Sol (The Silver Ships Book 5) (10 page)

“I’m Alex Racine, the Haraken president, and I would like to speak with your leader.”

“Can he see us?” Vic whispered to Nikki, who pointed to a cam in the room’s upper corner next to the comms speaker.

“I’m Nicolette Fowler. My friends call me Nikki, and I’m the one you want to speak to,” Nikki replied.

“Excellent, Ser Fowler, may we meet and discuss our mutual interests?” Alex asked.

“Why would we trust you, President Racine? You think that just because you have the militia pretending to do some maintenance we should be swooning at your feet in thanks?” Nikki asked. She expected protestations or some clever response from the president but was surprised when the big man simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Actually, can’t think of a good reason why you should trust us.” Now, Nikki wasn’t sure what to say or ask.

“May I present my case?” Alex asked. When Nikki didn’t respond, Alex began anyway. “I believe that we need each other. The militia isn’t sufficient in number and is not skilled enough to accomplish my goals. I need many more skilled personnel. You, on the other hand, need access to the outer ring, food, and supplies.”

“Let’s back up, Mr. President,” Nikki said. “Why are you here, and what do you want with this station?”

The camera view widened, which shocked the rebels that the Harakens were controlling their cam systems. In the extended view, the rebels saw a broad woman in uniform seated beside the president.

“I’m Admiral Tatia Tachenko, Ser Fowler, and I find it amusing that you should be asking the president the very same questions I asked him just yesterday. Admittedly, I didn’t understand his answer. Perhaps you will have better fortune.”

Nikki and Vic exchanged momentary glances. It occurred to both of them that they were ill-prepared to deal with the Harakens, whose manner of speaking and attitudes were so far removed from their culture.

“To be candid, Ser Fowler, it’s against my nature to see any ship or station in a state of disrepair,” Alex said.

“A spacer,” Nikki said.

“Guilty,” Alex replied. “Captain of an explorer-tug.”

“An explorer-tug captain who rises to the position of president by your age,” Vic challenged. “What did you do? Find a bunch of people and declare yourself president?”

Vic’s comment generated a great deal of laughter, which the rebels heard over the comms speakers. It was clear that there were many more people in the room with the president than were in the cam’s view. Nikki kept her eyes on President Racine, who appeared embarrassed by Vic’s accusation.

“It’s a long story, Ser Fowler, best saved for another time,” Alex replied.

“You still haven’t answered my questions, Mr. President,” Nikki said.

“The simple answers are that I’m trying to prevent a full-scale war, and I’m planning to use this station as a proof of concept.”

“What concept?” Nikki asked.

“That peace leads to greater prosperity than war.”

“Peace between who … your people and the UE?” Nikki asked.

“Why no, Ser Fowler, between your people and the UE,” Alex replied.

Again, Nikki found herself without a reply. She stared at the screen, but in her mind images from the last several days played — the president’s announcement about what the UE had done while in his world, his regret at destroying a battleship, the taking of the station without a single death, and the militia now attempting to clean and repair the station, as poorly as they were accomplishing that.

“Where do you want to meet?” Nikki asked flatly. Her comment elicited a melee of discussion around her until she held her hand high, which shut it down.

“I’ve established my headquarters at an engaging location called the Last Stop. We had to open and restore it before talking up residence, and I apologize that I don’t know who to pay for our accommodations.”

“That would be my grandfather’s place,” said an engineer, who stepped behind Nikki.

“Then we will owe you the credits, Ser. Please see me at your earliest convenience, and we will arrange the transfer,” Alex replied.

“With whose credits and how?” Vic challenged again. “Our people have never had accounts or credits, for that matter, and our ancestors had their accounts confiscated when they fled the militia’s landing. And what type of credits could you have that would be of use to us?”

“All good questions, Ser, and I will be happy to explain those to your satisfaction when we meet.”

“Mr. President, a station spoke exits into the outer ring 19 degrees, counterclockwise from your location. I’ll meet you on the main corridor in thirty minutes by the station’s clock,” Nikki said, leaving the room, and causing most of the rebels to chase after her.

The Harakens arranged themselves in front of the massive safety doors that separated the outer ring from the giant spoke that led to the station’s interior workings. Each of the two doors was a full 3 meters wide and substantially constructed. The wait extended to an hour before they heard motors engage and gears grind. The doors lurched apart a few centimeters, halted, and then lurched a few more centimeters. The process continued off and on until the doors were open about a third of a meter.

Z stepped up to the opening and peeked through. “Please step back, Sers, while I see if I might be of help.” He crossed his arms to grasp the edge of each door in an attempt to pull them apart, and while they creaked in protest, they opened only another third of a meter.

Examining the opening, Z turned his body to place his hands behind him and grasp one door’s edges with both hands. Then he levered his body up into the air by planting both feet against the far door. Suspended horizontally by his hands, feet, and back, he shoved. The doors groaned and screeched in protest but began slowly moving. Z kept the pressure up until the door opening was about one and a half meters.

Vic was staring at Z as he released his grip on the doors and stood upright again. “Are you human?” Vic asked.

In Miranda’s sultry voice, Z replied, “Oh, my dear, I’m so much more.” Then Z quickly resumed his place beside Renée. When Z noticed the rebels were frozen in place, he sent a query to Alex and Renée, who were busy hiding smiles behind their hands.

Nikki took tentative steps through the opening, her eyes scanning for trouble. When Vic failed to immediately follow, several rebels prodded him from behind. One by one the rebels slipped through the safety doors, and then more quickly flowed through until over 100 rebels had poured through the opening.

Alex sent on open comm.

“Greetings, Ser Fowler,” Alex said when Nikki stopped in front of him. “I’m President Racine.”

Nikki eyed the huge hand held out by the president. A lifetime of experience told her to run away and seek the safety of the inner ring. She couldn’t conceive of any good coming from this meeting, except now the safety doors they depended on were breached and probably stuck open for the foreseeable future.

Alex continued to hold out his hand even as his arm began to tire.

Renée sent privately to Alex.

Nikki let out a slow, long breath, and resigned herself to fate. She was tired of the fight and hoped for a better future for her people and herself. She slipped her hand inside the president’s and received a warm, friendly handshake.

“Ser Fowler, I see some of your people are carrying stunstiks,” Alex said. “For the safety of your people and mine, I must insist we collect them.”

“Who says we’re staying?” Vic growled, stepping forward toward Alex. His movement elicited subtle responses from Alex’s people.

“We’re staying, Vic,” Nikki commanded, having caught the movements of those intent on defending the president. “Unless you’re prepared to close the safety doors that he … or she opened,” Nikki added, indicating Z.

It was at this moment that two rebel engineers on the periphery of the crowd spotted the same two militia personnel who they had seen previously on the surveillance cams improperly applying the resurfacing machine.

“Hey, you two milts, stop that,” one engineer called out, which drew everyone’s attention toward the engineers and the militia.

Only eighteen and twenty, the young militia cowered as the engineers strode toward them and readied themselves to accept their due — a severe beating.

Alex sent to his people. He eyed Nikki, who in turn was watching him for his reaction. In fact, both groups, Harakens and rebels, were torn between watching the engineers bearing down on the militia youths, and the two leaders staring at each other as if each one was waiting to see who would make the first move.

“Where’d you get this machine?” one engineer asked the two militia youths. “And stop cringing. You’d think we were going to beat you. That’s something you milts do.”

While the eighteen year old stammered out corridor and storage room numbers, the second engineer called back to two rebel techs to join them. With an imperial hand, the first engineer waved the youngest milt to lead on, and the six men walked off down the main corridor. Everyone could hear one of the engineers lecturing the militia on proper resurfacing procedures and the need to strip, seal, and prime the metal surfaces first.

Nikki spared a brief glance at the retreating backs of the six men and then looked at Vic, who said, “Okay, I guess we’re staying.”

“Everyone,” Nikki shouted, “give up your weapons — stunstiks, fighting blades — everything. Now!”

The troopers moved among the rebels thanking them politely for turning in their weapons.

“We’ll need to process your people, Ser Fowler,” Alex said. “With their identities, we can create station accounts for them, pay credits for their work, and —”

Before Alex could finish, Vic interrupted, saying, “Nikki, we’re moving too fast. How do we know —?”

But Vic was cut off by Nikki’s hand held up to his face. “President Racine, could you tell me how you took over militia headquarters without killing anyone?” The question had been nagging Nikki. It wasn’t just the method the Harakens used; it was why they had done it that way.

“Certainly, Ser Fowler,” Alex replied. “But I can’t take any credit. The SADEs did all the work with nanites targeting the chips in the militia’s weapons.”

“I’m sorry, what? SADEs? Nanites?” Nikki asked dubiously.

“That’s another long story, Ser Fowler, one best saved for another time. If you and I could sit and speak, Ser Fowler?” Alex asked politely. “My people need only a name and a profession from each of your people to begin the process I spoke of earlier.”

“All right, Mr. President. Let’s talk, but Vic comes too,” Nikki replied.

“Certainly, Ser, and if you could have two of your senior engineers and your head of food production accompany us, it will make our meeting much more productive.”

As it was, requesting some additional senior people to accompany Nikki was moot — most of the rebels trooped after them, wanting to hear firsthand what the alien president had to say. During Alex’s meeting, he found his statements were consistently confusing the rebel leaders. His mind was racing ahead with ideas that might energize the station, and they were still trying to come to grips with their newfound freedom and what the future might bring.

At one point, Nikki held up her hands to stop Alex. “Wait, wait,” she said. “What about the future? Say we help you fix up the station. What happens when the UE comes?”

“That’s the point, Ser,” Alex replied with a generous smile. “I want the UE to come.”

“See what I mean, Ser Fowler,” said Tatia, sitting beside Alex. “You hear his words, but then again, you don’t.”