by Peter Grant
“It might, by someone who was blind to the realities of the situation,” Rostam replied with a smile on his face and steel in his eyes and voice. “Defeatism is to be avoided at all costs. So are over-confidence, arrogance and overweening pride. We’re in this mess precisely because the latter dominated policymaking in previous Administrations. I’m not going to allow them to dominate mine. We’re going to face facts and act accordingly.”
He looked around the table. “Now, let’s turn to the situation on Bactria. We’ve already agreed that we can’t afford to send more troops and equipment there. The Navy doesn’t have the shipping capacity to spare, the Army doesn’t have the budget or the manpower, and more mouths would only make the current food crisis on Termaz worse. Admiral, what’s the result of the Navy’s investigation into that message that seemingly came out of nowhere?”
Rear-Admiral Stasanor made a wry face. “I’m afraid we have so little to go on that we can’t add much, Your Majesty. However, I’m inclined to think it was probably sent from a military vessel. You see, to come in like that with no signature to warn of their presence, they’d have had to exit their final hyper-jump about four light-days from the planet, accelerate to cruising speed, then shut down their gravitic drive and coast on a ballistic trajectory. If they were moving at a quarter of light speed, they’d take sixteen days to cover the distance. Add to that however long they took to travel from wherever they started to the Termaz system, plus the time taken to return to a friendly planet after they hyper-jumped away, and you’re looking at thirty days or more in space. No courier vessel in my experience carries that much in the way of stores and supplies, particularly rations. They don’t need to, because they can hyper-jump twice as far each day as conventional spaceships. I therefore submit that a courier ship wouldn’t have had the crew endurance for a round trip of that duration.”
The Satrap frowned. “I suppose that makes sense; but if it was a warship, what kind of warship? State Security hasn’t found any record of interstellar warships being sold to unknown purchasers, much less the Termaz rebels and their Government-in-Exile.”
General Gedrosia nodded. “It’s as His Majesty says. It would be hard to hide a transaction like that. Warship sales are closely monitored and recorded by the United Planets.”
Commodore Eschate shook his head. “With the greatest respect, General, I fear the SS may have been looking in the wrong place. I don’t blame you, of course; this is something only a professional spacer would know to look for. Perhaps we should consider seconding some of our officers to you, to help with the analysis of Naval and Fleet intelligence. Anyway, I’ve been looking into the sale of fleet transports and auxiliaries. How much do you know about such ships?”
“Not much,” the SS officer admitted.
“They’re designed to keep up with warships and maneuver in formation with them. As a result, their construction is much stronger and stiffer than a conventional freighter’s, and they have warship-grade gravitic drives, fusion reactors and other systems. We don’t have any, because they’re almost as expensive to build and operate as warships. If you recall, when we invaded Termaz we had to charter eight merchant freighters and install personnel pods in them so that each could carry a battalion of troops plus its heavy equipment. A military assault transport has all the necessary capability built in.”
“I see. And have some of these military transports been sold recently?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. The Bismarck Cluster sold off eight of its old Bavaria class assault transports last year; three hundred thousand tons capacity, with stealthy hulls and capable of cruising at point two five Cee, the same speed as our corvettes – or the ship that transmitted that message in the Termaz system. They were sold for scrap, but I haven’t been able to find any record of a shipyard dismantling them. They seem to have dropped out of space.”
“What about weapons for them?” the Satrap demanded.
“I have no idea, Your Majesty. Again, the SS haven’t been able to find any record of missiles being sold to unknown buyers. However, they did trace the rebel leader to Marano some months ago, where he apparently ordered twenty laser cannon turrets. Each Bavaria class ship had four such turrets while in service, although they were removed before the ships were sold. Our engineers tell me there’s no reason why the Marano cannon couldn’t be fitted in their place.”
“So he has enough to outfit five ships?”
“More likely four, Your Majesty, with one spare unit for each ship. That’s the way we’d do it if we’d bought them.”
“I see. And how many missiles could ships like that carry, if he can get them?”
“That’s a very worrying thought, Your Majesty. Each Bavaria is a little larger than a typical cruiser. In theory they could each carry two hundred or more main battery missiles, plus the same number of defensive weapons.”
There was an audible intake of breath around the table. General Demetrias’ voice was, for once, neither sarcastic nor belittling when he observed, “So one of them might bring almost as much firepower to a fight as all our remaining corvettes put together?”
“Precisely, General.”
“Then let’s hope they haven’t got any missiles yet!”
Rear-Admiral Stasanor reassured him, “It’s not just the weapons, General. The rebels will require the services of a military dockyard to convert the ships to accommodate so many missile cells or tubes. They’ll also need fire control systems capable of handling that many weapons, plus radar, lidar and other sensors to identify and track their targets. Those are very expensive and hard to come by – even more so than missiles – and so are the skilled operators needed to use them. If the rebels have, indeed, bought those ships, I daresay they’re still a long way from combat-ready. However, they do have stealthy hulls. There’s no reason why one of them, even unarmed, couldn’t have made a fast run through the Termaz system to deliver that message without being detected.”
“But if that’s the case, couldn’t they make a run through this system as well?”
“I see you’re thinking along the same lines as ourselves, General. Yes, they certainly could. They can use such a ship to scan everything we’re doing, and possibly lay space mines – nuclear warheads with limited mobility – between our planet and our asteroid mining facilities. If that happens, they’ll interdict much of our space-based economy. Space mines are a lot easier to get hold of, or make, than missiles. They’re basically just warheads in housings with detection and detonation mechanisms. What’s more, last year the rebels warned through the Interplanetary Transportation Union that the Bactrian and Termaz systems would be under interdiction from the beginning of this year. Space mines would be a legitimate tactic in terms of that declaration.”
“What can we do to prevent that?” the Satrap demanded, sitting bolt upright in his chair.
“We’ve already increased the frequency of our patrols, Your Majesty. Unfortunately it’s going to put enormous strain on our corvettes until our new patrol craft get here, because they’re the only ships we have that are fast enough to be able to close with the rebels if we detect one of their ships. In fact, I’m seriously considering bringing back the corvette presently at Termaz and sending all our armed merchant cruisers out there instead. They’re no use to us here against that sort of threat.”
“But they won’t be much use there, either, if the rebels come calling.”
“I’m afraid not, Your Majesty; but let’s face facts. Our space-based economy is far more important to us than the entire Termaz system. The former is a net economic contributor. Hundreds of thousands of Bactrian jobs and many of our industries depend on it, directly and indirectly. The latter is a net economic drain. We’re pouring billions of bezants a year into what’s become essentially a bottomless pit. I submit we have to allocate our present, very limited resources according to economic reality. Bactria’s economy can, if necessary, survive the loss of Termaz. It can’t survive the loss of our space-based commerc
e and industry. It’s as simple as that.”
Major-General Pamir erupted from his chair, face suffused with fury. “You denigrate the sacrifice of thousands – no, tens of thousands – of our faithful troops! How dare you insinuate they died in vain! I –”
“SIT DOWN!” The Satrap was also on his feet.
Pamir stood his ground. “Your Majesty, this insult is not to be borne!”
“I heard no insult. I heard only common sense!”
Grimly Rostam stared down the rebellious General. At last Pamir resumed his seat, lips still pursed in outrage. After standing for a moment longer, emphasizing his authority and dominance of proceedings, the Satrap said, “I take second place to no-one in my admiration for the courage and self-sacrifice displayed by so many of our armed forces on Termaz. Furthermore, I remind you that the Navy has taken casualties there too. Two transports were lost with all hands during the invasion, and the Space Station, the Satrap’s yacht, two corvettes and two armed merchant cruisers were destroyed or damaged during the Battle of Tapuria with the loss of hundreds of lives. I’m sure the Admiral meant no insult.” He looked at the Navy representatives as he sat down once more.
“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Stasanor agreed. “General Pamir, I apologize if for any reason you gained that impression. It was not my intention.”
Pamir gave a grudging nod, but said nothing.
“As a matter of fact, Admiral, your idea of sending all of our armed merchant cruisers to Termaz gives us an opportunity for a public relations coup that will be very useful at the United Planets,” the Satrap said thoughtfully. “We’ve heard from General Demetrias that the food situation on the planet is becoming critical. In one sense that’s good news for us, because we can supply our own forces while starving the rebels. However, the civilian population will starve as well. We’re legally responsible for them. How would it appear if we mounted a major ‘humanitarian effort’ to relieve hunger after what we’ll call the ‘failure of the harvest’ on Termaz?”
“It would help, Your Majesty,” Demetrias agreed dubiously. “Unfortunately, the failure of the harvest was largely due to our seizing many farmers for slave labor, then pulling back from the agricultural areas before crops could be sown for the current season. That should be happening now, but it isn’t, so things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.”
“Yes, but we needn’t admit that to the United Planets. We can even blame the rebels by claiming the unrest they foment makes it impossible for farmers to till their fields.” The Army and SS officers cheered up noticeably at the thought of the enemy being the whipping boy for once.
“How many ration packs are stockpiled on Termaz and in our orbital warehouse there?”
Demetrias glanced at his subordinate. “General Pamir?”
“Sir, there are approximately eight million ration packs in orbital storage – just over three hundred days’ supply for our armed forces there, at one pack per person per day. There are a few hundred thousand planetside. We send more down each week aboard cargo shuttles, and replenish our orbital stocks via the monthly freighter.”
“But the planetary population in total, including our forces and administration personnel, is a little under two hundred thousand, right?” the Satrap asked.
“I believe so, Your Majesty.”
“So eight million ration packs will feed that many for only about forty days. That’s not nearly good enough. Of course, we normally expect the planet to be self-sufficient in food production, but the earliest they could bring in a harvest would be four or five months from now, right?”
“Yes, Your Majesty, provided they plant by not later than next month.”
“All right. We’ll tell Brigadier-General Khan to encourage farmers to return to their land to do that. We’ll authorize him to declare a truce in the farming areas, and ask the rebels to allow farmers to work undisturbed and his techs to help repair farm machinery and infrastructure. We’ll publicize all that as ways in which our armed forces are benevolently helping the local people, despite difficulties placed in their path by the rebels.” The Army men smiled and nodded.
“Another thing we can do is publicize a buildup of rations for emergency use. Admiral Stasanor, how many ration packs can we load aboard the two armed merchant cruisers still in this system?”
“If we stuff every hold to overflowing, probably three to four million apiece, Your Majesty.”
“And how many ration packs do we have available?”
General Demetrias frowned. “We have only ten million in our planetary reserve, Your Majesty. Sending that many to Termaz will render it useless in case of emergency.”
“But we’re not facing an emergency, are we? The food emergency is on Termaz. What’s more, our farmers are reporting that this year should see bumper harvests across the board, so we can start to replenish our stock of ration packs within a few months. Imagine the headlines, General: ‘Bactria succors Termaz’- although we’d better refer to it as Laredo for external consumption. Cargo shuttles are filled with tens of thousands of ration packs by uniformed Army working parties – also with sacks of seed for sowing. Those same shuttles load the rations into Navy transports, which head for Termaz and offload their cargoes into our orbital facility under the eyes of journalists, who then accompany some of it planetside aboard cargo shuttles delivering rations to residents and seed to farmers – all visibly protected by your troops, of course, and visibly grateful for it. I think that would go a long way towards defusing some of the more hate-filled propaganda against us at the United Planets. At the same time, it would portray our Armed Forces in a humanitarian light rather than as an occupying power.”
Demetrias nodded thoughtfully. “I must admit, Your Majesty makes a compelling case. However, what if those journalists stay on the planet long enough for the rebels to give them a different picture?”
“We’ll take care of that by whisking them away as fast as possible. Admiral, you want to bring back your corvette. We’ll leave it at Termaz until the two armed merchant cruisers arrive. Within a day of their settling into orbit, your corvette will leave, taking with it the journalists who arrived aboard the AMC’s. That’ll get them out of the way quickly, and enable them to file their stories faster as well. After they’ve gone, the propaganda flights can be suspended and the ration packs offloaded into orbital storage for later distribution. Needless to say, our armed forces will get priority in that.”
“That sounds like an excellent plan, Your Majesty. I foresee no difficulty.”
“Very well. I invite the War Council to vote on that proposal. All those in favor?”
For once, every hand around the table was raised.
“I’m grateful for your unanimous support. Very well, the proposal is approved. We’ll begin implementing it at once. General Demetrias, please start making arrangements to load the ration packs onto cargo shuttles. Admiral Stasanor, please start planning the movement of ships between the planets and any transfers of personnel involved. I know you’ll both liaise with each other.”
~ ~ ~
In the darkness she could hear his breathing. It wasn’t the deep, even rhythm of sleep. Every now and then he’d toss, turn or twist in bed. She could imagine him frowning in the darkness.
At last she turned to face him. “What’s wrong, Rostam? You’ve been doing an imitation of a whirling dervish ever since we went to bed.”
He started. “Oh! I’m sorry, darling. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”
“I can see that. Can I help you carry the load?”
He rearranged himself, wordlessly inviting her to lie closer against him. She did so, snuggling into his warmth with a small sigh of satisfaction, and felt his left arm close around her.
“I… I’m not sure how to put this,” her husband said slowly. “Today’s meeting of the War Council went relatively well, all things considered. We only had one explosion of anger, two vehement disagreements and half a dozen minor conflicts to paper over.
” She chuckled. “Trouble is, I’m getting the feeling that we’re not actually achieving anything of value. It seems as if we’re just… pushing things around, rearranging problems without really solving them. Even the so-called ‘truths’ in which we were raised – the superiority of Bactrian culture, our historical destiny, the greatness of our forefathers, all that sort of thing – somehow they seem… less than truthful, these days.”
“Why not come right out and say it? They were lies from beginning to end. We were raised in a lie, and we’re perpetuating that lie rather than dealing with it.”
He froze alongside her for a moment, then relaxed slowly. “Zeba, if you said that to anyone but me, in our private quarters like this, there are plenty of people who’d scream ‘Treason!’ and demand your head for it.”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I’d only say it in here like this. That doesn’t stop it being true, does it?”
He slowly shook his head in the darkness. “I can’t argue with you. That’s the hell of it. I want to argue with you. All the instincts nurtured by my parents and grandparents tell me I should be screaming ‘Treason!’ and committing you for immediate trial… but I can’t, because I know you’re speaking the truth. That truth is biting us in the ass right now at the United Planets. If the rebels ever get their hands on a meaningful space warfare capability, it’s going to bite us on the ass on the battlefield as well. I just can’t see any good ending to all this.”
“And meanwhile the Army and SS Generals, and the conservatives among the nobles, make common cause together and conspire against you because you’re not fully committed to the same false dream that inspires them.”
“That’s right. They’re still trapped in the framework in which they were raised – in which everyone on this planet was raised, come to that. What’s going to happen to all of us when that framework collapses?”
