by David Drake
“Thank you, Admiral, I will.”
“Very good.” With that, the admiral departed.
Merikur felt abandoned. Oriana represented the military, which Merikur understood and liked; Ritt represented other things, dark and political. State secrets? What the hell was going on?
“If you’ll follow me, General, I took the liberty of reserving a conference room.”
Ritt made no attempt at polite conversation as they walked down the gleaming hall. Was it intentionally disconcerting, or just a natural expression of her personality? Either way he grew more worried with every step he took. Like most line officers, Merikur distrusted spooks.
“Here we are,” Ritt said, motioning him through an open door. “Please take a chair.”
Merikur gave the conference room a quick once over as he did so. The room was paneled in richly waxed wood, and outside of the circular table and four chairs which floated at its center, the room was empty.
Once they’d both taken their seats, Ritt looked at him and smiled. Suddenly he realized her eyes were very, very blue. “I hope I don’t scare you,” she purred.
“Not at all,” Merikur lied.
“I’m glad to hear it. If you don’t mind I’ll get right to business. Time, as they say, is short. By now you’ve figured out that your situation is somewhat unusual.”
“Yes ma’am.” Even before the Kona Tatsu started to brief me.
Through steepled fingers she said, “Tell me, General: how would you describe the Pact’s overall political situation and prospects for the future? And please, be frank. This conversation is completely off the record.”
Merikur felt his implant buzz softly. “Her AID is jamming my scan mode. Assume she’s recording every word.”
Merikur wasn’t surprised. Since his opinions could easily be ferreted out, he decided to be frank; his views were widely held and far from treasonous. He shrugged. “The Pact stopped expanding hundreds of years ago. Entire clusters have slipped outside of Pact rule. Multi-planet conglomerates, corporate combines, and aliens are all vying for power. In a few hundred years, a thousand at most, the Pact will collapse into anarchy.”
Ritt nodded, regarding him from under long lashes. “Succinctly put, General; and in the opinion of many social and political scientists, absolutely correct. The question is, what should we do about it?”
Merikur decided to take a chance. “Things seem pretty stable for the moment. Why not just do our jobs and hope something better rises from the ashes?”
Ritt leaned forward. “It’s a possibility. But what if something ugly rises from the ashes instead? And what about the pain and suffering while the Pact slowly disintegrates into chaos?”
Her blue eye sparkled. God help him. A fanatic as well as a spook!
“The Pact can be saved,” she said, “if we have the courage to do so.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Merikur answered. “I’ve devoted my life to its defense.”
Her features softened. “It was never my intention to imply otherwise, General. Forgive my display of emotion. As you can see I feel quite strongly about this subject. Tell me, what do you know about Senator Windsor?”
Merikur tried to think. Senator Windsor. The man whose orders he’d obey in the Harmony Cluster. Things had moved so fast he hadn’t had time to think about his new boss.
The name was vaguely familiar. From the news no doubt, but Merikur couldn’t remember more than that. “Nothing much. By definition he’s a member of a senatorial family and therefore rich and powerful.”
“Quite correct,” Ritt said. “He’s also young, handsome, and something of a radical.”
Did Merikur detect just a trace of wistfulness as she said the last? Maybe not, she was dry and matter-of-fact when she continued. “It’s that last quality we’re here to discuss, General. In most things you’ll find the senator is quite conservative. Most agree that he’s an excellent administrator. It’s in the area of human, or should I say non-human relations that his ideas become radical.”
“Radical? In what way?”
Ritt smiled and examined a perfect nail. “Senator Windsor believes in full equality for aliens.”
Merikur was astounded. Senator Windsor an alien sympathizer? Damn! How was he supposed to work for a man like that? Aloud he said, “Full equality. Why would anyone advocate full equality? Especially a senator. Even if it’s legal, isn’t it political suicide?”
Ritt looked toward the ceiling for a moment. “That’s a good question. If Senator Windsor were here, he might answer this way.”
Now she glared at the naval officer, angry perhaps, certainly hard and determined. “For the last few hundred years we’ve used aliens to prop up our economy,” she continued. “First as a market for our goods, and then as cheap labor to produce those goods. Increasingly they do the jobs we won’t. The hard, dangerous jobs and the jobs we regard as servile. Meanwhile we think we’re on top, in control.”
“We are in control,” Merikur said, too amazed to let it pass.
“We are not in control,” Ritt snapped. “With each passing year we become more and more dependent on their knowledge, their skills, and their numbers. So dependent that many economists wonder if we could survive without them. Meanwhile we deny them home rule, representation in our senate, or any other participation in government.”
She paused, but her eyes continued to hold Merikur.
“Yes, citizen,” he said calmly, embarrassed by his previous outburst, and more than a little concerned. Even generals couldn’t contradict the Kona Tatsu. Not safely anyhow.
Ritt relaxed a little. “So if he were here, the senator would say we have two choices. We can either reduce our dependence on the aliens, removing them from every aspect of our economy, or we can grant them full citizenship. And that’s what Senator Windsor thinks we should do. In order to revitalize the Pact, he believes we must fully integrate human and non-human races.”
Aliens, no matter how smelly or ugly, as equals? It went against everything he’d been taught, but Merikur had to admit there was certain logic to the senator’s position. Military officers weren’t encouraged to question the status quo; but Merikur had a good mind, and the senator’s arguments, at least as presented by this deadly woman, meshed perfectly with his own observations.
“I presume,” Merikur said, choosing his words carefully, “that others disagree. What do they say?”
“That the senator is a fool,” Ritt replied coolly. “Many won’t even admit there’s a problem, and those who do would rather dismantle the economy than share power with the aliens. They point out that many alien races have higher birth rates than we do. If we grant them full citizenship today, they’ll take over tomorrow; and we’ll be the oppressed minority.”
“So which viewpoint is correct?”
Ritt shrugged. “I don’t know. No one does. But the consensus is that Senator Windsor should be allowed to experiment. If his theories work in Harmony Cluster perhaps the senate will follow. Ironic name, that. Harmony.”
“Yes,” Merikur replied thoughtfully, “it is. A lot of people won’t like this experiment.”
She nodded soberly. “That’s why we gave him a general. A reliable general.”
“But that’s not the only reason, is it?”
Ritt shook her head. “No, it isn’t. We want Senator Windsor to have his chance, but there are potential problems. There are a lot of Cernian laborers in the Harmony Cluster, and the Cernian Federation has taken an ‘interest’ in their well-being. That interest has increased along with the size of the Cernian fleet. What if they assault the cluster? Will Windsor order you to fight? Or would he try to let them take it in an effort to further alien-human ‘equality’?”
Merikur suddenly found himself faced with the prospect of every officer’s nightmare: conflicting orders, with treason or mutiny the only options.
The Cernians were a powerful race whose home-worlds had been able to fend off the Pact during its expansive phase. So fa
r they’d avoided an out-and-out challenge to Pact forces, but what if they chose Harmony Cluster as the place to test the Pact’s strength and resolve? After all, Windsor was a nut who liked aliens. He might hesitate to fight, or worse, order Merikur not to while he pretended to “negotiate.”
To disobey Windsor could end his career, and given what Ritt had just said, the reverse was also true. Pact Command was using him as a safety, a means of making sure that Windsor wasn’t allowed to do irreparable damage while carrying out his social experiments. “You realize this places me in a very difficult position.”
“Yes,” she replied without a trace of sympathy. “I do. But I agree with Admiral Oriana. You’re the right man for the job. And things aren’t as bad as they seem. Once Windsor gets to know you, he’ll keep his enthusiasms under control. With an entire fleet at your command, he’ll have little choice.”
Merikur knew he was being had, but he felt complimented just the same. “Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it, Citizen Ritt? In any case, you’ve been frank, and for that I thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I assume that’s all?”
“Well, there is one other thing,” Ritt said, leaning back in her chair, and allowing an amused expression to play across her lips.
“Oh yes? What’s that?”
“The senator’s niece.”
Merikur looked a question.
“You’re going to marry her.”
Chapter 2
The moment Merikur and Ritt left the conference room Snyder opened a rear service door and slipped inside. If someone was still there he’d offer them coffee and tea. But the room was empty so his cover story went unused.
The Dreed’s long robes swished as they dragged across plush carpet. Running a spatulate three-fingered hand across the underside of the table he found a tiny bump. The small recording device had gone unnoticed. It was just as the voice said it would be. The woman was so confident of the anti-bugging devices hidden beneath her clothing that she hadn’t even bothered to search the room.
Snyder popped the little device into a pouch and zipped the pouch into an inner pocket. He sometimes wondered who his employers were. Since he was never allowed to meet them face-to-face, he’d never know.
###
The shuttle pilot gave Merikur a clean lift and a smooth ride but the general was too angry to notice.
Merikur’s family had money, but he was a provincial, and therefore conservative. He knew political marriages were common enough among senatorial families, but he didn’t approve of them, and he damned well wanted no part of such a relationship himself. In fact, he’d said as much to Citizen Ritt.
“This is outrageous! You can keep your comets. I refuse!”
“General Merikur,” she replied sweetly, “refusal to comply with an Imperial Decree, any Imperial Decree, is treason.”
At least that had told him the level at which Windsor’s theories were being discussed.
Already furious with Ritt, Windsor, and Pact Command, he’d returned to the BOQ and found Lisa gone. Ordered out with the same military efficiency which had sent over a complete set of marine uniforms and an orderly to pack his personal belongings.
Theirs had been a contract friendship with only light option, but still, it would’ve been nice to say goodbye. The only bright note was the set of gold comets in a little black box.
So, as General Anson Merikur stepped out of the shuttle lock, he wasn’t in a good mood. His reception did nothing to improve it. Instead of the twittering pipes, and double row of gleaming uniforms to which he was entitled, Merikur was greeted by an ensign with acne, a prominent Adams apple, and the look of someone sentenced to death. Two ratings stood behind him, their faces professionally blank.
“General, ah, Merikur?” The ensign checked a note in the palm of his hand.
Merikur was seething, but he did his best to hide it. “Yes?”
“The senator sends his respects, Sir, and asks that you join him in the wardroom as soon as possible.”
“Oh he does, does he? Well, you tell the senator something for me. With his permission, I’ll receive a report from this vessel’s commanding officer, visit my stateroom, and maybe even take a shit before I join him. Have you got that, mister?”
“Yyyesss, Sir. I think so, Sir. Is there anything else, Sir?”
Merikur saw the two ratings were about to explode into laughter. The story would be all over the ship within an hour. “Yes. Tell one of these ratings to carry my gear and show me to my quarters.”
“Yyyesss Sir. Nolte, you heard the general. Help him with his luggage and take him to his cabin. It’s number four on B deck.”
Merikur felt his implant buzz. “The Bremerton is a standard Port Class Cruiser. For full schematics, plug me into any printer.” Well aware of the ship’s layout right down to the smallest crawlway, Merikur ignored his AID and asked, “Your name, Ensign?”
“Polanski, Sir.”
“Thank you, Ensign Polanski. Dismissed.”
“Sir.” Polanski did a smart about face and hurried off, an amused rating in tow.
Merikur wondered how Ensign Polanski would handle it. Unless the boy was a complete idiot he’d take the edge off. Senator Windsor would get the message nonetheless. It was a calculated move. To do his job with some chance of success Merikur would need a measure of authority and independence. Being abjectly at Windsor’s beck and call would serve neither purpose.
“This way, Sir.” The rating, a young woman with the badges of a weapons tech, nodded towards a bank of lift tubes. She had his bags, his attaché case, and a big grin on her homely face. “If you don’t mind my saying so . . . welcome aboard, Sir.”
Merikur smiled. Some officers felt any sign of humanity fostered familiarity, and that once begun, familiarity inevitably led towards contempt. Merikur knew better. Familiar or not, the enlisted ranks knew the good officers from the bad, and no amount of bullshit would fool them. Besides, how the hell can you lead people you don’t know?
“Thank you Nolte. It’s a pleasure to be here.”
As she followed him into the lift tube, Nolte put a bag down long enough to touch the letter “B.”
“I’m sorry about the way you came aboard, Sir. Normally we run a tight ship, but the senator and his party docked half an hour ago and things are a bit hectic.”
The platform came to a smooth stop. “Right this way, Sir.”
Merikur considered Nolte’s comments as he followed her down a gleaming corridor. If Nolte was any example, morale was good, and in spite of his reception, that reflected well on the commanding officer. A woman named Yamaguchi, if he remembered correctly. It was equally clear that Windsor and his party had completely disrupted military routine aboard the Bremerton. That would have to stop.
“Your quarters, Sir.” Merikur stepped through the open hatch and into a spacious stateroom. Spacious though it was, the huge pile of baggage in the middle of the cabin made it seem small.
He looked at Nolte. She shook her head and said, “This is number four on B deck, just like the ensign said, Sir.”
Merikur nodded and circled right. Working his way around the baggage, he came to another hatch. Sticking his head through he saw only rounded buttocks, a smooth back, and a mop of hair. Moonstruck, he could only stare.
The woman caught sight of him at the same moment and stood, turning towards him with hands on shapely hips as she did so. Her beauty hit him like a physical blow. Long brown hair swept down to frame an oval face. Her breasts were small and pert. White skin curved down to the darkly tangled triangle between long slim legs. “General Merikur, I presume?”
He nodded dumbly.
She nodded in return, as if he were confirming her worst fears. Her voice was calm but icy cold. “I see. An officer but no gentleman. Well, we’re not married yet, General, so I suggest you come back and inspect your property after we are!”
She stabbed a button, and the hatch slid closed in his face.
Angry and humiliat
ed Merikur stormed out of the cabin, past Nolte and up the corridor. By tomorrow, that story would be all over the ship too.
Merikur instinctively headed for the bridge. Perhaps up there he’d find something that made sense. Startled crew members scrambled to get out of the way as the new cluster commander stalked down corridors and climbed up ladders.
By the time Merikur reached the bridge the worst of his anger had passed, but he was still upset and ready to take it out on anyone who gave him half a reason.
Like a commanding officer who wasn’t where he or she should be, for example.
Fortunately, Captain Yamaguchi had arrived seconds earlier and knew Merikur was upset. Having heard Ensign Polanski’s report, she also knew why. Merikur’s reception, or lack of one, constituted a serious breach of military courtesy.
It all started when the duty officer mistook Merikur’s shuttle for a supply lighter. By the time he’d realized his mistake, and informed Yamaguchi, it was too late and Merikur was aboard. No matter that the shuttle was a supply lighter, commandeered at the last moment, and that the pilot must have failed to identify his new status properly.
It was a silly mistake, but one which could seriously impact her next fitness report if Merikur wanted to be that way. In fact if Merikur were really angry, he might relieve her of command and order her off the ship, probably in the same supply shuttle which had brought him.
She could have dumped the whole thing on the duty officer, and many commanding officers would have, but that wasn’t Yamaguchi’s style. She’d have a private heart-to-heart talk with the duty officer later . . . if she still had a command later. She just wished to hell that the senator, who must have gotten word direct from groundside, had deigned to inform her as well as the ensign that the cluster commander had come aboard.
In the meantime, she did what she could: “Attention on deck!” Those members of the bridge crew who were standing came to rigid attention and those who were seated froze in place.