by David Weber
“Be advised,” Myau continued, “that my engineering officers have programmed remote self-destruct commands into my destroyers’ fusion plants. Should any of your small craft approach within five thousand kilometers of any of my units, the enabling code will be sent and the ship—and any of your personnel who may happen to be aboard it—will be destroyed.” She bared her teeth. “You won’t be capturing any classified data in this star system.”
“First, Captain Myau,” Zavala told her, “I’m relieved to discover that someone in this star system has the mother wit to step away from avoidable bloodshed. I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but I respect how difficult your decision was, and I commend you for having the moral courage to ignore that idiot in the governor’s office and save your people’s lives. I take no more pleasure in killing people than the next man.
“Second, I have no intention of interfering with your destroyers in any way so long as they pose no threat to my own vessels or personnel. Had Governor Dueñas been willing to approach this situation with a modicum of rationality, I wouldn’t find myself forced to require you to abandon ship in the first place…and Vice Admiral Dubroskaya and several thousand of your fellow spacers would still be alive.”
He held her eyes for another moment, letting her see the truth—and the flinty determination—in his own. He chose not to mention the fact that the Royal Manticoran Navy already had more captured information and hardware to play with than it could possibly use. Three obsolescent destroyers in a nowhere star system like Saltash wouldn’t be worth the trouble to board. Nonetheless, he had to respect Myau’s determination to see to it that they wouldn’t be boarded.
“And now, Captain,” Zavala resumed, “without any desire to appear disrespectful, I think I’d better return to my conversation with Governor Dueñas. I’m assuming you’ll be in charge of search and rescue operations here in Saltash. While I can’t allow your destroyers to participate, for obvious reasons, I give you my word that any civilian vessels you may dispatch for that purpose will be unmolested. And if you require any sensor assistance to locate survivors, I’ll gladly provide it. In fact, we’ve dropped remote platforms at the site of the engagement and we’re running a plot on all your pods, small craft, skinsuit transponder beacons, and debris. If you’ll hold this circuit for a moment, I’ll have my ops officer arrange a direct feed from our CIC to provide you with that information and keep it updated.”
“Thank you,” Myau said stiffly.
“You’re welcome. As I said, I truly would prefer for no search and rescue operations to have become necessary.” He looked over his shoulder at Lieutenant Commander Gabrowski. “Arrange it, please, Alice.”
“Of course, Sir.” Gabrowski nodded from her position outside his com pickup’s field of view. She also raised one hand and pressed the palm lightly across her eyes for a moment, then grinned, and Zavala nodded back. He’d known Gabrowski would make certain the sensor feed provided nothing but the most basic, essential information to the Sollies. It would never do to give Myau a look inside the RMN’s actual capabilities.
“Good day, Captain Myau,” Zavala said, and his mouth tightened as the Solarian officer’s image disappeared.
“I suppose we’d better get the asshole back, Abhijat,” he told Lieutenant Wilson.
* * *
Fresh fury throbbed somewhere deep down inside Damián Dueñas as he stared at the wallpaper on his com. How dared Zavala simply put him on hold in the middle of a conversation?!
He sat in his comfortable chair, fists clenched on the blotter in front of him, and the anger within was welcome. It fired his determination and buttressed him against fear, and however little he wanted to admit it, he needed that buttressing. He had to be strong, show his determination, if he wanted to spin this situation into something besides a disaster when the smoke cleared. The back of his brain was already busy with ways he could demonstrate that it was actually Tiilikainen’s lack of support and Vice Admiral Dubroskaya’s wildly inaccurate assessment of the military situation and her poor and aggressive advice as his senior military officer and expert which had created this disastrous situation. Bad as it was, it still wasn’t something a skilled operator couldn’t recover from, and whatever happened, Zavala’s actions made it obvious he’d been right all along about the need to demonstrate the Manties’ rogue behavior. So—
A symbol flickered in the corner of his display, and he scowled as he recognized Kodou’s personal attention icon. He growled in irritation, but Kodou had been with him long enough to know how he’d react to any intrusion that wasn’t amply justified, and he punched to accept the call.
“What?” he snapped, not trying to hide his anger at the interruption.
“Governor,” his assistant said, “I’ve just received a report that Captain Myau’s personnel have abandoned ship.”
“What?!” Dueñas barked with a very different emphasis.
“The report came in from system traffic control,” Kodou’s struggle to keep his own voice calm was evident. “They’re arranging atmospheric clearance for the pods to planet here at Kernuish Spaceport.”
“That bitch!” Dueñas snarled, betrayed by the Navy yet again. Myau had no business—no authority!—abandoning her command! He represented the Solarian League’s authority in Saltash, not her! But what else should he have expected? Dubroskaya had been a fool, promising him victory over the Manties, so why shouldn’t Myau turn out to be a coward too terrified even to face them?!
He closed his eyes once more, nostrils flaring, and made himself suck in a deep lungful of oxygen. He stayed that way for a handful of seconds, then reopened his eyes and forced his hands to relax before his fingernails dug bleeding gouges in his palms.
Actually, this could work in his favor, he realized as the automatic spike of fury subsided. He hadn’t ordered her to stand down; she’d done it unilaterally, without so much as consulting him, far less any order to do so! It was a clear case of cowardice in the face of the enemy, one which couldn’t possibly be charged to him, since she hadn’t even consulted him…and it could only emphasize how poorly he’d been served from the very beginning by the naval forces assigned to support him here in Saltash. It was scarcely his fault the Navy had first misled and misadvised and then betrayed him.
His mind flickered through the best ways to make the Navy’s culpability clear without looking as if he were trying to alibi his own actions. Fortunately, he and Dubroskaya had discussed his original plans privately, face-to-face, here in his office. He’d have to review the records of their later com conversations, verify exactly what had been said so he could be certain his account of those initial conversations jibed with it, but he was an old hand at crafting properly phrased memoranda, and—
The wallpaper in his display—and Kodou’s image—disappeared, replaced by Jacob Zavala’s face.
“I apologize for the delay, Governor,” the Manticoran said without any discernible sincerity, “but I had to take another call. Something about saving lives, I’m afraid.”
“Should I assume you’re referring to Captain Myau’s cowardly decision to surrender to your threats?”
“No. You should assume I’m referring to Captain Myau’s sanity and moral courage in refusing to see her personnel killed because of your pigheaded, fatuous arrogance.”
Dueñas felt his face darken again, and his jaw clenched.
He’s trying to make you lose your temper, he told himself. Trying to rattle you, make you look like some out-of-control hothead.
“Personal insults to the official representative of another star nation may be typical of the ‘Star Empire of Manticore’s’ approach to interstellar relations, Captain,” he said coldly. “And I’m sure the Solarian League’s government is going to be deeply impressed by your bizarre version of diplomacy. No doubt the Solarian electorate will be equally impressed when the record of this conversation is released. Unfortunately, your insults are no more likely than your murderous actions have already been
to cause me to comply with your outrageous and flagrantly illegal demands.”
Zavala cocked his head, eyes narrowed as he considered Dueñas from the com, and the governor looked back with a hard, steady gaze. They stayed that way for several seconds, and then Zavala shook his head.
“Governor, I’m at a loss to understand why you’re so determined to turn a disaster into a complete debacle. You’ve already gotten thousands of Solarian naval personnel killed. Now you’re proposing to get still more people killed in pursuit of an action you know perfectly well was illegal from the outset? Have you considered psychological counseling?”
“More insults, Captain?” Dueñas smiled thinly. “They seem to be getting a little less trenchant—are you running low on inspiration? Or perhaps you’re beginning to realize how the blood of the men and women you’ve murdered today is going to spatter your precious Star Empire once word of it gets back to the Sol System?”
“I’m not taking anyone’s blood lightly, Governor.” Zavala’s tone could have frozen helium. “I would very much prefer for no one to have been killed. Unfortunately, you and Vice Admiral Dubroskaya took that decision out of my hands. And I don’t think you quite appreciate the actual state of affairs between the Star Empire of Manticore and the Solarian League at this moment. The deaths of Vice Admiral Dubroskaya and so many of her personnel are a tragedy, and one which I deeply regret, but I doubt very much that they’re going to have any significant impact on Manticore’s relations with the League. Your career, yes; interstellar relations, no.”
“I assure you, you’re mistaken about that.”
“Governor Dueñas,” there was something like a note of pity in the Manticoran’s icy voice, “you’re clearly even more poorly informed about current events than I’d thought you could be. Just under three T-months ago, Fleet Admiral Crandall invaded the Spindle System. Twenty-three of her superdreadnoughts were effectively destroyed; another forty-eight surrendered, along with every screening and support unit. Over a hundred thousand of her personnel were killed, just about as quickly as Vice Admiral Dubroskaya’s people were killed here, and all of the rest—all of them, Governor; every single man and woman—are now POWs of the Star Empire of Manticore. As deeply as I regret the lives which have been lost today, they’re barely even a footnote to what’s already happened. The only questions you should be thinking about right now are how to keep anyone else who doesn’t have to die from being killed and how your own superiors are going to react to the consequences of your arrogant, high-handed, illegal, boneheaded actions in first seizing Manticoran merchant vessels, secondly refusing to release them, and thirdly provoking the engagement which ended so disastrously for Vice Admiral Dubroskaya’s squadron.”
Dueñas’ eyes widened, despite himself. There hadn’t been time for details of what had happened in Spindle to reach Saltash. All they’d had had been third-hand rumors and fragments carried by a single ship—a merchant ship, not a naval vessel or an official courier—which everyone had realized must be wildly exaggerated. Yet even those obviously inflated loss figures had fallen far short of what Zavala had just said.
You don’t have any corroboration of his story, the governor reminded himself, and he’s got every reason to lie to convince you to back down. Besides, that’s ridiculous! Almost eighty Solarian superdreadnoughts taken out by a neobarb navy with delusions of grandeur? Preposterous!
“I trust you’ll understand why I have to take that assertion with a grain of salt, Captain Zavala,” he heard himself say.
“You can take it with whatever you like, but that won’t change what actually happened. And in regard to that—and because this entire conversation is being recorded from my side and I intend to demonstrate that I did everything in my power to convince you to show a gram of rationality—I’m prepared to transmit to you copies of Solarian reporters’ accounts of the Battle of Spindle from League news services with correspondents in Spindle. You may not wish to take my word for it, and I’m sure you could convince yourself any Manticoran records I showed you had been falsified, but perhaps you’d be impressed by Solarian reportage of events there.”
Dueñas felt himself waver and stiffened his nerve.
“If you could falsify one set of records, you could falsify as many as you like,” he replied harshly. “And whatever may have or may not have happened in Spindle, you’re in Saltash now. The policies of the Solarian League and the Office of Frontier Security when confronted with acts of terrorism against star systems under Solarian protection are known to the entire galaxy. I can’t prevent you from murdering still more Solarian personnel and endangering the lives, property, and livelihoods of the citizens of Saltash, but I can—and will—refuse to condone your actions or lend them any tincture of legality. If you persist in this blatant aggression, the consequences will be your responsibility, and the ultimate repercussions for your star nation will be far worse than you seem able to grasp.”
“So you’re categorically refusing to release the Manticoran personnel and civilian vessels you’ve illegally imprisoned and seized in this star system?”
“I’m categorically refusing to allow you to violate a legally declared medical quarantine, and I’m categorically refusing to kowtow to the irresponsible and illegal use of naked force against the Solarian League Navy.”
“In that case, and since we seem to be making certain this is all part of the official record, be advised Governor, that I intend to have those personnel and those vessels back.” Zavala’s eyes bored into Dueñas. “I’m informing you now that I intend to put a boarding party aboard Shona Station. If every Manticoran interned in this system is surrendered—unharmed—when my personnel board the station, and if the Manticoran freighters held in this system are allowed to depart, no one else needs to be injured or killed. If, however, our people are not surrendered, or if they are harmed in any way, or if those freighters are not allowed to depart unhindered, I will take whatever military action seems appropriate, up to and including the use—the additional use—of deadly force. Since it’s evident that attempting to convince you to see reason is about as effective as arguing with a rock, I see no point in further discussion. I’ve informed you of my intentions and of the consequences of continued intransigence on your part. So far as I’m concerned, this conversation is over. I advise you to inform whoever’s in charge of Shona Station that my pinnaces will be docking with the station within fifteen minutes of my destroyers’ arrival in Cinnamon orbit, however.” He showed his teeth. “I wouldn’t want anyone else to get hurt just because they didn’t know we were coming.”
He gazed at Dueñas for another heartbeat, and the governor stared back, trying to find a response. None had come to him before Zavala nodded coldly.
“Good day, Governor Dueñas.”
Chapter Fourteen
Captain Valentine MacNaughtan of the Saltash Space Service scowled in irritation as the distinctive signal of a private com request chimed in his earbug. In Captain MacNaughtan’s opinion, this wasn’t the best imaginable time for a friend to be comming him. Not with the entire star system going rapidly to hell and five Manticoran light cruisers decelerating steadily towards the space station for which he was ostensibly responsible.
He kept his eyes on the display in front of him, ignoring the signal while he wondered what the hell Governor Dueñas thought he was doing. MacNaughtan had been as stunned as anyone by the almost casual obliteration of Vice Admiral Dubroskaya’s battlecruisers, but that lent a certain emphasis—a lot of emphasis, actually—to his present concerns. Although Shona Station’s megaton mass dwarfed any battlecruiser ever built, it was also far more fragile…and stuffed full of civilians, not just people in uniform. It seemed self-evident to that station’s CO that keeping ships which could shred battlecruisers from doing the same thing to Shona would be a good idea, yet he was beginning to think he was the only person in the entire star system that thought had occurred to.
Dueñas, you miserable asshole, he thought scathi
ngly. You don’t have a frigging clue, do you? I really don’t want to see what you screw up for an encore, but I’ve got a nasty feeling I’m going to. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Grandpa, what did you think you were doing?!
The question had all sorts of jagged personal edges at the moment, since Captain MacNaughtan’s grandfather had been the President of MacPhee whose brainstorm had led to the Office of Frontier Security’s being invited into Saltash in the first place. The old man had lived to regret it, but by and large, MacNaughtan didn’t see where he’d had a lot of choice. Saltashans prided themselves on their stubbornness, and they’d been all set to reprise Old Earth’s Final War on Cinnamon, even though the stubbornest had to admit their original quarrel had arisen out of an almost trivial dispute over fishing rights, of all damned things! Well, MacNaughtan’s grandmother had always claimed that no one else in the entire Ante Diaspora history of the human race had been able to hold a grudge, cherish a feud, or cling to a lost cause like the Scots. Except, perhaps, she’d added thoughtfully, the Irish. Apparently some things changed even less than others.
MacNaughtan didn’t know about that. He wasn’t a student of history, and he’d had other things to concern himself with here in Saltash. Like dealing with the consequences of Frontier Security’s arrival. While he was willing to concede even OFS was preferable to a sterilized planet, there were times he wasn’t certain just how preferable it might be. His was one of the families which had managed to cling to a position of at least some power and privilege even under the new management, which was how he’d come to command Shona Station in the first place. But that also meant his family was in a better position than most to realize just how cynical the Sollies’ exploitation of his home system actually was.
It wasn’t that systems like Saltash provided enormous amounts of cash to the League compared to even the smallest Core system. Not individually, at any rate. Yet there were so many of them, each of them one more revenue-producing node in Frontier Security’s “benevolent” little empire, that the aggregate cash flow was stupendous. And the amounts the League extracted from Saltash in the form of “service fees” and “licensing fees” were more than enough to choke off any domestic economic growth. MacNaughtan knew Saltash was better off than many—probably the majority—of the protectorate systems, and Cinnamon had escaped the kind of grinding poverty that was the fate of all too many other worlds in the Verge. But he wasn’t certain stagnation was a lot better than penury, and he was certain that Frontier Security apparatchiks like Damien Dueñas had absolutely no interest in changing the situation. It was working just fine for them the way it was.