“Sounds good,” Straker said, standing. “Until then.”
The back-facing sixth Salamander walked toward the shuttle, and the other five turned to follow him—or her, or it?—through the portal.
With the aliens safely back inside their shuttle, the humans let out a common sigh of relief.
“Devil take it, that’s annoying,” Colonel Keller said, shaking her head in irritation. “I’m not cut out for diplomacy if it means we just sit here and say nothing. I’ve got a hundred questions, each of which has bearing on our upcoming decisions. What kind of fuel is available at their homeworld? What other planets are in their system? Is their food supply compatible with our biology? Is—”
“We’ve all got a lot of questions. We’ll discuss them in the flag conference room, not here where they might be able to listen. Indy, round up my key personnel.”
Once gathered in the conference room and provided with food and drink, Indy summarized the negotiations so far, and the proposal. She included graphics on the Salamanders’ homeworld, its geography, the enemy, and the potential missions. “The Salamanders provided an extensive database download,” she told them. “I’ve already pushed it to all ships and networks and told the appropriate people to study it.”
When the briefing ended, Straker stood and paced as he spoke. “Colonel Keller, how much longer can we survive without resupply?”
“Comfortably, about a month. Two months if we use up all our battle rations. Water and oxygen’s no problem—there are plenty of comets out here to harvest, and we can synthesize some basic carbohydrates and proteins to supplement, but we don’t have enough reprocessing capacity to create the other nutrients people need. Fuel… if we don’t go anywhere, two or three months. Less if we travel far in sidespace.”
“The civilians are already restless,” Engels said. “They’ll go stir-crazy if they don’t get off the ships soon. We need a planet or a hab.”
“That should be part of our payment,” Loco said from where he slouched at the back of the room. “Someplace where we can build a decent base.”
Straker pointed at him. “Right. But, we haven’t decided to take this contract. We could wait around another month for other offers while we get certified by Crossroads. Once we do, we’ll have access to their information network where millions of jobs and contracts are advertised, but that could take weeks or more. So do we take this one or wait?”
Heiser cleared his throat. “You’re asking us, sir?”
“I’m asking for input, not a vote… but yes, I’m asking. Show of hands: who wants to move forward on this contract?”
Most of those present raised their hands—or tentacles.
“Who wants to wait?”
Only a few showed their hands.
“Anyone want to say anything?”
Nobody spoke until Heiser did, after exchanging nods with Chief Gurung, his naval counterpart. “Speaking for the enlisted, sir, discipline is fraying. Fights and insubordination are up—tempers short. The ground troops need to get out and train somewhere other than cargo bays and simulators. The ones with families need to be able to live together. They all need a sky and fresh air, and bars and clubs and parks. Frankly, I don’t think we should wait. As long as the deal is good and the mission is doable, well… we trust you to lead us, sir.”
Those in the room murmured in approval.
Straker put his head down and nodded as he paced, hiding a swell of emotion at Heiser’s trust. It reminded him of his responsibility now—not just for people under his command, but their families, their children. It felt like a weight on his shoulders, reminding him of the stakes of this particular game.
He’d been saddled with this level of responsibility in the past as the Liberator, but it had been a long time. He hadn’t fully accepted that crushing weight again, but he knew he would eventually.
“Thanks, Sergeant Major,” he said. “I’ll do my best. So, we’ll move forward. As of now, treat this as a standard warning order and begin mission preparation. Commander Sinden, I’ll expect regular intelligence packages and briefings in the distro. Don’t neglect the Salamanders in your research. The more we know about them, the better off we are. Admiral Engels, please prepare a fleet battle plan. General Paloco, work with the brigade commanders and staffs to plan operations against likely Rhino ground objectives.” He held up a hand. “I know this is all very preliminary, but the sooner we start filling in the blanks, to sooner we get a handle on the situation. Dismissed.”
* * *
Finalizing the contract took three more two-hour sessions with the Salamanders. By that time the aliens seemed exhausted. Straker got the impression they were physically frail, at least outside their own environment.
But, they had ships, they had money, they had a war he could fight without feeling dirty—and they had territory to grant. So, in the end, Straker signed the deal, after Indy and a legal team went over the contract with a fine-toothed comb.
As part of their payment, the Breakers would get an uninhabited island in Salamander territory in the far north of Premdor, the Salamanders-Rhino common homeworld. The island would be cold and bleak through the upcoming winter, but had water, soil and sky.
The Breakers also got the right to mine fuel and ores from unclaimed parts of the Premdor system, and earn some Conglomerate credits through commerce. To get those credits, though, Conglomerate regulations mandated that that one of the two ranking members of any corporate entity had to register their corporation in person aboard Crossroads. That meant Engels or Straker.
The argument between them seemed inevitable, with Straker pacing inside their generously sized flag quarters, and Engels glaring, planting her feet on the deck with hands on hips.
“I can’t be on Crossroads navigating a bureaucracy while we’re in a fight!” Straker complained.
“Oh, and I can?”
“There’s two bad choices—you or me. It can’t be me.”
“Loco can handle the ground ops. You need me for the orbital battle,” Engels said.
“I could say the same in reverse. Gray can command the fleet action, where we have the advantage and will take all of a day or two. Ground ops will be much more involved, depending on how the war goes. And most important, I signed the deal with the Salamanders, not you. That means only I can alter or renegotiate it if there’s some surprise—and there always is.”
Straker tried to put his arms around her and she pushed him away with her palms, saying, “Why do I always have to be the compliant one, the reasonable one? I’m just as much a warrior as you. I’m sick of being sidelined.”
“Honey… you won the Liberation Wars, just as much as I did. It was your leadership, strategy and tactics that defeated our enemies.”
“Yeah, but nobody called me ‘Liberator.’ I’m just another sidekick, like Loco and Zaxby.”
“Loco... Yes, I guess you could call him a sidekick, but not Zaxby. He’s his own man… squid, whatever. He’s here voluntarily.”
“And that’s the point. You see him as an equal, but not me. You never have. Cosmos, I wish I’d insisted on command years ago.”
Straker turned away, oddly hurt. “Look, Carla… I don’t know what to say. There can be only one boss in a military outfit—and everybody has a boss.”
“Not you!”
“Yes, I do. The Breakers are my boss. My responsibility. I—I’m having to think about this in a whole new way, with all the civilians and kids and… and believe me, I’d like to dump it all and go off and live somewhere peaceful and raise our kids, but Karst—Steel—he didn’t let us. This isn’t about being the boss—but if you think it is…” Straker took a deep breath. “You can have it. You be the boss. It’s yours.”
Engels stared at him angrily. “You don’t really mean that.”
“Yes, I do. If that’s what you really want, I’ll go back and tell the Salamanders you’re in charge, and you’ll sign the same deal, and I’ll go to Crossroads and join you later. It’l
l be a relief, actually. Later, I’ll run the ground forces, and you can have everything else.”
Straker had started to speak with the idea in mind that his words were a verbal feint, making an offer he knew wouldn’t be accepted, an olive branch that would get her to do what she needed to do. Now, though, he suddenly found himself willing to follow through—if she accepted. He still believed he was the better choice, but she’d be ninety-eight percent as good, and if that’s what it took to make her feel valued and respected, he’d do it.
She saw it in his eyes, the truth of his sincerity.
“You really would do that…?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“Yeah. If that’s what it takes.”
Carla came into his arms then and kissed him. “That’s the difference between you and Steel, you know.”
“That I’m a better kisser?”
“That you’re willing to step aside if it’s the right thing to do. That’s the mark of a leader over a tyrant, Derek—service before self, service to your people. That’s why I’m saying no.”
“No?”
“No, and yes. No, I don’t need to fight this time. Yes, I’ll go to Crossroads—but not because you were right about the details. Because you’re willing to be wrong, for me.”
He kissed her lips, then her forehead and crushed her to himself with careful strength—lifting her on tiptoe. “Gods and monsters, I love you, Carla.”
“I love you too, Derek. I’m sorry I got… annoyed.”
“It’s okay. You don’t like to be sidelined before a fight because you’re a true warrior.”
She squeezed him, and then let him go. “I’ll brief Ellen and the other ship captains, then I’ll get going to Crossroads. I’ll take the Redwolf, and I’d like Zaxby to come with me. I’m sure he can put some other War Male in charge of his skimmer squadron.”
“Zaxby? Why?”
“Because I know and trust him, and he’ll have an alien perspective. Crossroads is full of aliens—hundreds, maybe thousands of species. I may need his brain and his skills. I just wish I could have Indy on my comlink.”
Straker smiled. “She’s indispensable now, isn’t she? Is she ever going to reproduce? Might be useful to have some more AIs.”
“You’ll have to ask her. Five years, she must be over Vic by now…or maybe not. Is perfect memory always a good thing? Can you imagine never forgetting anything? Never having your pain fade?” Engels tossed a few civilian clothes into a bag and then began removing her uniform.
Straker grimaced. “You don’t have to go yet, do you? We won’t see each other for weeks.”
With a dance step, she whirled over to him, tossing her clothes aside to end up naked in his arms. “Don’t worry. I’m not leaving yet.”
“And neither am I, I guess.”
“Nope. Lock the door, will you?”
Chapter 10
Admiral Engels, Crossroads
Engels piloted the yacht Redwolf toward the great trading post of Crossroads. Zaxby had agreed to come with her, saying, “I’m quite eager to see this remarkable place with my own four eyes. And, two heads are better than one. And, I’d like to get certified to do business with the Fugjios Conglomerate. And, to try out some exotic new foods. And—”
“And I get it. You’re bored after all this time in sidespace. Me too. Don’t enjoy things too much, though. We’re on a business trip, not a vacation.” She gave a rueful snort. “Business. I’ve gone from being a fleet commander to a sales representative.”
“Like the military, business is an honorable profession if it’s ethically performed, Carla Engels. Or should I say Carla Straker? It may behoove you to use your married name, at least as an option, to connect yourself with the official business entity title, Straker’s Breakers.”
“Official business title?”
“Yes, of course. It will have to be registered. Have you thought about whether you want it constituted as a limited liability corporation, or a standard corporation, or a non-profit corporation, or—”
Engels patted a pocket. “It’s all in the data stick Colonel Keller’s business team prepared, and we’ve got Indy on the FTL comlink for any questions... until they leave for Premdor.”
Although Frank Murdock, the Breakers’ resident mad scientist, had transferred the Redwolf to divisional ownership, he still considered it his baby. He was constantly tinkering with it, and had equipped it with every imaginable tech he could get his hands on or develop, so among other things it had a long-range FTL transceiver that allowed a datalink with Indy aboard the Independence. Through the datalink, Indy was able to maintain a remote consciousness, as if she were aboard, even from as far away as the edge of curved space.
Unfortunately, nobody’d created an FTL comlink with interstellar range... not that she knew of, anyway.
The tiny bridge of the Redwolf—more of a big cockpit—was barely large enough for the two passengers, considering one was an octopoid who massed around two hundred kilos, water suit included. The space didn’t have a holotank, but its superb holoscreen made the viewers feel as if they were looking out a window at whatever was projected. During the long hours of travel inward from the edge of the star system, the two used it to examine the Crossroads station and its environs.
They’d need to know as much about the place as possible, considering how important it was to commerce in the area.
As they approached Crossroads, Engels opened the viewports and stared out of them, nothing but five centimeters of transparent duralloy between her and space. As they moved closer and closer on impellers alone, the giant station swelled until it filled half the sky.
Thousands—no, tens of thousands of ships, large and small, moved in a complex dance around and through the station. The closer they got, the more porous the structure seemed. Instead of a solid spheroid, the station was composed of a variety of shapes built one atop another, or tacked onto the sides or bottom. The direction didn’t matter in space. It looked like a giant toy built by a child playing with a construction set, with little sense of long-term design.
The gaps between the vast sections allowed traffic to actually penetrate kilometers deep within the station, perhaps even to its very heart. Engels handed over the actual piloting to Zaxby and pressed her nose to the crystal like a kid looking in a shop window, her fascination for spaceflight and its craft rekindled by the bewildering array of ship designs.
Only a few were warships, and those all had a sameness in their color scheme and design, like black-and-white checkered harlequins or three-dimensional chessboards. They must be Conglomerate ships for local defense and enforcement, as other warships were prohibited in the area.
More interesting were the transports, passenger liners, couriers and utility vessels. Without the need for armor or heavy weaponry to constrain their designs, they could be made into any imaginable shape—and they were. Some resembled birds or fish, some were simple cubes or polygons—she was reminded of the geodesic Opter ships—and some showed graceful, even organic curves.
Could some ships actually be living beings? She’d heard rumors of such things, organic technology that grew structures instead of building them.
Her military eyes picked out weapons mounted on the Crossroads station—turrets ranging from point-defense up to megafortress-sized death machines kilometers long—energy projectors and railguns that dwarfed anything she’d seen before. Towers sporting thousands of ports each must be missile launchers.
These weapons highlighted the defensive advantages of a station like this. Unlike a life-bearing planet, it had no atmosphere to interfere with launchers. It could be moved, if only ponderously. Its low gravity allowed for mind-bogglingly massive structures to be built. Supported by the warships she saw—and no doubt some she didn’t—Crossroads could resist an assault by thousands of ships.
Or perhaps more. They might have completely unknown technology, including shields like the Crystals had used.
Murdock’s team of brainiacs had
developed Crystal-style shields and installed them on the Breaker transports—and now, on the captured warships too—but that was the easy part. The hard part was coming up with the sheer power to run the shields effectively. Murdock hadn’t yet been able to reverse-engineer the singularity generators the Crystals used, so full-power shields could only be kept up for a few seconds at a time—or thin ones for longer.
Engels realized there was so much to learn out here. With relatively few aliens in it, human space was a monocultural flatland compared to Crossroads. She’d never really thought about it before, just taken it for granted that humans were dominant.
But out here, they weren’t. It was a big galaxy, and humans were really just a small part of it.
How did Crossroads manage all the different environments needed? And communications, and food, and waste products? What about lighting? Heating? Visual and sound displays?
“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” she murmured.
“What?” Zaxby asked.
“I said I guess we’ll find out how they manage all these alien species and their needs.”
“That’s one reason Crossroads exists and is so profitable. Nowhere else can everyone easily meet, with facilities that cater to all. If a new species registers, the Conglomerate assesses its needs and builds or modifies a habitat as quickly as possible—in order to get their business. Habitat sections are modular and movable. They are grouped by graduated environmental factors, not by species. We’ll be docking at a section with the environment most correct for humans. Aliens comfortable in that environment will also be common.”
“Speaking of docking...” The Redwolf slid, more and more slowly, into a universal docking cradle. Large padded clamps on arms gently seized the yacht and pulled her the last few meters into position. Like a living thing, a smart boarding tube extended and sealed its end over the ship’s personnel airlock.
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