Renegade (25 page)

I
t was
quiet on the bridge, save for operational chatter from Coms and Scan. Second Lieutenant Dufresne hadn’t spoken or looked at anyone when Shahaim had relieved her. Former-inspector Jokono was now coordinating with Chief Petty Officer Taigo to see various steps taken to monitor Lawrence, Cho and Doraga’s other friends as well. Two marine privates now stood on guard at the bridge entrance — no armour and only sidearms for now, they didn’t need any more to keep loyalty-challenged spacers at bay, and anything heavier would look very bad. Erik thought it looked plenty bad already.

“Penalty for mutiny under Fleet law is death,” Shilu said into a silence. “Penalty for attempted murder under any circumstances is death.” Erik said nothing, watching the screens. “Just saying.”

“Are we still under Fleet law?” Geish replied. He looked unhappy. It was his default look these days, heavy-set and solemn-eyed. “And who mutinied, us or them?”

“You shut that down, Second Lieutenant,” said Kaspowitz. “They started this when they murdered the Captain.”

“After which we,” Geish retorted, “or Major Thakur more correctly, took it upon herself to decide that Fleet law no longer applied, the perpetrators would never be caught going through channels, and declared war on the entire human race, on the behalf of
all
of us…”

“I said shut it down!” said Kaspowitz.

“That’s all right Kaspo,” Erik intervened. “Let him speak.” Pretending wasn’t going to make it go away. Geish spoke for some significant number of
Phoenix
crew, and putting his fingers in his ears wouldn’t make it better. Trace had said not to curl into a ball and hide.

“Fleet is the only system that works, out here.” Geish gestured at his scan screens. At the vastness of Argitori System beyond. “It’s the only thing that’s held the human race together for a thousand years. Without it, we’d be the krim — extinct. I loved the Captain as much as anyone here, but… but we can’t just tear it all up for one man.”

“Firstly, you
didn’t
love the Captain as much as anyone here,” Kaspowitz said coldly. “You want plain talking, let’s talk plainly.” Geish glared. “Secondly, Fleet is a tool made for fighting wars. War’s over. They’re the only power in human space, and they don’t want to lose it. We’ve all seen it. We all know the scrambling that’s going on in Spacer Congress. We kid ourselves we’re democratic — humanity hasn’t had true democratic leadership at the centre for… what two centuries? We tried it for a bit during the five hundred year peace, but Fleet didn’t like it…”

“Because the tavalai’s goons kept attacking us!” Geish retorted. Erik had to think that he agreed with Geish on that. That was an odd feeling — agreeing with his enemy. It led to a sense of detachment. Which felt kind of good. Leaders were supposed to be detached, to view things objectively. “Yes Fleet runs the government, yes it’s not a true democracy… so what? Let the
Worlders
run things? Divert ninety percent of Fleet’s budget to more schools and hospitals on their comfortable planets? I like schools and hospitals as much as the next person, but they don’t do you a shitload of good when we’ve all been killed because Fleet couldn’t defend us!”

“I agree,” said Erik. Everyone looked at him. And saw that Erik’s eyes remained on the command chair screens, which took their own eyes back to their jobs, even as their ears strained for the LC’s next words. “With both of you. Fleet’s been our saviour. I’m proud to have been a part of that. I’m proud to still be a part of it. But saviours will become villains in time, given long enough.

“My parents always told me that Fleet would become a tyrant eventually, once the war ended, if we weren’t all very careful. But they thought it could be stopped. They thought that brave and thoughtful men and women could work hard behind the scenes and stop it from happening, and stop this great legacy from being tarnished.” He took a deep breath. “I never believed them. Which I guess proves that kids probably should listen to their parents more.”

“Look all this politics is very interesting,” Shahaim interrupted. “But it doesn’t help our situation. Honest assessment, what percentage of the crew are against us?”

“Define ‘us’,” Kaspowitz said sourly, looking at Geish. Geish studied his screens.

“The Major’s assessment is about a twenty percent sympathetic to Fleet,” said Erik. No one questioned how she’d know — no bridge officer truly knew what the majority of the crew really thought. Bridge was a bubble, none of them really had time to mix with the regular crew, and lately least of all — not because they were elitists, but because they were just too busy. But the Major’s marines roamed free, and the Major was certainly
not
in a bubble from her marines. “Remember all the unsympathetic ones from first-shift never turned up. So most of that twenty percent of trouble are second-shift, since they were already up here under Commander Huang and never had a choice.”

“We could let them off,” Jiri suggested. “Twenty percent of current crew is… what, sixty-five people? Seventy? Put them on a shuttle, let Fleet pick them up.”

“Firstly,” said Erik, “we’re already a shuttle short and one of the three we’ve got is a civvie replacement. I don’t want to lose another one.” Because Lisbeth had been right about that, though it had taken a marine deployment for him to really see it. “Secondly, if we leave them, they’ll give away our position. Thirdly, given how bad Fleet wants this all covered up, I think it’s pretty likely they’d frag the shuttle like they did PH-2, erase all trace. This whole thing’s just too embarrassing to them now.”

“They’d never do that,” Geish scoffed.

“You seriously haven’t been paying attention, have you?” Kaspowitz accused him. “Did you even
see
what they did to PH-2?” Again Geish didn’t reply.

“I think we’re stuck with them for now,” Erik finished. “With any luck we’ll find some safer harbour in the future, and they can step out there, find their own way home.”

“And we’re sure there’s no issue at all with the marines?” Karle asked.

“Very sure,” said Erik. “They love Fleet too, but marines bond something fierce, and this lot bonded to the Major and the Captain. Fleet HQ killed the Captain, so you can guess what that means. Plus they live in each other’s pockets and they suck at keeping secrets. If anyone was harbouring those kinds of sympathies, his buddies would have smelled it by now.”

His com blinked, and he put it through. “
Hey LC,
” came Rooke’s voice. “
I’ve got the fabricators set up on the rock, they’re producing several grades better than what I can do on Phoenix. That should get us a workable replacement stretch for the section of jumpline we lost.”

“How soon?”

“
Another ten hours to make it? Then ten more to fit it, maybe fifteen to test it…”

“We might not get fifteen hours to test it. Better make sure it works first time.”

“
Aye LC, but, well… um yeah, aye. I’ll try.”
Techs hated being told they couldn’t test it first. Erik understood why, but they had their operating requirements, while he had his. Ultimately his were more important.

“And Rooke? Good work getting it set up so fast.”

“
Yeah, well it turns out marines can actually press buttons and run machines. Better hope they don’t figure how to fly the ship or we’ll all be out of a job.”

“I’ve got something,” Geish said tersely, staring at his screen. He fiddled some software. “Looks like a tight laser-com transmission on
Abigail.
” Erik had told Geish to watch the insystem runner
Abigail
in particular. “It’s coming from
UFS Chester.
”

Erik put it up on screen.
Abigail
was close now, passing barely five seconds light nadir of their position.
Chester
was somewhere above that, and thank god
Phoenix
had found this rock or both would have seen them hours ago, silent running or not. They’d gotten lucky — the laser-com just happened to be passing near on this angle, they were nearly in line. And it showed Erik that he’d probably made the right call, not trying to use laser-com to contact
Abigail
himself. Someone with
Phoenix
’s level of scan technology could quite possibly have seen.

“Looks like Captain Lubeck wants to have a quiet word with
Abigail,
” said Shilu from Coms.

“Yeah,” said Kaspowitz, eyes narrowed. “But why?”

“You don’t talk narrowband unless you don’t want anyone else to hear,” said Shahaim. “When you’re entering a hostile system in force you talk aloud, you let everyone hear your hails. Looks like Lubeck doesn’t want HQ to hear.”

She glanced at Erik. Erik chewed a nail. It suggested Lubeck didn’t buy HQ’s bullshit, and wanted to ask around.
Abigail
was the closest Ito Industries vessel transmitting with those odd re-ordered transponders. If Lubeck were making a hostile demand of
Abigail
he’d broadcast it so everyone could hear — it was the fastest way to inform fellow UF ships of the situation, and would serve as a warning to other Ito Industries vessels.

“Keep a very close eye on that,” Erik told Geish and Jiri. “But let’s not jump to conclusions. There’s a chance it means Lubeck doesn’t buy it. It might give us an opening if we have to run. But let’s not bet on it.”

“Could try to talk to him?” Kaspowitz suggested.

Erik shook his head immediately. Tempting as it was, he knew he couldn’t do it. “Silence is our only friend right now, we’ve no thrust and won’t be ready to run for a full rotation at least. We don’t give that up unless we’ve got something a damn sight more solid than hope.”

T
race stood locked
into the top half of her armour, headset on and windmilling one arm after another to try and get the shoulder calibrations right. The synchronisation had been off since the fight, too much power pushing against not enough feedback, and all marines learned that with these systems there was nothing to do but tinker, adjust, and tinker again.

“So what do you think?” she asked Carla and Vijay, Lisbeth’s two marine bodyguards as they gazed around at the familiar echoing racket of Assembly. Marines edged past in the narrow space before ascending armour racks, and someone yelled warning while walking an adjoining aisle with a clump of heavy metal footsteps.

“Familiar,” said Carla. She was a big woman, with short hair and a physique that screamed augmentation, a tattoo from
Thunderbird
scored across one thick bicep.
Thunderbird
was a Third Fleet combat carrier with a reputation nearly as formidable as
Phoenix
’s. She’d only made full-corporal after fifteen years, but anyone who’d survived three terms with an honourable discharge would get respect from any marine anywhere.

“Cool,” agreed Vijay. He was even bigger, had done eight years and risen to Staff Sergeant on
Dragonfire
before losing an arm in combat. That arm was cybernetic now, but there’d been complications, two years off for medical reasons, during which he’d received an offer of employment from the Debogande group. Fleet did not begrudge anyone leaving after a two-year wound, and he’d been a privateer for seven years now, but still felt something incomplete.

“Thing is,” said Jokono, “we’re still employed by the Debogande family. The contract is actually with the family too — signed to Alice Debogande herself. Not to any of the companies. Inner security protect the family primarily.”

It made sense, Trace thought. The family and the companies were not always the same thing. Jokono was brown, lean and calm, somewhere in excess of one hundred years old with all the experience that gave.

“We breach that contract,” Vijay added, “we could get sued or go to prison.”

“So don’t breach the contract,” said Trace, swinging an arm as servos whined and hummed. “Protect Lisbeth. Protect Erik too. Right now, that means defending this ship.”

“Agreed,” said Jokono. “But Erik and Lisbeth are under threat from within the ship. It seems unwise to focus our attentions outside, while the threat to our employers is within.”

“And do you really want marines who are working as temps?” Carla added dubiously. Trace knew exactly what she meant. Serving meant the commitment of just about everything. If you served, in marine forces, you had to mean it. “We’re here to look out for Lisbeth, and for Debogande family interests. That might not seem as noble as what you guys do, but the family’s been great to us. And in my opinion they’re almost as important a force in human space as Fleet is.”

“No, I can see that logic,” Trace said calmly. Surprising them a little. “Fleet are protectors. Industrials like Debogande Inc are what we protect. They’re the civilisation, we’re just the shield.”

“Right,” said Carla. “And for me, protecting them means as much to me as protecting
Phoenix
means to you.”

“And I dunno about all the companies,” Vijay added, “but the family itself are good people. We had a guy get killed in a random attack a few years back, some nutjob had a go at Katerina. You wouldn’t believe how they looked after his family, put his kids through college, got his widow an allowance and then a job when she was ready to work again. Good people.”

“From my experience of Debogandes on this ship,” Trace replied, “that doesn’t surprise me either. But if we get out of this system alive, we’re going to be on the run. There’s going to be some investigation to be done, some serious digging around, and probably some politics as well — things that overly specialised Fleet soldiers probably aren’t that great at. So what I’m saying is that we could use some help, from non-typical operatives. And I’m also saying that the safety of the broader Debogande family, not just the ones on this ship, will rest upon the successful outcome of this entire fucked up situation.

“This will need a resolution for any of them to be safe. And being here on this ship gives you all an opportunity to be a part of that resolution in a way that you couldn’t if you were back running family security on Homeworld. They can find other people to replace your immediate functions back on Homeworld, but having you here represents a strategic opportunity for the whole Debogande family. If you help us.”