Admiral Juan Manuel Gonzalez-Villareal was stunned by the incoming message. All incoming jump points mined? Impossible. The Ilocano savages didn't have the technology. Small, fast attack craft? Incredible. Ilocan had no space presence. He thought hard. Maybe there was something to it. A couple of supply ships were overdue. And what had happened to the frigate that sent the torp? Send back a destroyer? That would be no problem. These ignorant savages weren't doing anything but huddling in the wilderness, hiding from the Admiral's forces. Oh, they had a certain primitive cunning, and they were causing trouble for his ground forces, but they had nothing to threaten his orbital force. Come to think of it, why not send two of his three destroyers home? Fewer mouths to feed, and maybe there really was something for them to do at home. One destroyer should be plenty here; especially with the frigate and corvette he had monitoring the comm satellites.
One of the destroyers emerged into the first recal system within fifty meters of a drifting mine. The other, Furioso, commanded by Capitan Raul Rojos de laVega, emerging a few minutes later, noted the higher-than-normal radiation readings, but did not connect them with its sister ship. Captain de laVega had been warned that the jump point might be mined, so they proceeded dead slow, all sensors straining to detect the lethal spheres. One had to be destroyed by a laser blast when it wandered too close.
The Ilocano boat force watched helplessly as the Santie destroyer picked its way through the minefield. The jerry-rigged boats were no match for an Old Empire-Pattern destroyer, and every one of them knew it. Onboard the base ship, the Captain prepared a message torp, reporting the destruction of one Santie destroyer, and containing all the information they could gather about the other one. He would send it on to the mine. It was essential they keep track of the whereabouts of the Santie big guns. There was a rumor that a raid on Santiago itself was in preparation. They would need to know about this.
Furioso, meanwhile, was creating, as best it could, a map of the minefield. Once clear of the minefield, it boosted max for the next jump point. As it approached the jump point, Captain de la Vega slammed a fist on his chair arm as another minefield was revealed.
By the time Furioso emerged at Santiago, Captain de la Vega was a worried man. There had been beacons at the jump points to both Santiago and Ilocan, warning off visitors. And all those damned mines! There had been hundreds of them. Every trip would be a gauntlet threatening death. Oh, his destroyer had nothing to fear, now that they knew of the threat. But how were they to get supplies to Ilocan? Civilian freighters didn't have military-grade sensor suites. It would be nearly impossible for them to avoid the mines and make it to Ilocan. The damned savages had destroyed all the farms near Homesafe (ridiculous name). Moreover, patrols could only be made in force, with armor. Troops couldn't harvest grain while looking over their shoulders or scanning the ground for lethal traps. Their own siege force was threatened with food shortages!
Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal had even offered the Ilocanos full Santiago citizenship if they would only stop fighting and surrender. Propaganda broadcasts on the captured Worldnet had trumpeted all the benefits of citizenship; the guaranteed annual wage, working or not, the free lifetime health insurance, all the hundreds of programs for which they would be eligible. Amazingly, these savages were too stupid to take advantage of the offer.
Nothing worked. The Ilocanos kept fighting and killing. The weapons used had slowly moved down the technological spectrum as the blockade prevented resupply. Instead of surrender, though, now soldiers were dying from arrow wounds, poisoned blowgun darts, and truly diabolical booby traps. It had been necessary for the Admiral to hold classes for the troops to explain some of these weird weapons. Yet, the troops kept dying.
It was infuriating! They had enough firepower in orbit to turn the planet into a radioactive cinder, and still these people would not surrender!
When he reached Santiago, things were not a lot better. Frightened people and jittery officials were everywhere. There were beginning to be shortages of some imported products, and the government was beginning to fear riots in the streets as well as a possible invasion by an enemy who wasn't even supposed to have any space ships!
There were no minesweepers left, but two tugs had been fitted with jump engines, and his first orders were to escort the tugs to the Santiago jump point, and clear the mines. And shut off that damned beacon that prevented supplies from reaching Santiago! Captain de la Vega saluted, sighed, and reboarded his ship.
Meanwhile, the problem of the three destroyers — now two — had not escaped the Ilocanos. Their patchwork fleet of privateers was no match for even one of the big warships, much less two. All they could do when one of them was nearby was huddle in their base ships with power down to minimum to escape detection.
Thoughts naturally turned to the armed Chata-class Mong was calling Ilocan's Revenge.
Cale and Jessica had decided that this time, the privateer idea would not work. Ilocan's Revenge was designed for heavy destruction; she wasn't built for the more delicate mission of capturing merchantmen. There would be no prize money for her crew.
"So, what do you suggest?" she asked with a smile.
"I recommend that the government charter her, and assign your own people to run her," he replied. That way, they won't be expecting prize money."
She gave him an indecipherable look. "That must be a fascinating junk yard you have," she said. "What'll you come up with next, a battle cruiser?"
Cale grinned. "Don't need one. We've got Ilocan's Revenge."
Mong had thoroughly inspected Ilocan's Revenge during the return trip to the mine. All the air leaks had been found and sealed, and his shorthanded crew had spent almost the entire trip cleaning the big ship. He reported, "She's an abortion. Silliest damned thing I've ever seen. She's slower than a grat, and about as maneuverable as a planet. And if she doesn't get her target with the first shot, it'll take almost a minute to recharge that… that monster. I like her." His smile was predatory.
"Can we get enough crew to run her?" Jessica asked.
Mong shrugged. "We'll have to run the mine on a skeleton crew, but I'll be surprised if more than a couple don't volunteer. No crew in space has ever flown anything like her, and I doubt there's an Ilocano here who doesn't want to see that big laser fire!"
Jessica turned to Cale with a weary expression. "Something tells me that the government of Ilocan wants to charter your ship, sire Rankin. What is it going to cost us?"
Cale smiled and bowed. "Madam," he replied formally, "I have what I need. However, to make it a legal charter, how about one hundred Alliance credits for the duration?"
Jessica looked surprised. "And if she's destroyed?"
Cale shrugged. "She was already scrap, madam. We can add that into the charter, if you'd like."
She nodded firmly. "I'd like." She paused, regarded Cale narrowly. "What I'd really like is to know why you're going to all this trouble and expense for us. And please, no more crap about Johnny. You've barged in here and given us a way to maybe win a war that had already been lost and broken a stalemate that was almost a year old. You don't seem to worry much about money, and you're very mysterious about this 'scrap yard' of yours. You're a real mystery man. I don't trust mystery men."
Cale felt his face grow warm. "All right, madam," he said, "I'll level with you. I've been a slave. I've been a mercenary (well, he told himself, pirates fight, and kill for money!). I've done some terrible things. Things that interfere with my sleep. I really do know John very well, and we were slaves together. He used to tell me stories about his favorite aunt, and the beautiful place she retired to. When I heard about the war, I decided it was my chance to do some good; to make up for some of the evil I've been part of. I've fought for nothing but money. It feels really good to fight for something important; something that matters. As for my scrap yard, I'm secretive about it because it's my bolt hole, if I ever need one."
"Why should you need one?"
He shrugged. "I don't know that I ever will. But as both a slave and a mercenary, I've learned that it's wise to have a place to run to, in case you have to jump out a window in your underwear and leave everything else behind."
She shook her head. "It sounds like a pretty grim existence to me. Maybe Ilocan can fix it so you won't need that bolt hole."
Cale sighed. "It would be nice to feel that there's somewhere I actually belong."
The paperwork for the charter went through quickly, and Mong promptly formalized the renaming of the ship Ilocan's Revenge. The name made Cale wince. The new name was uncomfortably close to the Terror's Revenge. He kept silent, though. They could call it anything they wanted. After the war, she would probably go back to the scrap yard, though Mong had been hinting that Ilocan might want to buy her.
As soon as the minefield at the Santiago jump point had been cleared and Furioso and the converted tugs moved to the next jump point, the system's Din-class moved in and her workboats reseeded more mines and another beacon.
There were spirited arguments at the mine over whether Ilocan's Revenge should attack Furioso. One side felt that destroying the destroyer would reduce the fleet available to Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal. The other side felt that, first, Ilocan's Revenge was not a true warship; that in a fight, Furioso might just destroy her, and second, that the loss of another destroyer would entice the Admiral to leave a small rear guard, and come hunting with nearly all his force. They felt that Ilocan's Revenge would be better used to attack the Santiago system.
It was now dawning on Captain de la Vega that El Cid was missing. While the vagaries of jump physics often scattered the arrival times of ships that jumped at the same time, far too much time had elapsed. It had taken more than a week to creep through the minefields at each jump point. His final jump to Santiago's system had taken ten ship-days, and the trip from the jump point to planetary orbit had taken four days. Then the return, the tedious two weeks clearing the first minefield, and the same clearing the path to the second jump point. Certainly, if El Cid had survived, they would have encountered each other by now.
He breathed a huge sigh of relief as they jumped toward the second recal system.
Only to find yet another minefield. Only an excess of caution had prevented him from blundering into it. He sighed, and put the converted tugs to work clearing the mines. This war was getting less simple by the minute!
They were less than halfway through clearing the mines in their third minefield when there was an emergency transmission from one of the tugs. " Capitan! It is a trap! This mine is not deac…" An actinic glare in his viewscreen told him that the last word would never be completed. Damn! They were devils! Obviously, they had sown some traps; fake mines containing bombs that would go off only when taken aboard a ship or subjected to normal deactivation procedures.
Captain de la Vega was faced with both a professional and a moral dilemma. He had already lost one of his two converted tugs. His sense of duty and his own machismo argued that he should continue his mission.
However, there was a nagging feeling that he should drop the mine clearing for the moment, and run for Ilocan. Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal knew nothing of recent developments. He did not know of the loss of El Cid and all the minesweepers. Nor did he know of the conditions at home on Santiago, or that there would be no supply shipments for the foreseeable future. More to the point, the Admiral had no minesweepers either. De la Vega had only one of his converted tugs left, and there was a feeling that perhaps he should not put it at risk without at least giving the Admiral a chance to override his orders.
Finally, he decided. He recorded messages in which he tried to explain everything, and placed them in two message torps, which he then sent through the Ilocan jump point. His sensors detected no explosions, so he assumed both torps had made jump. Nagging voice in his head stilled, he returned to the mine clearing operation.
The mines were cleared and he'd jumped for Ilocan before the Admiral's answer arrived; but since the reply instructed him to immediately report to the Admiral at Ilocan, no harm was done.
Except that the Admiral's message torp was intercepted by a gunboat. The base ship immediately informed the mine that Furioso was returning to Ilocan, and would probably remain there while the Admiral considered his next move.
"Cale! Cale!" Zant clumped into Cheetah 's lounge still suited, except for his helmet. "There you are! This is it, Cale! This is our chance!" He was waving a printout.
"Calm down, Zant," Cale soothed. "What is it? Our chance for what?"
Zant waved the printout again. "There are no, repeat no, major warships in the Santiago system at the moment. Furioso just jumped to Ilocan. If you're serious about raiding Santiago, this is the time!"
Cale snatched the printout. It was a translation of Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal's orders to Captain De la Vega. De la Vega was ordered to report to Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal to report and 'for consultation on future actions'. Zant was right. Both of Gonzalez-Villareal's destroyers would be tied up for weeks at Ilocan while their Captains attended meeting after meeting, "consulting" with the Admiral. This was their best chance. Besides, the number of prizes had tapered off as Santiago's trade dried up. Most of the remaining Santie-flagged ships were in orbit around Santiago itself. Even those that could find a cargo were reluctant to brave the minefields and gunboats.
Cale hurried to find Mong. He showed Mong the message, and touched off a flurry of activity. Ilocan's Revenge was readied, as all available boat pilots were rounded up, sobered up, or just poured into their bunks aboard.
Meanwhile Cale was making sure that Cheetah 's ammunition supply for the quickfirer was replenished and that her fusactor was at peak output. For the most part Tess managed to keep him from obsessing over details. Zant's Strengl had been in Cheetah 's small hold since their arrival from Torlon, but it would be released before the final jump to Santiago. Strengl s were equipped with jump engines, and both the Ilocan's Revenge's astrogation comp and Zant's would be slaved to Tess's so they could be certain of arriving in the Santiago system simultaneously. This would give them a better chance of survival in the almost certain case that the jump point was picketed.
Privately, Cale was glad for Zant's Strengl. He hoped that the fighter's small jump engine would be able to spin down, and her inertial drive spin up much faster than either the Ilocan's Revenge 's or Cheetah 's, which should give the fighter weapons and shields before the picket could man its own weapons.
Cale didn't even bother trying to leave Dee behind, since he preferred to fight battles he had at least a small chance of winning. Besides, he needed a gunner, and she was experienced.
After a short, hurried briefing, they lifted off; Ilocan's Revenge 's astrogation comp slaved to Cheetah 's. Zant's Strengl remained in Cheetah 's small hold until just before the last jump into the Santiago system.
The tech manning Diego Del Florio 's sensor suite monitoring Santiago's jump point was bored. It was 0400 ship's time, and he had a seemingly eternal two more hours on watch. When he had been assigned to Del Florio a year ago, he'd been mildly disappointed not to have been assigned aboard a destroyer, but pleased that at least he had been assigned to a real warship, a frigate. The real disappointment had come when Del Florio had been picked to remain behind in the Santiago system instead of going to kick some Ilocano ass. The good news was that they were due to be rotated to Ilocan, to relieve one of the ships there. No one had really expected the war to last long enough for rotations to be necessary; but the Ilocano savages were stubborn, and so next month they would be going into combat! well, at least to a combat zone. Rumor had it that all the fighting was on the ground, but they would still get combat pay and a combat zone medal.
A needle on his panel stirred, and then jumped. Finally! Some traffic was emerging. Since those damned Ilocanos had found a way to mine the jump point, very few ships dared to transit.
He frowned. Odd. The readings were almost right for a Beta-class; but they were far enough off to be confusing. Before he reported the emergence, he had better double-check.
No, the readings were accurate; that was no Beta-class. Then what? The only thing that made sense was two ships in close company, with a slaved astrogation comp. But that meant…
" Teniente!" He shouted.
The Lieutenant who was Officer of the Watch roused from a lurid daydream. "What is it, Gomez?" he asked irritably.
"An emergence, Teniente. It appears to be two ships in close company."
The lieutenant jumped to his feet."But slaved comps are a combat procedure," he said. "Check your figures again."
"I checked them three times, Teniente," Gomez, complained. He turned his attention back to his screens. " Teniente! There appear to be a number of small craft that weren't there before!"
A chill ran down the lieutenant's spine. He whirled to the comm tech and snapped. "General Quarters! Sound the alarm. We are being attacked!"
The drowsy morning watch joined the sleepy spacers rolling out of bunks in cursing their Captain as the alarm sounded. Another damned drill. And at this time of night! Then the Officer of the Watch's voice sounded excitedly from every speaker. "Battle Stations! Battle Stations! This is not a drill! I repeat, this is not a drill! All personnel to battle stations!", and panic erupted.
The gunnery tech, still suspicious that it was only a drill, followed his procedures and raised the retractable five-shot missile launcher that comprised Del Florio 's main battery and began charging the lasers in the ship's nose.
The missile rack rose just in time to attract the attention of a nearby boat pilot, and a bolt from his laser fused the controls and cut the cables.
Though the ships had to wait for their jump engines to spin down and their inertial drives to light off to power their shields and weapons, the boats had no such limitations. As soon as Ilocan's Revenge emerged, she opened her cargo doors, and eleven gunboats poured out, driving max toward the unprepared frigate.
With her main armament destroyed, the boats turned their attention to the secondary weapons, the nose-mounted lasers. Laser bolts and quickfirer rockets sheeted toward the weapons emplacements. The design of Old-Empire-style frigates had not changed in centuries; the weapons locations were very well known. Both lasers became non-functional in seconds, and the boats turned their attention to antennas and sensor arrays.
Meanwhile, Zant's Strengl had spun up its inertial drive, and headed for Del Florio 's vulnerable inertial drive nozzles.
By the time the confused crew had nearly all reached their battle stations, the battle was over. The weapons techs found there were no weapons left to operate and the engineering crew found her inertial drive inoperable.
Meanwhile, the Captain had reached the bridge, just in time to hear a voice communication over the short-range comm on the Santiago military frequency.
"We are privateers commissioned by the government of Ilocan," it said. "Your weapons and inertial drives are destroyed. Surrender or die."
"There is no government of Ilocan," the Captain replied. "Ilocan is under the control of the Republic of Santiago."
"I won't argue political niceties with you, Captain," the voice replied. "Boarders are inside your vessel as we speak. If they encounter any resistance, your ship and crew will be destroyed."
A quick glance at the tell-tales showed that the emergency releases had been used to enter Del Florio 's airlocks. The captain sighed. His crew was unarmed, and improvised weapons would be of little effect on suited, armed invaders. His shoulder slumped as he saw his career ending. "We surrender, under protest," he said slowly.
"Good thing." The voice came from behind the Captain. He whirled to see a suited figure standing in the bridge hatch, a blaster in hand. Three others followed as the first entered. All four opened their faceplates as the leader reported "Bridge Secure," and one of his men headed straight for the comm station.
The leader approached the Captain. " Capitan," he said in fluent Santiagan, "the first thing I need is for you to get on the speaker and announce the surrender. You will also order your people not to resist or interfere with mine."
The Captain sighed again and nodded. As he turned to his command chair to make the announcements, the leader turned to the man who had pushed the comm tech from his station and was operating it with obvious familiarity. "Did they get a message out?" he asked in standard.
The other shook his head as he replied in the same language. "No, sir. Not a peep. They thought it was a drill."
The leader nodded. "Excellent. Engineering, what's your status?"
"Not as good as it could be. Those damned Strengl s have some nasty weapons! I estimate twenty hours to restore the inertial drives."
The leader nodded. "Good. Get the Vishnu techs over here and get them to work. We'll earn more than a few credits for this day's work!"
The Captain had finished his announcements, and turned with a frown. "Vishnu? Are they the ones supporting you?"
The leader grinned. "Nope. These are strictly mercenaries. Now, Captain, I want you to prepare your crew to disembark; you will be going aboard another vessel as prisoners of war. You will not be mistreated, and you will be exchanged or released at the end of the war."
The Captain nodded sadly. "One question, sir. What are 'privateers'?
The man's grin widened even further. "Let's just say we've got a pirate's license!" he replied.
Leaving several of the Vishnu techs and a small prize crew behind, Cheetah, Ilocan's Revenge and the Strengl headed inward toward the unsuspecting home planet.
"Damn, Cale, Look at all those fat merchantmen!" Zant exclaimed as they approached Santiago and their sensors began to register.
It was true. Dozens of merchant vessels, ranging from a big Beta-class freighter to Epsilon-class tramps orbited the planet, their captains unwilling to risk the reported minefields.
Cale grinned and connected to Mong. "You were a merchant skipper," he said. "How many of those ships can we crew?"
Cheetah had left the mine filled to capacity, with Cale, Dee, Zant, and nine supernumeraries who would become prize crews, if they were lucky. Crewing the frigate at the jump point had reduced her supernumeraries to six. Four other techs and crew had come from Ilocan's Revenge.
Mong's answering grin was as predatory as Cale's. "We could perhaps grab that Beta-class monster," he replied, "but we'd have to strip the boat crews to man her, and I don't recommend it. We don't want to bother with the ships hanging around the orbital factories; they're empty and waiting for cargoes. No, I'd say we could afford to grab a Chata-class and one or two Din-classes. That will still leave us about five boat pilots, and with you and that strengl, we should be all right. We want the ships orbiting the farthest out; Santiago Control would have put the ships ready to depart as far out of the way as possible."
Cale nodded. "Seems like a plan. Now, we don't want to damage these ships; we won't have time to make repairs. I'm hoping we can talk the crews into abandoning ship. No muss, no fuss, and a fat prize."
Mong nodded. "If we can get them undamaged, we can use three to crew a Din-Class and five for a Chata-class. That means your six could crew two Din-classes, and I can crew a Chata-class."
Cale turned to Zant. "This is where your Strengl will really pay off. Strengl s are shown in every sensor tech's records; it will be identified at once. And no merchant ship, armed or not, wants to tangle with a Strengl. When we close, we'll launch you, and you can zip around, running practice attack vectors, and overall just looking like a bloodthirsty madman."
"In other words," Dee put in, "just act normal. Every time you get in that thing you act like a bloodthirsty madman!"
Zant raised an eyebrow at Cale. "Oh, I just do it to impress the girls," he said with a broad wink. Dee reddened, and Cale burst into laughter.
" Estrella de Santiago. Privateers commissioned by the government of Ilocan have captured your ship. You are surrounded by armed vessels, and any attempt to resist or escape will result in your destruction. The crew is ordered to suit up and exit the ship. Rescue officials will be notified of your locations, so you can be picked up. We are aware of the crew size of a Chata-class. You have ten minutes to evacuate, or we open fire."
The reply came in heavily accented standard. "Please! Do not shoot! We will comply. But our suits have not been tested for a long time. We will need more than ten minutes to check them out."
The raider's voice replied in excellent Santiagan. "Understood. It takes about ten minutes to check out a suit, and you have a crew of six. You have one hour, from now. One minute after that deadline, we open fire."
" Si senor. Comprende."
While the boats and Ilocan's Revenge waited for the crew of the Chata-class to abandon, Cale took Zant and Cheetah to a fat-looking Din-class, where the same technique was used.
All of the communication with their victims had been on low-power intership comms. Santiago Control was trying to identify the new vessels, and figure out what they were doing; but their hails were being ignored. When the Chata-class had hung in orbit close to Estrella de Santiago, Control decided to send a cutter to investigate. The cutter reported a number of small craft in the vicinity, and reported their intent to board the silent Chata-class. No further reports were forthcoming, despite Control's demands and pleadings. A rising level of confusion began to manifest itself at Santiago Control.
The first Din-class, the Dona Maria, had an efficient captain; her suit inspections were current. The crew made their ten-minute deadline with time to spare, and Cale's three prize crewmen swarmed aboard and began spinning up her inertial drives.
The captain of the second Din-class, the Viajero, wanted to argue. Finally, Cale had Zant hover his Strengl directly in front of Viajero 's main viewscreen sensor, nose on, while a computer voice counted down from ten minutes. The Strengl filling the entire viewscreen was a threat no one could ignore. The last crewman out, the Captain, made it with six seconds to spare.
With all three prizes preparing to boost, Mong called Cale. "I suggest we get rid of the prisoners from the frigate," he said. "I see no sense in transporting them out of their home system, only to bring them back later."
"Do you have enough suits?"
Mong shook his head, but smiled. "Nope. But Santiago Control was kind enough to donate a cutter that will hold them all. With the boats gone, we can just bring the cutter into the hold, pressurize it, and load them up. They will be crowded for a while, but they're in orbit. They'll be fine."
Cale thought about it. "It's a good idea, but don't turn them loose until we're ready to leave, and disable their comms and drive, but not their beacon."
The prizes began to boost for the jump point, escorted by Ilocan's Revenge. Loaded, they were much slower than Cheetah. Cale, Zant, and their five remaining boats stayed behind to spread hate and discontent. Mong was reluctant to leave so quickly; he waited long enough to punch meter-diameter holes in several orbital factories before breaking orbit and hurrying to catch up with his convoy.
There was no thought of bombarding the planet; they wanted to demoralize the Santies, not enrage them by inflicting unnecessary casualties.
So they headed for the orbital factories, where their powerful lasers and quickfirers wreaked havoc among Santiago's production facilities. As they approached the first orbital station, Cale finally broadcast a message powerful enough to blanket Santiago's Worldnet, telling who they were, and what they intended. Finally, he closed with "Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal will soon have problems of his own. This war was entirely of Santiago's making, and thousands on Ilocan have died in it. If it does not end soon, the people of Santiago, not just its factories, will pay the price. You started this war, people of Santiago; now it is up to you to end it!"
The President's council was in emergency session, and no one was happy.
"You will have my resignation in the morning, senor Presidente," said Tomas Santos-Villareal, the Minister of Defense.
The Minister of Trade was angry. "Bailing out on us already, eh, Tomas? Planning to get out from under before the roof caves in?"
Tomas regarded the man in surprise. "Are you insane?" He demanded. "Do you honestly believe that any of us can possibly get 'out from under'? He looked around. "Do any of you honestly believe that our political careers are not over? If any of us ever runs for so much as dogcatcher, do any of you honestly believe your opponent will not throw this in your face? Face it, gentlemen, we are finished."
The President shook his head. "No, we are not. And I will not accept your resignation, Tomas, until we do finish this debacle. We got our people into this; it is up to us to get them out, no matter what the personal cost."
The Minister of the Treasury slammed a hand on the table. "This is ridiculous! We have spent billions on your idiot nephew's so-called 'Defense Force', and we are to be beaten by savages? We did not cause this, Tomas. Your idiot nephew and his crazy idea caused it!"
Tomas shook his head. "No, Ernesto. My idiot nephew came up with a stupid idea, but the decision to adopt it was unanimous. As I recall, you were one of the most enthusiastic of us."
"Pah!" the Minister replied. "A quick surprise attack," he mimicked the Admiral, "A week to seize Homesafe, and we own the planet and can start shipping our surplus population. We should have known it was too easy!"
"Your hindsight is perfect, Ernesto." Tomas replied. "It is a shame your foresight is less so."
"Stop it!" The President smacked the table. "Recriminations are stupid. We all voted for the war. The problem is what we do now."
"No, senor Presidente," Tomas said. "The problem is what does Santiago do now?"
"Pah!" replied the Minister of Trade. " We are Santiago. Unless we tell them what to do, the Congresa will debate until the sun goes nova. No, it is up to us. Us failures. Tomas is right. Our careers are over. I fear we will go down in Santiago's history as fools and villains."
"Yes," Tomas replied firmly. "Fools and villains. Let us face it. We are all professional politicians. Vote-grubbers of the first order. We have all manipulated the government of Santiago for our own benefit."
"Speak for yourself," the Minister of the Treasury replied sourly. "I have always worked with the best interests of the people of Santiago in my heart and mind."
The President waved a hand. "Nonsense, Ernesto. What about the Ricardo Power Plant deal? No, now is not the time for speeches. I suspect Tomas has an idea, and if so, I want to hear it."
"Perhaps a suggestion, rather than an idea, senor Presidente," Tomas replied. "First, we must realize the true size of this debacle. We, everyone in this room, including you, senor Presidente, will be defeated in the elections in two years. Our careers are finished. This war will haunt us for the rest of our lives.
"And yet," he continued, "if we can face that, admit to ourselves that history will call us 'fools and villains', we may just be able to do something that will let us at least hold up our heads in our families, and perhaps even change that verdict of history."
"And what is that?" the Minister of the Treasury said with broad sarcasm. "What is this marvelous action that will save us all?"
Tomas ignored the sarcastic tone. "I think it is time for us to stop being politicians. We can no longer grub for votes or pander to the contributors; they no longer exist for us; and in two and a half years, we will all be gone from here. But if we care about our legacy in history, if we really care about Santiago, there is something we can do that no one else can."
He did not wait for the obvious question. "We can stop being politicians," he repeated, "and start being statesmen. We are in a unique situation. Our careers are ruined, and we have no possibility of being reelected. In fact, I expect impeachment proceedings to be filed on several of us. However, we are all wealthy and remain the most powerful body on the planet; we are also skilled in all the tricks of politics. I doubt any of us fear impeachment. I suggest that for the time remaining to us, we cast aside all thought of personal gain, and simply act for the good of our planet."
"Hmph. That is it? That's your grand idea?" the Minister of the Interior said incredulously. "Some idealistic nonsense? Bullshit! Oh," he continued savagely, "you're probably right about our careers. So what we should be doing is using every ounce of our power to get what we can, while we can! Statesmen? Ridiculous!"
Tomas shook his head. "And if we do that, what then? The new council appoints investigators to come after us." He shook his head. "No, Ricardo, you might want to be the richest man in the central prison, but I'd rather spend my remaining years with a family that can respect me."
"And I," the President put in, "would rather be remembered as a good man who made some mistakes than as a crooked politician who got caught with his hand in the till. All right, Tomas, suppose I agree. What do you suggest?"
"I haven't had time to give it a lot of thought, yet, senor Presidente," Tomas replied. "But I suppose the best way to start is to deal honorably with the Ilocanos and our own people."
"Hmph!" The Minister of the Treasury grunted disgustedly. "Ilocanos! You mean those savages that even now are destroying the orbital factories right over our heads?"
The President nodded. "Yes, with them. Tomas, you are right. Come, we will together draft a message to our attackers."
The meeting adjourned, with the Minister of the Interior still seething, still determined to milk every peso from his remaining time in office, and wondering how he could turn this 'statesman' nonsense to his own profit; but most of the remaining Ministers were looking thoughtful.
Cale was watching Zant's Strengl as it rained destruction on yet another orbital factory. Zant was obviously enjoying the experience, but Cale was finding, as had Emo Arror before him, that destruction for its own sake held no attraction for him. In short, he was ready to leave.
"Captain," Tess said quietly in his ear, "I'm receiving a transmission from the surface."
Cale was startled. "For us?"
"It is unencrypted, and is addressed to the commander of the Ilocano forces now in the Santiago system. It bears the seal of the President of the Republic of Santiago, and contains several attachments."
"Let's hear it," he said, then changed his mind. "On second thought, I'll hear it in my cabin." He took one more look at Zant's efforts, and then turned to his cabin to play the message.
The message opened with a distinguished-looking man seated at a large real-wood desk. "I am Alfredo Vincencio Calderon, and at least for the moment, I am President of the Republic of Santiago." The man had apparently undergone body sculpting quite some time ago, as the signs of normal aging were beginning to become apparent; but his voice was deep and resonant, his manner assured, and his standard flawless. A wry half-smile punctuated the 'for the moment' phrase.
"I hope you will cease your destructive activity," he continued, "but I have no means of enforcing that desire, and that is not the reason for this message. Two messages are attached to this one; the first I hope you will deliver to the President of the government of Ilocan. I consider it urgent, as it relates to ending this horrible war. It is my hope that to avoid confrontation, you will place the second in a message torpedo and send it through to Admiral Gonzales-Villareal at Ilocan.
"The message for the Admiral is encoded in Santiago military code, so he will know it is authentic. However, I will tell you what it says. It orders the Admiral to immediately cease all offensive military activity, and to render any appropriate aid to the citizens of Ilocan. It also instructs him to release all prisoners except those undergoing medical treatment immediately, pending discussions regarding ending the war.
"This war has been a horrible and tragic mistake, and it was my mistake, mine and my advisors'. We cannot bring back the lives lost; all we can do is try to make amends.
"Please, I beg you; deliver our messages as soon as possible. This tragedy must not last a second more than necessary."
Cale stared at the empty viewscreen. "Damn, Tess, that's the most amazing thing I've seen since Raqal Wilkins took me to the gym after school. Do you think he means it?"
"Based on my studies of body language and speech patterns," Tess replied, "I feel certain the man was sincere. Of course, he could be a pawn in a complicated game, but it is difficult to envision a planetary president in that role."
Cale nodded soberly. "I agree. Let's call Zant back, and boost max for the jump point. We have messages to deliver."
"Then you will send the message torpedo to Admiral Gonzalez-Villareal?" Tess asked.
Cale shrugged. "That's the president's decision. Personally, I would send it — after it's been decrypted, translated, and scanned for secret content. It may save a lot of lives."
"I will begin the decryption procedure at once. Sire Jenfu reports that he will return after this run. I interpret this to mean when he completes his current firing pass."
Cale shook his head. "Connect me," he said. When Zant's face appeared on the viewscreen he said, "Damn it Zant! Get your ass back here. Something's come up, and we've got urgent business."
Zant just grinned. "Urgent, huh? What's up?"
Cale grinned. "You'll have to get back here to find out. I'll be closing the cargo door to the hold in ten minutes, and we boost in fifteen."
"You can't scare me. Strengl s have jump engines."
Cale shrugged. "True, but do you have enough fuel to make it to the mine? Or would you rather just drift around the system until the Santies rescue you? Ten minutes." He signaled Tess to cut the connection.
Zant was irritated at having to cut his attack short, but when he saw the President's message, he agreed that they should be going. Cheetah boosted max in pursuit of the slower Ilocan's Revenge and their prizes.
They escorted the prizes through the first jump point. Then Cheetah boosted max for the next jump point on their way to the mine. The jumps seemed interminable, but finally Cheetah emerged in the mine's nameless system, and headed for the mine at nearly 1.5G.
The prizes from Santiago had not arrived yet, probably wouldn't for several days, but already space around the mine was crowded. Cale counted seven ships being held in orbit. He wondered how the government intended to sell them, but that wasn't his problem. He had a message to deliver.
"So, what do you all think," the President asked. "Should we send on Calderon's message?"
"To hell with him!" the man speaking had been introduced as the Secretary of the Interior, though Cale had forgotten his name. "Why the hell should we deliver his mail?
Jessica whirled on him. "Because, Artut, this mail tells the Admiral to stop killing our people! Because this mail might help end the damned war! And because the Admiral doesn't know about anything that's happened, and he'll keep shooting until he does!"
The man she called "Artut" flushed and looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, Jessie. I ran my mouth before my brain was in gear."
She smiled. "No problem, Artut. But now we all need our brains in gear to decide the best course."
"Hell, we should send the damned message for all the reasons you've just spelled out," replied Artut. "Oh, there's a slight chance it contains some kind of secret coded message, but if our experts couldn't find one, I doubt it." Heads nodded all around the table.
Jessica turned to Cale. "Well, Cale, we appear to have decided. Would you like to make a speed run and fire off a message torp?"
Cale bowed from the waist and smiled. "Madam President, I would be delighted," he replied.