“One of your people?”
“He worked both sides, sold us out. We let him get away with it because he was still useful for feeding false information up the chain. ColSec probably had the same idea.” Tapping the datapad, she added, “And for a bonus, he used to work in construction.”
“So?”
“His company took part in the slum clearances, about five years back, when they were building the new Residence. Meaning he knows all about safe demolition. I think we’d better pay him a visit.” Turning to look at McKinnon, she added, “We’ll even let her spy follow us, just to be social. Let her feel involved.” Gesturing with her head down the street, she said, “This way.”
Chapter 13
Curtis walked up the granite steps into the hall, cameras clicking all around him, thousands of people gathered around to watch the delegates make their way into the first day of the peace summit. Most of them had banners waving in the air, scrawled slogans in a dozen languages advertising their goals, a disturbing number of them calling for Commonwealth annexation, all of their banners surprisingly similar, as though printed in the same batch.
That one of the rebel delegates had been suborned wasn’t much of a shock. The death of Kowalski had been, though. He’d counted on his help to keep the Commonwealth delegation under some sort of control, and the moderating factors seemed to be dropping away by the moment. He struggled to remember the briefing notes Saxon had prepared for him last night, that he’d attempted and failed to memorize in a bid to impress.
He wasn’t a diplomat. At best, he was a soldier, at worst, a drunkard, and somehow he was now responsible for the most important meeting of the century. He walked through the double doors into the meeting room, normally the home of the moribund Titanian People’s Assembly, the only building on the colony both suitable for holding such a function and acceptable to all sides. He glanced around, noted the guards on every side, their commander giving him a curt nod to confirm that the room had been swept for traps.
Already in his place at the heart of his delegation, a spider in his web, was Nakamura, a faint smile on his face as he prepared his briefing for the first session. When he saw Curtis, he gestured for him to approach, and with a quick glance at Saxon, he walked over to the Federation delegates, taking a vacant seat next to the Chairman.
“I have heard about the death of Wing Commander Kowalski,” Nakamura said. “Is there any way I can send my condolences to his family?”
“From what I understand, he didn’t have one,” Curtis replied.
“I have been informed that the Commonwealth have elected not to replace him, but to proceed without him,” he said. “An interesting decision, one that I confess I was surprised by.”
Glancing at Admiral Crawford, he replied, “They’re claiming that it is a mark of respect, but he was an elected representative, chosen by the crews of the Fleet, and I think they’re concerned about the practicalities of appointing a replacement.”
“An interesting choice,” Nakamura replied. “None of the other delegates have been appointed in this manner.” Looking left and right, he continued, “I will repeat now what I said before, Commodore. You will not find my delegation unreasonable in our requests.”
Saxon walked over to him, and said, “Commodore, we’re about ready to begin now.”
“Thank you, Major,” he replied. “Until later, Chairman.” He walked over to the single vacant table, two empty chairs behind it, and took his seat next to Saxon, arranging his notes on the surface before him, datapad flicking on. He glanced up at the cameras on all sides, several of them focusing on him, knowing that millions, perhaps billions of people were watching him today. Most of them hoping that he and the others could come up with a miracle.
Thirteen delegates in the room. He hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. Five from the Federation, though only Nakamura and Hancock seemed to be significant players there, none of the others yet risking a single comment. The Commonwealth delegation, three people, was dominated by Crawford and McKinnon, the two of them glaring at each other with ill-disguised hatred, a luckless man forced to sit between them, thus far employed only as a buffer.
The rebel delegation had only one familiar face, Petrov representing both Hyperborea and Sinaloa as delegate from the ‘Border Worlds’. The balance of that team had only been finalized the night before, after he’d threatened to simply choose five people at random; they’d ended up with two from Sol, representing Mars and Titan, the latter risking the occasional glance at McKinnon, and three from beyond – with Caledonia and Sirius Prime taking the remaining seats. A hundred envious people were sitting in the audience, watching their every move, waiting for some sign of weakness that might permit them to press a claim of their own.
Reaching for the gavel, he pounded it on the desk, and said, “I hereby call this meeting to order, and formally welcome our delegates and observers to this conference. Each of you will have twenty minutes for your opening statement, and the order has been determined randomly under the supervision of each delegate...”
“Point of order,” Crawford said. “Wing Commander Kowalski had drawn the first number, and we request that his place be taken by another member of our delegation.”
“I object!” the Sirian yelled. “You should take your turn, as we all agreed before this meeting began.” Curtis looked down at the running order, unsurprised to learn that the Sirian had been listed as the second to speak. “Commodore Curtis, you cannot permit such an action, or I will be forced to withdraw from this chamber. Our delegations are of equal worth and merit, and if that is not established from the outset, this conference is a waste of everyone’s time.”
“The Commonwealth deserve the right to speak,” Crawford replied. “It was only the inability of the rebel delegation to organize themselves formally that required each delegate to draw separately. We are are united team,” he said, glancing daggers at McKinnon, “and our statements were crafted to make….”
Interrupting him, Hancock asked, “Why, then, do you have three delegates present today, instead of one, if all of you are of the same mind? We’re all here because different points of view must be represented, and if you have choreographed your statements, that rather seems to me to defeat the point entirely. I insist that the running order remains as intended.” With a thin smile, he added, “Out of interest, I presume that Admiral Crawford would wish to take the late Wing Commander Kowalski’s place himself, moving from his current position as ninth to speak?”
“As senior officer of the delegation….”
McKinnon turned, and said, “That would be a matter for the delegation as a whole to decide, not out of some misguided appeal to seniority. The ranks we hold outside this room are meaningless; in here, all of us are equal, or I agree that this is a farce. I call for a vote...”
“We voted already!” the Caledonian, fourth on the list, replied. “Do you want to have a vote after every speaker to decide who should go next? All of this has been resolved.” Turning to Curtis, she continued, “We will mourn Wing Commander Kowalski, a brave warrior who fought for the cause of freedom, but this bickering does nothing but dishonor his memory. Commodore, if you permit this, I will walk out as well.”
“If the delegates from Sirius and Caledonia no longer wish to take part in these proceedings,” Crawford replied, looking up at the audience, “then I am certain that it will be a simple enough matter to find others who will.”
Slamming his gavel down on the table, Curtis said, “Enough! We have barely begun, and we haven’t even made it to the first opening statement yet. Admiral Crawford, I note that you were happy enough with the running order when it was apparent that your delegation would be going first. Your officer has died, and that is a tragedy.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I didn’t know him as well as I would have liked, but he was a good soldier, a fine pilot, and his life was dedicated to the cause of freedom and liber
ty. That he was selected by his comrades to represent them is a further proof of the respect all held for him.”
Nodding, Nakamura said, “On behalf of the Federation, I echo and agree with Commodore Curtis’ comments.” Looking at Hancock, he added, “We will respect the decision of the Commodore in this matter, so long as our position in the running order is not altered. Our position is that this has already been decided, and we are content that it should remain that way.”
“I agree,” Curtis said. “The decision regarding the running order has been made, and it shall remain as originally decided.”
“I object!” Crawford replied.
“Then, Admiral, you are at liberty to withdraw from the conference.” Looking around the room, he continued, “We’re being watched by millions of people, all of whom are waiting to see what we will do next. Our responsibility is to them, to find a path to lasting peace, not to posture like pampered peacocks. The running order will remain as it stands, and I hope, ladies and gentlemen, that this behavior will not be sustained for the rest of the conference.” Looking down at his datapad, he continued, “If there are no further objections, we will begin.”
“None from me, Commodore,” the Sirian said. “I agree that you are being more than fair.” Rising to his feet, he said, “The people...”
“Excuse me?” Curtis said. “Please take your seat, sir. You are second to speak, not first.”
Frowning, the delegate replied, “Unless Wing Commander Kowalski is able to speak from beyond the grave, then I would assume...”
“There, sir, you are correct. He is.” Turning to the rear, he said, “Wing Commander Kani, if you would please make your way to the floor.”
“What is the meaning of this?” the Caledonian barked. “Your ruling made it quite clear that the running order would be maintained, and that no modifications to the running order would be permitted. We all agreed with that decision, but...”
“The running order will be respected, ma’am, and the words of Wing Commander Kowalski will be read to the meeting room.” Turning to Kani, he added, “Go ahead.”
Nodding, Kani stood in front of Curtis’ table, and said, “I was with Joe Kowalski when he died. We’d just finished working on what he was going to say at the opening session.” Turning to Crawford, he added, “He wasn’t going to read the speech you had prepared, Admiral. He had words of his own to say, and I think it important that they be said. I know that they speak for at least the Commonwealth Fleet, and I suspect many others as well.”
“I have no objection,” Nakamura said.
“You ordered…,” Crawford interrupted.
Slamming his gavel on the table, Curtis said, “My decision has been made, Admiral, and it is final. You will permit Wing Commander Kani to speak the words of his comrade.”
Looking down at his datapad, Kani said, “This won’t take long. He wasn’t planning to take up the whole twenty minutes. He didn’t have that much to say.” He scanned the text again, looked up at the room, and said, “I asked him what he had fought for, what he wanted to happen as a result of the peace treaty, and he said this. ‘My mother used to tell me stories about Earth when I was a kid, about the places she’d known when she was a kid. I want to see those places. I want to go home.’ Those are his words, not mine, but he speaks for me.”
There was a pause, the delegates looking at each other as though uncertain how to react, and then Nakamura rose to his feet, clapping his hands together in applause, followed by the remainder of the Federation party. Seconds later, the Commonwealth and rebel delegates rose as well, and the audience joined them, the resounding applause filling the room as Kani looked at the ground, blushing. Hands scribbled across datapads as journalists began to report the opening of the conference, and Saxon looked across at Curtis, nodding in approval.
After a moment, he slammed his gavel on the desk, and said, “Order, please. Order. Wing Commander Kani, I thank you for your words, and I’m sure that Joe would have been more than happy with the way you delivered them.” Turning to the Sirian, he added, “Are you ready to begin, sir, or would you care for a short recess to collect your thoughts?”
“That will not be necessary, Commodore, though I join with you in your approval of previous statement.” Rising to his feet, datapad in hand, he looked around the room, and began, “For more than a century, our people...”
Curtis let the words wash over him, Saxon making only the occasional note to confirm to him that the delegate was using the maximum number of words possible for the least possible result, the forced attentiveness of the other delegates only supporting his belief. Kani withdrew quietly from the chamber, then spotted Crawford, rising to his feet.
“Point of order, Commodore! I object to the remarks...”
“Statements are not to be interrupted...”
Slamming his gavel once again, Curtis sighed. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter 14
Mike Curtis sat in his borrowed office, looking over the latest set of reports from the Fleet, shaking his head at the mass of paperwork that was still coming his way. He couldn’t quite work out how his father actually did anything other than place his signature on datapads all day, and barely resisted the temptation to simply toss them to the side and ignore them. He looked up at the status panel, the unfamiliar design catching him by surprise for a brief moment.
He still missed Canopus. She’d died well, in glorious battle, and a whole world now celebrated her name, but there was no escaping the harsh reality that he’d lost his first command, and the dull ache inside was refusing to go away. He turned back to the paperwork, hoping to lose himself in the mass of administrative trivia, before a chime on his desk broke him from his unwanted reverie.
“Bridge to Commodore,” Ortiz said. “You’d better get up here, sir. We’ve got a situation developing that requires your personal input, and I’d rather not risk the communicators.”
“On my way,” he replied, grateful for something to break the tedium. He felt the box in his pocket, a purchase he’d managed in a brief moment of leave at one of the few jewelers on Titan, something at least to look forward to when all of this was over. Glancing up at the live feed from the surface as he left the office, he saw a Federation General rising to argue a procedural point, and was briefly comforted by the thought that as frustrating a time he was having, his father appeared to be suffering through far worse down on the surface.
He walked down the corridor to the waiting elevator, crewman stopping to salute as he approached, and carefully returned each one, receiving a series of smiles in reply. The mood on every ship in the fleet was jubilant, triumphant, their crews believing that the last battle at Titan had brought this war to an end, had earned their victory. He hoped with all his heart that they were right about that, but try as he could, he failed to completely dismiss the knot of fear that lay in his stomach. Everything was going too well, despite the squabbling on the surface.
True, the attack on the surface had killed Kowalski, but even that had been contained surprisingly quickly, and he’d anticipated far more acrimony among the delegates in response. Their protests had almost seemed issued simply for form’s sake, rather than any real reaction, and he’d been astonished that they had appeared to move past the issue so quickly.
As he stepped into the elevator, he pulled out his personal datapad, scrolling through the reports from the surface. Cordova was being as cryptic as he’d expected, but he’d hoped for better from Schmidt. He didn’t trust the rebel, but he did trust his former shipmate. Reading between the lines, they were on to something, had at least some lead to track down, but they were reluctant to share it, even with him.
The door slid open, and he stepped onto the bridge, Ortiz and Petrova already waiting for him, crouched over the sensor display, looking up at his approach. He walked over to join them, looking over the readouts, images from the settlements on
Mars flickering into life as he watched.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“It looks as though fighting has broken out on the Martian surface,” Ortiz replied with a sigh. “We’re getting reports of explosions, and both sides are requesting urgent military and humanitarian assistance. I can’t find out what brought it about, but the satellite readings show that two cities have already been destroyed.” Turning to his friend, he added, “Which means a quarter of a millions people have died. We can’t just sit back and watch.”
“Contact the Martian delegate,” Mike ordered.
“I tried,” Petrova replied. “They’re still in closed session, all incoming calls closed, and the local security force isn’t responding either. I’ve sent someone down in a shuttle, but I think we need to move on this now, Mike, before it gets any worse than it already is.”
“How certain are we of the messages we’re getting?” Mike asked.
“Satellite feeds are confirmed, and we’re picking up distress calls from several settlements.”
Frowning, he replied, “Our last reports had everything peaceful. No sign of trouble at all, and a provisional government in the process of being established. How could it have fallen apart so quickly.” Turning to the technician, he said, “Tie in ship’s sensors, Spaceman. I want to take a look at Mars for myself. And try the whole spectrum. See what sort of communications traffic is coming off the planet right now.”
“Mike, if things are as bad as they appear, we need to respond at once,” Ortiz pressed.
“Four hours and change before we can get there, Bill. Waiting a few moments won’t make any appreciable difference. What’s the response from the rest of the fleet, from the Federation and Commonwealth ships?”
“Neither have moved an inch, Commodore,” the sensor technician replied. “What else could you expect from them?”
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