by S. H. Jucha
“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.
“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.
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.
“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.”
-8-
“What are you prepared to do about this?” Major Lindling demanded during his call to Captain Reiko Shimada aboard the UE destroyer Conquest.
“I sympathize with you, Major, but if President Racine put Lieutenant Morris in charge, I’m in no position to contradict his orders,” Shimada replied.
“But you have a destroyer, Captain!” Lindling cried out.
Captain Shimada took a deep breath before answering the major. That she thought the man was an ass did not change the fact that on Idona Station he was the senior militia officer as far as the UE was concerned, regardless of what the Haraken president had done.
“Major, maybe you haven’t reviewed the data on these strangers’ fighters. At least we believe these are fighters because of the way they behave, even though they don’t look or move anything like ours. The Harakens have the numbers on their side, and their fighters are incredibly fast and maneuverable. One false move on my part, and I believe my destroyer and all aboard would be space dust.”
“Captain Shimada, you do realize —”
“Apologies, Major, but I have an incoming call from President Racine. We will speak later.” A small smile spread on Shimada’s face when, on her hand signal, the comms officer cut the connection. Who would have thought a call from the enemy would be so pleasantly timed? Shimada thought. Despite the impression she gave Major Lindling, Shimada was in constant contact with Lieutenant Morris, but she would have been surprised to know that what she thought were private conversations were carefully monitored by the Haraken SADEs.
“And to what do I owe this unexpected call, President Racine?” Shimada asked when the comms officer signaled the audio connection was ready.
“I trust you and your people are well, Captain. Do you require any assistance from the station?” Alex asked.
“President Racine, pardon me for pointing this out, but for a conqueror, you have no idea how to act,” Shimada replied.
Alex could hear the smile in Shimada’s voice. He appreciated the level-headedness and no-nonsense attitude of the captain. Not very UE-like, Alex thought. “Perhaps, I’ve been watching the wrong vids. You might help me out by recommending something.”
This time Shimada couldn’t control herself, and she burst out laughing at the idea of educating the Haraken president on how to be mercenary. When she regained control, she said, “You know, Mr. President, I can’t cooperate with your enterprise … if rumors are true. It would mean my head.”
“But you already have cooperated, Captain. Your destroyer with all crew aboard retreated from the vicinity.”
“That decision I can defend.”
“So be it, Captain, but I do need your help on another matter. I need you to contact the Supreme Tribunal for me.”
“I can send a message for you, Mr. President,” Shimada said. “What do you wish me to say?”
“That’s not what I’m requesting, Captain,” Alex replied, “We have an FTL relay on the Earth’s moon. I want you to comm the Tribunal as if you were in Earth’s orbit. My people will handle the technicalities.” Alex waited for a response, but he heard nothing. “Captain?”
“Sorry, Mr. President,” Shimada finally replied. Her comms officer had mouthed “FTL comms” to her twice as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “This is a bit much to process. I would like to help, but I don’t have direct access to the Tribunal. The best I could do is place a comm to naval headquarters on Earth and request access, but even that might not work.”
“Why not, Captain?”
“They would probably think it’s a hoax or that I’m an impostor.”
“Please try anyway, Captain.”
Alex left the next steps in the hands of the SADEs, who intercepted the captain’s comm and routed it through the FTL relay on the Earth’s moon as Shimada contacted Earth’s naval headquarters.
Naval comms techs challenged Shimada several ways to ensure they were speaking to the captain of the Conquest stationed at Idona. They had been warned to expect a comm from Idona, even though the idea seemed ridiculous. The Tribunal was still keeping the foreign device deposited by the Haraken fighter a secret.
Identity confirmed, the captain was passed up the chain of command, and then transferred to the Supreme Tribunal’s location. At that point, Julien notified Alex that the captain’s comm had reached the intended audience, and the SADEs had identified the Tribunal’s physical location.
* * *
The comms officer on duty at the Tribunal’s retreat expected to speak to Captain Shimada. Instead, he heard, “Greetings, Ser. This is the Haraken president, Alex Racine. I would like to speak to your Supreme Tribunal.”
“One moment, Mr. President,” the officer replied. Opening a private channel to the Tribunal’s chambers, he announced, “Tribunes, the comm you’re expecting is happening. You’ve a call from the strangers at Idona Station. The man on the comm says he’s President Racine of the Harakens.”
“Ask him to wait a moment while we assemble,” Tribune Woo ordered. “And hustle Captain Lumley to our chambers immediately.”
The tribunes hurried to gather around a comms monitor and seated Captain Lumley behind them to quietly advise. When they were ready, Woo signaled the comms officer, but instead of the audio comm they expected, the Harakens commandeered both vid and audio signals.
“Greetings, Sers. You have been given my name. How may I address you?” asked Alex, whose head and shoulders filled the tribunes’ monitor. “And Captain Lumley!” Alex exclaimed. “I’m so pleased to see that you made it back safely. How is our mutual acquaintance, Speaker García?”
Lucchesi and Brennan were flummoxed by their inclusion in a two-way vid transmission and the president’s quick switch in topics. On the other hand, Woo, who had studied Lumley’s reports in detail, had taken the captain’s advice about whom he expected would call. Intellectually, she was as ready for the president as she could be. When Lumley looked at her for permission to respond, she nodded encouragingly.
“I’m well, Presid
ent Racine,” Lumley replied. “I wish to thank you again for sparing my ship and my crew.”
“Always willing to accommodate a reasonable man,” Alex replied with a smile that never reached his eyes. “And how is our unreasonable friend?” Alex pressed.
Woo nodded to Lumley to continue, and the captain said, “There was an accident aboard the Reunion, President Racine. Speaker García did not survive.”
“Hmm … I wonder what exchange High Judge Bunaldi and Speaker García are enjoying now,” Alex mused for his audience. “Probably regretting their hasty decisions. Ah well, to business, Sers.”
“What do you want with our station?” Lucchesi demanded.
“And you would be —?” Alex asked.
“I’m Supreme Tribune Giuseppe Lucchesi. These are my colleagues … Tribune Ian Brennan and Tribune Kwan Woo,” Lucchesi said, puffing up in his chair.
Alex took in the tribunes’ robes so similar to the high judge and wondered what had given rise to the affectation. “Tribune Lucchesi, you remind me of an Earther I met. By any coincidence, are you an ex-high judge?”
“I have that honor,” Lucchesi said.
“Thought as much,” Alex replied, but the look on his face said he wasn’t pleased to hear it. “Well, you asked a question, Tribune. I intended to use your station as a resting point, while I decided my next course of action, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Changed your mind about what?” Lucchesi asked.
“I’ve decided to make Idona my temporary headquarters while we speak about our mutual problem. Did you know your station is in horrible disrepair? How can you let such a strategic exchange point lapse into such a sad state?”
“We have it on good authority, President Racine, that the station is being properly maintained,” Lucchesi replied. He hated letting the president continue to lead the discussion, but the man refused to stay on topic. Like talking to a mindless idiot, Lucchesi thought.
“That’s interesting. Perhaps you’ll believe your own people.” The vid on the station’s end widened, showing a nervous Lieutenant Morris sitting next to Alex. “By the way, I have placed Lieutenant Morris here in charge of your militia. She is much more levelheaded than your Major Lindling … a most disagreeable and unreasonable man.”
