Merkiaari Wars: 02 - What Price Honour (39 page)

Hiss-crack!
Both weapons went off together.

“Damn me, the bastard shot me,” Fuentez gasped as she fell. “… it hurts…”

Fuentez was down with a pulser burn over her hip. She was panting wide-eyed at the pain and shock of being shot by one of her own people, but at least she was alive. Her armour was burned away where the fringes of the shot had caught the lower edge, but it had stopped most of the charge. Roberto however, was dead. He didn’t have a head.

Dolinski stood exactly as before with his pistol levelled, staring as if still seeing the moment he had shot his squadmate. Everyone stood frozen for an endless moment, but Richmond ended it by jumping forward to give aid to Fuentez.

Eric looked down at the rogue unit that had been recruit Callendri, and shook his head sadly. Roberto had been a good man before the General took him into the regiment. He had been a lieutenant with many citations for bravery. He was awarded the bronze star twice for performing above and beyond the call of duty. Now he was dog meat.

Eric sighed, how many more would die before they were done? “Dolinski, put up your weapon.”

“I had to… I had to do it, sir. He was my best friend, and I had to do it,” Dolinski whispered in shock.

“I know, you did the right thing. Callendri wasn’t in there any longer. He just cracked. It happens. Try to put it behind you.” The recruits were staring at what was left of Callendri. He knew what they were thinking:
that could have been me. It might be me next time.
“This exercise is over.” He contacted Stone to give him the word. Stone acknowledged he order and said he would come in. “Pick up Fuentez and lets get the hell out of this stinking tunnel. I’ll send someone back for Roberto.”

Fuentez had quieted, but she yelled and cursed at the pain when her squad lifted her into Cragg’s arms to take her to the surface. Eric glanced at what was left of Callendri, and then resolutely turned away to follow the recruits.

* * *

Present day…

Aboard ASN Canada, Sol system

Year 218 AST (Alliance Standard Time)

Sol, the centre of the Human sector and capital system of the Alliance was a busy place to say the least. Earth, overpopulated homeworld of man was the centre of attention of course, but Mars, first colony and independent world was popular with out-system visitors as well. Space habitats bustled with humanity, civilian liners and merchantmen entered and left the system in a continuous and unending stream, shuttles flitted from ship to ship and planet to station often courting disaster as they skimmed close to jump capable ships jockeying for position in the queues for outbound lanes. And then, there were the warships patrolling the system and, many insisted, generally getting in other people’s way.

Such was Sol on a normal day, but the day was far from normal for Tei’Varyk who was just now receiving his first impressions of the first Human system he had ever seen. Translation had been smoother than predicted, or so he was informed by the weak smile directed his way from Tei’Colgan. The wondering and speculation that had run rampant through
Canada
was now laid to rest.

Shan did not handle translation any better than humans did.

Tei’Varyk clamped his muzzle shut and repeatedly swallowed bile determined not to embarrass himself before the humans. He concentrated on observing them as they struggled to throw off the disorientation induced by jump translation to normal space. Gradually his sickness subsided and he was able to take a greater interest in what he saw.

“Referent,” Tei’Colgan said removing his helmet and setting it down in the rack attached to his station. “Where the hell are we?”

“Scanning... referent attained. We’re in the zone—Sol system confirmed, Skipper,” Janice said.

“We have a beacon query, Skipper,” Lieutenant Ricks said. “It’s repeating.”

“Send:
ASN Canada
declaring an emergency. Request an immediate priority routing to Gateway.”

“Aye sir, transmitting now.”

“Gateway?” Tei’Varyk said.

“We could dock at almost any station really, but Gateway is the best one for us. It’s in Earth orbit for one thing, and it’s only a short hop to HQ from there. Besides,
Canada
needs a lot of work and Gateway controls the best yard facilities in the system.”

Tei’Varyk understood that Colgan wanted his ship repaired quickly, but more importantly, being close to his homeworld would allow them to meet with Colgan’s elders that much quicker. Speed was essential; he tried not to think that it was already too late.

“Docking at Gateway is approved, Skipper. They’re clearing a lane for us,” Ricks said.

“Thank you, Mark, pass the lane assignment to the helm. Janice?”

“Sir?”

“I don’t want any accidents, but we need to get in and dock fast.”

“Aye sir,” Janice grinned. “Best speed to Gateway station.”

“Good.”

ASN Canada
swung into her assigned lane and accelerated on her two operational in system drives at her maximum attainable speed. The third drive had proven beyond repair and would need complete replacement at the yard.

* * *

Earth, capital of the Alliance

“Order!” President Dyachenko said, not quite shouting.

Not for the first time did he regret running for office. If only he had known what he was letting himself in for, he wouldn’t have come anywhere near the place! That was a lie, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Being President of the Alliance was a great honour and responsibility. Unfortunately, it was also a heavy burden. It did have one redeeming feature—it gave him the power to make what was wrong right again. He still believed that, but in all too many cases it was proving tricky to do.

“Order!” he shouted, slamming the gavel down so hard he felt the handle loosen.

“This is your fault!” Councillor Whitby went on. “One of our survey ships has been trapped by the aliens; it could well have been captured or destroyed by now. Destroyed is one thing, but what if it has been captured? Think of the data on that ship in alien hands! The other ship was so badly damaged it barely made the jump to Northcliff, and it was a warship!” She waved a sheaf of papers in the air theatrically. “I have here a list of the dead and injured. The entire crew was nearly lost and the ship will cost millions to repair. I warned you this might happen, but did you listen, did any of you listen? No, and this is the direct result of your foolishness!”

This was the third day of the Council session called to discuss the significance of
Invincible
jumping into Northcliff badly mauled by the Shan. As far as Dyachenko could see, and despite Admiral Rawlins’ testimony aimed at lessening the impact of the dreadful news, the session had produced absolutely nothing in the way of productive results. Paul Rawlins had done his best, but the entire thing had been a colossal waste of time. Worse than that, it had inflamed passions, making the Councillors second guess the original decision to contact the aliens.

“—result of your
incompetence!
” Councillor Whitby raged, slamming the now badly crumpled papers onto the desk in front of her. She continued haranguing the Council but her rhetoric was aimed increasingly at the President himself. “Your stupidity, yes
stupidity,
will doom us all!”

Gasps of shock went around the Council chamber at the insult so openly expressed. Many of the Councillors might agree with her sentiments, but to do so verbally and in public like this was just not done. It lacked finesse, and showed a deplorable lack of control—a fatal failing in politics. A goodly number of Councillors jumped to their feet to shout her down, and tempers frayed. Perhaps realising she had gone too far she sat down, but the arguing continued unabated. A light began blinking on Dyachenko’s desk comp, signalling Councillor Mindel’s wish to speak. It was one of many, but Dyachenko chose to take a chance.

“Order!” he shouted, rising to his feet. He gave up using the weakened gavel and bellowed for quiet. Eventually he received a lower level of noise, but not the quiet he had demanded. “The chair recognises Councillor Mindel of Northcliff.”

“Let us not stoop to name calling. This august body is surely above such things.” Nathan Mindel said and calmed things a little by reaching for a carafe of water. He took a small sip, and others took the chance to do the same. When he began again the temper of the Council had cooled considerably and quiet was restored. “I have the President’s personal assurance that the Shan do not pose a threat to the Alliance. As Admiral Rawlins explained not long ago, they have no jump technology. However, there is the matter of one of our ships stranded and in need of aid.

“I, and I’m sure all of you, wish to support our forces to the maximum. Indeed, I would be a fool if I did not.” Nathan looked directly into the President’s eyes for a long moment.

Dyachenko inclined his head acknowledging the debt he had just incurred. He new Mindel would come to collect someday, but someday was not now, and he was grateful to him for calming the situation.

“We of Northcliff know only too well what could happen if Fleet were not there to protect us. We must indorse Admiral Rawlins’ proposal to send a task force to extract
Canada
and her valiant crew. It’s the only honourable thing to do.”

There was a good deal of applause for Mindel’s speech, but those applauding were barely in the majority. It would take a count of heads to be certain, but it was already obvious to Dyachenko that the Council was split.

“We have debated the issue for days,” Councillor Hartman said. “I believe we know all we need to know. Admiral Rawlins has every right to send the task force as long as doing so does not impinge on the Council’s prerogatives. I think we can all agree that the rescue of
Canada
and her crew does not do that. Our place is to make policy, the military’s is to defend the Alliance. We should let them do their job, and get on with ours.”

“Here, here!” Councillor Demkakova said and patted his table in quiet applause. “The rescue is obviously a concern of Navy Department planners and the Fleet, not ours. I think our time would be better spent on…” Demkakova trailed off as the doors to the Council chamber burst open and slammed against the wall as a white-faced Jerry McCartney hurried in.

The Council erupted in whispering as the members craned their necks trying to see what the President’s chief of staff was doing here. Dyachenko’s stomach began to churn as Jerry made his way down the red-carpeted aisle toward him. The look on Jerry’s face told him it was going to be bad news, but not how bad.

“Admiral Rawlins just informed me, Mister President,” Jerry whispered.

He switched off his microphone before answering. “Informed you of what?”

“
Canada
just came in shot to hell, but Shan ships didn’t do it. A Merki squadron did.”

“What!” Dyachenko yelped. He just couldn’t help it, and the shock on his face silenced the Council. It was so quiet he could hear the faint hiss of the air conditioning overhead. “The Merkiaari?” he whispered.

Jerry nodded. “The Shan fleet has been wiped out, and the Merkiaari are in the process of cleansing the twin planets of their system.”

“Oh my God,” he said feeling sick. “Genocide.”

“That’s not all. Captain Colgan blew away a substantial part of the Merki squadron before jumping out system.”

“Serves the bastards right! I’ll give him a medal—a box of medals!”

“As you say, but there’s more.”

“What else?”

“Paul Rawlins said to tell you that he’s put our forces on Red One alert. He expects an incursion to follow the destruction of the Shan homeworld. He said, and I quote: Burgton was right in everything but the time, he was five years out. What does he mean, Alex?”

“Never mind that now. Do we have any idea how long we have?” Dyachenko asked, thinking about Burgton and his recruits. They needed those five years dammit!

“No, but there’s more. Captain Colgan informed the Admiral that friendly relations have been initiated with the Shan elders, and that they assigned an ambassador to us before the attack. It seems the task force was not needed.”

“Why didn’t he send a drone?” Dyachenko hissed under his breath. “If only we had reached them sooner!”

“Colgan sent thirteen drones, but only three reached fold space. He says we’ll receive them in the next few days.
Canada
must have passed them on the way here, you know how slow they are.”

Slow was an understatement. Urgent messages were sent by courier ship not drone, but of course, a ship big enough to carry a jump capable courier wouldn’t have been trapped in system in the first place.

“God, what a mess,” Dyachenko said holding his head. “Did Paul give you his recommendations?”