“Oh,” Ambit was a little surprised. “It’s not the Fourth, doing that?”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “You may notice,” she observed, meaning you obviously haven’t noticed, “that the Fourth is not undertaking any directly controlling role in the management either of cargo or passengers. They have encouraged both merchant shipping and passenger liners to resolve those problems for themselves, which they have done, very successfully.”
Ambit conceded the point. The liners had got their act together, not only coping with the evacuation of more than thirty thousand people in the past week, but setting up mechanisms by which transit passengers were passed amongst the liners as they arrived and departed. The container ship Logistics 912 had set up as an alternative trading venue and was now firmly established as a cargo trading centre. It needed a good deal of cooperation and goodwill amongst the spacer community to make that work, but they were doing it.
“It won’t work long term, of course, but as a short term solution, it’s admirable,” Director Torres commented. “And besides involving both liners and the merchant community in taking ownership of the situation, it also leaves the Fourth free to leave the system at any time.”
“Do you think they’ll leave?” Ambit felt a twinge of panic at that. If they were relying on the Fourth to storm the station and arrest Durb Jorgensen and the others, they’d be right up the proverbial creek without a paddle if the Fourth disappeared on them.
“I think they might, if the Pallamar turns up,” said the Director, and looked patiently at him as the new acting MD continued to gaze at her with a questioning expression. “You do appreciate, of course, that what has been going aboard the station is only half the story. The Pallamar is more than a communication link between the traffickers and the drug gang on Dortmell. The Pallamar does not carry drugs themselves – they’re far too clever for that – but they do organise drug shipments and coordinate other ships to pick them up and bring them to the station. Edrin Endel also has his personal sideline going on, obviously, with the piracy. He is far higher up in the Landorn hierarchy than Mr Jorgensen. He is the key to linking the drug trafficking here directly back to the Landorn gang. Skipper von Strada has played down his interest in the Pallamar, but it is certainly very high on his priorities. If he has, as I believe, sufficient evidence now to go after Edrin Endel, he will be waiting and watching, hoping that the Pallamar will put in an appearance.”
“But if they know the Fourth is here, they’d be insane to come into port, surely?” Ambit’s forehead creased.
“If they know the Fourth is here,” Director Torres qualified. “The last word on the Pallamar was that they left Therik four weeks ago. All the liners and other ships heading towards Therik have been asked by the Fourth, in confidence, not to tell the Pallamar that the Heron is in port, should they happen to encounter it. Actually it is unlikely that they will. The Pallamar is in the habit of running off-route, and they’re not likely to expect the Fourth to have arrived here at all, yet, still less to be operational.”
Ambit remembered how astounded they had all been when the Fourth had turned up here a week ago, how impossible it had seemed that they could have completed their refit and inspection in so short a time. If someone had told him then that within a week the Fourth would have forced the evacuation and virtual shutdown of the station, Ambit would have just laughed. If the Pallamar’s skipper believed that the Fourth was still on a training flight, it was possible that they would run into the system to make plans ahead of their arrival.
“Then… they may turn up at any moment,” Ambit said, knowing the cruising speed of a trademaster on a run from Therik to Karadon.
“Indeed,” Director Torres agreed. “It is also possible that we may, within the next few days, have another ship coming out from Head Office. You are entitled to know this now that you are the Acting MD. I sent an urgent message to Head Office within three days of arriving on the station, informing them that I believed the allegations of major drug trafficking to be true, and asking for instructions and backup. Frankly, that was just not an eventuality we’d made plans for because all the information and evidence we appeared to have, on Flancer, made it seem impossible. My report would have reached Head Office five weeks and four days ago. We may receive mail on the next courier or two. If they responded immediately with the fastest ship available, too, they may arrive sometime next week.”
“Oh,” Ambit said. Something told him that his Acting Managing Director role was liable to be short lived. Still, it was a glory that would shine throughout his career. “So… best case scenario, either they leave and the Fourth arrests them or they refuse to leave, we implement EP Five and the Fourth boards and arrests them. But what then, Director? I mean, how can we get the station up and running again when we don’t have any staff?”
“That may take a while,” she said, untroubled. “But that is not important, Mr Persane.” As he stared incredulously at the notion that the station being out of action for weeks, even perhaps for months, wasn’t important, she gave a thin smile.
“Something else you need to understand, now that you wear the mantle of Acting MD,” she told him, “is the bigger picture, here. You may think that I am something of a stickler for policy, refusing to countenance any course of action unless it is according to company policy and procedure.”
Ambit kept his face expressionless. He had found it very frustrating this last week when so many of his ideas for dealing with the Fourth or with the media or with anything had been dismissed out of hand as “contrary to Company policy.”
“What you are failing to appreciate, in that, are the stakes on the table,” she said. “I give you the credit of knowing that the company is in fact under the ownership of one majority Shareholder who prefers to remain anonymous.”
Ambit tried to look surprised, because he was far too low in the corporate hierarchy to know that. Then he remembered he was MD now, and nodded wisely.
“I am aware,” he said, with a touch of grandeur. Then, greatly daring, “I understand that you are personally acquainted with The Shareholder, Director.”
“Confidentiality is absolute,” she stated, with a cold stare. “Protocol is that those who work directly for The Shareholder never reveal that. Or, of course, any hint as to their identity.” As he looked suitably abashed, she relented a little, “I can tell you, however, that I am fully conversant with the opinion and intentions of The Shareholder on the issue of defending the sovereign independence of ISiS Corps stations.
“ISiS Corps policy is so deeply rooted in the League Constitution that it is not going too far to say that we, as a company, actually embody the principles upon which the League was founded. Of these, the First Device states of course that the League shall exist as an association of Free Trading Worlds. The Third Device states that space shall be free and common to all. The sovereignty of ISiS Corps stations as independent entities within League space, trading as free ports without let or hindrance from League authorities, are enshrined in those two fundamental constitutional rights.
“The League Senate is attempting, and not for the first time, to take those rights away. In doing so they are acting unconstitutionally. When a government is trying to act against the principles of its own constitution, and in doing so, violating the rights of its citizens, that can only lead to conflict. When the citizens whose rights they are violating are some of the wealthiest industrialists in the League, that effectively puts government at loggerheads with industry. Are you familiar with the history of the Little Dark Age, Mr Persane?”
“Yes, of course,” said Ambit, meaning that he had vague recollections of learning something about it at school. It was a period of recent history, ending around a hundred and fifty years before, when the League had experienced some thirty years of turmoil. “There were wars and things, economic collapse.” Then, as he made the connection between that and what she was saying about government getting into conflict with industry, his eyes flick
ed wide open. “But you don’t mean you think that something like that could happen again over this?”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “We are in a very delicate, difficult situation, Mr Persane. The Senate is threatening to remove a fundamental constitutional right from the owner of this and the other ISiS. You may not be aware that ISiS Corps invests a great deal in providing infrastructure for our colony worlds. I can tell you, confidentially, that the Senate has been informed that if the sovereign independence of these stations is violated, that support for our colonies will be withdrawn.
“The immediate impact of that would affect tens of millions of colonists. Worlds would not get the system space stations, traffic systems and other infrastructure ISiS Corps would have provided. And League authorities could not step in to provide it for them, either. The government does not have the necessary resources to build stations or large-scale infrastructure like that themselves, and I can tell you now that if ISiS Corps pulls out of it, no other major intersystem corporation would take it on. And that, you see, would just be the start. Move and counter-move, threat and retaliation, government and industry moving from cooperation into conflict, from stability into economic warfare. Suppose, Mr Persane, just suppose that the owner of ISiS Corps was of the view that they would rather shut down all their stations than see them seized under government control. Can you imagine the impact both on trade and transit links across the League?”
Ambit could, and turned visibly paler.
“My job,” said Belassa Torres, “is to see to it that that does not happen. You should understand that that is also Skipper von Strada’s objective. It is common knowledge that he was actually briefed for this mission by the League President. There has been a lot of speculation that President Tyborne may have authorised the Fourth to board the station in direct violation of our sovereignty. Nothing could be further from the truth. His orders are, I guarantee it, to resolve this situation, to stop the drug trafficking and bring those responsible to justice in such a way that ISiS sovereignty is fully respected. He’s achieved that brilliantly and will not, I am sure, set foot on the station unless he has full authorisation from us, from you as acting MD, entirely in accordance with corporate policy under Emergency Protocols. He is, I am sure, fully briefed as to the big picture here, the tremendous sensitivity of these issues, and the stakes in play.”
Ambit looked a little daunted.
“Am I going to have to negotiate with him about things? Von Strada, I mean?”
“No, Mr Persane.” She seemed slightly amused by that. “Negotiations in the sense I think you mean are taking place at a far higher level than you, or I, or Skipper von Strada. Those negotiations may, indeed, go on for many years. We are merely trying to deal with the situation here so that the drug trafficking is stopped without violation of the station’s sovereignty. I daresay Skipper von Strada would appreciate a call from you introducing yourself as the new Acting MD and giving assurance of your full cooperation with him. Do not expect him to discuss his plans with you, though.”
“No.” Ambit’s fantasy of finding himself suddenly elevated to being chairman of the board had not included having to deal with anyone like Alex von Strada, and his expression betrayed relief. “I’ll be directed by you, of course,” he said.
“You will be advised by me,” Belassa Torres corrected. “I have no authority to assume the direction of Karadon myself. The only authority I have is to fire people who are in breach of company policy. I will, of course, advise you as to the correct course of action to take in any eventuality, but I can not actually order you, directly.”
Both of them knew that was a pure technicality, but he nodded gravely, trying to look about thirty years older than he actually was.
“You will have,” he said, “my very best endeavours, Director. But if I am to make these decisions, may I ask about one or two matters that are puzzling me?”
The little twitch at her mouth and slight lift of one eyebrow answered silently only one or two? but she nodded.
“If I may ask,” Ambit said, tentatively because he felt himself to be on uncertain ground, here, “… Zelda?”
“What about her?” Belassa responded, giving nothing away.
“Well, you know, she’s here,” Ambit pointed out. “She didn’t go to a liner with the others, she came here. And, well, I’ve seen that the crew treat her like she’s someone senior in ISiS Corps, and she always seemed to be right in the middle of things somehow. Not mixed up in things exactly but always in the know. So I wondered, you know, if she’s some kind of operative working for the company. An investigator or something.”
“Have you asked her?” Belassa enquired, straight faced.
“I did, yes.” Colour rose into Ambit’s face as he recalled that conversation. He and Zelda had met in the dining room, having breakfast. “She, er, just laughed.” That wasn’t strictly true. She hadn’t just laughed. She’d patted Ambit’s face and told him he was cute as a button. He was not about to admit that to Director Torres, though.
“Well, then,” Director Torres observed, “you have your answer. Your being acting MD will not make a difference to that. There are some things even the MD is not entitled to be told. All I can tell you is that Zelda has the right to call upon company services, including accommodation aboard this ship.”
“Oh,” said Ambit, feeling more convinced than ever that Zelda was an investigator for Head Office. “Right, I see.” Director Torres picked up a pen, a subtle signal that she wanted to bring this meeting to an end, and Ambit took the hint. “I’ll, er, go and call Skipper von Strada and do a media announcement then, shall I?”
Belassa nodded confirmation.
“You should also,” she added, as if it was an afterthought, “establish an open comms link directly between you and the Queen of Cartasay. Liaise with them, which effectively means thanking them repeatedly for what they are doing.”
“Yes, Director,” he said, and departed, looking purposeful.
Belassa Torres did not smile until the door had closed behind him.
Chapter Nineteen
“Well, that settles one thing,” Alex observed to the officer holding the watch. He’d just taken a call from Ambit Persane. The intern – no more than a cadet in Fleet terms – had informed him that he was now the acting MD of Karadon. He had promised Alex his full cooperation and Alex had thanked him, straight faced. “Belassa Torres does have a sense of humour.”
Martine Fishe laughed, nodding agreement. Alex, however, was already turning to the next thing demanding his attention. This was a report from the Intel team. They had, as expected, lost their link into the station from ISiS Karadon. They had, however, just discovered that Ambit Persane had established a continuous two-way comms link between himself and the command deck of the Queen of Cartasay, still the biggest liner in port. His comm was still linked to the Karadon system and had given them another way in.
Alex wondered, briefly, whether that was deliberate, whether Ambit Persane had realised that they were hacking the system and needed a continuous dataflow to be able to maintain it. Then he dismissed the thought. Ambit Persane just wasn’t that bright.
Within minutes, however, they were getting another steady flow of information from the station’s computers, backing up copies of all comms and files as they were created or changed. Durb Jorgensen was refusing to acknowledge the right of Director Torres to fire him and the remaining staff. He was claiming that she did not have the authority to do so since she was not actually aboard the station. That was nonsense, of course, but nobody had expected him or the others to just accept being fired.
Alex took little notice of the statements being made to the media. He was far more interested in the messages going about between the people on the station. They evidently still didn’t believe that their system had been hacked. Hale Ardant was sending memos to his security staff with newly drawn up schedules for them. Unless those memos were deliberate misinformation, it appeared that the thirty fou
r security personnel remaining on the station would be working in two alternating shifts, located at a central point so as to be able to respond at speed to any force going aboard.
Alex was looking at schematics, deciding the best way to get a boarding party onto the station, when Rangi Tekawa arrived on the command deck.
“Sorry sir, I’ve had to operate on Logan Tantrell so he won’t be cleared for interview until tomorrow morning,” he said. “He had quite a nasty stomach ulcer.”
Alex accepted that philosophically. As keen as he was to interview Logan Tantrell, he wouldn’t risk the validity of that evidence by even the slightest breach of proper procedures.
“I’ve transferred him to the brig,” Rangi added. “He wasn’t really comfortable in sickbay and it’s nice and quiet there. He’s got a bio-monitor on and Alvyn will pop in to check on him every hour.”
“All right,” Alex acknowledged. Then, seeing the very innocent, hopeful look on the medic’s face, he went on, “So, tell me the “slight problem” with the lizard. In,” he fixed the medic with a stern look, “thirty words or less.”
Rangi paused for a few seconds to collect his thoughts, then tallied off the words on his fingers as he spoke.
“He doesn’t have an export licence. But we can get a vet to give a quarantine certificate. We just have to register to get a licence to keep him.” Finding that he had one word left of the quota the skipper had allowed, he smiled, “Sir.”
Alex stared at him. It was immediately apparent to him why the Demella Enterprise’s engineer had been so willing to give up ownership of his pet. If it had no export licence from the world it had come from, that would have to be declared by any ship going into port. Port Authorities would immediately put such a ship into strict quarantine, not allowing anyone on or off the ship until full quarantine procedures had been accomplished. At best, that would take days. At worst, they might be stuck aboard the ship for a month or more.
Karadon (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) Page 30
