Fear God and Dread Naught (19 page)

And if they’re not here
, he thought,
where are they going
?

He bit down on his anger, hard, as the driver opened the door.  Governor Labara needed to go, the sooner the better.  A faint, but unpleasant smell hung in the air as he followed the driver into Government House, silently noting the dank corridors, empty desks and barren offices.  It felt as if he were walking into the lair of a dangerous animal, not the home of a government official.  He had to clasp his hands behind his back to keep from going for his gun.

“Your Highness,” Governor Labara said, as he was shown into the governor’s office.  He was fatter than Henry remembered, fat in a way that reminded Henry of a relative who’d binge-eaten to cope with life in the Royal Family.  “I ... welcome to Unity.”

Henry met his eyes.  “What the hell happened?”

Governor Labara looked, just for a second, as if he were too tired and worn to be angry.  “No investment,” he said, simply.  “People stopped listening to me.”

“What?”  Henry pulled a chair from the side of the room and sat down, dismissing the driver with a wave of his hand.  “Who stopped listening to you?”

“Everyone,” Governor Labara said, darkly.  “We are alone out here, Your Highness.”

Henry bit down, hard, on the response that came to mind.  “What happened?”

Governor Labara shrugged, impassively.  “My authority was always very limited,” he said, tartly.  “I had no way to turn my decisions into law.  There was no outside investment, no source of funds ... most of the population either went to the farms or stayed in the city, doing nothing.  My writ doesn’t run outside the city itself ...”

He looked up.  “You brought troops, right?  You can impose order?”

“I thought you wanted to be evacuated,” Henry said.  “Is that true?”

“There's nothing for me back home,” Governor Labara said.

Henry nodded.  No one was
that
interested in Unity, but it was rare - almost unknown - for a colony world to fail.  Governor Labara would be lucky if he was merely pensioned off, after the Great Powers started asking pointed questions.  Losing control of Unity - it was clear that the population had simply begun to ignore him - wouldn't reflect well on anyone.  God knew he’d have to open discussions with the other factions ...

At least they didn't have a civil war
, he thought. 
They didn't have the numbers or firepower to have a civil war
.

“Fine,” Henry said, finally.  There was no time to worry about assigning blame.  “You and your staff - and everyone else who wants to go - will be lifted to orbit and shipped home.  Your duties will be surrendered to the military officer on the spot.  After the war ... we’ll find a way to sort out the mess.”

He’d expected an argument, but Governor Labara merely nodded.  The man was broken, Henry realised; broken beyond repair.  Unity ... wasn't entirely a failure, not if there was a thriving settlement, but it was clear that Governor Labara
had
failed.  And yet, with so few tools at his disposal, what was he supposed to do?  It wasn't as if he could call for help from the Great Powers.  Unity enjoyed a particular immunity to gunboat diplomacy.

“You’ll go back to Earth,” he added.  “Unless you want to retire here, I suppose.”

Governor Labara shook his head, sharply.  “I’ve had enough of this place, Your Highness.”

“I don't blame you,” Henry said.  And it was quite likely that Unity had had enough of Governor Labara too.  “But for the moment ... I need to talk to the other settlers and see what we can work out.”

“Good luck,” Governor Labara said, rather harshly.  His voice was bitter.  “They never listened to me.”

Henry sighed.  It hadn't been an uncommon problem, in the three or four years after the First Interstellar War.  A colony would lose contact with Earth and feel betrayed, eventually learning how to survive without support from its founders.  And then, when contact was re-established, refuse to rejoin the rest of the human race.  He couldn't blame the settlers for feeling betrayed - they’d been promised investment that had never materialised - but it wasn't his problem, not right now.  He needed to lay the ground for landing the troops.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Henry said.  He had force on his side, but the last thing he wanted - or needed - was a prolonged insurgency against the settlers.  Anyone who survived and thrived on a world like Unity would be tough, hardy and a crack shot.  “If nothing else, we have a great deal to offer.”

“They won’t trust you,” Governor Labara pointed out.  “And why should they?”

“Because there’s a war on,” Henry said, harshly.  “Or didn't you
tell
them there was a war on?”

“They didn't believe me,” Governor Labara said.  There was something almost plaintive in his voice.  Henry would have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't suspected that the Governor had played a major role in his own misfortunes.  “They thought I was just trying to assert authority.”

“They’ll know there’s a fleet in orbit,” Henry said, finally.  “And if that doesn't bring them to the negotiating table, we can decide what to do next.”

Governor Labara leaned forward.  “And if you can't?”

“I wish I knew,” Henry said.  “That won’t be my decision.”

Chapter Nineteen

“There should be no question of our response,” Yegorovich said.  The Russian’s holographic image seemed to pulse with his indignation.  “We should immediately declare martial law over Unity and crush these rebels with maximum force.”

“They’re not rebels,” Prince Henry said.

“They are refusing orders from the government,” Yegorovich snapped.  “What would
you
call them?”

Susan resisted the urge to roll her eyes like a schoolgirl.  The discussion had barely begun when it had been hijacked by Yegorovich, who seemed to take the political situation on Unity as a personal affront.  She had no idea why - it wasn't as if Russia had contributed much towards the planet’s settlement - but his demand for a harsh response to the situation on the ground was making it hard to focus on anything else.

“I have spoken to five of their leaders in the last day,” Prince Henry said.  “It is my belief that they have merely asserted a
de facto
independence from Governor Labara.  There is nothing to be gained by contesting this, certainly not during the middle of a war.”

“Rebels,” Yegorovich thundered.  He looked from face to face, clearly seeking support from his peers.  “They should be punished.”

“We have ten thousand troops, half of which are trained to operate the planetary defence systems,” General Steve Kershaw said.  The American Marine looked tired and frustrated, but his voice was calm.  “We do not have the manpower to suppress an enemy who knows the terrain better than we do - and trying will make it impossible to actually set up the defences to resist attack!  If we can find a diplomatic solution, we should.”

“There is none,” Yegorovich insisted.  “We do not negotiate with rebels, traitors and terrorists!”

They’re not terrorists
, Susan thought.

Admiral Harper raised a hand.  “Prince Henry?”

Prince Henry looked irked.  “As I said, I have spoken to their leaders,” he said.  His voice was calm, but Susan could hear his annoyance.  “They are willing to assist us in defending the planet, but not to discuss any political settlement until after the war.  Governor Labara, it seems, was not a very good governor.  Most of his edicts were ... useless.  This is a very common problem, to be fair, but made worse by the confused political situation surrounding the planet.”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts.  “They don’t trust us,” he warned.  “And they have no
reason
to trust us.  Our best step, I think, is to agree to their terms and prepare to defend the planet against a far more serious threat.”

“This is a dangerous precedent,” Yegorovich groused.  “Was this how you treated the colonists on Cromwell?”

“There is nothing to be gained by harsh repression,” Prince Henry said.  “
There is a war on
!”

“True,” Harper agreed.  “General Kershaw, begin the landing operation.  I want the ground-based defences in position as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Kershaw said.

Susan frowned, inwardly, as Harper started discussing the task force’s deployment orders and assigning missions to the smaller ships.  She had no idea why Yegorovich was so steamed about the colonists, unless he feared that Russian colonists would be inspired to break their ties with Earth too.  Or maybe he just saw them as traitors to humanity.  Unity had had prospects, once upon a time.  Whatever it had now, it wasn’t quite the same.

“We’ll also evacuate the planet’s population,” Harper added.  “Prince Henry, how many actually want to
leave
?”

“Surprisingly few,” Prince Henry said.  “Almost all of the government workers have elected to leave, along with a handful of colonists, but the vast majority wish to remain in place.  I’ve asked the evacuees to pack a single bag each, then head to the spaceport for pickup.  I anticipate
some
protest.”

“There will
definitely
be some protest,” Kershaw said, bluntly.  “You’ll probably find at least one bastard who thinks he can take everything he owns with him.”

“Order the marines to confiscate anything beyond a single bag,” Harper said.  “And if anyone causes trouble, they can be put in irons for the return journey.”

“Yes, sir,” Kershaw said. 

Susan nodded.  She’d been at school during the Bombardment, but her father had been recalled to the colours and ordered to assist with evacuating vast numbers of people from flood-stuck regions of Britain.  His stories had been terrifying, both of people who had risked life and limb to save their fellows ... and people who had taken advantage of the situation to loot abandoned houses or rape refugees at will.  Some people, he’d said, had been too selfish to
think
about what they were doing.  Trying to cart away their possessions wasted valuable space that could have been used for other refugees.

Harper cleared his throat.  “We appear to have gotten into place ahead of the aliens,” he added, bluntly.  “Does anyone have any concerns?”

“We should be sweeping the next few systems,” Captain Stewart said.  “If the enemy intends to send an attack force towards us, we
should
be able to get a sniff of their presence.”

“Their stealth systems are good,” Harper pointed out.  “But you’re right - we should keep a wary eye on our approaches.”

“There’s another concern,” Jeanette said.  The Frenchwoman looked grim.  “What if the enemy isn't planning to attack?”

Susan scowled.  Intelligence had been sure that the enemy
did
intend to attack, but it was a supposition built on a web of tissue-thin evidence.  It made sense, but it rested on a series of assumptions that might - that
might
- not be accurate.  Politically, defending Unity made sense; strategically, it depended on what the aliens knew - and what they chose to do with that knowledge.  It was quite possible that they had no way to know that Unity existed.

“The logic is sound,” Yegorovich said.  “Even if they don’t care about the planet, they have good reason to want to secure the system.”

“We have orders to secure the system ourselves,” Harper said.  “If no attack materialises, we can rethink our approach.”

“And perhaps push upwards towards enemy-held space,” Susan said.

“Quite,” Yegorovich agreed.  “It is sheer folly to
wait
to be attacked.”

“Our orders stand,” Harper said.  “Now, concerning deployments of our picket ships ...”

***

George let out a sigh of relief as she landed the shuttle neatly in the centre of the spaceport, then sighed as she saw the line of waiting refugees lurking behind the armed and armoured marines.  They looked ... wasted, she decided; they looked as if they couldn't wait to get off the planet, even though they would have to spend the next two months in a cramped transport until they reached Earth or Terra Nova.  She keyed the console, opening the hatch, then leaned back in her chair to catch her breath as the soldiers disembarked, their sergeant shouting commands as they jogged towards the spaceport.

At least it isn't Tadpole Prime
, she thought, numbly. 
Landing there is an absolute nightmare
.

She poured herself a mug of coffee and drank it, slowly, as the marines organised the refugees.  Unity was a breeze, as far as flying was concerned, but she had started to hate the spaceport with a passion.  It was just too small for the dozens of shuttles making their way to and from the task force, while the surface wasn't quite solid and security was a joke.  The marines had set up barriers, trying to get the refugees to line up to be processed before they were flown to orbit, but she was still nervous about accidentally landing on a dog - or a child. 

“Line up,” one of the marines bellowed.  “Keep your bags on your chests until you’re in the seats, then place them under the seat in front of you.”

George gritted her teeth as the refugees swarmed onboard, pushing and shoving even though it was pointless.  There was no way she could get them into orbit any quicker, no matter how loudly they demanded that the shuttle leave immediately.  Hell, she had no idea why they were hurrying.  There was no reason to believe that an attack was about to take place ...

She rose as the last of the refugees sat down - the marines closed and secured the hatch - and checked their belts one by one, feeling rather like an air hostess.  It wasn't a job she’d ever wanted, not after flying marines and soldiers down to the surface.  The vast majority of the refugees were quiet, but there were a handful of screaming children that threatened to deafen her.  She’d never wanted children and now she remembered why.  Too much experience babysitting teenage children during her time at school.

“I need to send a message to the governor,” a middle-aged man said.  “Young lady, I ...”

“Remain seated, sir,” George ordered, flatly.  She had no idea what had happened to the Governor, but there was no way she could send a message to him.  “You can contact the Governor once you’re on the transport.”

She rubbed her forehead as she returned to her seat, then began the pre-flight checks while requesting a launch slot from the makeshift ATC.  Unity didn't have
anything
that passed for an ATC, something that didn't really surprise her when there were only a handful of aircraft on the planet.  The marines had had to set up their own, linking their sensors into the orbital network and the task force starships high overhead.  It was almost frightening to be without the safety net.  God help the colonists, she thought, if they needed an air ambulance or even an emergency shuttle ride to the city.  It wasn't going to come.

Colonists are hardy types
, she reminded herself, firmly. 
And they knew the job was dangerous when they took it
.

“We are cleared for takeoff,” she said, as the authorisation flashed onto her display.  “Do
not
remove your seatbelts without permission.”

“And don’t flirt with the stewardesses either,” one of the marines added.  “And shitting your pants should be kept entirely to yourself.”

George gave him a nasty look, then rested her hands on the controls, taking the shuttle into the air.  The flight was smooth, surprisingly so, but she heard the sound of someone throwing up behind her anyway.  She cursed under her breath - she was going to have to clear up the mess - and then concentrated on the flight.  She’d smelled worse, during her career, but she would have bet good money that some of the other colonists were going to throw up too.

Maybe not that hardy
, she thought, darkly.  The shuttle passed through the upper atmosphere and set course for the transport. 
Why did they even come here anyway?

She overheard some grumbling behind her, but the marines managed to keep it from becoming anything more as she took the shuttle towards the giant transport as fast as possible.  Hundreds of shuttles were buzzing around the airlocks, each one carrying thirty or forty colonists; she docked as soon as she could, then allowed herself a moment of relief as the refugees were urged through the hatch and into the larger ship.  They were in for a nasty surprise, she thought, if they expected private cabins and showers.  They'd be lucky if they had blankets to cover themselves once they were herded into the hold.

They’ll want to go back down
, she told herself, as she disconnected from the transport and set course for
Vanguard
. 
But it’s far too late
.

“The bastard vomited over the chair,” one of the marines said.  “You want me to clean it up?”

George was tempted, but she shook her head.  She was the shuttle pilot.  It was her responsibility.  She’d clean it up as soon as she got back to
Vanguard
, before being ordered to take another flight down to the surface or - more likely - being told to take a nap.  Regs limited just how long a pilot could spend on active duty and she was very definitely pushing the limits.  But as long as there were refugees down on the surface, the operational tempo would have to be maintained.