Erik nodded. Apilai Congress was the local Worlder Congress, Apilai being a Worlder population of 200 million plus. Heuron Congress was the local Spacer Congress, representing maybe 30 million Spacers.
“Anyhow,” Linley continued, leaning back on the kitchen bench. “About five years ago it got much worse. The war was ending, everyone could see it. There was a push… I still don’t know who started it, but someone pushed to get Captain Pantillo to stand for Apilai in the Federal Worlder Congress, once the war ended. He got into talks with them — I understand he was talking with quite a few systems about the possibility — and that ambition changed to the Heuron seat in the Federal Spacer Congress.”
Erik stared. The coffee machine’s gurgling halted. Erik turned, and poured two cups. “You knew this Major?” Having his back turned forced her to say it aloud. He got some satisfaction from it, but only a little.
“Yes,” she said. “He doesn’t share it around.” Present tense. Reminding him of the charade they had to maintain. “He wanted me to contact Linley. Couldn’t tell you, the less people know the better.”
‘The man we talked about’. The message from the Captain’s final recording. Was this him? This thin ‘journalist’… what the hell kind of journalist kept secrets with a Fleet captain instead of writing them up for a story?
“Private Arime!” Erik called. “You take milk?”
Arime looked from the doorway in surprise. “Uh, yes sir.” Erik poured, and took it to the grateful Private. “Thank you sir.”
Erik returned, sipping his own. He looked at Trace without any particular accusation, just suspicion. She was unapologetic, as always. The Captain’s message hadn’t mentioned any particular system or destination. Trace had said she didn’t know which man he’d meant — a lie, obviously. Had she helped steer them to Heuron? He couldn’t recall her doing so, not even subtly… but then he supposed she didn’t need to, if she’d thought they were obviously headed in this direction anyway. She was always first to know when he had an idea where they should go next — probably she’d wanted to come here immediately, but hadn’t had to say so. Probably it had suited her to let him think he’d thought of it.
“Linley’s got friends in Heuron Dawn,” said Trace, meaningfully. “Lots of friends.”
“Hmm,” said Erik. A journalist who was a front for local Worlder extremists. But if rumours were correct, in Heuron they weren’t so much extreme as mainstream. It made sense — Linley’s military background, his administration connections, his current job in what was essentially a communications hub. A great place to hide in plain sight, for a Heuron Dawn organiser. “So basically we’d get shot for meeting with you. If they knew who you were.”
“Oh they’ve some idea,” Linley said grimly. “After the last few days I might have trouble staying out of prison. Be okay if I get back to the surface though, not many Spacer cops on Apilai.” Of course not. On Apilai he could walk down Newtown main street unmolested. Down there, everyone was Worlder. Only up here it became a problem. The human race was becoming dangerously divided.
“The Captain bought them off,” Trace continued. “They were going to get violent. It was going to spread to other systems. Apilai’s the hub. Heuron is. It spreads a long way. But the Captain said he’d run for office once the war was over, in return for a promise they wouldn’t resort to violence.”
Oh dear god. “And let me guess,” he growled. “Instead of supporting his effort to stop the violence, Fleet HQ called him a traitor.” Trace nodded. Erik sipped coffee to smother a curse. And now the Captain was dead. If the local people found out… if their current guest found out…
Well. They would eventually. All hell would break loose, for sure. That was unavoidable at this point. The only question now was, how much could be done in the meantime?
“He’ll want to know,” Linley continued to Trace, urgently. “Stanislav Romki is here.”
Trace’s eyes widened slightly. “Where?”
“Crondike mining settlement, out on Faustino. I know the Captain wanted to speak to him again once he got the chance. Well, he’s here now, there might not be another chance for a while.”
“Who is Stanislav Romki?” Erik asked.
“He’s a legend in xeno-sociology. Alien civilisations.”
“Why haven’t I heard of him?”
Linley smirked. “Because most of what he knows, he’s not allowed to publish. It’s classified — he works for Newtown University but he’s funded by Fleet, and they censor everything. He doesn’t have a choice but to accept their funding because Fleet blocks everyone else. He’s not even allowed to give lectures or take students anymore, not for decades. Most of the academic community’s forgotten about him, he’s purely a security asset. Fleet’s been trying to control him for years, but he goes rogue, wanders off, spends time with our ‘enemies’ and friends alike. Fleet love his research but are scared it’ll give us poor, weak-minded civilians the ‘wrong idea’ about our allies or something. Tried to recruit him into Fleet Intelligence or some other Intel branch, offered him heaps of money… Romki always turns them down.”
It was hardly Erik’s area of knowledge, but it sounded all too plausible.
“The Captain’s unable to leave the ship,” said Trace. “I’ll have to go. And right now.”
* * *
Erik rode with Trace and Command Squad down the elevator on security override to outer rim dock. The time showed Erik only half an hour until his appointment with Supreme Commander Chankow. If Lieutenant Commander Debogande had a reputation for anything besides his famous name, it was for being immaculate and punctual. Being late to meet the senior commander of all human forces would be a good way to smash a few preconceptions, at least.
“So is Linley the guy the Captain spoke of?” asked Erik. “Or is Romki?”
“Either,” said Trace. “Could be various people in Heuron. That was what he meant. Get to Heuron. Via Merakis.”
“Could have told me,” Erik suggested. Trace gave him a look. ‘You really want to have this discussion in front of Command Squad?’ that look asked.
“Could have,” Trace agreed. “Didn’t need to. You were coming here anyway. I’m the only person he ever really talked to with this stuff. That habit’s hard to break, and people in spacer crew were trying to kill you.”
And she hadn’t trusted him enough at the time to be entirely certain he wouldn’t let something slip. It was a fight once again not to take that personally, but a fight he was getting used to. She’d known, ever since the Captain’s death, that it meant Heuron was about to blow up, and that blow up would spread. She’d been holding that in, all this time. And not wanting to let it out for fear of what various people on Phoenix, with all their conflicting loyalties, might do with the information.
Erik decided he was tired of being angry with her. And being hurt and betrayed at her lack of trust only made him feel like a child. She was the big cheese in this relationship — he just flew the damn carrier, and it made him an irreplaceable skillset for her, the one vital thing she couldn’t do herself. The Captain had confided in her as he’d done with no one else on Phoenix, and that had been a huge burden for her. He’d done so, it was obvious, because he knew it was a burden she alone could bear, even with him gone.
Erik nudged her on the shoulder armour. “Pretty hard thing. Saving the galaxy all alone.”
She glanced at him, and saw his wry smile. And just for a moment, her defences dropped, as she realised she wasn’t having to fight him again. She smiled back, with the faintest touch of emotion. “Nah,” she said. “Never really alone, see?” Alongside in the elevator, Staff Sergeant Kono smiled.
The elevator stopped and the doors opened onto a wide steel floor, a small crowd of locals standing aside to let them off. Down here everything was less glamorous, with low steel overheads, big exposed pipes and rows of cheap fluorescent lights. Nearby generators hummed and the artificial breeze felt alternately hot and cold as they passed side passages
off from the main dock. A big, oval-shaped bulkhead through the floor announced each lower-rim dock, with lighted display boards announcing the berth number and the ship present — only small down here, shuttles with power enough to dock with the rotating outer rim, big atmospheric shuttles could do it, heavier insystemers or underpowered runners could not.
They filed through the crowds, watching and being watched by station techs, uniformed admin, bored passengers glancing at displays for departure times, and new arrivals clutching bags and looking around. Some grey uniformed station cops made way for the Phoenix crew with polite nods.
“This is PH-1, now on final, ETA forty seconds. Berth G40, see you there.”
“PH-1, Command Squad copies,” Trace replied. “We’re at G36, expect a two minute turn around for immediate departure.”
“PH-1 copies Major.”
“Bet he scared a few people getting here so quick,” said Kono.
“Hausler’s the fastest shuttle pilot in Fleet,” Van agreed.
They reached Berth G40 just as Lieutenant Dale and Alpha First Squad were coming up the stairs from below, flashing Fleet IDs at the doorway scanner. “Escort the LC to Supreme Commander Chankow’s office immediately or he’ll be late,” Trace told Dale. “In Faustino’s current position I’ll only be a six hour trip to get there, I’ll report back as soon as I’ve something to say. Expect anything. Trust no one. We’ve no dog in this fight between Worlders and Spacers and I don’t trust Heuron Worlders anymore than I trust Supreme Commander Chankow.”
“Aye Major,” Dale agreed, and Trace descended the stairs past the last of Alpha First Squad on the way up, without a backward glance or a goodbye. Erik knew that shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. He wasn’t feeling anything for her beyond any other female friend on Phoenix, he was pretty sure, whatever their recent night in the same bed. It was more that he ran on emotions in a way that she apparently didn’t, or at least liked to pretend she didn’t. He liked to feel close to the people he relied upon, and to know that they felt the same way back. This whole situation was fraught, and a final glance back, a little smile or simple eye contact, would have made all the difference. But then she was gone, and Command Squad with her.
“Rail’s this way,” said Erik, pointing down a cross passage, and Sergeant Forest led the way. Another squad to adjust to, Dale’s boys and girls and as devoted to him as Command Squad were to their Major. “Fast ride down?” Erik remarked as they walked, Dale directly ahead, imposing in light armour and gear.
“Fucking Hausler flies like you do,” said Dale. “Don’t suppose we could up-skill him to backup for your seat?”
“Ideally it takes a year,” said Erik. “Hard thing to learn, no shortcuts. How’s Phoenix?”
“No place like home, sir.” Meaning no troubles worth reciting here. Which was comforting, but Dale was a marine, and the things that bothered marines on Phoenix were not what currently bothered their LC. “Second Lieutenant Geish wanted me to tell you there’s two new chah'nas ships insystem. Just jumped in, both Kulik Class, real high spectrum jump wave. Didn’t want to tell you over coms, given who might be listening.”
Damn right, Erik thought — Phoenix could easily talk to all Phoenix crew through station coms, but that would use Fleet encryption, meaning it would be indecipherable to everyone except Fleet Command. Who would be interested to know why newly arriving chah'nas ships worried them.
“Chah'nas aren’t fast enough to be a worry,” he said. They couldn’t get here that fast with a message from Homeworld, that meant. “Probably.”
“Probably,” Dale muttered. “Aye to that.”
They turned a corner into the transit station platform. Another flash of IDs at the scanner — Fleet rode free, of course. Back on Homeworld, Erik could have expected another dry observation from Dale about the mess Erik had gotten them into. He’d only been functional third-in-command back then, technically little higher in rank than Dale… and marines had a habit of not respecting many spacer ranks other than captain.
“I think we’ll know as soon as we get there if it’s a trap,” Dale said on uplinks. “Combat command can lay traps, I don’t think these HQ bureaucrats could lay a convincing trap if their lives depended on it. And I don’t think the bigwigs have the balls to make themselves a part of that trap.”
The rail was like mass transit anywhere, crowded coaches giving the armed marines cautious looks. At Red Sector Four they got off and caught the platform elevator to dock level, then a fast walk along a stretch of dock crawling with uniformed Fleet, spacers and marines both. With helmets on, Erik and Dale received salutes as they walked, and returned all — the station dock counted as ‘outdoors’ for formal purposes, where respect to rank would be given and received. A big open windowfront with multiple security checkpoints announced Hoffen Fleet HQ, and the security post let Erik and Dale through with a scan of each ID. They removed helmets, and walked across a wide, carpeted floor to a check-in desk, where a pretty Ensign gave Erik a big smile as he announced himself.
“Lieutenant Commander Debogande, you’re three minutes early. If you’d like to just take a seat, I’ll contact the Supreme Commander’s office to let him know you’ve arrived. I’m afraid your marines will have to wait on the dock. Lieutenant, if you would announce yourself to the watch officer, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to have the extra numbers on guard for the time that you’re here.”
Dale looked at Erik. And looked around, at the surrounding, open offices, the reception desks, the display screens, all busy and normal. Raised his eyebrows, meaningfully. No trap, that meant… or not that he could see. Dale returned outside, and Erik took a seat in the lobby, trying to repress the instinct to look around like a nervous herbivore in a carnivore jungle. Just in case someone was watching. Which someone probably was. Dale didn’t think the bureaucracy could just keep functioning if some kind of kinetic action were planned. It was a marine’s contempt for bureaucrats — bureaucracy was all they were good at, and if someone were about to start shooting, their nerves would show. Erik shared that prejudice, but didn’t trust it. It didn’t seem wise to just assume safety because you didn’t respect the people who most immediately threatened you. Not long ago, Dale hadn’t respected him much either.
There were displays on the walls — the squadron pennants of the Fleet formations that had fought for Heuron’s ‘liberation’… a euphemism of course, as Heuron had not been liberated but taken from the tavalai. Alongside the pennants, old-fashioned photographic stills of the Captains of those ships. Erik recognised several faces. Then his eyes settled upon Captain Pantillo. Not so old a man then, nearly ninety by Erik’s reckoning, and looking decidedly younger than when Erik had known him. It was an informal image, caught at an unguarded moment on dock, as the Captain had turned to exchange a laugh with someone. That half-smile was just dawning on his face, and his jaw was unshaven, as though he’d just come off a long shift.
Erik recalled his surprise and alarm upon his first posting to Phoenix, discovering that neither the Captain, nor the ship, shared quite his degree of interest in presentation. The Captain’s ops jacket was an antique, worn, scratched and repaired so many times it belonged in a museum… but he wore it with pride. And neither would the Captain allow others on the ship to make fun of their new LC to his face, and his insistence on polishing, aligning and brushing everything within reach. People were what they were, in the Captain’s eyes, and while all may present differently, the quality beneath could come in all shades and styles. Erik had never known anyone who could discern that quality like the Captain had, and with care and attention, make it bloom.
Sitting in the waiting room, amidst passing staffer traffic and watchful guards, his eyes hurt, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. You brought us here, Captain. I’m sure in my place, you’d get the job done, and everyone out of here safe. Let’s just hope I’m as good at this as you seemed to think I am.
His uplink blinked and he looked up to see
the pretty Ensign waving to him from the reception desk. “Sir, if you’ll follow me?”
She led him through a security door, then down a corridor with offices everywhere, and the big air vents in the walls that were constant on stations. Then a series of command rooms, with transparent walls and large displays showing Heuron system graphics — current planetary and lunar positions, ship movements. Concerned and serious officers stood and talked, or discussed on conference calls, watching ongoing intercepts in the near or outer system, or other actions on other stations.
It looked busy. Given the sheer number of stations and facilities in the broader Heuron system, Erik didn’t like their chances of achieving more than basic stasis in the security situation. ‘Linley’, or whatever his real name, was evidently still moving around okay, whatever his admissions that someone would likely try to arrest him. No doubt there were plenty of others — Heuron Dawn affiliated or sympathetic. God knew what they’d set up over the past few years of building tension, for release in a situation like this one. Like finding out that the overly-decorated war hero who they’d thought would run for election in the Heuron seat for Federal Spacer Congress, and recommend their cause at the highest level, was now dead.
It occurred to him for the first time, walking these corridors, that the Heuron System Worlders would not automatically assume that Fleet’s tale was correct. No one on Apilai would believe that Lieutenant Commander Debogande had murdered his Captain — they’d all assume the opposite, that Fleet had murdered him, and framed Phoenix’s LC to kill two birds with one stone. Worlder sympathisers everywhere would lean toward the same telling — most of humanity, in fact, when you added the raw numbers. It was comforting, on the one hand, to know that so many humans would probably believe him innocent. It would put huge pressure on Fleet as they tried to maintain their lies with a straight face. Worlders might even make him into a hero if they could, lionise him for standing up to Fleet. And yet, he remained far from convinced that he wanted to be on the Worlders’ side.
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