Carrearranis (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 5)

by S MacDonald

  Alex acknowledged that by putting ‘population management’ at the head of the list of key questions, then moved on, looking over to Shion next.

  ‘Point of interest,’ she told him. ‘There is no mention of religious or superstitious belief in any of the broadcasts. That’s unusual for humans.’ She gave him a smile. ‘Even atheists often make reference to fate or fortune at times of major discovery and excitement, but not one person who spoke on that broadcast said anything about god or gods having brought us to them, nothing about destiny or how lucky it was, or anything like that. I’d really like to know what – if any – mythology they have.’

  Alex moved that up the list, too, out of general sociological enquiries and into the priority list. If Shion considered that important, that was good enough.

  ‘Sir…’ it was Rangi Tekawa who raised his hand next and got a nod from the skipper. ‘I’ve been looking at what we can tell about their physiology,’ he indicated a preliminary report. ‘And we’ve been able to calibrate known island features with stellar fixes and so forth to give us an idea of their height – and it turns out to be, on average, eighty seven centimetres.’

  There was a startled silence.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Martine Fishe queried, expressing the doubt on many faces.

  ‘Positive,’ said Rangi, taking no offence at that since he’d had to triple check the results himself before he believed them. ‘I know they don’t look small but that’s because everything around them in their environment is on the same scale, houses of course but even the trees, too – the tallest tree we’ve triangulated on so far is only seventeen metres high and most of them are under ten metres. It isn’t – or shouldn’t be, really – a surprising result. Evolutionary pressures usually do result in species on small islands reducing in size, and Carrearranis is nothing but small islands. From what I can see, too, they are perfectly suited to their environment, as we’d expect from Olaret bioengineering. But there it is,’ he looked at Alex. ‘Human or not,’ he said, ‘and we can’t tell that without testing, I can tell you that they’re smaller than any genome in the League.’

  Alex considered that and nodded.

  ‘Interesting,’ he observed. ‘But not immediately relevant. This will remain an exodiplomacy mission until we are able to test and confirm whether they are a human genome or not.’

  The reports were done within about an hour. They could have gone on for another ten, easily, if Alex had listened to everyone who had something they wanted to tell him. But the Fourth had developed an etiquette for this sort of thing and most of the reports were filed as non-urgent, only those of the highest priority being brought to the skipper’s attention directly.

  ‘All right – thank you,’ said Alex, and with a glance at the time, ‘All officers briefing at 0600.’

  Nobody moved. The announcement of the meeting time was a courtesy, as Alex didn’t call meetings between the hours of midnight and 0600. It was understood that people could go back to bed until then if they wanted, but equally well understood that nobody was going to.

  Nor did they. At 0600 all the senior officers sat down at the datatable, crammed in elbow to elbow, with the juniors standing behind them. Live links to the Minnow and Whisker included the officers there, while everyone else was watching on comms.

  It was a brief meeting, with no surprises at all as far as the Fourth was concerned.

  ‘Has everyone had the opportunity to familiarise themselves with the key points of the message?’ Alex enquired, and having received a chorus of confirmation, ‘Does anyone have any questions or concerns about moving to the border?’

  There was a short, emphatic silence and Alex smiled.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We’ll proceed with the Outpost plan – Skipper Walensa,’ he looked at her on screen, ‘The Minnow will come with us.’

  There was a roar of delight from the corvette’s crew, and Milli Walensa herself smiled back broadly. The Outpost plan was one of many contingencies they’d discussed while they were waiting for the message. It meant the Heron taking up position as close as they were allowed to approach to Carrearranis, whilst the other two ships shuttled back and forth between them and Oreol, carrying supplies and news. There had been some competition between the corvette and patrol ship as to which of them would have the privilege of going first.

  ‘We’ll schedule departure for 0900,’ said Alex, feeling that would allow sufficient time to brief the civilians.

  He was wrong. There were to be two meetings, first a working breakfast with the president and chiefs of staff and then a media call in which he’d give two statements, one for immediate public release and the other to be held on file until such time as the truth could be told. That might not be in Alex’s own lifetime, but policy with exodiplomacy was always to keep the truth on file in the hope that one day it might be possible to reveal it

  He didn’t expect the civilian briefing to take much longer than half an hour. They had all been told beforehand what would happen if the Fourth received permission to take their ship back to the border, after all, and there had been extensive meetings between them and his officers. His diplomatic aide, Jun Desmoulin, had assured him that all the VIPs had been able to ask questions and express their opinions.

  Now, though, it was as if they’d never even heard any suggestion that the Fourth might take the Heron back to the border, as one of them put it, so unceremoniously.

  ‘Surely this has to be considered,’ she urged. ‘And careful, detailed plans made before any such decision is made.’

  A clamour of competing voices arose around the table and Alex just sat there, bewildered. He was looking at Joy Arthas, expecting her to take charge of the meeting, but she was making no attempt to do so. She just sat there looking interested as all the others at the table began arguing, some directing their arguments at Alex whilst others were distracted into arguing with one another. Froggy Croker was trying to tell people, pretty forcefully, that this was the captain’s decision to make and they should be quiet, but nobody was listening to him. The Excorps’ skipper was attempting to explain to three others that it was not within his power to tell the captain what to do, whilst at the same time suggesting to Alex that no decisions should be made, as it were, in haste. The words ‘Look!’ and ‘Listen!’ popped out of the babble like fireworks.

  Finding that the president was not going to take charge of this, Alex glanced at Jun Desmoulin. The Diplomatic Corps attaché had merged so effectively into the Fourth that he was often referred to these days as the skipper’s adjutant. Alex had come to rely on him in dealings with civilian authorities, and though he didn’t expect Jun to take control of the meeting, he was hoping for some kind of guidance from him. Jun, though, looked helplessly back at him, evidently as much at a loss as Alex himself.

  Looking around the table, Alex realised that only President Arthas had the authority to shut everyone up, and she wasn’t going to. As people were appealing to her to support their arguments, she just held up her hands in a mildly amused gesture, making it clear that she was not going to get involved.

  Right then, thought Alex, and with that decision he set his shoulders and a purposeful look came onto his face. That was normally enough, on his own ship, for everyone to fall silent and give him their attention. Not here, though. It was as if they didn’t even notice.

  ‘Look…’ said an infuriated Senator to his neighbour, ‘it stands to reason that we can’t just…’

  ‘Listen,’ Froggy Croker had lowered his voice in the classic conflict resolution manner and was attempting to speak quietly and calmly. In theory this should have lowered the emotional temperature of the meeting and got people turning their heads towards him. ‘I need everyone to just take a breath and…’

  Nobody paid him the slightest heed.

  ‘Listen to me!’ Harard Perkins of the League Intelligence Agency was, predictably, the most vocal. He was red in the face, slapping his hand onto the table in a desperate effort to asse
rt his control. ‘You will not risk the safety of the League by this reckless, hare-brained…’

  Alex cleared his throat, his eyes assuming the chilling glare which the media had called a ‘psycho stare’. This was defcon one in calling people to order, at least with his own people. Experience had found that it tended to have the opposite effect with activists and journalists, as activists subjected to it generally started throwing things while journalists went wild with delight.

  On this particular group of civilians it had absolutely no impact at all. They were all very important people in their own right, used to being listened to, and not one of them considered Alex to be in any role of authority over them. His glacial look passed right over them unnoticed.

  Alex considered his options. He could just sit here silently and let them argue themselves to a standstill, but he had a feeling that they might still be here at lunchtime with them ranting at him and at one another. He could try to insist that they at least took turns and addressed their concerns to him one at a time, but that might well find them still sitting round the table come midnight.

  He stood up quietly and paused. If anything, the arguments intensified, many people pitching up both the volume and vehemence as if determined to have their say against Alex’s efforts to silence them.

  Alex inclined his head briefly towards Joy Arthas. ‘Ma’am,’ he acknowledged, and with that, walked away from the table.

  There was an immediate shout of protest, a confusion of people telling him that he couldn’t just walk away like that, and then, finally, a collapse into silence as he looked back from the doorway at them. It was a thick, bristling silence, buzzing with anger, and it wouldn’t hold for long. But it would hold for just long enough.

  ‘I don’t think,’ Alex said, ‘that you quite understand. This mission is not being run by committee. I am the appointed representative of the League government and until such time as I am relieved of that office I will make all decisions pertaining to contact with Carrearranis.’ There was a flurry of protest and he held up one hand, miraculously stilling it. ‘There are eight berths available to you on the interdeck,’ he told them, though this too was something which had been agreed days before. ‘The Minnow and Whisker will provide passage for up to four passengers at a time. How you use that capacity is entirely up to you. But understand, you are observers here, not participants. You will have no say, now or at any time, in the progress of the mission.’ He could see that they were just about to boil over into another explosive protest, so inclined his head again to them, politely. ‘Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.’

  And then he went out.

  Five

  The Heron departed at 0900. This was not accomplished without some further harassment, of course. This was less than it might have been because after his departure, Joy Arthas had quietened the meeting and had told them, much amused, that Alex was absolutely correct.

  ‘None of us has any right at all to interfere, including myself,’ she pointed out, and in answer to some heated objections, ‘And no, we do not have the right to express our opinions. Not, at least, to him, not about operational matters which are within his authority to decide.’

  Not all of them accepted that, of course. The LIA announced pugnaciously that they would be accompanying the Fourth to what they called ‘the front line’, and that nobody was going to prevent them. This fell rather flat as nobody even attempted to prevent them, but LIA Director Perkins persisted in registering official protests and dire warnings about threats to League security. Froggy Croker called to congratulate Alex on how well he’d handled a difficult situation but then stayed on the line himself for some time telling Alex what he would do if this was his call.

  Skipper Torez of the Exploration Corps assured Alex of his complete support, too.

  ‘We’re more than happy to be working with you in a supportive capacity,’ he said. ‘And we fully respect, of course, your right to make the operational decisions here. We were, however, without in any way questioning that, wondering whether it might be possible for you to stay just for a day or two longer in order to complete at least phase eight on the base?’

  Alex was quiet for a moment, choosing his words. The Fourth had worked minor miracles on Flatworld, using emergency domes and a good deal of ingenuity to create a functional base there even before the supply ships had arrived. Since then they had been working flat out to build and fit out domes with accommodation and labs. X-Base Haven was now a respectable size, a grid of interconnected domes which could house up to a hundred people. The base would be under Excorps’ management, with diplomatic and research staff already moving in. Phase eight was a highly equipped biosciences laboratory, currently nearing completion.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Alex. ‘No. Our priority is not to build an X-base.’

  ‘Understood,’ said the Excorps officer, giving him a sudden, crooked grin. ‘But you wouldn’t credit the hassle I’m getting from people wanting the full base up and running in ten minutes, so at least I can say that I asked. Best of luck to you, Skipper.’

  Joy Arthas wished him luck, too, and did not apologise for having left him to deal with the civilians earlier.

  ‘I thought it best,’ she explained, ‘if you clarified your position yourself, definitively.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Alex, with a dry note which made her chuckle.

  ‘You handled it well,’ she commended. ‘They’re not the easiest people to manage; more ego than intelligence in some cases, regrettably. But they know where they stand, now, and important that that came from you. The last thing I want is for any of them – us – to be a nuisance to you. But I hope you’ll forgive me if I do just say…’ she paused for a moment and looked a little apologetic, ‘please… be careful. I know that you’ll be entirely honourable in your dealings with them and I don’t mean to offend you in any way, but as things move forward, do please be very careful about what you allow them to agree to. We don’t,’ she looked at him steadily, ‘want another Mimos.’

  Alex had to remind himself that she did not mean to be offensive.

  ‘You do not,’ he said, rather coldly, ‘have to be concerned about that, ma’am.’

  ‘There, I knew I’d mess that up.’ It was typical of Joy Arthas that when someone was offended, she assumed that the responsibility for that was hers. ‘I’m sorry, Alex, I did not mean for one moment to suggest that you might, yourself, be responsible for the wholesale destruction of a culture and the devastation of their environment. What I meant to say was please be careful, in any agreement you make with them, not to leave the slightest loophole anywhere that anyone else, at any future time, might use to exploit them at all, okay? But I shouldn’t even have said that, really,’ she surveyed him with some remorse, mixed with a trace of amusement. ‘That is a given, really, where you’re concerned. Sorry Alex, just my own paranoid worry about what might happen to them surfacing, there.’

  That was understandable – not only was Joy a very responsible, caring person, herself, but she had to be aware, too, of an additional level of responsibility, here. It had been at her request, her insistence, that the Fourth had been assigned to this mission. So she, albeit by one step back, was responsible for the discovery of Carrearranis.

  ‘Understood,’ Alex said. ‘Sorry, Joy – a little touchy myself there. I have pretty strong views about Mimos, too.’

  ‘Good,’ said Joy, not meaning good that he had such views, but good that they’d been restored to an understanding in which she was ‘Joy’ and not ‘ma’am.’ The word ‘good’ could not really be applied in any conversation about Mimos. One of the last inhabited worlds the League had discovered this side of the Gulf, four hundred years previously, it had been at a stage of aboriginal pre-industrial development. The League had promptly occupied it ‘for its own good,’ built housing estates for the population and bulldozed their huts when they refused to move into them. Ninety per cent of the landmass was now under industrialised agriculture, growing protabeans t
o feed the central worlds. The population, largely unemployed, refusing education, still had to be sustained by aid and benefits. It was still officially a world in crisis, and had been so from the moment of its discovery. The very idea that he might do something like that to the people of Carrearranis had put Alex’s back up poker-rigid, but he accepted that Joy was speaking from her own sense of responsibility and concern, and managed a smile.

  ‘We will,’ he promised, ‘be very careful.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Joy smiled back. ‘And do please be sure to let them know that we on Telathor stand their friends – regardless of what the League might decide, we are their neighbours and we will provide everything they need, yes?’

  Alex nodded. He could see just the tiniest trace of regret on her face, as if a passing thought had reminded her of how different she had been hoping for this situation to be. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘that it isn’t what you were hoping for.’

  He knew what impassioned dreams had driven Joy Arthas to force through the demand that the Fourth undertake this exploration mission. The Telathorans themselves were a survival species created by an ancient race called the Thelae. It was from the Thelae that they had inherited their tall stature, their laid-back generosity and their highly artistic culture. Telathoran mythology had it that not all of the Thelae had died out in the plague; that a few of them at least had survived and retreated to their own quarantined lifeboat world. Joy had been hoping, so hoping, that Alex would find the people who had created her own race. Instead, they had found what Alex himself had always considered to be more likely, one of the lost colonies created by the Olaret. And however wonderful that discovery was for the Telathorans, there must, too, be a tinge of disappointment that it was not the ancestral people they had been so longing to meet.

  ‘Well, just because the Thelae aren’t here doesn’t prove they all died out,’ said Joy. ‘There are many other living worlds yet to be discovered, Alex… we’ll find them one day, I feel sure of it. And in the meantime,’ she broke into another radiant, genuinely thrilled smile, ‘we couldn’t be any happier with the discovery of Carrearranis, really couldn’t. Please tell them, Alex – from me…’ she gave the Telathoran gesture of open handed welcome, ‘My hand, your hand.’