Renegade (5 page)

“Well,” said Erik, not really knowing what to think. Except that it sounded amazing, the kind of big-picture thinking missing from your standard corporate job. “That… that sounds like something far above someone of my current rank.”

Anjo smiled broadly. “It does, doesn’t it? There would be a significant promotion involved… bear in mind you’d be one of a number of people performing this role, the territories we’ve captured are vast. But we’d like to have people who’d like to build a longer career in Fleet, people who are young and ambitious, like yourself. And you know, this kind of thing would lead to some serious administrative responsibility, especially in another few years when it starts really rolling out. That kind of experience could be invaluable for someone seeking a political role in the future — you know Spacer Congress, they take hands-on experience above everything.”

Well not quite everything, Erik thought. Money helped. Connections. Suddenly he felt uneasy, excitement fading. He was the son of one of the most powerful industrialists in human space. Family loyalties on one side, Fleet duties on the other. The perfect liaison between both, particularly as those interests did not always see eye to eye.

Anjo saw his uncertainty. “You’ve a question, Lieutenant Commander?”

“Yes sir. It’s just that… am I getting this offer because of my surname?”

Anjo’s jaw set. “Fleet’s policy is to only promote the best, son. Do you think I’d circumvent that policy?”

“No sir. It’s just that… well, surrounding my promotion to Lieutenant Commander in the first place. You know, there were rumours, people talked. About the son of Alice Debogande just happening to end up on the
Phoenix
, and… well, sometimes I couldn’t help wondering if…”

“Well then listen. Erik.” The smile returned. “Let me put your mind at ease. I’ve heard those rumours too — spacers talk worse than old women. But hear this, straight from the top. Captain Pantillo asked for you himself.”

Erik blinked. His jaw dropped slightly open. “He did?”

Anjo nodded. “You couldn’t be told before because the process behind each promotion is strictly confidential, of course. But now that the war’s over, we’re relaxing a little on that — he might even tell you himself, if you asked. It was his request, Fleet Command had nothing to do with it.”

Erik exhaled hard, and sat back in his chair. Ran a hand over his short, tight hair. “That’s… that’s very interesting to hear, Admiral. Thank you for telling me. Because, you know, I shouldn’t have questioned it… but being from this family…” he gestured about him, at the high ceilings, wide windows, the gleaming, cavernous wealth. “It’s hard not to wonder.”

Anjo smiled. “Completely understandable. So Lieutenant Commander. Can I take your response as a genuine expression of interest back to my superiors?”

Superiors. Anjo only had two of those, in Fleet. In Spacer Congress, only equals — the War Council placed elected civilians alongside Fleet Admirals in deciding the course of the war, but in truth, no one outranked Supreme Commander Chankow. Who, Anjo was now suggesting, he would be reporting to on this matter.

“Yes,” said Erik with a smile. “Yes Admiral, please do.”

T
he thing
with being very wealthy that a lot of less wealthy people didn’t understand was that you didn’t have to own everything yourself. As a Debogande, you could just make things happen with a call… like when Lisbeth thought Erik would like to go sailing, for the ultimate experience of wide expanses and freedom after so long in a cramped spaceship. She called Aunt Michelle, who was a member at the yacht club, and soon enough a friend had offered them a catamaran for the day.

It was a forty footer, an automated monster that still left enough ropes and winches free to make you feel like a participant. Lisbeth loved to sail having been taught by her dad, who came along with Cora and Diego. Everyone else was busy, but five was about the perfect number, Lisbeth captaining at her father’s insistence while the men and Cora ran about the huge elastic expanse between hulls and got soaked by the chop exploding off the surface.

The wind was only moderate a few kilometres off shore, but the cat’s huge wingsail converted every breath into motion and they skated across the heaving ocean at a good eighteen knots. Erik loved it, the fresh wind and the salty ocean on his skin, batwing flying fish leaping away from the cat’s approach in flashing silver schools. Every now and then something fast and military would go flying over with a roar — Shiwon was still a hive of military activity, but out here with his family, Erik could almost forget that just a few weeks ago, he hadn’t known if he was going to live another day.

They stayed out for hours, before grumbling stomachs told them it was time for lunch, and they turned the cat for shore. The yacht club was twenty kilometres up the coast from Shiwon Harbour, the hills rising green and lush beyond the shore, and tall houses behind the beach. They edged carefully between flotillas of expensive sailboats and motorised launches, the wingsail trimmed and keel brakes deployed to keep the speed down, and Erik was quite impressed at how certain Lisbeth was in charge, issuing commands at just the right moments, and never so forceful that she’d grate on the nerves.

“So how’s Mum with the whole engineering thing?” he asked Lisbeth as they waited at the wheel for the others to tie the cat to the pier.

“Oh you know,” Lisbeth sighed. Her hair was more African-frizzy than Erik’s or Cora’s. She took advantage by pinning it up and playing, and now it shone with water droplets. “It’s not a thing for girls, she says. But Dad’s fine, so she leaves it alone now. She doesn’t like arguing with him.”

“Still like to join Fleet?”

“Oh I’d love to! But Mum would really hit the ceiling, and I don’t think even Dad would be too happy.” She looked a little forlorn.

“Cheer up Lis.” Erik put an arm around her shoulders. “You might not be able to serve on warships, but with your degree you’ll end up working with Katerina in charge of making the damn things.”

“Yeah but how much better a naval engineer would I make if I’d actually served on them, and know what they were like to operate from the inside? Besides, it’s a dumb family rule. Only boys can serve, I mean it’s not fair is it? It’s not fair on me because I can’t choose my career, and it’s not fair on you because you’ve had to risk your neck while all us girls have been sitting at home.”

In truth, Erik wasn’t so sure. Fleet had been an eye-opener, not only to be around ‘ordinary’ people, but to discover that most of them didn’t share Alice’s notion of gender decorum. Alice had no problem with women being strong, but she
did
believe very strongly in the importance of traditional social roles. Women should organise and administer, she believed, and thus running a business was just a natural extension of what women had always done — organise families and households. But actually breaking a sweat in anything more strenuous than a game of tennis was man’s work. From Academy onward, Erik had had his butt handed to him in physical pursuits by so many competent women that he’d concluded that his mother’s opinions were slightly daft. But he couldn’t deny that he still felt protective of some of his female comrades in a way that he didn’t of the men… and the thought of his sister sitting post on some warship on an assault run through a hostile system made his blood run cold.

“I’m pretty glad you weren’t out there with me Lis,” he said quietly. “I mean really.”

“Was it that bad?” Lisbeth asked earnestly.

“Not all of it, no. But the worst bits were… just awful. I wouldn’t want you to go through that.”

“But we all have, haven’t we? As a species, we’ve all been through that. Or that’s what the stories all say, how we’ve struggled as human beings together. Only we haven’t really, have we? Some of us have suffered, while others of us have sat and watched. And applauded when the real heroes come home. It’s enough to make me feel like a fraud for ever having listened to those stories at all.”

Erik smiled at her. “I forgot you’re the college debating champ. That was good.”

“Hah,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “That’s just from arguing with Mother, I only joined the debating club because I thought I should put those skills to use.”

“And it doesn’t convince me that everyone should be in the fight. It’s not for everyone, Lis. And it’s for those of us who know we’re good at it to do it well so all those others don’t
have
to.”

“You don’t think I’d be good?” With a hurt expression. Erik blinked at her, wondering how to try again… and realised she was playing with him. “Scamp,” he said, giving her a shove as she laughed.

They left the cat as tidy as they’d been given it, and walked up the narrow wooden pier between neighbouring yachts. As they approached the shore, Erik saw two black marine uniforms waiting, one tall and one not. Major Thakur and Lieutenant Dale, he recognised with surprise. He waved cheerfully, and was surprised further that they did not wave back. In fact, they both looked grim.

“Marines,” Erik addressed them as he took the lead in his party. A little self-conscious in his wet civvies, while they were immaculate in their dress uniforms. He wondered what they’d been up to since he saw them last. It didn’t look like they’d been having any fun. “What brings you here?”

“You need to come with us,” said Thakur. Her voice was cold and hard, and her words did not sound polite. Off-ship she did technically outrank him, but still…

Erik drew himself up. “What’s going on?” he retorted, mindful of the audience behind him.

“What’d you tell him?” Dale snarled from Thakur’s shoulder. “Fucking Admiral Anjo, what did you tell him?”

Erik was shocked. “Lieutenant, that’s no way to speak of a superior officer!” he snapped as command reflex reasserted itself. As Thakur held up a hand to stop Dale from speaking further. From Thakur to Dale, a hand was all it took. “Explain yourselves!”

“The Captain’s been arrested,” said Thakur. Erik stared at her, not quite believing he’d heard that. “Placed in detention prior to court-martial proceedings. What did you tell Admiral Anjo?”

Erik stared. “Court-martial? For what?”

“We don’t know, they won’t say. He’s in isolation, no one’s allowed to see him. Huang’s up at the ship, so you’re now senior
Phoenix
command on the ground. What did you tell Admiral Anjo?”

“I… I told him…” That he’d be happy to accept a big promotion for a senior job in Fleet Command. Anjo had to have known. Court-martialing any senior captain, let alone one with the record and reputation of Pantillo, was a huge move. Anjo would be in on it, no question. And he’d just paid Pantillo’s third-in-command a home visit that very morning, and not thought to mention it? Fishy didn’t begin to describe it.

And this offer of huge promotion and responsibility, to a relatively junior and untested officer… a coincidence? To get him onside? To drive a wedge between him and Pantillo? Between him and the crew of
Phoenix
? He looked at the marines’ eyes, and saw hard suspicion… in Dale’s eyes at least. Thakur was as always unreadable. Isolate the rich boy whose promotional advances to date everyone was already suspicious of? Make sure Family Debogande wasn’t in Pantillo’s corner?

What the hell was going on?

“We have to go and see the Captain,” he said. “Now.”

“They’re not letting anyone see him,” Thakur repeated coolly.

“Oh they’ll let me see him,” Erik muttered. “Or I’ll bring the fucking roof down on their heads.”

T
hey went home first
, to silence and concern from the family, while Erik put on the dress uniform, and the marines waited outside in the garden. No one ventured any of them any questions — Alice put a stop to those who tried. This was Erik’s business, Fleet business, and he need not be troubled at this point by family concerns. Erik was grateful for it, and took a family cruiser to the city with Thakur in the passenger seat, and Dale in the rear.

“What did Admiral Anjo say to you?” Thakur asked again. Erik realised he hadn’t answered her the other times.

“He offered me a job as a colonial administrator,” he said shortly. “Helping to industrialise the new territorial possessions.”

“That seems like an enormous promotion for someone with very little relevant experience,” Thakur said matter-of-factly.

“Yes it does, doesn’t it?” Erik muttered.

“What did you say?”

“I said yes.” Thakur seemed to shake her head slightly, and gaze out the windows at the approaching city towers. “What would
you
have said?”

“They don’t offer these things to normal people,” Thakur answered. “That’s the point.”

“And you’re a normal person, are you?”

Thakur’s lips twisted slightly. “Relative to you, I’m positively pedestrian.”

Erik felt his temper boil. Usually he was good at holding it, but today it was too much. “And so what?” he snapped. “Am I supposed to apologise for the conditions of my birth? I’m not in control of any of this, Major. I have no idea whether I receive favourable treatment or not, I certainly never asked for it. I can’t go around apologising for every damn thing that other people give to me.”

“No,” Thakur agreed with measured calm. “None of us are in control of anything. We just go along as it comes. Your family in particular.”

“You know, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that one day, Lieutenant Commander Debogande, you’ll have to either grab the wheel, or admit that you just don’t care, and go where ever your fortuitous life takes you.”

“Well fuck you,” Erik retorted. “I don’t care what row of tin you wear on your chest. If you’re going to accuse me of something, come out with it straight and stop insinuating like a coward.”

“You watch that tone with the Major, boy,” Dale warned from the rear seat.

Thakur held up her hand again, and Dale silenced. But she was smiling. “That’s much better,” she told Erik. “More like that, and we might just get through this.”

F
leet HQ was located
on the edge of southern Shiwon against the Feicui Hills, and could be seen from orbit with the naked eye. Erik, Thakur and Dale marched from parking across the huge central courtyard, large enough to land a squadron of assault shuttles on. It was centred by an eternal flame that burned within an inspired artistic scaffold, many storeys high. In concentric circles around it, inscribed in the acres of paving, the names of worlds conquered and battles fought, across the last twelve hundred years. There were thousands of inscriptions, some of them dating back to Sol System, and the krim invasion. Touring the courtyard was a ritual of all Fleet officer training on Homeworld — by the end of three years all cadets were expected to be able to march from one important battle to another, blindfolded.

They headed for one of the surrounding ring of glass towers, and were admitted past armed guards and automated security with their Fleet IDs. The circular, central foyer was awash with uniforms, striding, talking, pursuing various business. Hats off, Erik and the marines waited for an elevator, then rode it up to the twenty-third floor.

Then more halls and offices, busy with staff. Erik knew the way well enough — he’d done six months here straight out of the Academy, learning how to salute while walking without bumping into things. And not much else, he thought sourly, entering the main reception for First Fleet Command. An Ensign glanced at him from behind her desk.

“Lieutenant Commander, can I help you?”

Erik walked briskly to front her. “Lieutenant Commander Erik Debogande, third-shift
UFS Phoenix
, reporting to Rear Admiral Bennet.”

The Ensign glanced at her screen. “Yes Lieutenant Commander, she’s currently in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?”

“Please tell her I’m here,” Erik told her. “I’ll wait.” He turned on his heel, strode to a seat by the wall, and sat. Thakur and Dale joined him, not a word spoken. The baffled Ensign spoke quietly into a com.

“She doesn’t know,” Thakur murmured. “They’re keeping it quiet.”

“This is all kinds of fucked up,” Dale muttered. “Court-martial for what?”

“The flanking jump to Dhuvo system,” said Erik. Both marines looked at him. “It was irregular.”

“It was brilliant,” said Thakur.

“Yes, and irregular. Typical Captain. But he left the scene of the battle to hit the reinforcements before they came in. If someone’s being a total ass hat, which seems increasingly likely, they might book him for leaving the battle without orders.”

“Thus saving everyone’s ass,” said Thakur. “Captains always improvise, with light-delay in battle it’s impossible to wait for orders in an unfolding fight.”

“You don’t need to tell me, Major,” Erik said through clenched teeth. “I’ve flown the damn ship.”

“And you’re
sure
Fleet Admiral Anjo said nothing about a court-martial when you talked to him?” Erik just glared at her. It had no effect on Thakur at all. She looked at the file-pushers at work behind their desks instead, broodingly thoughtful.

The Ensign Erik had spoken to got their attention. “Lieutenant Commander? The Rear Admiral will see you now. Just you,” as the marines made to follow him. Neither protested, and Erik continued down the hall.

Rear Admiral Bennet was in charge of personnel administration for all of First Fleet. Her office looked out over the huge courtyard and flame. From above, it looked like a solar system, with the flame at the centre where a sun should be, orbited by the many thousands of places where human Fleet had lost ships and lives. Erik walked in and stood to attention before her desk.

“Rear Admiral, Lieutenant Commander Erik Debogande reporting.”

Bennet let him stand at attention, leaning back in her chair with a frown. She was a tall woman, with blonde hair pulled back in a bun, accentuating sharp cheekbones. “I did not order you to report, Lieutenant Commander.”

“No Admiral. Fleet disciplinary proceedings manual, chapter five, section 23-D; in the event that a ship captain is court-martialled, junior command staff should report to the appropriate Fleet Command administrative officer. In this case, that would be you.”

A brief silence from Bennet, as though she were checking that reg on uplinks. “Yes,” she said, a little uncertainly. “Yes, that would be me.”

“Admiral, I request to know on what charge Captain Pantillo is being court-martialled.”

“I’m sorry Lieutenant Commander, that information is covered under wartime secrecy. I’m not at liberty to divulge it.”

Erik stared at her. “I can’t know what my own Captain is charged with?”

“That is correct. And neither can you discuss this case with anyone else, military or civilian, outside of this office. Should you fail to observe this restriction, you yourself could be up on charges. Do you understand?”

Erik blinked. “I understand, but…”

“This is a matter of operational review,” Bennet continued. “No one can discuss Fleet tactics, past, present or future without clearance, least of all with civilians. The media can’t touch this, and would risk prison time if they did.”

Her eyes sought understanding from him. Erik felt incredulity battling cold disbelief. Bennet was worried about outside reaction… and so she should be, Pantillo was a hero. But she hadn’t expected to see Erik here, that much was obvious. It felt like a rush-job, Fleet was a big institution and wires were frequently crossed, one hand on the thousand-armed-beast not knowing what the other nine hundred were doing. Probably she’d thought someone else had already dealt with him. That would mean this whole thing was cooked up recently, with little planning. Court-martials never happened like that. Never. Or at least, they weren’t
supposed
to…

“Now I understand that Commander Huang is currently back on
Phoenix
?”

Erik nodded. “Yes Admiral.”

“Which with the Captain in detention makes you senior
Phoenix
command staff on the ground. You are responsible for all
Phoenix
crew still on Homeworld until Commander Huang is ordered to return.”

“Is there an ETA on that Admiral?”

“Not at this time. Now I’m half a mind to order
Phoenix
crew to barracks, but I’m advised that’s not practical at this time. Whether the situation remains like that depends on their ability to keep their mouths shut. Do you understand?”

“Yes Admiral.” Talk, and we’ll lock you on base with no coms, that meant. “Admiral, I request JAG representation at this point, as is my right under Section 31-B.”

Bennet frowned. “You haven’t been charged with anything, Lieutenant Commander.”

“My testimony in the upcoming court-martial will be integral to proceedings,” Erik replied, still stiff and straight before the Rear Admiral’s desk. “I am third-shift commander on
Phoenix
, I have commanded the ship before in combat, I know her capabilities and I know the Captain. I also happen to know that he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Noted,” Bennet said coolly.

“And the regs say I’m allowed JAG assistance to help me prepare.”

“Lieutenant Commander… I’m not sure that’s necessary at this…”

“I’m not asking what you are and aren’t sure of, Admiral,” Erik said coldly, meeting her gaze directly. “I’m informing you what
I’m
sure of. And I’m sure that this is my procedural right. Denied that right, I will go higher.”

Bennet glared at him.

T
he Judge Advocate General
officer was Captain Sudip — army, young and quite wide-eyed about this crazy thing Fleet had just dumped in his lap. They sat in a diner booth, one of dozens of restaurants about the base, but the booth provided at least some privacy. The windows looked away from Shiwon, onto the low campus buildings sprawling up the green hills behind — the Admiral Shuan Academy, and bringing back for Erik a three-year rush of memories.

“It’s been declared an S-1,” Sudip told Erik and the two marines in a low voice beneath the hubbub of diner conversation. Sudip was thin, bookish and well spoken, the kind of guy who wouldn’t have lasted a week on combat deployment. But Erik had learned not to disrespect those kinds. Not everything Fleet did involved blowing things up, and in those other things, officers like Sudip were often invaluable. “That’s the highest level of secrecy. I wasn’t aware they could even
do
that for a legal proceedings…”

“Who can authorise that?” Erik pressed.

Sudip swallowed hard. “Well no one below the very top level. I mean Bennet can’t do it… I mean Rear Admiral Bennet, sorry… she’s just a First Fleet administrator. S-1 is like… like what you declare before you invade a planet or something, those battleplans are S-1. There’s only three people at that level in the Fleet — Fleet Admirals Anjo and Ishmael, and Supreme Commander Chankow.”

Erik, Thakur and Dale looked at each other.

“Word of this is going to spread,” said Thakur. She ate a steak and salad with methodical precision. Erik thought the Kulina were supposed to have spiritual dietary requirements, but if so, that didn’t appear to exclude meat. “They can’t stop people from talking.”

“Major,” Sudip said earnestly. “I really wouldn’t test those secrecy provisions. There are people in prison today, who were put there ten years ago, for doing that sort of thing. People who used to hold a higher rank than you do now.”

“I didn’t say
I
would talk, Captain,” said Thakur. “I’m saying that people will. Pantillo is well known politically. His political friends will be wondering where he is, and asking Fleet for an explanation. They can’t put both Congresses in prison.”

“I’m sure they’d like to put the Worlder Congress in prison,” Dale muttered. Dale was originally a Worlder, Erik recalled, living his entire childhood downworld before enlisting. Like all Fleet, he was registered as a Spacer, and could vote for Spacer Congress representatives only… but that didn’t mean he forgot where he came from.

Humanity had two governments. Ninety percent of the population lived on planets. Each governed itself, with little interference from anyone. Those planetary governments in turn elected representatives to the Worlder Congress, which made collective decisions on the kinds of things that mattered to people who lived on planets.

Spacers, who made up the remaining ten percent, had their own governments, one per solar-system, or outlying settlements that were placed into system jurisdiction because they wouldn’t fit anywhere else. Those systems then elected representatives to Spacer Congress, which represented the interests of those who lived and worked in space.

Humanity’s great wars of the last twelve hundred years were almost entirely an affair of Spacers. After Earth had been destroyed, humanity had become for a time entirely a race of Spacers, without a single planetary body to its name. Survival had become about resource harvesting, mining, industry and Fleet operations. Spacer interests were all anyone knew, and were key if there were still to be a human race in years to come.

When humans had begun to claim worlds from the krim, it hadn’t taken long for those newly colonised worlds to do what worlds did best — populate rapidly, and think primarily about themselves. Even before the krim had vanished, many of those planetary populations had settled into comfortable centuries of relative peace, content in the illusion that all was safe and well. Isolated from the harsh realities of inter-species politics beyond, they’d quickly begun to vote for withdrawal from conflict, expansion of social services, and other self-interested things.