Renegade (45 page)

“Rail’s this way,” said Erik, pointing down a cross passage, and Sergeant Forest led the way. Another squad to adjust to, Dale’s boys and girls and as devoted to him as Command Squad were to their Major. “Fast ride down?” Erik remarked as they walked, Dale directly ahead, imposing in light armour and gear.

“Fucking Hausler flies like you do,” said Dale. “Don’t suppose we could up-skill him to backup for your seat?”

“Ideally it takes a year,” said Erik. “Hard thing to learn, no shortcuts. How’s
Phoenix
?”

“No place like home, sir.” Meaning no troubles worth reciting here. Which was comforting, but Dale was a marine, and the things that bothered marines on
Phoenix
were not what currently bothered their LC. “Second Lieutenant Geish wanted me to tell you there’s two new chah'nas ships insystem. Just jumped in, both Kulik Class, real high spectrum jump wave. Didn’t want to tell you over coms, given who might be listening.”

Damn right, Erik thought —
Phoenix
could easily talk to all
Phoenix
crew through station coms, but that would use Fleet encryption, meaning it would be indecipherable to everyone except Fleet Command. Who would be interested to know why newly arriving chah'nas ships worried them.

“Chah'nas aren’t fast enough to be a worry,” he said. They couldn’t get here that fast with a message from Homeworld, that meant. “Probably.”

“Probably,” Dale muttered. “Aye to that.”

They turned a corner into the transit station platform. Another flash of IDs at the scanner — Fleet rode free, of course. Back on Homeworld, Erik could have expected another dry observation from Dale about the mess Erik had gotten them into. He’d only been functional third-in-command back then, technically little higher in rank than Dale… and marines had a habit of not respecting many spacer ranks other than captain.

“
I think we’ll know as soon as we get there if it’s a trap,”
Dale said on uplinks. “
Combat command can lay traps, I don’t think these HQ bureaucrats could lay a convincing trap if their lives depended on it. And I don’t think the bigwigs have the balls to make themselves a part of that trap.”

The rail was like mass transit anywhere, crowded coaches giving the armed marines cautious looks. At Red Sector Four they got off and caught the platform elevator to dock level, then a fast walk along a stretch of dock crawling with uniformed Fleet, spacers and marines both. With helmets on, Erik and Dale received salutes as they walked, and returned all — the station dock counted as ‘outdoors’ for formal purposes, where respect to rank would be given and received. A big open windowfront with multiple security checkpoints announced Hoffen Fleet HQ, and the security post let Erik and Dale through with a scan of each ID. They removed helmets, and walked across a wide, carpeted floor to a check-in desk, where a pretty Ensign gave Erik a big smile as he announced himself.

“Lieutenant Commander Debogande, you’re three minutes early. If you’d like to just take a seat, I’ll contact the Supreme Commander’s office to let him know you’ve arrived. I’m afraid your marines will have to wait on the dock. Lieutenant, if you would announce yourself to the watch officer, I’m sure he’ll be pleased to have the extra numbers on guard for the time that you’re here.”

Dale looked at Erik. And looked around, at the surrounding, open offices, the reception desks, the display screens, all busy and normal. Raised his eyebrows, meaningfully. No trap, that meant… or not that he could see. Dale returned outside, and Erik took a seat in the lobby, trying to repress the instinct to look around like a nervous herbivore in a carnivore jungle. Just in case someone was watching. Which someone probably was. Dale didn’t think the bureaucracy could just keep functioning if some kind of kinetic action were planned. It was a marine’s contempt for bureaucrats — bureaucracy was all they were good at, and if someone were about to start shooting, their nerves would show. Erik shared that prejudice, but didn’t trust it. It didn’t seem wise to just assume safety because you didn’t respect the people who most immediately threatened you. Not long ago, Dale hadn’t respected
him
much either.

There were displays on the walls — the squadron pennants of the Fleet formations that had fought for Heuron’s ‘liberation’… a euphemism of course, as Heuron had not been liberated but taken from the tavalai. Alongside the pennants, old-fashioned photographic stills of the Captains of those ships. Erik recognised several faces. Then his eyes settled upon Captain Pantillo. Not so old a man then, nearly ninety by Erik’s reckoning, and looking decidedly younger than when Erik had known him. It was an informal image, caught at an unguarded moment on dock, as the Captain had turned to exchange a laugh with someone. That half-smile was just dawning on his face, and his jaw was unshaven, as though he’d just come off a long shift.

Erik recalled his surprise and alarm upon his first posting to
Phoenix
, discovering that neither the Captain, nor the ship, shared quite his degree of interest in presentation. The Captain’s ops jacket was an antique, worn, scratched and repaired so many times it belonged in a museum… but he wore it with pride. And neither would the Captain allow others on the ship to make fun of their new LC to his face, and his insistence on polishing, aligning and brushing everything within reach. People were what they were, in the Captain’s eyes, and while all may present differently, the quality beneath could come in all shades and styles. Erik had never known anyone who could discern that quality like the Captain had, and with care and attention, make it bloom.

Sitting in the waiting room, amidst passing staffer traffic and watchful guards, his eyes hurt, and he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. You brought us here, Captain. I’m sure in my place, you’d get the job done, and everyone out of here safe. Let’s just hope I’m as good at this as you seemed to think I am.

His uplink blinked and he looked up to see the pretty Ensign waving to him from the reception desk. “Sir, if you’ll follow me?”

She led him through a security door, then down a corridor with offices everywhere, and the big air vents in the walls that were constant on stations. Then a series of command rooms, with transparent walls and large displays showing Heuron system graphics — current planetary and lunar positions, ship movements. Concerned and serious officers stood and talked, or discussed on conference calls, watching ongoing intercepts in the near or outer system, or other actions on other stations.

It looked busy. Given the sheer number of stations and facilities in the broader Heuron system, Erik didn’t like their chances of achieving more than basic stasis in the security situation. ‘Linley’, or whatever his real name, was evidently still moving around okay, whatever his admissions that someone would likely try to arrest him. No doubt there were plenty of others — Heuron Dawn affiliated or sympathetic. God knew what they’d set up over the past few years of building tension, for release in a situation like this one. Like finding out that the overly-decorated war hero who they’d thought would run for election in the Heuron seat for Federal Spacer Congress, and recommend their cause at the highest level, was now dead.

It occurred to him for the first time, walking these corridors, that the Heuron System Worlders would
not
automatically assume that Fleet’s tale was correct. No one on Apilai would believe that Lieutenant Commander Debogande had murdered his Captain — they’d all assume the opposite, that Fleet had murdered him, and framed
Phoenix
’s LC to kill two birds with one stone. Worlder sympathisers everywhere would lean toward the same telling — most of humanity, in fact, when you added the raw numbers. It was comforting, on the one hand, to know that so many humans would probably believe him innocent. It would put huge pressure on Fleet as they tried to maintain their lies with a straight face. Worlders might even make him into a hero if they could, lionise him for standing up to Fleet. And yet, he remained far from convinced that he wanted to be on the Worlders’ side.

The Ensign led him to some big doors off a wide, polished hall, scanned in her ID, then gestured Erik to enter as the door hummed open. Within was a large office, displays on the walls all deactivated, and two big porthole views of the slowly rotating starfield outside. Behind the table, Supreme Commander Chankow himself — broad, moustachioed, hair unnaturally dark for even the healthiest of older men. About the same age as the Captain had been, Erik recalled, walking to the desk directly opposite the Supreme Commander and standing to attention, helmet under his right arm. He’d been a carrier captain for ten years, followed by rapid promotion up the ranks of High Command. Pantillo had no doubts of his abilities, and rarely spoke ill of higher ranks in front of lower ranks. But if he had something good to say about a higher rank, based on personal experience, he’d never hesitate to offer it. Erik could not recall him ever saying anything good of Chankow.

“Lieutenant Commander Erik Debogande,
UFS Phoenix
, reporting as ordered sir.” To either side of Chankow, also seated, were two more bigwigs — both Rear Admirals. The nametags read Ling and Iago. Erik recognised neither — Rear Admirals in big HQ centres were like middle management in big corporations. Everyone had more than they knew what to do with, and no one knew what they were for. Elsewhere about the room, four marines, all armed in light kit, helmets replaced with caps. Guards, all enlisted, no officers. That was odd.

“Lieutenant Commander,” said Chankow. “Please sit.” Erik did so. Chankow considered him for a moment. Serious, but was there a faint trace of amusement beneath those dark brows. Erik’s heart, which had been quite controlled, now began to thump unpleasantly. “First of all, let’s do away with this charade. We know all about what happened on Homeworld. Your Captain is dead. You killed him. You then violently escaped from lawful Fleet detention, killing another ten service personnel in the process, escaped to your warship, then ran from Homeworld System firing upon and damaging the warship
UFS Annalea
, thankfully with no further casualties.”

The shock was like diving into freezing cold water. But even as it hit him, Erik felt something else. Hatred, pride, defiance… he wasn’t sure what. Only that if these men thought he was going to go down easy, they were about to learn differently.

“We have no record of your ship’s activities after leaving Homeworld,” Chankow continued. “I can only hope you haven’t murdered more of your comrades in arms, from your ship or others. You’ve got quite the balls coming here in your very fast ship. But you don’t have quite the monopoly on very fast ships that you thought you did.”

Alo, Erik thought. It had to be the alo. He recalled the alo ambassador confronting them on the dock yesterday. Only alo ships could match
Phoenix
for speed — there must have been one at Homeworld that knew of the situation at Heuron, and came straight here. But what was the alo’s stake in this? Were they invested with the chah'nas power-grab in human space? To what ends?

“And please, don’t even think about making some stupid move for your weapon,” Chankow continued. He nodded to one of the room’s marines. “This here is Master Sergeant Afraz, off the combat carrier
Mercury
.” No surprise there, thought Erik, recalling the
Mercury
’s Captain confronting them up at hub dock. “He’s one of the best shots in the Fleet, and he’ll see you dead before you unholster your weapon.”

“I have no doubt,” said Erik, with a respectful nod to Afraz. The veteran warrior’s stare was impassive beneath his cap brim, his rifle easily in hand, ready to rise and fire in a split second. “But you’re not the only one with marines, Commander. I did not violently escape from Fleet custody on Homeworld as you state — I’m not that good a soldier. That was Major Trace Thakur, Distinguished Service Star, Legion Medal, three Valorous Hearts, multiple Campaign Medals, Diamond Star and Liberty Star… and hear this, Master Sergeant,” as Chankow opened his mouth as though to interrupt, “and tell this to every marine on
Mercury
and beyond — I was not the one who started shooting, she was. I was going to let the legal process play out, but she saw that Fleet HQ had stitched us up, had murdered her Captain and framed me with it, and she busted me out single handed. Find the security footage from those holding cells, that will confirm it.”

“This is
not
a court room in which to argue your case!” Chankow barked. “You will drop this pretence at once!”

“Fuck you, you snivelling piece of shit,” Erik snarled. “You want me to drop this pretence? Very well, let’s drop it. Fleet Command murdered my Captain. That means you. I mean to see you killed. Make a move against me, or against
Phoenix
or any of my people, and they’ll put a warhead through this portion of station rim and vacate it to space.”

Deathly silence in the room. “You’re a traitor!” exclaimed Rear Admiral Iago.

“I’m not the one who murdered Fleet’s greatest hero in cold blood,” said Erik. “For
politics.
Furthermore, you’ve made an enemy of one of the heirs to one of the greatest industrial empires in human space. You have
no idea
the shit you’re about to be dropped in. I know for a fact there are senior Fleet captains on our side, they’ve told us so. Captains with powerful friends. Watch your backs, boys. Major Thakur told me all about karma, and you’re about to get yours.”

It was lies and bluster, but it seemed to have an effect. And there may well have been captains on
Phoenix
’s side, or about to be, given the chance — captains like Captain Lubeck of
UFS Chester
in Argitori who’d caused trouble by querying
Abigail,
trying to find out what the hell was going on in defiance of orders. And if the admirals thought that having marines in the room was a good idea… well, let the tales about Major Thakur spread through their ranks for a few weeks and months, and watch these bastards sweat, and watch their own marines nervously. Now he just had to live long enough to see that happen.