“As for who we are individually, George here and I are distant cousins. We have the same seventh-great-grandmother.
“Our seventh-great-grandmother was Jan Childers, Captain, and we are taking back her legacy. To that end, I will destroy anything I have to destroy, kill anyone I have to kill, to keep Galactic Mail from becoming a galactic tyranny over trillions of human beings.
“You can either help me or I will kill you out of hand.”
Bowers looked back at the display, where the image of Jan Childers remained. He had no doubt it was Childers. He had seen her portrait often enough in Galactic Mail facilities. She had aged, but no one could forget those eyes.
Truth be told, he had his share of misgivings about Galactic Mail's new focus. He was old school, and had been with Galactic Mail for thirty years, long before the current regime. Academy training then had included the role of Galactic Mail in the grand scheme of things, and one of the things it was not to be was a galactic government. He had studied enough pre-space Earth history to know where that would end up, and how badly.
He had studied some of Jan Childers' history, too. Always one for long-term plans, it would be just like her to build a safety into Galactic Mail, a mechanism to reset the massive organization to its original purpose. It would also be just like her to use an unconventional and unexpected method to do that.
But could these eighteen people really overturn Galactic Mail, which had almost two hundred million employees? Hell, a third of them were over seventy years old. Then again, they had managed to lock up a crew of thirty-five hundred, kill sixty security guards, and take control of the ship, and on a moment's notice. Of course, override access to the ship's computers made all the difference, but if the computers were willing to give them the overrides to Mnemosyne, why would they not give them the codes to all Galactic Mail ships and drones, everywhere?
One other concern was whether or not these eighteen people, pulled from all across human space, were ruthless enough to do what needed to be done, because he knew the leadership of Galactic Mail would be, to preserve their positions. That appeared not to be an issue. One thing Patricia Dawson had shown so far was her capacity to be utterly ruthless, and up close and personal at that. Unusual in a woman perhaps thirty-five years old.
Why should that be? It was the family legacy, he realized. All the eighteen Watchers were the direct descendants of the founders of Galactic Mail. They would not see their families' legacy be perverted, become a tyranny that engulfed all humanity, have their ancestors' names and memories drowned in blood. There would be hell to pay first, and Patricia Dawson seemed more than willing to mount the pale horse and lead hell itself into the battle.
Bowers turned back to Dawson, and the family resemblance to Jan Childers pulled at him. He wondered if this was what it had been like to face the legendary Admiral Childers across a flag ready room table.
“That won't be necessary, Ma'am. I'm on board,” Bowers said. “I've had my own concerns about Galactic Mail's recent policies, but as just one cog in the gearing, I didn't see how to make a difference. Now I do. It won't be easy, though.”
“I don't expect it to be easy, Captain. I expect it to be hard. But we will prevail. For the sake of humanity itself, we will prevail, at whatever cost.”
Now What?
Dawson, Enfield, Turner, and Morgan were in the admiral's flag ready room on Mnemosyne. They were monitoring Captain Bower's speech to crew members in the crew mess on deck 2-14. He had already talked to his senior officers and bridge staffers. Dawson had released enough crew from their cabins to fill the 2-14 mess, but the captain would have to give the same speech half a dozen times more to personally address the entire ship's crew.
“Can we trust Bowers? You told him he could either cooperate or you would kill him. Not much of a choice. What do we do if he just made nice, and now intends to lead the crew against us?” Enfield asked.
“I'll use the fire control valves to dump the compartment to space and start over with the first officer,” Dawson said. “If I have to, I'll vacuum the whole ship except for our people and call another ship here through Galactic Mail's central computer system. And Bowers knows the fire control system as well as I do.”
Fire in a mess hall was a danger to the whole ship. For that reason, mess halls had air-tight doors and fire control valves that could dump the atmosphere in any mess hall to space by means of a central pipe that ran the length of the cylinder through its mechanical spaces. Like sea water on an ocean-going ship, vacuum was inimical to fire, and there was plenty of it available.
“But I don't think that will be necessary,” Dawson continued. “Bowers is old enough to remember the Galactic Mail he joined as a teenager. I think he was honest with us about not being on board with the new regime.”
“Well, he seems to be doing well enough so far. I don't think we can let the crew have shore leave, though. It only takes one to spill the beans to the current leadership,” Turner said.
“Nope. How are they going to let them know? Through Galactic Mail? I'm blocking any news of what we're doing from management,” Dawson said.
“I thought Galactic Mail's mail system was inherently secure,” Morgan said. “That even Galactic Mail couldn't interfere with delivery of the mail.”
“That's true,” Dawson said. “But once it gets into the internal mail server at Galactic Mail headquarters, I can get at it. The mail will get there, but it won't display in their inbox when they access it. It's only a holding action, and they can figure it out if I block too many, but there hasn't been anything to block so far.”
“All right, so that's sealed off for the time being. The big question is, Now what? How do we proceed from here? Assuming Captain Bowers and his crew is on our side, what we have is this one ship.”
“Not quite. I've taken the liberty of beefing up our offensive capabilities,” Dawson said. “Computer, what is the current drone complement of Mnemosyne?”
“Two hundred hunting parties of ten drones each, two hundred fifty nuclear warhead drones, five hundred kinetic impact drones, and a dozen survey drones.”
“Twenty seven hundred drones?” Turner asked.
“I've been skimming the ready drone complement of Galactic Mail deployment centers,” Dawson said.
“That's enough to reduce a planet,” Enfield said.
“Well, it's enough we don't need to worry about anyone giving us any grief for the time being,” Dawson said.
“OK, but the question stands. What now?” Enfield asked.
“Well, I don't think we can just space to Doma and ask the current management for the keys to the building,” Turner said.
“Yeah, that probably wouldn't work very well. Why Doma, anyway?” Dawson asked.
“Because that's where Galactic Mail is headquartered,” Enfield said.
“Is it?” Dawson asked. “Isn't the headquarters of Galactic Mail wherever the Board says it is? Why go to Doma? That's where the current management is. Why confront the devil in his own lair?”
“Doma will be upset to lose the headquarters. They've supported the current management,” Turner said.
“Doma by this point is basically a company planet. It's completely in their pocket. That's a real good reason to occasionally move the headquarters around, by the way,” Dawson said.
“So where do we move it to?” Enfield asked.
“I was thinking one of the other bases. Computer, how many bases does Galactic Mail have right now?”
“Including Doma, Galactic Mail has fifty-seven division bases.”
“How many of those include research facilities?” Enfield asked.
“Including Doma, twelve of them include research facilities.”
“How many of them have shipbuilding and drone manufacturing capabilities?” Turner asked.
“Including Doma, twelve of them have shipbuilding and drone manufacturing capabilities.”
“Are those the same twelve?” Enfield asked.
“Yes. All twelve Galactic Mail regional bases have both manufacturing facilities and research facilities.”
“Computer, analyze,” Dawson said. “Of the bases with manufacturing and research facilities, make recommendations for a new headquarters location for Galactic Mail, considering the quality of the research facility and its staff, the capacity of its manufacturing facilities, and the likelihood of the senior management in place favoring a return to prior Galactic Mail policy with regard to internal system affairs. Equal weighting on parameters. Full analysis.”
“Problem formulated. Queued for transmission to Galactic Mail central computers on Doma.”
“Computer, expedite. Unscheduled drone authorized,” Dawson said.
“Drone dispatched.”
Dawson looked around the table.
“OK, so we should hear back within hours. I think we want to go wherever that is, to that regional base, tell the management we're the new leadership team, and then issue press releases announcing Galactic Mail's new leadership and new headquarters location.”
“What about Doma?” Enfield asked.
“What about it?” Dawson asked. “Doma continues to be a regional base for Galactic Mail. Operations will be unaffected. We can thank the prior Board and leadership for their service, and just act like everything's all normal and peachy.”
“They're not going to let it go at that.”
“Of course not. But we won't be the aggressors,” Dawson said.
“I like it,” Turner said. “Declare ourselves and let them come to us. Make them fight us on our home ground.”
“And we'll be ready for them,” Dawson said.
“Just to jump in for a second, I like this plan from a legal point of view,” Morgan said. “The legal basis for us moving on Doma in force is shaky. The legal basis for the new Board setting up a new headquarters is solid though, as is the legal basis for defending against attack. And any attack from Doma or anywhere else against the new headquarters is an interplanetary incursion, which justifies a response from Galactic Mail. So it's solid all the way around.”
“So we're decided that we take this to the Board?” Dawson asked.
She scanned the others and got nods all around.
“I know you're all wondering what's going on, so here it is in a nutshell.
“Galactic Mail has new management. Our founder, Jan Childers, built into the by-laws a mechanism for pulling Galactic Mail back from becoming a galactic government, by replacing the existing management if they went too far astray. That mechanism was triggered by Galactic Mail's recent attack on Wallachia. Whether or not that attack was a good thing is not the point. It was not in Galactic Mail's charter. It was not part of our mission. And it is a step on the road toward tyranny.
“Or so Jan Childers believed. I've just seen a previously unknown VR of her discussing this, and she made her position quite clear.
“So Jan Childers' safety mechanism was triggered, and Galactic Mail has new management. In terms of our responsibilities, to me they are clear. I personally verified the credentials of the new management with Galactic Mail's central computer systems. When I ask Galactic Mail on Doma who the Board is, who the CEO is, then I figure we can take that to the bank. Our oaths are to the organization, not to one group of leadership or another, and when the organization says this is the current leadership, well, there you are.
“As for what happened here on ship, Ship Security, without my authorization, tried to take the new CEO of Galactic Mail into custody. When they ignored her warning, and were about to resort to force to carry out this unlawful act, she killed them. She then locked all of you in your cabins, or ordered you to the crew mess, to remove you from the violence and save your lives. Ship Security persisted in its unlawful efforts to detain the new CEO and Board of Directors. They were unsuccessful, and all of them were killed.
“As for what we do now, it's simple. We do what we have always done. We follow orders from our lawful superiors. We obey lawful commands. We carry out our assigned duties. We uphold the charter and traditions of Galactic Mail.
“And with that, you are all released and ordered back to your normal duty schedules.
“Dismissed.”
The next morning, Dawson, Enfield, Turner, Morgan and Bowers met in the flag ready room.
The ship was up and operating normally again, with all ship's crew at their stations. Breakfast in the 4-14 dining hall had been wonderful. There is nothing quite like a meal aboard ship in the first-class dining room.
And the results of the analysis had come back from Doma.
“Computer. You have the results of the analysis I requested last evening?” Dawson asked.
“Yes, Ms. Dawson.”
“Report.”
“With the parameters you specified, the best candidates for being the new headquarters of Galactic Mail are Pulau, Kalnai, and Odla, in that order of preference.”
“How close are those candidates' scores to each other, and to the rest?”
“These three are nearly tied, Ms. Dawson, while the rest follow after a large gap. Together with Doma, they make up the large regional center category, followed by eight small regional centers.”
“OK, got it,” Dawson said. “Well, everybody, any input on any of these? How do we choose?”
“No clue,” Enfield said.
Turner and Morgan shook their heads as well.
“If I might put in a word,” Bowers said.
Dawson nodded, and he continued.
“The dozen Titan ships are spread four each among those three large regional centers. Mnemosyne and three of her sister ships are based out of Kalnai, and most of the crew is from planets in that region. I know the local regional manager who's in charge on Kalnai, and I think my executive officer served under the operations chief there at one time.”
“Where is Kalnai, geospatially?” Enfield asked.
“It's close to the population center of Galactic Mail's service area. It's a really big operation.”
“And the regional manager's politics?” Dawson asked.
“I haven't talked to her about it, but I think Kali Micheli has to be outraged. She is more old-school Galactic Mail than I am. I noted they didn't send the attack to Wallachia from Kalnai, but from Doma, even though Kalnai is closer.”
“Well, gentlemen. The Board signed off on the plan, and told us to pick which Galactic Mail base to use as the new headquarters. What say you?” Dawson asked.
Enfield looked at Turner and Morgan, and spoke for all three.
“Looks like Kalnai to me,” Enfield said.
“All right, Captain. You have your orders. We space for Kalnai when Mnemosyne is ready for departure,” Dawson said.
“We're restocked, Ma'am, and ready to go. I'll set departure for two hours. Call it 10:00 hours.”
A Quick Trip
The passengers were all strapped into the desk chairs in their cabins well before the maneuvering warning sounded in the crew spaces. Stewards saw to it everyone was properly strapped in and everyone had taken their anti-weightlessness-sickness pills.
Dawson was in her cabin with Morgan, but she was logged into the VR and present on the virtual bridge watching the preparations. She was in oversight mode on her flag-override codes, so they could not see her on the bridge, but she could see them.
Of course, Mnemosyne had a physical bridge, but it was more for emergency maneuvering if the VR system went down. The bridge-watch crew was also physically present in the physical bridge, strapped into their own chairs. But all the action was in the virtual bridge, within the VR system.
Dawson was watching for any sign of a double-cross. There were things Captain Bowers could do, such as kick Mnemosyne to maximum acceleration to try to hold the Board in place while he attempted to retake control of the ship. Dawson had taken a high-g pill just in case. She only needed to hang on long enough to shut down the attempt with her flag-override codes, and Mnemosyne was only capable of two g anyway, but prepa
red was better than not prepared.
But there was no double-cross. The Mnemosyne's bridge was a model of efficiency and professionalism as the ship's rotation was slowed and brought to a halt, the cylinders were folded, and the ship got under way at one-g toward the nearest point of its hyperspace-1 transition envelope.
After three days in orbit, Mnemosyne was finally headed out of Horizon space.
Her massive drone complement, kept informed of her movements by survey drones popping in and out of hyper, tagged along in hyperspace-1, unseen.
It was five hours at one g to the hyperspace-1 limit for Mnemosyne, so Captain Bowers secured from maneuvering and everyone was free to move around. After a couple of hours, they were served lunch in the 4-14 dining room.
After lunch, Dawson sent a message through the VR to Captain Bowers.
Dawson to Bowers: Captain, when we reach Kalnai, I want to hold in hyperspace while we drop a couple of survey drones into normal space to check that their operational tempo remains unchanged. Sooner or later the previous management of GM will understand something is up and put the word out. I want to make sure that hasn't happened yet before we drop out of hyper. It may change how we proceed. Is that possible?
Bowers to Dawson: Yes. Will comply.
Dawson to Bowers: Excellent. If operational status unchanged in your opinion, make standard approach to the planet. Standard orbit. Routine return to Kalnai. Else hold in hyper and notify me.
Bowers to Dawson: Understood.
Just before 15:00 hours, the porters returned to make sure all the passengers were strapped in for the hyperspace portion of the transit. Dawson once again logged into the bridge via the VR to watch the proceedings.
Galactic Mail: Revolution! (Childers Universe Book 3) Page 6
