Commander

by Richard F. Weyand

  “Sorry about that, Senior Chief. I do need to talk to some people who know about the Navy’s shift toward remotely crewed vessels, though, and you’re one of a small group of people who already know. Otherwise it’s being pretty closely held.”

  “Yeah, cause the guy who dreamed this up don’t want anybody else to know about it.”

  “You don’t agree with the direction, Senior Chief.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  The big, gruff, forty-something senior chief looked at the lanky twenty-something engineer. Would he even get it?

  “Let me tell you a story, Mr. Denny. Must be about twenty years ago now. We had taken some damage in our first fracas with some light cruisers out on the border with Nederling. Normally, against a battleship like us, it woulda been no contest, but we had debris blocking the breech on the gun, so we couldn’t fight the ship, all we could do is sit there and defend ourselves with the point defense – and sooner or later they’re going to get one through – or abandon an Imperial system to these bastards.

  “One of the guys suited up and went out there with a couple satchel charges to see if he could clear the debris. Bob Harper. He was a Bosun First. That’s a Boatswain’s Mate First Class.

  “So he placed the first charge and backed off around the corner and set it off. Nothin’ budged. Out there in vacuum, to get any real effect, you usually gotta tamp the charge to get anything to move. In atmosphere it’s different. Bob thought the way the debris was up against the breech like that, it would be sorta self-tamping. No go.

  “So he placed his second satchel charge. Meanwhile, the Nederlingers are comin’ back around on us. Four light cruisers, and us a battleship, and we can’t touch ‘em. Bob knew all this – knew there was no time to get a welding team out there – so, after he placed the charge, he jammed himself up around the charge and tied himself in place with his safety line. He radioed in, ‘Tell my wife I love her,’ and set that thing off.”

  “Fuck,” Denny said with emphasis.

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Did that clear the breech?”

  “Yeah, or I might not be here to tell you the story. Buncha Nederlingers never got a chance to tell it. We let ‘em have it when they come back around.”

  Willet was lost in his memories for several seconds, then came back to the here and now.

  “Sorry, Mr. Denny. That was all a long time ago. I still think about him every day, though.”

  “No problem, Senior Chief. I understand. So your issue with the remotely crewed vessel plan is there’s no way to fix anything.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell. Things wear out, they malfunction, they break, they take damage in battle. No faulting you guys, you do the best you can when you design the shit. But we live in the real world, Mr. Denny. You send a whole buncha ships out there with remote crews, and when they break, all we can do is sit there in VR and say, ‘Oh, well.’”

  Willet shrugged massively.

  “I bet in a year, half o’ those ships aren’t combat-capable. At least.”

  “That’s very interesting to me, Senior Chief, because we’re aware of the issue, and we’ve been playing around with a possible solution.”

  “You have?”

  “Yeah. If we can have remotely crewed vessels, Senior Chief, why can’t we have remotely crewed repair bots?”

  “Robots won’t work, Mr. Denny. It’s been tried. You can’t anticipate every scenario.”

  “Not autonomous robots, Senior Chief. Remotely crewed repair bots. Think of it more like a camera and a pair of hands, but it’s being run by a crewmember in VR.”

  “It’s gotta be able to crawl around on the ship.”

  “OK.”

  “And it’s gotta have lots of different tools, and be able to use ‘em.”

  “OK.”

  “And it’s gotta have lights and like a zoom lens or something, so we can look at stuff close up and figure out what’s going on.”

  “OK. What else?”

  “Oh, a buncha shit. Spare parts, individually and at the module level. Welding capability, including cutting. Soldering capability. Micro-manipulators. Some demo. It goes on and on, Mr. Denny.”

  “You make me a list, Senior Chief. You put in there everything you want. You make me that list, and I’ll put it in the system. Then I’m gonna go sell that system to the Navy, and have them put it on every damn ship they have.

  “Whadda ya say, Senior Chief? We got a deal?”

  Willet stood up and reached across the table. Denny stood and shook his hand. Denny’s slender hand seemed to disappear in the big senior chief’s grip.

  “Yeah, Mr. Denny. We got a deal.”

  An Unexpected Visit

  King Michael VI of Estvia was surprised to receive a meeting request from the Ambassador to Estvia from the Democracy of Planets. Actually, his foreign minister, Keith Adams, received it, but it was a request to meet with the king, privately. King Michael had met the DP ambassador before, but never for a private meeting. There were several other star nations between the DP and Estvia, and they didn’t have much interaction on foreign policy.

  Still, the neighboring Sintaran Empire and the more distant Democracy of Planets were the two four-hundred-pound gorillas in human-settled space. It paid to keep one’s ear to the ground in terms of what either might be up to.

  The Honorable Frederick Cloverdale, Ambassador to Estvia for the Democracy of Planets, looked out the windows as the ground car approached the castle of the king of Estvia. It was built in the instantly recognizable style of five hundred years before, a sprawling reinforced epoxy-crete behemoth with sloped walls. It looked like it had been designed to withstand a nearby nuclear blast, mostly because it had been.

  It was a reminder of just how long the throne of Estvia had been held by the House of Roberts. A succession of able rulers had managed to stay out of the worst of the long chain of wars that had plagued the volume of space that had ultimately been consolidated into the Sintaran Empire.

  The current king was perhaps not as capable as his distant relatives, but he was cunning. He would have to be handled carefully. The DP had decided to start with Estvia, however, because the king definitely had a bone to pick with Sintar over the way the new emperor had dealt with the Wollaston insurgency. In addition to destroying Savannah, the capital city of the continent of Aryssia on Wollaston – the center of the Estvian-supported insurgency – the Emperor of Sintar had also destroyed the freight transfer station on Galveston, an Estvian planet near the frontier with Sintar. Millions had died.

  Cloverdale was hoping to leverage the enmity between the two into something he could build on.

  When Cloverdale got out of the car at the palace entrance, he was met by the foreign minister and the prime minister. Were he a visiting head of state, he would likely have been met by the king. As ambassador, the foreign minister was the correct receiving party, but, in deference to the DP’s prominence and importance in human affairs, the prime minister also received him. Cloverdale approved.

  “Welcome, Mr. Ambassador,” Prime Minister William Whitcombe said. “and of course you know Foreign Minister Adams.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister. And it’s good to see you again, Minister Adams.”

  There were handshakes all around, and then the Estvian cabinet ministers led Cloverdale into the palace.

  They didn’t go very far down the main floor hallway, as the king was using one of the front receiving rooms for this morning’s small meeting. A liveried man opened the door and all three passed inside, Cloverdale first as Whitcombe waved him by. King Michael came toward them as they entered.

  “Mr. Ambassador, how nice to see you.”

  “The honor is all mine, Your Highness.”

  The men shook hands, and then King Michael waved Cloverdale forward to a seating arrangement. As he passed, the king nodded to Whitcombe and Adams, who nodded and withdrew.

  “The staff
set out coffee and some mid-afternoon cookies for us, Mr. Ambassador. Please feel free.”

  King Michael sat down, and then Cloverdale sat down, across from each other in comfortable armchairs.

  “That’s unusual for meetings anymore, Your Highness,” Cloverdale said. “So few meetings are in-person these days, the protocols have been forgotten, I’m afraid.”

  Cloverdale took two cookies on a small plate and set them on the left arm of his chair. A liveried servant poured coffee for both men – Cloverdale’s first, he noted, as he was the guest – and Cloverdale set his coffee cup and saucer on the right arm of his chair, copying the king. The liveried man withdrew.

  “Yes, and you have gotten my attention by asking for a personal meeting, Mr. Ambassador. You have me wondering what could be so important.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. But before we start, Your Highness, I’m afraid I must ask that this meeting be off-the-record, and not recorded.”

  “Of course, Mr. Ambassador. I anticipated your preference from your request for a private meeting. We are quite alone, and no recording is being made.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  Cloverdale knew the meeting was likely being recorded anyway, but that was all right. King Michael would not now disseminate it and be proven forsworn, which was the goal of Cloverdale’s request.

  “The reason for the circumspection, Your Highness, is that the matters I think we should discuss bear on national security issues, both for Estvia and the Democracy of Planets.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Yes, Your Highness, I’m afraid so.”

  “Carry on, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness. We are picking up some indications the security situation for several of the star nations in this sector may be becoming more fluid.”

  “As in more dangerous, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “In what way, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “We are particularly concerned about recent actions of the Sintaran Empire, Your Highness. These seem to indicate they will be taking a more, how shall I say, proactive posture in foreign policy than they have heretofore adopted. Their new emperor in particular seems more, er, assertive than his predecessors.”

  King Michael considered Cloverdale. What was the DP up to, poking around in affairs here, several thousand light years from their frontier? Best to play along and see where this led.

  “I have, of course, had my own recent experience of the new Sintaran Emperor’s concept of foreign policy, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. A tragic affair. So many lives lost unnecessarily.”

  “So you don’t need to warn me about Sintar, Mr. Ambassador. I am well aware of what they are capable of.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. And yet, certain of their actions seem to point toward troubling times for the sector.”

  “Please elaborate, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. One thing is that we are aware Sintar has halted all new warship construction. For over a year, in fact.”

  “That seems like a positive move, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “In isolation, perhaps, Your Highness. But we are also aware the Emperor has released Requests For Proposal for new warship designs, in all classes.”

  “So they are not buying new warships of the old designs while they get the new designs ready. Is that the DP’s opinion, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Their shipbuilders must be hurting, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “That touches on my third issue, Your Highness. During the hiatus from warship construction, the Empire has subsidized a large number of extra freighters be built. Over a hundred thousand new freighters above their normal construction rates. Perhaps a hundred and fifty thousand. And all this extra freighter construction is of long-haul designs.”

  Which must have the DP’s shippers and shipbuilders screaming bloody murder. Is that what this was all about? King Michael still wasn’t sure where this was headed.

  “What is the DP’s thinking on this surplus of freighter construction, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “We’re not sure, Your Highness. The Emperor of Sintar may be pursuing a strategy of commercial dominance of the sector, to be followed by an expansionist phase once his new warships are available.”

  Or he could be just trying to keep his shipbuilders alive while he designs his new warships, Mr. Ambassador. Sintaran commercial vessels had good reputations, and it would be a trivial matter to sell excess production to shippers across human space. But that’s not what you want me to think, is it?

  “That would be a very troubling development, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “Yes, Your Highness, it would. And yet, as I say, we do not know the Emperor’s true motives. He keeps his long-range plans very closely held, and his senior advisers are not, um, accessible to our intelligence services.”

  That was no surprise to King Michael. He hadn’t been able to get anyone into the Imperial Palace on Sintar, either. And it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  “At the same time, Your Highness,” Cloverdale went on, “we do have the recent example of the Empire’s annexation of Pannia.”

  “I thought that was a mutual agreement, Mr. Ambassador. That Pannia consented to the annexation.”

  “That is indeed the public position of the parties, Your Highness. At the same time, the Sintaran Imperial Navy moved into Pannia well before this ‘mutual agreement’ was announced. One wonders how consensual it truly was.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ambassador. I had noticed the timing.”

  King Michael sighed before continuing.

  “What do you suggest we do then?”

  “Nothing yet, Your Highness. We should stay in touch. Perhaps meet every couple of months to compare notes as things develop.”

  “That seems prudent, Mr. Ambassador.”

  “I would probably also review your tactical and strategic plans, and evaluate the readiness of your defense forces, Your Highness. We may be able to help a bit there.”

  “What sort of assistance did you have in mind, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “As you know, Your Highness, the Democracy of Planets regularly rotates new ships into its navy, and cycles the older ships to the breakers. These older ships are, nevertheless, quite serviceable, and are up to the standards of most navies in human space. Were you to find your disposition of forces insufficient, we would consider selling these ships to you on favorable terms.”

  “Ah. I see, Mr. Ambassador. Given that, I will indeed review my forces with an eye toward their sufficiency were the security condition in the sector to deteriorate. Thank you.”

  Cloverdale made a waving away gesture.

  “Nations desirous of peace must stand together if they are ultimately to prevail, Your Highness.”

  That was the end of the substantive part of the meeting. After minor pleasantries and one last cookie or two, King Michael walked Cloverdale to the door into the hallway. Whitcombe and Adams waited on chairs in the hallway, and they escorted Cloverdale back to the front entrance and his car.

  Whitcombe met back up with King Michael in the king’s office.

  “So what’s going on, Sire?”

  “I’m not sure, Whitcombe. I think the DP is trying to cause trouble.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not. Ask yourself the last time the DP did us any favors.”

  “Exactly. So what are they trying to do, Sire?”

  “Get me upset at Sintar.”

  “Do they read the news, Sire?”

  “Oh, they know about our fracas last year. But this is something else. They’re trying to get me worried Sintar is going to turn expansionist. And they’re willing to sell me DP warships. Out of the kindness of their heart, apparently.”

  “Sell us DP warships?”

  “Retiring ones, but yes.”

  “Sire, I don’t know the DP has ever sold anyone their own warships. Th
ey’ve built less capable ones for export, but they never sell their front-line units, not even retiring ones.”

  “Exactly, Whitcombe. Which is why I don’t know what’s going on. I also don’t know how many people they’re talking to. They could be talking to every star nation in human space for all I know.”

  “Why would they want to get every star nation upset at Sintar, Sire?”

  “Ask yourself a question, Whitcombe. If you were the DP and you wanted to consolidate all of human space under one government, what stands in your way?”

  “The other four-hundred-pound gorilla in the room, Sire. The Sintaran Empire.”

  “Exactly. And the best way to defeat Sintar is to let other people do the work for you and weaken them. Then you can come in at the end and claim you are acting in the interests of peace, and gobble up everything. Everybody will be so weakened by the war, no one could stop you.”

  “That’s devious, Sire.”

  “But not beneath our friends in the DP.”

  “No, I wouldn’t think so, Sire.”

  “I need more information. I think it may be time for a little chat with Howard. I haven’t talked to him since this annexation business.”

  One thing the DP did not know – one thing nobody else knew – was that the occupants of the House of Roberts in Estvia and the occupants of the House of Walthers in Pannia had been in periodic contact for over four hundred years. They had helped each other against the general chaos of the Fifty Years War, which had engulfed the region immediately out-space from them – that is, further from Earth – which region the Kingdom of Sintar had consolidated into the Sintaran Empire once there was nobody left strong enough to stop them. The two monarchs didn’t talk often – maybe every couple of years – but they knew each other well by this point.

  “He’s got a unique point of view,” King Michael continued, “and he might be able to shed some light on what’s going on.”

  A Minor Research Project

  “Good morning, Mr. Dunlop.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Denny. What can I do for you?”