“This Bug-infested navigational disaster, masquerading as an Imperial Protected System, is where the Belters want to settle,” I asked, unable to understand why anyone would actually choose to stay here. The primitives who were native to the place probably didn't know any better, but the Belters had seen far better places and knew just how bad this place was, didn't they? “Let’s forget the main dish issue for a moment,” I said, “honestly, do they have a death wish or something? Right now they are the only settlers in the system that have the option of leaving, and they are the only ones that don’t want to go. Has living in orbit caused them to lose their minds?”
I turned to the First Officer for an explanation.
“Greed, Admiral,” said Lieutenant Tremblay. “It’s as simple as that, I’m afraid.”
“What in this undeveloped navigation hazard is worth risking your life fighting Bugs over,” I asked, genuinely surprised but trying to hide it.
“The same thing that has our own Science Officer drooling,” the First Officer said.
This made me cock my head in interest.
“Trillium deposits. There are deposits scattered all over the system, and they are significant,” he paused. “Our Science Officer thinks that’s why we mis-jumped so close to the planet. Supposedly, the deposits threw off our normal calculations,” he shrugged before continuing, “The Belters see this as the mother lode. Despite the high level of impurities in the Trillium, probably related to the same reason its scattered all over the system, a Trillium mining operation would set them for at least several lifetimes.”
“They want to mine the system for Trillium while Bug Ships are taking pot shots at them,” I said in disbelief.
“They claim that even with the longer processing times and the extra facilities they’d need to build, borrow or steal to get rid of the excessive impurities and make it safe to put in a starship, they could still dominate refueling for three sectors,” Tremblay said shaking his head.
“But that still doesn’t answer the main question. The Bugs. How long to they expect to survive playing hide and seek when the main force arrives,” I growled in frustration.
“They claim that mining Trillium is more delicate than what they were originally planning for and that mining lasers will be of limited use to them during its extraction and refinement. I think they are planning to put the heavy mining lasers on their shuttles instead,” said Tremblay, looking unconvinced at this notion.
I threw my hands in the air extravagantly. “I’m not a trained naval officer, but even I can see that shuttles and mining lasers, even powerful ones aren’t going to be enough when the Bug Fleet comes knocking,” I said. “Are they out of their blasted minds?”
The First Officer hesitated as if there was something more to say but he wasn’t quite willing to broach it yet.
I waved my hands in a circular, come along, motion. “Spit it out, man,” I said, incredulous at the notion that there was more bad news to be had. How long had I been out of it in sickbay, anyways?
Tremblay pursed his lips, “They haven’t said so outright, and so I’m only guessing here, understand,” began Tremblay.
I made a hurry it up motion. “I get you,” I said, my heart sinking.
The first officer looked like he had a fishbone caught in his throat, “I think they are gambling that you won’t let an entire planet full of people, the natives down on Tracto VI, be eaten alive when the Bugs come to strip the system. That you’re going to stay and protect them,” he said finally, “the helpless natives.”
I lay back in my chair, stunned into silence.
“If there are too many to evacuate…as our sensors seem to indicate,” said the First Officer, glaring at something only he could see, “even if we had all three settler ships working and they were completely empty, it wouldn’t be enough,” he then switched gears, “I think the Belters believe you’ll want to stop the Bug ships before they get inside the system proper and are an immediate threat to the planetary population. In which case, there’ll probably be enough firepower stationed inside the system itself to make the risks to Belters themselves…more manageable.”
I shot out of the Throne. “No,” I exclaimed. Now I saw why the First Officer wanted me on put a magic stop to this mess. This was one of those situations naval officers talk about being presented with during training, which they referred to by some obscure name but most of us simply called a ‘no-win scenario.’ “This is a Restricted System,” I protested.
“Not according to you,” said Lieutenant Tremblay with relish. “You told them that with the Empire gone, you were charged with the ability to make decisions about who could and could not come to this system.”
“That’s not what I meant!” I said, sounding strangled even to my own ears.
“That’s how they’ve taken it, even the Caprian settlers who don’t want to stay. To say nothing of the Prometheans who’ve been planning to land on the surface. They all believe you have to power say who gets to stay and who has to go.” Tremblay had been cooking this up for some time, and he was obviously savoring every moment of my excruciating agony.
I put the palm of a hand over each eye and leaned back into the char while I thought, desperately trying to find a way out of this well-crafted box.
Every time I thought I was almost out of this mess, I got sucked back in even further. “No way,” I said more quietly and slammed my fist on the dented arm rest of the Admirals Throne. This could not be happening.
I glared at the arm rest. I really needed to get that fixed. Then I turned to stare at the First Officer before turning my eyes on the main screen where the icon representing the Belter ship was represented.
First, it was save the prize ship in a strictly mercenary affair in which I directly benefited along with the crew. Next, it was take three functional capital ships and save some settlers from pirates, although I had ended up with only one active (but very unarmed) battleship for that fiasco. Then, to save the settlers, and after I had rescued them, I would have to divert to what looked to be the safest temporary port I could find until we could return with help. Now, it turned out that the ‘safe’ port was about the most dangerous place I could have possibly chosen to put them. Ships were breaking down left and right, and the only people who seemed able to leave and get out of here were too blinded by their own selfish interest to see clearly, and the only sane ones who wanted to get out of here were stuck for the duration!
“I see,” I said in a calmer voice, working hard to regain that infamous regal composure. “I see,” I repeated, and I did see. I saw a big choice looming before me, one that put all the other choices I had made already to shame. I could either throw up my hands and say I wasn’t trained for this, and that this whole mess wasn’t my problem anymore (which was, once again, suddenly sounding quite appealing). Or I could stick around and try to deal with it.
On the one hand, I could be just like the Imperials I despised and wash my hands of the whole messy affair. Perhaps put someone else in command like Janeski did, then just head off to deal with supposedly more important matters, like my own continued, long term survival.
On the other hand, I could stay. Say Parliament could go space itself for all I cared and continue on with this charade that I was a real Confederated Space Admiral and was actually supposed to be dealing with problems like this.
I could refuse to give up and continue trying for as long as I could. Which was probably up until someone in authority successfully called my bluff or my crew decided enough was enough and pulled a coordinated, successful mutiny.
When you put it like that, the answer was obvious. I needed to run for the hills.
However, when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead, Mr. Tremblay,” I said.
Tremblay's smirk fell away and he looked at me like I had just lost my mind. His appraisal might very well have been the case, to be honest. Although clearly, he completely missed the reference to one of the
more popular, ongoing holo-vid series.
“There are no torpedoes, Sir,” he said carefully, as if talking to a dangerous lunatic who was about to snap. “Where do you want us to go, at full speed ahead?”
“Get me the ship’s lawyer, Mr. First Officer. I’ll need to speak with him before talking to the Belters about the situation,” I replied, my tone hard and even. “Never give up, never surrender,” I finished pumping my fist in the air.
Tremblay gave me a strange look before slowly backing away to go look for something that might resemble an attorney.
It eventually turned out that the ship’s lawyer had been an Imperial. However, the ship’s manifest eventually turned up a crewman in supply who had recently sat for his Board Examination to become a divorce lawyer. He was currently a trained, licensed paralegal and still awaiting the results of his entrance exam for his law degree.
Since he was the best we had at the moment, I decided to sit him down in the Admiral’s ready room. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted spread all over the bridge.
The crewman came in and before I had a chance to speak, the aspiring officer of the court came over and eagerly shook my hand.
“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Harpsinger,” I said, accepting his proffered hand. “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
The crewman got his first good look at the man underneath the helmet and a horrified look came over his face. Seeing that I’d caught him staring at me in such a manner, he quickly whipped his face and pasted on a sickly smile.
“First off, let me be the first to congratulate you and say it’s been a pleasure serving under you, Sir,” Mr. Harpsinger said, obviously struggling to inject some enthusiasm into the conversation after his initial misstep. “I realize that technically I might not have my degree in divorce law, but I assure you I am fully capable of providing sound legal advice.”
“Excellent. However, your study of divorce law wasn’t exactly the reason I called you here. I understand you’re a trained paralegal as well, and at times you have helped out in the ship’s legal department,” I said, trying to steer the conversation in the proper direction.
“Of course, Admiral. Of course, anything I can do to help,” said the future divorce lawyer. “But before we get started with all the rest, I’ll just need to know a few things,” said Mr. Harpsinger with a growing enthusiasm, now that we were on a subject he could expound on. “Now, since you’re clearly not interested in a divorce, were you thinking about an annulment or are you planning to keep the marriage despite the, uh, cultural differences,” he asked eagerly.
“If we could focus on the issue at hand,” I said, certain at this point that we were, indeed, a ship of fools.
“Because I’ve looked into the case law and there are clear precedents either way you want to slice it,” the future divorce lawyer continued, with a knowing wink and a chuckle that completely eluded me.
“I don’t think you understand me, Mr. Harpsinger,” I said, slamming a fist onto the table to get this latest lunatic's attention. “I am interested in resolving a brewing settlement crisis as it directly relates to this system,” I said forcefully, wishing desperately for my power armor. I mean come on, the man might be enthusiastic about his new profession and rattled by meeting the fire-scarred admiral of the ship, but surely he wasn’t so dense as to ignore the issue at hand.
Mr. Harpsinger looked uneasy. “This is really outside of my field of expertise,” he said, looking confused.
“Let's just run through the situation, and you can tell me what you know and what you don’t. Then, depending on where we end up, you can research the matter further,” I said soothingly, as though speaking to a child. I was actually quite grateful the other man was finally on track, to be honest.
I walked the hopeful lawyer through the situation. A Prohibited World in a Restricted System. The Prometheans, who had nowhere else to go and the Caprians, who didn’t want to stay but had no choice at the moment with a cracked main dish. The Belters who could leave but didn’t want to and wanted to mine Trillium instead. And finally, the Empire's potential legal authority over an area which they had illegally vacated.
“So, in short what are my options, from a legal stand point,” I asked, grateful to be finished with the recitation. I looked expectantly at the paralegal.
The future divorce lawyer looked overwhelmed. “I… Well I-I don’t know where to start,” said Mr. Harpsinger.
“No, no. That’s okay. If you need time to do some research and get back to me, I understand,” I said, hiding my disappointment. Really, I hadn’t been expecting a miracle out of the crewman, although I had honestly hoped for a little more to go on right away.
“You… ah. You don’t understand, Admiral,” said Mr. Harpsinger, the color draining from his cheeks. The crewman started sweating. This was never a good sign, in my opinion. “The precedents in interstellar law are pretty clear. Even if we accept your authority as a fully fledged Confederation Admiral with the authority to enter the system, you don’t have the right to land just anyone you want on a currently inhabited world,” said the aspiring lawyer.
“What,” I said in surprise. “Surely, as a representative of the Confederation, I have the ability to made decisions in an emergency. It's not like they have to stay here indefinitely. We’ll pull them off later, I promise.”
The future divorce lawyer was shaking his head. “Nope. I’m afraid not Admiral. The case law is pretty settled on this point. There were too many cases of planetary piracy in the early days of the Confederation. It’s clearly established that if more than ten colonists land on any world without the express permission of the world’s government, they can be held and treated as pirates. Unless, that is, the planetary government chooses to pardon them and let them stay. Barring that, they would have every right to execute them as hostile invaders. The crews of the settlement ships should be fine. The law is different in the case of crew abandoning a dead or dying ship,” he said, pausing for breath.
I cut in incredulously, “These people aren’t Pirates! They’re refugees!”
Mr. Harpsinger shook his head in negation. “I tend to agree with you, but this is a case of settled law. The high courts have ruled and say without equivocation that they are attempting Piracy if they land without an invitation.”
“So, we need an invitation from a planetary government that doesn’t exist, or else this same non-existent government will have the right to hang them as pirates,” I said in disgust. “You see where I’m going here. This is idiotic. How can bureaucratic nonsense like this apply to such a fractured, primitive population like this one?”
“Look, I don’t make the laws Admiral; I’m just giving you my best advice. Remember, I’m not even a lawyer yet. But in the case of a world failing to have a planetary government, you could directly appeal to one of the individual nation states instead. Although, really you’d be on firmer ground if you could get the agreement of all of the states first before landing the settler refugees,” he said, clearly at the limits of his 'expertise.'
“I don’t have time for this nonsense,” I said in disgust. This idea was a bust. I might just be better off asking for forgiveness than permission.
“Um, Admiral? Since you’ve asked me about this, I feel compelled to advise you that under Confederation law, if these colonists attempt to land on a Protected World, you are required to use any force necessary to stop them,” said Harpsinger. Seeing my horrified look, he hurried on, “If, on the other hand, you stand by and do nothing, or worse even order them to land, you would probably be considered a Planetary Pirate yourself, since you have the most powerful ship in the system. You’d be arrested at the next port for trial and if convicted, you’d be spaced.”
“You’re saying, Mr. Harpsinger,” I said, cold with fury, “That I either standby and watch thousands of helpless settlers die as they wait for permission from a government that doesn’t exist, and I might add, in a system I personally brought them to for
refuge. Or I tell them to land and then I return to the Confederation for execution. Do I understand what you’ve said clearly? Oh wait, there was a part in there about how I’m obligated to blow them up if they tend not to like any of the options.” I roared the last sentence.
Under the weight of a mutilated Admiral’s hot stare and angry demeanor, the future divorce lawyer floundered. His mouth opening and closing like a fish. Then, as if a light bulb had gone off, the crewman from supply jumped out of his chair.
“Wait! I’ve got it. You can give them permission to land, Admiral!” declared the paralegal, dancing around the office with relief.
“You’re making no sense, Mr. Harpsinger. First, I have no authority to tell them to land, and have to blow them away if they do and now I have that very authority. Bring it together, and soon,” I said, struggling to control my temper.
Admiral Who? (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 28
