Post by Lorpius Prime on Oct 11, 2008 22:48:23 GMT -5
"Impact in twenty seconds, Captain."
Xi Feng looked up from her monitor to the tactical station, "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I think we can dispense with the countdown now."
"Yes, sir," Cheyo replied.
Xi Feng's eyes returned to the monitor, as did the eyes of everyone else on the bridge. The tactical officer was actually a few seconds off, since the video feed was coming from one of the defense platforms in geosynchronous orbit and had to be routed all the way to and around the moon before it reached the Uruguay. But in this case there was no need to picky.
The almost-live video from the platform's camera showed the bright streak of superheated metal in its last few moments as it plowed through the atmosphere. The artificial meteorite had been launched several hours ago from one of the Fleet's high-capacity linear accelerators on the moon. Other than a handful of maneuvering rockets which would have already burned off, it was essentially one enormous slug of solid iron.
The meteorite hit the ground, and a tiny encampment in the wastelands of northeastern Niger disappeared. From this angle, the fireball and cloud were simply amorphous smudges against the surface of the Earth.
"Target destroyed," Lieutenant Cheyo said, "looks like just over fifty kilotons in the end."
"Let's be sure to send our congratulations to the cannon jockeys," Xi Feng said over the light cheering and applause.
Perhaps around one hundred people had just died, although the true figure was probably far less. It was unlikely that anyone had an exact count before the strike was ordered, and now that it was over, it would be impossible to get one. Kinetic bombardments did not have as many nasty side effects as nuclear detonations, but they still didn't leave much in the way of remains.
Although Earth Fleet had been established for the explicit purpose of defending humanity against extraterrestrial aliens, the vast majority of its combat experience was against other humans on Earth itself. Space-based and even aerial intelligence gathering technology had remained largely stagnant during the first half of the 21st century. But humanity's tremendous investment in space technology and infrastructure after the arrival of the Bats had changed that situation. By 2053, the Great Jihad had been able claim almost uncontested dominance over a great crescent of failed states reaching from Northern Africa deep into Western Asia. Twenty years later, measured and determined pruning by Earth Fleet and OES nations had reduced it to a final devastated band of fanatic holdouts who could only operate freely in the remotest and most hostile corners of the world—and even that was being generous about the word "freely". The Fleet's ability to see them and hit them anywhere on Earth had left them broken and scattered, forced to operate as largely uncoordinated cells. And although they took refuge in the safety of crowded cities, that left them vulnerable to other forms of combat and intelligence. The end was nearing for that sort of scum, and Xi Feng was proud to be part of the organization which had made it happen.
"Ah, Captain, you're getting a priority comm request from L-COM."
Xi Feng frowned as she was dragged back into the real world. Her monitor was still showing the video feed from North Africa. Soon, gunships and soldiers would arrive, but that was out of the hands of the Fleet. Xi Feng switched it off. Then she turned to the communications station.
"Any clearance restrictions, Chief Vallejo?" The communications department only had two crewmen, making it the only bridge station for whom the watch ever fell to an enlisted man.
"There aren't any special flags, but it is a secure transmission, sir," Vallejo said.
"All right, give me a minute and I'll take it in the briefing room," Xi Feng said.
"Aye aye, sir," the Chief Petty Officer acknowledged, and promptly entered the appropriate commands on his console, effectively putting Xi Feng's call on hold.
Xi Feng unbuckled herself and pushed off lightly with the toes of one foot, propelling herself easily upward to grab the ceiling handles.
"The Bridge is yours, Lieutenant Cheyo," she announced.
"I have the bridge, aye sir," the tactical officer repeated back. Satisfied, Xi Feng climbed away from her chair towards the bridge exit.
The single biggest inconvenience of navigating a spaceship, to the minds of both Xi Feng and most other professional spacers, was the doors. It was still an absolute nightmare to move around one of Earth Fleet's original large warships. They were all constructed out of tiny cylindrical modules, a necessary design choice because each piece had had to be lifted into orbit aboard old chemical rockets. The hatches between each module were already small enough bottlenecks to free movement. But the long and difficult process of opening and closing each hatch slowed down travel times to such excruciating lengths that just about every crew of such ship left them open at all times, despite the safety risks if any compartment was opened to vacuum.
The Uruguay cruisers, at least, had been built in orbit, with no such constraints imposed on their construction. The halls and doors were all wide enough to allow two people to pass each other without too much trouble. But no one had yet come up with a good answer for opening doors.
Really, the trouble was that the engineers had continued to insist on breaking up ships into compartments which could be fully sealed off from the rest of the ship, thus making them survivable even in the event of catastrophic failure elsewhere. Xi Feng appreciated the concern for the lives of herself and her crew, but it really wasn't a practical philosophy. The Uruguay was only ever likely to experience two sorts of damage. One variety was the extremely minor kind, such as a small leak due to a micrometeorite strike. Damage of that kind would be survivable with only very light and simple hatches and emergency vacuum suits to buy time for repairs. The other kind of damage would be the sort involving a strike by a laser or particle beam of such power that it would shred the ship and kill everyone on board no matter where the blow landed. There was no in-between. Forcing her crew to deal with submarine-style hatches was just a waste of money and time.
With care that defied the speed of the action, Xi Feng caught the bar at the top of the hatch and swung herself through. She tucked in her legs and went through a reverse somersault once before grabbing the handles in the hallway on the other side and continuing on her way. A petty officer from the engineering department was working on some wiring in the hall, and he squeezed himself against a wall as she passed.
"I give you a nine-point-eight, Captain," he said, grinning.
"Back to work, petty officer," she said. She allowed herself a small smile, but made a note to keep an eye on the engineer, too much familiarity between captain and crew could be unhealthy.
The briefing room was not at all large enough to be its own separate compartment, but it still got one of the big heavy hatches at the entrance, for security rather than safety reasons. Xi Feng braced her feet against a bulkhead to push the hatch shut, and then seal it. That done, she floated over to the big monitor which took up most of one wall of the briefing room. It took only a moment for her to turn it on and call up the waiting connection from the comm menu, and then a few seconds more for the encryption to sync up.
The meaty face of Rear Admiral Blevins appeared on the monitor. He smiled at Xi Feng.
"Ah, good to see you again, Captain Lee. Sorry for the unannounced call." He folded his hands in front of his console's camera.
"Good afternoon, Admiral," Xi Feng said. On space deployments, Fleet units kept Greenwich Mean Time. "I'm sorry to keep you on hold for so long." She considered strapping herself down to one of the briefing room's chairs, but decided to remain hanging where she was for the moment.
Blevins brushed off her worry with a small wave. "I have new orders for you, Captain," he said, getting straight to the point.
"I haven't received any notices, is this something sensitive?" Xi Feng furrowed her brow; they were communicating under fairly light encryption codes for anything very secret.
"No, no, nothing like that," the Admiral shook his head. "I'm actually just giving you a heads up before you receive the official orders."
"I see."
Blevins chuckled, as it was clear that Xi Feng really did not see, but he couldn't have expected her to. "EarthCOM wants you back, Captain. The Uruguay is going to be relieved by the Bolivar in a few hours—they'll send you the official copy of your orders then, by the way. Uruguay will then report to Quito Station for assignment to First Fleet."
Xi Feng tried to keep her face clear of the mixed worry and excitement that she was beginning to feel. "May I inquire as to why we're being transferred, Admiral?" She thought she did a passable job of remaining calm.
Blevins still laughed, but probably more because of his personality than because he saw through Xi Feng's disguise. "You may, Admiral, but you're not going to get a good answer. I don't know," he shrugged. "Honestly, I think this came from Admiral Kozlov himself, so even EarthCOM probably doesn't know."
That didn't do anything for the pit in Xi Feng's stomach, but it didn't sound as if anything was likely to. She sighed, "Very well then, Admiral, it appears I have no choice. But is the Bolivar really the best choice to relieve us?"
"Actually, we think she'll probably do a better job," he said, then he waved a scolding finger at her. "I know all you young hands have it in for the Washington cruisers, Captain, but they're not that much less capable when it comes to death-dealing. Plus their radar cross-section will actually be better for your, ah, shadow, to lurk in."
Xi Feng nodded. The Russian assault shuttle had been holding its station almost perfectly behind the Uruguay for the last day. But most of the cruiser's bulk was along one axis, while the Washington class were nearly as broad as they were long. That would let the Russians have a much easier time of hiding.
"All right, Admiral, I'll have my navigators begin plotting a course. Thanks for the heads-up."
"You're welcome, Captain Lee. The Bolivar should come on station in just under three hours. I'm sure Captain Solomon will be happy to provide you with a more accurate estimate. Godspeed. L-COM out."
The feed died. Xi Feng shook her head, but the anxiety she felt was still growing. Why did EarthCOM, or Admiral Kozlov if Blevins could be believed, want the Uruguay back, specifically? Or was it that they, or he, wanted Xi Feng back? There was no point in worrying, but that didn't stop Xi Feng from doing it anyway. Still, she couldn't let the worrying get in the way of her duties. The crew needed to be informed, and the navigators needed to get to work. Xi Feng pulled herself back towards the briefing room hatch to begin the work of opening it again.
Pascual wasn't quite sure how it was that he was ending up in charge of the negotiations with the Tadpoles. Although he hadn't been willing to admit it to himself at the time, when he had first been brought in on the conferences, he had assumed it was just part of his uncle's nepotism. Pascual hadn't expected to actually have a leadership role in the negotiations. It made him more than a bit uncomfortable to realize how comfortable he had gotten taking advantage of so many of the perks of high government office while assuming very little of the responsibility.
But that was changing. Everyone else had innumerable other duties to manage at the same time, and Pascual was a fully accredited Ambassador-at-Large for the OES. Since he was the only one able to attend every meeting with the Tadpole delegation, he was the person with the best idea of how the talks were proceeding, and the only one who could provide continuity for the Tadpoles themselves. So he was now Earth's point man when it came to the Tadpoles. Pascual couldn't shake the suspicion that his uncle had planned that outcome all along.
"How much longer must we argue this, Ambassador?" the Tadpole across from Pascual sounded exasperated. "In the last three days, more than sixty of my fellows in the colony have lost their Enharg, and hundreds more are soon to follow. We cannot afford further delay!"
Pascual had quickly learned that one of the hardest parts of negotiating was always looking his counterpart straight in the eye, regardless of how he felt about the conversation. He was truly beginning to empathize with the Tadpoles, and it always left him slightly nauseated to think about how much suffering he was causing them by driving a hard bargain on Earth's behalf.
"Ambassador Rokden," Pascual said steadily, his voice betraying none of his conflicted emotions, "your people have my deepest sympathies, and those of my government. But above all, we must look to our own welfare. I am afraid that we simply cannot sell out the progress of our own species for the salvation of yours. If we are to give you what you want, then we must be compensated with the means to secure our own independence."
"Surely the weapon we have brought for you will greatly enhance the defensive capabilities of your planet!" Rokden protested, and threw up his arms. He had caught on to humans' body language with such rapidity; it was sometimes hard for Pascual to remember he was talking to an alien. "Our own analysis of your defenses says you have nothing like what we offer. Is this not progress?"
"Ambassador, my species is in its own race for survival, and we cannot afford to lose any time. The Mars colony would mean real improvements now." Pascual didn't even blink at the lie. There was still over a year before the first colonists were even scheduled to depart Earth, and that was assuming everything went perfectly with the habitat's initial setup. Still, he said the lines he needed say. "Even with the technical advisors you have agreed to lend us," he went on, "it will take years, perhaps decades, before we are able to produce such weapons of our own. If we are to mortgage our future for so long, it must be for far more than one simple weapon. We need more."
"What you ask for is not possible, Ambassador Molinas! Not possible! Do you have any idea how jealously the empires guard warp technology? Do you have any idea what my own people had to sacrifice to acquire it from the Charterlings?"
"Yet acquire it you did. Earth only wishes to wield the same technology itself."
Rokden made a slicing motion with one hand, as if slashing through Pascual's words.
"My government would never permit it. Even if they would, the others would do all they could to prevent it. They would smash both of our worlds to stop such a trade. Have you any idea how fragile the nature of your survival is? The deal you propose would shatter it in an instant if any of the others even we had even discussed it!" The Tadpole glanced to each side of the room, as if to make sure that the Bats had not returned again to listen.
Pascual didn't think the situation was quite as bad as Rokden was portraying it. From his conversations with Hyong Yaheek, it was clear that the Bats suspected Earth was demanding exactly what it really was from the Tadpoles. But although they certainly seemed unhappy about that suspicion, Pascual had never gotten the impression that they would go to the lengths that Rokden was suggesting in order to stop such a deal.
Pascual held out his hands, palms up, "This is the position of my government, Ambassador.
Rokden slammed a fist down on the table between them. His fist was not much smaller than Pascual's head, and he swung it with such force that it cracked the top of the wooden table. Pascual nearly jumped out of his seat, but managed to check the motion so that he only pushed himself back about half a meter. He could not conceal the shock on his face, however, nor the fear. A moment ago, he had been fascinated with how similar the Tadpoles were to humanity, now Pascual was worried that they might not have the same proscriptions against peaceful diplomacy, or shooting messengers.
"You are worse than Charterlings!" Rokden growled.
The door to the conference room burst open, and two members of the Executive Protection Service fairly leaped into the room wearing black combat suits and with weapons raised to their cheeks. They immediately pointed those weapons at Rokden. The Tadpole tilted his head at the sight, as if curious.
Pascual at least had the presence of mind to shout, "Put those guns down! We're fine! It's fine!" He waved at the security men, hoping to get their attention off of the alien ambassador before they killed him.
One of them finally seemed to get the message, and he lowered his gun, though only slightly, "Are you sure, sir?"
"Yes," Pascual squeaked, then swallowed. "Yes," he repeated. "Just a little excitement. Please, leave us."
The guards looked between Rokden and Pascual a few times before fully lowering their guns, "All right, sir. Sorry about that."
"It's no problem, no problem. Just, wait back in the hall, please."
The security men nodded, and left the conference room again. They closed the door much more gently than they had opened it. Pascual shook his head, and let out a deep breath.
"My apologies for that, Ambassador. I'm afraid you startled the guards."
Rokden nodded, "I must offer my own apologies, for destroying your table. I will of course replace it from my ship's stores."
"Uh, thanks," Pascual waved the offer away, "but it's not a problem. Really, don't worry about it."
A few moments passed where neither of them said anything, Rokden rubbed the hand he had used to break the conference table while Pascual tried to figure out how to restart the negotiations after their interruption. He was about to suggest they break for lunch when the Tadpole spoke again.
"I have been authorized by my superiors, Ambassador, to make a new offer. I still think it is too much, but you have left us with little choice, as I am sure was your intent." He looked Pascual in the eye for a second, and Pascual wondered if it was a glance of respect or disdain.
"We must negotiate as we see is best for our own interests, Ambassador," Pascual said, conceding nothing.
Rokden nodded again, and this time Pascual got the definite impression that the Tadpole was trying to make him feel guilty.
"We cannot offer you warp engines," he said. "I have told you this is impossible, and it is. We can, however, offer some of the devices which we use to simulate gravity on our spacecraft."
Pascual's eyes lit up, "Artificial gravity?" The military hadn't deemed that one a priority, but it was something that the civilian sector had been drooling over ever since it had been first demonstrated to humanity during first contact with the Bats.
"Yes. The mechanisms are not as complex as warp engines, but it is a similar technology."
It became even harder for Pascual to control his expression, but he managed, somehow, "That sounds more promising then, Ambassador."
Rokden sat up straight on his stool, and looked around again. "Because it is, however, such a trade must be done in secret. Our government may be willing to share this knowledge with you, but the others will be no happier than if we gave you true warp engines. Neither of us should be eager to risk their response if we are discovered."
It was Pascual's turn to nod. "All right, Ambassador," he said, "I'm pleased to see that we're making progress. I should bring this new proposal to my own officials for discussion. Hopefully we are not far from a deal. For now, however, I think we should break for lunch."
Pascual stood up and offered his hand to the Tadpole. They had become familiar with that human gesture as quickly as they had with others, but this time Rokden did not take Pascual's hand, nor did he get up from his seat. Pascual blinked, and withdrew his awkwardly hanging arm after a moment while Rokden looked up at him.
"Each hour I spend here, Ambassador, one more of my people on our colony is separated from his Enharg. Eat your lunch; speak to your superiors, both of these you must do. But I do not think I can stomach my stay here much longer, Ambassador. If your people will not help us, then I would rather return to my own and await the same fate. I hope you will tell me soon if this is what I should do."
Pascual stood very still for a minute or two, staring into the alien's huge black eyes. Then he gathered his few papers silently and left, for he had nothing to say.
Lavrentiy Kozlov was the only person Pascual knew who wore glasses. Corneal replacement surgery was so cheap and so widely available that nearly everyone took advantage of it. And for the tiny fraction of the population who could not because of some allergy or other condition, there was still a whole host of other options available. Glasses were relics out of old movies, something to wear at costume parties, not serious instruments of vision correction.
But whenever Pascual saw Kozlov reading anything, the Russian Admiral always had on a pair of reading glasses with thin gold frames that he kept in a jacket pocket. Pascual just shook his head slightly at the sight; he wouldn't have dared to ask the man to explain himself.
Councilor Durante was the first to put down Pascual's report. He tapped it absently a couple times with a stylus before speaking.
"All right," he said, "I know the space tech guys will go nuts over this, but do we really want to settle? Anti-gravity doesn't really get us much of anywhere."
"Rokden did say the technology is related to warp," Kozlov pointed out without looking up from his own copy of the report.
"Sure, but are we just going to take his word on that? Anyway, lasers are like light bulbs, but I think you'd agree it's a long way from one to the other."
Kozlov snorted in a laugh and smiled slightly. "It'd still put us a long way ahead of where we are with manipulating gravity now, which is nowhere. Unless one of the R&D Firms is working on something that I don't know about yet."
He glanced to his left at Wilhelm Trautmann, but the Financial Councilor just shrugged, "Nothing so far as I know, either. We really ought to create another department to keep tabs on the sciences, though. Dividing that sort of thing up between the Fleet and my office just isn't the best way to handle it."
That last bit had been directed at the Chief Executive, but Eduard Molinas waved Trautmann's words aside. "We can discuss changes to the bureaucracy later," he said. "And we can discuss changes which will make the Euros and Americans throw a tantrum after my term is done."
Trautmann sighed, but the issue was tabled for the moment. The Chief Executive went on, "All right, if we're not going to be able to get a warp engine from them, and the way the Tadpoles are talking to Pascual it sounds like we might have to accept that possibility, is there anything else we want? Something else that might be related but more useful than anti-gravity?"
"I should emphasize," Pascual said before anyone could answer, "that we may be reaching the limit of how far we can push them. At some point they're going to decide that we simply won't help them. Rokden sounded like he wanted to just go home himself."
"If we're the only ones that can help them, what choice do they have?" Trautmann asked. "They won't go home."
Pascual opened his mouth to respond to the Financial Councilor, but Durante beat him to the point, "They said we're the only ones that can help them, but only they know how true that is. If they come to the conclusion that we're asking more than they can give, it may convince them to pursue other alternatives that they'd been avoiding." Trautmann seemed skeptical, and Durante shrugged, "I don't think they're to that point yet, but I wasn't the one in the room." He nodded deferentially to Pascual.
Admiral Kozlov tossed the report down on the table. "I think we should take the deal they're offering," he said, and folded up his reading glasses before returning them to his pocket.
Everyone looked at him with slightly puzzled expressions. Pascual had thought the military man at least would want to hold out for more obviously military technologies, and everyone else had probably assumed the same.
"Why, Lavrentiy?" Eduard Molinas asked.
Kozlov shrugged, "I agree with your nephew's analysis, these Tadpoles are reaching the end of their patience with us. Let us help them for what they will give us now. Later, they will be grateful to us, and we may be able to secure more information in the future."
Durante frowned, "I don't know, Admiral. If this is all they need to get a self-sufficient colony operating, we might not get another chance to extract anything from them. They wouldn't need us anymore."
"Maybe, Councilor, but the intelligence we have been gathering suggests these aliens are significantly less advanced than the Bats. I think it is likely that we will continue to have much to offer each other. If we are generous now, their trust in us will be greater."
"You're going soft on me with all this talk about 'trust', Admiral," the Chief Executive laughed. "All right, I'm inclined to take the offer as it stands myself. How do we stand on being able to pay for the colony, Willy?"
The Financial Councilor grimaced, "Well, we're still in about the same place as last time so far as our funds go, but it looks like the fallout if we go ahead could be even worse. I talked with some of my friends at Lockheed and a few other places, and it turns out some people were overly optimistic when it came to designing the transports to carry colonists over. The company issued more bonds last week to pay for new ships."
Eduard Molinas sat up very straight, "What? Why didn't we hear anything about this?"
"Because they didn't tell anyone except the banks they sold the bonds to. Some of the member companies are under serious heat from their shareholders over how much they're exposed to this project." Trautmann shook his head.
"Isn't that illegal?" Pascual asked.
"Yes," the Financial Councilor answered, "and I've been debating whether or not to call the FSA on them. But if we go ahead with this, it's not going to matter, the colony will be toast. We can cover maybe a quarter of their outstanding debt out of our pocket, and if we want to borrow ourselves we could probably reach up to seventy-five percent no problem, unless of course the banks have even more loans off the books than I think they do. But that won't save the colony; we may kill the whole idea for another two decades."
"Won't getting their hands on the laser and this anti-gravity thing help, though?" The Chief Executive was starting to look worried.
Trautmann nodded. "Oh, certainly, I think most of the member companies will pull through all right. Lockheed and Finmeccanica aren't going to like how much debt they'll be in afterwards, but they should be able to sell their investors on these new toys just fine. Dassault is done for, though. Those pods for the Moscows were really their last chance, losing the Mars colony is just going to be what convinces their shareholders to pack it in at last."
"Would it be better if we waited?"
"No. If we're going to do this, we want to announce as soon as possible. The markets will take a hit—a big one—but it'll be worse if we wait and the colonial company does something else stupid in the meantime."
"All right, then, Willy. Assume we're going to go with the deal as it is, start putting the details together on your end, I'll have my communications people get in a room with yours."
"So, have we settled on this offer then?" Councilor Durante asked while Trautmann was making notes for himself.
"I think so, Bernardo," Eduard Molinas said, "unless anyone else has some more reasons to wait that we haven't considered?"
Durante shrugged in response, and Pascual shook his head.
"It's not all we hoped for, but I think we can make it work," Kozlov said.
"We'll go for it then. Pascual, you can tell Rokden, but hold off until we've worked out more of the details of what we'll tell the public and what we want the wording of the final agreement to look like. Bernardo, that's going to be mostly your job."
"Yes, Chief. I think we can have something by tomorrow morning," Durante nodded confidently.
"Good. Any other business?"
"There is one thing, Chief Molinas," Kozlov said. The Chief Executive raised one eyebrow while the Admiral straightened up in his chair and took out a piece of paper from a folder. "I wonder if I could interest you in visiting Singapore sometime in the next few days…"
Xi Feng looked up from her monitor to the tactical station, "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I think we can dispense with the countdown now."
"Yes, sir," Cheyo replied.
Xi Feng's eyes returned to the monitor, as did the eyes of everyone else on the bridge. The tactical officer was actually a few seconds off, since the video feed was coming from one of the defense platforms in geosynchronous orbit and had to be routed all the way to and around the moon before it reached the Uruguay. But in this case there was no need to picky.
The almost-live video from the platform's camera showed the bright streak of superheated metal in its last few moments as it plowed through the atmosphere. The artificial meteorite had been launched several hours ago from one of the Fleet's high-capacity linear accelerators on the moon. Other than a handful of maneuvering rockets which would have already burned off, it was essentially one enormous slug of solid iron.
The meteorite hit the ground, and a tiny encampment in the wastelands of northeastern Niger disappeared. From this angle, the fireball and cloud were simply amorphous smudges against the surface of the Earth.
"Target destroyed," Lieutenant Cheyo said, "looks like just over fifty kilotons in the end."
"Let's be sure to send our congratulations to the cannon jockeys," Xi Feng said over the light cheering and applause.
Perhaps around one hundred people had just died, although the true figure was probably far less. It was unlikely that anyone had an exact count before the strike was ordered, and now that it was over, it would be impossible to get one. Kinetic bombardments did not have as many nasty side effects as nuclear detonations, but they still didn't leave much in the way of remains.
Although Earth Fleet had been established for the explicit purpose of defending humanity against extraterrestrial aliens, the vast majority of its combat experience was against other humans on Earth itself. Space-based and even aerial intelligence gathering technology had remained largely stagnant during the first half of the 21st century. But humanity's tremendous investment in space technology and infrastructure after the arrival of the Bats had changed that situation. By 2053, the Great Jihad had been able claim almost uncontested dominance over a great crescent of failed states reaching from Northern Africa deep into Western Asia. Twenty years later, measured and determined pruning by Earth Fleet and OES nations had reduced it to a final devastated band of fanatic holdouts who could only operate freely in the remotest and most hostile corners of the world—and even that was being generous about the word "freely". The Fleet's ability to see them and hit them anywhere on Earth had left them broken and scattered, forced to operate as largely uncoordinated cells. And although they took refuge in the safety of crowded cities, that left them vulnerable to other forms of combat and intelligence. The end was nearing for that sort of scum, and Xi Feng was proud to be part of the organization which had made it happen.
"Ah, Captain, you're getting a priority comm request from L-COM."
Xi Feng frowned as she was dragged back into the real world. Her monitor was still showing the video feed from North Africa. Soon, gunships and soldiers would arrive, but that was out of the hands of the Fleet. Xi Feng switched it off. Then she turned to the communications station.
"Any clearance restrictions, Chief Vallejo?" The communications department only had two crewmen, making it the only bridge station for whom the watch ever fell to an enlisted man.
"There aren't any special flags, but it is a secure transmission, sir," Vallejo said.
"All right, give me a minute and I'll take it in the briefing room," Xi Feng said.
"Aye aye, sir," the Chief Petty Officer acknowledged, and promptly entered the appropriate commands on his console, effectively putting Xi Feng's call on hold.
Xi Feng unbuckled herself and pushed off lightly with the toes of one foot, propelling herself easily upward to grab the ceiling handles.
"The Bridge is yours, Lieutenant Cheyo," she announced.
"I have the bridge, aye sir," the tactical officer repeated back. Satisfied, Xi Feng climbed away from her chair towards the bridge exit.
The single biggest inconvenience of navigating a spaceship, to the minds of both Xi Feng and most other professional spacers, was the doors. It was still an absolute nightmare to move around one of Earth Fleet's original large warships. They were all constructed out of tiny cylindrical modules, a necessary design choice because each piece had had to be lifted into orbit aboard old chemical rockets. The hatches between each module were already small enough bottlenecks to free movement. But the long and difficult process of opening and closing each hatch slowed down travel times to such excruciating lengths that just about every crew of such ship left them open at all times, despite the safety risks if any compartment was opened to vacuum.
The Uruguay cruisers, at least, had been built in orbit, with no such constraints imposed on their construction. The halls and doors were all wide enough to allow two people to pass each other without too much trouble. But no one had yet come up with a good answer for opening doors.
Really, the trouble was that the engineers had continued to insist on breaking up ships into compartments which could be fully sealed off from the rest of the ship, thus making them survivable even in the event of catastrophic failure elsewhere. Xi Feng appreciated the concern for the lives of herself and her crew, but it really wasn't a practical philosophy. The Uruguay was only ever likely to experience two sorts of damage. One variety was the extremely minor kind, such as a small leak due to a micrometeorite strike. Damage of that kind would be survivable with only very light and simple hatches and emergency vacuum suits to buy time for repairs. The other kind of damage would be the sort involving a strike by a laser or particle beam of such power that it would shred the ship and kill everyone on board no matter where the blow landed. There was no in-between. Forcing her crew to deal with submarine-style hatches was just a waste of money and time.
With care that defied the speed of the action, Xi Feng caught the bar at the top of the hatch and swung herself through. She tucked in her legs and went through a reverse somersault once before grabbing the handles in the hallway on the other side and continuing on her way. A petty officer from the engineering department was working on some wiring in the hall, and he squeezed himself against a wall as she passed.
"I give you a nine-point-eight, Captain," he said, grinning.
"Back to work, petty officer," she said. She allowed herself a small smile, but made a note to keep an eye on the engineer, too much familiarity between captain and crew could be unhealthy.
The briefing room was not at all large enough to be its own separate compartment, but it still got one of the big heavy hatches at the entrance, for security rather than safety reasons. Xi Feng braced her feet against a bulkhead to push the hatch shut, and then seal it. That done, she floated over to the big monitor which took up most of one wall of the briefing room. It took only a moment for her to turn it on and call up the waiting connection from the comm menu, and then a few seconds more for the encryption to sync up.
The meaty face of Rear Admiral Blevins appeared on the monitor. He smiled at Xi Feng.
"Ah, good to see you again, Captain Lee. Sorry for the unannounced call." He folded his hands in front of his console's camera.
"Good afternoon, Admiral," Xi Feng said. On space deployments, Fleet units kept Greenwich Mean Time. "I'm sorry to keep you on hold for so long." She considered strapping herself down to one of the briefing room's chairs, but decided to remain hanging where she was for the moment.
Blevins brushed off her worry with a small wave. "I have new orders for you, Captain," he said, getting straight to the point.
"I haven't received any notices, is this something sensitive?" Xi Feng furrowed her brow; they were communicating under fairly light encryption codes for anything very secret.
"No, no, nothing like that," the Admiral shook his head. "I'm actually just giving you a heads up before you receive the official orders."
"I see."
Blevins chuckled, as it was clear that Xi Feng really did not see, but he couldn't have expected her to. "EarthCOM wants you back, Captain. The Uruguay is going to be relieved by the Bolivar in a few hours—they'll send you the official copy of your orders then, by the way. Uruguay will then report to Quito Station for assignment to First Fleet."
Xi Feng tried to keep her face clear of the mixed worry and excitement that she was beginning to feel. "May I inquire as to why we're being transferred, Admiral?" She thought she did a passable job of remaining calm.
Blevins still laughed, but probably more because of his personality than because he saw through Xi Feng's disguise. "You may, Admiral, but you're not going to get a good answer. I don't know," he shrugged. "Honestly, I think this came from Admiral Kozlov himself, so even EarthCOM probably doesn't know."
That didn't do anything for the pit in Xi Feng's stomach, but it didn't sound as if anything was likely to. She sighed, "Very well then, Admiral, it appears I have no choice. But is the Bolivar really the best choice to relieve us?"
"Actually, we think she'll probably do a better job," he said, then he waved a scolding finger at her. "I know all you young hands have it in for the Washington cruisers, Captain, but they're not that much less capable when it comes to death-dealing. Plus their radar cross-section will actually be better for your, ah, shadow, to lurk in."
Xi Feng nodded. The Russian assault shuttle had been holding its station almost perfectly behind the Uruguay for the last day. But most of the cruiser's bulk was along one axis, while the Washington class were nearly as broad as they were long. That would let the Russians have a much easier time of hiding.
"All right, Admiral, I'll have my navigators begin plotting a course. Thanks for the heads-up."
"You're welcome, Captain Lee. The Bolivar should come on station in just under three hours. I'm sure Captain Solomon will be happy to provide you with a more accurate estimate. Godspeed. L-COM out."
The feed died. Xi Feng shook her head, but the anxiety she felt was still growing. Why did EarthCOM, or Admiral Kozlov if Blevins could be believed, want the Uruguay back, specifically? Or was it that they, or he, wanted Xi Feng back? There was no point in worrying, but that didn't stop Xi Feng from doing it anyway. Still, she couldn't let the worrying get in the way of her duties. The crew needed to be informed, and the navigators needed to get to work. Xi Feng pulled herself back towards the briefing room hatch to begin the work of opening it again.
* * *
Pascual wasn't quite sure how it was that he was ending up in charge of the negotiations with the Tadpoles. Although he hadn't been willing to admit it to himself at the time, when he had first been brought in on the conferences, he had assumed it was just part of his uncle's nepotism. Pascual hadn't expected to actually have a leadership role in the negotiations. It made him more than a bit uncomfortable to realize how comfortable he had gotten taking advantage of so many of the perks of high government office while assuming very little of the responsibility.
But that was changing. Everyone else had innumerable other duties to manage at the same time, and Pascual was a fully accredited Ambassador-at-Large for the OES. Since he was the only one able to attend every meeting with the Tadpole delegation, he was the person with the best idea of how the talks were proceeding, and the only one who could provide continuity for the Tadpoles themselves. So he was now Earth's point man when it came to the Tadpoles. Pascual couldn't shake the suspicion that his uncle had planned that outcome all along.
"How much longer must we argue this, Ambassador?" the Tadpole across from Pascual sounded exasperated. "In the last three days, more than sixty of my fellows in the colony have lost their Enharg, and hundreds more are soon to follow. We cannot afford further delay!"
Pascual had quickly learned that one of the hardest parts of negotiating was always looking his counterpart straight in the eye, regardless of how he felt about the conversation. He was truly beginning to empathize with the Tadpoles, and it always left him slightly nauseated to think about how much suffering he was causing them by driving a hard bargain on Earth's behalf.
"Ambassador Rokden," Pascual said steadily, his voice betraying none of his conflicted emotions, "your people have my deepest sympathies, and those of my government. But above all, we must look to our own welfare. I am afraid that we simply cannot sell out the progress of our own species for the salvation of yours. If we are to give you what you want, then we must be compensated with the means to secure our own independence."
"Surely the weapon we have brought for you will greatly enhance the defensive capabilities of your planet!" Rokden protested, and threw up his arms. He had caught on to humans' body language with such rapidity; it was sometimes hard for Pascual to remember he was talking to an alien. "Our own analysis of your defenses says you have nothing like what we offer. Is this not progress?"
"Ambassador, my species is in its own race for survival, and we cannot afford to lose any time. The Mars colony would mean real improvements now." Pascual didn't even blink at the lie. There was still over a year before the first colonists were even scheduled to depart Earth, and that was assuming everything went perfectly with the habitat's initial setup. Still, he said the lines he needed say. "Even with the technical advisors you have agreed to lend us," he went on, "it will take years, perhaps decades, before we are able to produce such weapons of our own. If we are to mortgage our future for so long, it must be for far more than one simple weapon. We need more."
"What you ask for is not possible, Ambassador Molinas! Not possible! Do you have any idea how jealously the empires guard warp technology? Do you have any idea what my own people had to sacrifice to acquire it from the Charterlings?"
"Yet acquire it you did. Earth only wishes to wield the same technology itself."
Rokden made a slicing motion with one hand, as if slashing through Pascual's words.
"My government would never permit it. Even if they would, the others would do all they could to prevent it. They would smash both of our worlds to stop such a trade. Have you any idea how fragile the nature of your survival is? The deal you propose would shatter it in an instant if any of the others even we had even discussed it!" The Tadpole glanced to each side of the room, as if to make sure that the Bats had not returned again to listen.
Pascual didn't think the situation was quite as bad as Rokden was portraying it. From his conversations with Hyong Yaheek, it was clear that the Bats suspected Earth was demanding exactly what it really was from the Tadpoles. But although they certainly seemed unhappy about that suspicion, Pascual had never gotten the impression that they would go to the lengths that Rokden was suggesting in order to stop such a deal.
Pascual held out his hands, palms up, "This is the position of my government, Ambassador.
Rokden slammed a fist down on the table between them. His fist was not much smaller than Pascual's head, and he swung it with such force that it cracked the top of the wooden table. Pascual nearly jumped out of his seat, but managed to check the motion so that he only pushed himself back about half a meter. He could not conceal the shock on his face, however, nor the fear. A moment ago, he had been fascinated with how similar the Tadpoles were to humanity, now Pascual was worried that they might not have the same proscriptions against peaceful diplomacy, or shooting messengers.
"You are worse than Charterlings!" Rokden growled.
The door to the conference room burst open, and two members of the Executive Protection Service fairly leaped into the room wearing black combat suits and with weapons raised to their cheeks. They immediately pointed those weapons at Rokden. The Tadpole tilted his head at the sight, as if curious.
Pascual at least had the presence of mind to shout, "Put those guns down! We're fine! It's fine!" He waved at the security men, hoping to get their attention off of the alien ambassador before they killed him.
One of them finally seemed to get the message, and he lowered his gun, though only slightly, "Are you sure, sir?"
"Yes," Pascual squeaked, then swallowed. "Yes," he repeated. "Just a little excitement. Please, leave us."
The guards looked between Rokden and Pascual a few times before fully lowering their guns, "All right, sir. Sorry about that."
"It's no problem, no problem. Just, wait back in the hall, please."
The security men nodded, and left the conference room again. They closed the door much more gently than they had opened it. Pascual shook his head, and let out a deep breath.
"My apologies for that, Ambassador. I'm afraid you startled the guards."
Rokden nodded, "I must offer my own apologies, for destroying your table. I will of course replace it from my ship's stores."
"Uh, thanks," Pascual waved the offer away, "but it's not a problem. Really, don't worry about it."
A few moments passed where neither of them said anything, Rokden rubbed the hand he had used to break the conference table while Pascual tried to figure out how to restart the negotiations after their interruption. He was about to suggest they break for lunch when the Tadpole spoke again.
"I have been authorized by my superiors, Ambassador, to make a new offer. I still think it is too much, but you have left us with little choice, as I am sure was your intent." He looked Pascual in the eye for a second, and Pascual wondered if it was a glance of respect or disdain.
"We must negotiate as we see is best for our own interests, Ambassador," Pascual said, conceding nothing.
Rokden nodded again, and this time Pascual got the definite impression that the Tadpole was trying to make him feel guilty.
"We cannot offer you warp engines," he said. "I have told you this is impossible, and it is. We can, however, offer some of the devices which we use to simulate gravity on our spacecraft."
Pascual's eyes lit up, "Artificial gravity?" The military hadn't deemed that one a priority, but it was something that the civilian sector had been drooling over ever since it had been first demonstrated to humanity during first contact with the Bats.
"Yes. The mechanisms are not as complex as warp engines, but it is a similar technology."
It became even harder for Pascual to control his expression, but he managed, somehow, "That sounds more promising then, Ambassador."
Rokden sat up straight on his stool, and looked around again. "Because it is, however, such a trade must be done in secret. Our government may be willing to share this knowledge with you, but the others will be no happier than if we gave you true warp engines. Neither of us should be eager to risk their response if we are discovered."
It was Pascual's turn to nod. "All right, Ambassador," he said, "I'm pleased to see that we're making progress. I should bring this new proposal to my own officials for discussion. Hopefully we are not far from a deal. For now, however, I think we should break for lunch."
Pascual stood up and offered his hand to the Tadpole. They had become familiar with that human gesture as quickly as they had with others, but this time Rokden did not take Pascual's hand, nor did he get up from his seat. Pascual blinked, and withdrew his awkwardly hanging arm after a moment while Rokden looked up at him.
"Each hour I spend here, Ambassador, one more of my people on our colony is separated from his Enharg. Eat your lunch; speak to your superiors, both of these you must do. But I do not think I can stomach my stay here much longer, Ambassador. If your people will not help us, then I would rather return to my own and await the same fate. I hope you will tell me soon if this is what I should do."
Pascual stood very still for a minute or two, staring into the alien's huge black eyes. Then he gathered his few papers silently and left, for he had nothing to say.
* * *
Lavrentiy Kozlov was the only person Pascual knew who wore glasses. Corneal replacement surgery was so cheap and so widely available that nearly everyone took advantage of it. And for the tiny fraction of the population who could not because of some allergy or other condition, there was still a whole host of other options available. Glasses were relics out of old movies, something to wear at costume parties, not serious instruments of vision correction.
But whenever Pascual saw Kozlov reading anything, the Russian Admiral always had on a pair of reading glasses with thin gold frames that he kept in a jacket pocket. Pascual just shook his head slightly at the sight; he wouldn't have dared to ask the man to explain himself.
Councilor Durante was the first to put down Pascual's report. He tapped it absently a couple times with a stylus before speaking.
"All right," he said, "I know the space tech guys will go nuts over this, but do we really want to settle? Anti-gravity doesn't really get us much of anywhere."
"Rokden did say the technology is related to warp," Kozlov pointed out without looking up from his own copy of the report.
"Sure, but are we just going to take his word on that? Anyway, lasers are like light bulbs, but I think you'd agree it's a long way from one to the other."
Kozlov snorted in a laugh and smiled slightly. "It'd still put us a long way ahead of where we are with manipulating gravity now, which is nowhere. Unless one of the R&D Firms is working on something that I don't know about yet."
He glanced to his left at Wilhelm Trautmann, but the Financial Councilor just shrugged, "Nothing so far as I know, either. We really ought to create another department to keep tabs on the sciences, though. Dividing that sort of thing up between the Fleet and my office just isn't the best way to handle it."
That last bit had been directed at the Chief Executive, but Eduard Molinas waved Trautmann's words aside. "We can discuss changes to the bureaucracy later," he said. "And we can discuss changes which will make the Euros and Americans throw a tantrum after my term is done."
Trautmann sighed, but the issue was tabled for the moment. The Chief Executive went on, "All right, if we're not going to be able to get a warp engine from them, and the way the Tadpoles are talking to Pascual it sounds like we might have to accept that possibility, is there anything else we want? Something else that might be related but more useful than anti-gravity?"
"I should emphasize," Pascual said before anyone could answer, "that we may be reaching the limit of how far we can push them. At some point they're going to decide that we simply won't help them. Rokden sounded like he wanted to just go home himself."
"If we're the only ones that can help them, what choice do they have?" Trautmann asked. "They won't go home."
Pascual opened his mouth to respond to the Financial Councilor, but Durante beat him to the point, "They said we're the only ones that can help them, but only they know how true that is. If they come to the conclusion that we're asking more than they can give, it may convince them to pursue other alternatives that they'd been avoiding." Trautmann seemed skeptical, and Durante shrugged, "I don't think they're to that point yet, but I wasn't the one in the room." He nodded deferentially to Pascual.
Admiral Kozlov tossed the report down on the table. "I think we should take the deal they're offering," he said, and folded up his reading glasses before returning them to his pocket.
Everyone looked at him with slightly puzzled expressions. Pascual had thought the military man at least would want to hold out for more obviously military technologies, and everyone else had probably assumed the same.
"Why, Lavrentiy?" Eduard Molinas asked.
Kozlov shrugged, "I agree with your nephew's analysis, these Tadpoles are reaching the end of their patience with us. Let us help them for what they will give us now. Later, they will be grateful to us, and we may be able to secure more information in the future."
Durante frowned, "I don't know, Admiral. If this is all they need to get a self-sufficient colony operating, we might not get another chance to extract anything from them. They wouldn't need us anymore."
"Maybe, Councilor, but the intelligence we have been gathering suggests these aliens are significantly less advanced than the Bats. I think it is likely that we will continue to have much to offer each other. If we are generous now, their trust in us will be greater."
"You're going soft on me with all this talk about 'trust', Admiral," the Chief Executive laughed. "All right, I'm inclined to take the offer as it stands myself. How do we stand on being able to pay for the colony, Willy?"
The Financial Councilor grimaced, "Well, we're still in about the same place as last time so far as our funds go, but it looks like the fallout if we go ahead could be even worse. I talked with some of my friends at Lockheed and a few other places, and it turns out some people were overly optimistic when it came to designing the transports to carry colonists over. The company issued more bonds last week to pay for new ships."
Eduard Molinas sat up very straight, "What? Why didn't we hear anything about this?"
"Because they didn't tell anyone except the banks they sold the bonds to. Some of the member companies are under serious heat from their shareholders over how much they're exposed to this project." Trautmann shook his head.
"Isn't that illegal?" Pascual asked.
"Yes," the Financial Councilor answered, "and I've been debating whether or not to call the FSA on them. But if we go ahead with this, it's not going to matter, the colony will be toast. We can cover maybe a quarter of their outstanding debt out of our pocket, and if we want to borrow ourselves we could probably reach up to seventy-five percent no problem, unless of course the banks have even more loans off the books than I think they do. But that won't save the colony; we may kill the whole idea for another two decades."
"Won't getting their hands on the laser and this anti-gravity thing help, though?" The Chief Executive was starting to look worried.
Trautmann nodded. "Oh, certainly, I think most of the member companies will pull through all right. Lockheed and Finmeccanica aren't going to like how much debt they'll be in afterwards, but they should be able to sell their investors on these new toys just fine. Dassault is done for, though. Those pods for the Moscows were really their last chance, losing the Mars colony is just going to be what convinces their shareholders to pack it in at last."
"Would it be better if we waited?"
"No. If we're going to do this, we want to announce as soon as possible. The markets will take a hit—a big one—but it'll be worse if we wait and the colonial company does something else stupid in the meantime."
"All right, then, Willy. Assume we're going to go with the deal as it is, start putting the details together on your end, I'll have my communications people get in a room with yours."
"So, have we settled on this offer then?" Councilor Durante asked while Trautmann was making notes for himself.
"I think so, Bernardo," Eduard Molinas said, "unless anyone else has some more reasons to wait that we haven't considered?"
Durante shrugged in response, and Pascual shook his head.
"It's not all we hoped for, but I think we can make it work," Kozlov said.
"We'll go for it then. Pascual, you can tell Rokden, but hold off until we've worked out more of the details of what we'll tell the public and what we want the wording of the final agreement to look like. Bernardo, that's going to be mostly your job."
"Yes, Chief. I think we can have something by tomorrow morning," Durante nodded confidently.
"Good. Any other business?"
"There is one thing, Chief Molinas," Kozlov said. The Chief Executive raised one eyebrow while the Admiral straightened up in his chair and took out a piece of paper from a folder. "I wonder if I could interest you in visiting Singapore sometime in the next few days…"