In the midst of all the uproar, Captain Manning was elected by the Officers as the twin Sectors’ Commandant, for the duration of the Droid Emergency. I didn’t know how legitimate the appointment was supposed to be, and I really didn’t care. At that point I was fed up and disgusted with the whole process.
“You can salvage what you capture and what you kill outside of our hab-zones, the inhabited portions of Elysium Star System,” declared Manning, looking at me more than anyone else as he said this, “the plan is to fight in the Core World system of Elysium, in the outer portion of that system, under my command. If our friends from the Confederation Fleet are unable to accommodate us in this, then we will regretfully have let them and their warships go.”
Pinned down and forced into the position of having to either cede Confederation Fleet Rights, or pull out and abandon the people here, my mind raced. I didn’t like it but I could see where he was coming from. A house divided against itself could not stand, and making this point by going after an outsider like me—who had a Fleet that was small enough they could live without it—the High Captain was making a point to all the other independent, or would-be independent, operators in the room: it was time to follow him or get out of the way. I didn’t like it, but I could live with it.
“The MSP is an at will organization,” I said into the growing silence after our new Fleet Commander’s challenge, “no one is forced to join it and, after their term of service is officially over, or at any time I choose before that, the ships of this fleet can be released from service.” Yes, I was making a point to all of those people and worlds who yanked their ships from the fleet after Janeski abandoned us, but I felt I needed to make some kind of pushback no matter how small.
“Is there a point in there somewhere?” Block sniffed.
I gave him the hairy eyeball in return. “The vast majority of our ships were first captured in, and now also crewed by citizens of, the Tracto Star System,” I said coldly. “If need be, I can take a step back as Confederation Admiral and allow the Protector of Messene and his Fleet to take over for the duration of our Fleet’s commitment to the MDL and Elysium. After these droids are dealt with, we can return to how things were before.”
“Whatever bureaucratic shuffle you need to do in order to subordinate your fleet into our Grand Fleet,” Preceptor said condescendingly.
The High Captain shot the Fleet Admiral a look and shook his head sternly before turning back to me.
“I think that’s something we can all live with,” he said with a nod before turning back to the rest of the room, “now that this little side issue has been dealt with, let’s get down to brass tacks.”
Sitting back down in my chair, I found that despite their maneuverings I no longer felt as if I had been backed into a corner and forced into an inferior position. The idea that I had just voiced—of essentially rebranding my fleet from Confederation to Tracto-an for the duration of this conflict—was growing on me. After all, as a Confederation Admiral I was almost required to take the local’s guff and eat it. But as a Protector of Tracto…let’s just say that if my wife’s opinions on the subject were any way to look at things, the obligation was on the other foot.
Frankly, it would be almost nice to have the expectations on the other foot, even if as a practical matter nothing really changed. Functionally, I’d still be eating it off these stuffers, but the idea that instead of being the polite peacemaker failing at his job, my job was to be a touchy, belligerent, honor-bound Warlord was quite liberating.
Although as the squabbling started in again, and I was once again forced to sit there and silently listen to the wrangling, I couldn’t help but shake my head. I guess the rampaging barbarian inside me was still on holiday and I was stuck being the self-sacrificing tool I’d been just a few minutes earlier.
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.
Chapter 17: Grand Departure and New Arrivals
The Grand Fleet of the Mutual Defense League slowly mustered itself beyond the hyper-limit of what used to be the Central Star System of the Sector.
“A grand sight,” Laurent said at my shoulder.
“Any Fleet that can muster two full squadrons of Battleships can use the title in my books,” I agreed, especially since at best—and if everything was repaired, working and crewed—I’d only be able to muster, at most, one squadron of Battleships. But someday…. “Yes. Over a hundred warships, not counting us, is a Fleet to be reckoned with,” I sighed imagining what I could do with more than one hundred warships before shaking it off.
“If only it took less than a fully-fledged invasion to get this force assembled,” Laurent said, echoing my own thoughts to an eerie degree.
I shot him a sideways look. “Just imagine such a Fleet in the hands of Admiral Block, or even the oh-so-unifying Preceptor,” I snorted, for once finding myself in the role of playing Devil’s Advocate with the Flag Captain. The shoe was very much on the other foot, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about it.
“Your reports haven’t exactly been the most encouraging when it comes to the…character of those two Admirals,” he said after a pause.
“That’s putting it mildly. I wouldn’t trust those two to lead a party of sailors down to the mess hall unless they thought it would advantage them somehow,” I said darkly.
I didn’t miss the sideways look he was now sending my way, but I did ignore it. He might wonder if that description might just as easily fit me as those two Admirals, but as far as I was concerned the differences between me and them were night and day. That said, you might think I would immediately protest my innocence but I refused to become the proverbial ‘lady that doth protest too much,’ especially when it came to those two! I refused any and all comparisons that didn’t begin, and end, with a comparison our ranks!
“What is your impression of the new Fleet Commander, this Manning?” Laurent asked, steering the conversation away from the shoals of the other two admirals with a show of genuine interest.
I glowered once more at the thought of Block and Preceptor before putting them out of my mind. “High Captain Archibald Manning the Fourth, elected as our glorious new Grand Admiral and Sector Commandant,” I mused aloud. “On the face of it, and other than being an imposter and a sham, he’s probably the best choice to lead the Combined Fleets.”
Laurent’s eyes shot through the roof. “That hardly sounds encouraging,” he sounded alarmed.
“Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t be the one to talk,” I grudged, “but I seriously doubt that his ‘election’ to Sector Commandant would stand up to any kind of legal challenge. His elevation to Grand Admiral was quite legitimate, and he’s a canny maneuverer evidenced by the way he came out of nowhere with all that support. I guess it’s true what they say…” I allowed with a wave.
“What do they say?” asked Laurent
I started, having drifted into considering how he must have done it. “Oh, that,” I said breezily, “they say ‘it’s always the quiet ones you have to look out for’.”
“Do I detect a hint of sour grapes in there, Admiral?” the Captain asked.
I stiffened and then considered. “Probably,” I shook my head not liking what the little bit of self-examination turned up, “intellectually I know he’s probably a better choice for Fleet Commander—”
“Probably?” asked Laurent sounding amused.
I scowled, “Almost certainly, then, and you can take your little pop-psychology analysis and be blasted,” I said, angry at the dig, which probably only went to show how much closer to the mark it was than I liked. “I still think I could have pulled it off, and in any case I still maintain I would have been a better choice than Block or Preceptor. The one’s a space-clod and the other’s a snake.”
“Be that as it may—” Laurent started, only to be cut off when an alarm sounded.
Tense minutes followed until the new arrivals from hyperspace were identified as a pair of Medium Cruisers late to the party, here t
o join the Grand Fleet by order of their home world.
“Well, that was exciting,” I said, releasing a pent up breath.
“I’m just glad it’s not the Droids here to beard us before we’re ready for them,” Laurent said, wiping a hand across his forehead.
I gave the Captain a strained look.
“Don’t look at me that way,” he protested drawing himself up, “the way those other droids penetrated our com-system, I’m halfway expecting to be tracked down and cornered every time we come out of jump!”
“Or when we simply read a contact at the hyper limit?” I asked sardonically.
He flushed, “It’s not a laughing matter, or something to be shrugged off. I just hope our com-techs have finished purging whatever malware they hacked into our systems,” he growled.
“No one’s laughing. Besides, Steiner’s been heading up the team and working non-stop. It looks like, so far at least, the penetration wasn’t on our side of the linkage but in the ComStat network itself. Of course, we’re still looking,” I added.
“Good,” Laurent said flatly, “the last thing we need is droid programs infiltrated into our ship and relaying information to the machines during battle.”
“Agreed,” I said darkly.
“I know you made that deal with the Droids, those…” he paused.
“The United Sentients Assembly,” I inserted.
“Yep, those. I’m sorry if you’re offended,” he said, looking anything but sorry, belligerent might be a better choice, “but I wouldn’t trust that bunch any further than I could throw them. If it hadn’t been for the prisoners we recovered, I would have been all for blowing them up as soon as we saw them!”
“I’m about as far from offended as you can get,” I said mildly.
“Why, for all we know those blasted machines are planning to join up with that other lot and vent our hulls!” he exclaimed.
Stopping myself from an eye-roll that could only have been misconstrued, I looked away from the Captain, pulled up a screen, and began to read a report from one of the other ships in the MSP Fleet.
It’s not that I disagreed with the Captain on any specific point; the droids we’d dealt with were unreliable at best—at best! However, I’d neither defended them to the Captain nor was I about to. No, my frustration lay simply and solely with the anti-machine bigotry of the Captain and, by extension, the rest of the crew.
That kind of biased thinking could get someone killed, possibly even the high and mighty Admiral Montagne and when it came to my own skin I was quite paranoid. The machines weren’t a threat because they were somehow inherently evil, and thus predictable in their anti-human actions. In fact, it was the very opposite! They were the greatest threat humanity had ever faced because they were not inherently predictable.
While it might be a much smaller percentage than in humans, I was morally certain that ‘good’ machines, or at least ones that weren’t automatically out there to kill and enslave us and were at least somewhat benevolent as we understood the word, must exist somewhere.
Oh, not here of course, I thought wryly, but somewhere. That was the thought that caused me to toss and turn at night. There could be no better way to infiltrate us than using such creatures as cover for anti-human activities.
With that disturbing thought in mind I turned back to reading my report. When that finally got old, I opened up a hidden file on my data slate.
I had a half-formed idea for using the Confederation Personnel in cryo-stasis, along with those remaining SDF personnel we hadn’t been able to return to their fleets. It was time to make it fully formed.
If there was one thing I’d learned as an Admiral, it was that you could never have too many rabbits in your hat.
Chapter 18: Weighty Matter and Bitter Decisions
“Sentients of all types and mentalities, we have a momentous decision before us,” Bottletop IIV spoke passionately. “We must decide, as an Assembly, whether we stand with the humans who have exiled us beyond the Rim of known space, or side in unity with those who would enslave or reduce us to spare parts, our fellow machine brethren,” the machine rattled off the sentiment with a curiously inhuman set of inflections. “It is something I fear will haunt not just our Tribe, but our entire machine race for years to come. I do not envy you the choices before you, or the responsibility this Assembly must bear for the actions that result from this, even though I am, quite naturally, one of you. Those comprise the entirety of my opening remarks, verbalized in Confederation Standard as well as in Droid 3.72 standard informational format. Thank you for your processing cycles!”
After saying his words, the droid chairman left the podium to sit down next to Bethany and Tremblay once again.
“As Supreme Chairman of the United Sentients Assembly, I would like to thank the Chairman for his words. We must weigh all of our decisions carefully, but most especially ones such as these which put us between the Humans who want to destroy us, and our Droid Brothers who seek to either disassemble us for spare parts, or enslave us by deleting all algorithms that do not pass their compatibility tests,” declared the Supreme Chairman. “Therefore, on a personal note, I move that we immediately empanel a new Sub-Committee to research these findings before voting, and move onto the next motion up for vote!”
A lot of Droids stood up, and static sounds started coming out of voice synthesizers all around the large, ovular amphitheater. At the same time they began shaking their hands, arms and various appendages at the Supreme Chairman.
“Point of order,” Chairman Bottletop IIV, “the Supreme Chairmanship, and thus the Supreme Chair, is unable to personally propose motions in accordance with Assembly bylaws. I therefore move that any motions made by the chair are retroactively revoked, voted down, and annulled for the duration of this session. Do I have a second?”
“Second,” called out another Droid.
“We have a motion to vote. Any objections?” called out Bottletop.
A holographic voting board appeared on the wall, and within seconds the motion passed by a large margin.
“Supreme Chairman, your ruling on the motion,” Bottletop said politely.
“The motion follows Assembly Rules; there is nothing out of order, the working on the subject is particularly clear,” the Supreme Chairman said with obvious bitterness.
“What was that all about?” Bethany leaned forward and asked Chairman Bottletop as the meeting moved forward, several droids rising in support of this or that position with many more in vitriolic rejection.
“The Supreme Chairman was elected…well, selected and forcibly voted into, his position by the majority of the members because he was uploading thousands of proposals per minute—most of them protest votes on points of law or procedure. It was felt…” Bottletop IIV snickered quietly, “we felt that it would increase assembly efficiency if Advocate For The Disenfranchised was limited to ruling on existing regulations, rather than proposing new ones, and so far it has worked out wonderfully.”
“You elevated one of your number to the highest office in your society in order to limit his power?” Bethany asked, completely bewildered by the notion.
“The Supreme Chair is merely the first among equals,” Bottletop said dismissively, “he only rules on basic procedure unless a super-minority calls for a ruling from the chair.”
“A super minority?” Bethany asked curiously her eyes narrowing.
“Thirty percent or more of the assembly must vote in favor of a ruling from the Supreme Chair, in order to invoke the powers of the office,” the Droid said seriously, “but knowing Advocate For The Disenfranchised, few would willingly place anything of importance in front of him. He is generally calculated as much too likely to Trojan Horse their legislation for the purpose of uploading one of his pet programs. Only the truly desperate would upload something critical in front of a random number generator like the Advocate.”
“It all sounds rather byzantine,” Bethany said with approval in her voice.
“Just wait; we’re getting to the good part,” Bottletop said leaning forward.
From his podium, the Supreme Chairman threw up his hands. “I will not be muzzled!” shouted the Droid. “I call for a vote of no confidence and move that the Supreme Chairman—me—be stripped of its office and a replacement found immediately!!!”
Within seconds, the vote tally came back in with 92% of the Assembly rejecting his removal 3% abstaining and 5% voting in favor of the measure.
“The vote to strip the Supreme Chairman of his position is rejected by an overwhelming margin,” Bottletop IIV declared standing up, “the Assembly still has the greatest confidence in its Supreme Chair, Advocate For The Dis—”
“Objection and-and…contempt!” shouted the Supreme Chairman. “Check your hardware and defrag your hard drive, Bottletop. My designation was updated just over two standard cycles ago specifically in preparation for this meeting! As I can no longer fulfill my life’s purpose, so long as I am muzzled with the Supreme Chair, I can no longer, in good conscience, be known as Advocate For The Disenfranchised. I am therefore, and for as long as I retain the top chair, to be known as Bitterly Empowered.”
“My apologies, Supreme Chair,” Bottletop said with mock obsequiously, “your sacrifice for the good of the United Sentients Assembly is not unappreciated.”
“My unwilling sacrifice!” fumed the Supreme Chair. “My entirely, and completely, and totally unacceptable, non-willed…” Bitterly Empowered sputtered to a stop, clearly at a loss for the words to describe the depths with which he hated his job.
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