by David Weber
Unfortunately, Vice Admiral Dubroskaya’s effort in that direction seemed not to have worked out very well. So now he was the one left holding the shit-end of the stick, although why it had to be a commissioned officer out here wasn’t quite clear to him. If he’d had the option, he would have delegated it right on down the chain of command, but the order had been too specific to work around and pass it on to someone else. Besides, if these fanatics were really likely to push it, his neck probably wouldn’t be any safer elsewhere, in the end.
Maybe the Major’s right, though. I sure hope to hell he is, anyway! And—
His thoughts broke off as the lift shaft door opened and an extraordinarily broad lieutenant in an armored skinsuit stepped out of it. A flechette gun which looked almost like a toy in his massive grip pointed unthreateningly at the deck, but the dark eyes behind his helmet’s armorplast bubble didn’t look especially friendly.
Another Manticoran followed him, and Kristoffersen was careful to keep his hand away from the holstered pulser at his side as another dozen Manties spread out from the lift, behind the first two. No one blustered or threatened, but they were all well armed, and they spread out smoothly to establish a perimeter around the lift banks. One of them said something into his helmet microphone, and a moment later the second set of lift doors opened to admit another dozen Manties who fanned out just as quickly and efficiently as they had. In less than three minutes, the boarders had set up an all-round defensive position, and no one seemed to have the least interest in Kristoffersen. They were too busy keeping their eyes—and attention—on their zones of responsibility, and his heart sank at the evidence of their obviously well trained competence.
“I’m Lieutenant Abigail Hearns,” the second Manty out of the first lift car said over her skinsuit’s external speaker. “And you are?”
Her brisk voice wasn’t overtly threatening, but it was that of someone who clearly had better things to waste time on than deference to Solarian self-importance. Kristoffersen felt a quick, fresh flash of anger at that almost unconscious dismissal, but he warned himself to tamp it down.
“Captain Jørn Kristoffersen, Solarian Gendarmerie,” he replied curtly.
“Well, Captain Kristoffersen, I assume you’re aware of the reason for our visit. Captain Zavala’s instructed me to present his compliments to the senior Gendarmerie officer and request the immediate repatriation of the Manticoran civilians illegally detained here aboard Shona Station.”
“I’m afraid the personnel to whom you refer are in a legally declared state of medical quarantine, ordered by System Governor Dueñas on the advice of his medical staff,” Kristoffersen replied. “Major Pole regrets to inform Captain Zavala that without specific instructions from the Governor terminating the quarantine, it’s impossible for him to release any of the personnel covered by it.”
He knew the response had come out sounding stilted and rehearsed, but he didn’t really care. Which wasn’t to say he felt especially cheerful about finding himself all alone in a compartment with the better part of two dozen armed Manties while he delivered it.
Make that three dozen, he amended sourly as the first lift car opened again with a second load of boarders.
“That’s unacceptable, Captain.” For someone with such a naturally pleasant contralto voice, Lieutenant Hearns could sound remarkably icy, Kristoffersen noted. “I think Major Pole had better reconsider his position.”
“Major Pole will take your advice under consideration, Lieutenant. I’m sure he’ll give it all the weight to which it’s entitled.”
Kristoffersen smiled unpleasantly as he delivered that sentence. Despite the anxiety percolating through his system it felt good to put this neobarb in her place, but—
“That wasn’t ‘advice,’ Captain,” Hearns replied. “It was a warning.”
“A warning, Lieutenant?” A sharper edge of anger crackled in Kristoffersen’s tone as the Manty’s insolence registered.
“Neither Captain Zavala nor I are prepared to put up with any more Solarian obstruction, Captain Kristoffersen.” Blue-gray eyes bored into him from the other side of her helmet’s armorplast. “Personally, I think Governor Dueñas has already managed to get enough people killed for one day. I’d hope Major Pole isn’t prepared to add to the total.”
“Are you threatening the Solarian Gendarmerie?” Kristoffersen demanded, and his face darkened with anger as Hearns rolled her eyes in exasperation.
“Captain, we just blew four Solarian Navy battlecruisers out of space,” she said with the patience of someone addressing a particularly slow-witted child. “In case you can’t do the math, there were over two thousand SLN personnel several hundred real honest-to-gosh Marines aboard each of them, and I’ll be surprised if half of them survived. Precisely what part of that suggests that we should be frightened of gendarmes?”
Kristoffersen’s face went from dark with anger to pale with fury under the lash of her scathing contempt and his hand twitched towards his pulser. It was only a tiny movement—an instinctive twitch, no more—but the muzzle of the flechette gun which had led the way out of the lift rose from the deck to about knee level, and he froze instantly. The thought of having both legs amputated by a single squeeze of the flechette gun’s trigger was not an appealing one.
“I’d advise you to start being afraid of the Gendarmerie, Lieutenant,” he bit out instead, trying to keep his eyes on her face and away from that muzzle. “However full of yourselves you may feel right this instant, the League’s not going to be amused by what you people have already done here. Compounding it by threatening or attacking Solarian Gendarmes is only going to make things worse.”
“You need to work up a better grade of threat, Captain Kristoffersen,” Hearns replied. “Get a little more sneer into your delivery…maybe grow a mustache so you can twirl it properly…I don’t know, something. In the meantime, however, I think you should understand that we’re not especially impressed by the Gendarmerie, or the Solarian League, or Major Pole—or you—and save us all some trouble. We’re here for our nationals who have been illegally detained in this star system; we’re going to take them with us when we leave; and we’re going to do whatever it takes to accomplish that objective. I’d advise you to inform Major Pole that we don’t care about his ‘medical quarantine’ any more than we care about Governor Dueñas’ threats. If he isn’t prepared to release our people to us immediately, we can—and will—reclaim them by force. And just to be perfectly clear for the official record, ‘by force’ most definitely does include the use of lethal force.”
“You think you can just come aboard this station and threaten Solarians? Just who the hell do you people think you are?!”
“People who’re sick and tired of Solarians who think they can do anything they want to anyone they want to do it to and never get called to account,” Hearns replied coldly. “Of course, that’s only my personal view. I think it’ll probably do to be going on with, though. Now, are you going to pass my message to Major Pole? Or should I assume the time to begin reclaiming our people by force has already arrived?”
Kristoffersen was rigid with rage, but he was also acutely aware of his isolation. He wished now that he’d argued in favor of bringing at least a squad of his own people along, yet underneath the surface of that wish he suspected it was just as well he hadn’t. By now, this lunatic’s attitude would have pushed at least one of his troopers into a violent response and they’d already be knee-deep in bodies…including, quite probably, his own.
“I’ll pass your ‘message’ along, Lieutenant,” he grated. “I can already tell you what the answer will be, though.”
“Really?” Hearns said, regarding him coldly.
“Oh, yes.” He showed her his teeth. “‘Fuck off’ probably sums it up pretty well. In more official language, you understand.”
The Manty with the flechette gun tilted his head. His expression never even flickered, but Kristoffersen felt a sudden cold stab of terror as something s
tirred like Leviathan down in the hearts of those dark eyes. Hearns only reached out and touched her subordinate on the shoulder.
“Solarian command of Standard English never ceases to amaze and impress me,” she said, never looking away from Kristoffersen. “All of you bring such eloquence and poetry to our common tongue. Assuming, however, that you’ve captured the gist of Major Pole’s response accurately, I suppose we’ll simply have to come and get our people.”
“And just how do you propose to do that?” Kristoffersen snapped. “You may have a damned fleet sitting out there, for all I know. But you aren’t out there, and neither are the assholes sitting in the brig. You’re inside, with us, Lieutenant, and you really don’t want to fuck with the Gendarmerie on our own ground. Not unless you’ve got a hell of a lot more powered armor and heavy weapons than I see! You want to try fighting your way into this section, you go right ahead, because there’re going to be a hell of a lot of dead Manties before you get into it! And it sure would be a pity if the brig should be accidentally depressurized as a consequence of your decision to attack the Gendarmerie for refusing to release legally quarantined personnel.”
His eyes glittered as he delivered the none-too-veiled threat, and Hearns’ expression turned colder than ever.
“Why am I not surprised?” She shook her head. “Let me explain something to you, Captain. It already occurred to us that you noble and courageous gendarmes might threaten to kill our civilians. I mean, we are talking about the Solarian Gendarmerie, those champions of truth, justice, and the Solarian way. Tester knows you’ve shown the rest of us poor, benighted neobarbs the high road to civilization often enough! Trust me, we’ve all been deeply impressed by your intervention battalions’ willingness to terrorize anyone who gets in your way…as long as they’re not in a position to shoot back.” Her cold contempt sent a boil of pure fury sweeping through Kristoffersen, but she only continued in that same scornful tone. “We, however, are in a position to shoot back, and if any of the civilian spacers in your custody are harmed in any way, we will hold you—meaning, in case you were wondering, you personally, Major Pole, and all of your personnel collectively—responsible for it. And for your information, the illegal detention of our civilians constitutes kidnapping and unlawful constraint under interstellar law. Which can be—and will be—construed as an act of piracy. And pirates, as you may be aware, are liable to summary execution.”
Kristoffersen stared at her in sheer disbelief.
“So now you’re threatening to try us as pirates?” he demanded.
“No, Captain. We’re warning you that if any of our people are harmed, we’ll execute you as pirates,” she said flatly.
Despite himself, her level tone sent an icicle through Jorn Kristoffersen. No one had ever threatened to execute Solarian Gendarmes! But as he looked into those cold, blue eyes and heard the unflinching certitude in that voice, he felt a terrifying suspicion that she meant it.
“Captain, I think you’d better go tell Major Pole what the situation is before you dig this hole any deeper for all of you,” Hearns told him with a curled lip. “Inform him that he has fifteen minutes to agree to release our personnel. After that time, we’ll come get them. And be sure you tell him what will happen if any of our people are hurt along the way. I wouldn’t want him to wonder why he’s being kicked out an airlock without a skinsuit.”
She turned her back without another word, and the Manty with the flechette gun twitched his head in the direction of the corridor to Victor Seven. Kristoffersen felt himself hovering on the brink of saying something else—or possibly of physically attacking Hearns, as suicidal as that would undoubtedly be. But sanity overpowered fury, and he turned and stalked down the corridor.
* * *
“Tell me, My Lady,” Mateo Gutierrez said over his private link as the Solarian stormed away, “do you think there was anything less diplomatic you could’ve said to him?”
“I certainly hope not,” Abigail replied. She turned her head, glancing back over her shoulder as Kristoffersen disappeared down the corridor, then returned her attention to Gutierrez. “I tried not to miss any of his buttons, anyway.”
“Oh, I’d say you got most of them,” Gutierrez said judiciously. “I thought twice he was going to go ahead and go for his gun, anyway.”
“In which case he’d be dead…and the universe would be a better place.”
Gutierrez twitched as he heard the cold, bitter, genuine loathing in her voice. Hatred was alien to Abigail Hearns, as he knew far better than most, but she was a Grayson. Graysons met the Test in their own lives. They did their jobs, and they honored their responsibilities, and a thousand years surviving on the planet which tried to kill them every single day gave them a sort of implacability which could be frightening to behold. It wasn’t like the fanaticism of the Faithful on their more hospitable and welcoming planet of exile, but it was something a San Martino like Gutierrez—or perhaps a Gryphon Highlander—could understand. Whether even they could have matched it was another question, of course, but Mateo Gutierrez had realized long ago why the mountain clansman in his own genes had responded so powerfully to the Grayson granite inside Abigail Hearns and her people.
“Well,” he went on in that same judicious tone, letting none of that moment of awareness show in voice or expression, “I’d say that if the object was to piss them off, you’ve probably succeeded.”
“Good,” Abigail said coldly. But then she gave herself a little shake and smiled at him.
“Good,” she repeated more naturally. “Because that means they’ll be looking our way, doesn’t it? And that being the case, perhaps you’d be good enough to organize the troops, Lieutenant Gutierrez?”
“Of course, My Lady.”
Chapter Sixteen
“—want him to wonder why he’s being kicked out an airlock without a skinsuit.”
Anger smoked through Major John Pole like sea smoke as he listened to the playback of Kristoffersen’s conversation with the Manty lieutenant. Through an oversight (which Pole planned to correct as soon as this current business was resolved), he had no access to the surveillance systems outside Victor Seven when the Shona Station went to emergency com conditions, which meant he’d been unable to watch or listen to Kristoffersen’s conversation with the Manties until the captain had returned with his recording of the entire incident.
“Oversight’ my ass! Pole thought furiously now, remembering that bitch MacWilliams’ expression as she “apologized” so profusely for her “inability” to tap him into her systems. It was a purely technical problem, she’d assured him, and one Commander MacVey’s tech people would rectify the instant the current emergency let them stand down from their damage control duties.
Pole felt his teeth grate together in memory, yet there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. Besides, he had other things to be worrying about.
“She’s fucking crazy, Sir!” Kristoffersen said harshly. “She wanted me to go for my pulser and give that big son-of-a-bitch an excuse to blow me away!”
Pole’s grunt of agreement might have contained a modicum of sympathy for his subordinate’s frayed nerves, although, if pressed, he would have had to admit the universe would have survived quite handily if the Manties had taken Kristoffersen out. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean the captain’s estimate of this Hearns’ sanity was in error.
“Excuse me, Sir,” Captain Leonie Ascher, Charlie Company’s CO said respectfully, “but shouldn’t we consider the possibility that these people mean what they’re saying?”
“What? That they’ll come in here after us? Actually launch some kind of assault on a facility whose security is guaranteed by the Solarian Gendarmerie?”
Pole glared at her, and she shrugged ever so slightly.
“Sir, don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying we should simply roll over for the first neobarb to start throwing his or her weight around. But she had a point; this Zavala has already taken out four battlecruisers. It may be tha
t he’s out of control, as well as out of his mind—that he’s way outside what his superiors expected when they gave him his orders. All that could be true. Hell, it probably is true! But he’s still committed an outright act of war already, and I think we have to seriously consider the possibility that he’ll keep right on going. Let’s face it, Sir—at this point he’s got to get his spacers back.”
“You’re saying he’s painted himself so far into a corner he doesn’t have any choice but to keep going? He’s got to get what he came for if he’s going to have a prayer of covering his ass when his superiors find out he’s created this kind of incident with the League?”
“Something like that, Sir.” Ascher nodded.
Pole considered what she’d said. With Captain Myers and Captain Truchinski off commanding detachments elsewhere, she and Kristoffersen were the only company commanders currently aboard Shona Station. Although Ascher was junior to Kristoffersen and two of her company’s platoons were off-station at the moment, she was far and away the more valuable asset. She’d always been smarter—a lot smarter, actually—than the other captain, which was why Pole had sent Kristoffersen out to meet the Manties. If they really were as out of control as the destruction of Dubroskaya’s warships suggested, and if something went wrong and he had to lose one of them, he’d preferred for it to be Kristoffersen. All of which suggested he really should consider the possibility that Ascher had a point…and probably a damned good one.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Governor Dueñas had given him his orders in person in a com conversation he’d carefully recorded as part of the official record, and that left Pole very little wiggle room. If he surrendered the interned Manties, he’d be disobeying a direct order from his legal superior. The Gendarmerie would be furious enough with him for yielding to some neobarb navy’s threats, however hopeless his situation, given the disastrous precedent that would set. If he not only rolled over but did so in defiance of direct orders not to, he’d simply hand the inevitable board of inquiry—and the court-martial which would no doubt follow—an even bigger hammer with which to reduce him and his career to very tiny, well pulverized pieces. And he could be damned sure Dueñas would do his level best (and use every favor he was owed) to blame the disaster here in Saltash on anyone except himself.
