“No, Pôr!” Ning cried over the com.
“It’s not my choice, kwanjai,” he said more gently. “Go home to the girls. They need you.”
“They need you, too! We all do!”
“I’m sorry.” He leaned around his covering air car and sent another burst screaming towards the maintenance shop. “Go home. And be careful when you lift out. Remember the tribarrels on the western perimeter.”
There was silence for a moment, and then—
“I’m coming to get you, Pôr,” his daughter-in-law said, and his heart spasmed as he recognized her suddenly calm tone.
“No!” he shouted. “No, Ning!”
The air van howled in from the west at barely ten meters, and pulser darts from the maintenance shop shrieked to meet it. Most of them ricocheted madly from the Vencejo’s armor. Not all of them did, though, and his heart froze as bits and pieces flew.
“Noooooo!!” he screamed, but the air van never hesitated. It swept over the remnants of his team, battering them with turbine wash, absorbing that hurricane of fire. And then, with the unerring accuracy of an arrow and the fury of its pilot’s battering-ram rage, it smashed directly into the maintenance shop’s main repair bay at over two hundred kilometers per hour.
The explosion shattered every unbroken window within a thousand meters.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“Well, the news just gets better and better, doesn’t it?” Agatá Wodoslawski stabbed a disgusted finger at the intelligence summary on the display and glared around the enormous conference table at her companions. “It doesn’t look like deciding to investigate Beowulf’s ‘treason’ was such a wonderful idea after all.”
Her glare settled on Innokentiy Kolokoltsov, Permanent Senior Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs and the acknowledged senior member of “the Mandarins,” the five unelected bureaucrats who truly ran the Solarian League. From the outset, Wodoslawski, the Permanent Senior Undersecretary of the Treasury, and Omosupe Quartermain, the Permanent Senior Undersecretary of Commerce, had tried to warn their fellows of the economic consequences of all-out war with the Star Empire of Manticore. They’d also been the two most in favor of seeking a diplomatic solution to the crisis which had exploded with the death of Josef Byng and the battlecruiser Jean Bart. It wasn’t that they’d disagreed with their fellows’ desire to teach the uppity, arrogant Manties their place; it was simply that they’d had a more realistic appreciation for just how badly Manticore could hurt them in return.
In fact, even their estimates had been dismally overoptimistic, and none of the Mandarins—including the late and extremely unlamented Fleet Admiral Rajampet Rajani—had possessed a shred of realistic appreciation of the Manticorans’ war-fighting capability. Despite which, Kolokoltsov thought resentfully, she and Quartermain remained in the best position to be casting stones at this bleak moment in history.
“It’s not over yet, Agatá,” he said, after a moment. “Whatever the newsies may be screaming, the latest polls show a plurality—over forty-seven percent, in fact—of the Core World population supports the Assembly’s condemnation of Beowulf. And over fifty percent believe Beowulf’s decision to call in Manticoran ships of the wall to back its refusal to allow Admiral Tsang to pass through the Beowulf Terminus constitutes collusion with the enemy.”
“That’s not exactly a resounding majority,” Quartermain observed sourly.
“No,” Malachai Abruzzi, Permanent Senior Undersecretary of Information, conceded. “But the percentage is growing, especially on the ‘collusion with the enemy’ front. When you add in Beowulf’s decision to secede from the League—and the totality of Filareta’s defeat after it denied Tsang passage to reinforce him—the percentage that believes the Beowulfers are colluding with the enemy jumps to almost eighty-three percent. And well over sixty-five percent of the population strongly condemns Manticore’s interference with freedom of astrogation and sees the Star Empire’s seizure of warp termini as blatant, imperialistic aggression. Trust me, that percentage’s going to climb steadily as the economic consequences begin to bite into the civilian sector.”
He did not, Kolokoltsov noted, mention that the polling data—like all polling data in an interstellar civilization—was always outdated by the time it could be collected. The numbers for the Old Terran population were actually quite a bit higher than the ones he and Abruzzi had just cited, but it hadn’t been possible to gather data from some of the more distant Core Systems since Beowulf had declared its intention to leave the Solarian League.
“All that indignation against the Manties is going to be of limited utility if the Treasury goes dry and the government collapses,” Wodoslawski said caustically. Abruzzi looked at her sharply, and she gave him an abrupt, jerky shrug. “Service on the debt already costs us about twenty percent of our peacetime budgets, Malachai, and we’re paying almost ten percent on a forty-year bond,” she told him. “Current revenue projections, adjusted for the effect of the Manties’ seizure of warp termini and withdrawal from our carrying trade indicate we’re going to be able to cover less than seventy percent of projected expenses. That’s a deficit rate of over thirty percent, and we didn’t have Admiral Kingsford’s new budget requests while those projections were being prepared. In other words, the actual numbers are going to be worse—a lot worse—not better.”
She paused a moment, her expression grim, then shrugged again, with a curious mix of glaring anger, resignation, and something else. An emotion Kolokoltsov couldn’t quite define.
“Within the next six months, barring some sort of miraculous military turn around, our borrowing rate’s going to go to at least fifteen percent.” Her glare circled the conference table again. “Think about that, all of you. The Solarian League—the government of the biggest, wealthiest economy in the history of humanity—will have to pay more than three times the current interest rate just to borrow money to fight the damned war! I don’t care about your damned polls, Innokentiy! Those numbers are the clearest possible indication of how the business and financial communities view our prospects if this thing drags on.”
Kolokoltsov managed not to swear. It wasn’t easy.
“I didn’t know about those numbers,” Nathan MacArtney, the Permanent Senior Undersecretary of the Interior, growled. “But assuming they’re as accurate as your numbers usually are, Agatá, that only lends added urgency to keeping the Protectorates under control. God knows we can’t afford to lose any more of the revenue stream from them! I think these new missiles from Technodyne will probably help, but I’m concerned about our approval of Kingsford’s commerce raiding strategy. I agree it’s the best way to hurt the Manties, but I don’t like the thought of pulling all those platforms out from under Frontier Fleet when we’ve got these reports about Manty efforts to stir up trouble in the Verge.”
“None of those reports have been confirmed,” Kolokoltsov pointed out. “I’m not saying there’s nothing to them!” he added quickly, raising one hand as MacArtney reopened his mouth. “I’m only saying they haven’t been confirmed yet. And, frankly, while I agree with you about the economic importance of the Protectorates, especially given what’s happened to our usual revenue flow, I’m actually more concerned about the additional secession declarations arriving from the Shell than I am about the Verge.”
The mood in the palatial conference room darkened further, and he sat back in his chair, folding his hands on the table in front of him.
“So far, we have four of them,” he said. “And, unfortunately, the Manties have followed through on Carmichael’s threat. They’ve distributed recordings of our conversation month before last to the newsies.”
His mouth twisted sourly as he recalled that conversation with the Manticoran Ambassador and Lyman Carmichael’s blazing contempt. Not to mention his plea for the Mandarins to call off Massimo Filareta’s attack on Manticore…and his only too accurate prediction of what would happen if Filareta wasn’t recalled. They didn’t have poll numbers back on the public’s
reaction to that little bombshell, either—not yet—but he was sinkingly certain that it would be disastrous.
“Thanks to the fact that they now control something like eighty percent of all warp termini, those recordings are spreading a hell of a lot faster than any rebuttal from our side,” he continued. “We’re getting to most of the Core Worlds first, but the Shell and the Verge are getting the Manties’ version unchallenged. Personally, I think that’s what’s really driving these secession declarations, and that’s going to get worse.”
“Four of them,” Wodoslawski repeated. “Already?” Kolokoltsov gave her a choppy nod, and she grimaced. “God help us, but that sounds like the first trickle. What happens when the floodgates open?”
“We’re not hearing anything like this from the Core Worlds—aside from the damned Beowulfers, anyway!” he replied. “And most of these declarations are coming from star systems that don’t have the military wherewithal of Beowulf.”
“Are you suggesting we send task forces to pound them into submission?” Quartermain asked. “Doesn’t seem to’ve worked out very well in Beowulf’s case, does it?”
“That’s pretty much what I just said, Omosupe,” Kolokoltsov said sharply. “And, no, I’m not proposing to ‘pound’ anyone into submission. But the Manties and Havenites can’t afford to disperse this Grand Fleet of theirs too widely. As powerful as their weapons are, and whatever they may have done to our economy so far, they’re still punching above their weight against the Solarian League. So it’s not like they’re able to start dispatching task forces of their own to every star system that threatens to secede. I’ve discussed it with Admiral Kingsford, and he’s agreed to send a couple of squadrons of wallers to each of these star systems. What I propose is that we issue no threats, we send professional diplomats along with the admirals commanding the task forces, and our position is simply that at this time, given the deteriorating situation with Manticore, the Assembly and Government can’t in good conscience allow these secession efforts to move forward. After the conclusion of hostilities with the Manticoran Alliance, we’ll be in a better position to determine the constitutionality of secession and to process secession applications that we know aren’t being driven by Manticoran pressure on the system governments. In the meantime, the Battle Fleet forces assigned to each system will protect them—in case Manticore has been using coercive threats to produce the proclamations—and also protect and conserve League property and installations in those systems. Not to mention collecting the central government’s lawful duties and fees.”
“And how long d’you think that’ll bandage over the situation?” Abruzzi asked caustically.
“I don’t know, but if you’ve got a better suggestion, I’d love to hear it.”
Kolokoltsov met Abruzzi’s eyes for three or four seconds, until the Information Undersecretary looked away with a frustrated shrug.
“In the meantime,” Kolokoltsov continued, “one of Admiral Kingsford’s intelligence people, a Captain Gweon, has produced a very interesting analysis of the real reason Manticore and Haven were so determined to get Beowulf into their corner. It makes interesting reading, and I’d like you all to consider it between now and tomorrow.” He smiled thinly. “If Captain Gweon’s right, then it could just be that there’s a quicker alternative to Admiral Kingsford’s commerce raiding when it comes to bloodying the Manties’ nose.”
* * *
“’Scuse me, Floyd,” Jason MacGruder said, “but weren’t the Manties s’posed to be here today?”
Floyd Allenby scowled at his cousin. Not because MacGruder didn’t have a point, but because Allenby didn’t have an answer.
The two of them stood on a sixth-floor balcony of the President’s House in the heart of Landing. The balcony’s previous owner, Ex-President Rosa Schumer, was currently in confinement in one of the VIP prisons formerly operated by her cellmate, Felicia Karaxis. General Tyrone Matsuhito, unfortunately, hadn’t survived to be taken into custody. Allenby found it difficult to regret that particular fatality, although he had been looking forward to Matsuhito’s trial.
The truth was that the Cripple Mountain Movement’s coup had worked almost perfectly. Casualties in the SSA had been heavier than Allenby, MacGruder, or Frugoni had wanted them to be, but casualties in the CMM had been much lighter than predicted. That didn’t make losing the six hundred men and women who’d died once the Army recovered from its initial shock any less painful—especially since virtually all of them had been family—but they’d still overthrown the Shuman Administration at a miraculously low cost in blood.
Alton Parkman, Sheila Hampton, and the rest of Tallulah Corporation’s personnel in Swallow were all under house arrest. No charges had been preferred against any of them—yet—but on behalf of the provisional government, Allenby had declared a state of emergency and martial law, which gave it an amazingly broad range of powers under the Shuman Constitution and made all of their actions to date—aside from the minor unpleasantness of attacks on places like Fort Golden Eagle, of course—thoroughly legal.
Not everyone was happy with the new state of affairs. A lot of purely Swallowian investors and business owners, not all of them Schuman cronies (although those cronies represented a substantial majority), stood to be badly hurt if Tallulah collapsed. Whatever the future might hold for them, at the moment they still wielded a lot of clout, and there were signs they were getting organized to use it. On the other hand, at least sixty-five or seventy percent of the system’s population supported the CMM’s accomplishments…so far, at least.
Unfortunately, although Frugoni’s strike on the Donald Ulysses and Rosa Aileen Shuman Space Station, coupled with the destruction or capture of every sting ship at Fort Golden Eagle, had given the CMM a monopoly on armed spacecraft in the Swallow System, at least one Tallulah Corporation freighter had managed to avoid interception and translate into hyper.
No one doubted what that freighter’s skipper intended to do once he reached a handy Frontier Fleet base. And that was what lent Jason MacGruder’s question such a sharply honed point.
“All I can tell you is that we sent them our timetable, Jase,” Allenby said now. “And I s’pose there’s lots of reasons a squadron of destroyers might get themselves delayed en route. So ’pears t’ me that ’bout all we can do at this point is dig in and hope the Manties get themselves sorted out—and here—’fore we hear anything back from Frontier Fleet.”
* * *
“Commodore Terekhov!”
Michael Breitbach rose from his desk chair with a huge smile as General Kayleigh Blanchard, the Mobius System’s new Acting Defense Secretary, escorted Sir Aivars Terekhov into his office.
“Mister Acting President,” Terekhov responded with a smile of his own as he shook Breitbach’s hand.
“I understand you’re leaving us,” Breitbach continued, waving for Terekhov to accompany him to the enormous windows of the hotel suite. The Templeton Arms Tower in the city of Templeton, Mobius’ second-largest city, had been pressed into service as the provisional government’s temporary seat.
There wasn’t much left of the old Presidential Palace.
“I’m afraid so, Sir,” Terekhov replied, standing beside him and gazing out at the peaceful, bustling city. “You seem to have the situation pretty well in hand, and the last thing either of us needs is to lend additional credence to the idea that the Star Empire’s been deliberately fomenting rebellions out here.”
Breitbach’s smile turned into something much less cheerful, and he nodded sharply, tasting once again his elemental rage when he’d discovered how the Mesan Alignment had played him. Not, he reminded himself once again, that the Alignment had created the Mobius Liberation Front or the circumstances which had forced his own hand long before he’d intended to launch his rebellion.
And if they hadn’t “played you,” you wouldn’t’ve sent Ankenbrandt or Summers for help and you and Kayleigh would both be dead right now. Don’t forget that part, either, Michael
!
“I’m going to leave my destroyers and a pair of heavy cruisers to keep an eye on you, backed by a couple of squadrons of Captain Weiss’ LACs under Captain Laycock’s command. Combined with the missile pods we’re leaving in orbit, that should be enough to handle anything Frontier Fleet’s likely to send this way. In the meantime, we’re pretty sure you’re not the only system the Alignment’s been working on. Admiral Culbertson’s probably going to need the rest of my force back in Montana to go play fire brigade somewhere else.”
“Well, all I can say—again—is that Mobius will be eternally grateful to you and to Admiral Gold Peak. Her willingness to help a bunch of revolutionaries she’d never even heard of was remarkable. And the speed and decisiveness of your actions here in Mobius…”
He shook his head, his eyes dark, and Terekhov shrugged.
“Mister Provisional President—Michael,” he said, “I don’t doubt that Lady Gold Peak’s decision was approved the second her report reached Manticore. I can’t conceive of my Empress’ wanting me to do anything other than exactly what we did here anywhere someone takes a stand, trusting in the Star Empire of Manticore’s word…whoever actually gave it to them.” It was his turn to shake his hand. “The truth is, it’s been my honor to assist you, and my only regret is that we didn’t get here before Yucel and her butchers.”
He and Breitbach stood looking into one another’s eyes for several seconds. Then he held out his hand again, and the Provisional President gripped it firmly.
“I hope to come back and see what you’ve made of your star system, Mister Provisional President,” the Manticoran said. “Right now, however, my pinnace is waiting, so I suppose it’s time to tell you goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Commodore,” Breitbach replied. “Godspeed…and I’ll hold you to that promise to come back.”