,” he answered with a Southern accent distinct from that of SECSTATE Randolph. “What we do know is that they're an advanced and clearly capable enemy. If you allow me the short recourse to our own history, their dedication to their cause carries shades of the Muslim extremist of the 21st and 22nd century as well as of the Japanese Empire's conduct in the first half of the 20th century. However, they seem to have no quarrel with us, and I recommend we do nothing to provoke them. Even Van Halen's Star is nearly two months away from the Dominion's borders on commercial drives. It's the Joint Chiefs' opinion that, in light of the military realities closer to home, we should not be interested in getting involved in a conflict halfway across known space. Quite frankly, the Dominion can't take on the whole Pact. I expect the war will end rather soon, especially if the Tuathaan become fully involved.”

  “Fine then, gentlemen,” Solwyn concluded. “We'll offer simple aid but nothing more direct for now. Director Campbell, keep up your efforts to get a full picture of what happened at Senfina. Once we've got that information we can truly see what the Dominion is up to.” She rose from her chair. “I'd like to be informed of any new findings the moment you've verified them. Now, if you'd excuse me, I've got a conference scheduled in The Tank.”

  The three men left her office which was buried deep in the pyramid-like Union Tower rising out of Lake Michigan within sight of Chicago. President Solwyn walked over to a smooth door painted just as white as the rest of her office. As she approached its surface turned an obsidian black and slid back into the wall with a slight hiss. She took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  The Tank was the 28th century equivalent to the old 'red telephone' of the Cold War era, a secure communications environment in which the leaders of humanity could parlay with one another. The triangular room clad in deep blue marble was polished clean enough that one could have done surgery on an open heart in it. A small desk sat in each of the room's three corners, each adorned with a sigil of one of the three major power blocks: the eagle of the North American Union, the dragon carrying an olive branch in its maw of the Pacific Rim Alliance, and the golden stars on green of the Euromediterranean Confederacy.

  Solwyn sat down behind 'her' desk and the door hissed shut again.

  “Chairman Zhou and Prime Minister Nordquist are already waiting, Madam President,” Marston, her personal VI assistant announced.

  “Then let's not keep them waiting any longer,” she said and put on her poker face.

  Out of thin air, two men appeared behind the other desks within a blink of an eye. On first sight the holograms were indistinguishable from the real thing, something also owed to the clinically clean nature of The Tank.

  Chairman Zhou Jun of the Pacific Rim Alliance was a thin, bald-headed Chinese national. A horseshoe-shaped fringe of white hair made it look as if he wore a thin silver crown, an image not too far off the actual truth. He was, by far, the oldest of the three politicians, close to two hundred years, and much like a king: he had controlled the fates of the Alliance's five billion people for the past fifty-seven years. Despite his age, his eyes were a clear and striking black, and immediately belied strewn rumors of him no longer being at the peak of his mental capacities. His hands rested calmly on the desk's surface. They were smooth black artificial constructs, the result of a Nepalese separatist's bombing attack in his youth. He could have easily opted for re-growing the stumps back then, but had consciously decided against it. Open cybernetic implants often had a disquieting impact on others, a fact Zhou had played with masterfully throughout his career. President Solwyn knew of the rumors that his hands were by far not the only parts of him that had been replaced by sophisticated machinery. Given his energetic appearance despite his age, she was inclined to believe them.

  The Euromed Confederacy's leader was the polar opposite of Zhou Jun. Emmanuele Nordquist was about her own age, combining the darker complexion of his southern European mother with the tall build and blonde hair of his Scandinavian father. He had an open, friendly face an
d a wide smile revealing a set of perfect teeth. Solwyn knew he had undergone several bouts of cosmetic surgery to build this perfectly attractive persona. The President was keenly aware of the fact that it was just that, an attractive public persona. One didn't rise to the top of a power block including such diverse national cultures as Sudan and Norway by being Mr. Goody Two-Shoes. There was steel behind that wide smile.

  Each in their own way, both of the men she found herself facing were the most dangerous individuals she knew. But she kept her poker face.

  “Gentlemen, my apologies for keeping you waiting. As you're certainly aware, matters of state have a habit of interfering with even the best schedule. But please, what can I do for you?” Playing the innocent, unknowing girl was a routine to relieve situations of tension. In truth, she had a rather good idea about what the other only two humans equal to her in political power wanted, an idea that was proven right by the next sentence.

  “Your deployment of a vast armada to Van Halen's Star has raised serious questions about the North American Union's commitment to the maintenance of peace and the status quo between us,” Zhou's voice was cold, contrasting starkly with the almost soft sing-song that underlay his Interlingo. “Military movements of that scale can easily be misinterpreted, with potentially fatal consequences, Madam President. As such, the Alliance has lodged a formal diplomatic protest and heightened our state of readiness in response.”

  “Van Halen's Star is the Union's most distant colony world, Mr. Chairman, nearly five hundred light-years away from Earth. That's not only at the end of a very long supply line, but also in the close interstellar vicinity of the Rasenni-Ukhuri border and the holdings of several smaller powers. Given the recent domestic developments in the Empire, I believed it to be a prudent move to deter possible aggressive moves in light of the Rasenni succession to the throne,” Solwyn replied in a cool soprano. “Secondly, given that the Union's armed forces assembled the force we've sent to Orion colony, in the orbit of Mars under the eyes of the whole solar system, it is somewhat disingenuous to ascribe some hidden motives to the whole operation. Calling it a 'vast armada' is also rather stretching the truth.”