Defender

  Aliens, that was. He hadn’t even polled his own nerves to know what he thought. He was numb—completely numb. “Yes, sir. Probably I would be.” Someone at least would have the concept of thinking in another language, inside another, non-human skin.

  “If it goes well, you’ll have an idle trip. We’ll depopulate the station, destroy any clue of the direction we’ve gone, and hope for the best. Unfortunately, of planet-bearing stars in the vicinity, there aren’t that many. Of life-bearing planets, this one. Only this one.” Ogun leaned back. “So if I were an alien looking for an origin-point for my enemy, I wouldn’t have that far to look. And we can assume their optics and their instruments are adequate for starflight, which means adequate to find this star, this planet, if they haven’t already done it. And this is our dilemma. If we go back there and pull back our observers, I doubt we conceal a damned thing. But we do send a signal. Don’t we, Mr. Cameron?”

  “Yes.”

  “What will we be saying?”

  “The point is, sir, we know what we’ll be saying. But we don’t know what they’ll be hearing. We won’t know that until we encounter them and get a sample of their thinking.”

  “Ideally we won’t encounter them. Ever.”

  “I’d agree.”

  Ogun considered that.

  “If we’re lucky,” Sabin said, “they’ve gone off. If we go back there and stir things up again, we’re likely to provoke what we’re trying to avoid.”

  “Also possible.”

  “We’re not ready,” Sabin said. “Another hundred years at this star and we might be. But right now we’ve got two stations, one ship, and no defense. Bomb shelters won’t save us.”

  “Nothing we’ve got will save us,” Ogun said, “if they take Reunion and come after us. Reunion is sitting out there as a provocation.”

  “We don’t know what they think,” Sabin said. “We’re assuming.”

  Sabin happened to be right. Not necessarily in her conclusion, but in her reasoning.

  “We don’t know either way.” Bren contributed his unasked opinion. “They may be waiting for a signal we don’t know how to give. They may think they have peace. They may not know what peace is. They may not know what war is and may not know they may have provoked one. We don’t know. But we shouldn’t go into their territory looking for them.”

  “Cameron’s said it,” Sabin said shortly. “My vote is to put a stop to this whole thing and stay the hell out. If Reunion falls, we still have a fifty-fifty chance they won’t come after us.”

  He couldn’t swear to the math. But he agreed with the theory.

  “We already have the crew’s vote,” Ogun said. “It’s settled.”

  “It’s only the crew’s vote,” Sabin said. “And it’s not settled if we decide to the contrary.”

  “Reunion is almost certainly repairing,” Ogun said, “and building. They’ll get noisier over time, and they’ll outgrow the situation as it is. They won’t stay hidden. And whatever they do, they remain ours, our fault, whether or not they make good choices and whether or not they can deal with the aliens out there.”

  “Or if they build one ship, they can come here,” Jase said out of long silence. “And they can come here with resources, and ships, and orders we don’t want to take.”

  There was a thought. More than a thought—a nightmare none of them had talked about.

  “We don’t have to be idle here,” Sabin said. “We’re building ships of our own.”

  “So what do we have?” Ogun asked. “A human war on the atevi’s doorstep?”

  “We don’t need to be sticking our nose into Reunion before we’ve built enough here or there to be able to defend ourselves against whatever that situation produces. I’m not saying don’t go. I’m saying don’t go yet. Ramirez’s brought atevi and the Mospheirans in on it all, trying to force the issue, complicating the situation, complicating decision-making on what’s our business, not the aiji’s, complicating the issues, giving us these damned observers, and all of a sudden I’m seeing a hellbent rush away from patience, away from prudence and headlong into a decision to rip authority away from Reunion and try to bring it all here, under ours.”

  “We’d better,” Ogun said. “Captain Graham has the right idea. We’d better bring the decision-making here, before they bring their decisions here.”

  “And I say wait.”

  “You’re outvoted.”

  “I know I’m outvoted, as long as Captain Graham says yes on cue. I’m outvoted and we’ve got a mess. We’ve got the aiji’s grandmother, and now it all involves prestige and power on the planet and could bring the government crashing down if we don’t take this woman out there to interfere in our internal affairs. Am I right, Mr. Cameron?”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re absolutely right about the going. But I resist the characterization—”

  “And what the aiji thinks affects how efficiently we get supply. Isn’t that always the threat?”

  “The aiji’s stability does affect things,” Bren said. “Agreements made, are agreements, and have to stand. But the question is—and I’m asking, in the aiji’s name, agreeing with you, Captain Sabin—is this the best decision?”

  “Hell, no,” Sabin said.

  “It is the best decision,” Ogun said. “And it’s the decision we’ve already made.”

  “Sir,” Bren said. “Captain Sabin. Excuse me. If we get two, then three, then four decision-makers involved here, pretty soon it can happen that they’re not thinking is this a good idea? They’re thinking, how can I make sure my party’s represented in the outcome? That worries me. It worries me exceedingly. I wasn’t consulted. Ramirez never consulted me…”

  “That was rather well your aiji’s option, wasn’t it?” Ogun asked.

  Score. “Yes, sir, it was.”

  “Stupidity,” Sabin said, “and I vote for keeping quiet, building one, two, three ships, as many as we can—”

  “Two, three, and four ships still won’t match what a hostile species who’s had the nerve to blow hell out of an alien outpost may have,” Ogun countered. “We can’t know what they’ve got. We can’t ever know when what we’ve got is adequate to protect ourselves.”

  “We can’t know,” Sabin shouted at him, and pounded her fist on the table, “because you want to go out there and pull our damned observers out!”

  “Observers who can’t transmit to us without bringing all hell down on their heads,” Ogun retorted in a quieter voice. “And who don’t give a damn for us over them. As well not have them. As well get the provocation out of there, now, while it looks like our choice, an exit with dignity, and not us running for our lives. The decision’s made. You can stay here, or you can take the mission.”

  “It’s not official if Graham changes his vote,” Sabin said.

  Tabini couldn’t go back, just withdraw his representatives and say to an already nervous Association—oh, well, we changed our minds. Jase Graham voted no, and we’re turning back.

  He looked at Jase.

  Jase didn’t look at him. Jase looked only at Ogun, then at Sabin. And voted. “It stands.”

  Dammit, Bren thought to himself. But not a whole-hearted dammit. Only a sane wish this had gone differently—that he’d been in the loop a long, long time ago.

  And how could Tabini do this to him?

  He didn’t know where Jase got his decision—whether obedience to Ramirez and Ogun, whether the sense that once the dowager reached here, there was no going back, but effectively—what could they do?

  He tried to think of something. He tried frantically to think of something.

  “In a nutshell,” Sabin said, “you mean now crew’s involved. They know command’s lied—and we can’t deny that. The atevi have gotten into it. The onworlders have gotten into it. So the mission’s launched, foolhardy as it is. Cameron’s told you we’re crazy. But we’re going hellbent ahead with what never was a good idea, because it was Ramirez’s idea, and he committed us to this missio
n. And now it’s all mine.”

  “I’m sure you’ll carry it out with intelligence and dispatch,” Ogun said. “I’ve never doubted that.”

  “I’ll carry it out. And it’s going to be our decision.”

  Sabin. Who didn’t trust atevi.

  And, Bren thought, he had to work with her.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Captain Sabin, somewhat to my own suprise, I’ve taken your side in this. I’m in a similar position: events have gone very far down a track that I can’t retrace either. Since we’re committed to getting what you now admit to be a Pilots’ Guild authority off what you claim to be a wreck of a station, quietly, we hope they’ll listen to reason. But let me ask this question: where do you stand, relative to them, in making future decisions? Bluntly put, are you going to defer decision-making to them, considering they outrank you—or are you going to retain command of the situation, over their objections?”

  Silence met that question. Then: “You know I’m a bastard. I’m in command. And we won’t surrender that authority.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “We’ll talk, if that’s possible.”

  “More reassuring, Captain. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be staying with the station,” Ogun said, “to carry out agreements, to get the shipyard in operation. Captain Sabin will command Phoenix and the mission. That’s the way it will be. Each to our talents.”

  Sabin’s left eyebrow twitched. Sabin was brilliant with numbers, had a first-rate instinct in emergencies, and set off arguments like sparks into tinder wherever she walked into a situation. She’d backed Tamun. She didn’t work well with people. Damned right she wasn’t handling the station situation.

  “I’ll go with the mission,” Jase said. “With your permission.”

  “Well,” Sabin said, “well, well. So we have an opinion. And we want to be helpful. You want to stay with your atevi allies?”

  “I believe I can be useful.”

  “Mr. Cameron?” Ogun asked.

  His decision? God.

  “I’m sure Captain Graham would be an asset in either post.”

  “Are you up to it?” Sabin asked. “How do you suppose we’re going to get along?”

  Jase—Jase with the devil’s own temper—didn’t blow. He composed his hands in front of him, as carefully, as easily as Sabin’s laced fingers. “What I want and what you want, ma’am, neither one matters against the safety of all aboard. A second opinion might be useful. Someone is likely going to do something or propose something to the detriment of the agreements we have back here at this star. I know those agreements, I know the ship’s needs, the station’s needs, and I have an expertise that’s more critical there than here.”

  “You have an expertise. We’ve got a translator, in Mr. Cameron.”

  “That’s not what he does. As a ship, we don’t see what he does. We don’t understand people who aren’t under the same set of orders for the last several hundred years. Diplomacy— diplomacy, captain. Negotiation. Mr. Cameron’s good at it. So am I. And I can sit here on this station, helping Ms. Mercheson translate, as I assume she’ll stay in that capacity, or I can go out there, giving you a backup, helping explain to Mr. Cameron and the aiji-dowager how the crew works and how the Guild works. And helping arrive at a reasonable conclusion.”

  Sabin didn’t say a thing, only listened, hands still clasped, still easy. “We’re not negotiating my orders, Captain Graham. We’re not having any other orders.”

  “We don’t know what we’ll meet. And I know routine operations.”

  “Let’s hope for routine,” Sabin said glumly. “Keep the dowager quiet, and you’ll be a use.” Sabin’s cold eyes shot straight at Bren. “So you’re going. What kind of space allotment do you need?”

  On the spot? Without calculations? “Myself, two security, four staff. The dowager—she has triple that.”

  “No outside equipment,” Sabin said, “be clear on that. No electronics independent of our boards. That’s a safety issue.”

  “We exist within the station without disruption and my staff is well aware of the issues. I’m sure we can exist within the ship. These are extremely skilled personnel, captain. An asset, in the remote event diplomacy doesn’t work. Of all else you leave behind, I’d advise you take all of our equipment you can lay hands on, along with our specialized staff and our weapons, that we know how to use with very great expertise. And they’ll be at your service, should you need them.”

  Ship’s security was electronically difficult to penetrate. Personally—ship’s security had met Banichi and Jago, who were listening to scraps of all that was going on, and didn’t prevent them doing what they did.

  “Under whose orders?” Sabin asked. “I’ll have that settled, Mr. Cameron. Yours? Or a planet-dwelling grandmother with a notion she gives the orders?”

  “The dowager’s security talks to my security, and won’t do anything that risks the safety of the ship—or that contradicts a ship-aiji’s orders. There is a respect for aijiin on staff, Captain. A profound respect for orders. Ship-safety is in your hands. Safety of outside accesses, while you’re docked—I’d frankly recommend your people take advice from mine in establishing a barrier against intrusion. We’re better than yours, at that.”

  He took a chance, but he’d spent significant time dealing with Sabin, and one couldn’t insult a woman whose god was objectivity. She listened, absorbed, analyzed.

  “Appearances,” Sabin said.

  “We can be discreet. Freeing other personnel on your side.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Sabin said. Then: “The whole colonial residency’s vacant on this mission. You won’t be cramped. Your whole station residence couldn’t even make a blip on the ship’s fuel needs or add that much to its mass. Take anything you want.”

  “It won’t be that extensive,” he said.

  “Kroger will have an establishment. Technical people. Certain number of robot support techs. Gear. A lot of it. Her staff has bulk.”

  He didn’t, personally, want to spend the rest of a shortened life sitting at some remote star, reduplicating the plight of the ancestors. He was very, very glad Kroger and her robots were available.

  “Station’s fuel needs will be attended to,” Ogun said, “with the older robots. We’re committed to keep building here. Ms. Mercheson will be liaison with the atevi authorities, and with the President.”

  “I’d advise splitting that job, sir. Tom Lund would be very good on the Mospheiran side.”

  Ogun knew Lund.

  “Reasonable recommendation. I’ll talk with the authorities down there.”

  “It’s going to be dicey with Shejidan,” Bren said, took a breath. “I’ll advise one thing, Captain Ogun, with all good will: that you take Mercheson’s advice and tell the absolute whole truth at least to her.” He saw the resentment building in a basically honest man, and plowed ahead. “Captain, if you make those leaders down on the planet look as if they don’t know what the truth is, you’ll not only kill any hope you have of dealing with those governments, you’ll likely bring both governments down and have chaos down there that three hundred years won’t fix, no workers, no fuel, no supplies at all, ever. I can’t stress enough how precarious the situation can turn and how fast. And I am so relieved the ship is leaving you here to take charge of it. —Ms. Mercheson, you understand me.”

  He’d changed from questioning Ogun’s expertise to praising it so fast that Ogun was still absorbing it. And wasn’t coming to a conclusion. Yet.

  “Yes, sir,” Yolanda said, scarcely audible, and cleared her throat. “Yes, sir. He’s right.”

  “We don’t take threats,” Sabin said.

  “Captain,” Bren said, “excuse me, but as the workers put it—gravity doesn’t care. Gravity doesn’t care, nor do the facts that govern the planet. If you want supply, tell the truth to your translators and let them figure out how to translate the situation in terms the people will understand. Conversely, listen when they say
they can’t say a certain thing, and suggest something that will be better understood. Most of all set a course and keep it. That’s my condensed advice. Ramirez surprised us once. About one more lie injected into the situation is going to exceed the possibility of leaders ever explaining anything to them.”

  “Is the truth going to make them happier?” Ogun asked.

  There was a deep-seated Guild-engendered conviction behind that question, a philosophy that had never done the ship any favors.

  “You’d be surprised, Captain. Most Mospheirans—most atevi, for that matter—won’t ever care about anything political until their own supper’s threatened. Once it is, you’ve got hundreds of thousands of people each with ideas and no disposition to compromise until their needs are satisfied. That’s the way it’s always been, and that’s why my ancestors had rather trust an untested parachute capsule than trust one more rational argument from the Pilots’ Guild. People don’t give a damn what you’re doing as long as they’re confident where you’re going. Atevi are fonder of intrigue than Mospheirans, but you’ve hit your limit of surprises with Tabini, no question. They’ll accord you a certain credence as a new leader for the station, but they’ll be watching. Both island and continent will be watching, and watching each other. You have to be even-handed, and you have to be right. Their belief that things must still be running all right because you two are left in charge is very important to their ability to work with each other. It’s a confidence I share or I’d be telling Tabini and Tyers both to get the hell out of this arrangement and protect their own interests separately, and I’m reasonably confident that, even out of the loop as I’ve been, they’d both listen in a heartbeat. Instead I’m going to throw my support to you both and tell them both to trust you. You’re both reputed as the absolute best at what you’re each going to handle, so I haven’t any objections, only my condensed, impolite, and urgent advice on things I think you already know. I’m done. I’m perfectly confident in both of you.”