Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4)

by S J MacDonald

  ‘It is very rare – the last time it happened was when we sent an ambassador to Solarus Perth, three thousand years back, but it is theoretically possible that they might send out an ambassador, a role we call Hand of the Karlane. Whether they come to your people or go to Prisos or where, that would be for the Karlane to decide, obviously, but if we were having a punt, here, on the slight chance that they might appoint an ambassador, my dollar would be on them going to Prisos. That’s where I’d go if it was me, anyway. We haven’t got any military or technological assistance to offer, of course, but I have come to realise that we do have one thing we can contribute.’ A little grin, with that.

  ‘Bizarre as it is to me to be treated like a demi-goddess, the ‘alien princess’ thing could be something of an asset in diplomacy, huh? I mean, for someone who actually does have that status, someone we ourselves would treat with great respect and honour. One of my great-aunts is a Voice. I can imagine her in the role of Hand – such grace, honestly, she could walk into a stadium full of arguing people and they would sit down quietly and wait for her to speak.’

  Alex did not doubt her. He had been awed himself by seeing Shion in formal role. It wasn’t merely that she looked so different, dressed in traditional robes and make-up, or even that she moved so differently, gliding with the perfect poise needed to keep the robes in place. She was so serene, remote and utterly tranquil. Alex had felt he really understood, seeing her like that, what grace of a noble house actually meant.

  ‘And once she’d got them quiet?’ He asked. ‘She would say…?’

  ‘Trust me,’ Shion said, and did not need to think about that. ‘That’s what I think we have to offer, in the big picture, that people will respect and trust us even when they may not trust or believe one another. And beyond that, well, our society is founded on the principle of congrave, of calm and quiet discussion, considering all points of view, before a decision or agreement is made, and I think that is a pretty sound basis for diplomacy, mediating between worlds. Where it might go from there is beyond my wildest reach of speculation, the furthest my imagination will go in that is that it might be possible one day, say, for there to be a meeting at Lundane at which League and Prisosan representatives start to talk to one another, as opposed to the usual recriminations and justifications which lead to one side or the other storming off in a huff.’

  Alex opened his mouth to say that that was a very simplistic and rather insulting way to describe centuries of genuine diplomatic effort, but as he recalled the history of secret summit meetings between Prisos and the League, he had to admit, Shion had the right of it.

  ‘It’s an intriguing possibility,’ he said. ‘Way beyond me, of course; like you, I can only report to my government and wait to see what decisions they make. This is something that I can see that the Diplomats might want to discuss with you, though, or maybe the President. Is that something you’d be willing to…?’ He abandoned the question, seeing the answer written very clearly on her face, and smiled. ‘No – obviously not.’

  ‘I’ll give them my theory,’ Shion said, indicating the screens. ‘I’ve written it up like a talk for Mindful, and I have no problem with passing that to the Diplomats, to tell you that I am going to send that back to Pirrell, too, and to explain that that may possibly result in the Karlane sending an ambassador. But you have to understand, Alex, time runs very differently on Pirrell, there is no sense of urgency there and it would be considered appalling to rush such an important decision, too, so it may be years, decades, before an ambassador comes out even if they do decide to appoint one. Nothing will happen immediately, I can tell you that for sure. But that is all I can say, honestly, and I really don’t want to be drawn into people trying to get me to say what I think could happen because I don’t know that, really, any more than you do, and I don’t have the right to take on such a role.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Alex said. ‘And thank you, Shion. You were right…’ a self-deprecatory little grimace, ‘unsettling,’ he admitted.

  He actually did feel really unsettled, off balance, and part of him was trying not to be resentful of that. He’d been feeling good, calm and confident about how things were going with the Samartians, and now all this had landed on him.

  ‘Sorry,’ Shion said. ‘But I felt I had to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Alex said, and held out his hand to her, feeling it important to be clear that there were no hard feelings over the shocking things she’d said. Shion shook hands with him, and smiled. She knew very well that she had rocked him to the core. But she knew, too, that he would think about what she had said, and she could ask no more than that.

  And Alex was fine. The ability to compartmentalise was essential for any skipper, and for Alex, particularly when handling complex operations, the only way to stay sane. He took himself off for a walk around the ship, exchanging small talk with people and finishing with a quiet mug of tea in engineering. That was balm to the soul, just leaning on a railing, there, listening to the engines and supping tea from a battered tin mug. By the time he went back to the command deck he was feeling settled again, content to leave the issues Shion had raised for consideration at a later date.

  During the final days before they reached Chartsey, Alex had several other visitors asking for private meetings with him.

  The first of them was Ali Jezno, who came to ask if the captain would give him leave to go to Sharfur, his homeworld.

  ‘I feel like there’s a lot of questions I need to get answers to,’ he explained. ‘Things I need to see for myself, there, to reconnect with.’

  Alex looked a little doubtful. ‘You can take as long as you need, of course,’ he said, ‘but I’m not at all happy at the idea of sending you off on your own, given what we expect the media reaction to be. I do think you should have someone with you, Mr Jezno – someone familiar with your medical needs and in a position to support you through a difficult emotional experience. I can’t order Ms Burdon to accompany you, of course, but it seems to me that she would be the ideal person for that, so if she is willing to go with you I can either make that a medical escort assignment or grant her compassionate leave, whichever you both feel is preferable.’

  Perhaps unsurprisingly, they opted for the compassionate leave. That would relieve Hali of any official role in his care, enabling them to be together as partners.

  Ali would need that support. The Hot Goss headline ZOMBIE MUM: DEAD SON ON MY DOORSTEP HORROR! would tell that tale in the weeks to come.

  For now, though, he was hopeful. He and Hali would be leaving the ship at Chartsey, since Sharfur was only days away from there and it obviously made more sense for them to do that than to go all the way to Therik just to turn around and come right back again. Alex would arrange for them to be given passage on a Fleet ship which was going from Chartsey to Sharfur anyway, so they wouldn’t have to endure travelling on a civilian liner.

  Others, however, actually wanted to travel on a civilian liner. Mack McLaver and his team had been given the choice of remaining with the Heron till they returned to Therik themselves, or of being given passage aboard a Fleet ship if one was going that way and could get them home sooner. After extensive discussions amongst themselves, though, they came to ask whether it would be possible for them to leave the ship at Chartsey and take passage back to Therik on a liner.

  ‘We understand that there would be security issues if it was known that we’d been working here,’ Mack said, ‘But we don’t think there’s much risk of that getting out, and nothing unusual on a group like ours having been to Chartsey on business.’

  Alex agreed, and readily approved them leaving the ship at Chartsey, tactfully pretending to believe that this was because they felt it was important not to risk being delayed there but to get back to Devast Industries as soon as possible. He knew very well that they were going cabin-crazy in the lab, increasingly desperate to get off the ship.

  As it turned out, in fact, all the Second’s people would be leavin
g the ship at Chartsey. Sam Maylard was based at the university there, anyway, and the others all found reasons – to catch up with friends, to go sightseeing – for them to disembark at the capital world.

  Tina would be leaving the ship, as well – it was inevitable that the Admiralty would grab her back as soon as they got into port, whisking her away to her first official tagged and flagged posting.

  And Simon would be leaving them, too.

  ‘Things to do, places to go, people to annoy,’ he explained. ‘But I may hop back on the Stepeasy sometime, and if you’re going anywhere fun, you can give me a call, yes? I’ll make sure the Admiralty always knows where they can reach me. So - ‘ he mimed taking a comcall, ‘call me.’

  Alex smiled. It would, he knew, be absolutely pointless attempting to persuade Simon to stay on with them on any kind of permanent or committed basis. Simon would do his own thing, now and always.

  ‘I may just do that,’ he said, and as they shook hands, both of them knew that he would.

  They came into shipping lanes just ten minutes outside the port. It was wonderful, just amazing, to see the streams of ships flowing by. They hadn’t seen any other ships, other than Samartian ones, since leaving Therik, and it felt like coming home, just seeing the familiar outlines of liners, freighters and yachts on their scopes. Even the sight of a little starseeker puttering along made Alex smile. He’d missed this, running dark for so long.

  But now they were back. And within two minutes of entering the traffic stream, they got their first teasing signal from a trademaster freighter.

  ‘Have you been to Karadon?’ The freighter skipper signalled. ‘Oh noble and heroic one?’

  There was a moment of bafflement on the Heron, at this, then Alex remembered, and groaned. News had got out, of course, obviously, about Marto having been behind the anonymous gift of the J-2-8 shares, and his even more embarrassing statements when he’d defended that to the media. Evidently, the spacer community had not yet got over their hilarity at that, and Alex knew, just knew, that it would be years before they did. So he just signalled back ‘no comment’ and ignored their ship-rolling play salute. Chartsey was coming up ahead, and within a few more minutes they could see that there were currently seventy four ships circling in holding position, awaiting their turn through port-entry and deceleration tunnels.

  The Heron, however, did not have to wait. Flashing military priority codes at traffic control, they cruised past the queue in lordly style, ignoring all the jokes and comments. And with that, as they came into the system with all its busy, bustling traffic, teeming with billions of people, Alex conned the ship through to their deceleration run, his hand flat on the datatable as he gave the order.

  ‘All systems – engage on my mark …’

  Twenty Nine

  Less than an hour after the Heron had arrived in port, Alex was introducing the Samartians to President Tyborne.

  They were meeting on the Affinity, one of the many stations within the Chartsey system. As far as the general public was concerned it was a high class, high security conference facility used primarily for intersystem summits, with the kind of amenities necessary to accommodate several visiting heads of state and their retinues.

  In fact, it was also an exo-facility. The Solarans had an embassy there, and there were other exosuite facilities standing ready to receive any other non-human visitors.

  The Samartians were actually the first visitors ever to use them, so it was quite an event. Marc Tyborne had been given a ‘first meeting essentials’ briefing so he was being extremely formal and grand. It had to be said that he did that very well; as Senator Machet had once observed, his loud self-importance passed very well as presidential gravitas. He had learned the fingertip-touch greeting, too, and accomplished it with creditable dignity.

  Alex did not smile, of course. He was at his most formal as he presented each of their visitors. Then he stepped aside, leaving it to the president to make the Samartians welcome. All the expected and obvious things were said about honour and pleasure and future hopes for friendship, and the Samartians responded in similar vein.

  ‘We are preparing quarters for you here,’ President Tyborne informed them, ‘which we hope will be to your liking. And once you’ve settled in, we will arrange for whatever visits you wish to make to Chartsey, and for meetings and discussions at your convenience.’

  ‘Thank you.’ All four Samartians had been making great efforts to learn as much League Standard as they could during the journey, and Dakael Sennet was able to manage simple get-by phrases, now, albeit with odd hesitations as she translated in her head. ‘It is a great honour,’ she said, though it was apparent to anyone who’d got to know her well that she was having to remind herself that this civilian really was the head of state here, rather than addressing herself to Dix Harangay.

  The First Lord had also come dashing over to the Affinity station in response to the Heron’s arrival. He was looking splendid in dress uniform. He was, however, only one member of the presidential retinue – President Tyborne had also brought along Karlos Gerard, the Diplomatic Corps’ equivalent of the First Lord, another diplomat introduced as Ambassador Katori, and a handful of lesser functionaries who hovered in the background.

  It was Ambassador Katori who took charge of the Samartians once greetings had been exchanged. She would, she said, show them to their quarters and ensure that everything was as they wished.

  Alex watched them go without regret. They had spent a lot of time helping the Samartians to prepare for this. It was a relief and a pleasure to see that they went away so confidently, with no more than a ‘goodbye and thank you’ to him and to Davie.

  Davie, however, did watch them go with some regret, and some annoyance, too. He had been invited to this meeting at the particular request of the president, but he had already been informed that his offer to remain here and continue to work with the Samartians was being declined. It had taken some persuasion from Alex to get him to come to the meeting at all, on that basis, and even more persuasion to give his word that he would be very quiet and polite, at least while the Samartians were present.

  The moment the doors closed behind them, though, it was the President who broke formal manners first.

  ‘Alex!’ he exclaimed, with a crow of pure triumph, surging over to seize Alex’s hand and pump it energetically. ‘Oh, well done, well done! Better than our wildest hope – a miracle!’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Alex said, utterly unmoved. And he really wasn’t moved, either, behind his rigid poker face. He had never invited President Tyborne to use his first name, and the president would indeed have been deeply shocked if he’d found out Alex’s honest opinion of him. For Alex, though, it was inconceivable that he would give such an opinion, either to the President or about him. Marc Tyborne was the head of state, Alex was sworn to serve and obey the head of state as the League’s ultimate chief of staff, and he would, therefore, obey and respect Marc Tyborne as the president regardless of his opinion of him as a human being. As in previous encounters, though, the president chose to see Alex’s stiff demeanour as if he was just being modest, even shy.

  ‘And you’ve achieved so much, already – if there was any justice, you’d be coming home to a tickertape parade. But all I can say is well done¸ Alex, very well done!’

  He was clearly intending to continue on that theme for some minutes, telling Alex just how well he had done, but Davie’s boredom threshold, never high, had already been reached.

  ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ he interrupted irritably. ‘He’s brilliant, you’re grateful, let’s just take that as read. And no,’ he said, as the president turned to him, ‘do not start telling me how brilliant I am, too – I already know how brilliant I am, thanks. What I want to know is why I’m being given the bum’s rush, here, and shoved out of further dealings with the Samartians when I would have thought it was obvious even to a complete…’

  He broke off as Alex gave him one of their signals, devised on the way
out to Samart as entirely private codes between themselves. This one – a very slight shift of his weight to his left foot coupled with a one-second glance at the floor, was a firm and unequivocal Shut up! Davie had responded to that automatically before he realised that Alex was giving him an order, there, and by the time he’d realised that, he’d already recognised, himself, that his attitude was perhaps not as courteous as it should be to the duly elected leader of the League.

  ‘Karlos…?’ The President looked at the League’s most senior diplomat, clearly expecting him to pick up and answer that question. The Ambassador cleared his throat apologetically.

  ‘It isn’t that we don’t want you to have any more involvement with the Samartians, Mr North,’ he said. ‘Obviously, your expertise and experience with them is invaluable. But we do have something of a situation that we feel may be of more immediate priority.’