by David Weber
"But it wasn't any damned medical inspection party they sent aboard my ship," he grated. "It was an entire platoon of Marines--comor they wore Marine combat zoots, anyway." He relaxed his muscles with a visible effort. "But they were already aboard, and no one in his right mind argues with a platoon of zoots, whoever's inside 'em." He shook his head slowly, remembering.
"They were polite as hell--I'll give the bastards that! But they posted two men in each drive room and two more on the bridge, and they told me-- me, the skipper of a Federation mail packet, damn 'em!--that they had to 'detain" me." His lips twisted. "Wouldn't say why or for how long.
Wouldn't say anything else. Just stood there and waited for their reliefs." He growled something under his breath and finished his drink. Forsythe personally refilled the glass, to his obvious relief, and he sipped again, more slowly.
"Anyway, they had us. I tried getting a message out when I saw a Frontier Fleet cruiser on my screens, but they were on top of me in seconds. No nas. tiness, you understand--just another guard suddenly appeared in the corn section and they stripped off our drones in case I got any snart ideas about using them. con"At first, I thought it was some kind of mistake, but then I figured out the whole orbit port was in on it--whichatever 'x" was. And at least some of those "Marines" really were Marines. I'm sure of it. I considered piracy, a real medical emergency--hell, even a port[*oslashgg'wide outbreak of mass insanity! But I never once considered what was really happening." "And that was, Captain?" Willis Enwright prompted when Stiegman paused once more.
"Treason, Captain," the mail packet captain said harshly. "Goddamned, old-fashioned, dyed-in-the-fucking-wool treason!
The whole damned system's decided to "secede" from the Federation!" The blood drained from Lieutenant Qwan's face. Enwright's features only tightened slowly, but Samsonov looked as if he'd bebn punched in the stomach and Rivera looked murderous. Only Forsythe seemed unaffected but, then, only he had seen Admiral Ashigara's scrambled transmission.
"I see, Captain Stiegman," he said quietly. "And their objective, obviously, was to keep Rising Moon from letting the cat out of the bag?" "Exactly. Took us a while to put it together, Admiral, but there had to be some contact between my tech crews and the port service personnel.
"Near as we can figure it, it all began a month or so after Ladislaus Skjorning got home. Nobody's sure whether it was his idea or whether it was his whole damned planet's notion, but Beaufort's where it started, and whoever planned it mst'ye had one hell of an organization! Given the way the warp lines run, Beaufort's at the bottom of a sack; all the rest of the cluster sort of drains down to "em. They knew hat that meant, too, because they didn't start on Beaufort; they started from Beaufort." "'From Beaufort"?" Enwright repeated.
"They sent out "emissaries," Captain.
God only knows what kind of underground's been cooking away out here, but they sure as hell knew who to talk to where, and they sent out people like Stanislaus Skjorning and Dame MacTaggart. Hell, no wonder people listened! I'm a Fringer myself; I know how hot tempers are running out here since the MacTaggart murder. But goddamn it to hell, there's no excuse for a full-scale civil war!" "A war, Captain?" Rivera did not--quite--- sniff. "What do they plan to use for a navy?" "Damned ff I know," Stiegman said frankly, "but it's going to take a fleet--and I mean a fleet--to change their minds." "How so, Captain?" Samsonov asked.
"Because they're not stupid, however crazy they are.
They stage-managed it perfectly. Just one day everything is peaceful and fine; the next, Killiman Skywatch is in mutinous hands." "Killiman Skywatch?" Rivera half-rose. "Good Ged, man, do you know what you're saying?" "Damn fight I do." Stiegman seemed almost gloomily satisfied by Rivera's reaction. "I don't know how they did it, but I know they had Killiman, and I'm pretty sure they had Beaufort. Don't know about Bigelow--they were playing it mighty close to their chests in Bigelow, which could mean they didn't have Bigelow Skywatch--but Bigelow's the only way into the cluster, so it could just mean they were being careful in case of visitors." "Even ff they have Skywatch," Samsonov said, thinking out loud, "there's still the Frontier Fleet orbital base. No armament to speak of, but there's a Bigelow-based cruiser squadron. They might not want--was "Exactly, Gregor," Forsythe cut in, and Samsonov broke off as he remembered a civilian was present.
"Captain Stiegman," the admiral went on, "did you at any time monitor... unusual, shall we say, eom traffic between the orbit port and Skywatch or the Fleet base?" "Never," Stiegman said flatly, "and we kept a good listening watch." "I see. And how did you finally come to escape, Captain?" "We were lucky--comor maybe they got careless. My engineer contacted a buddy in the orbit port and suggested most of the Fringers in our crew were on their side and ready to mutiny against me with a little help from their "Marines". Stiegman shrugged.
"They went for it. Guess I'm a better actor than I thought. At least, the "fight" between me and a half dozen others and the. "rebels" in the crew seemed to convince "em. Fair amount of shooting to tear up the bulkheads, chief engineer stopping me at gunpoint just before I wrecked the drive--that sort of thing. Nobody hurt, thank God!" "Very neat," Forsythe congratulated him. "And after the 'mutiny"?" "Locked me up in my own brig," Stiegman said cheerfully, "and then Rising toon was a good rebel ship. Took "em a few days to feel sure of it, then they pulled the Marines off. Needed 'em elsewhere, I gather." "I see. And then?" "We waited another few days, behaving like perfect little rebels till we were pretty sure they believed it. Then we powered the drive real slow-- told 'em it was an equipment test--and ran for it." "You ran for it," Samsonov repeated. "Why didn't you contact Bigelow S ,kywatch or the Fleet base?" "Because ff either of 'em were rebel controlled, stopping in om range'd be a real good way to get our ass shot off. Besides, there were Frontier Fleet units in-system. If they were loyal, well and good but if they weren't? Rstsing Moon's fast, but not that fast. If we were going to have light cruisers on our tail, I wanted all the start I could get!" Stiegman grinned wearily. "We made transit so fast nobody's eaten since, and our backup astrogation computer's still pitching fits!" "I see. And then you headed, for Innerworld space?" "Not directly. Actually, I was headed for Heidfs World. Figured to check in with the Frontier Fleet base and come back loaded for bear. Never figured on meeting half the Navy this far out!" "I understand, Captain." Forsythe forced the warmth of approval through the winter of failure in his voice. "But I'll take care of that with a courier drone. I'm afraid I'm going o have to commandeer your vessel." "Why not?" Stiegman grinned wryly. "I'm getting used to it by now." "Then I want you to head for the Fleet base at Cimmaron to carry my dispatches and your own account directly to Vice Admiral Pritzcowitski.
He'll know what to do from there." "Glad to." Stiegman finished his drink and set it aside, his face thoughtful. "And may I ask what you plan to do, Admiral?" "You may," Forsythe said with a wry smile, "but I'm afraid I haven't really decided, yet." "I see." Stiegrnan rose. "In that case, I'll get back to my ship, with your permission.
But, Admiral" he met Forsythe's eyes levelly his--comI'd recommend some caution. You haven't talked to these people; I have. They're serious, mighty serious." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I haven't seen your intelligence reports, but this is my normal run. I've felt the tension growing out here for months, and I can tell you this--the Fringe is a nuke about to go off, Admiral." "I know, Captain Stiegman. I know." There was a brief silence after Stiegman's departure. Forsythe and his juniors stared down at the carpet, wrapped in thought. Finally the old man raised his head.
"Ceaeaaptain Stiegman," he said, "is a most resourceful man.
"Yes, and he's got guts," Enwright's voice was tighter than usual, "but I can't help thinking he was a little too lucky, sir." "In what way, Willis?" "He got away with it," Enwright said bluntly.
"No one fired on him and no one chased him. If they had, they'd'ye caught him. A packet's fast, but so is a light cruiser--and a erniser's armed." "True. But if they haven't taken the Fleet base or Skywatch,
the rebels couldn't have fired on him--assuming they had anything to fire with--without alerting those installations." "No, sir. But why didn't either of those bases ask Rising Moon where she was going and why? Don't tell me she had departure clearance!" "A point. You're suggesting, then, that the rebels control everything? The entire cluster, fortifications and all?" "We can't know that, sir. I'd say they hold Bigelow, but the rest of the cluster?" Enwright shrugged.
"Still, it seems probable. Rising Moon may have jumped the gun on them, but they let her go. And since Bigelow's only six transits from Heidi's World, that must mean. they figure thev're about ready anyway." hiswere' see. But assuming you're correct, where do we go from here? Gregor?" "i don't know. sir," Samsonov said frankly. "I'm no Fringer--I don't pretend to know how these people are thinking. But even if Willis is right, they couldn't have known TF Seventeen was coming. They must figure on at least another three months before anyone can turn up; and if they're expecting a relief from Heidfs World, they're only expecting Frontier Fleet un.xs--not monitors and assault carriers." "Gregor's probably right, sir," Enwright said, "but remember our discussion with Captain Li.
Everything I said then still holds true." "I know you think it does, Willis," Enwright said. "You may even be right. God knows I don't want to go down in history as the first Navy commander to fire on other Ter-rans! But I don't see that we have any choice. If Bigelow
Skyatch isn't in rebel hands, it's going to need all the help it can get, and the same is true of the Fleet base, the repeaair yards in Killiman--the entire cluster, for that matter.
"Admiral, please," Enwright's voice was urgent, "send in a few destroyers first. Find out what's happening before we barge in in force. The cans will have the entire task force behind them--and they can say so. That should stop any itchy trigger fingers long enough for a parley." "With respect, Admiral," Rivera said harshly, "I think that would be a mistake. If Bigeiow Skywatch is still loyal, it could touch off the very incident Captain Enwright wants to avoid.
Take the entire task force. Show them the odds, and they'll cave in." "Don't delude yourself, Commander," Enwright said colby. "If these people've gone this far, they're readv to go further. The actual presence of the task force won't achieve anything except to up the stakes for everyone!" "Perhaps," Forsythe said softly, "but if the entire task force is there, we can be certain anything that happens is over quickly, Willis." His heart ached at his flag captain's look of desolation.
"Face it, Willis," he said gently. "We can't afford delays. There's no way to keep this quiet--we can't even try to; we need to warn the other Fleet bases, warn the government, warn everyone--and the word is bound to leak. We need to be certain a resolution follows the news as quickly as possible, or other Fringe Worlds will be tempted to follow suit. You know that as well as I do." Enwright looked away from the thin, troubled face with the wise old eyes. Yes, he thought, some of the other Outworlds will follow suit if the Kontravians aren't stopped. But this is the wrong way to do it. He knew it was the wrong way. Or did he? Was that the TFN officer in him, or was it the Fringer? His intellect, or the confusion of his loyalties? He looked back.
"Please, sir. Talk to them first." "I'll talk to them, Willis." Steel showed through For-sythe's compassionate tone. "But from the flag bridge of this ship with the task force behind me." He rose, termi-rating the meeting.
"Gentlemen, check your departments.
I want a complete status report in one hour. We will then formulate our precise plans." His staff saluted and left. Willis Enwright walked slowly to the hatch and paused, then turned back to his admiral, his face older than his years.
"Sir, what if they don't surrender? What will you do ff they fight?" "Do, Willis?" Forsythe felt the cold of interstellar space blow down his spine. "I'll honor my oath to defend and preserve the Constitution -comany way I must." "You'll open fire, then," Enwright sid almost inaudibly. "If I must," Forsythe said steadily.
"I don't want to. I'll tell them I don't want to. But I have orders to execute and four centuries of history to defend. Unlike them, I have no room to make personal choices, do I?" "I suppose not, sir," Enwright said quietly.
"But consider this, I beg of you. What you see as a personal choice may not seem like one to others." He seemed to be trying to tell Forsythe something, but the old admiral was too worried and heartsick to hunt for the meaning.
"I understand that, but I don't have an option. No one can ask more of any man than that he do his duty as he sees it." He shook his head sadly. "No matter how painful it is." "Yes, sir. I hope we all remember that," Enwright said quietly. Then he drew himself up and gave Forsythe the sharpest salute the admiral had ever seen from him. He stepped through the hatch, and it closed behind him.
DUTY "Captain Enwright and Admiral Forsythe are both dead.t" The gasping words came hoarse over the com channel, but the screens were blank with electronic hash. Commander Windriter didn't recognize the distorted, faceless voice. Who was it? Had they ever met?
'I'hey're all dead on flag bridge!" the voice went on desperately. "There's fighting evereavwhere... crew quarters... officer country... power rooms... We need help, for God's sake! We--was The snarl of a laser pistol slashed across the words and the voice went silent. The blinking light codes on Windrider's fire control screens chilled his blood, and his hands clenched on the gunnery, console of the monitor Enwright as the flagship fell away, the first mutiny in the Federation Navy's history raging: on her command bridges and in her drive rooms.
Jason Bluefield Windrider couldn't believe it. No, he told himself grimly, he could believe it; he just didn't want to. Mutiny was an obscenity to a man like him, but he understood the mutineers. Not long ago, some of them would have been guests in his quarters, discussing the crisis, wondering where their true duty lay. It seemed they'd decided aboard Anderson.
He looked into the strained faces of his control team. They knew what was happening aboard the flagshipbut what could thev do about it? For that matter, what could he do? He and ('is ratings sat at the very. core of a tremendous hull, 285,000 tonnes of alloy and armor wrapped around their fragile lodies and sensitive instruments. They were Enwright's fighting brain, controlling the power to vaporize a planetoid or sterilize a world, and soon they might have to perform actions which would scar their souls. He didn't know what the men and women of his crew would decide. He was certain of only one thing; he himself was about to face a moment of truth he did not believe he could endure.
The communicators muttered, ghostly voices blurring in his battlephone implant as frantic commanders conferred, afraid to expose their inner convictions, yet compelled by duty and training to act decisively.
And that was their true curse, Windrider thought savagely. Navy training and their own inclinations forced them to act. They weren't politicians (the word was a vicious epithet in his thoughts) who could confer and debate and duck responsibility. When you put on Navy black and silver, you put your judgment on the spot. "An imperfect response now is a thousand times better than recognizing the perfect response too late." That was what the Academy taught but there were only imperfect responses to this!
Windrider shook his head angrily. The universe was crumbling before his eyes and he was philosophizing? Yet what else could he do?
He, too, had "reacted" long since, but his had been a hypothetical decision, one he'd hoped never to face. One he'd believed he would never face, because he had dared not believe anything else.
But now its hungry breath was in his face, hot and stinking as a pseudopuma's.
It wasn't fair! Hadn't the bureaucrats known? were they so blind to human needs and loyalties they hadn't even considered what might happen out here?
But of course they had. That was why the Marine contingents aboard the transports consisted almost entirely of Innerworlders.
Yet the politicos had miscalculated, he thought grimly. They'd guessed at the hatred they were about to unleash, but not how quickly the flames would erupt. Their planned sh
ow of force was supposed to nip rebellion in the bud, on the ground. They'd never dreamed the Kontravians might seize 'thEir local orbital defenses and Frontier Fleet squad-tons or have the guts to defy TF 1Ts might after they did.
Besides, the Navy's monumental dependability was the bedrock of the Federation; it had never occurred to them that the Fringers in the Fleet might be as conscious of planetary loyalties as any Corporate Worlder. So they hadn't "sanitized" the Fleet as they had the ground forces.
Perhaps they couldn't have, really, given the high proportion of Outworlders in the Fleet. Only a few ships had "reliable" Innerworld crews. Most had heavy Fringe contingents; some were completely Fringer-crewed. Now their officers were caught between their oaths and the dreadful prospect of turning their weapons on fellow Fringers, and it was intolerable.
Faced with the unfaceable, Enwright had acted, Forsythe had reacted, and laser fire had gutted Anderson's flag deck. But they were only the first casualties; WJ-NDRIDER could already taste the blood to come, and it sickened him.
"Captain! Admiral Singh is coming up on the all-ships channel!" "Throw it on the big screen, Mister Sung." Li Han held her face calm and her voice level as she waited for the screen to light, but she felt her bridge crew's tension. Even her imperturbable executive officer showed the signs; Tsing Chang's breathing vas harshly audible.
