by David Drake
Yes, the Stryans needed help. Yes, they’d been abused. Yes, their plight demanded justice, but so did a dozen other situations within Harmony Cluster. If the battle for Teller was five years in the past, if racial equality was an accomplished fact, if all of Harmony Cluster was secure, things would be different.
But Teller was an open wound, racial equality was no more than a pronouncement by the governor, and there were other problems as well. There were good reasons why Windsor should consolidate his gains before conquering new territory.
Tenly and Eitor echoed Merikur’s views, pleading with Windsor to give the matter more thought and pointing out all the potential problems which might result if he didn’t. Windsor allowed them their say. When they were finished, he met their eyes one at a time. His voice was weary as if their arguments weighed a ton each and had worn him out.
“We aren’t discussing some fine point of law, or the ability of humans and Cernians to work side by side in a factory. We’re talking about the death of a planet. And by God I won’t allow it!” He shook his head. “I won’t allow you to tell me that saving the Stryans isn’t convenient right now, or that it might cause problems in the senate, or any other Goddamn thing! Is that clear?”
It was clear, and equally clear was the fact that Windsor was disappointed, saddened by their lack of courage and vision. They’d seen the hills and ignored the mountains beyond.
Merikur could understand the Governor’s point of view, but what if the Apex Cluster ignored Windsor’s attempts to intercede? What if they attempted to destroy Strya?
More immediately, what would Merikur do if Windsor ordered him to attack Apex naval vessels? To attack them was to attack the Pact itself, the very thing he and Windsor were sworn to protect.
Merikur was suddenly reminded of Citizen Ritt and the Kona Tatsu. Had they managed to anticipate his dilemma? Known in advance that Windsor’s beliefs would lead him into conflict with the Pact? And if so, what would they want Merikur to do?
The answer came as swiftly as the question. They’d want Merikur to stop him. More than that, they’d expect Merikur to stop him. Looking back, Merikur realized his jump to general, his assignment to Windsor’s staff, had all been arranged with this kind of situation in mind.
He was their back-up system, their fail-safe, the final check on Windsor’s eccentric personality. Merikur wouldn’t question the Pact’s authority. He wouldn’t turn his back on his duty.
Merikur wouldn’t do anything unpredictable.
His lips twisted into a sour smile. Their Merikur wouldn’t be in this situation. He’d have lost the battle for Teller and without that victory, Windsor wouldn’t be sticking his nose into the Apex Cluster.
The choice remained nonetheless. If forced to decide, which would he choose: Windsor and a race of ghostly aliens or the Pact he was sworn to uphold? He stared up through armored plastic but there were no answers in the blackness beyond.
###
Two days later, Merikur’s fleet dropped out of hyperspace. His larger ships launched scouts as they picked up speed and headed for Strya.
The vedettes spread out like hunting dogs in search of game. This game could shoot back, should they find and corner it.
Merikur waited aboard the Bremerton to see what kind of hand he’d been dealt. Was the system swarming with Apex Cluster naval forces? If so, how would they feel about his incursion on their territory, and what would Windsor order him to do? Most of the possibilities weren’t very good.
Reports began to filter in. A small freighter heading in system with a cargo of farm machinery, a scientific outpost on a rogue asteroid, a private yacht headed out-system. But no sign of naval vessels.
Merikur heaved a sigh of relief. Apparently, he’d lucked out. The Apex Command ships hadn’t arrived yet. Merikur was on thin legal ice as it was, but the presence of Apex Command Vessels would’ve forced an instant confrontation and destroyed any hope of cooperation. Now, at least, he could position his units as friendly forces coming to the aid of a neighboring cluster. Such a mission was unlikely, give the eternal shortage of ships, but not clearly illegal.
And upon that hook Merikur hung his hope. Maybe he could find a way to satisfy both Windsor and Pact Command.
Windsor was distant and aloof—sympathetic to Merikur’s efforts, but preoccupied by inner conflict. He wondered if he’d made the right decision. More than once, he opened his mouth to order the fleet home; each time, the thought of disrupter bombs exploding over farming villages froze the words in his throat and forced him to remain silent. So, while the fleet moved forward under his orders, Windsor struggled to decide if it should.
Bethany was caught in the middle. She had a natural sympathy for her uncle and his goals, but she understood Merikur’s position as well. She thought Merikur was right, but the decision was the governor’s to make. She did her best to stay out of the conflict and be supportive. Also, she had to admit to herself, she was loathe to take a stand that would make her, however indirectly, responsible for a planetwide slaughter.
Bethany wasn’t the only one caught in the middle. All the senior officers knew of the conflict and knew that their careers, even their lives could depend on the outcome. Because he was the man he was, mostly their loyalties were with Windsor, but they dreaded the thought of fighting Pact forces.
The atmosphere on the Bremerton’s bridge was tense, with none of the good-natured banter that normally passed for silence among military types. Eyes were locked on screens, fingers searched for something to do, and conversation was minimal.
Windsor sat towards the rear of the bridge, a dark presence lost in dark thoughts, while Merikur waited with hands clasped behind his back. The initial reports were good, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear. A whole fleet might be hidden by Strya’s sister planet or lost within a nearby asteroid belt. But time passed and eventually the more obvious possibilities were ruled out. So far so good. It was time to move.
“Captain Yamaguchi.”
“Sir?”
“Order the DEs to make for Strya at top speed. Once dirtside, they will disembark their troops and lift ASAP. I want them in space in case company arrives.”
“Yes, Sir.” Yamaguchi turned to a com tech who contacted the DEs.
A few minutes later, two destroyer escorts broke formation and blasted for Strya. They were small ships, similar to Merikur’s first command, and right now each was packed to overflowing with two hundred and fifty marines. Because the DEs were faster than the rest of Merikur’s ships, they would land on Strya hours before the rest of the fleet arrived, and that could make an important difference. Once on the ground, the marines would extend Windsor’s authority dirtside and force Apex Command to negotiate.
But speed was of the essence. The marines would become an important bargaining chip when they were on the ground; en route, they were nothing but potential missile fodder.
Eitor, Ambassador Relfenzig, and Subambassador Dolwinzer were aboard the DEs as well.
It would be their task to convince the citizens of Strya that they should surrender to Windsor. Though sympathetic to their situation, Windsor would no more approve mass murder of humans by Stryans than the reverse. But if the Stryans had already submitted themselves to his judgment before the Apex Command ships arrived, it would strengthen Windsor’s position immensely; a fait accompli would minimize the chance of violence. Relfenzig and Dolwinzer had been urged to work fast. But they couldn’t do anything until they arrived and that was hours away.
The plans were complete and being executed by the personnel whose job they had become. Until the situation changed, Merikur himself could only get in the way.
Windsor retreated to his cabin, so Merikur did likewise knowing Yamaguchi and the bridge crew couldn’t relax until both of them were out of sight. Bethany put up with his pacing for an hour, then headed for the gym.
Finding the cabin lonely, Merikur headed for the fire-control center, supposedly looking for his briefcase, b
ut actually wanting to sneak a look at their small plot tank. The DEs were closer, but still had a ways to go.
Engineering was the next section to receive an unexpected visit from Merikur. Surprised techs looked up from their tasks to see a general striding through, nodding agreeably and stopping to talk to those he knew. From there, Merikur wandered through hydroponics, medical, and the wardroom. Eventually, he arrived back on the bridge.
Reports had been dribbling in from all over the ship for hours now. “General Merikur just arrived in engineering.” “General Merikur just left medical.” “General Merikur’s headed for the bridge.” Yamaguchi had plenty of warning.
“Well, Captain, how are we doing?”
In spite of her own tension, Yamaguchi had to suppress a smile. She knew what the real question was and answered accordingly.
“Just fine, Sir. The DEs have landed and are unloading troops.”
“Excellent,” Merikur replied, his spirits rising. “Has the governor been notified?”
“No Sir, but we’ll inform him now.”
“Captain . . .” The voice belonged to a chief petty officer with the flashes of an electronic tech on her sleeve. “We’ve got five unknowns coming out of hyper between us and Strya. The computer says they’re a ninety-eight percent match to Pact design.”
“Continue to track,” Yamaguchi ordered.
“Damn,” Merikur muttered to himself. He watched the five new arrows in the plot tank. Whoever commanded the Apex ships had cut it close, coming out of hyperspace just beyond Strya’s gravitational domain. Risky enough for a single ship and foolhardy with a fleet. Nonetheless, whoever was in charge had unknowingly blocked Merikur’s ships and given the Apex forces a tactical advantage.
That was the bad news. The good news, if you could call it that, was that the marines were now on the surface.
“Ship-to-ship audio and video on freq six, Captain,” a com tech said, “Standard challenge and request for I.D.”
Yamaguchi looked at Merikur and he nodded. “Standard response with codes,” Yamaguchi replied.
“Aye, aye, Ma’am.”
“Captain Yamaguchi.”
“Sir?”
“Where are the DEs now? I don’t see them in the plot tank.”
“I believe they’re on the far side of Strya, Sir, lifting, or just about to.”
“Tell them to lift, but to keep the planet between them and us. And, Captain . . .”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Use a Harmony code rather than Pact standard.”
“Yes, Sir.” If Yamaguchi was curious, she hid it well, relaying his orders in a flat unemotional voice.
The DEs weren’t much, but something was better than nothing.
“The Apex forces have acknowledged our signals,” the com tech said. “A Governor Kalbrand wishes to speak with our commanding officer.”
“If General Merikur has no objection, I’ll take that call,” Windsor said as he strode onto the bridge. He wore a smile and seemed his normal self again. His private battle was apparently won.
Merikur smiled, glad to have Windsor back. “By all means, Sir. Take that seat over there.”
Windsor slipped into the chair and a confident smile at the same time. Moments later, the com screen faded up from black and Windsor was face to face with the governor of the Apex Cluster.
Governor Kalbrand was completely bald. The top of his head was a tracery of raised scar tissue acquired during the rites of manhood on his native Kristen. Bushy eyebrows cast deep shadows down over his eyes and a long sharp nose split his face.
In spite of Kalbrand’s intimidating appearance, his voice was smooth and mellow. Windsor knew immediately that this was no unreasoning bully. Whatever else Kalbrand might be, he was first and foremost a practicing politician. “Governor Kalbrand here . . . whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Governor Kalbrand,” Windsor replied. “The name’s Windsor . . . I’m governor of Harmony Cluster.”
“Ah,” Kalbrand said knowingly, “formerly Senator Windsor.”
Windsor nodded. “A pleasure to meet the Plenipotentiary Kalbrand who negotiated the treaty of Valpar.”
Kalbrand nodded, obviously pleased. “I had some help, but yes, I pride myself on that success. Now . . . allow me to welcome you to Apex Cluster. I hope you won’t be offended if I ask what the hell you’re doing here?” The last was said with a slight smile.
“Not at all,” Windsor said equably. “Were our situations reversed, I’d be asking you the same question.” Without further ado, Windsor provided Kalbrand with a somewhat sanitized account of the massacre on Strya, the Stryan appeal for help, and his subsequent decision to come to Kalbrand’s aid.
Merikur smiled when he heard the part about coming to Kalbrand’s aid. It didn’t exactly square with the rest of the explanation, but if the Apex governor noticed he gave no sign of it.
“So,” Windsor said as he wrapped things up, “while my mission is somewhat unusual, we’re all members of the Pact, and I think we should support each other.”
“Very commendable,” Kalbrand replied glibly. “And I’ll send the president of the senate a note to that effect. But as you can see, I have sufficient force to deal with the situation and won’t need further assistance.”
Windsor appeared to ignore Kalbrand’s comment, asking instead, “Out of curiosity, Governor Kalbrand, how will you deal with the situation? Lacking your experience at negotiation, perhaps I could learn something.”
“First of all,” Kalbrand replied calmly, “there will be no negotiations. Since Strya is an agricultural planet with only a small annual surplus and of no particular political or strategic value, I’ll destroy it as an example for others. The first rule of negotiations is don’t, unless the other party has something you want. Strya doesn’t. This way, we avoid endless investigations, trials, and God knows what else. We’ll just drop a few disruptor bombs.” He smiled. “End of problem.”
The way Kalbrand said it, he might have been discussing the price of bread.
What amazed Merikur was Kalbrand’s lack of passion. If the man were stricken with grief over the loss of human life or furious because of Stryan cruelty, Merikur could’ve understood his decision. Not approved, but understood. Instead Kalbrand regarded the murder of an entire race as nothing more than the most expedient way to solve an administrative problem.
Suddenly, Merikur understood Windsor’s unwillingness to compromise in the face of such evil. Convenient or not.
Windsor shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Governor Kalbrand . . . but I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
Kalbrand’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “What did you say?”
“I said I can’t allow you to destroy an entire planet filled with living, thinking beings for the sake of political expedience,” Windsor replied calmly.
Kalbrand shook his head in amazement. “What they say about you is true. You do love aliens.”
Windsor smiled. “The truth is that I love humans and aliens alike.”
Kalbrand frowned. “You realize that if you use your fleet against me, the Pact will hunt you down like a common criminal.”
Windsor shrugged. “I realize that’s a possibility. On the other hand, there are those who feel as I do, that murder is murder, regardless of the victim’s race. Should you destroy Strya, they might hunt you down like a common criminal.”
Kalbrand laughed cynically, “I think you’ll find little support from that direction. Besides, Strya will soon be nothing more than glazed rock, and that will render the whole matter academic.”
Yamaguchi touched Merikur’s arm. “General . . . two of their destroyers have started towards Strya. The rest of their ships are redeploying to block us from the planet.”
Merikur swallowed. The moment of decision had arrived. He could have Windsor arrested and confined to quarters. His general orders, his fellow officers, and Governor Kalbrand would all support him.
When Merikur gave the order, it sounded no more important than thousands of others he’d given over the years.
“Send this to the DEs. ‘Approaching vessels are hostile. Take them out. Repeat. Flash the destroyers now.’ ”
The battle for Strya had begun.
Chapter 15
Governor Kalbrand looked off camera and then back, a snarl forming on his face.
The screen faded to black.
Windsor swiveled to face Merikur. Their eyes met in silence. Finally, Windsor spoke. “It’s begun.”
“Yes, Sir,” Merikur replied, “Indeed it has.”
Seconds later, Windsor was gone and Merikur was struggling into his space armor. The rest of the bridge crew had already put theirs on. If the hull was breached, the space armor could save their lives. Briefly. In the meantime, the suits would provide them with communications, food and, if necessary, basic first aid.
Thanks to Yamaguchi, the Harmony squadron was already at general quarters, air-tight compartments sealed, weapons on line and tracking. They were in standard V formation, with Yamaguchi’s cruiser at the point of the V, and the other ships strung out along either side.
“Launch torpedos, Captain,” Merikur said, as he sealed his suit.
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
There was an almost imperceptible delay as Yamaguchi repeated Merikur’s orders over another channel. Then she was back. “Torpedos away and locked on. We’re at extreme range, Sir.”
Merikur smiled behind his visor. Yamaguchi was worried that he’d fired the torpedos too early; the other fleet would have plenty of time to destroy them. “I realize we won’t hit anything, Captain, but we’ll get their attention. Right now, that’s very desirable.”
With luck, the torpedos would keep the Apex ships busy long enough for the DEs to get into position. As it turned out, the DEs, not the marines, were his ace in the hole.
