A Show of Force (31 page)

“We are already seeing a significant decline in our economy,” Mister Ullumbrach added.

“I am not concerned with the Takaran markets,” Casimir said as he looked out his office window. He rotated in his chair slowly to face his advisors. “The markets will do what the markets will do. People will continue to offer products to sell, and people will continue to buy them. The dust will settle from these events, and people will return to their lives, finding something else to be concerned about.”

“I’m sure you are correct,” Mister Rostaur agreed, “however, would it not be prudent to prevent any more loss of revenue than is necessary?”

“This is not a business,” Casimir replied, “it is a society.”

“Society is a business,” Mister Rostaur insisted. “You invest in it, you grow it, you make sure its customers—the citizens—are happy with the product. To ignore such matters and hope for the best invites economic catastrophe…”

“I cannot change the past,” Casimir interrupted, “would that I could. I also cannot control the future. The trial will go as the trial goes, according to Takaran law.”

“You have the power, my lord…” Mister Rostaur started.

Casimir cast a hard look in Mister Rostaur’s direction.

“…as unpleasant a thought as it may be, you alone can pardon them, thus sparing our economy of this uncertainty.”

“Out of respect for your long service to this house, I shall pretend that you never made that suggestion,” Casimir said. He looked at him with a stone cold expression. “However, I warn you… that respect has its limits.”

“My apologies,” Mister Rostaur replied, stepping back out of respect.

Mister Ullumbrach watched as Mister Rostaur left the room. He turned back to Casimir. “He would not be doing his job properly had he not made such a suggestion.”

“Then you agree with him?”

“I do not,” Mister Ullumbrach stated plainly. “In fact, there is nothing I would enjoy more than to see Dahra and his cronies convicted and executed for their crimes. If nothing more, being a nobleman requires you to adhere to the Charter of Torrence, a task at which all three failed miserably. However, it is true that such a conviction, and the subsequent execution, will have significant repercussions, the likes of which we cannot accurately predict. Both economically, and politically. Furthermore, the appeals process will likely make things worse.”

“Do not for a moment think that I have not considered all of this… day in and day out,” Casimir told him.

“Of that I have no doubt, my lord. However, the people continue to be split on the matter.”

“I cannot believe that anyone would side with Dahra…”

“It is not a matter of siding with Dahra,” Mister Ullumbrach explained, “it is a matter of not being willing to suffer the consequences of his conviction and execution. No one wants to see Lord Dahra escape justice, but they also do not want their world torn apart by that justice.”

Casimir sighed. “Thank you for your honesty, Mister Ullumbrach.”

“You are most welcome.” Mister Ullumbrach turned to depart.

“Please be sure to tell Mister Rostaur that my respect for him has not diminished in the slightest.”

“I’m sure he will be happy to hear that, my lord.”

Major Bellen watched as Mister Ullumbrach left the office, closing the door behind him. “They are correct, you know.”

“I know.”

“While I am aware that you have given the matter considerable thought, I too would be remiss in my responsibilities as your chief of security, were I not to point out the danger that Dahra’s continued existence represents to this house.”

“What would you have me do?” Casimir asked.

“No matter what you do, the result will be unfavorable at best.”

“And at worst?”

Major Bellen paused, not wanting to say the words. “Let’s just say that we will need considerably more troops at our disposal.”

Casimir sighed again. “You do realize my hands are tied in this situation. The law is the law, after all.”

“Laws are never black and white, my lord. Perhaps you should look to the gray areas for your answers.”

“You sound like my father, Major.”

“I shall take that as a compliment, as your father was a very wise man.”

* * *

“No change?” Doctor Galloway exclaimed. “I cannot believe it. It’s been five days. All of his nanites should be flushed from his system by now.”

“The level did increase slightly,” Doctor Hammond pointed out.

“Not enough to be statistically significant.” Doctor Galloway looked at the lab reports again, hoping that she had misread something. It would not be the first time, as she still was not completely accustomed to the backward manner in which the Terran hospitals conducted business. “If they are not responding to the most basic of orders, how do we know if we have any control over them at all?”

“I’m afraid if we don’t give the patient more nanites, he will die soon.”

“How can we give him more nanites if we have no control of the ones that are already in him?” Doctor Galloway insisted.

“If the ones that are in him are defective, maybe they are unable to pass the defective commands on to the new nanites? Maybe the current nanites are dead, or otherwise inactive?”

“If so, more of them would come out in his urine. For them to be incapacitated and not come out would mean that they would have to either be active and still clinging onto tissue, or that something else has somehow destroyed them.”

“We are picking up trace minerals in the patient’s urine,” Doctor Hammond said, “ones that match those used in nanites.”

“If they were being destroyed by something, we’d see greater levels of these materials.”

“Is it possible that some nanites are devouring others?”

“That’s impossible,” she assured him. “The nanites do not possess the programming to destroy other nanites.” She sighed. “I guess we have no choice. We have to give Mister Abarta a completely new dose of nanites, and hope for the best, I’m afraid.”

* * *

“How much longer?” Sergeant Torwell asked from his seat in the combat jumper shuttle’s topside weapons turret. He was sweaty and uncomfortable, with the afternoon sun of Porto Santo heating up the small bubble which surrounded his head.

“Minute twenty,” Ensign Latfee replied from the flight deck. “What’s your hurry?”

“It’s damned hot back here.”

“I’ve got the temp down as low as it can go back there.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think they took this bubble into consideration when they designed this thing.”

“That bubble was an add-on,” Ensign Latfee reminded him.

“I know, I know,” Sergeant Torwell replied. He sighed. “I miss our cargo shuttle. Why aren’t we flying the cargo shuttle?”

“We have more combat hours than other crews,” Lieutenant Kainan told him.

“No, you have more combat hours, sir,” the sergeant corrected. “Latfee and I haven’t fired a shot, other than in training, that is.”

“Forty seconds,” Ensign Latfee interjected.

“Where the pilot goes, the crew goes,” the lieutenant added.

“I should’ve gone to flight school,” Sergeant Torwell mumbled.

“Stop whining.”

“
Porto Santo control to all jumpers,
” the controller called over the comms. “
Twenty seconds to go, on my mark……
”

Ensign Latfee looked at the shuttle’s mission clock to confirm that it matched.

“
Mark.
”

“Clock is good,” the ensign announced from the copilot’s seat. “All systems show ready for liftoff.”

“Back is secure, gunner ready,” Sergeant Torwell added.

“Ten seconds,” Ensign Latfee announced as he looked back at the five Ghatazhak soldiers sitting in the back of the combat jump shuttle. He could barely make out the faces of the three sitting across the back of the compartment, just on the other side of the sergeant’s gunner’s seat suspended from the center of the shuttle’s ceiling. He gave the Ghatazhak the thumbs up signal. The Ghatazhak soldier in the center nodded slightly.

The ensign looked forward again, his eyes sweeping across the console in practiced fashion as he performed one last visual check before liftoff. “Five seconds,” he announced. He pulled at his flight harness. “Three……two……one……liftoff.”

The shuttle’s idling engines spun up almost instantly, causing the small spacecraft to rise easily off the tarmac. Sergeant Torwell looked to his left at the line of combat jump shuttles, of which they were the tenth and last in line. All of the ships lifted off the pavement in unison, climbing quickly into the sky.

“Ten meters,” the copilot reported.

The ship began to pitch slightly upward as it began to accelerate.

“Jump to orbit in ten,” Ensign Latfee continued. “Visors down, go to internals.” The young copilot reached up and pulled his visor down, sealing his helmet closed. The action automatically triggered his pressure suit’s ventilation system to increase its efforts now that he was no longer breathing the air in the cabin. “Five seconds. Speed good at two zero zero. Course and pitch on target. Three……two……one……jumping.”

The shuttle’s windows instantly became opaque a second before the jump flash washed over the jump shuttle, preventing the brilliant blue-white light from spilling into the cockpit.

“Jump complete,” the ensign reported as the shuttle’s windows became clear again. Outside their forward windshields, the blue skies over Porto Santo had been replaced by the blackness of space. To his left he could see the Earth’s moon, glowing brightly.

“Ah,” the sergeant sighed. “That’s better.”

“New course. One five seven, up eight relative,” Ensign Latfee said, passing the information to his pilot to prepare for the series of jumps that would take them to their destination.

“One five seven, up eight,” the pilot confirmed.

“Decreasing power,” the copilot added as he pulled the main thrust levers back to minimum. “Depressurizing for combat mode.”

“At least it will be nighttime on Weldon,” the sergeant added, as the low rumble of the shuttle’s engines faded.

“Be sharp, Torwell,” the pilot warned. “This one is supposed to be a bit hotter.”

“You meant that in terms of combat, not temperature, didn’t you,” the sergeant commented.

“Correct.”

“I think I’d rather you were talking about the temperature.” Sergeant Torwell rotated his weapons turret aft to watch the Earth, and the Karuzara asteroid above it, shrink as they left orbit and accelerated away from them. As he rotated back around, he saw a flight of Falcons that had left Porto Santo at the same time, pass them by and disappear in flashes of light as they jumped into the combat zone ahead of them. “Falcons are away,” he reported.

“Right on time,” the copilot commented. “One minute to jump point. On the numbers. Jump series plotted and locked.”

“How many jumps this time?” the sergeant asked.

“Were you asleep at the briefing?” the pilot wondered.

“I must have missed it,” the sergeant admitted. “Dunny kept talking to me the whole briefing.”

“You couldn’t tell him to shut up?” the lieutenant asked.

“Have you ever tried to shut Dunny up?”

“At such a low speed, it’s going to take us twenty-two jumps to get there,” Ensign Latfee explained. “So just under two minutes.”

“Got it,” the sergeant replied. “So, in just
over
two minutes, we become targets. Fun.”

“Hey, you volunteered, just like the rest of us.”

“It was Dunny’s idea,” the sergeant insisted. “‘We’ll get to travel all over the galaxy.’ He didn’t mention the getting shot at part.”

“Thirty seconds,” Ensign Latfee said.

“The Alliance is a military organization, Torwell. What did you expect?” the lieutenant wondered.

“I expected to be sitting in the back of a cargo shuttle,” the sergeant grumbled.

“You people talk too much,” the Ghatazhak squad leader complained.

“Ten seconds to jump point,” Ensign Latfee reported.

“Maybe if you complain to Commander Telles, he’ll send us back to our cargo shuttle?” the sergeant suggested to the Ghatazhak sergeant.

“Or maybe a Jung will take your head off today,” the Ghatazhak sergeant sneered, an evil grin on his face as he tilted his head back and looked up at Sergeant Torwell.

“Three…” the copilot began to count.

Sergeant Torwell looked down between his legs, rotating his turret slightly left so he could see the face of the grinning Ghatazhak sergeant. “That was not nice, Lazo.”

“…Two…”

The Ghatazhak corporal’s grin became more broad.

“…One…”

The turret bubble surrounding Sergeant Torwell’s head became opaque.

“…Jumping…”

The shuttle began a series of jumps that occurred once every five seconds. With the windows opaque, the only indication the flight crew had of the jumps were their instruments.

“Oh, this is so much better than having your visor fade back and forth,” the lieutenant commented.

“Great,” Sergeant Torwell complained, “now the lieutenant is in love with
this
ship.”

“Sorry, Sergeant, but there’s no way I’m going back to that cargo shuttle,” the lieutenant replied, “not after flying this thing for the last week.”

“We’ll see if you still feel that way after getting shot at,” the sergeant replied.

“Twenty jumps to go,” the copilot announced.

“I’ve been shot at before,” the lieutenant reminded the sergeant.

“Yeah, by these guys,” the sergeant replied. He looked down at the Ghatazhak sergeant. “Not
you
guys, of course. You guys are
great
!”

Sergeant Lazo just shook his head in dismay at Sergeant Torwell’s need to continually talk. “I wonder if your friend Dunny says the same thing about you?”

“Fifteen to go.”

“You see?” Torwell exclaimed. “I told you the Ghatazhak have a sense of humor. Sarcastic as all hell, but a sense of humor nonetheless.”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to provoke a Ghatazhak?” the lieutenant wondered.

“Ten to go.”

“Ghatazhak,” Sergeant Lazo called out, “make ready.”

The other four Ghatazhak soldiers checked their safeties and powered up their energy rifles. Sergeant Torwell powered up his energy weapons turret as well.

On the flight deck, the copilot continued to watch the jump status displays. “Five to go, twenty-five seconds.”

The lieutenant shifted in the pilot’s seat, preparing himself for whatever they would face when they came out of the jump series.

“Three to go; fifteen.” Ensign Latfee continued to watch the jump status displays, checking that each position check between jumps showed green, indicating that they were on course as planned. “Ten seconds.”

Sergeant Torwell put his hands on the turret controls, readying himself for action.