by David Drake
Stepping into the corridor, Merikur stopped to retrieve his sidearm and AID. As he buckled them on, the AID said, “Good morning, Sleepy Head. I hope all that reproductive activity hasn’t tired you out.”
Merikur realized he’d left the AID well within broadcast range of his implant. “My advice to you is to shut up,” Merikur snarled. “Unless you’d like to be reprogrammed.”
“Well excuse me,” the AID replied. “By the way . . . I’m picking up some interesting radio traffic.”
“So give,” Merikur said, returning the sentry’s salute, and heading for the bunker. He was careful to maintain a brisk but normal pace. The reading of commanding officers is something of an art form, and the slightest frown can start rumors racing through any military base. “I just saw the old man. He sure looked worried. I’ll bet there’s some heavy shit coming our way.”
So Merikur didn’t run, he smiled at everyone he met and generally used body language to lie like hell.
Meanwhile, his AID was reporting on radio traffic. “Your picket ship reports nine Haiken Maru hulls in orbit around Teller and, here’s a surprise, there’s also four warships with a 99 percent match to Pact design. Wait a minute . . . yes they’re identifying themselves as navy ships . . . and requesting an audience with you.”
Merikur’s mind began to spin. Why was the navy providing the Haiken Maru fleet with an escort? Especially when the fleet was loaded with troops bent on invading a Pact planet? He felt a sudden emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Something was very, very wrong.
That impression was reinforced when he entered the bunker and saw Eitor’s face. The Cernian wore an upwards scowl. “You heard?”
Merikur nodded. “If you mean the naval escort, yes.” He turned towards the cluster of uniforms against the far wall. “Major Fouts.”
“Yes, Sir.” Fouts separated herself from the others.
“Put out orders that no one fires without my permission. Marine or rebel. One mistake and we’re all in deep trouble. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” Fouts turned to a com tech as Merikur stepped over to the tac tank. At the moment, the holo projection showed Teller as a transparent globe. Grid lines matched latitude and longitude. At a flip of a switch the tac tech could alter the projection to a topographical map, a geological survey grid, or any of a dozen other possibilities.
For the moment, however, Merikur was more interested in the space around the planet than the globe itself. The Haiken Maru ships were bright blue deltas spaced 40 degrees apart in equatorial orbit. The Pact vessels were red dots: two destroyers, a cruiser, and a battleship according to the numeric codes associated with each. By assuming higher orbits than the Haiken Maru fleet, they had placed themselves between the merchant vessels and any threat from space. Any hope that the navy vessels were a coincidence rather than an escort was destroyed by that positioning.
Merikur swore softly and turned to Fouts.
“All right, Major. What are they saying?”
Fouts consulted the printout in her hand. “The Haiken Maru vessels request permission to land shuttles, Sir. There’s a Commander Moskone aboard the battleship asking to see you.”
“Tell the Haiken Maru vessels permission denied. Tell Commander Moskone to come on down. My compliments to the senior officer aboard the battlewagon, and all the usual niceties. You know, does he or she need anything, and all that sort of stuff.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As Fouts relayed the orders, Merikur poured himself a cup of coffee and tried to think. He’d been mentally prepared for all sorts of things. If the Haiken Maru fleet had dropped out of orbit with weapons blazing, he’d have known what to do. But this was completely unexpected. The Haiken Maru fleet was brazenly requesting permission to land, a naval escort was protecting them, and he was standing around looking stupid.
And why Moskone? The battleship rated a vice admiral. Where the hell was he or she in all this? Maybe the admiral was a disinterested observer and happy to stay that way. There was no way to tell. All he could do was hope for the best.
“Major Fouts.”
“Sir?”
“Contact Commander Jomu and Commander Horsehide. Bring them up to speed. And Fouts . . .”
“Sir?”
“Make sure they know I denied the Haiken Maru ships permission to land.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll tell them.”
Merikur knew Fouts understood. The rebels had communications equipment of their own. By now they had pieced the situation together and smelled a rat. They’d be more upset about the naval escort than he was. One wrong move and the coalition would come apart and if it did, his marines would be caught between the Cernians in orbit and the rebels on the ground.
He’d already risked his life to prevent that.
A nervous hour passed. The Haiken Maru ships were kept under careful observation. They had acknowledged Merikur’s orders and made no attempt to launch shuttles.
Merikur didn’t trust them. They were waiting for something . . . Moskone’s visit most likely . . . and that meant they knew what the naval officer was going to say. It also meant Moskone’s message would favor them and their objectives.
Merikur had harbored a secret hope that Treeling’s files were wrong and that Oriana had granted the request for more marines and had chosen to load them aboard a fleet of Haiken Maru ships. It was still possible of course, but damned unlikely. The tone would be different. He’d be swamped with bored naval officers asking where to dump the grunts, grunts fighting for the best LZs, and a vice admiral who had nothing better to do than throw his or her weight around.
Moskone was coming down with some sort of message instead. It couldn’t be good.
Merikur did his best to smile reassuringly when Beth entered the bunker. She saw right through it.
She smiled in return and left him alone, knowing it was the best way to help.
Moskone arrived a few minutes later. As usual, the young officer looked like a recruiting poster come to life. His fatigues were carefully creased, his boots were only slightly dulled by dust, and his expression was jovial. “Good to see you Sir. Eitor . . . good to see you . . . and it’s always a pleasure to see you, Baroness.”
Merikur frowned. Trust Moskone to remember Bethany’s title. He did his best to appear bored. “So, Paul . . . nice of you to drop in. I assume those navy ships are loaded with marines?”
Moskone smiled and dropped into a chair without invitation. “I’m sorry to say they aren’t, Sir . . . but I’m sure you’ll approve. Admiral Oriana sent you this.” Moskone opened a thin briefcase, withdrew an envelope, and handed it to Merikur.
As Merikur accepted it, he noticed Oriana’s seal. Whatever the envelope contained had been witnessed and made part of official naval records. Merikur felt the emptiness in his stomach grow larger. Sliding a finger under the flap, he broke the admiral’s seal and withdrew the letter. It was on official stationery.
It was about what he’d expected. About as bad.
Dear Anson,
Hope this finds you happy and well. Sorry to hear about the difficulties out there. I’d like to help, but I’m a bit short on marines myself. However, since the rebels are largely Cernian, the Cernian government has agreed to send some troops to your aid, and the Haiken Maru has agreed to transport them. Apparently, the Cernian government is afraid the rebels will give them a bad name or something. (Send a troll to fight a troll, I always say.)
In any case, it solves your problem, and that’s all I care about. So, allow the trolls to land and bring their unruly relatives under control. Hang on to the planet though, we may need it later! Once the Haiken Maru ships reach Teller, the battle group has orders to return here.
My compliments regarding Commander Moskone. He seems just the sort of young officer to have around.
Best always,
Ori
A number of things became suddenly clear. Oriana had set him up. Merikur was to let the Cernians land but retain control of Teller. And
that was clearly impossible once the Cernians landed. How could Oriana be so stupid?
But he wasn’t stupid, which implied he’d sold out to the Haiken Maru. The letter would allow Oriana to blame alien treachery and Merikur’s incompetence for the loss of Teller . . .
Merikur could imagine Oriana shaking his head sadly and looking around at a board of inquiry. “Like Governor Windsor, I thought the aliens could be trusted. And Merikur, well he seemed a steady fellow. Unfortunately, appearances can be deceptive. In spite of my orders to the contrary, he handed control of the planet over to the Cernians. I accept full responsibility, of course.”
But he wouldn’t have to accept full responsibility. Oriana’s fellow officers would decide in his favor. After all, it wasn’t his fault—just his bad luck—that treacherous aliens and an incompetent subordinate had joined forces to lose a planet. Besides, Teller was a hellhole. If the trolls wanted it so bad, let ’em have it.
Shaking with contained rage, Merikur handed the letter to Eitor. The Cernian read it and scowled as he handed it back. He started to say something, but glanced at Moskone and gave a slight shake of his head.
Suddenly, Merikur realized the alien was right. The last lines of the letter should have tipped him off. “My compliments regarding Commander Moskone. He seems just the sort of young officer to have around.”
Yeah, if you like spies. Oriana had thought of everything. The letter would set things in motion, Merikur would commit professional suicide, and Moskone would be there to witness the whole thing. Perhaps Moskone was part of the plan, or maybe he’d allowed himself to be used.
As if to drive the point home, Merikur’s AID spoke softly in his ear. “Moskone’s AID is recording up and down all spectrums and transmitting in bursts. Giving me a headache.”
“Naturally,” Merikur thought. “Admiral Oriana wants a full record of the proceedings. Well fine. We’ll give him what he wants.” He forced a smile. “Well, Paul, it’s good to have you back. I wish you could stay, but I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
Moskone was visibly surprised. “Impossible, Sir? But the admiral told me . . . that is . . . he wanted me to stay and help.”
Merikur nodded sympathetically. “That’s what I like about Admiral Oriana, he’s so thoughtful. However, I want to send him a message. Things have changed here, rather dramatically in fact, and I’m sure the admiral would value your impressions. He speaks very highly of you.”
Moskone was suddenly alert. “Changed, Sir? In what way?”
Merikur waved Oriana’s letter. “Are you familiar with the admiral’s orders?”
“Well, I haven’t seen them,” Moskone replied cautiously, “but the admiral was kind enough to brief me before I left.”
Merikur smiled understandingly. “Good. Then you’re aware that he sent the Cernian regulars to assist me. And a helluva good idea too. I wish all our senior officers had a tenth of Oriana’s guts. But as I said, things have changed. The rebels have been pacified, they’re participating in planetary government, and I have control of the planet. All of which means we won’t need any assistance from Cernia. I’m embarrassed, of course to have asked for help and then turn it away. But after the admiral reads my report, I’m sure he’ll understand. So why don’t you and Major Fouts grab a cup of coffee while I draft a letter to Admiral Oriana?”
Fouts looked surprised. Moskone stood, his face full of doubt. “But Sir . . . I don’t think you should . . .”
“What?” Merikur asked with one eyebrow raised. “Surely you aren’t questioning my orders?”
“Well, no Sir, but I . . .”
“Dismissed, Commander. I’m sorry if I seem abrupt, but I’m a busy man. I have a planet to run, you see.”
“Yes, Sir.” Looking around the bunker for help and finding none, a confused Moskone followed Fouts up the ramp and towards the surface.
Merikur scowled after him. “Asshole.” He said it softly so only Eitor could hear him. Spy or not, asshole or not, you don’t criticize your officers in front of the lower ranks.
“A true guwat,” Eitor agreed cheerfully. “But you handled him admirably. I only wish the governor had been here to see it.”
“I’ll be glad to tell him about it,” Bethany added as she joined them. “You were superb, Anson. I haven’t read the letter . . . but I can guess what’s in it. Your strategy should neutralize Oriana.”
Merikur shrugged. “I’m arguably guilty of insubordination. But if we win, Oriana won’t dare make an issue of it. If we lose . . . well, we’d better win, hadn’t we?” His real fear had been that the Pact ships would try to enforce Oriana’s will.
Eitor said thoughtfully, “The Cernians may land anyway . . .” Then he continued more cheerfully, “But if they do, we will, as you humans put it, ‘kick their posteriors’.”
Merikur laughed. “That’s how we put it, all right. Well, one thing at a time. First, I’ll write the letter to Oriana.”
Stepping up to a small remote, Merikur punched in his code and dictated a letter to Admiral Oriana.
Dear Admiral Oriana,
I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. But as Commander Moskone will explain, I already control Teller and won’t need the Cernian troops. With that in mind, I’ll release and thank them on your behalf. Again, thanks for your timely support and my apologies for all the trouble.
I agree with your estimation of Commander Moskone’s abilities and am transferring him to your command, hoping you’ll be able to provide him with the opportunities he so richly deserves.
Like a one-way trip to the frontier, Merikur thought grimly. He signed the document, General Anson Merikur, stored it, and printed out a copy for Moskone. Then he placed the printout in an envelope, sent it to Moskone via runner, and heaved a sigh of relief.
He wouldn’t have to look at Moskone again.
Half an hour later, Moskone’s shuttle lifted towards a cloudy sky. Merikur wasn’t there to see it. He was deep in the bunker talking with Jomu and Horsehide and finalizing his plans.
Shortly thereafter, all his troops, both marine and rebel, went on a higher state of alert. Merikur’s gig lifted and headed for a protected landing zone deep in the mountains. The marines around Port City dug their foxholes a little deeper, the rebels in the surrounding jungle drew already sharp blades across stones one last time, and Merikur’s remaining destroyer was ready to run.
Then the waiting began. Fouts’ com techs tried to contact the Haiken Maru ships but received no answer. Apparently, they were waiting to hear what Moskone had to say before talking with Merikur.
And there was lots of coded radio traffic between the battlewagon and the largest Haiken Maru ship. Actions speak louder than words. When the battleship broke orbit and headed out system, Merikur had his answer.
The Cernians had decided to stay.
The battleship’s escorts broke orbit, as well, and two hours after that, all four warships disappeared into hyperspace. But the Haiken Maru ships stayed, loaded with Cernian troops, circling Teller like vultures over a corpse.
“Well, it looks like phase two of their plan is going into effect,” Eitor said grimly. “The navy has discharged its duty and left. Whatever happens after they leave isn’t their fault.”
“I’m afraid you’re right,” Merikur agreed. “The other shoe should drop any moment now.”
Both laughed as Fouts called across the room. “It’s the Haiken Maru, Sir, apologizing for their late response and asking for you.”
Merikur looked at Eitor and Beth. Both smiled and did their best to look optimistic. Merikur smiled in return. “Well, here goes nothing.” He stepped in front of the com unit and nodded to Fouts, “Put them through, Major.”
There was a large screen in front of him. It swirled with color and locked up into a picture.
Nola Rankoo. The long hair, worn in a braid this time and draped over her left shoulder; the same penetrating eyes; and the same thin lips. She spit the words out one at a time. “Gree
tings, General. We meet again.”
“So it would seem,” Merikur replied evenly. “What can I do for you?”
Rankoo smiled slowly. “Very little. There are, however, some things I can do for you.”
“Such as?”
“Help you bring the rebels under control. My ships carry a thousand Cernian troops. With their help, we can control the rebels and put the mines back into operation.”
Merikur feigned surprise. “I’m surprised Commander Moskone didn’t tell you. The rebels are no longer rebels. They’re now part of a coalition government which rules Teller. I hope you’ll thank the Cernians on my behalf . . . and take them home. I’m sure Governor Windsor will draft a letter of thanks and send it through proper diplomatic channels. Meanwhile, I deeply regret that I must deny you permission to land.”
Rankoo’s lips became a hard thin line. “Since entering orbit, I’ve received several reports that the rebels are holding Port City and numerous other key areas. You may regard this as acceptable, but I don’t and I plan to do something about it. The Haiken Maru and the Cernian government have reached an agreement under which the Cernians will assume responsibility for planetary security while we continue to operate our mines. I remind you that Teller belongs to the Haiken Maru.”
Merikur said evenly, “And I remind you that the Haiken Maru operates under Pact law. Pact law requires senate approval for transfers of planetary ownership. You cannot give a Pact planet to Cernia. You don’t have the right. Nor can you legally land troops. Any such attempt will be met with force.”
Rankoo sneered. “Then prepare, to die, little man. My troops are on the way.”
Chapter 11
The screen had no sooner faded to black than reports began rolling in.