The Orphan Alliance (The Black Ships Book 3) (25 page)

En
Route to Oaxes

E
iboekna kept her face impassive, but her eyes showed her lack of
decision. She set the mug on the coffee table. “An interesting drink,” she
allowed. “Bitter, but not unpleasantly so, and sweet as well. It might find a
market, here in the Republic.”

“This isn’t
the Republic anymore,” Harry corrected her with a polite smile on his face. “We
entered Alliance territory three hours ago.”

She sighed,
conceding the point with a slight incline of her head. “Wherever we are, I’ve
found what I was sent to find, gods help me.”

“You were
sent to find us, but why?” Harry watched the wisps of vapor drifting out
of  his mug. Towers had given him a supply of the beans brought by the
Pandora
.
It almost made up for what the Navy had done to him more than a decade ago.

“I was sent
to broker a peace between you and the Dactari.”

“That
simple, huh?” Harry looked up at her with amusement. “I wouldn’t get my hopes
up if I were you. We’re just starting to make serious progress against the
Republic. I can’t imagine Towers and Caul would be eager to suddenly stop
beating the enemy and make peace – not when there are so many worlds out there
that might want to join our cause.”

His
expression hardened. “I don’t imagine you’ll convince the Dactari, either. They
have the crazy idea lodged in their collective mindset that we should be their
subjects. Only way to change a Dactari’s mind is to put a bullet through it.”

“Why do you
hate them so much?”

Harry took
a drink, taking time to think about the question. “When I was captured at
Oaxes, they interrogated me by putting me into one of their training pods. They
forced me to watch dozens of families being executed from the perspective of
the parents. I was forced to live the last moments of the planet’s resistance leaders
because the emotional turmoil of the experience let them slip into my mind and
steal my own memories.” He shuddered. “I’ve seen them at their worst.”

“That was
centuries ago.” Eiboekna reached out for her coffee. “The Dactari who live
today shouldn’t be held responsible for the crimes of ancestors many
generations in the past.”

Harry
leaned back, staring at the myriad of conduits and pipes that adorned the
ceiling of every warship.
Crimes,
he mused.
An officer is guilty of a
crime if he carries out an unlawful order
.
But what constitutes a lawful
order here?
“An interesting point,” he remarked. “Were they really
considered crimes under Imperial law?” He looked over at her. “Were the
soldiers ever prosecuted for those killings, or were their actions approved of
by your own family?”

Eiboekna
held his gaze silently, her lips drawn tight.

“Perhaps
one of your ancestors watched a recording of the mutilation of those children
and expressed his admiration of the troops involved.” Harry could see the
turmoil behind her eyes, and he felt a sudden guilt. He decided to ease up.

He had left
captivity with a deep hatred of the Dactari, having been through a gut
wrenching experience at their hands. He had a new facet to consider now. The
Dactari may have carried out the killings, but it was the Bolshari emperor who
had demanded their obedience.

Now his
hate for the enemy was less clear. The Bolshari involvement muddied the waters
and he found he had no desire to start over with a new hatred. The Bolshari
were still a step removed from his first-hand memories, and he had a feeling
that vilifying either species was nothing more than a simple expedient to avoid
learning the real lesson.

Humans
are capable of the same barbarity.
He had seen that reflected in Eiboekna’s eyes
when he’d killed thousands of enemies aboard the crippled troop ship.

“Even if we
put the past aside, I would still have ample reason to keep fighting.” He set
down his empty mug. “They
did
bring mass drivers to my home world three
years ago.”

She looked
as though she had been slapped. The presence of mass drivers signaled a clear
intention to destroy Earth if they failed to conquer it.

Harry
smiled grimly. “I see I’ve managed to shake your view of this conflict.” He
nodded to himself. “Perhaps we can change the Dactari mindset as well?”

Alliance Territory

R
eis
walked onto the bridge from his cabin. It was time to explain his scheme, and
it was a good one. This region might seem unremarkable at first glance, but it
was a key transit point linking the three Alliance-held worlds. They would take
a page from their enemy’s book and use old ships to create singularities. They
would knock ships out of distortion and either board them or destroy them.

If the space between the Alliance worlds became unsafe for
commercial traffic, then the new Alliance planets would quickly turn from
assets to liabilities. The enemy would find themselves trying to pacify
three
angry populations, rather than just one.

Properly executed, his strategy would turn the recent enemy
victories into strategic defeats. With their forces divided between three
increasingly-hostile worlds, their abilities would be strained to the limits.
Their morale would plummet and they would have three starving worlds to deal
with.

Though he had come onto the bridge to address the fleet, he
stood there in silence. Something felt very different. He had been fighting
since his early childhood, first in the slums of his home prefecture, and later
in the military. He had developed a sense for danger and the bridge hummed with
it.

Nobody would meet his eye, preferring, instead, to look to
the second officer.

The worst thing he could do would be to act like a leader on
the verge of a mutiny. Just as he could sense the dangerous mood on the bridge,
so could
they
sense hesitation or weakness from him.

“We have an opportunity to turn the enemy’s gains against
them,” he announced brusquely.

“That may be, sir,” the second officer interrupted, “but we
must first set our
own
world to rights.”

“You dare to speak out of turn, Sub-Flota?” He forced an
edge of menace into his tone. He had to sound like an officer who had millennia
of harsh discipline on his side. Any crew contemplating mutiny also had to
consider the specter of quinqaugination.

The most brutal sentence for any unit in Republic service,
quinqaugination broke the entire crew down into pairs. One man in each pair was
then given a vine wood cudgel. If he failed to beat his partner to death within
five minutes, the next five pairs would be slaughtered outright. A crewman
might wish to spare his comrade, but few ever did so at the expense of ten
others, or five – considering the fact that half of them would have died
anyway.

 One full unit of basic induction training was
dedicated entirely to the process. The official purpose masqueraded as a
kindness – showing the recruits how to give their condemned partner a quick
clean death. The real purpose was simply to shock them, forcing them to keep
the threat in the back of their minds.

“I speak out of turn, Flota, because I must,” the second
replied sadly. “Our leaders have betrayed the ideals of the Republic. They have
covered us all in a web of deceit. We cannot conduct a proper defense of our
people when we have no idea of the true situation.”

The flota had to admit he had a point, but this was hardly
the right way to have this conversation. “We may not know the entire picture,
Sub-Flota, but we do know that we can be of great use to our people right
here.” He waved a hand out the bridge windows.

His second officer shook his head obstinately. “First, we
must set our own house in order.” He looked around the bridge, seeing
encouragement there. “We’re taking the fleet to Dactar. They can’t stop us all
and they can’t prevent us from broadcasting to the entire planet.”

“Broadcasting?” the flota blurted. “What in eighteen hells
are you planning to do?”

“We will expose the incompetence of the ruling council and
the Triumvirs,” the second replied, a gleam in his eyes. “We will force them to
face the consequences of their actions!” He reached out a hand, palm up. “Will
you lead us in this historic calling?”

“I will not,” Reis replied calmly. As far as he was
concerned, the military had no business meddling in politics. It set a
dangerous precedent, representing a risk at least as great as the lies and
incompetence that had pushed the second over the brink.

“Then we will have to confine you to your quarters until
we’ve rescued the Republic from itself.” The second waved to the guards at the
portside hatch and they approached to take the flota into custody.

Never make a zealot into a priest,
Reis thought,
seeing the fervor of his bridge crew,
nor a patriot into a commissar.
He
had allowed his second to poison the crew and at least half of them would die
for it.

Presh, Oaxes

H
arry stood in front of Haldita’s ornate throne. Colonel Adams was beside
him, looking as though he might like to kill something – Haldita perhaps. The
satrap looked at both men with an air of supreme confidence.

Harry
hadn’t been back in Presh for an hour before Adams sought him out at a greasy
spoon near their new headquarters. They had expected games from Haldita over
the tax revenue, but this went beyond their wildest imagination.

“Colonel
Adams tells me we have an issue with the taxes?” Harry began politely.

“Yes,”
Haldita nodded. “During the fight against the Dactari, our people were forced
to cause much damage to our infrastructure.” He waved a steward forward, taking
a cup of tea from the tray. He offered none to his visitors, preferring instead
to keep them standing before him as petitioners. “Many pedestrian bridges were
destroyed so that we could trap the enemy and wipe them out, landing sites were
obstructed…”

“Please
come to the point,” Harry interrupted politely but firmly.

An incline
of the head, an amused, indulgent smile. “Very well. We must repair our cities
before we can afford to hand over a major portion of our revenue.” He held up a
hand to forestall the outburst that showed itself in Adams’ features. “Of
course, we will make every effort to provide funds in the interim.” A negligent
wave of the hand. “On a case-by-case basis.”

Is this
just his opening position for a negotiation or is he truly expecting me to come
groveling every time we need money?
Either way, it set a dangerous precedent. Such
an arrangement ensured that Harry and his forces would be under the satrap’s
thumb. If he controlled their money, he controlled
them.
They would have
been better off staying in Weiran orbit. He fought to suppress a smile as the
thought presented him with his solution.

They would
be better off leaving – at least as far as Haldita would know.

“That will
not do,” Harry replied calmly. “We cannot leave ourselves subject to whim.” He
waited just long enough for Haldita to open his mouth before he continued.
“Colonel Adams,” he said, keeping his gaze on the satrap. “Begin recovering
your troops from the surface. I want all Alliance personnel back aboard by the
start of second watch.”

The order
was ludicrous. Tens of thousands of Marines were already scattered around
several cities, having been ferried by every shuttle in the task force before
the departure for Chula 565. Most of them were out on foot patrol or off on
leave. It would take days to get them all back.

To his
credit, Adams kept any sign of surprise from his face. “Yes, sir. I’ll have to
warn the mess hall on the
Salamis
that they’ll have a lot of extra
customers for dinner.”

Word had
already begun to spread about how Alliance soldiers were actually
paying
for their meals. They were already receiving a wary welcome as liberators, but
their reputation as good customers was spreading like wildfire. It was unheard
of on the fringe worlds. Just an hour ago, Harry had overheard the owner of a
dingy little lunch-bar telling his customers that the Alliance troops were more
than welcome in his establishment.

By
extension, Harry took that to mean that the owner welcomed them to Oaxes as
well. He knew the restaurant owners of this world were quickly becoming an
unofficial arm of his public affairs division.

And the
people of Oaxes would not look kindly on a satrap who drove the Alliance off
for the sake of his own greed. Haldita’s face showed confusion.

“We’ll have
to try our luck elsewhere,” Harry channeled his amusement into a tone of
regret. “A few worlds in this region have produced systems for Weirfall in the
past. They might be persuaded to join us in return for exclusive market
access.”

 “You
can’t leave,” Haldita blurted. He set his tea down on the arm of his throne,
but it overbalanced on the edge and tumbled to the floor. He didn’t even seem
to notice the crash as the fine porcelain struck the sandstone floor.

“Well, not
without explaining ourselves to the people,” Harry gave the satrap a friendly
smile. “Nobody will blame you, Haldita. Your hands are tied, as you’ve
explained.”

If they
weren’t tied, then they would be soon enough. When Oaxians learned that their
warlord had been driven away by a greedy administrator, they would hang him by
his feet in the arena and turn wild animals loose. They were committed, now
that they had killed the security troops, and they would suffer horribly
without Alliance military support.

And Harry
was now something of a cultural icon, the living embodiment of Orontes.

“We might be
able to allocate two percent of the planetary revenue to your forces.” Haldita
had slid to the forward edge of his throne.

“See to the
embarkation of our troops, Colonel,” Harry ordered, ignoring the satrap. “I’ll
talk with the media-posters out front. We owe the citizens of this world an
explanation.”

“Perhaps as
much as five percent, if I can have a few moments to consult with the records.”
Haldita had slid off the cushion. His buttocks were on the stony forward edge
of the throne.

That gave
Haldita half of the revenue that used to go to the Republic. It represented a
sizeable profit for the satrap, but Harry was in no mood to enrich this fool.
“Ten,” he replied.

Haldita
darted a glance at Adams’ departing form. “Ten?” he hissed. “Are you insane?”

“Perhaps,”
Harry shrugged. “I haven’t had an evaluation in the last six months.” He
smiled. “I wish you and your people the best of luck.” He turned and walked
toward the exit. Several popular social-media personalities had seen the two
Humans enter. By now the foyer would be filled with Oaxians whose opinions were
highly valued and they would be posting live video as he came out of the throne
room.

He made it
halfway to the huge stone door.

“Alright,”
the satrap shrieked. “Ten.”

Harry
turned to see Haldita standing at the bottom step of the dais. “I’ll wait
here,” he promised, raising his arm to open an account window on his wrist pad.
“If I see the revenue feed flowing into the account before I get bored, I’ll
just smile for the cameras and get to work.”

Haldita
nodded dumbly, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

Harry
looked ostentatiously at the pad, then back at the satrap, who jerked into
motion, scampering out a side door. He brought up Adams’ icon and opened a
channel. “Hold off on the recall.”

“Recall?”
Adams laughed. “And here I was already half done.” He put on a sober face.
“Yes, sir. I’ll hold off on giving any orders unless I hear from you.” He had
put the slightest stress on the word ‘unless’, the substitution for the word
‘until’ clearly indicating he expected no formal recall order.

Harry
closed the channel.
That went well, I think.
The satrap had attempted to
take the whip hand, but he had been over-playing a weak hand. He looked down to
see funds flowing into the account balance. His finance officers would have to
confirm the percentage.

But it was
a damn good half hour’s work.