“I’m instating a new ship rule,” Erik told both women. “No nagging. Effective immediately.”
“You need to be ranked captain to do that,” said Trace. Erik gave her an unimpressed stare. Even in casual conversation, she was relentless, and always returned to the sore spot.
Ahead amidst the dock crowds, a screen alongside the wall umbilicals announced Berth 26. Some spacers stood on the ramp before their hatch, watching the Phoenix crew approach. One raised a hand in greeting, and Erik raised his in return.
“Eyes open,” Alomaim told his marines, who fanned out as they walked. Recently the paranoia had been well earned. Two spacers approached from the ramp, and Erik squinted, thinking one looked familiar.
“Phoenix ID says the one on the right is Captain Houli,” said Trace, matching face recognition on her visor uplink. “His last ship registry was Europa.”
“And the one on the left is my uncle,” said Erik as he finally recognised the face. And said to his mike, “Lis, get up here, it’s Uncle Calvin.”
Uncle Calvin was brown, slim and handsome, and spread his arms wide with a broad smile as he approached. Erik grinned back, and embraced him. “Didn’t expect to see you here!” he said with feeling.
“You look good, kid,” said Calvin, parting with a slap on Erik’s armoured shoulder.
“Cal, you’ll have heard of Major Trace Thakur?” And to Trace, “Calvin’s my mother’s little brother. He runs Debogande Inc’s legal wing, was a judge first for… what was it, twenty years?”
“Around that,” Calvin agreed, shaking Trace’s hand. “But I got tired of being impartial and came home to the family. A pleasure, Major.”
“We could use a good lawyer,” Trace suggested, and Calvin laughed.
Lisbeth interrupted with a shout and came running to hug her uncle hard. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”
“Your mother sent me on a company legal mission,” said Calvin, hugging her back. “Captain Houli here commands the fastest ship that DI has, and we got word from our sources that Phoenix was heading to Kazak. Great to see you kids well, just wonderful. The whole family was so worried.”
“So how did your sources hear we were coming here?” Erik asked warily.
“You’re really going to ask that?” Calvin replied. “I thought everyone knew by now.” Erik glanced at Trace. Trace actually grimaced, a rare expression for her. “Before we get into that, I’ve got something to show you.” He turned and beckoned back to the ship ramp. A spacer there signalled inside, and some people emerged. They wore spacer and marines uniforms, blue and black, and carried standard duffel bags like they were going somewhere.
Erik recognised one immediately. “That’s Jersey! That’s Lieutenant Jersey… where did…?” He grinned in astonishment, recognising several other faces as well. Lieutenant Regan Jersey was the pilot of Phoenix’s missing shuttle, PH-3. PH-3 had been on Homeworld when Trace had busted Erik out of Fleet custody. They hadn’t been able to use her to escape, opting for Lisbeth and the private AT-7 instead, lest Fleet or Commander Huang get wind of what they were attempting… and at that thought, his heart almost stopped. Was Commander Huang here as well?
But he couldn’t see her, as Jersey stopped before him with a grin and saluted. She was only a small woman, and was once Lieutenant Hausler’s rival for hottest shuttle pilot on Phoenix. Erik saluted back, and shook her hand hard, not knowing her quite well enough for a hug. “Lieutenant, how the hell?” Looking at the others gathering on the dock behind her.
“You left me behind, you bastard!” she said cheerfully, and those crew laughed. “I know why you did it, but still, some of us don’t take rejection well. A few of us who got left behind were scheming how to get back to Phoenix when some Debogande people suggested they might have a ship that could help.” She shrugged. “So we got on board. And we even picked up a few volunteers — figured you’d be a few hands short and came to help. Hoon… where’s Hoon?”
A black-clad marine came forward, scarred and weathered, and saluted Trace and Erik. “Master Sergeant Peter Hoon, UFS Walker, UFS Claymore, UFS Five Junctions. Thirty-three years active duty, six years retired, volunteering for service.”
Trace saluted back, smiling. “I’ve heard of you. Kresnik’s Feint, Horsehead System?”
Hoon smiled grimly. “That’s the one, Major. I’ve heard of you too.” Laughter from those behind. “Condolences on your Captain, he was a great man. What they did to him stank. I had several buddies who fought beside you and Phoenix in the past, never had the honour myself but they said you’d never steer a good marine wrong. Figured you might need some new grunts, so I and a few of the guys started rounding up others…” he gestured to those behind him. “Lots of grey hairs and old knees, but we still remember how it’s done.”
Trace’s smile grew broader. Behind her, Bravo Platoon were grinning with delight. “Can always use some more wise heads,” she said.
“We brought PH-3 back too,” Lieutenant Jersey added. “She’s grappled to Europa, rode her through jumps real easy.”
Erik blinked. “You did?” Wow. One large tactical disadvantage, solved just like that. In one stroke, he now had enough shuttles to deploy all of Phoenix’s marine company at one time, if needs be. “But Fleet had PH-3 in custody, surely? How did you get her back?”
“Got granted a favour,” Jersey said cautiously.
“A favour from who?”
* * *
Europa’s main corridor was not nearly as large as Phoenix’s, and Trace had to take care her Koshaim didn’t catch its muzzle on the ceiling. She followed Erik’s Uncle Calvin down the corridor, Erik between Lisbeth’s borrowed Bravo Third Squad guys behind, just in case. Lisbeth, Lieutenant Alomaim and the rest remained out on the dock, getting to know the new recruits, and hearing the tales of the long lost Phoenix crew.
Uncle Calvin took a left off the main corridor at C-Bulkhead, and led them into a recreation room of the kind Phoenix lacked — a few nice bolted-on chairs, a central holodisplay for games, even a small bar with a drinks fridge. Paying passengers demanded more luxuries than enlisted ones. Standing before the table, neat and perfect in his black marine dress uniform, stood a very fit man of approaching middle age. Brown skin, pronounced cheekbones, effortless poise. Trace stared.
“Major,” said Calvin Debogande with some caution. “I’m told you two are old friends.”
Lighter footsteps behind as Erik entered. Colonel Timothy Khola’s dark eyes flicked to him, deadly focused. “LC, get behind me,” Trace commanded, taking a step forward and across to interpose herself. Almost without realising it, her close-quarters automatic came to hand from her right thigh holster.
“Major, who…”
“Get and stay!” Erik silenced, and stayed. Trace’s eyes never left Khola’s. He appeared unarmed. Even in full armour, it only made Trace feel marginally safer.
Khola smiled. The expression never reached his eyes. “Svagata mitraharula, Trace bahini.” It was Nepali, today mostly lost, like so many of Earth’s once-common languages. The settlers of Sugauli had returned to it in part, as the natural language of a mountainous world whose primary inhabitants were Buddhist and Hindu, once the krim had been removed. Trace was not exactly fluent, but as Kulina one always knew the customs.
“You address me by my rank,” Trace instructed her old friend. “Or I swear I will kill you where you stand.”
Khola barely blinked. Beside them, both Debogandes stood very still. Lance Corporal Kamov attempted to move to Trace’s right for an angle, but Trace’s raised hand stopped him. Finally Khola nodded. “Major. To see you well is… unsurprising.”
It was praise, Trace knew. She also knew that given what Colonel Timothy Khola was, and had devoted the whole of his life to being, that his sole personal purpose for being here was to see her dead. But if that was his purpose, this was an odd way to go about it. “State your business.”
Khola took a long, reluctant breath. “I am here under the dir
ect orders of ranking Fleet Command.”
“And who would that be, these days?”
Khola did not miss a beat. “Major, your actions deserve death, and as Kulina I am honour-bound to kill you. But the Kulina’s primary honour is in the service of Fleet, and Fleet have commanded me specifically otherwise in this instance.”
Trace smiled. “I can see it eating you. What have they ordered you to tell me?”
“Not you.” Khola nodded at Erik. “Him.”
“And his name,” Trace said with measured patience, “is Lieutenant Commander Debogande.” Kulina were disciplined and professional, and that meant always following protocol in formal settings. Kulina only did otherwise to people for whom their contempt was so great, killing would likely follow. Trace knew very well what formal disrespect from the Colonel meant, directed at her or her commander, and she would not allow it.
“It’s alright Major,” said Erik, and stepped to one side from behind her. Trace prepared her automatic for quick fire, knowing that Khola would read her posture. If he had a hidden weapon anywhere on his person, he only needed a split second to kill any of them. “I’ll hear what the Colonel has come all this way to tell me.”
“Fleet offers you pardon,” Khola told him. For all his discipline, Trace could see the words caused him pain. “The leadership has been split on the Phoenix question. The leaders saw the difficulties that their mistakes in handling the Phoenix question caused. The captains would not unite under that leadership, so the leadership decided to remove themselves from the equation.”
Erik frowned. “Remove themselves?”
“Fleet Admiral Anjo has committed suicide. He left a note, accepting all responsibility for the fallout from his actions, and admitting to ordering the unlawful killing of Captain Marinol Pantillo.” Trace heard Erik’s sharp intake of breath at her side. “He personally requested clemency for all those involved, including the crew of Phoenix and those Fleet personnel whom he ordered to kill your Captain. I do not know the fate of Fleet Admiral Ishmael and Supreme Commander Chankow, though it is believed that they may have entered into a pact to end their lives together if this point was reached. Whatever their mistakes, they are all intensely brave and patriotic men, and will receive full military honours.”
Erik said nothing, utterly stunned. Trace felt blank. She’d imagined this resolution, had fought for it — punishment for those who had murdered her Captain, and justice for him and all the crew of Phoenix, alive and dead. Yet this felt like no resolution at all. It was stunningly obvious to her what had happened, knowing the man before her, and seeing how it all fit together. And this justice tasted like ashes in her mouth.
“You killed him,” Trace pronounced very clearly, as though to dispel her own lingering disbelief. “Fleet Admiral Anjo. Didn’t you.” Khola just looked at her. “You don’t know what happened to Chankow and Ishmael because you’ve come from Homeworld directly. This ship comes from Homeworld, as does Calvin Debogande. Chankow was in Heuron, and Ishmael in New France, it’s not a straight line from Homeworld to here. You think they’re dead because Guidance Council ordered them killed, otherwise you’d have no way of knowing.”
“Major,” Erik said in disbelief, “the Guidance Council’s just a ghost ship tale…”
“It’s absolutely real,” Trace corrected him. “The Captain told me. Admiral Anjo was an intensely selfish man of no personal courage whatsoever. He’s as likely to kill himself as I am to start drinking. If Guidance Council wanted it done, they would have turned to their most trusted operative on Homeworld. Fleet Academy’s on Homeworld. You’re on Homeworld.” To Khola. “You stuffed that gun in his mouth personally, didn’t you. And pulled the trigger to end the Fleet Admiral’s screams.” Khola’s stare gave her nothing. That alone let her know she was right. “You couldn’t just let them retire because they knew too much, and had such big egos they wouldn’t go quietly, and wouldn’t stay quiet once deposed. Who replaces them now? Some spineless wet rag who’ll bend whichever way the Council blows?”
“Fleet Command has offered you full pardon,” Khola repeated blankly. “I have been instructed to give you one hundred standard hours to decide whether to accept it or not. It comes with conditions.”
“Wait wait wait,” said Erik, with more skepticism than Trace had feared. If ever there was a time to be skeptical, it was now, with Fleet assassinating the politically inconvenient left and right. “Fleet Command has authority to grant us a full pardon, but you don’t know who occupies the top ranks of Fleet Command at present? How can I accept the authority of Fleet Command when you can’t tell me who they are?”
“The constitutional authority resided, at the time I was given my orders, in the hands of Rear Admiral Bedi,” said Khola. “I have those orders in writing, with signatures, and your Uncle has seen them.”
“It looks okay to me, Erik,” Calvin said cautiously. “I reviewed the books as soon as I saw it, of course. It… it looks good. Erik, you won’t be defenceless once you come home, without Phoenix. The family is with you. Your mother strongly advises you accept this offer, as do I.”
A pause as Erik thought about it. “What are the conditions?” he asked finally.
“That you abandon the Worlder cause,” Khola said simply. “That you re-swear your oaths to Fleet, that you follow all orders from that point on and cease this politicking for the Worlders. Phoenix will be allowed to remain together as a crew. I’ve allowed the rest of your crew to reunite with you out here as a token of Fleet’s good will. The ship crew will not be broken up, and no hidden or surreptitious punishment will be handed out after the fact.
“And finally, that none of Phoenix’s crew, following retirement in the years ahead, will engage in politics on the behalf of the Worlder cause, or pursue any course that could be detrimental to Fleet, and the human cause. Should Phoenix fail to accept this offer within one hundred standard hours, Phoenix and all her crew shall be declared once more renegade, and an enemy to the human cause. All suitable actions against her shall then resume.”
13
Joma Station’s transit line ran around the upper side of the station rim. The enormous rim supports moved slowly past the windows now, massive alloy steel beams, curving slowly about the station wheel. From them extended a huge latticework of additional supports, becoming impenetrable chunks of new station in parts, all crawling with robotic beam constructors and welders, like enormous stick insects, showering orange sparks from their multiple joining arms. Suited workers moved amongst them like ants, walking on atop the beams with nothing but an endless drop into empty space if they fell.
Beyond the maze of ongoing construction, the starfield turned as the station spun, currently in daylight from the distant star. Rhea loomed near, bright orange with brilliant blue rings. Why they were that colour, Erik hadn’t taken the time to learn.
“Fleet are here,” he said to Kaspowitz. “I can smell it. There’s no way they sent Colonel Khola into an unprepared battlespace. They’re watching us.”
Kaspowitz looked grim. “You think they’ve got spies on station?”
Erik nodded. “They already paid one bunch of people to ambush us on the way here, they can pay others to watch us now.”
“We don’t know they did that,” Second Lieutenant Dufresne corrected. Erik had invited her to join them, figuring that one of the two reserve pilots should be getting some experience in the off-ship side of command. Lieutenant Alomaim and Bravo First Squad provided security, filling the entire first car of the transit train, as wary locals kept their distance. “Or at least, if it was Fleet, likely it was Supreme Commander Chankow. Who’s not there anymore.”
Erik considered her. “Does that make you feel safer, Second Lieutenant?”
Slim and pale, Dufresne looked uncomfortable in her bodyarmour. Erik didn’t think she’d worn it much before — junior pilots rarely got station duty outside of sitting in the accommodation block. “It’s not a question of feeling safe, sir. But they’ve giv
en us a pardon.” Erik glanced at Kaspowitz. Kaspowitz made a wry grimace. Dufresne looked back and forth between them. “We are going to accept the pardon, aren’t we sir?”
“Out of curiosity,” Erik asked her, “how bad would Fleet’s behaviour have to get before you decided to call them on it?”
Dufresne frowned. “Sir?”
“They just killed their own commanders. For becoming inconvenient. Before that, they killed Captain Pantillo, and tried to kill us.”
Dufresne shook her head. “Supreme Commander Chankow and Fleet Admiral Anjo did that. And Ishmael, the big three.”
“You think their replacements will be better?”
“Colonel Khola says they give their word, sir.”
“They already gave their word, Second Lieutenant. It’s right there in the oath, loyalty and devotion to our uniformed brothers and sisters. But we’ve seen that for the High Command, Fleet oaths can become optional at any moment.”
“Sir, can you blame them?” There was anger in Dufresne’s voice, followed by the uncertainty of a young officer who wondered if she’d just overstepped.
“Go on,” Erik said calmly.
“Sir, Earth was destroyed. Ninety-nine percent of us were killed, nine-point-nine billion men, women and children. Humanity nearly ended. Never again, sir. My family raised me with those numbers drummed into my head. Never again. It’s a dangerous universe, and we have to do whatever it takes. No one likes war, no one likes killing, everyone would love to do the right and proper thing all the time if they could, I’m sure. But we don’t live in that kind of universe.”
Erik nodded slowly. It was a very good answer, he could not deny it. “It was a very long time ago. We number nearly five hundred billion now. Does one event a thousand years ago justify everything we might do out here?”
“Sir,” Dufresne said stubbornly. “If you don’t think it could happen again, why did you join up?”
Erik nodded slowly. It was another very good answer. And a very good question that he wasn’t sure he had a reply to. The transit train slowed as they approached a completed station section, then burrowed into a steel tunnel. Then halted, as the airlock doors behind closed and the tunnel about them was flooded with air. Ahead the inner doors opened, and the magnetic train accelerated once more, regretfully without the magnificent view.
Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) Page 16
