Renegade (42 page)

More cops plunged in, buzz-sticks flying, and now people were falling. Erik saw a woman raise her arm to protect herself, then lost the use of it with a scream. A teenage boy broke from the mess, one wrist in cuffs but the other still loose as cops yelled and scrambled in pursuit. He tore straight for the
Phoenix
crew.

“Stop him!” the cops were yelling.

“Ware!” said Trace. “Let him go!” As the boy ran past them, two cursing cops behind, a third levelling his taser and looking for a dangerously proximate shot.

Kono half-raised his rifle, aiming just short of the cop’s toes. “Hey asshole! Point that somewhere else!” The cop lowered the taser, wide-eyed, then turned to grapple with the fight behind. Kono steered them all carefully around it, as dock bystanders made way for them.

“Yeah thanks for nothing, marines,” a watching plainclothes officer said sourly as they passed.

“You’re fucking welcome,” said Kumar. Because marines would only consider doing police-work when cops started leading combat assaults — which was never.

“
Phoenix
!” several others whispered as they saw the unit patches. “That’s
Phoenix
! Hey that’s Thakur, that’s Major Thakur!” And muttered oaths besides. No mention of the famous Debogande, Erik thought. Again, a few weeks ago it would have bothered him, however stupid. Now it was a relief.

“What a mess,” he muttered to Trace. By a dock ahead, civilians were clustered, holding various bags and cases. Many argued with station officials, looking dishevelled and short of sleep. A few were crying, or sat on the decking, head in hands. More Worlders, jobs lost, lives uprooted.

“How do they replace the workers?” Trace wondered. “If Spacer industry can’t get enough workers, we all take a hit, Fleet included. You can’t destroy the economic base our security’s built on, it’s madness.”

“My mother told me that Worlders think money grows on trees,” said Erik. “Get in debt, no problem, just go out back and pick a few billion more off the money tree. But she also said that Fleet’s no better, they think money can be dug out of asteroids. She said that neither side truly understand that the real victory that humans won over the last thousand years wasn’t military, it was economic. Turns out we’re better at it than most other species out here, or at least we are when the experts are left to their own devices. But now here come the politics to fuck it all up properly.”

D
ebogande Inc security
met them in the accommodation lobby, a wide lounge of comfortable chairs and expensive drinks, then crowding into a very large elevator. It was only a short ride, directly above the docks, then entrance onto a wide corridor with none of the bare steel of many working stations — here everything was carpets, potplants and polished panels.

The lobby walls were gleaming white, with inlays of abstract art. No one ever hung art on station walls — loose objects were not the hazard on stations that they were on ships, but regulations still discouraged too many things that weren’t screwed down. Before the big dark doors stood a handsome man in a stylish suit, with two more security men to his sides. If he’d expected Erik to present himself immediately, he was disappointed, because Staff Sergeant Kono stood in his way, other marines facing the civvie guards, armoured, heavily armed and infinitely more dangerous.

“I’m Mitchell Klinger,” said the handsome man, perhaps slightly offended that he had to address a mere Sergeant. “I’m the CEO of Debogande Incorporated in Heuron.”

At which Kono stood aside, warily, and Erik approached with what he hoped was a disarming smile. “Mr Klinger.” He extended his hand, which Klinger took. “I’m sorry about the security — in Fleet we have a protocol of doing things whenever a commander is on station in a less than entirely secure environment. No exceptions.”

Klinger nodded, still serious. “That’s fine Mr Debogande.” His handshake was unnecessarily hard, as though he felt he had something to prove. “This is quite a situation, I agree.”

“And this is Major Thakur,” Erik added. “Commander,
Phoenix
marine company.”

Klinger shook her hand too, stiffly. “An honour, Major.” Erik had seen that look before. Klinger was a very important man, worth an enormous amount of money and accustomed to rank and respect within the civilian world. Trace in particular confronted such men with a vision of status and authority that lay completely outside their grasp. Many didn’t like it.

“So you’ll have been busy?” Erik suggested.

“In fact I’m extremely busy right now,” Klinger admitted. “And so if you’ll forgive me, I have to ask you precisely in what capacity this visit is taking place. Mr Debogande, I’m entirely aware that you are the son of my direct employers, and the ultimate owners of Debogande Incorporated. If you were visiting me solely in that capacity, then I would be quite delighted to invite you in and share all kinds of discussion with you…”

“But I’m wearing a Fleet uniform,” Erik interrupted, “and you’re currently having quite a tense relationship with Fleet Command. Or I’d imagine you are.”

Klinger’s smile was faintly relieved. “Exactly. In one capacity, there are many things I could discuss with you. In the other capacity, there are quite a few less, I’m afraid. And also there is the question of agency. You are third-in-command of
Phoenix
, and acting on the behalf of your Captain. He is well, I hope? We hear rumours he has taken ill?” Erik wondered where those had come from — the tall tale they’d concocted was for Fleet’s ears only.

“He is ill, yes,” Erik confirmed. “But he is recovering, as is Commander Huang, though neither can currently leave
Phoenix
. And yes, I am acting upon his authority.”

“Ah,” said Klinger. Erik was becoming very aware that he had not yet been welcomed inside. All these marines, plus him, standing in the lobby, had the makings of an uncomfortable standoff. “Then you’ll be aware that Fleet Command seem quite disquieted at Captain Pantillo’s arrival in Heuron. He was supposed to be at Homeworld, was he not? For the celebration?”

“We never made it,” Erik explained. “I’m sorry, it’s classified. We’ve explained our reasons to Fleet. But no, Fleet aren’t happy to see us here.” And now, he realised, he had to take the risk. “Captain Pantillo is not pleased to see these ordinances. Which I think gives him and you something in common.”

Klinger considered him for a long moment. There was both fear and tension in his eyes. “What are you really doing here, Mr Debogande?”

“Captain Pantillo is concerned we are about to plunge from a foreign war, into a civil one,” Erik said simply. “
Phoenix
would like to help. Whether we’ll be allowed to is another question. As you say, Supreme Commander Chankow is not pleased to see us.”

It smelt of treason. If this conversation were reported straight back to the Supreme Commander, they could all find themselves under arrest once more. Given how that worked out last time, Erik knew that he could not allow it.

Klinger nodded shortly. “Excuse me just one moment, Mr Debogande. I would invite you inside immediately, but first I have something else to attend to. My apologies.”

He turned and went back inside. The door shut, the two guards standing firm before it. Trace glanced at her marines. They strolled back to the elevator, and took position by the second, further door. The guards looked nervous at that, but there wasn’t much they could do. If you locked a group of marines in an enclosed room, they’d deploy aggressively to go explosively through those doors at the first sign of trouble, and kill everyone in sight. It was reflex, like what happened when you poked a venomous akrep with a stick and the claws and stinging tail deployed. One of the guards looked at Trace’s impassive face, nervously. Erik couldn’t believe anyone would be that stupid.

One of the guards received a signal, and opened the doors for them. Kono went in first with Terez and Van, then Trace behind. Erik followed, into a huge lounge with an oval, sunken middle about a central table. Beneath the table, shimmering light from the water display, and the flash of colourful fish. Beyond the far portholes, a slowly rotating view of open space — Heuron V’s enormous red-brown girth, and the blinking lights of a passing runner.

A pretty female assistant greeted Kono with a disarming smile, and offered to take him on a security tour of the premises. Beyond them, coming into the room past the open bar and kitchen doorway, were other important looking men and women in suits. Erik recognised several faces from his previous review of the local company board — these were all senior figures in Debogande Inc, Heuron branch. Trace recognised them too, and gave Kono a signal to accept the security tour. Any workable trap against a marine contingent would not place so many senior civvies in this proximity.

Introductions followed — there were seven company board members here, Erik suspected they’d all been waiting in the next room to see if it was safe to talk to the visiting Lieutenant Commander. All appeared various shades of nervous, and a wall display ran station news with the volume down, endless images of police action, protesting civilians and indignant talking heads.

Following introductions, all sat about the oval table in the room’s central depression, Erik and Trace removing helmets, Trace placing her rifle carefully on the seat beside her, while Erik left his pistol holstered. The colourful fish beneath the false glass floor flittered and danced at the movement above them. Outside the porthole windows, night abruptly turned to day as Hoffen Station left the shadow of its moon. Several aides sat on the rim of the depression, watching portable displays, monitoring channels and ready to inform their VIP masters if something new and dramatic happened. Erik realised what this was — a crisis meeting. The local company arm was very alarmed, and hoped that he could shed some light on things… but did not wish to appear traitorous to Fleet in doing so.

“Mr Debogande,” Klinger began, as tea arrived, and Kono reemerged from neighbouring rooms with an all-clear signal to Trace. “First of all, I’d hope that you could enlighten us all what the
hell
is going on?” Some smiles around the table at that, nervous energy escaping.

“Ah,” said Erik, accepting tea and sipping. It was green tea, light and pleasant. “I was…
we
were, kind of hoping you could tell us. I mean, economically this is nuts, right?”

“Completely nuts,” the older woman to Klinger’s side agreed. “They’re going to ruin us. We can’t afford to lose that much Worlder investment, and we can’t afford to lose all these workers. We spend the past few centuries accusing Worlders of thinking that money grows on trees, and now Fleet takes a very real chunk of that money, that we all need to keep the industry growing that provides all the money that Fleet needs to make ships and fight wars, and they flush it down the fucking disposal.”

Her indignation was intense. Spacer industry always prided itself, relative to Worlder industry, on being left alone to do business. This was interference of the worst and highest order, and interference at gunpoint. It would make enemies not only of the Worlders it hurt, but the Spacers as well.

“Fleet aren’t that stupid,” a younger man insisted. “Supreme Commander Chankow is from an industry family himself. He’s always been good on economic matters before, Chairmen Ali and Joseph too. If they’ve cooked this up between them, then they must have a plan of some kind…”

“Jorgensen,” the older woman cut him off with a cynical shake of the head, “you have a very naive faith in the intelligence of our leaders…”

“They’re not going to get us all killed!” Jorgensen retorted sternly. “Because those men know what’s at stake, as much or more than anyone, they’ll not just give all human industry a huge kick in the guts. They’ll have something else planned!”

“Where?” retorted another man. “Where will they find these magical trillions? Like Tricia said we always lecture the Worlders, you can’t just pluck that kind of money out of cold vacuum!”

“And so just give in to the Worlders?” someone else cut in. “They’re a financial disaster, all of them! They’ll have us bankrupt within a half-century if they’re allowed to run human finances…”

“Whereas now,” said Tricia, “we’re bankrupt almost immediately.”

“I think I know where the money’s going to come from,” said Erik. And said it again, when the ongoing argument drowned him out, to be shushed by others. Then silence, as everyone looked at him. Trace included, as he’d not shared this with her yet. He simply wasn’t sure if it was feasible… but if there was ever an audience who could tell him if it was, it was this one.

“Please continue Mr Debogande,” said Klinger.

“Um, first,” said Erik with his best disarming smile, “if you wouldn’t mind, it’s Lieutenant Commander. In uniform, ‘Mister’ just feels weird.” Usually he hated to pull rank on people, given his family, but the Captain had noticed his reluctance and warned him sternly against it. ‘When meeting with powerful people about things that matter,’ he’d said, ‘never play yourself down. It’s unprofessional.’ Which from the Captain was serious criticism, and amongst these important civilians, ‘Lieutenant Commander’ of the famous
UFS Phoenix
went much further than ‘Mr Debogande’.

“Of course,” said Klinger. “My mistake.”

“Okay,” said Erik. “
Phoenix
has information, that we know to be accurate, about the actions of chah'nas ships in human space of late. Particularly we know that a large force of them entered orbit about Merakis uncontested, and proceeded to execute… or let’s call it murder… most of the tavalai still waiting there.”

“Wait,” said Klinger, frowning. “How do you know this?”

“It’s classified,” said Erik. “But completely reliable. They destroyed the Temple of the Tenth Clan. Wiped it out.” Big-eyed stares from around the table. “There were no Fleet ships present to stop them. Clearly a deal was done. You all know the historic significance of Merakis and its temples to the chah'nas, and the tavalai. Most species in fact aside from humans, given we’re so recent in space. And there has been some other chah'nas ship movement that I, and the Captain, consider suspiciously free from restraint. Certainly very free from the kind of restraint most species place upon each other in sovereign territory. Even allies in long wars.

“I suspect that somewhere, probably a century and a half ago or longer when the plan for the Triumvirate War was being hammered out, Fleet Command did a deal with the chah'nas.”

“What kind of deal?” Tricia asked suspiciously.

“Shared sovereignty,” said Erik. “Theirs of our space, us of theirs. Or something like it. More than just trade — cross-investment, possibly even cross-habitation. That’s the only way I can see the investment shortfall being made back.”

All looked astonished. Some looked horrified. “You mean we’re about to be… fifteen percent owned by the
chah'nas?
” someone asked in disbelief.

“No no no, this doesn’t work at all,” said the one named Jorgensen. “Space assets are
strategic
. They’re not just economic currency, they have political and military significance.”

“I’m quite aware of that,” Erik said drily.

“I mean
no one
shares strategic assets with alien species!” Jorgensen insisted. “Not just humans, no one in the Spiral! Not if they value their security, and… hell, why don’t you tell
us,
Lieutenant Commander? Does anyone in Fleet truly trust the chah'nas that much?”

“Probably more than they trust the Worlders,” Trace said calmly. “I’ve heard that said quite clearly, by people who meant it. I’m sure everyone else here has heard it also.”

“It’s the only thing that works,” Erik insisted. “Money doesn’t grow on trees, you’re right. People make value, and currency measures it. The chah'nas have rather a lot of it, and no doubt the alo have even more, since they haven’t actually had to spend that much on warships and fleets of their own. This way Fleet gets to put the Worlders back in their place, and force all Worlders who want to get influence in Spacer affairs to legally becomes Spacers first and abandon all Worlder benefits and affiliations. Spacers get to remain the sole human class with influence upon the grand affairs of humanity. The return is that we have to put up with direct interference in our affairs from the chah'nas, but we can balance that because presumably we’ll now have direct interference in theirs’.”