“And it doesn’t convince me that everyone should be in the fight. It’s not for everyone, Lis. And it’s for those of us who know we’re good at it to do it well so all those others don’t have to.”
“You don’t think I’d be good?” With a hurt expression. Erik blinked at her, wondering how to try again… and realised she was playing with him. “Scamp,” he said, giving her a shove as she laughed.
They left the cat as tidy as they’d been given it, and walked up the narrow wooden pier between neighbouring yachts. As they approached the shore, Erik saw two black marine uniforms waiting, one tall and one not. Major Thakur and Lieutenant Dale, he recognised with surprise. He waved cheerfully, and was surprised further that they did not wave back. In fact, they both looked grim.
“Marines,” Erik addressed them as he took the lead in his party. A little self-conscious in his wet civvies, while they were immaculate in their dress uniforms. He wondered what they’d been up to since he saw them last. It didn’t look like they’d been having any fun. “What brings you here?”
“You need to come with us,” said Thakur. Her voice was cold and hard, and her words did not sound polite. Off-ship she did technically outrank him, but still…
Erik drew himself up. “What’s going on?” he retorted, mindful of the audience behind him.
“What’d you tell him?” Dale snarled from Thakur’s shoulder. “Fucking Admiral Anjo, what did you tell him?”
Erik was shocked. “Lieutenant, that’s no way to speak of a superior officer!” he snapped as command reflex reasserted itself. As Thakur held up a hand to stop Dale from speaking further. From Thakur to Dale, a hand was all it took. “Explain yourselves!”
“The Captain’s been arrested,” said Thakur. Erik stared at her, not quite believing he’d heard that. “Placed in detention prior to court-martial proceedings. What did you tell Admiral Anjo?”
Erik stared. “Court-martial? For what?”
“We don’t know, they won’t say. He’s in isolation, no one’s allowed to see him. Huang’s up at the ship, so you’re now senior Phoenix command on the ground. What did you tell Admiral Anjo?”
“I… I told him…” That he’d be happy to accept a big promotion for a senior job in Fleet Command. Anjo had to have known. Court-martialing any senior captain, let alone one with the record and reputation of Pantillo, was a huge move. Anjo would be in on it, no question. And he’d just paid Pantillo’s third-in-command a home visit that very morning, and not thought to mention it? Fishy didn’t begin to describe it.
And this offer of huge promotion and responsibility, to a relatively junior and untested officer… a coincidence? To get him onside? To drive a wedge between him and Pantillo? Between him and the crew of Phoenix? He looked at the marines’ eyes, and saw hard suspicion… in Dale’s eyes at least. Thakur was as always unreadable. Isolate the rich boy whose promotional advances to date everyone was already suspicious of? Make sure Family Debogande wasn’t in Pantillo’s corner?
What the hell was going on?
“We have to go and see the Captain,” he said. “Now.”
“They’re not letting anyone see him,” Thakur repeated coolly.
“Oh they’ll let me see him,” Erik muttered. “Or I’ll bring the fucking roof down on their heads.”
4
They went home first, to silence and concern from the family, while Erik put on the dress uniform, and the marines waited outside in the garden. No one ventured any of them any questions — Alice put a stop to those who tried. This was Erik’s business, Fleet business, and he need not be troubled at this point by family concerns. Erik was grateful for it, and took a family cruiser to the city with Thakur in the passenger seat, and Dale in the rear.
“What did Admiral Anjo say to you?” Thakur asked again. Erik realised he hadn’t answered her the other times.
“He offered me a job as a colonial administrator,” he said shortly. “Helping to industrialise the new territorial possessions.”
“That seems like an enormous promotion for someone with very little relevant experience,” Thakur said matter-of-factly.
“Yes it does, doesn’t it?” Erik muttered.
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.” Thakur seemed to shake her head slightly, and gaze out the windows at the approaching city towers. “What would you have said?”
“They don’t offer these things to normal people,” Thakur answered. “That’s the point.”
“And you’re a normal person, are you?”
Thakur’s lips twisted slightly. “Relative to you, I’m positively pedestrian.”
Erik felt his temper boil. Usually he was good at holding it, but today it was too much. “And so what?” he snapped. “Am I supposed to apologise for the conditions of my birth? I’m not in control of any of this, Major. I have no idea whether I receive favourable treatment or not, I certainly never asked for it. I can’t go around apologising for every damn thing that other people give to me.”
“No,” Thakur agreed with measured calm. “None of us are in control of anything. We just go along as it comes. Your family in particular.”
“You know, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that one day, Lieutenant Commander Debogande, you’ll have to either grab the wheel, or admit that you just don’t care, and go where ever your fortuitous life takes you.”
“Well fuck you,” Erik retorted. “I don’t care what row of tin you wear on your chest. If you’re going to accuse me of something, come out with it straight and stop insinuating like a coward.”
“You watch that tone with the Major, boy,” Dale warned from the rear seat.
Thakur held up her hand again, and Dale silenced. But she was smiling. “That’s much better,” she told Erik. “More like that, and we might just get through this.”
* * *
Fleet HQ was located on the edge of southern Shiwon against the Feicui Hills, and could be seen from orbit with the naked eye. Erik, Thakur and Dale marched from parking across the huge central courtyard, large enough to land a squadron of assault shuttles on. It was centred by an eternal flame that burned within an inspired artistic scaffold, many storeys high. In concentric circles around it, inscribed in the acres of paving, the names of worlds conquered and battles fought, across the last twelve hundred years. There were thousands of inscriptions, some of them dating back to Sol System, and the krim invasion. Touring the courtyard was a ritual of all Fleet officer training on Homeworld — by the end of three years all cadets were expected to be able to march from one important battle to another, blindfolded.
They headed for one of the surrounding ring of glass towers, and were admitted past armed guards and automated security with their Fleet IDs. The circular, central foyer was awash with uniforms, striding, talking, pursuing various business. Hats off, Erik and the marines waited for an elevator, then rode it up to the twenty-third floor.
Then more halls and offices, busy with staff. Erik knew the way well enough — he’d done six months here straight out of the Academy, learning how to salute while walking without bumping into things. And not much else, he thought sourly, entering the main reception for First Fleet Command. An Ensign glanced at him from behind her desk.
“Lieutenant Commander, can I help you?”
Erik walked briskly to front her. “Lieutenant Commander Erik Debogande, third-shift UFS Phoenix, reporting to Rear Admiral Bennet.”
The Ensign glanced at her screen. “Yes Lieutenant Commander, she’s currently in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?”
“Please tell her I’m here,” Erik told her. “I’ll wait.” He turned on his heel, strode to a seat by the wall, and sat. Thakur and Dale joined him, not a word spoken. The baffled Ensign spoke quietly into a com.
“She doesn’t know,” Thakur murmured. “They’re keeping it quiet.”
“This is all kinds of fucked up,” Dale muttered. “Court-martial for what?”
“The flanking jump to Dhuvo system,” said Erik. Both marines looked at him. “It was irregular.”
“It was brilliant,” said Thakur.
“Yes, and irregular. Typical Captain. But he left the scene of the battle to hit the reinforcements before they came in. If someone’s being a total ass hat, which seems increasingly likely, they might book him for leaving the battle without orders.”
“Thus saving everyone’s ass,” said Thakur. “Captains always improvise, with light-delay in battle it’s impossible to wait for orders in an unfolding fight.”
“You don’t need to tell me, Major,” Erik said through clenched teeth. “I’ve flown the damn ship.”
“And you’re sure Fleet Admiral Anjo said nothing about a court-martial when you talked to him?” Erik just glared at her. It had no effect on Thakur at all. She looked at the file-pushers at work behind their desks instead, broodingly thoughtful.
The Ensign Erik had spoken to got their attention. “Lieutenant Commander? The Rear Admiral will see you now. Just you,” as the marines made to follow him. Neither protested, and Erik continued down the hall.
Rear Admiral Bennet was in charge of personnel administration for all of First Fleet. Her office looked out over the huge courtyard and flame. From above, it looked like a solar system, with the flame at the centre where a sun should be, orbited by the many thousands of places where human Fleet had lost ships and lives. Erik walked in and stood to attention before her desk.
“Rear Admiral, Lieutenant Commander Erik Debogande reporting.”
Bennet let him stand at attention, leaning back in her chair with a frown. She was a tall woman, with blonde hair pulled back in a bun, accentuating sharp cheekbones. “I did not order you to report, Lieutenant Commander.”
“No Admiral. Fleet disciplinary proceedings manual, chapter five, section 23-D; in the event that a ship captain is court-martialled, junior command staff should report to the appropriate Fleet Command administrative officer. In this case, that would be you.”
A brief silence from Bennet, as though she were checking that reg on uplinks. “Yes,” she said, a little uncertainly. “Yes, that would be me.”
“Admiral, I request to know on what charge Captain Pantillo is being court-martialled.”
“I’m sorry Lieutenant Commander, that information is covered under wartime secrecy. I’m not at liberty to divulge it.”
Erik stared at her. “I can’t know what my own Captain is charged with?”
“That is correct. And neither can you discuss this case with anyone else, military or civilian, outside of this office. Should you fail to observe this restriction, you yourself could be up on charges. Do you understand?”
Erik blinked. “I understand, but…”
“This is a matter of operational review,” Bennet continued. “No one can discuss Fleet tactics, past, present or future without clearance, least of all with civilians. The media can’t touch this, and would risk prison time if they did.”
Her eyes sought understanding from him. Erik felt incredulity battling cold disbelief. Bennet was worried about outside reaction… and so she should be, Pantillo was a hero. But she hadn’t expected to see Erik here, that much was obvious. It felt like a rush-job, Fleet was a big institution and wires were frequently crossed, one hand on the thousand-armed-beast not knowing what the other nine hundred were doing. Probably she’d thought someone else had already dealt with him. That would mean this whole thing was cooked up recently, with little planning. Court-martials never happened like that. Never. Or at least, they weren’t supposed to…
“Now I understand that Commander Huang is currently back on Phoenix?”
Erik nodded. “Yes Admiral.”
“Which with the Captain in detention makes you senior Phoenix command staff on the ground. You are responsible for all Phoenix crew still on Homeworld until Commander Huang is ordered to return.”
“Is there an ETA on that Admiral?”
“Not at this time. Now I’m half a mind to order Phoenix crew to barracks, but I’m advised that’s not practical at this time. Whether the situation remains like that depends on their ability to keep their mouths shut. Do you understand?”
“Yes Admiral.” Talk, and we’ll lock you on base with no coms, that meant. “Admiral, I request JAG representation at this point, as is my right under Section 31-B.”
Bennet frowned. “You haven’t been charged with anything, Lieutenant Commander.”
“My testimony in the upcoming court-martial will be integral to proceedings,” Erik replied, still stiff and straight before the Rear Admiral’s desk. “I am third-shift commander on Phoenix, I have commanded the ship before in combat, I know her capabilities and I know the Captain. I also happen to know that he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Noted,” Bennet said coolly.
“And the regs say I’m allowed JAG assistance to help me prepare.”
“Lieutenant Commander… I’m not sure that’s necessary at this…”
“I’m not asking what you are and aren’t sure of, Admiral,” Erik said coldly, meeting her gaze directly. “I’m informing you what I’m sure of. And I’m sure that this is my procedural right. Denied that right, I will go higher.”
Bennet glared at him.
* * *
The Judge Advocate General officer was Captain Sudip — army, young and quite wide-eyed about this crazy thing Fleet had just dumped in his lap. They sat in a diner booth, one of dozens of restaurants about the base, but the booth provided at least some privacy. The windows looked away from Shiwon, onto the low campus buildings sprawling up the green hills behind — the Admiral Shuan Academy, and bringing back for Erik a three-year rush of memories.
“It’s been declared an S-1,” Sudip told Erik and the two marines in a low voice beneath the hubbub of diner conversation. Sudip was thin, bookish and well spoken, the kind of guy who wouldn’t have lasted a week on combat deployment. But Erik had learned not to disrespect those kinds. Not everything Fleet did involved blowing things up, and in those other things, officers like Sudip were often invaluable. “That’s the highest level of secrecy. I wasn’t aware they could even do that for a legal proceedings…”
“Who can authorise that?” Erik pressed.
Sudip swallowed hard. “Well no one below the very top level. I mean Bennet can’t do it… I mean Rear Admiral Bennet, sorry… she’s just a First Fleet administrator. S-1 is like… like what you declare before you invade a planet or something, those battleplans are S-1. There’s only three people at that level in the Fleet — Fleet Admirals Anjo and Ishmael, and Supreme Commander Chankow.”
Erik, Thakur and Dale looked at each other.
“Word of this is going to spread,” said Thakur. She ate a steak and salad with methodical precision. Erik thought the Kulina were supposed to have spiritual dietary requirements, but if so, that didn’t appear to exclude meat. “They can’t stop people from talking.”
“Major,” Sudip said earnestly. “I really wouldn’t test those secrecy provisions. There are people in prison today, who were put there ten years ago, for doing that sort of thing. People who used to hold a higher rank than you do now.”
“I didn’t say I would talk, Captain,” said Thakur. “I’m saying that people will. Pantillo is well known politically. His political friends will be wondering where he is, and asking Fleet for an explanation. They can’t put both Congresses in prison.”
“I’m sure they’d like to put the Worlder Congress in prison,” Dale muttered. Dale was originally a Worlder, Erik recalled, living his entire childhood downworld before enlisting. Like all Fleet, he was registered as a Spacer, and could vote for Spacer Congress representatives only… but that didn’t mean he forgot where he came from.
Humanity had two governments. Ninety percent of the population lived on planets. Each governed itself, with little interference from anyone. Those planetary governments in turn elected representatives to the Worlder Congress, which made collective de
cisions on the kinds of things that mattered to people who lived on planets.
Spacers, who made up the remaining ten percent, had their own governments, one per solar-system, or outlying settlements that were placed into system jurisdiction because they wouldn’t fit anywhere else. Those systems then elected representatives to Spacer Congress, which represented the interests of those who lived and worked in space.
Humanity’s great wars of the last twelve hundred years were almost entirely an affair of Spacers. After Earth had been destroyed, humanity had become for a time entirely a race of Spacers, without a single planetary body to its name. Survival had become about resource harvesting, mining, industry and Fleet operations. Spacer interests were all anyone knew, and were key if there were still to be a human race in years to come.
When humans had begun to claim worlds from the krim, it hadn’t taken long for those newly colonised worlds to do what worlds did best — populate rapidly, and think primarily about themselves. Even before the krim had vanished, many of those planetary populations had settled into comfortable centuries of relative peace, content in the illusion that all was safe and well. Isolated from the harsh realities of inter-species politics beyond, they’d quickly begun to vote for withdrawal from conflict, expansion of social services, and other self-interested things.
Spacers had responded by cementing the primacy of Spacer Congress as humanity’s singular, collective Federal Congress. Spacer Congress had the power to make foreign policy, which meant wars and trade treaties, that no Worlder body could legally stray from. All Worlder jurisdictions were also required to pay the Fleet Tax, just as Spacers were, which was adjusted by complex formula to account for individual circumstance, but averaged out at six percent of annual wealth. All of which led to the present situation, where the great affairs of humanity were conducted by those with ten percent of the total human vote, while ninety percent either applauded from the sidelines or were told to shut up and mind their business.
Renegade Page 5