Mission Zero (Fourth Fleet Irregulars) (3 page)

On the screens beside them were the predominantly left wing liberal campaigners, coming out just as hot and strong on the issue of prisoner rights.  If this was true, they said, if prisoners were going to be employed in front line service, that was a blatant violation of their rights under constitutional law.  And if it was true that they were going to be used as ‘expendables’ in some top secret special ops, that was an outrage and shame not only on the Fleet but on all of society for allowing such an appalling abuse.

‘Hot,’ said Mile, feelingly, ‘is not the word.  This is incandescent!  But I can’t, I
can’t
go with it just like this.  I need
some
kind of higher level info on it just in case it turns out that that lad had his knickers in a knot – yes, all right, all right, I know!’  he over-rode Jerome’s protests and attempts to persuade him that all his information was sound,  ‘but I need more than gossip and a statement from a Sub whose only claim to fame is projectile vomiting.  So just give me a minute, all right?  Back off and keep quiet, I’ll give one of my own sources a call.’

Jerome did as he was told, understanding that he was to stay outside the range of the com-camera.  No names were used, Mile using a headset so that Jerome couldn’t hear the other caller either.  He had, Mile explained, ‘had one of his journos’ in the office telling him a wild tale about them going to be using prisoners on the Minnow in some kind of special ops top secret thing, so he thought he’d better call to get the facts of it before it went to air.

Then he listened for some time, looking keenly interested, sympathetic, tut-tutting with shocked disapproval, and making encouraging noises.  Below the range of the com-cam, however, his right hand was writing on a note screen, which he’d got on echo to the wall-sized scribble board, visible to Jerome but not to the caller.  The words
‘Huge controversy within the Fleet’
appeared first, quickly followed by, ‘
Outrageous’
and,
‘Skipper von Strada a disgrace to the uniform.’
  After a minute or so with the pen poised, the editor’s writing suddenly got a lot bigger and went bright red, with flashing exclamations.  ‘
A dangerous and outrageous experiment!!!
’

‘Well, thank you,’ the editor said, at length.  ‘And yes, we will certainly do our best to make that clear.  Thank you, yes, not at all.’

He ended the call and looked at Jerome, who could feel his heart beating against his ribs like some bird trapped in his rib cage.  It was the dream of every news journalist to catch the big one, breaking a story that would roar out there like thunder.  There was an official conspiracy to use prisoners in a dangerous special ops unit, and he, Jerome Tandeki, ace investigative journalist, had been the one who had uncovered it.  He was going to win major awards for this.  He was going to be famous for the rest of his life.  There would be books written about how he had broken this story, even movies, maybe.  He and the editor looked at one another, and for two seconds there was silence as both of them savoured the pure journalistic bliss.  Then Mile broke into the biggest grin Jerome had ever seen on his face, and gave him a nod.

‘We go,’ he said, and seeing that Jerome was still wearing the slobby casuals with which he blended into spacer bars, told him, ‘Go put on a suit.’

*
*
*

‘Uh… sir?’  Dix Harangay’s adjutant ventured into the First Lord’s office, diffidently because he knew that he was in a meeting.  The First Lord had Senator Dorthang with him.  He was chair of the Senate’s Fleet Sub Committee, and was there to discuss Dix Harangay’s desire to assign more warships to support the Peace Corps on the troubled world of Sixships.  The majority of the Fleet committee were of the view that they were pouring enough resources into Sixships already.  Dix was making a strong pitch, hoping to get the committee’s chair to support him. 

‘I beg your pardon, Senator,’ the adjutant apologised as the Senator raised a startled eyebrow at the interruption, ‘but I feel that you will both wish to be informed of this as a matter of urgency.  Excuse me, sir,’ he had activated the holovision that hung on one wall of the office, informing them, unnecessarily, ‘ABC channel 5.’

Both the First Lord and the Senator got to their feet and walked over to the holovision as if they could not believe what they were seeing, neither of them saying anything as they took in the enormity of it.  Studio presenters were pitching out the headlines.  The latest breaking news was that it had now been confirmed that three ‘prisoners’ were now aboard a liner from Cestus on their way to Chartsey, where they were expected to arrive in about two weeks.  

Behind the journalists was a main-screen image of the frontage of the Admiralty building, with an ABC truck-sized Outside Broadcast Unit as close to the gates as it could get.  A flock of other vans were racing in, journalists running up to join the mob storming at the gate.  The police were just arriving, too, simultaneously with some kind of demonstration pouring off a bus that had just landed, illegally, in the no-park zone.

On sub screens below the presenters, the footage of Sub-Lt Harles Hollis had prominent position, with the infostream running beneath it identifying him as the son of Vice Admiral Miranda Hollis.  Either side of him, the furious ranting reaction Jerome had gathered was blazing away.  It had already been supplemented by much more, including a statement from a senior police officer expressing surprise that the Admiralty could have contemplated employing prisoners in service without feeling it to be appropriate to discuss the issues in that with them.

Senator Dorthang said a word.  In fact, he said several.  Dix, with rather better self-control, merely walked over to the window and stood looking out as if hoping that the scene on the holovision was some kind of illusion.  But no, there they all were, inaudible through the soundproofed privacy glass but clear to see.  The demonstrators were waving hastily made placards with messages he could not see from this angle, though a glance over at the holovision made it clear that they were from the radical group, EGCN, for End Government Conspiracy Now.  Their banners said things like ‘Institutional murder!’, ‘Prisoners are People!’, ‘Human Rights Atrocity!’ and ‘Prisoners are Not Cannon Fodder!’  Another bus was just arriving with a banner streaming down its side reading ‘March for Law and Decency!  No to Pampered Prisoners!’

As the police tried desperately to contain and control the journalists, rival demonstrators and the merely curious who’d come to see what was going on and the first, inevitable arrests were made, First Lord Dix Harangay demonstrated the mettle which had got him appointed to command of the Fleet.  Taking a breath, he squared his shoulders and turned away from the window with a resolute air.

‘All right,’ he said.  ‘Let’s sort this out.’

____________________

Chapter Two

‘Well,’ said Dix, reflectively.  ‘That did not go as well as I had hoped.’

Alex von Strada said nothing.  He had just had to take a shower and launder his uniform after an ill-fated attempt to address the concerns of the various lobbying groups.

Nearly two weeks of effort by the Admiralty to calm the situation and explain the facts had only made it worse.  There was now an almost permanent presence outside their gates of media, demonstrators, onlookers and police.  Dix had himself been obliged to discuss the matter with the Senate Fleet Sub-Committee and had been summoned to the president’s office, too, to answer some very tough questions. 

The matter had been raised, indeed, and discussed in open Senate, though Senator Dorthang had been on the spot for that one, as chair of the Fleet Sub-Committee.  He had stood by them absolutely, confirming the facts of the matter just as Dix had in his meeting with the president and asserting that there were no grounds for any of the allegations being made about the scheme. 

This, as he had stressed, was a matter of military discipline.  The unfortunate Ordinary Star Higgs, had he punched someone in the face in the course of an argument in the street, would not have been sent to prison at all for that as a first offence causing no serious injury.  He would have been far more likely to be sentenced to a period of probation and community service.  It was only the fact that it had been an officer he’d struck, on duty, which had made it so serious that he had been given a custodial sentence.  The determination had already been made at his appeal that he would be offered the opportunity to resume service with the Fleet upon his release.  O/S Higgs might have had some minor incidents of refractory behaviour on his record, but he had never been violent; the circumstances of that incident had been extreme and were highly unlikely to occur again.

Those who had an axe to grind, however, had not paid the slightest attention to that and as the days had gone on, those attempting to deal with it had encountered a curious and incredibly frustrating phenomenon.  It did not seem to matter at all what they said.  People either just flat out didn’t believe them and yelled ‘cover up!’ and ‘conspiracy!’ or they picked out the one bit of what was said which could be twisted for their own purposes.

Even publishing the Fourth Irregulars’ constitution hadn’t helped.  The ‘lock up em up and throw away the key’ brigade shouted about the part which gave parolees the same shoreleave rights as any other member of the crew, ranting about the menace to society of these criminals allowed to go about in public.  The victim-action lot shouted over the part that said that good conduct would be rewarded with treats.  And, of course, the prisoner rights crowd railed on relentlessly that it was wrong to use prisoners in front line military, on principle, full stop.

Today, with the hysteria rising to even greater heights with the arrival of the liner from Cestus expected the following day, Dix had made what he’d felt to be a last ditch effort to address those concerns.  He had arranged for the leadership of all but the most rabid protest groups to be invited to a special meeting at the Admiralty, promising them the opportunity to put their concerns and questions to Skipper von Strada in person.

That had been a faint hope, he knew.  Alex von Strada’s gifts did not lie in public oratory.  He was Novaterran, for a start, a world with a very strong culture of public dignity.  That stone-faced public manner was actually an asset to Alex in the Fleet, where formality and dignity were highly prized, but it did not always work for him very well in circumstances where a degree of personal charm would help, as when facing a conference room full of angry activists.  Dix had tried to get him to approach it as a professional exercise, advising him on body language, eye contact, and keeping to straightforward civilian language.  And he had, too, just before they’d gone in, told him, ‘And for pity’s sake
smile
.’

He’d regretted that, later.  Alex had certainly done his best, Dix knew that, unflinching even under the barrage of furious yells.  His impersonal military authority had not gone down at all well with the activists, however, and when he had suddenly remembered his orders and attempted a smile even Dix had felt alarmed.  Alex’s mouth had pinned into a shark-like rictus but his eyes had remained ice cold, a look so menacing it was almost psychotic. 

That had been the point at which the activists had gone berserk.  Alex had handled it calmly, as if being howled at and spat on by a raging mob was an everyday experience, but if anything, his calm demeanour seemed to inflame them even more.  Dix had been obliged to take him out, leaving security to handle the riot.

Alex’s gaze reproached him with an unspoken,
I told you that wouldn’t work
, and Dix had the grace to acknowledge as much with a resigned sigh.

‘Well, never mind,’ he said.  ‘We’ll go to plan… well, it’s not plan B, is it?  We must be at least up to plan W, by now.  We can’t carry on like this.  It’s intolerable.  So what I suggest is that we get your recruits aboard ship as quickly as we can once the liner arrives, get them checked over, and if they’re good to go, get you out of the system as fast as you can launch.’

Alex’s expression changed from the look of set determination it had had, betraying both surprise and gratitude.  He had been bracing himself there for the First Lord telling him that this was just obviously impossible and that, in the circumstances, they had better give way to public opinion and terminate the scheme.  Dix had told him at the start that he would not do that, that the scheme would go ahead regardless, but Alex had seen the immense pressure both he and the rest of the Admiralty were under.  He would not have blamed him, really, for feeling that the project was just untenable in these circumstances. 

‘There’s no question of it being terminated, then?’ he queried, cautiously.

‘Alex,’ Dix told him, ‘if you are going to become a Lord of the Admiralty yourself some day you really must get a basic grip on politics.  Quite apart from the principle of holding to an entirely legitimate, ethical scheme and not letting that be beaten down by the howling of a ranting mob who don’t even know what they’re ranting about, there is absolutely no
way
that either I or the Senate Sub-Committee would pull out of this project now.  To do so would be regarded by all those ranting about it as an admission that we had been doing something untoward, which we are not, and the damage we would take from that would be a thousand times worse than the cack we’re getting now.  All we can do, all we can
possibly
do, is stand on our integrity and let the mob howl itself out.