Today, with the hysteria rising to even greater heights with the arrival of the liner from Cestus expected the following day, Dix had made what he’d felt to be a last ditch effort to address those concerns. He had arranged for the leadership of all but the most rabid protest groups to be invited to a special meeting at the Admiralty, promising them the opportunity to put their concerns and questions to Skipper von Strada in person.
That had been a faint hope, he knew. Alex von Strada’s gifts did not lie in public oratory. He was Novaterran, for a start, a world with a very strong culture of public dignity. That stone-faced public manner was actually an asset to Alex in the Fleet, where formality and dignity were highly prized, but it did not always work for him very well in circumstances where a degree of personal charm would help, as when facing a conference room full of angry activists. Dix had tried to get him to approach it as a professional exercise, advising him on body language, eye contact, and keeping to straightforward civilian language. And he had, too, just before they’d gone in, told him, ‘And for pity’s sake smile.’
He’d regretted that, later. Alex had certainly done his best, Dix knew that, unflinching even under the barrage of furious yells. His impersonal military authority had not gone down at all well with the activists, however, and when he had suddenly remembered his orders and attempted a smile even Dix had felt alarmed. Alex’s mouth had pinned into a shark-like rictus but his eyes had remained ice cold, a look so menacing it was almost psychotic.
That had been the point at which the activists had gone berserk. Alex had handled it calmly, as if being howled at and spat on by a raging mob was an everyday experience, but if anything, his calm demeanour seemed to inflame them even more. Dix had been obliged to take him out, leaving security to handle the riot.
Alex’s gaze reproached him with an unspoken, I told you that wouldn’t work, and Dix had the grace to acknowledge as much with a resigned sigh.
‘Well, never mind,’ he said. ‘We’ll go to plan… well, it’s not plan B, is it? We must be at least up to plan W, by now. We can’t carry on like this. It’s intolerable. So what I suggest is that we get your recruits aboard ship as quickly as we can once the liner arrives, get them checked over, and if they’re good to go, get you out of the system as fast as you can launch.’
Alex’s expression changed from the look of set determination it had had, betraying both surprise and gratitude. He had been bracing himself there for the First Lord telling him that this was just obviously impossible and that, in the circumstances, they had better give way to public opinion and terminate the scheme. Dix had told him at the start that he would not do that, that the scheme would go ahead regardless, but Alex had seen the immense pressure both he and the rest of the Admiralty were under. He would not have blamed him, really, for feeling that the project was just untenable in these circumstances.
‘There’s no question of it being terminated, then?’ he queried, cautiously.
‘Alex,’ Dix told him, ‘if you are going to become a Lord of the Admiralty yourself some day you really must get a basic grip on politics. Quite apart from the principle of holding to an entirely legitimate, ethical scheme and not letting that be beaten down by the howling of a ranting mob who don’t even know what they’re ranting about, there is absolutely no way that either I or the Senate Sub-Committee would pull out of this project now. To do so would be regarded by all those ranting about it as an admission that we had been doing something untoward, which we are not, and the damage we would take from that would be a thousand times worse than the cack we’re getting now. All we can do, all we can possibly do, is stand on our integrity and let the mob howl itself out.
‘I do feel that would be easier if Minnow wasn’t here. Out of sight is out of mind with these bozos. Hopefully by the time you get back, they’ll have found something else to rant about and it will all settle down.’
Later, many years later, he would remember saying that and grin ruefully, but at the time, it seemed a reasonable expectation, as even the biggest scandals rarely had a media life of more than a few weeks.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Alex said, quietly but with such respect that Dix smiled at him. It was easy to forget how young Alex von Strada actually was, since he carried himself with such assurance and authority. He was not invulnerable, though, and Dix could see then that Alex was feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the storm which he’d unleashed upon the Admiralty.
‘You’re welcome,’ Dix said, quite touched by the young skipper’s gratitude. ‘Just… be aware, if it needs to be said, that you are really going to have to make this work. Politicians will stand by you as long as you’re successful, but don’t look for much loyalty from them if you fail, understood?’
‘Sir,’ Alex acknowledged, with the faint hint of a wry smile. It had seemed such a good idea when Dix Harangay had suggested moving Minnow onto irregular terms of service. The First Lord was in an impossible position, there. He knew very well that Able Star Jace Higgs had been the victim of a miscarriage of justice, and why, but was not able to have him released without causing massive scandal and rifts within the Fleet itself. When he had attempted to persuade Alex that the greater good of the Fleet justified the perhaps rather harsh treatment of one unimportant and troublesome crewman, however, Alex had looked at him as if the First Lord was something squelchy and stinky stuck on the sole of his shoe.
He had been utterly immovable, determined to fight for justice for his crewman no matter what it took. Dix Harangay had learned to dread Alex’s arrival in his office with that look of courteous determination on his face. At the same time, though, he was getting grief in the other ear from the Third Lord of the Admiralty, Admiral Cerdan Jennar, constantly griping about Alex.
At the time, it had seemed a brilliant solution to create the Fourth Fleet Irregulars. That way, Alex could have his crewman back without the Fleet actually having to admit that they’d been in the wrong. With Minnow on irregular terms of service, too, the Third Lord would no longer be able to complain about the outrageous way that Alex ran his ship – at least, not officially. Alex would report directly to the First Lord and Admiral Jennar would have no direct authority over him. Dix and Alex had shaken hands on that with great relief on both sides. It had looked as if it would work out well for everyone. At least until the media had got hold of the wrong end of the story.
‘There is just one thing…’ Dix hesitated, looking almost apologetic. ‘We’ve been approached by the LPA – League Prisons Authority – asking if they can have some access to the scheme, specifically, to inspect and observe for themselves the provision that is made for the parolees on your ship.’
He broke off in mild surprise as Alex actually grinned, a rare thing for him in an official situation. It was a smile which would have worked wonders in that activist meeting, transforming him in an instant from a cold-faced almost inhuman authority figure into an amused and even rather mischievous young man. It was the Alex only his friends got to see.
‘Not a problem, sir,’ he assured Dix, readily understanding why the First Lord was broaching that as such a sensitive issue. The military tended not to be very happy about civilian authorities wanting to come in and inspect them. ‘One of the issues I have with the prison on Cestus is that they will not allow independent inspection, so I am hardly in any position to refuse independent inspection of our own rehab unit, am I? Actually, I would welcome their involvement both in terms of looking at the situation from their own expertise and advising us on anything we could be doing better, and to be able to show that we have nothing to hide. They’ll be very welcome on board, sir, truly. Within reason, of course,’ he added, with sudden visions of the ship being overwhelmed by prison inspectors and official visitors. ‘It’s not that big a ship.’
‘But you would be willing to take, say, a prison inspector on board, even to take them out on patrol with you?’ Dix queried.
‘Yes, certainly – we could fit one or two of them in, if they don’t mind sleeping
in sickbay,’ said Alex, readily. ‘It would help, of course, if they had some idea about starships, but…’ he gave another little grin as the First Lord guffawed. ‘Okay, too much to ask,’ he conceded.
‘I’m afraid so.’ Dix confirmed, recalling his conversation with the senior LPA official who’d called with a list of questions about the scheme. ‘The questionnaire they were using,’ he told the skipper, with a tremor in his voice, ‘was for underground parole facilities, which apparently is the nearest they could find to what we’re doing, and included questions about provision for residents having access to fresh air and natural sunlight.’
Alex gave a quick, spluttering little noise that was as close as he came to laughing in duty situations. There had been a time in his life when he had felt he’d never laugh again, ever. Standing there this morning being roared and sworn at and threatened and spat on by viciously angry, almost subhuman faces had not been any kind of laughing matter, either, but sheer relief at finding that Dix and the Sub-Committee would not give up on the scheme had raised his spirits tremendously.
‘Ah, right,’ he said, knowing from that what to expect, and accepting it, philosophically. ‘But when you say ‘as fast as possible’, sir, you haven’t forgotten, have you, O/S Higgs’ family?’
The First Lord gave a slight grimace. That was not something he felt good about. Crewman Higgs was a married man, with a wife and a young child who had been living in family quarters at one of their moonbases. After his court martial and sentence, however, not only had his salary stopped but his wife and child had no longer been entitled to those family quarters. They had, therefore, been summarily evicted and handed over to the civilian authorities, who had organised benefits and put them into emergency housing in one of the worst, deep-underground deprivation estates on Chartsey. The things that Alex von Strada had had to say about that had been blistering.
Alica Higgs was in a dreadful situation – estranged from her own family on Flancer, she was now in just the disastrous scenario her parents had warned her against. She was stranded on a world far from home, alone with a baby to care for, with no job, and stripped of all the support she’d had from the Fleet. Alex and the rest of the Minnow’s officers and crew had taken care of her, finding her somewhere safe to live and providing financial support, but that was entirely down to them. The Fleet should have done better by her than that, and Dix knew it. It was not much to be able to lay in the balance that since this furore had kicked off they had taken Alica Higgs and the baby back to the family quarters moon base, providing for and supporting them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I know you were hoping to be able to give him at least a few days’ compassionate leave but with the situation as it is, I really don’t think that’s advisable. The sooner you’re out of the system, frankly, the better. The most I can do is to allow her a visit aboard ship before you launch.’
Alex didn’t argue. The First Lord had spoken with a tone of regretful finality, and it was, indeed, entirely clear to Alex himself why ‘inadvisable’ was, if anything, an understatement. Even if Jace Higgs was only allowed a day or two to spend with his wife and child in the privacy of a Fleet base, the ructions that would kick off over it would be appalling.
‘Understood,’ he acknowledged. ‘So – how long do you want us gone, sir? And any particular direction, or just make ourselves scarce?’
Dix grinned with some relief at not having had to argue that one out, and dunked a datacard into his desk before handing it over.
‘Your orders,’ he informed him, since Admiralty orders were always provided hard copy on data sealed tapes. ‘You’re to patrol the Pagolis. There’s intel that it’s being used for drug-drops.’
Alex did not protest that they had not long got back from there. Nor did he point out that there was always intel that the Pagolis Cluster was being used for drug drops, because everyone knew it was. Dix knew that as well as he did, just as he understood entirely how pointless it was to go out there and patrol.
The Fleet often wondered if Customs and Excise, who were generally the source of such intelligence, had any comprehension at all of the actual scale of space. The Pagolis Cluster alone consisted of more than three hundred stars, so densely packed by stellar standards that both navigation and scanner range were greatly restricted at high superlight speeds, and yet, even at that, so vast an area that it would take even a fast ship months to search every solar system.
‘It’s a weary, of course,’ Dix observed, a ‘weary’ being Fleet jargon for a pointless patrol, ‘but you might as well be doing that as anything. Stay out for at least six weeks and we’ll try to have it all under control by the time you get back.’
Alex nodded. It would be hard on Alica Higgs, of course, having only the briefest of meetings with her husband before he was whisked off into space again, but all Fleet families had to endure that kind of separation. They had to be prepared, too, for the possibility that their partner might be transferred at any time, even to far distant worlds. Alex had not seen his own parents since he’d left Novaterre eight years ago, and as hard as it was, that at least was a normal and expected hardship of Fleet service.
‘And if it isn’t,’ Dix added, almost as an afterthought, ‘we may have to look at posting you to another station. Therik, perhaps.’
It was apparent to Alex that this too was already under discussion as a real possibility, and he nodded agreement with that, too. It would be inconvenient for those of the crew who had families living on Chartsey, of course, but that too was part of Fleet life. As far as Alex himself was concerned, he wouldn’t care if he never saw Chartsey again. The League’s capital world was massively overcrowded, with a population of 67 billion. It was entirely dependent on other worlds supplying it with food and other essentials. There was no place on the planet where you could see the sky without hundreds of traffic lanes criss-crossing it, with thronging crowds in every public place. It was, in fact, quite close to Alex’s definition of hell.
Therik, on the other hand, was a clean and peaceful world with lots of green land and open skies. It also, because of its strategically important location, had one of the biggest Fleet bases in the League.
‘Well, we’ll go where we’re sent, obviously,’ he said, and meant that, because it would just not occur to him to feel that he had any right to a say in such a matter.
‘Obviously.’ Dix agreed. ‘But if it does come to that – and I hope it won’t – I wouldn’t want you to feel that you were being banished into outer darkness, or anything. It’s just, you know, politics.’
‘Yes sir.’ Alex said, understanding that Dix meant both internally within the Admiralty and in dealings with the Senate.
‘All right, then,’ Dix said, with a note of friendly dismissal. ‘If I don’t see you again, before, have a good patrol.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Alex said, and with the very definite feeling that even six weeks cruising pointlessly in a very tedious sector of space would be infinitely preferable to staying here, he left the First Lord’s office with something of a spring in his step.
This was not missed, evidently, by Third Lord Admiral Jennar, arriving promptly 2.3 minutes after Alex had gone.
‘I am on my way to the Senate,’ Dix informed him, having actually been on his way to the door when Jennar had arrived.
‘To tell them you’re aborting that appalling scheme, I trust,’ Jennar snapped, his manner more hectoring than respectful.
‘No, absolutely not.’ Dix stopped, at that, and stared at him, not attempting to conceal his dislike. ‘Hear me on this, Admiral. Policy and decisions in the Fleet are not dictated by the ranting of an ignorant mob, and nor will they be, so long as I am in command here.’
He saw the flicker of hatred in the other man’s eyes, the betrayal of the gut-gnawing resentment that it had been Dix Harangay who’d got the first lordship Jennar believed should have been his. ‘And don’t think I don’t know,’ Dix added with a deadly calm which had intimidated far toug
her men than Jennar, ‘who was the media’s ‘inside source’ on this.’
‘Are you accusing me?’ The tone was blustering, and not wholly convincing, since Jennar had never been as good a player as he thought he was at either poker or politics.
‘Me? No.’ Dix said, with a look that held contempt. ‘I will,’ he stated, looking straight into Admiral Jennar’s eyes, ‘wait until I have proof.’
And with that very effective exit line, he walked out leaving the Third Lord gobbling like an indignant turkey.
____________________
Chapter Three
The Fourth Fleet Irregulars came into existence precisely at 0800 the following morning. The only visible sign of that was the departure of the corvette from their station in the Zeus squadron. The brand new deity class carrier Zeus was the pride of the Fleet, riding proudly at the head of the homeworld defence squadron. Minnow had occupied the lowliest of places amongst that squadron, the squat little corvette with its bulbous thrusters considered an ugly embarrassment.
They departed in style, however. There were ritual signals requesting and granting permission to detach, then full gun salutes were exchanged. Laser cannons blasted out in a great blaze of light, stabbing out from the squadron’s ships in perfect synchronisation. With that, though, Minnow merely shifted over a few thousand klicks to their newly assigned parking orbit.
Alex was not sorry to be leaving Zeus squadron. He had served aboard the Zeus carrier during his accelerated progress through the ranks. He had only been there for four months, but it had been long enough for him to get on the wrong side of the Zeus’s commander, Captain Urquart. The relationship had not improved since Alex von Strada had returned to Zeus squadron, now commanding his own corvette. Captain Urquart was Old School Fleet, very much of the same kind of mind-set as Lord Admiral Jennar, and he had made no secret of his opinion of Alex von Strada.
Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) Page 3