"No to fulfill the obligations and initial investment to Kiev 221, the freighter Lieandra, and Cassidy actually," Irons said keeping a lid on his temper. "In exchange for crew, materials, support, and fuel they each get a rebuild. That was their contract. We've finished with Kiev and they have left the system. The Lieandra has as well. The Cassidy undertook a similar contract and has fulfilled a part of their end of the bargain. The work on the Cassidy should be finished by tomorrow."
Cassidy hadn't put in as much work as the other two ships so wasn't getting as much as they had. But what they were getting they were pathetically eager to have. New sensors, a new hyperdrive, repaired and rebuilt fusion reactor and a partially restored shield.
"Oh."
It wasn't like they didn't know that. The contract lawyers in the room had gone over the contract, questioning every point and every comma. Fortunately Sprite had rammed it through to them to get it out of their systems fast or they would still be floating on the edge of the heliopause twiddling their thumbs.
Mayor Randall frowned. “You've diverted enough resources to those projects as it is. They will be leaving the system and will have no benefit to Antigua.”
“First off the admiral wasn't the only person to authorize this project, the station council did. It's something you're going to have to deal with and move on.” Warner said, sounding annoyed. The Berkhearts nodded.
“It was for the benefit of everyone,” another station council member said.
“They are no longer drawing resources from this station,” Ron Steward volunteered.
“Then why are they still in dock?” Kennet demanded.
“Placing and fitting components,” Irons said. “Testing and making sure everything works. They should be out of the dock by oh six hundred tomorrow.” He wondered how anyone on the station council couldn't keep abreast of such simple matters. It wasn't like they currently had dozens or hundreds of ships in dock at the moment.
"But you're going to build a warship afterward?" Randall pressed on.
The admiral frowned. "Possibly, but not for some time. We have other ships that are a priority we can repair. We don't have the infrastructure to support a yard right now. I'd like to have at least a corvette or frigate on station as soon as possible. If not home built than we can contact Pyrax and I can order one from there."
"Really?" another voice asked. He nodded.
"So why..." Randall held up a hand interrupting the others. "I don't see the need for this admiral; it's a monumental waste of materials and people. Materials we desperately need elsewhere and skilled people we can best put to use in other capacities."
“Desperate? They thought making toys was a desperate endeavor?” Sprite demanded only to him. He ignored her rant.
He shook his head. "I disagree mister mayor, protecting the system is of vital importance. You do not desperately need air cars for every person on the planet. You do not desperately need new appliances for every home. You do need to update your hospitals and medics, I freely admit that point. Making certain that the pirates don't come and take over is of more immediate concern than the other things I should imagine."
The mayors shot an amused glance between themselves. Randall smirked as he returned his attention to Irons. "We don't need protection. Our defensive grid..."
"Protects the planet," Taylor Warner growled. "Not the station. Or anything not in orbit of the planet. In fact your defenses actually protect less than a third of your planet." Some of the station council nodded or looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"Which we will rectify," Randall said smoothly, glancing at the mayors of cities and towns not covered. “In time.”
“It is a priority,” a mayor said sounding nettled. Apparently he was the mayor of a town not covered by the defensive grid.
Irons was pretty sure that was how Randall was getting their support now. However they didn't know all the facts. Time to rectify that little oversight. "Eventually. With my help," Irons said sitting back. Randall's eyes narrowed as he caught that qualifier.
"Are you blackmailing us Irons?" he asked as his fellows murmured. They stopped and looked at the two in surprise. A few were looking at Irons warily.
The admiral frowned. That wasn't what he meant. "Not at all. But I am pointing out that to make weapons you need my access keys. You also need my access keys to make reactors and parts for them for your towns and cities, as well as most of the other major items on your lists."
"So you are blackmailing us!" Randall said, nostrils flaring and smiling a little in triumph. He glanced at his fellow mayors. Most were now grimly glaring at the admiral.
Irons felt like grinding his teeth together but restrained the urge. What he'd really like to do wasn't legal anyway. Dropping an annoying politician in a black hole wasn't legal right? Satisfying, but not right. Or at least not legal. Besides, looking back he'd definitely walked into the trap. He should have seen it, but his pride had blinded him again. Damn.
He kept from grinding his teeth together with sheer iron will. He wasn't about to let them see him off balance. "No I am pointing out a reality you fail to grasp. It isn't my decision to hold the keys, it's built into me." He tapped his forehead. "In me, an engineering fleet admiral. Deal with it."
"So you're saying..."
"I'm not saying anything against your priorities. I am actually the one that is urging you to work on defenses remember? I am however politely pointing out to you that you just told me you want me to make weapons for you."
"Um..."
"Weapons that will protect your enclaves, towns, and cities. But not the factories and people that make parts for them to function and continue to function in the future. You are saying that their lives aren't important in your great scheme." Gwen and a few of the other stationers exchanged looks. From the admiral’s perspective they were suddenly not happy about that idea. Good he thought.
"Uh..." Randall raised a hand to interrupt but Irons plowed on.
“Weapons I cannot make for civilians, they have to be made for military personnel only. It's also part of my...” he smiled and tapped his temple again. “Programming. I can't authorize civilians to have weapons of mass destruction. It's against the law. I can't just hand them over to you.”
“Wait, wait,” a mayor interrupted before Randall could retort. “The station isn't protected?” he asked looking first at the admiral and then to the council. The Berkhearts shook their heads no.
"So we put them on the station right?" a voice in the back said. "It's no big deal..."
"A planetary class defense instillation on an industrial station of this size?" Taylor Warner asked laughing. "Her power grid wouldn't handle it. She'd be torn apart the first time you tried to fire one of those monsters."
"Besides, if you just focused on the planet any pirate could pick off your defenses from outside your engagement range," Sprite said entering the conversation again. "All they have to do is drop rocks from far enough out from you. If they came in fast enough on the right vector you'd never see them coming until it was too late. They could do the same with the station."
"Says you," Randall said dismissively.
"Say's me," Irons growled thumping his chest with an index finger. "Say's nearly a century of military training and experience. Say's nearly a century of experience in combat. I'm the expert in that subject remember? I've seen it happen. Hell, I've done it myself. I've built systems up from nothing and I've torn them apart. Torn the enemy apart down to bedrock."
The mayors were taken aback by the intensity of that admission. "You're focused on short sighted goals. Goals to keep your constituents happy. I am trying to protect your infrastructure and your constituents. That is my job. I am also looking after the long view. Let's take your current plan here," he said waving a hand. A holo appeared before him. "Let's see, mayor Randall here promised a new air car and a tablet pc, new appliances, power, along with free medical care for everyone by the end of the year correct?"
"I don't
see the problem the factory station can churn them out quickly..." Randall said smoothly.
"The problem is every other mayor or politician has now also made the same promise. Some have upped the ante a bit. So now instead of a few thousand we've got an order for over one hundred thousand. That number is expected to double by the end of the day. By the end of the month it will probably be around fifty million."
"Again I don't see the problem!"
The admiral frowned. "I do. Did you stop to think about how you're going to pay for this? Where are you going to get the material to make these things? Shipping to and from the station? Fuel for the fusion reactors to power the industrial plants? Chemicals? Did you stop to think of any of that?”
He could see that Randall and the others hadn't. He snorted softly. “I know, that's for someone else to work out the details. Sure, fine. But how about this. How about that you could instead have the factory make the parts for an air car factory?" Irons demanded, standing and leaning forward intently focused on the audience, trying to drill his ideas into them by sheer force of will. "Think about it. You could employ your people in the making of these air cars and tablet computers instead of just tossing them the things like candy!"
A few of the mayors looked at each other and nodded. They had high unemployment in their cities and therefore a high crime rate. The point was going home. “How would we get the money to pay for it as you pointed out?” a mayor asked.
The admiral shrugged. “Bank loans, bonds, or taxes. Or you could invite investors to buy shares. Bonds of a different sort in other words. Subsidized bonds and loans, whatever you feel most comfortable doing. They could do the same to build a lot of the infrastructure I mentioned. People to own the shipping companies, people to mine the asteroid belt. People that would employ others and their wages would go into the system. Economy folks.”
“Sounds good in theory...”
“At least I've got a grasp of the theory. I can send you the plans if you like. The admiral is correct,” Sid Berkheart said with a nod to the admiral. Several others on the council who had been uncomfortable with making all those things for free also nodded. Some nodded grudgingly but the support was there for others to see.
Randall looked nonplussed. Finally his face cleared and his shrugged. "But what about when the air cars and the factory are no longer needed?" Randall asked slyly.
Emily chuckled, drawing their attention to her. "You repair or recycle them of course. Oh do you mean the factory?” Emily smiled. “A new model can come out every year. Or different styles and paint jobs. People could be employed to design new features. People who have families. Their wages go into the economy because they would use them to buy food and goods and not just draw them and sit around doing nothing. That's the fundamentals of a capitalistic democracy over a socialist one." She too looked at the admiral. “I understand where you are going with this now,” she murmured with a nod in his direction. He nodded in return. He was glad someone was finally on board.
"I resent that!" A mayor growled, eyes flashing. "We have a lot of poor uneducated people who must be..."
"Coddled you mean yes I know Bernie, we all know," another mayor said.
"Not my point. But to finish my example with the air cars, once local demand is exhausted you could look into exporting them to other worlds," Irons said, tossing them another carrot.
"Like they could pay for them!" a woman said shaking her head. "Get real!"
“Oh I dunno Henrietta, some planets like Avalon and New Texas could,” Bernie mused, suddenly thinking over the idea with new eyes.
"The balance of trade might be uneven for now. But you never know. Some planets have resources you lack here. Trace or rare materials that aren't in abundant supply here might be in other places. Or luxury goods you may want. That's called trade. But there is another feature. You've been doing that for centuries with the ships that have come here remember? You could loan the other colonies the credits to get on their feet. Your banking industry would gain customers and draw interest from the loans others take out."
A few of the bankers in the group looked interested in that idea. Irons nodded politely to them.
"So we'd be subsidizing the poor on other planets. Get real Irons!" An annoyed older mayor said waving his hand dismissively and thumping a cane. "Hard work here is what we need. Honest work for honest people."
"I don't like your tone admiral; you aren't bringing anything positive to this discussion. Perhaps you should leave," Randall said firmly, looking at the others for support. Irons felt his heart sink a little as a majority nodded in response to Randall's request. Of course they were all supporters of Randall. He rose.
"Fine then. Good luck and good day," he got up and walked out. He heard a mayor saying something about the military needing to know it's place. Another laughed and said something about playing soldier and tin gods fighting the last war. He tried not to scowl blackly at that.
"That's it?" Sprite said as the hatch door closed behind him.
"What more do you want Sprite?" he asked tiredly. He let his anger wash out of him. He didn't need to break something; oh he wanted to, wanted to badly, but knew it wouldn't help him. Well, it would help him vent, but really, in the end it would just break something he'd then have to fix. He kicked a stone pebble near the door someone had left for some reason as he exited. "I can't hold a pulser to their heads. They are accusing me of doing it now!"
"I don't know what to say admiral," Warner said over his communications.
The admiral closed his eyes. "Don't. I blew it. I should have handled that better," he sighed, shaking his head. "I knew there would be an uphill battle..."
"But you couldn't anticipate the response you've gotten. I'm afraid a majority of the station council are with them admiral," Warner said apologetically. "I can't blame the old ones, they're tired and just want to keep people happy. They hate fighting and arguing."
"Coasters," Sprite said with a sniff of disgust.
"They like it simple," Warner said defensively. "After... ah hell, I don't want to argue about it Sprite!"
"Agreed," she said gruffly. "I apologize if I offended you lieutenant."
"Thanks," Warner said with a nod. "I... admiral what are you going to do?"
"I can't do my job so I'll take the Phoenix and head out to somewhere I can," he answered with a heartfelt grimace. They were so close! They lacked the political will to do what needed to be done though. “It's looking more and more likely that I'm going to be doing just that damn it!” he shook his head in disgust clenching his left hand.
"Ouch," Warner said after a moment. He sighed. "I can't blame you sir," he said quietly.
There's a reception later in the evening. It's supposed to be another photo op, also a chance to do some real politicking. Irons attended because the Berkhearts, Warners, Averies, the Stewards, Gwen, and the chamber of commerce had each asked him to do so.
He came to the party in full dress uniform, complete with medals. They sparkled when the photographers snapped the occasional photo. More than one person who had stood outside the party room had commented about his white dress uniform. Some of the comments were admiring, others rude.
Right off the bat as he entered Irons overheard people calling him names. It nettled, but not a whole lot. He was after all expecting such treatment. He'd put up with such treatment before and could do so again. Uniform flunky, barbarian, Neanderthal... did they realize they were acting like school children with the name calling he wondered?
He put it aside, dressed in his formal dress uniform he drew comfort from centuries of traditions of duty, honor and in being a gentleman. He hated wearing the thing sometimes. Now it was a comforting presence. A reminder of duty, honor, and sacrifice against adversity. He was concerned that Sprite was in a formal gown, blending in with the other peacocks. She drifted away from him right away. She is wearing a formal dress cut off the shoulder that sparkled silver and blue. Circuitry designs and coding occasionally wrap
ped around her body. The Warners were also dressed in black tie civilian formal wear as well. He decided to stick to the background as a wall flower and see how the party played out.
“My aren't we pretty,” a chestnut haired female human aide commented as he passed her an hour into the party. He at first thought it's a compliment and bowed politely. But her snicker of snide mirth made him stiffen.
“Uniformed Neanderthal,” she commented, toying with her near empty wine glass before moving on.
He caught other comments about the barbarian in their midst, uncultured, uncivilized, uneducated. “What did you expect? He joined the military because no one else would have him. Poor sod.” The mandarin Fu's nodded sagely.
That did need addressing he decided. He cleared his throat and met Yan Fu's eyes. “Actually, no I joined for other reasons,” Irons said, voice cutting over the chatter in the room. The room quieted. “And I am far from the most uneducated one in the room. Let's do a little poll shall we?” He turned to the hologram of Doctor's Trask and Myers as those in the room parted around him, suddenly giving him space. “I believe you both have doctorates, am I correct?” They both nodded. “Anyone else?” he asked looking around the room. No one said anything. “I mean other than me?” he asked raising a hand.
“You?” A woman asked in surprise.
“Now, doctors,” he said turning to them both, ignoring the woman. “Either of you have more than one doctorate?” he asked. Both shook their heads. He turned. “Anyone else?” No one said anything. He slowly raised his hand again. “Other than me?” he asked making a show of looking around the room once more.
Someone scoffed. His eyes narrowed. “I have three doctorates, nine masters and thirteen associate degrees,” he said it simply, coldly, letting the room echo with his words.
“In war of course,” Fu murmured. He seemed so assured of that. So assured that it was a dirty thing, a thing that was contemptible.
Ghost Station (The Wandering Engineer) Page 78