Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4) (68 page)

‘He’s just clueless about the lives of ordinary people,’ he said. ‘Not that I’m any kind of expert myself, but I do know we have more of a responsibility than that to the environment and community where our companies operate. I was devastated by the state of that world, and made a commitment there and then that I would operate clean and green, always. But the thing is, see, I
was
only three at the time, and I was crying, so Papa had me cuddled on his knee, trying to comfort me, and when I said, ‘I’m going to be clean and green, Papa!’ he just kissed me on the head and said ‘Whatever you want to do, Davie-Boy.’ Which is Papa-speak, by the way, for ‘That’s a really dumb idea but I’ll let you find that out for yourself.’ And he’s been that way about it ever since, patronising, laughing at me, just
won’t
take me seriously on it, doesn’t even believe that it’s possible, practicable, to keep corporations to those standards. Me, though, I
am
committed to it, wholehearted, because those are principles I stand on, as important to me as your oath of service is to you. So whether I’m having to contend with Papa thinking I’m being childishly idealistic or you with all your prejudice believing that big business must at some level be unethical, exploitative and corrupt, I
will
continue to run all my businesses clean and green, okay?’

Alex did not attempt to deny that he did, indeed, find it difficult to believe that any big company could be as clean and green as Davie claimed his to be. He had, admittedly, seen something of the seedier aspects of corporate activity, as he’d discovered as a Sub-lt just how deep into the Admiralty corporate influence ran.

‘I don’t mean any offence to you,’ he said, with evident sincerity. ‘I know you do make every effort to ensure that the companies you own do run to high ethical standards. It’s just that that isn’t a world I know, at
all
, the complexities of it are beyond me. And I’ve had some bad experience of corporate integrity, too, so I can’t help but be cautious, all right?’

‘All right, yes, I know,’ Davie said, giving him a friendly grin and saluting him with a cookie. ‘I’m not going to fall out with you over it. I won’t even say ‘Try to trust me’ because I know you
are
trying, and you don’t mean it personally. So all I’m saying is that you can put the offer of providing a refinery on the table, okay? And I’ll guarantee that offer, whoever pays for it, all handled properly and above board, no strings. And don’t say, ‘that’s a generous offer,’ he added. ‘Generosity doesn’t come into it. What we all want, here, is to get an edge on the Marfikians, right? If providing a refinery can speed that up and help the Samartians develop a stronger fleet, offering it is no more than common sense.’

Alex did not ask how Davie had known that he had indeed been about to say that it was a very generous offer. He had accepted right from their first meeting that Davie could read his thoughts and feelings with uncanny acuity.

‘All right,’ he said, and nodded. ‘I will take it under advisement.’

Davie chortled, recognising at once that that actually meant ‘no’, and accepting it without surprise.

‘Your call,’ he acknowledged, and reached for another cookie.

They were back in the exosuite, later that evening, as the Samartians had asked for another hololink.

‘We have come to an understanding,’ said Dakael Jurore, once due courtesies had been exchanged, ‘that you are a backwards people.’

Alex kept his expression absolutely granite-faced while a frantic effort and debate was going on in the translation team.

‘Reversed.’ Jurore held up a hand, palm out, and turned it around. ‘As in a mirror.’

‘Ah.’ Alex could see Jermane Taerling’s triumph at this confirmation that the word the Samartian had used could
not
mean ‘primitive’ as Shion was suggesting, as it had link-roots with ‘refraction’ and probably meant ‘opposite’. Alex could see the discussion going on between them on a sub-screen, and noted, without reacting, Jermane’s note of
opposite!
and Shion’s acknowledging
score to you
.

‘Everything with you is reversed,’ Dakael Jurore told him, and it was impossible to tell, with that, whether it was merely an observation, or a judgement. ‘Your people, civilians tell the military what to do. You have civilians on-ship, even. And people who would be dismissed our service are honoured with the highest status in yours. Your society is backwards to ours. Some may say the
wrong
way, but this is, as you say, exodiplomacy, and we are prepared to learn, to respect the otherness of you, as you respect the otherness of us.’

Alex gave the tiniest of smiles.

‘We could ask for no more,’ he said, at which the dakaelin both gave little nods, conveying some relief and satisfaction.

‘There is a word that is being used…’ Dakael Tell said. ‘A name for you which it is thought might help our people understand. It is Revellin.’

Alex got both the word and the translation, with that, as Shion and Jermane slapped in
Mirror People
simultaneously.

‘It is thought that this might help to explain that you are like us, but not like us, the same, but different,’ Dakael Tell explained. ‘Is it a thing that you would find offensive, if we identified you to our people as the Revellin?’

‘Not at all,’ Alex said, readily. ‘We have no objection to that.’

‘Gratitude,’ said Dakael Tell, and glanced at Jurore.

‘We must ask…’ Jurore said, and Alex noted the flags which sprang up on the matrix screen, alerting him to the fact that ‘must’ in this context carried a strong connotation of being compelled by a higher authority – Jermane, indeed, rated that so strongly that he was suggesting
we have been told to ask
, ‘we have questions about your history and that of the Other, those you call Prisosans. We must ask if you would be willing to permit Commander Fishe or an officer of equivalent rank to discuss this matter with our Caldai Genave. We request holo-link at 1327 tomorrow.’ The matrix provided that in shipboard time, since even if the Samartians understood the difference in timekeeping they continued to use their own times in all communications.

‘Certainly,’ Alex said. ‘Commander Fishe will be happy to answer whatever questions you have.’

They ended the hololink with that, Davie breaking into a chuckle almost in the instant that the link was severed.

‘Clumsy!’ he observed, as he and Alex headed for the door.

‘Be fair,’ Alex said. ‘The whole concept of diplomacy is completely new to them. And you have to admit, they’re learning fast.’

It was, indeed, entirely obvious to everyone aboard the ship what the Samartians were doing with that request. Alex put it on record in the briefing, though, purely for the benefit of the log.

‘It is, of course, a pawn sacrifice manoeuvre,’ he said, and looked at Martine Fishe. ‘Questions they feel are too sensitive to raise with me directly. That’s going to put you front and centre, Ms Fishe, and it has to be noted, too, that this is clearly a critical meeting which will, no doubt, be very closely watched and analysed by the Samartian authorities. They may be highly provocative. So I have to ask, are you happy with the brief, on that basis?’

‘Yes sir,’ Martine said, also for the benefit of the log since Alex knew very well that she was up for this, a big happy grin on her face. ‘Front and centre it is, skipper.’

They discussed what she would say, again, purely as a matter of form, since this was something they’d prepared for weeks ago. It was inevitable, after all, if they
did
make contact, that sooner or later the Samartians would ask the sticky questions about the League, Prisos and the Marfikians.

The briefing dismissed, Alex went back to the task of attempting to keep up with at least the most important information flooding to his screens. He was deeply immersed, an hour or so later, getting to grips with an analysis of a truly terrifying piece of information.

The Samartians had included a history file in their data-pack – concise, but so data-rich that it was taking some time to unpick it. This particular item recorded the bare bones of what had happened the last time the Marfikians had attempted to invade –
serious
attempt to invade, not just the border-harassment the Samartians had got so used to they thought it was normal.

There had been rumours in the League that the Samartians had fought off a major attack about sixty years before – some League analysts even claimed to have evidence for that in a significant drop in Marfikian activity for several years afterwards.

Now, Alex saw why. The Marfikians had sent more than eight hundred ships against Samart.

They had imagined that Marfik was throwing major offensive at
them
, at times when they saw upwards of a hundred ships raiding in the sector around Cherque, but it was appallingly clear from this that the Marfikians had, in fact, been treating that a minor skirmish while focussing their
real
forces against Samart. Just the thought of more than eight hundred Thorns surging at a world made Alex feel chilled to the bone.

Against that, the Samartians had mustered three hundred and ninety two ships. They had lost twenty four of them with the loss of all hands, and serious damage and casualties across their whole fleet – their on-ship casualties were numbered at two thousand and forty seven people killed, in a battle which had lasted for seven and a half hours. The Marfikians had driven deep into their territory – they had blasted their way through the sensor field, destroying millions of sensors, and not just firing at the Samartian ships but unleashing a barrage of missiles which were targeted at the planet itself.

The main attack force had made it almost half way through the defended zone before the Samartians had driven them off. They had managed to deflect most of the missiles before they reached Samart – most, but not all. Four had made it through to the very last line of defence, being detonated in the upper atmosphere. Blast damage had been limited, said the report. Ground casualties; two hundred and fifty four thousand, six hundred and nine.

A quarter of a million people had died. And the only reason that it wasn’t more, a
lot
more, was that the Samartians had resorted to their weapon of last resort. As the Marfikians had crossed the half-way point, the Samartians had commenced what they called ‘heroic manoeuvres’. The analysis team had only just got to grips with what that actually meant. Eleven of the ships which had been lost with all hands had been so because they had hurled themselves into the Marfikian fleet and self-destructed. They hadn’t just blown themselves up, either. Davie had already identified that Samartian ships were effectively four separate vessels being held together by the external skeleton, which was certainly a key factor in their extraordinary agility. It appeared, though, that during ‘heroic manoeuvres’ a ship could jettison its skeleton and break apart into four sections, each of which retained sufficient manoeuvring ability to lock on a target as it dephased. Each one of them had exploded with a force which made the Ignite missile look puny.

The Marfikians had turned around, leaving at high speed, at the point where they had lost four hundred and six of their Thorns. A further eighty two had been destroyed by the pursuing Samartians before the Marfikians ran clear of their defended space.

It was no coincidence in that, for sure, that the Marfikians had abandoned their invasion effort at the point where they had lost more than half of their ships but were not yet half way through the defended zone. This had been highlighted as a recurring pattern – right back through Samartian history, every time the Marfikians had attempted to invade them, they had turned back at the point when the Samartians had succeeded in destroying more than half of their attacking forces, before the Marfikians had managed to destroy half of theirs or make it more than half way through their defences.

They were creatures of logic, of course – no emotion, no morality. If they attacked Samart, it was because they had calculated that they stood an acceptable chance of success. Then, if their casualty rates exceeded an ‘acceptable’ fifty per cent, they’d withdraw.

‘Skipper?’ Alex was deep in studying the strategic analysis, but looked up at Jonas Sartin’s speaking to him. ‘Sorry…’ Jonas said, with honest regret because he knew how busy Alex was, ‘Power usage financials.’

Alex looked at him in eloquent silence and several of the people on the command deck laughed, even Jonas giving a bashful grin.

‘Sorry,’ he repeated, ‘but…’

‘All right – I know,’ Alex said, resignedly. The fact that they were on front-line exodiplomacy operations did not make the paperwork go away. The power-usage financial report had been sitting on his in-tray all day, and if he didn’t sign off on it before the watch changeover, Jonas would be obliged to log it as a failure to complete required documentation. So he opened the file, tearing himself away from the minor issue of figuring out how this information might help them to protect their worlds.

In theory at least, dealing with the financial report really should be a very trivial matter. Skippers dealt with a host of such routine matters every day, requiring only that they read key points and signed to say that they had done so. In less complicated times, Alex would not have expected to spend more than fifteen to twenty seconds on signing a routine document like this.

In recent months, however, it had become quite normal for it to end up taking a quarter of an hour. He couldn’t even sign off on the thing without reading it – as with all official documents it had an ‘active reading’ sensor which monitored eye focus and tracking, and it was
very
good at picking up if you were skimming too quickly or only pretending to read. Not that Alex would have done that, anyway – he had to set an example, there, in conscientious, professional standards.

So he opened the file, prepared to confront the usual hellish tangle of eight different possible ways that the power consumption could be allocated to budgets depending on which particular memo they were supposed to be following. Instead, there was what looked remarkably like an absolutely standard Fleet power-consumption report, just a simple list of codes and figures, already signed by the engineer and by Jonas himself.