Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight

by Gibbs, Daniel

  "The investigation was inconclusive."

  Ascaro laughed bitterly. "The investigation under the police agencies you put their leader in charge of."

  Vitorino leveled a look at her. "Just what do you want from me, Assemblywoman?"

  "A sign that you understand what is going on," she replied. "A sign you're not as blind as the others. Lusitania is on the cusp of falling to fascism. The Estado Novo hasn't made our society more secure—it's made it more unstable than ever."

  "That's as much your fault as anyone's," Vitorino pointed out. He watched Ascaro's face change from surprise to anger at the charge. "The democratic parties have their own militants. In your own Zalain, Basque regionalists burnt down a PdDN party office, didn't they?"

  "After the mayor of Zalain was shot in the streets by a PdDN militant," Ascaro retorted.

  "Still, it contributes," Vitorino answered evenly. "By taking violent means, you make it easier for Caetano and her people to justify their behavior. You make the Estado Novo more necessary, not less."

  "It was one incident," she replied. "Our parties are usually the victims of civil violence!"

  "It is regrettable. But it is the world we live in." Vitorino reached for his utensil. "Now, I don't wish to be rude, but I must finish my meal before my next appointment. I have important business to attend to."

  "Yes, I'm sure you do," Ascaro said icily. She turned and walked off.

  Vitorino smiled at her back and returned to his meal.

  6

  The stiffness was the first thing Miri noticed when she awoke. Her entire body felt like a board. Two days alone in the vacuum, mostly unmoving, had left her unready to move.

  The second thing was that she was breathing. She was alive.

  Then she noticed the light around her. She was no longer in space but aboard something, maybe inside. A ship? A station?

  As Miri twitched, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. She found herself looking up at a grizzled older man and a plump middle-aged woman. The former had a long, bushy, wiry gray-black beard, and the latter had graying wheat-colored hair. When they spoke, it took Miri a moment to recognize the language, causing her to miss some of it.

  Her focus gathered enough to make out the Russian. "—want to know. She is from a protected ship."

  "She needs rest. Look at her!"

  "The brothers are in charge, and they want to speak to her. She will stay here regardless, but they must know. Do not try their patience, Yevgenya."

  The woman sighed and stormed off as the man began examining her. "You are awake," he said in broken, halted English. "That is good."

  Miri's voice was hoarse. "Where am I?"

  "Aboard ship Morozova. From Cyrilgrad."

  "Cyrilgrad. You are—Old Believers." She kept herself from using the word "starovéry." For the moment, it was best if they didn't know she could speak and understand Russian.

  "Yes." He gave her an urgent look. "You are not from League?"

  "No. No."

  Miri could guess her instinctive look of disgust at the idea was more convincing than her verbal reply. A glimpse of relief came to the man's face. "Good. Brothers would throw you out airlock. Their father and uncle killed by League."

  Miri hid that she was already guessing this. Old Believer brothers with a vendetta against the League and a ship named Morozova could only mean…

  The door to the ship infirmary opened, and Yevgenya returned in the company of two men. They looked similar, with just a year or two difference in age and both wearing blue spacer jumpsuits. One had a full beard and mustache, the other a thinner beard, and both had the same blue-gray eye color.

  "Feodor, how is our guest?" the one with the full beard asked in Russian.

  "Recovering. She was on her last breaths of oxygen when you brought her aboard. It will take time for her to regain her strength."

  The second asked, "And what ship is she from? The suit is from the Kensington Star, but you know how spacers are about keeping suits..."

  "Ask her yourself, Piotr."

  The second, the one with the smaller beard, turned his head to Miri. "You are from Kensington Star?" he asked in strongly accented English.

  "I am," she replied. "Karla Lupa." The alias was the one she’d used for the roster.

  "What happened? Why did you abandon your ship?"

  "We were attacked," she said, "by a League cruiser."

  The two brothers shared a look. "Can we trust her, Pavel?" the other asked in Russian.

  "Maybe, maybe not. We should check the roster of the ship. Maybe we can confirm the name. Not that I think it is her real name. I do not believe she is a normal spacer—none would risk days in void or slow death, even to escape the League. More likely to shoot themselves. She is different."

  Miri kept her expression from changing. The elder brother was too smart for her liking.

  "I am Piotr Sergeevich Tokarev," he said, his English even more thickly accented than his brother's. "This is my brother, Pavel Sergeevich. You are on our ship, Morozova."

  Since she knew they expected it, Miri looked shocked. "The Tokarev brothers," she rasped. "You… you're pirates."

  "We are," said Piotr. "It puts food on our table. Fuel in our ship. Protects Cyrilgrad from League. But do not worry. Kensington Star owned by company that pays us protection. We not harm you."

  The relieved expression Miri gave them wasn't staged. "Then what will you do with me?"

  "Maybe we should not tell her where we are going, Piotr," Pavel said, switching back to Russian. "She might panic, think wrong things."

  "Then don't," the brother answered.

  Miri kept her face neutral, but she did not like the sound of that.

  "We go to neutral world," Pavel said to her. "There, we contact your company, let you go. Is simple."

  "I see." Miri blinked and swallowed. "And thank you. For saving me."

  The brothers shrugged almost at the same time. "Is no trouble," said Piotr. "We are spacers, da? Yes? Spacers do not leave spacers in void. God would punish."

  "Feodor Stepanovich will see to your need," Pavel said. "We back to ship watch now. Will arrive at destination tomorrow. You eat, drink, get rest. Thank God for His mercy."

  "I will," Miri assured the elder Tokarev.

  Without another word, the two brothers departed. Miri said nothing more as the older man, Feodor, escorted her from the infirmary.

  7

  Henry sat quietly in his chair and enjoyed the view. The Shadow Wolf was making her pre-landing orbit of Lusitania. For the purpose of said landing, the control bridge was fully manned with Cera and Piper at the forward stations, Tia at her post, and Yavik at the auxiliary console linking to engineering and system control. Everything was ready. All that remained was clearance from Orbital Traffic Control.

  "We should get a good payout, right, Captain?" Cera asked, her lilt complementing her enthusiasm.

  "Looking to hit the bars again?" he replied with a bemused grin.

  "Lusitania has some damn good whiskey," Cera answered defensively. "But that's not all I'm lookin' for."

  From her seat, Tia rolled her eyes. "If you saved even a quarter of what you wasted on your shore leaves, McGinty, you could own the Shadow Wolf by now."

  "But I don't want to own her," the pilot insisted. "Too much crap to deal with. The Captain's far better at dealin' with it."

  "He is very good at it, yes," Piper agreed, "although I have to admit that a flight to the Acevedo Islands and a few days at one of the resorts there would be a welcome change. All we ever visit on Lusitania is Gamavilla."

  Henry didn't take the bait.

  Yanik provided relief from the discussion. "We have our landing vector," the Saurian informed them.

  "Transmit to helm." Henry nodded to Tia. "Sound landing alert."

  "Yes, sir." Tia hit a switch on her chair. "Attention, crew. This is First Mate Nguyen. We are preparing for landing now." Even on the bridge, her voice seemed to boom over the shi
p's intercom. "All hands, assume landing seats. You have thirty seconds until first de-orbit burn."

  Time passed quickly. At the specific mark of thirty, Cera fired the engines and thrusters. The Shadow Wolf turned toward the planet as its altitude decreased, slowly at first but with growing speed as Cera followed the corkscrew course into the atmosphere. Gradually, the dark void of space gave way to an azure sky. The ship shook from turbulence, but under Cera McGinty's expert control, there was no danger, and at her guidance, the Shadow Wolf flew lower and lower. Clouds went by, and gradually, the city of Gamavilla, with its Iberian and Moroccan architecture, became visible.

  Their destination was at the northern point of the city. The municipal spaceport, largest on the planet and one of the larger ones in the Trifid Nebula region, gave Lusitania its primary link to interstellar trade. Henry observed the ease with which Cera set the Shadow Wolf down in her customary hangar, D8, and decided she had indeed earned the bonus from her share of the haul they were making off Minister Vitorino.

  Henry would have to arrange a car for the Trade Minister. Vitorino would want a face-to-face meeting to have Henry's report on the trip delivered to him personally.

  "I'll go make sure the port office has all of our paperwork and resupply orders together," he said. "And I'll find out when we can expect the unloading."

  "We'll be waiting, sir," Tia pledged.

  * * *

  Henry ultimately opted to get a taxi instead of renting a vehicle. His driver was an older gray-haired Moroccan man who identified himself amiably as Muammar. Henry returned the greeting in what Arabic he knew from his education and directed Muammar to the Ministry of Trade building.

  Built at the edge of Gamavilla's government district along the Rua Marrakech and across from several high-rise bank towers, the building seemed small. Only three stories high, it was at least a sight for those looking for something more aesthetically pleasing than a tower of glass and steel. It was built in classical Iberian style, which made it look like it might have been lifted from Lisbon or A Coruña back on Earth. Glass doors opened to a grand foyer of granite and marble construction. Armed men and women in the uniforms of the Republic Security Service stood watch over the hall from both visible levels.

  Henry approached the man on duty at the main desk. He knew it would be an issue when he didn't recognize him—clearly, he was new to the job. "James Henry, here for Minister Vitorino," he said in passable Portuguese.

  "Appointment?" The look on the receptionist's face made clear how little he thought of Henry. Henry's brown spacer's jacket, pressed-but-plain polo shirt, and black trousers clearly indicated that he was not a government official or someone who merited the best treatment by the ministry.

  "None. But he was expecting my return today or tomorrow."

  The look of the suited man told Henry he was going to have to wait and indeed that the man saw him as some troublesome offworlder who thought himself above appointments and whom he, the guardian to the Ministry of Trade's officialdom, would do nothing for if he could help it.

  Nevertheless, Henry took a seat and waited for the receptionist to clear him. During the next half hour, the man was utterly devoid of duties to perform for about eighteen minutes, during which he made no move whatsoever to contact the minister's office. Finally, Henry got back up and asked him, "Have you gotten in touch with the minister's office yet?"

  A small sneer crossed his face. "I am afraid that without an appointment, it is difficult to work you into Minister Vitorino's tight schedule," he said innocently. "I can do nothing for you."

  "All right. Let me see if I can help." Henry ignored the contemptuous, bewildered look on the receptionist's face while he activated his commlink and linked it to Vitorino's office. He made sure to hit the speaker function.

  "This is Minister Vitorino's office," a woman said.

  "Rita, this is Captain Henry." Henry rather enjoyed seeing the color seep from the receptionist's face. His haughty expression was frozen in place by disbelief and growing fear. "I'm having a few issues at the reception desk—"

  "Let me speak to the receptionist."

  "You're on speaker."

  "Senhora Serrano," began the man, still clearly troubled at the way this was developing.

  "Listen to me, you jumped-up little toad. Captain Henry is one of Minister Vitorino's most reliable couriers. You will let him come up whenever he arrives unless otherwise instructed by myself or the minister. Send him up immediately, or I will personally inform Minister Vitorino of your treatment of the captain. I assure you, he will make his displeasure known swiftly. Am I clear?"

  "Yes. I understand." His frown hadn't disappeared, but the fear was new. He swiftly gave Henry's ID card the necessary accesses—temporary as they were because of security regulations—to reach the minister's office. Henry gave the man his kindest smile before walking to the nearest lift. He scanned his ID card to gain access. The door opened to reveal a gravlift with beautiful wood paneling. Reading his ID card's permissions, the lift controls permitted him access to the third floor, the exclusive preserve of the Minister of Trade and his highest subordinates.

  From there, Henry walked quietly to the minister's office. He received few looks, not that there were many people on the level to give any. Once he arrived at the minister's office, he stepped up to the elegant desk of Rita Serrano, Minister Vitorino's assistant. She spoke Portuguese with the particular accent of a Galician-speaker, distinct but reflecting the close relation of the two languages. "Captain, the minister will see you shortly."

  "Obrigado." Henry took a seat and quietly took in the view. Works of art lined the walls and much of the surface area of the tables. Henry was not an art student to know who made what, but he wouldn't have been surprised to find out that any of the works had been carried from Earth in the exodus. Or even afterward, given Vitorino's connections.

  After several minutes, the door to the office opened. A young man stepped out. Henry recognized him as Raoul, Vitorino's chief of staff. "He's ready for you, Captain," the man said in accented English.

  "Thanks." Henry entered the office.

  Raoul closed the door behind him. Evidently, he would not be part of their conversation.

  Duarte Vitorino was seated at his desk, tapping away at the comp panel built into the surface. He seemed to come to an end of his work. He dismissed it with a swipe of his hand before looking up at Henry. A soft little smile crossed his face. When he spoke, he used English. "Ah, Captain, welcome back to Gamavilla. I hear you have a hold full of high-quality lithium ore from New Hathwell."

  "We do. My crew should be offloading it now," answered Henry. "Chief Inspector Donner appreciated the wine."

  The soft smile gained a bemused edge. "Oh, I am quite sure of that." Vitorino chuckled. "The League only permits the barest of staples out here in the Sagittarius Arm. I am told that back in their home space, every League citizen gets a bottle of whatever fine drink they desire once a month, so long as they've met standards in their work."

  "My ship's medic says otherwise."

  "Does he? How would he… oh, yes." Vitorino chuckled again. "Doctor Kiderlein was League military and born on Earth, wasn't he? Yes, I suppose he should know. I will have to keep that in mind when considering further gifts to Chief Donner and his associates." Vitorino turned his comp back on and hit several keys. "System, transfer the approved amount to the account of the vessel Shadow Wolf."

  "Processing."

  Moments later, Henry's commlink let out a tone indicating it was receiving an update. He quietly lifted it and activated the screen. An account update from the Interstellar Bank of Rand on Galt confirmed the transfer of ten million Interstellar Bank credits' worth of Lusitanian escudos into the operating account of the Shadow Wolf. It was an excellent addition to the account, more than sufficient for the time and costs of the contract. Henry put the link back in his pocket. "A pleasure doing business with you again, Minister," Henry said. "Did you have anything else?"


  "A potential contract. This time for cargo to Harron."

  Henry nodded and hid his discomfort. Harron was not one of the nicer worlds in the Trifid Nebula sectors. But a contract was a contract, and Vitorino was a well-paying employer. "Well, let me know. We should be on planet for a few days, at least. Give everyone a chance to remember how a normal sun feels."

  "Of course. And before you go…" Vitorino stood from his desk and walked to a nearby cabinet. He pulled out two wine glasses and a bottle of the same port they had employed in their bribery of the League's Chief Donner. "Would you honor me with a drink, Captain?"

  Henry nodded. It was excellent customer relations to accept an offer like that, and a pleasure besides to enjoy the fruits of Vitorino's wealth. "I would be honored to do so, Minister," he said. "Your hospitality is welcome."

  Vitorino smiled. "You do dangerous work, Captain, and I am appreciative of it."

  Henry considered Vitorino's choice of words. "It can be, yes." He frowned. "You lost a ship?"

  "Not myself. An associate of mine lost a ship he owned, the Star of Coruna, under Captain Dominguez. It was due at New Aragon six days ago."

  That made Henry sigh. He didn't know Dominguez personally, but he'd heard good things about him. "That's the tenth ship in two months," he said. He didn't add that going back six months, over three dozen ships had disappeared.

  "Yes." Vitorino's expression darkened. "I've been told it's pirates."

  "They're out there," Henry agreed. "And since there aren't many states with interstellar navies out here, there's plenty of undefended space for them to hide in."

  "That's the nature of space, isn't it? We are but tiny specks in a vast void, where any sort of threat might hide." Vitorino sipped his wine. "Please take care, Captain. Whatever is causing this escalation of disappearances, it worries me. I would hate to lose your services, should you and your vessel be claimed."

  "As much as I would hate getting spaced or whatever else they'd do," Henry replied. He took another drink of the wine and said nothing more on the subject.