by Peter Grant
“That will not be necessary. We shall provide our own people.”
“As you wish. I hope you will enjoy your tenancy.”
After the team had left, the owner walked back to the boardroom. Idly, he looked out through a pane of sparkling-clean glass, then glanced down at the bottom of the window. Nothing out of the ordinary was visible to the naked eye. Smiling, he nodded to himself, then turned and left the building, locking it behind him.
Two weeks later, elaborate precautions preceded the first board meeting in the new premises of Kreshnik Security Services. The security team swept the entire building for listening devices, rather than just one floor each day, as usual. After the boardroom had been declared free of bugs, its doors were locked. A guard prevented anyone from entering until half an hour before the scheduled meeting. Even then, every person going inside to prepare for it was searched and scanned, then accompanied by an armed guard to ensure they did nothing suspicious.
In his office on the ground floor, the building owner-cum-manager waited until a few seconds before the scheduled start of the meeting before opening a drawer and taking out a console. He switched it on, then pressed two keys. At the base of two of the boardroom’s windows, whisker-thin antennae emerged from almost invisibly tiny holes inside the triple-paned windows. They angled toward the inner pane and pressed themselves lightly against it, where they could pick up any vibration. Any observer would have had to use a magnifying glass to detect them, particularly through the reflections on the glass – and, even then, only if he had known where to look.
The twelve members of the board filed into the room precisely at fifteen-thirty. The majority were old men, one using a wheelchair. Five were middle-aged. One, powerfully built and well-muscled, went to the head of the table. He waited until all were in their seats, then reached for a gavel, tapping it twice on the sounding block.
“In accordance with our traditions, I, Agim Nushi, selected by our Patriarch of sacred memory to succeed him as Chairman, call this meeting of the Brotherhood Council to order.”
In his office, six floors below, the manager listened over an earbud as the whisker antennae picked up the slight vibration of the glass, caused by the sound of the speaker’s voice. Powerful computers analyzed the vibrations, converting them to sounds, and relayed them to the earbud – and to a recording device in the open drawer.
“This is the first meeting we have had in four months. I ask your forgiveness for the delay, brothers, but I make no apologies. In the light of what we now know happened to our two destroyers in the Mycenae system last year, and what we have learned since, we must be hyper-vigilant about security.”
There was a sudden stillness around the table. “You have learned more?” one demanded.
“Yes. I can now tell you that our destroyers were detected by a system surveillance satellite, or rather a constellation of such satellites. We did not believe that Eufala Corporation, as it was then known, could afford such a device; but we were wrong. The satellite detected our destroyers as they began decelerating, three billion kilometers before they reached their target.
“We also did not know that Eufala had already obtained one modern warship, a corvette. She was, of course, much smaller and less powerful than either of our ships; but our people did not know she was there, and she was stealthy, very hard to detect. She moved into an ambush position, very slowly and quietly, and launched her missiles undetectably, at very low speed, leaving them on the line of our ships’ trajectory; then she withdrew. When our destroyers reached a range from them of just one million kilometers, the missiles fired. Our vessels were taken by surprise, and did not have enough time to defend themselves. Both were destroyed. Our Patriarch died with them.”
Several of the Board exclaimed in grief and anguish, but Agim held up his hand. “Do not mourn. The Patriarch told us, before he departed on his final mission, that he would rather die as a man, fighting for our Fatherland, than in bed, surrounded by the wailing of women. That is precisely what he did. Furthermore, his example must have transmitted itself to our spacers. They launched at least some of their missiles, not at their attacker, but at their primary target – the ships in orbit around Mycenae Primus Four. They damaged several, and destroyed at least one. It was named HCS Piranha. I understand the initials stand for ‘Hawkwood Corporation Ship’, the new name adopted by Eufala. We should call our enemy that in future, to avoid confusion.”
“What type of ship was it?” another demanded.
“We think it was a patrol craft, a small warship. Our informant was a spacer on liberty at Constanta. Our agent plied him with food and drink, and got that much out of him, but no more before he collapsed in a drunken stupor. Wisely, I think, our agent left at that point, rather than try to pursue the matter. With luck, the spacer will not recall their conversation at all.”
“Did the enemy learn anything from our ships?”
“The spacer said both were destroyed, with no survivors.”
“So, they could not have learned we have two more destroyers, or other warships?”
“They will surely assume we have more armed vessels, as we would, if we were in their shoes. Do not underestimate them. They have shown courage and ability. They will be a hard nut to crack.”
“Do we have to crack them at all? Can we not just ignore them, and operate in systems where they are not present?”
Agim shook his head. “They know about us. They captured at least one survivor of the ship destroyed in Mycenae earlier, that was collecting our asteroid prospector robots, and they intercepted the teams of spies we later sent to Skraill and Constanta. They may have been able to take some of them alive, and interrogate them. We do not know this with certainty, but it would be foolish to assume otherwise. They undoubtedly know of our existence, and that we have taken hostile action against them. Even though they captured no evidence, they will realize we were almost certainly behind the attack on their Mycenae base. They will not believe that we might leave them alone in future. I expect them to come after us. We must be ready when they do. Part of that is being ready to attack them, rather than wait for them to attack us.”
An older man observed sourly, “We should never have persisted in the Mycenae system after losing our ship there. Because we did, we have brought this fight upon ourselves. It is unnecessary! It is distracting us from the Fatherland Project, and consuming much of what we had built up toward that end.”
Agim nodded slowly. “I cannot disagree, Skender. It would have been better to let things drop. However, we did not. It seemed good to us at the time to go after Hawkwood, to teach it to leave us alone. All of us in this room voted to do so, as did our late Patriarch.” He looked around the table, staring each man in the eye, daring them to deny their share of collective responsibility. “There is no point in arguing about what we should or should not have chosen. We did choose, and we acted on that choice. We must now live with its consequences.
“Let us get back to business. There is news concerning our preparations and our enemy’s. I wish to thank Endrit and Fatmir for their invaluable assistance in helping me to coordinate everything. Without their help, we could not have achieved so much since our last meeting. Endrit, would you please begin?”
Another middle-aged man stood, taller and thinner than Agim. “Thank you, Agim.” He glanced around. “It is clear Hawkwood is preparing for a major conflict. There can be no other explanation for the rate at which they are arming themselves. We have learned they have ordered a full squadron of corvettes, at least eight ships, of which six or more are now in service. They have also ordered a squadron of frigates from the same manufacturer. A frigate usually carries about twice as many missiles as a corvette.”
An older man interrupted. “How can they buy such ships, when the United Planets forbids civilian-owned armed ships to carry more than two missile pods?”
“Probably in the same way we are getting around that restriction. Fatmir will speak to that shortly, if you will a
llow me to defer to him.” The questioner inclined his head, and sat back.
“A frigate’s missiles are usually of the same type as a corvette’s, shorter-ranged and less powerful than those of a destroyer. That has influenced our own choice of warship, of which more in a moment. However, both corvettes and frigates are limited in the number of missiles they can carry. Therefore, our first defense, while we are waiting for our own modern warships to arrive, is to equip four fast freighters, as speedy as our old destroyers, with large quantities of missiles and modern fire control systems. Our agents have successfully obtained both.”
There was a buzz of approval. “This is very good news!” another director exclaimed. “I trust those concerned have been rewarded?”
“They have,” Agim confirmed with a smile. “They earned it.”
“When will our new ships be ready?”
“The first two fast freighters are currently being fitted with missiles and control systems,” Endrit assured him. “They will be ready for service within three months. The other two will follow about six months later. Together with our two surviving destroyers, they will be a formidable force, carrying many more missiles than all Hawkwood’s corvettes and frigates put together, with modern fire control systems to use them to best effect. If we need to defend ourselves, we shall be well equipped to do so – or to attack, if need be.”
“How much did all this cost?” Perparim asked.
Endrit’s face fell. “It was very expensive. Our new warships will be even more so. We must pay black market prices for everything, plus bribes, plus incentives to middlemen to assist us. I daresay we will end up paying at least twice their fair market value for everything we have bought or will buy. However, there is no alternative.”
Agim raised his voice over the rumble of discontent. “Fatmir, if you will please continue the report?”
“Yes, Agim.” Another man stood, his gray hair and dignified mien testimony to his greater age. “We set up this security company, Kreshnik, in imitation of Hawkwood. If such a ruse worked for them, we reasoned, it will work for us too – and so it has proved. We found a shipbuilder that offers warships for sale, among other vessels. I shall not name it, for security reasons. They accepted our credentials, plus an end-user certificate we obtained from another planet with the help of two bribed Ministers of State, who will verify it if questions are asked. We have ordered a full squadron of destroyers from them, eight vessels, plus a depot ship to support them. That will instantly place our forces among the top one-tenth of all settled planets, as far as military strength is concerned. Few can afford to operate full-blown destroyers or larger warships. Most have to be content with smaller, cheaper, less capable frigates, corvettes and patrol craft, like those Hawkwood has bought.”
The discontent had subsided into attentive silence. “Can we afford them?” another director asked dubiously. “We are paying for them out of what we have accumulated for the Fatherland Project. We have just been told we are paying double their market price. What about their operating costs? Will they slow down our ability to replenish our savings?”
“We shall only know their operating costs when we have them in service,” Fatmir admitted, “but they will certainly be expensive. On the other hand, remember what Agim said after the death of our Patriarch. ‘If we are defeated, the Project will go down into the dust of history alongside us. Therefore, to spend money for our own defense is to spend it on the Project. The two are indivisible.’ His words are as true today as they were then.
“If we neglect our defenses, then either Hawkwood, or another enemy, will surely find a way to penetrate them. We must be, not just as strong as any likely opponent, but stronger, to ensure we prevail. Our Patriarch reminded us before his death, ‘Do not let your enemies strike fear into you. Instead, strike fear into them! Hit back at them! Show them that for every blow they direct against us, we shall return it ten times harder!’ Again, his words remain forever true. If we quibble over the cost of our defenses, we are really quibbling over his vision and his message.”
Agim rose once more. “I agree, Fatmir; and I, for one, am not prepared to quibble with our Patriarch, in life or in death. His vision drew us, and bound us together, and gave us purpose. It remains our goal.”
He looked around the table again, ready to answer any challenge; but none came. At least half the directors’ faces showed concern or doubt, but they withheld further comment. The question is, will they approve my request despite their fears? he mentally reminded himself. I cannot proceed without them. I must win over the doubters.
“Let me remind you of how long it took us to get where we are, and how great our success had been in recent years until Hawkwood interfered,” he said. “The Patriarch withdrew from the Bregija clan more than forty years ago, when they mocked him for pointing out that unless we followed their example, we could never grow to rival the Nuevo Cartel, Cosa Nostra or Dragon Tong, the three largest criminal organizations in the settled galaxy. They said he was living in a dream world, that such greatness had long since passed us by. He refused to accept that, and set out to prove them wrong.
“It took us more than thirty-five years to accumulate enough savings to fund our initial operations, plus build our own asteroid refining ship and a space defense force to protect it and our base, develop the technology to prospect for and steal high-yield asteroids, and train our people. We have been operating for only about five years. During that time, we have raised eleven times more money than we did in all the years before! Is that not, in itself, proof of our Patriarch’s wisdom? He said it could be done. We have proved that he was right!
“You know what resources we need to achieve our objectives. We were almost halfway toward the primary goal when we encountered Hawkwood. It will cost us about a third of what we had saved, to build up our forces to counter them; but, even as we spend it, we shall be gathering more asteroids, and rebuilding our reserves. This will be a temporary delay, a blip of no more than a year or two on the scale that our Patriarch outlined. In three to five years’ time, we can still achieve our initial goal, and see the Fatherland Project take physical form for the first time. That, in itself, will convince doubters, and draw waverers to our side. Under our leadership, they will help us to make even faster progress. Look to the longer term, brothers, not just to short-term problems. Our Patriarch’s vision remains our objective, and we shall bring it to life!”
Heads lifted, and spines stiffened with pride, all around the table. That is better, Agim thought. I must remember that we all need to be constantly reminded of why we are here. We need to believe as firmly and as fervently as did our Patriarch. He must be our icon, our beacon lighting the way forward.
“My brothers, it has been truly said that ‘Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead’. I fear that if we discuss everything in our board meetings, there will be too great a risk that something will leak to our enemies. I do not imply that any among us are traitors – far from it! We all had to prove our loyalty and commitment, many times over, before we were selected by our Patriarch to join the Brotherhood’s inner circle. We must be equally exacting in choosing our successors, in due course. Nevertheless, we all know how easy it is for something to slip out by accident. A momentary weakness while drinking with friends, pillow talk with our wives or mistresses, a lapse in concentration… we have all suffered such things.” He rolled his eyes ruefully. “Many of us have had cause to regret them later.” A murmur of shared amusement ran around the table.
“For this reason, I ask the Brotherhood for permission to form an operational triumvirate with Endrit and Fatmir, for an initial period of up to three years. They will work under my direction. I will assume full responsibility, and be accountable to you for all our decisions and actions. By keeping information tightly held among us, we can ensure it does not leak, so that our enemies will not be forewarned. We shall also be able to move fast, if circumstances require it or we discover an opportunity, instead of having to w
ait until this Council can formally give permission for us to proceed. In fighting a dangerous enemy such as Hawkwood, such delays may be ruinous.
“I therefore ask you, brothers, to vote us the authority to proceed with this fight on those terms. We shall try to report back to you every three to six months, but sometimes even that may not be possible, given delays in interstellar travel and communication. It may also be necessary for us to withhold information about particularly sensitive projects, for security reasons. I ask your indulgence, and your permission, for all these things, in the Patriarch’s name.”
He noted that there was still uneasiness on some of the faces around the table. One old man asked, “Will this apply to all the work of the Brotherhood, or only to our fight with Hawkwood?”
I must concede that to him, Agim mentally acknowledged. They will never agree to give me a dictator’s authority. I must accept limits.
“I speak only of the fight with Hawkwood,” he assured the questioner, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “In all other matters, we three shall continue to report to this board at least every quarter. I hope you will permit us to submit our reports via proxy if one or more of us is in the field, operating against our enemies.”
“Thank you, Agim. That gives me greater peace of mind – and yes, of course a proxy will be acceptable under such circumstances.”
“Then I ask you to vote, brothers. Will you give us the authority for which I have asked?”
For the first time in several years, the vote was not unanimous. Three of the twelve withheld their approval. Agim seethed inwardly, even as he smiled at them. There is no room for doubters! We are at war! Either support our cause, or retire and hand over to younger men with more fire in their loins, damn you! However, he kept his face impassive. After all, the Patriarch himself had chosen these men, proving that they were worthy – or had been, when they were younger. The fact that age might have crept up on them, tempering their enthusiasm or ability, should not be held against them. That might happen to anyone. Meanwhile, he had the permission he sought. The war could proceed.
