Rich Man's War (61 page)

“Enemy ships are withdrawing!” called out one of her officers. “The Lai
Wa formation just did a full turn and accelerated! Course heading—“

“Both expeditionary groups are pulling out, too!” yelled someone else. “They’re taking off!”

“Operations,” Yeoh called calmly, and then raised her voice to call out again over the din, “operations! Confirm course headings, please. Comms, please send the following signal on our channels: Flag Six to Beowulf One. Repeat until you have acknowledgements from all friendly ships. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the signalman, still working diligently at his seat. He quickly typed in and sent the message, calling up a receipt screen but then moving to other tasks. Unlike the rest of the bridge crew, his face remained grave.

Yeoh let him work. Her gaze drifted to her right, where a helmetless young man in a burned and battered combat jacket seemed to reach out and touch the helm controls as little as possible. “Tanner,” Yeoh said quietly. “Imagine my surprise.”

“It’s good
to see you, ma’am.”

“You as well,” she nodded, then paused. “You made a terrible mess out there.”

“Due respect ma’am, you have no proof that was me.”

“And yet you look and smell like a hospital fire.” She looked back to her officers. “Commander
Beacham,” said Yeoh, “I need someone qualified to take the helm for Master at Arms Malone here. Right away.” She paused only long enough to see Beacham nod and step up to take the position herself rather than look for someone else for the job. Yeoh’s staff knew when to delegate and when not to keep the admiral waiting.

Yeoh looked Tanner in the eye as he stood. “We’ve a lot of prisoners to collect. You’ll be of greater use there than here on the bridge. We should start with Commodore
Eldridge, or whoever else NorthStar put in charge of all this. I believe he is still on the flag bridge. I need you to arrest him and then you and any other masters at arms on board will take charge of prisoner details. ”

“Aye, aye, ma’am
.”

Yeoh watched him
leave. She looked to her escorts from
Joan of Arc
. “He probably shouldn’t go alone,” she suggested. Crewman Sanjay and his ship’s gunner’s mate followed right after him.

“Admiral?”

“Yes? Signalman Sinclair, is it?” she asked, reading his nametag.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m getting calls from a lot of ships, but now that the enemy
is moving out, I’m starting to pick up clearer traffic on the civilian channels. I think you’d better hear this.”

* * *

No one appeared in Tanner’s way as he strode down the corridors and the ladder wells to the flag bridge, a good hundred meters back and two decks down from the command bridge.
Hercules
remained more or less at battle stations per the instructions of her captain before he was removed from the bridge, though now that mostly amounted to people sitting tight at their stations without doing much of anything but worrying.

The presence of friends and comrades from
Joan of Arc
made him feel a little better. “Everyone okay on the ship?” Tanner asked.

“We lost Stan and Chief Romita,” answered Ordoñez, her faceplate still locked down. “Skipper’s hurt but she’ll be okay. Leg wound, nothing serious.”

“Tanner,” Sanjay spoke up, “your helmet’s back on the bridge.”

“Huh.
Whatever.”

“Tanner, are you okay?”

“Actually, I’m beat up and I’ve lost friends and I blew up a whole assault carrier full of people earlier, so… no,” Tanner admitted. “No, I’m not.”

His voice cracked a little as he spoke, but he otherwise held his composure. He was among friends. At some point, he’d decided, he could admit these things to friends. And though wide-
eyed and surprised by his strange, bluntly honest admission, neither Sanjay nor Ordoñez said anything to push him on it.

He did not intend to admit those feelings to a full platoon of NorthStar marines, but when he turned the corner and found them all lying in wait in the passageways and open compartments closest to the flag bridge, with portable riot barriers and infantry squad weapons deployed and ready, he realized—among other things—that they’d doubtlessly heard every word
of it.

No one fired or raised a weapon at Tanner. They simply stayed at their posts and waited.

Tanner’s jittery tone disappeared. “Weapons down,” he said firmly.

Nothing happened.

“Who’s in charge out here?”

Though the answer did not come immediately, a lone figure stood up from behind one of the riot barriers. “That would be me,” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Stowe.”

“Lieutenant, the captain of this ship ordered a general surrender. It’s time to put the guns down.”

Stowe glanced at a couple of people—probably his non-coms, Tanner thought—and then frowned. He reached up to tap at the side of his helmet, likely silencing a comms channel. “I’m afraid there’s been some confu
sion on that point.”

“Lieutenant,” Tanner
pressed, his voice still a little shaky but oddly polite, “the commodore’s life isn’t more important than yours. We don’t want to kill you all and you don’t want to die. Put the weapons down. Please.”

After another pause, Lt. Stowe said, “Third Platoon, you heard Captain Wagner. Weapons on the deck. Let’s go.” By way of example, he lifted his own pulse rifle over the riot barrier and dropped it on the other side, then pulled the pistol from his holster and let it, too, fall out of reach.

Beeps and mechanical latching noises followed as thirty some-odd men and women crammed into open hatches and lockers set their weapons into safe modes and then put them down. Heads ducked under the riot barrier to disengage its locks and supports. Sanjay, Ordoñez and Tanner watched as a couple dozen grim faces stared back at them.

“We’re just gonna leave these guys all sitting out here?” Ordoñez asked.

“I’ve only got one pair of cuffs,” Tanner shrugged quietly. “Lost my tape somewhere.”

A moment later, the path lay clear. The three navy crewmen walked through the gathered marines as Lt. Stowe opened the hatch.

Inside, Tanner and the others saw a broad, circular compartment, much like the command bridge but with fewer control consoles and more holographic displays and large screens on the bulkheads. At a glance, Tanner figured roughly twenty people inhabited the flag bridge, all of them in vac suits, some still sealed in helmets and some not.

One officer bore considerably more in the way of flashes and pips on his vac suit than anyone else.

Tanner walked in, looking left and right for weapons or hostile intent. As it happened, everyone stayed clear of the ranking officer at the center of the bridge. Sanjay and Ordoñez walked close behind Tanner, maintaining a similarly watchful stance but also keeping a wary eye on the hatch and the gaggle of reluctantly cooperative marines behind them.

“Commodore
Eldridge?” he asked as he walked up.

Only then did the man turn his eyes on Tanner. He looked the
battered and filthy intruder to his bridge up and down. “What are you, a third class?” Eldridge asked distantly, then snorted. “They couldn’t send an officer down for me.”

“
Does that make any difference?”

“Professionalism and military courtesy, son,”
Eldridge replied. “I imagine Archangel doesn’t put much stock in that. I’m not blaming you.”

Tanner’s eyes narrowed. “They didn’t send a
commissioned
officer because you’re not a prisoner of
war
, Commodore. I’m here as a deputized officer of Archangel law. Turn around and put your hands on your head. You’re under arrest.”

“On what charge?”
Eldridge blurted indignantly.

In truth, Yeoh hadn’t given Tanner a charge, nor had he seriously considered it. Still, the answer came to him right away: “Piracy. Turn around and put your hands on your head.”

“Piracy? How—argh!”

Tanner cut off the rest of
Eldridge’s statement by grabbing his wrist and twisting it, stepping around the commodore to get control of him from behind. He had to drop his rifle to get hold of Eldridge with his other hand, but Sanjay and Ordoñez had his back. Tanner jerked Eldridge over to one side to get him against the back of his captain’s chair, making sure he had the hold locked in before he reached for his cuffs.

In truth,
Eldridge put up only enough resistance to make a show of it for the sake of pride. Tanner knew that perfectly well, having practiced this move to varying difficulty so many times in training. Still, even this much difficulty proved perfectly infuriating, though it only took a few seconds. The first cuff went on easily enough. The second came with only a minor struggle—but it was enough to occupy his full attention. He breathed a bit of a sigh once he had the commodore fully bound.

“Oh my god,” murmured Ordoñez. “Guys?”

“What?” Tanner glanced around. Nobody on the bridge or outside it seemed to have moved. No one spoke. The only thing he heard was chatter off of a nearby speaker, sounding for all the world like a news broadcast.

“—
governor has offered a full surrender to the NorthStar forces,” reported the civilian news anchor. “We still can’t get ahold of Bethlehem Station or
any
of the other orbital facilities at this time. As far as we can tell, none of the defending Navy ships in the area are still in the fight at this time…”

Tanner froze. Bethlehem station orbited Michael. He looked around for the source of the voice and saw a display, but found it mirrored on one of the larger screens on a nearby bulkhead. He recognized everything immediately –the continents of his home planet, the network markings in the corner, and the cityscape of the planet’s capital on the
split screen.

The red dots across the continents could only mean one thing, as could the fires and smoke behind the capital.

Tanner’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted around the flag bridge, looking for more information or something to counter the images on the broadcast. Yet when he found a screen showing long-range sensor information, centering on Michael, his horror only grew.

Bethlehem Station appeared as a faded white icon on the screen, blinking softly to indicate distress signals. Greyed-out icons turned up nearby to represent a handful of smaller Archangel
ships left behind to defend the planet. Looming all around Michael, Tanner and everyone else on the bridge could make out the names, classes and positions of more than a dozen NorthStar vessels. The computer was perfectly forthcoming with details. A full NorthStar expeditionary group orbited Michael well within bombardment range, with both assault carriers and several starliners all releasing landing craft and support ships.

The news anchor continued. “We have
reports of a missile strike in the middle of Hawthorne with massive civilian casualties, probably aimed at one of the defense grid cannons…”

Tanner’s mind raced. Michael lay several light minutes away from Raphael at this time of year, now almost on the other side of the star of Archangel. Everything depicted in these
transmissions and sensor readings occurred at least ten minutes ago, perhaps a little more. Tanner’s eyes shifted to the main tactical screens, looking at the enemy ships fleeing the battle around Raphael, and he quickly confirmed the obvious, dreadful suspicion. Lai Wa’s ships seemed intent on leaving the system entirely, but NorthStar’s remaining forces all headed straight for Tanner’s home planet.

Another screen depicted the scene around
Hercules
. Archangel’s shattered fleet held in place, with some ships moving into recover operations and others barely limping along.

Ordoñez looked to her companion. “Aren’t you from…?”

Tanner’s eyes turned to his prisoner, who no longer looked smug or defiant. Instead, he now looked understandably nervous—and doubly so as Tanner picked up his rifle.

“You’re under arrest,” Tanner repeated quietly. “Let’s go.”

Epilogue: Digging Trenches

“To All Vessels: Do not pursue. Repeat, do not pursue fleeing enemy ships. All capable vessels will immediately shift to rescue and recovery operations.
Remain on scene. Further instructions to follow.”

--Message from Beowulf One, December, 2276

She saw it all happen from the window of her prison cell. She had to stand on her bunk and its plain, cheap mattress to get to that window, but the sounds from outside and the alarms beyond her cell door left no doubt that something important was going on.

Her view was not exactly breathtaking, though it did at least look down from a hill. Like so much of the planet Michael, her surroundings rode the line between desert scrub and savannah. Fort Bradley Military Prison sat on the edges of the Fort Bradley Complex, which was home to a hodgepodge of Navy facilities, training grounds and a few other sites run by Michael’s planetary government. The Civil Defense Force, geared mostly toward disaster response and other domestic emergencies, had the most people on the base. Yet from what little she’d gathered, Fort Bradley was also home to command and control for a large portion of Michael’s planetary defense grid.

She saw that grid go into action shortly after the alarms started. Missiles launched from silos buried in the ground. Lasers and plasma cannons fired skyward, though at what she couldn’t say. The attack—it had to be an attack, obviously—began in the middle of the day at Fort Bradley, and thus she couldn’t see much of what transpired beyond the atmosphere.

Even with all those restrictions on her view, she could tell when the defensive fire intensified. She saw the lasers that rained down from the sky to destroy several of the interceptor cannons and launch sites. And she knew what would happen next.

Pointless though it might be, she jumped down, tore the mattress off of her bunk, and huddled into a corner of her cell with the mattress on top of her. She stuck her fingers in her ears, kept her mouth open, and waited for the world to end.

The wait lasted only seventeen seconds.

In the aftermath of the explosion, she couldn’t really track time. She waited until she regained her senses, feeling fortunate to survive and dreading what she might find as she dug her way out of the rubble of her cell. Her luck held: she found her cell door completely smashed, with the hallways beyond it clear and emergency lighting active, though the place was a complete shambles. Walls crumbled, others looked like they might do the same, and the few windows in her wing of the prison opened out to skies so full of ash and
smoke that she couldn’t be sure if it was still daytime.

She didn’t stop to check on any of her fellow prisoners. She found a guard killed by falling masonry, searched his body and claimed everything useful—stun gun, holocom,
his restraints—and moved on, confident now that she was at least minimally armed. She had a good deal more climbing and crawling to do. More than once, she came to a dead end. Yet she continued on.

Her real break came not when she climbed through a crevasse in the prison’s exterior wall, but in the discovery she made afterward.

The rover pulled up just beyond her point of exit, with all three of its Civil Defense occupants stepping out to survey the wreckage. They didn’t notice her as she dropped down to the ground behind their vehicle. In truth, she couldn’t hold that against them. Between the shadows, the dust and the stress of the moment, she had a lot to work with.

“Command, this is Isaacson,” said one of the CDF troopers. He had his holocom going, offering up a comms screen but nothing in the way of video. “We’re on site now. Just outside the exterior walls. We don’t see or hear any activity, but the whole place is a mess. No telling who’s alive and who isn’t.”

She crept up behind them carefully. The other two, both carrying pulse rifles, slowly wandered apart from Isaacson, though not too far.

“Isaacson, command,” came the response. “Understood. Make a sweep of the perimeter, but do not try to enter. If you see anyone wearing less than a full guard uniform, take custody. You are permitted to use lethal force. Please acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged, command. We’ll be careful. If we see anyone, we’ll round ‘em up. Isaacson out.”

She made her move then, rushing up behind the largest of the three troopers and letting him have it at point blank range with the stun gun. She got behind him before he fell, partially keeping him upright in front of her as human shield while taking hold of his pulse rifle.

Isaacson caught on too late. He turned around in time for her to open up on him with the pulse rifle, cutting him down in seconds. The last of the CDF troopers spun around with his weapon ready, but all he saw was a blonde woman in a prison jumpsuit before her pulse rifle flashed again.

She’d have preferred to talk him into surrendering. Isaacson died with his holocom active, which meant she could raid it for info, tools and whatever electronic cash he had on him at will. The other one would require some cracking, which she may not be able to do. With luck, however, her stunned prisoner would be sensible enough to unlock his before she had to get nasty about it.

Fort Bradley lay in ruins. Michael had clearly fallen to an invasion. She didn’t know where she could go for shelter and a place to hide, but she’d figure that out before too long. All that mattered to Lauren Williams now was that she had weapons, cash, a vehicle and her freedom.

She could work the rest out later.

* * *

“Dear Mr. Whittier,

“We must first express our sincerest condolences for the loss of your daughter, Yeoman
Peggy Whittier.

“We also regret to inform you that due to the circumstances of her loss, NorthStar
Investments is not yet able to process your claim for benefits on her life insurance policy. Despite claims in the media regarding the destruction of
NSS Saratoga
(including those made by other NorthStar officials and departments), NorthStar Investments has not yet ascertained whether the ship’s destruction was due to enemy action, friendly fire, shipboard accident or some other cause. Until NorthStar Investments concludes its investigation, we cannot disburse benefits for Yeoman Whittier or any other personnel lost aboard
NSS Saratoga
.”

--Letter to Beneficiary, December, 2276

“Hostilities began when Archangel fired the first shots—“

“You knew damn well your fleets were banned from our space!”

“—which were fired without warning by not one, but
two
warships disguised as civilian vessels, both in violation of multiple points of Union arms treaties!”

“
You came at us with an invasion fleet!
” Andrea roared back. For all the acrimony at the negotiation table, her sheer volume startled more than a few of those present. Jon Weir of NorthStar shrank back just enough for a vigilant observer to notice. Maria Pedroso, too, fell silent.

Andrea was out of her chair, leaning on the table. “You brought over a hundred warships against Raphael and another twenty against Michael, along with the raid that bombarded Augustine Harbor. You invaded and occupied a settled planet in a sovereign Union state, and you—“

“We aren’t occupying all of Michael,” said Maria, finding her voice once more. “We’ve placed the capital and a handful of military sites under our protection.”

“After a bombardment that killed tens of thousands of people.”

“We could say the same for the people on
Ursa, Saratoga
and all the other ships we lost,” Maria sneered. “In a fight that
you
started, after you took deliberate actions to destabilize the entire Union economy.”

Theresa reached out to put her hand on Andrea’s wrist. Maria didn’t notice the move, locked in a
staredown with Archangel’s other representative. “Your ships were expressly not welcome in Archangel space,” Andrea said, “and they’re still not.”

“You’re welcome to try to eject them at any time,” fumed a sullen Jon Weir.

“If we might bring this back to a more practical direction,” spoke up the man at the head of the table. Union Assembly President Dhawan waited until Andrea sat back down before speaking further. While he kept a deliberately calm and civil tone, he didn’t patronize anyone with it. “The situation remains. Michael is under blockade, with military ships in orbit and its capital and other sites under NorthStar control. The economic matters at the core of this dispute remain unresolved. And I will remind you all again that all parties in this matter appear to be in violation of Union armaments treaties.”

“Lai
Wa Corporation rejects that assertion,” said Lung-Wei.

“As does NorthStar,” Pedroso agreed.

Lung-Wei pressed his point. “All Lai Wa starships in this incident are registered with Union Fleet regulators. No Lai Wa starship on scene engaged in aggressive action against any party.”

“I’m sure we all noticed that,” Weir muttered.

“Showing up in Archangel space at all is an aggressive action,” seethed Andrea.

Pedroso ignored the exchange. “Do you honestly think your people benefit from this in any way?” she asked
Theresa. “Call the situation on Michael what you like. The fact is that a protracted conflict is plainly not in your best interests.”

“Nor is it in yours
,” Theresa replied. “I can’t imagine why NorthStar put its monthly public financial statements on hold.”

Pedroso bit back her first retort. “We would much rather come to a peaceful settlement. NorthStar’s position is simple. We are not interested in holding Michael for any reason other than to ensure the government of Archangel
remains at the negotiation table and that they cease further aggressive action against us. All we need is a settlement on outstanding financial issues—which, again, currently threaten the entire Union economy—and the return of our ships and our captured personnel. We will then lift our military operations on Michael and elsewhere in Archangel space.”

“I can’t help but notice your order of priorities,” quipped Andrea.

“You’re not getting the ships back,” said Theresa. “We’re more than happy to return the ships’ crews and officers as soon as you vacate Archangel space. The Interstellar Red Cross has full access to every single one of them.”

“Including Commodore
Eldridge?”

“
The Red Cross has access to the commodore, yes. He’ll be standing trial soon enough for a fairly large number of crimes.”

“That’s preposterous!” spat Weir.

“So is the pretext for your invasion.”

“There’s nothing preposterous about the economic survival of the Union.”

“NorthStar and your other corporate buddies aren’t the Union, Mr. Weir,” scowled Andrea.

“The market numbers from the last six months indicate otherwise,
Secretary
Bennet.”

“You are all correct,” spoke up President
Dhawan. “This situation is not good for any of the parties involved. Yet neither side appears willing to budge, and both remain armed and hostile… again, beyond the limits of Union treaties.”

“Mr. President,” said
Theresa, “Archangel will hand the battleships over to the Union Fleet as soon as NorthStar and her allies leave Archangel space and as soon as Archangel regains her full legal military strength—but
only
if the Union Fleet retains permanent custody.”

“Unacceptable,” Pedroso replied with a shake of her head.

“Then you can keep hemorrhaging money and influence, Ms. Pedroso,” said Andrea. “I imagine you expected a quick victory would overawe the entire Union and then you could do whatever you want, but the longer you draw this out, the more it hurts you.”

“We’re aware of your difficulties as well, Secretary Bennet.”

“Well,” sighed Dhawan. “It appears this will get nowhere, and yet this matter is too dire for the Union to remain uninvolved.”

“Then y
ou’ll intervene?” asked Pedroso with raised eyebrows.

Dhawan
paused, looking around the table. “I intend to approach the Union Assembly to recommend a full and thorough investigation of this matter before recommending any course of action.”

“It’s already taken two weeks to
have this meeting!” blurted Weir. “You want to bring this to an Assembly vote after an
investigation?
”

“I am well aware of the delays caused by spacefligh
t, Mr. Weir. I am also well aware that everyone at this table knows the Articles of Union perfectly well. The Articles pointedly do not forbid war between member states.”

“They’re not member states,” argued Andrea, “they’re corporations!”

“A distinction on which the Articles are silent, Secretary Bennet, for which I am deeply regretful. I am similarly regretful that no court or process existed to remedy the initial economic disputes at the heart of this terrible situation. Yet those conditions remain. I am powerless to intervene on either side absent an explicit violation of the Articles or a full vote by the Assembly authorizing me to take action.”