Chapter 3
“To secure peace is to prepare for war.”
Carl von Clausewitz
Location: Parthia, Council of Clans, Meeting Chamber
Standard Date: 04 04 632
Danny was getting comfortable in this room. He’d certainly been here often enough lately. He looked around the large chamber with its Parthian pads arranged in elevated rows like the seating in a stadium. The pads were mostly occupied, but as usual, the council was letting Clan Zheck do the questioning. Danny looked back to Zhecktitick and waited.
“You took three ships in the council’s name, Captain Gold,” Zhecktitick said. “Now the question of who owns those ships has been brought up by Conrad Jackson-Cordoba. He claims that they are privately owned by the Jackson-Cordoba Trading Company and in no way connected with the Canova government. He assures us of that, both as a representative of the JCTC and as a commissioner of the government of Canova.”
Parthians didn’t have faces but by now Danny was quite good at reading their eyestalks and mouth-hands. The sardonic tilt of Zhecktitick’s eyestalks was subtle, but still quite visible to him.
“What were they saying before we arrived?” Danny asked.
“Unfortunately, before you arrived, they didn’t say. And we were in no position to ask.”
Danny smiled. “You know, it’s against the Combine regulations for privately owned ships to carry arms. Even round shot is against the rules. Lasers and nukes are strictly forbidden.”
In this situation a decent—but by no means unassailable—case could be made for the seizure of the ships. There was also the issue of armaments. If it was illegal for the Jackson-Cordoba ships to be running around armed, it was equally illegal for the Pan, the Arachne, and the Warchief to be going armed.
Which, when you put it all together, meant that the way the Cordoba Combine would react depended on the balance of force and the balance of political influence. Conrad Jackson-Cordoba had more political influence, but Danny and company had more force, at least locally. Of course, none of that mattered if the Combine decided that Parthia was a threat before they got their defenses in place. A few hundred well placed rocks and the Parthian species would be extinct. Danny knew himself to be a cold blooded SOB, but he wasn’t okay with genocide.
“I recommend that the council of clans order the three ships searched for contraband. If they have it, then either they are Canova auxiliaries or pirates. Considering that pirates are subject to trial and execution, I suspect that they will decide to admit to being Canova auxiliaries. And in either case, they are legitimate prizes of war.”
“Assuming they become legitimate prizes, who gets them?” Zhecktitick asked.
“Well, we—Clan Gold, Clan Starchild, and Captain Tecumseh of Skull System—took them, so they’re ours. We could each keep one of them, but we’ve decided that it would be better if Parthia bought them into the Parthian Spaceforce.”
“We don’t have a spaceforce. The space stations are owned by individual clans.” Zhecktitick pointed out the owner clans with its eyestalks. “And so are the shuttles and small ships that move from the planet’s surface to nearspace. Even the Fly Catcher and the other ships that our clans own a share of are owned by individual clans, not the council.”
“Yes, I can see how that was true.” Danny didn’t have eyestalks, so he couldn’t do the Parthian trick of keeping one eye on the speaker while the other assessed the audience. He had to alternate. He looked around the chamber, then back at Zhecktitick. “But I think it’s going to have to change.”
“We—” Zhecktitick’s eyestalks took in the council. “The council is not exactly a government, not in the human sense. Each clan is its own government. The council of clans is more of a court for deciding disputes between clans.”
“I know. That’s how it has been. But it’s going to have to change, at least a little. Partly because some of your clans are now human and we tend to be a bit more fractious. But also because you are going to have to take action as a planetary system against Canova.”
“Yes. We have agreed that is necessary, but the question of who gets the ships and who pays for them is the issue at hand. We don’t have a structure for a system government, and many of our clans simply couldn’t afford to contribute to such a body.”
“Have you talked to Professora Stuard?”
“Yes, we have, and she has been fairly helpful. She recommends that the council of clans must receive workers loaned to it by other clans. We considered making a spaceforce clan . . .” It shifted eye stalks. “. . . even considered making the Jenny Starchild clan the spaceforce clan, but Professora Stuard seemed to think that such a clan might end up ruling all the other clans. So what she wants to do is have us temporarily adopt workers from other clans who, after a term of service, will be returned to their parent clan. She recommended that Tanya Cordoba-Davis be borrowed from Clan Starchild for the duration of our conflict with Canova System and that the crews of the other ships be loaned from other clans.”
“That sounds like a good plan,” Danny agreed. “I would recommend that all the people loaned to the council for this be provided with interfaces. They are necessary for the effective fighting of ships, especially ships that don’t have artificial brains or have smaller brains.”
“That leaves the question of what to do with Canova after we take it . . . ?”
“That’s going to take some time to figure out,” Danny said, “and I’m not sure we have the time. We should go ahead and take Canova System before they have time to bring in a fleet. We can worry about what we are going to do with it after we’ve got it.”
Location: Fly Catcher, Parthia Outsystem
Standard Date: 04 10 632
Captain Zheckess, formerly Kesskox, sipped the Banger as she watched the robot miners loading the ship’s boat. They were loading ingots of pure magnesium, and there were close to a hundred thousand of the one ton ingots. This trip was going to make the Zheck and their partner clans a fortune, and as the captain of the Fly Catcher, Zheckess was in for a nice piece of that. That was, she knew, a thoroughly reprehensible attitude among Parthians, but at this point she almost didn’t care anymore.
“How soon will we be loaded?” she asked her first mate, Zheckok. “I want to get back with the reports of the current status of the mining bots as fast as we can. The human professor seemed to think it was important.”
“It only made fifteen copies, Captain. Then it ran out of galatium.”
“Fifteen manager brains, but thirty-two bots.”
“So what? They are all on this asteroid, and it’s going to be fifty years before it’s mined out.”
“You want them to go crazy and take over the universe?”
Zheckok snorted, then his eyestalks lowered. “Skipper, what about the interfaces?”
Zheckess felt her mouth-hand start to scrunch, but held it in place by force of will. It was mostly an emotional reaction, anyway. She knew that the interfaces didn’t hurt the humans who had them. “I think we are going to have to accept them if we want to keep the ship. I talked to Startak. It’s comfortable with its interface, happy even, and it said that interfaces make it easier to find jumps. I think it must be right. Certainly, we’ve never found any.”
“I’ll talk to the crew, Skipper, but I don’t like it and I think a lot of them are going to like it even less.”
“Honestly, I don’t like it either. And you know that prig Goldgok hasn’t gotten an interface yet. You know it’s just going to say it’s one more perversion.”
“That almost makes me like the idea, Skipper. I hate that self-righteous prig. I really do.”
Location: Pandora, Parthian orbit
Standard Date: 04 10 632
Danny Gold waved to John Gabriel and mimed drinking, then turned back to the screen. “Where are we going to get the troops?” He knew that the delays had been unavoidable, but every day since they took out the fort two and a half weeks ago, the word of what happened had been spreading.
And sooner than anyone on Parthia wanted, the Cordoba Combine—or at the very least, the Jackson-Cordobas—were going to react.
Zhecktitick’s eyestalks shifted in the Parthian equivalent of a smile. “We have over nine billion Parthians in the system in a multitude of clans.” Zhecktitick’s smile got a bit sardonic. “And those clans are not always in accord. Frankly, Captain Gold, your arrival almost precipitated a war between the Zheck and the Gok clans. We have no shortage of troops, though few of them have any great experience in space warfare.”
“Fine.” Danny sat at the bar in the Pan’s lounge and sipped his coffee. “Then we are going to need to use Bangers.”
Zhecktitick’s mouth-hand scrunched up, but it nodded its eyestalks. “I understand the necessity, but it would be better for all if you humans were to do the drinking of them.”
Danny lifted his coffee cup in toast. He still hated the things, but they didn’t hurt him and between them, the crews of the ships could drink enough Bangers to make the converted holds comfortable for the Parthians. “So we can have a force to occupy the space station, and the fort along the Ferguson jump route. I don’t want to leave that in the hands of the JCTC.”
“Nor does the council of clans,” Zhecktitick agreed. “However, at the moment we have a shortage of humans we can trust. There is you and your crew and, of course, we trust Jenny Starchild. But much of the council is less than comfortable with Janis Tecumseh. Some of the miners seem trustworthy, but they have all had to make accommodations with the Jackson-Cordobas, so a large part of the council is leery of giving them any authority.”
“Not to mention that a bunch of deep space miners aren’t going to want to get involved in this at all.” Danny grinned.
“We’re going to have to recruit heavily from the population of Canova, and the council of clans is not happy about the notion of letting humans know the effect that Parthian Bangers have on our people.”
“It’s too late to worry about that. They know on Concordia Station, so they know on the gray lanes. If they don’t know on Drakar and New Argentina yet, it’s just a matter of time.”
“But it’s embarrassing.” Zhecktitick’s eyestalks drooped a bit at that admission. Danny’s introduction to the Parthians was through a Parthian Banger, an alcoholic drink he thought he was making up to confuse the autotender at a bar on Concordia Station. The drink was harmless to humans, though highly spiced. But it caused Parthian neuters to get horny. And Parthian neuters weren’t supposed to get horny. It was considered perversion. The Bangers, however, also caused the Parthians—and humans, for that matter—to exude a scent that Parthians needed for their mental health. Its lack made them feel alone and threatened, to the extent that they often became suicidal or homicidal if they spent long enough without it.
Danny snorted, then brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. “How long to gather the forces? We can have quarters ready in a week. They won’t be comfortable, but they will be livable, at least for the time it will take to get to Canova insystem.” The Pandora, Arachne, and Warchief retook the Parthia System from the Jackson-Cordoba Trading Company only weeks ago and the council of clans agreed to take the conflict to the JCTC by taking control of the Canova System. They didn’t have much choice if they were going to have any say in their own destiny.
“We will have the troops gathered before you have the quarters ready. What about the interfaces?”
“Have you folks made up your minds about those?” Danny asked.
“Not exactly. But the reports from Startak, Starvokx and Goldfax have been highly positive, so there are more than enough Parthians to fill out the crews of all the ships. And we are aware that many of the soldier class personnel who will be occupying the Canova stations will need to be willing to have interfaces.”
“Fine. Doc Schmitz has a few hundred ready to be installed. They are general purpose interface systems and designed for crew on a ship. Jimmy Dugan says that exspatio have special interfaces to handle battle armor and heavy weapons, but the doc hasn’t made any of them. Shouldn’t matter, though. They will still allow communications.” Exspatio were shipboard troops, whether employed by a system government or the larger and more powerful trading combines.
They spent hours going over schedules and plans. Danny bought more Parthians for his crew, as did Jenny Starchild, and even Janis Tecumseh. For the captured prizes, there were the issues of the human crews, and who to replace them with. Danny’s crew were getting billets on the captured Jackson-Cordoba ships that Pandora, Arachne, and Warchief had taken. Chuck Givens was getting a ship, the Fesstok. Petra Allen was getting one and Robert Schmitz would be acting as her bosun, but that was the Gokness, formerly the Bonanegotia, which was going to be going back and forth between Parthia and Canova as soon as things got settled a little bit. The Fesstok and the Zheckgold, formerly the Bonafortuna and Bonoforumo, were going to spend a few weeks in Canova to make sure things were stable, then head out on trading runs. Parthia simply couldn’t afford to have all its ships tied up in system defense.
Unfortunately, Parthia never had a wingship industry. There still wasn’t, but the Pan and the Warchief brought a lot of shieldgold. The Warchief brought half completed wing spars. Now the Parthians could start building wingships of their own, but it was going to be years before the first Parthian-built wingship came off the line. So, for the next little while, the Parthians were going to need Danny’s little fleet, because it was all they had.
All this planning and supplying took time, but eventually they were ready.
Location: Fesstok, Parthian Orbit
Standard Date: 04 24 632
Chuck Givens, his shoes safely tucked into the zero g slots, saluted sharply as Conrad Jackson-Cordoba floated into the Fesstok. “Welcome aboard, Admiral.”
Chuck Givens was from an old line Cordoba Spaceforce family. His family had served in the Cordoba Combine Spaceforce since before the consolidation wars. It was true that Chuck was no longer Cordoba Spaceforce, and it was equally true that “Admiral” Jackson-Cordoba was a political admiral who provided cover for dumping Chuck on the beach after the Cordoba defeat at the hands of the Drake Combine in the gray route battle that killed most of the fleet Chuck was a part of back in 630.
But old habits die hard, and Jackson-Cordoba was wearing the uniform, so Chuck saluted.
“Thank you, Captain.” Conrad Jackson-Cordoba grabbed a handrail with his left hand and swung his feet to the deck, then saluted with his right. “I know you’re busy, but I’d like to speak to you once I am settled back into my quarters.”
✽✽✽
Conrad Jackson-Cordoba, still in uniform, walked into Captain Givens’ office which was attached to the captain’s stateroom. The Fesstok was underway again, so they had gravity. He examined the captain—brown hair starting to recede a little, solidly built, but with very little fat. Not much in the way of genetic upgrades, but a life of military discipline was expressed in that body.
“Thank you for seeing me, Captain Givens,” Conrad said with careful politeness. He had to convert this man back to the Cordoba cause if he were to get the Bonaventura back for the family. “I know the circumstances of our last meeting aren’t such as to endear me to you. And, considering how things worked out, I clearly made the wrong call.”
“I told the truth and I was beached for it.”
Conrad heard the bitterness and anger in Givens’ voice and knew he would have to be careful in how he played this. “I know that, and it was at least partly my fault.” Conrad looked down in shame. Sham shame, but Givens wouldn’t know that. Conrad was quite a good actor when he wanted to be. “In my defense, the decision to beach those of you who told the truth as well as Tanya Cordoba-Davis was not mine to make or dispute.” He looked at Givens earnestly and waited for the reluctant nod, which he got.
“As I am sure you know, the council of clans has officially expelled me from Parthia System. They did agree to my request that I be transported on the Bonafortuna, ah, Fesstok.”
From his expression, Chuck Givens was less than thrilled by the way things were going. But he really shouldn’t be. After all, he was now the captain of a massive spaceship. Rather more than a beached junior officer in the Cordoba Spaceforce had any right to expect. Granted, it was a civilian ship, and Givens was from an old-line spaceforce family with a long tradition of service. But Givens was apparently still pining for the Cordoba Spaceforce uniform.
Really, any expectations the man might have of reinstatement bordered on delusional. Still, it was a delusion Conrad thought he could use.
Givens must know about the super missiles that rumor said the Parthians were making. Conrad needed this man, both as a source of intel and as a potential escape route. “Please have a seat, Captain. There are some things you need to know.”
Once Givens was seated, Conrad said, “There are persistent rumors that the Parthians have a new super missile. Supposedly, those missiles took out the fort. And for all I know, they could have saved you all at the battle where Tanya lost her ship, if the Pandora had any at that time?” He watched Givens’ face and posture carefully as he delivered that piece of information.
✽✽✽
By now, Chuck knew a great deal about the shield missiles and he realized that they represented a true revolution in warfighting technology. He also knew—had learned in the last few days—that the Parthians had a shield missile industry up and running. There were at least a dozen clans involved in constructing the components. And they had thousands of shield missiles ready to go. They even had a couple of hundred of the small artificial brains to control the shield missiles.
For just a moment, Chuck thought Danny Gold might have saved them all.
But no. Chuck knew that the missile industry wasn’t started until after they lost the Jonesy.
Chuck had no idea what his face gave away in that fleeting moment.
He considered. The four freighters, the Pan, Arachne, and Warchief were all being equipped with the new missiles. They were also all going to have crews that were at least half Parthian. They were shifting crew around, clearly to make sure there wouldn’t be a cohesive group to form the core of a mutiny. Between that and the Parthians that were joining all the crews, everyone figured they were safe enough.
“I’ve heard those rumors, Admiral,” Chuck said. He didn’t elaborate and waited for Jackson-Cordoba’s next question.
What he got was, “I have something you should see.” Conrad pulled a chipfolio out of his pocket.
Chuck took it and used his slate to scan it for viruses or other destructive software, making no effort to conceal his checks. Conrad smiled as he watched, and Chuck was unsurprised when the chipfolio came up clean.
“This is a recording of a conversation I had with my cousin. Parts have been removed because they have to do with family and Cordoba Combine politics that you simply have no need to know, but I have tried to leave it as complete as I could.”
What followed was an audio-only recording of Tanya saying several things that left her loyalty to the Cordoba Combine—and even the human race—in question.
Conrad: “You’d sell out the human race to the bugs?”
Tanya: “Yes, I think I will.”
It has to be a fake, but even as Chuck thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. It was just the way the skipper would say it. “What’s this all about?”
“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory,” Conrad said. “There are nine billion bugs in the Parthian system, and maybe twenty billion people in the whole of the Pamplona sector. Add in the Cattans, and the aliens in the Pamplona sector almost outnumber the humans.” He held up a hand before Chuck could interrupt. “I know that the Cattans are unlikely to ally with anyone. That wasn’t my point. Tanya is pissed at the Cordoba Combine because the family wouldn’t let her keep playing soldier when it proved inconvenient. She’s thrown her lot in with the bugs, and the bugs have a truly massive industrial base. You’ve seen it while here in Parthia. Until now, the family was doing a good job of keeping them contained, but if they get loose they could carve the whole Cordoba Combine into chunks. And with the Drakes already in a war with us, the bugs could take over.”
“Do you really think they want to?”
“The bugs have no notion of individual rights,” Conrad said. “I’ve dealt with them for years. They consider us inherently immoral because we do believe in individuality. Do you want to live in a galaxy ruled by a hive mentality?”
Chuck looked at him. The man made some good points. Chuck didn’t speak Parthian. No human could really speak it; they didn’t have the voice boxes for it. And Parthians had some trouble with English and other human languages. But there were very good translation programs out there, and Chuck had listened to the discussions on the Parthian net about humans and the notion of human-Parthian clans. The term cheskek was common in those discussions, and it translated as “one who was interested in his own welfare,” or as “individualist.”
Chuck wasn’t some wild-eyed anarchist. He was from a military family and understood military discipline and putting the unit first. But he wasn’t some worker drone that had no thought but for the hive, either. Admiral Jackson-Cordoba might have a real point. Suddenly the shield missiles that were in the ship’s holds right now took on a new and ominous meaning.
Conrad didn’t push him for any sort of commitment. Not yet.
Location: Parthia, Council of Clans
Standard Date: 04 28 632
Danny walked into the petitioner’s area and lifted his arms for attention. It took a few minutes, but the discussions quieted and the speaker called on Danny.
“I think we are running out of time,” Danny told the council of clans. As a recognized clan, he could come before the council, though his clan was so small that he didn’t have a regular seat. “If we don’t get to Canova soon, they will bring in reinforcements.”
“From where?” called the representative for the Gok Clan.
“I don’t know,” Danny admitted. “It depends on what’s going on in the Parise-Ferguson chain. If the Cordoba Combine has pushed the Drakes out of the way, we could see a fleet of fifty ships coming through the jump.”
“Will that not be the case even after we take Canova?” The speaker, a Parthian from a clan that studied law, waved an eye stalk. “Honestly, Breeder, I am not being intentionally difficult, but translating clan law into human law so that we get something that makes sense is not easy. And you, yourself, have acknowledged that we must find legal justifications that the humans can accept, else we will have the whole of humanity ranged against us.”
Danny nodded. “I don’t disagree, Worker, but we may need to table the discussions until we get to Canova. We will need the cooperation of Canovan clans. If we don’t get that, no justification will suffice. And to get that, we must remove the muzzles of the Jackson-Cordoba’s flechette guns from their foreheads and—not to put too fine a point on it—replace them with our own.”
The bug waved an eyestalk again. “You know your own people. We, of course, don’t have foreheads and pointing a flechette gun at me would not change my opinion of legality.”
“What about a cannon pointed at your birthing ponds?”
Mouth-hands all around the chamber scrunched up at that.
“Very well, Breeder Gold. When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as possible. All the ships, including Fly Catcher, are ready now.”