by Peter Grant
“Good idea. I don’t think he’ll complain – provided, of course, that he finds the tael before anyone else does.” They grinned at each other.
After they’d eaten, Steve took a blanket and pillow and turned towards the workshop’s reception area, intending to stretch out along a padded bench and get some rest. Before he could reach it, Lieutenant Chetty intercepted him.
“May I ask you something, sir?” the Devakai officer asked.
“Sure. What is it?”
“You said something about nominating that diplomat, the one who dived on the grenade, for an award; but he was a civilian. How can he qualify for a military medal?”
“Not all our medals are military. The Fleet awards the Lancastrian Star in four grades – Bronze, Silver, Gold and Valor – to its personnel only, for courage in combat. The Lancastrian Cross, in the same four grades, is awarded for the same degrees of valor to three different groups of people. It can go to Fleet personnel for non-combat acts; or to civilians, and members of foreign military services, for any courageous act, whether in combat or not. It might be lifesaving, or firefighting, or helping during a disaster – anything like that. If it’s combat related, it’s awarded with what we call a ‘combat device’, a small letter ‘C’. Look, I’m wearing one.” He pointed to the Lancastrian Cross in Silver that he wore next to the Star in Silver in the jingling row of medals on his Number One uniform. “I was awarded that as a civilian, before I joined the Fleet, after a fight with pirates. You can see the combat device on the ribbon.”
Chetty peered at it. “Yes, I see it. So, if you’d been in the Fleet at the time, the medal would have been a Star rather than a Cross?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s the bronze rosette on the ribbon of the first medal in the row, next to the Cross?”
“That’s the Lancastrian Star in Silver, and the rosette indicates a second award.”
“I see. We have no valor awards for civilians. I like the idea.”
“I think it’s a good one. We based the concept on the British Empire’s awards from Old Home Earth, before the Space Age. The Victoria Cross was their highest combat award, matched by the George Cross for non-combat valor. Lower awards had similar pairings.”
“Do you think the diplomat will be awarded his medal?”
“That’s not my decision. I’ll nominate him. If the Board of Admiralty agrees that his actions merit it – and if the Department of State agrees, because he worked for them and they’ll have a say – then the case will go to the Awards Committee of the Commonwealth Senate, who have the final say for Valor-level awards. If he doesn’t receive the Cross of Valor, he’ll probably get it in a lower grade.”
As Steve rolled himself in his blanket and lay down on the bench seat, he made a mental note to nominate Lieutenant Chetty for some form of recognition as well. Without the help of a local guide, they might not have made it out of the city at all.
—————
Steve stirred as a hand shook his shoulder. “Wake up, sir,” he heard Senior Chief Aznar say. “We have a problem.”
He pulled himself upright, shaking his head to clear it and rubbing his eyes as he glanced at his comm unit’s time display. “What’s up, Senior Chief?”
“Sir, that Kodan Whatsisface guy just addressed the planet from the steps of the Parliament building. We listened over there,” and he nodded towards a holographic display on the far side of the reception area. “Our translation software told us what he’d said. He’s taken over the government, and plans to rule with his ‘divine power’, as he calls it. He’s ordered an immediate curfew until six tomorrow morning. Every official must be back at their posts tomorrow and continue with their duties, on pain of death, until he has time to reconsider their positions and make changes. The same goes for the police and armed forces.
“He mentioned all of us in his speech, sir – the diplomats, you, and us spacers. He says we’re ‘off-world unbelievers who pollute the planet with our pagan presence’. He’s told all his forces to be on the lookout for us, and to bring us in dead or alive. He says any locals who help us are traitors to Devakai and apostates in the sight of the Gods – I think that means his sight, sir. They’ll ‘share our fate’, whatever that means.”
Steve swore silently to himself. “That’s not good. Let me talk to Number One and see what the ship can tell us. Stay here and listen in, so you know what’s going on.”
He took out his satellite phone and switched it to speaker. “Maxwell to Pickle, over.”
There was a longer pause than before, thanks to the ship’s greater distance from the communications drone. It took several seconds for the radio signals to cover the distance and be unscrambled at the other end, and for a response to return. At last he heard, “Pickle to Maxwell, go ahead, over.” He recognized the voice of an enlisted communications technician.
“Put the First Lieutenant on this circuit. Over.”
“Aye aye, sir. Wait one.” Another pause, then Juliette’s voice. “Number One here, sir. Over.”
“What’s your status? Over.”
“We made it out of orbit without anyone noticing, sir. I think the Orbital Control staff were probably too busy begging the rebels from planetside not to shoot them out of hand! About twenty minutes after we left, OrbCon called us, wanting to know why we’d moved and where we were. I didn’t reply, of course. We’re using all our stealth systems and moving on reaction thrusters only, so they can’t see us on radar or lidar and can’t track us by gravitic drive emissions. We should be at the rendezvous point in about seven hours, sir, unless something happens to sidetrack us. Over.”
“That’s good news. I presume you heard Kodan Sastagan’s broadcast? Over.”
“Yes, sir, we recorded it. Over.”
“Did you see any improvement in the security situation after that? Is the curfew taking effect? Over.”
“No, sir, it isn’t. Looting continues in and around every shopping district, and it’s getting worse. There must be tens of thousands of people on the streets. Police are telling their headquarters that they’ve lost control. They’ve asked for military reinforcements, but senior officers are complaining that a lot of their soldiers were detached for service elsewhere – they didn’t say when, or where – so they don’t have enough on hand to cope with the unrest. From a few things they said to each other over the radio, we got the impression they’d expected those troops to return ‘in triumph’, whatever that means, before Kodan Sastagan took over. If they had, they’d have been available to stop this sort of thing. It seems their absence wasn’t authorized by the President. He found out about it this morning and raised hell, which apparently forced Sastagan’s hand. He had to mount his takeover bid right away, before he was fully ready. Even so, it seems to have worked, but with more looting and mob violence than they’d expected.”
Steve nodded to himself as he listened. That explained where those assault shuttles aboard the transport had come from. The soldiers using them had probably been accommodated in one of the personnel pods installed on the ship. If they expected to return ‘in triumph’, there was only one likely destination for them – and Brooks and his Marines would bear the brunt of their assault.
Juliette continued, “They’re planning to have assault shuttles fly low over the worst-hit areas, to try to intimidate people into going home. They’re even considering using the shuttles’ plasma cannon to ‘create some examples’, as they put it. Thanks to those ‘detachments’ they mentioned, they don’t have enough assault shuttles to both mount patrols, and stand by with a reaction force. They’re planning to use unarmed airvans to patrol quieter suburbs and the outskirts of the city. They’ll reserve their shuttles for trouble spots. Over.”
Steve nodded slowly. “Thank you, Number One. The patrols are bad news, because one may spot us as we move. On the other hand, if it’s using an airvan rather than an assault shuttle, it won’t have a plasma cannon or missiles to shoot at us. Over.”
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“Yes, sir. Hopefully, they won’t see you at all. Over.”
“We can’t rely on that. If we use headlights to drive after dark, they can’t miss them. We’ll have to change our plans. We’ll leave before sunset, at about seventeen-thirty local time. That’ll give us about an hour before full dark, which should be enough to cover the twenty-five kilometers to Rendezvous Five without needing to use our headlights. Tell the cutter pilot to be there by eighteen-thirty to pick us up. She’s to keep clear of Gangai. I don’t want an assault shuttle detecting her and opening fire, because the cutter’s unarmed and can’t defend itself. She should make her descent well out to sea, beyond local radar coverage and out of visual range, then head towards shore to the north of the city. Over.”
“Aye aye, sir. Over.”
“What are the SPS’s two patrol craft doing? Over.”
“They’re looking for us, sir, using radar and lidar. One’s orbiting the planet’s equator, while the other’s moved about one light-hour further out. There’s been some small craft traffic between the SPS headquarters and the Kalla shipyard. I think they may be transferring personnel to get one or both of the patrol craft there operational again, to help search for us. Over.”
Steve frowned. “Yes, I’d do that if I were in their shoes. I bet they’re wishing they had their other patrol craft back – the ones they sent to the asteroid mining project.” He glanced around, making sure that none of the diplomats or the journalist were within earshot, and lowered his voice. “I want you to prepare a diversion, in case we need it while we rendezvous with you, or when we head for the system boundary. Have Warrant Officer Macneill change the orbit of the drone that’s monitoring communications between the temple and Kalla. It’s to maintain station ten kilometers from the shipyard. The second drone is to maintain station ten kilometers from the SPS space station. If necessary, we’ll detonate their nuclear demolition charges. They’re small, so at that distance they won’t damage the shipyard or space station, but the explosions will disrupt all electromagnetic frequencies in orbit for ten to fifteen minutes. That’ll shut down communications and radar, giving us time to get clear. Set that up so we can activate it within seconds. Over.”
“Will do, sir. What about the drone we’re using to maintain contact with you? Over.”
“We’ll leave that one in place for now, until we no longer need it. Over.”
“Aye aye, sir. Over.”
“All right, Number One. Call me if anything new develops. Maxwell standing by.”
As he slipped the satphone back into his pocket, he said to Aznar, “You heard that. We’ll split into two groups. I’ll command one, and you the other. I’m rated Expert with handgun and rifle. What about you?”
“Sharpshooter with a rifle, not rated with pistol, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll give you the rifle I took off the soldier I shot. Its controls are straightforward, so you should have no trouble using it. Are any of your spacers rated with a handgun?”
“Bartos is rated Marksman, sir.”
“I’ll give him the second pistol, then. I’ll hang onto the two grenades for now. Who knows? They may come in useful.”
“Forgive me for hoping they don’t, sir! We don’t need that much excitement.”
Steve had to chuckle. “You’re right. I’ll take the Devakai citizens in the taxi with me, because Lieutenant Chetty must translate for his parents. He also has local knowledge, so he’ll drive. I’ll take Ms. Bonaventura and the journalist with me; the other three diplomats will go in your van. Give me two of your spacers, including Bartos, and you keep the other three.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Aznar hesitated. “Sir, why do you think this Kodan guy’s so all-fired eager to get his hands on us? I mean, we’re basically irrelevant now. He’s in control of the planet, so why is he so worried about capturing us?”
“I suppose it’s because, if we’re dead, he can pretend to the settled galaxy that he took control here more or less peacefully and legitimately. No-one on Devakai is likely to stick their necks out to disagree, not after the previous government was shot out of hand. If we get away, we can expose him for the murdering bastard he is. That would demolish any credibility he might otherwise have.”
Aznar grinned wryly. “I get it, sir. If that’s so, though, he should just have held off on his coup for a few more days. We’d have been gone within a week. After that, he could have done anything he liked, and there’d have been no witnesses to worry about.”
“Yes, but remember what the First Lieutenant said. If the President raised hell about those troops that were detached without his permission, that would have forced his hand.”
“Yes, sir. I wonder where they were ‘detached’ to?”
“I think we can both guess the answer to that!” Steve stood. “No time to worry about it now. Come on, let’s get organized.”
They divided the party into two groups and assigned them to their vehicles. “Get some more food if you’re hungry, and use the bathroom,” Steve warned. “You may not get another chance this evening. Pack all your gear into your vehicle, then stay close. We’ll be leaving in less than an hour.”
Marisela’s previous resentment at obeying his orders seemed to have abated. Since Peter Gallegros’ death, she’d become withdrawn. Her expression was haunted, her face haggard with strain. He shrugged. She was experiencing – probably for the first time – the brutal reality of life on more than a few planets, outside the diplomatic cocoon in which she’d lived and moved for so long.
As the sun sank lower in the sky, he called the ship again. “Any change? Over.”
Warrant Officer Macneill answered, “No, sir. The looting’s as bad as ever. Assault shuttles have used their plasma cannon on two shopping centers. They seem to have killed a lot of people and dispersed the looters, but they also started big fires. The fire brigade can’t get to them because the streets are blocked by rioters and abandoned vehicles, so the flames are spreading. Over.”
Steve shook his head. “That’s lousy for the residents, but useful for us, because local forces will be concentrating on those areas. They’re less likely to pay attention to a couple of vehicles heading away from the city. We’ll use the taxi and one of Senior Chief Aznar’s vans. Over.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll use your satellite phones as beacons to follow your movements. One thing, though; I won’t be able to warn you about any trouble ahead after it starts to get dark. The drone’s orbit is too high to use its low-light sensors. Over.”
Steve grimaced. “I’d forgotten about that. We can’t risk sending it lower – it might be detected – so we’ll have to hope for the best. We’ll leave in a few minutes. Maxwell standing by.”
He and Aznar held a hurried conference with Lieutenant Chetty. “Remember,” Steve warned them, “we daren’t allow ourselves to be taken prisoner. After what happened earlier today, plus Kodan Sastagan’s threats against us, we know what that would mean.” The NCO and the local officer nodded their emphatic agreement.
Chetty indicated his preferred route on a map. “Most of our journey is through a nature reserve, sir. It’s largely heavy brush and woodland, thick enough that it’ll help to hide our vehicles. Only the last five kilometers are through farming land, and that’s much further away from the city, so there aren’t likely to be patrols out there.”
“Very well. Senior Chief, follow us at a safe distance, but stay in sight. If something ahead looks suspicious, I’ll have Lieutenant Chetty pull over, then you and I will scout ahead.”
“Got it, sir.”
“Very well. Get everyone aboard, and let’s hit the road.”
—————
As the twilight thickened and more stars became visible overhead, they left the nature reserve and moved out into open farms. Before them, the road stretched out in a straight line until it vanished over a rise, three kilometers ahead.
Steve stretched. “I remember a song from Old Home Earth that was written before the Sp
ace Age. It’s called ‘There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight’. It looks like Gangai’s enduring its own version of that.” He gestured towards the horizon. Above large parts of the city, clouds of smoke glowed flickering red in the reflected glare of the fires.
Chetty said somberly, “I’m sorry for the people having to endure that, sir. Their homes and livelihoods are burning down around their ears.”
Steve sighed. “Yes, they are. It’s always the ‘little people’ who get hurt worst by events like this. It’s been that way throughout the course of human history.”
Chetty held the speed down to no more than thirty kilometers per hour, to make driving safer in the absence of headlights. They drove across the open area towards the slight rise ahead. Steve watched carefully, and ordered the spacers in his vehicle to keep a sharp lookout to the sides and rear, but they saw no aircars or other movement.
As they topped the rise, Chetty suddenly called, “Roadblock ahead!” A police van was parked on the shoulder, a couple of hundred meters ahead. A red light had been placed on either side of the paved surface. Two uniformed figures sat in the van, visible under its roof light, while two more stood in the road. One of them held up his hand commandingly, in a clear signal to stop. He and his colleague had carbines slung over their right shoulders, level with their hips. Their right hands and forearms rested loosely along the top of the weapons.
Steve mentally cursed their bad luck. Of all places to hit a roadblock, why here, out in the country, where there should have been only empty space? That’s probably why it is here, he suddenly realized. Those police don’t want to be in the middle of a riot, any more than we do, so they’re patrolling way out here instead. They can use Kodan Sastagan as their excuse. He’s told people to find us and bring us in, dead or alive, so they can claim they were trying to stop us, or anyone else, getting away from the city.
