April (71 page)

The pix were captioned in English and Japanese and had the audio feed in English for the room. She saw several people fiddle with their pads, probably to get the Japanese audio feed. The stupid thing just went on and on and she could feel her face burning with embarrassment.

At the end, when it showed her returning fire through the smoke from their ambush, she was horrified to realize two things. She had stood and fired around the corner, when she should have still been behind the shield, firing with her spex. Even worse the Japanese lady who had followed them to the Holiday Inn, must have been watching them even earlier than she had known. She had almost shot the woman in the corridor as she ran up behind them.

She was convinced the piece demonstrated she was a dangerous idiot in combat, but at the end, when Akira addressed President Hadley the crowd roared with approval. Her protests at the adulation feel on deaf ears. The people were ready for a hero and a respected outsider had handed one to them. When she protested to Jon, he leaned over and privately said quietly to her ear - "April the only way you could be a bigger hero to these folks, would have been to get shot for them on top of all the rest." She looked at him and was horrified to see behind the sweet smile he was dead serious.

 * * *

The heads of the Chinese government sat watching the news conference in stoic silence. After the screen reverted to its decorative display, they turned their faces back to their leader.

"Do you desire the station destroyed?" the head of the armed forces asked eagerly.

"No. There is much change here," the Premier offered calmly. "The matter needs handled with finesse. The station is a bigger problem for their masters, than for us. Let them continue to provoke the Americans and see where it leads. If they are casually swatted like an errant child," he illustrated with a sweep of his hand, "it will serve both of us and if their early success is a lucky aberration that will happen quickly."

"If not, it's better to learn at the American's expense, instead of investing any more ourselves."

The soldier looked shocked at the implied rebuke. "We have lost a couple vessels. But they have not thrown themselves against the bulk of our nation. Did you see the arrogant way the barbarian child flaunted the battle trophy, with our emblems on it?

"Yes. Do you have another craft ready to launch so quickly, to press your vengeance?" the leader asked pointedly.

"No," he admitted, "we require at least a week before we can launch another ship capable of carrying significant force." He avoided looking up at the others.

"Well, do not press for a quick launch again," he was instructed. "There is much concern the
Moment of Contemplation
was rushed to launch faster than was wise. We have sufficient enemies, we can't afford to give them haste as an ally."

* * *

"We need to make a statement," the Secretary of Defense insisted.

"Anything we say will be a response and will be viewed by some as an acknowledgment, no matter how it is phrased or positioned, that they have succeeded in separating themselves." The President said. "Better to never grant the point they are separate and have to be returned in any sense. Our position is they are still under USNA governance. Just demonstrate the fact physically."

"We shall," the new head of the Space Command promised him, "but it is a new problem we never faced before. We didn't have any forces configured to deal effectively with occupying a civilian habitat against even limited resistance and it would be counterproductive to rush another force in, which would not demonstrate a convincing superiority. We need a delay to create some new tactics and perhaps new equipment, while we are preparing a suitable lift force. The sudden losses are taxing our fleet already, without diverting vessels which are were scheduled to service our other stations and sats months ago."

The President looked at him with thinly veiled anger. "We are not talking about bringing these rebels to heel in months," he informed him, "what can we do to demonstrate our control
tomorrow
?"

The Space Command officer was sweating, remembering how his previous boss had left this room. "The only systems we have which can mount any type of attack tomorrow, would be the use of a space plane to stand off and engage the station with laser or missiles, or use of an automated satellite attack system, such as we would use for a major conflict with other space powers, to remove their satellite inventory."

"None of them are designed to use against a station. They are all made to engage and destroy other spacecraft, which are notoriously delicate. The damage they would do to a huge station would be limited and very hard to control. It would be like the old fashioned gravity bombing of a city from high altitude. We'd be as likely to hit a daycare center as we would a military resource."

"Such indiscriminate targeting usually causes as much political damage to the shooter, as physical damage to the target," he explained. The look on the President's face made him wonder if he'd said too much. Well, he thought, at least General Horton had indicated they were treating him well, when he had inquired after him. Maybe they could play cards or something, if he was imprisoned in the same facility.

"You see?" The Secretary of Defense said. "There's going to have to be a delay. We need to make a statement by cutting them off. We're still equipped to intercept vessels, as he says. Well, blockade them. See how long they last without fresh food and supplies. Make it clear there will be a price, if other nations put their vessels at risk to support them. Someone could recognize them just to embarrass us, or to turn a quick profit supplying them."

"All right," the President agreed reluctantly, "we'll announce no vessels of any nation can leave or dock at M3, without being subject to seizure or destruction at our discretion." It didn't seem like near enough to him though.

* * *

The massive dark wooden beams and rustic interior of the hunting lodge, was a contrast to the modern screen the six French gentlemen were watching. It would soon be put away though and restore the proper period appearance to the hall. Msr. Broutin was comfortable enough, as he had dealt with the other five as individuals before, but being asked into their collective company was a new thing. They were supposedly enjoying an informal outing. But he expected later in the evening he might be invited to join the group on a more permanent basis and with some official capacity. So it was really an interview of sorts.

He knew he was still under scrutiny to some degree and if he showed some major fault, he supposed that could still turn them away from offering him whatever they had in mind to extend to him tonight. Dinner had been excellent. Almost as fine as what Sylvia had served him on Mitsubishi 3 he reflected. No. He corrected himself. Better get used to saying Home.

He found himself sitting between the President of France and the Minister of Defense, with the Prime Minister directly across from him and seeming to examine him in some detail. The President, he thought, was the final doubter and who would have the final say about him. He leaned back in the leather with his ankles crossed, relaxed but controlled and nursed a snifter of wonderful Cognac carefully. He was not uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He was aware they would watch his appetite for alcohol, as well as every other quality and weakness he might display. He imagined every statement he made would be electronically analyzed for veracity.

Such scrutiny was entirely to be expected. He was as skilled as any other man here at making statements which were true, without being the whole truth and at guiding them to draw whatever assumptions they wished. Indeed if the machines told them every statement he made was true - but he was not telling everything, they would respect him all the more.

The news conference was proceeding on the screen, with Jon reading his statement, surrounded by his friends.

"You were just up there, weren't you Broutin?" the President asked. "You must have just gotten out in time, or you'd be stuck there for who knows how long!"

"Yes, I saw an artist there, someone doing commissions for the Treasurer of Lebanon. I had other business, but he wanted me to see if getting his art pieces out would be a problem. I wouldn't try to hurry her. It's often counterproductive with these artistic types and her more than most I'd suspect. She is a very strong willed lady. I'm satisfied we'll have no trouble getting them down when the time comes."

"You're certainly more optimistic than most of us about doing so," the Minister of Defense allowed. "I'd say when the USNA recovers from this vandalism, they will lock their sat down so tight you won't get a letter in or out."

"You see the young girl in the black?" he pointed out April. "Have you seen Genji Akira's new piece about her?" A couple of them had not so he split the screen and ran it off his pad for them, as he had saved it. He left the last pic of April shooting on the screen still split to the news conference.

"So he takes them and her, quite seriously." The President seemed surprised.

"If you meet her, you will be moved to take her quite seriously too."

"Do tell. You've had the pleasure I take it?"

Broutin went back to the news conference side of the screen and zoomed in. He was smooth at visual and verbal presentation, not distracting his audience fumbling around. April was leaning away from Jon, laughing at something with Jeff. Although she was leaning back, visibly relaxed, the fingers of her right hand seemed to habitually fall across the sword grip. It projected a powerfully subtle suggestion, that she was always ready to draw steel. Like a lounging cat displaying its claws. He wondered if it was a deliberate mannerism.

"See the Champlevé cuff links in her sleeves? She and I were house guests with my artist friend in Home. She was up in the night, letting her young daughter and this girl in, from an evening with the Singh boy. They are all three there at the table tonight. When she came back I asked, 'Did the young people have a good time? Were they out dancing and having fun?' She laughed at me and informed me they were up late working on their space ship and yes they'd had a ball."

"I confess, I thought she was joking then. When I gave those to her at breakfast the next morning she had just offered casually, over crepes, to carry my shipment out past any blockade they might throw up. She and her brother are owners of the
Happy Lewis
. I thought it terribly brave and naive, of her. But I admired her spirit, so I made them as a gift to her when she noted them."

"Now however, she has had both great powers try to hunt her ship and turned the tables on them, I'd say I was wrong about the naive part. If I needed to ride with her through their blockade tomorrow, I would do so and feel sorry for the other fellow."

"The
Happy Lewis
? The one the BBC has been showing? That destroyed the American and the Chinese vessels both in the same engagement? That's hers?" The Defense Minister seemed to be having second thoughts. "It was a slaughter," he admitted with a grimace.

Before Broutin could say more, the President, an incurable romantic, laughed heartily. "You
dog
you! You're not telling us the half, sitting there smiling. You've had the inside track on this for who knows how long. You just happened to drop by the artist's for your friend, into the heart of their conspiracy! What a coincidence you sat to breakfast with half the rebels at that table," he waved at the screen with his glass. About like the coincidence of being invited here tonight. You're thick with these pirates," he accused, but with a grin.

"And that girl! Let me tell you. If you have any favor with her you better work to keep it. She is a lovely young girl now, but in the blink of an eye she is going to be an absolutely magnificent young woman and there'll be a crowd begging her attention. Next time you see her you better have something much better than a pair of your old cuff links, to show your admiration. I'd suggest something with diamonds, big ones, that won't lie forgotten in a drawer along with your memory, when you see her again."

"Ah! - Can you imagine anything more exciting than a beautiful, dangerous, young pirate Captain?" he asked all of them, with a look around. "Stories of daring like this are more like something out of the days of Empire and sailing ships, not our own insipid times." He took another sip of Cognac and looked around again at his companions.

"Gentleman, we need more associates such as Msr. Broutin, who seem to have such marvelous
luck
at meeting the major players, just before a political upheaval. And so modest about it too," he chuckled.

"Perhaps," mused the Prime Minister aloud, "we should not be the last in line to recognize this Home. If they fail, the Americans can hardly hate us more. Yet if we hold back, they may remember our reserve as a slight for a long time. If we can make it a motion before the entire European Union, there is safety in numbers too, no?"

Broutin just smiled and sipped his drink. When people are busily talking themselves into something, why would you interrupt?

* * *

The Singh projector on the North hub was bolted down on the outer bulkhead of the Lewis family cubic. It was mounted above a heavy plate and had substantial explosive charges beside the critical components, to allow their destruction in the event capture looked likely. The ship mounted versions on the
Happy Lewis
and
Home Boy
were even wired into the vessel self destruct, if someone tried to open it. It was also mounted in a small white dome of foam which rotated with the projector to hide it from view.  Dave had asked if they were going to cut a hole or slot to shoot through and they had laughed and said don't worry, it will make its own hole.

They had another projector ready to move, on a new and interesting design of miniscooter, which Dave's Advanced Spacecraft Services had made up. It could be parked at the South end of the station, where they had no rights to use any outer surface of the hub. There were several areas where Dave had rights, just to dock on an external post however. He had compared it to a wheelbarrow or hand cart. It was a flat triangular tube, foam filled, with a set of simple thrusters at each end and a plain seat built in one end you could turn to sit facing either way and a hole cut to dangle your legs through. There was a low wall in front of the seat, to keep any load from shifting back on the operator and all the controls were in one cluster on the seat arm. There were running lights and a sunshade, a radio plug and power to connect your suit into, but no attempt was made to enclose the load. Just a flat bed about six by three meters to strap freight to and only enough power to move at low speed, literally within sight of the station. No radar or navigation computer, no autopilot at all.