Starfist: FlashFire (3 page)

“I need the most reliable and up-to-date information you can give me on the Ravenette incident and the secession movement in general for this press conference I’m giving in a few hours. Julie, give me a short rundown on the secessionist movement,” Chang-Sturdevant turned to Julie Wellington-Humphreys, Chief of the Diplomatic Service since the death of Jon Beerdmens.

“The so-called ‘Coalition’ formed by the dozen worlds in that sector of which Ravenette is the most prominent do have grievances, Madam President, some of which can be addressed, with time and patience. The members refuse to admit the former because they have none of the latter, so our negotiations with them have led nowhere. The main stumbling block to a relationship with any of these worlds is that the people living on them are utterly disagreeable. They are arrogant, self-centered paranoids who want to believe that the rest of the Confederation is against them. The government of Ravenette has been accepted by the other secessionist worlds as their leader. Those other worlds are,” she counted them off on her fingers, “Cabala, Chilianwala, Embata, Hobcaw, Kambula, Lannoy, Mylex, Ruspina, Sagunto, Trinkatat, and Wando.”

“Where’d they come up with those names, particularly one like Ravenette?” Admiral Porter, the Chairman of the Combined Chiefs, asked.

Wellington-Humphreys shrugged, “Ravenette takes its name from a native species that somewhat resembles a Terran raven.”

“ ‘Mylex,’ ” Porter mused, shaking his head, “sounds like a marital aid.”

Chang-Sturdevant turned to Huygens Long, her Attorney General. “Hugh, what have you found out about the massacre?”

“That army lieutenant colonel we saw on the vid, Maracay is his name, was not responsible for what happened, ma’am. He was staff duty officer at Fort Seymour and when the vid was shot had only just arrived on the scene, after the shooting had ceased. It was just his unfortunate luck to be caught on film like that.”

“He is a supply officer, ma’am,” Admiral Porter interjected, “a noncombatant. I dare say, though, after this, um exposure, his career is ruined. He is on the promotion list for Full Colonel, but as everyone in Human Space will soon have seen him in this vid, we cannot afford to alienate public opinion by promoting the man.”

“Well, then who the hell was in charge?” Chang-Sturdevant asked.

“The officer of the guard, the ranking man on the scene, was a Lieutenant Ios of the 3rd Provisional Infantry Division, the outfit we sent to Ravenette to reinforce the garrison at Fort Seymour,” Long replied. “But he was struck by something the mob threw at the soldiers and unconscious when the firing began. The soldiers agree, however, that up to the moment he was struck he exercised commendable restraint. Had he not been knocked out, this tragedy might’ve been avoided. We’ve interviewed the soldiers on the guard force and they all agree that someone in the mob fired a pistol at them and they responded.”

Madam Chang-Sturdevant was silent for a moment. “Well they sure ‘responded,’ didn’t they?”

“Ma’am, the government of Ravenette is not cooperating with our investigation at all,” Long went on. “They have refused our numerous requests to interview the survivors, and their responses to our queries as to who organized the demonstration have been vague at best. I suggest you emphasize that at your conference. But here’s the bottom line: Thirty of our soldiers, new to duty on Ravenette so they had no way of knowing what was going on, face over three hundred angry demonstrators who are pelting them with junk and tossing firebombs at them. Someone, we think it was someone in the mob, fires a pistol. The guard force, leaderless and each man thinking his own life was in peril, fires back.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”

“Are you sure, Hugh?”

“Well—,” Long hesitated, “—my personal opinion at this point is that the soldiers were goaded into firing because the secessionists wanted an incident like this to further justify their secession movement, but I do not advise you mention this until our investigation is complete.”

“When will that be?”

“Within days, ma’am. We have people on Ravenette and,” Long nodded at Admiral Porter, “the preliminary investigation by the military was thorough and we’ve had splendid cooperation from them in our own investigation.”

Chang-Sturdevant sighed and leaned back in her chair. She glanced at Marcus Berentus and wished they could enjoy a dish of vanilla ice cream together. Later, perhaps. “Admiral Porter, what is the military strength of this Coalition?”

“Considerable, ma’am. Individually, none of the worlds is a match for our forces but intelligence estimates put the combined strength of all twelve worlds as very respectable. And they have good leaders among their officers, all of whom are graduates of our military academies.” He permitted himself a quick smile. “If they were to concentrate their forces they would present a very grave threat to us. And I do not need to point out that just now our own forces are very widely dispersed.”

“Mmm, yes, and you all know why. We reinforced Fort Seymour, as we have many other posts on the fringes of Human Space, as a tripwire,” Chang-Sturdevant said. She did not bother to explain why because they all knew why: Skinks.

“If we were to tell the Coalition why we reinforced Seymour they would not believe us, not now. Moreover, the word about the alien threat would then be out and widespread panic would ensue everywhere,” Marcus Berentus offered.

“So here we are,” Chang-Sturdevant said. “We must have a garrison on Ravenette, but we can’t tell the people who live there the real reason for that—hell’s bells, the soldiers themselves out there don’t even know why!—and our best efforts to keep the Coalition from declaring secession have so far failed. If we withdraw and leave those worlds in the dark as to the real threat to humanity that lies somewhere beyond their little slice of the galaxy, we leave the door open to invasion. We cannot allow that to happen.” She paused for a moment and then asked, “Who’s in charge out there at Fort Seymour anyway?”

“Um, the infantry division commander is a Brigadier General Sorca, ma’am, and the garrison commander is a Major General Alistair Cazombi.”

“Cazombi, Cazombi. Where have I heard that name before?” Chang-Sturdevant turned to Marcus Berentus.

“He was involved in the Avionian affair.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Well, a brigadier has one star and a major general has two. Why isn’t Cazombi in charge?” she turned to Admiral Porter.

Porter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, ma’am, General Cazombi is a personnel specialist, of sorts, and Brigadier Sorca is a combat soldier, so Cazombi is in charge of the fort and Sorca is responsible for tactical matters.”

“You sent a ‘personnel specialist’ and a general officer at that to be in charge of a supply depot?” Chang-Sturdevant glanced questioningly at Porter and then Berentus. The latter made a wry face, which to her indicated there was more to the story than Porter was willing to let on, and they would discuss it later. “Well,” she went on quickly, “I’ll never understand how you military men arrange these things. Julie,” she turned back to Wellington-Humphreys, “I want every possible effort made to appease the Coalition short of withdrawal of our forces from Ravenette. Get their people together with the Ministry of Commerce, with anyone else you feel has a say in relations with these people, and offer them the moon if they want it. I want these negotiations to be conducted at the highest level. You’ll lead them but I want the Commerce Minister himself to be in on the negotiations, the initial ones anyway. Do not leave this to underlings. I’ll talk to the minister shortly, then you contact him and together assemble a team of experts. I will announce today that we’re prepared to offer handsome reparations for the killed and wounded on Ravenette. I want everything done that can be done to keep these people in the Confederation of Human Worlds. But withdrawal of our forces is not negotiable and I want the Coalition to understand that we will fight to keep them there.

“One more thing. Admiral Porter, Mrs. Wellington-Humphreys, I want to know why it took so damned long for me to find out about what happened on Ravenette. Goddamnit, do you realize how embarrassing this has been to me, to find out about this through the news media? Both of you order a top-down review of your reporting procedures and fix them so that this never happens again.”

“Ma’am,” Admiral Porter leaned forward, “we support you. But if it comes to war with the secessionists, where will we get the forces to fight them?”

Madam Chang-Sturdevant leaned back in her chair and folded her hands. “We’ll find them, Admiral; we must. All right, everyone, let’s get to it. Marcus, would you stay behind for a moment? I have something to discuss with you.”

After the others had left she turned to Berentus. “Marcus, what’s the story on this General Cazombi?”

Berentus smiled. “He was punished by the Chiefs, sent to Ravenette to get him out of the way and put an end to his career. It was unjust, it was unfair, but I do not interfere with assignment policy when the Chiefs make it.”

“That’s as it should be, Marcus. Well, what did he do to get sent to Fort Seymour?”

Berentus shrugged. “He was the C1, the personnel officer for the Combined Chiefs, an assignment that always leads to a third star. You remember the Avionian incident? You may remember the lawsuit brought against a Marine officer for things he and his men did at the time? It was brought by the chief scientist at Avionian Station.”

“Yes. She died, I recall.”

“Yes. Well, Cazombi volunteered to appear as a witness for the accused, a Captain Conorado of 34th FIST. Cazombi was dead set against ever bringing that officer to trial in the first place and he expressed, in no uncertain terms, his disappointment with the Chiefs for not doing everything they could to avoid it. And he has also been very much against the quarantine we’ve imposed on 34th FIST. His view is that if we can trust Marines to put their lives on the line for us we should be able to trust them to keep quiet about the Skinks instead of holding them prisoner on Thorsfinni’s World. Others agree with him, particularly the Commandant, but their views have been expressed, um, a bit morediscreetly than Cazombi’s. His nickname, you know, is ‘Cazombi the Zombie’ because his demeanor is usually ice cold, even in the most desperate situations. He has quite a distinguished combat record. Well, uncharacteristically, more than once he let loose in meetings with the Chiefs, and now he’s out of grace with them.”

Chang-Sturdevant shook her head. “Marcus, sometimes your military leaders treat good men like shit. I’m so sick of this goddamned Old Boy’s Club attitude! Keep your eye on this Cazombi guy, will you? I don’t mean that to keep him in line, but he’s on the hot seat out there now and that’s just where we need officers who aren’t afraid to speak their minds.” She smiled. “I know it’s bad policy for you to interfere with the inner workings of the military services, but by Buddha’s hairy backside, if this Cazombi fellow shows initiative out there, I sure as hell will!”

“Ma’am, one more thing. Admiral Porter’s question, about where we’ll get the forces if the Coalition imposes war on us, is valid. We are stretched thin.”

For the first time that day Chang-Sturdevant laughed outright with good humor. “Marcus, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: If it positively, absolutely must be destroyed overnight, call in the Marines.”

CHAPTER THREE

You had to give Einna Orafem credit for having guts. Sure, she stayed in the kitchen for the next several days, and went to and from work through the back door in order to avoid the Marines in the common room, but the following Sixth Day, when Big Barb told her there was a party that required special care, Einna again braved the common room to personally describe the evening’s specials to Big Barb’s favored party. Fortunately, it was early enough in the evening that none of the Marines were too drunk, so her passage through the common room was marked by only a few catcalls and whistles.

“Good evening, sir and madam,” Einna said when she reached the table and stood erect, head high, one hand laid across the other’s up-turned palm. Talulah, one of the girls on serving duty, hovered behind her shoulder. “I am Einna Orafem, the chef . . . here.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say “Big Barb’s,” the very name was a come-down from the
haute cuisine
restaurants in which she had expected to practice her culinary artistry. “Proprietress Banak has requested that I make your dining this evening a truly memorable experience.”

Ensign Charlie Bass leaned back in his chair and looked, mouth agape, at Einna. He closed his mouth with an audible
click,
swallowed, and began to say, “You already ha . . .”

But Katie smoothly cut him off. “Thank you—Miss Orafem? I am Katrina Katanya—Katie to my friends—and this is Charlie Bass, Ensign, Confederation Marine Corps.” She placed a loving hand on Bass’s forearm. “We are delighted to meet you.”

Einna smiled. Finally, a person of breeding. And the man with Katrina, despite his loutish display of surprise when she introduced herself, was an ensign, an officer; therefore, by very definition, a gentleman. It would be a pleasure preparing a fine repast for this lovely couple. She mentally cataloged the ingredients she had on hand—other than those oh-so-proletarian reindeer steaks the enlisted boors ordered in endless succession. Her talents were being wasted there, she knew.

“I can offer you a fine kwangduk Wellington . . .”

Bass interrupted her with, “North or south end?” He exchanged an understanding glance with Talulah, who feigned gagging at the mention of kwangduk.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Pay no attention to Charlie,” Katie said soothingly. “He just returned from a deployment where he and most of his Marines were injured in a forest fire. He’s not quite himself.”

“I am so—”

“Hush, Charlie. Let this nice lady tell us what she can prepare for our dinner.”

“No kwangduk. I don’t want any damn kwangduk. North
or
south end.”

Katie looked apologetically at Einna. “Charlie had a bad experience with kwangduk, let’s move on to something else.”

Einna looked down her nose at Bass. No kwangduk indeed! Obviously he’d never had kwangduk Wellington, prepared in the manner of Chochet Viet, which was a specialty of hers. Why, once the stench was leeched out of the meat with a proper marinade, it was a positively divine dish! But she managed to not show her feelings as she went on.

“I have a fresh haunch of Xanadu roc, marinated in Schweppes before roasting, seasoned with Aardheim sage, real Earth thyme, and winter savory from New Carnavon, rubbed with Lechter garlic, and garnished with Wolozonoski’s World cloves. Also, choice Dominion veal-lamb chops, sauteed with heart of grosspalm before being braised in Katzenwasser, served awash in a crème of Greece soup base, garnished with slices of Ponderosa lemon. All are served with Boradu rice and a vegetable medley.” She cocked her head at them, decided that Bass’s expression of disbelief required it, and added, “Of course, there are also the regular menu items.”

“No, no, not necessary,” Katie said. “Your specials sound marvelous. We will have both the Xanadu roc and the Dominion veal-lamb chops. We’ll share them, thank you.” In her peripheral vision she saw Bass open his mouth to object. She dug her fingernails into his arm—he winced and closed his mouth.

“Good food preparation takes time, but you won’t famish before you are served,” Einna said with a slight dip of her head. “While you’re waiting, can we serve you something from the bar?”

“Do you have Katzenwasser ’36?”

For the first time, Einna turned to acknowledge the presence of Big Barb’s girl.

“I think we do,” Talulah said. “I’ll check.” She scampered off to do so.

“If we don’t, may I recommend the Alhambran retsina? It’s on the sharp side, but should pique your appetites quite nicely.”

Katie dug her nails into Bass’s arm again. “Thank you, we may do that,” she said.

With a slight bow, Einna Orafem turned and regally made her way back to the kitchen. She only jumped once from having her bottom slapped along the way.

“Alhambran retsina?” Bass croaked as soon as Katie withdrew her nails from his arm. “
On the sharp side?
That stuff’s so raw, it can strip the chameleon paint off a Dragon!”

“Keep your voice down, dear,” Katie said, patting his bruised arm.

“Roast haunch of roc? Do you know what a roc is? It’s the main predator on Xanadu, that’s what! I wouldn’t be surprised if the last meal that ‘haunch’ she’s so anxious to feed us had was human! The Dominion veal-lamb chops were the only thing that woman mentioned that qualifies as food fit for human consumption!”

“Now, now, dear, the woman’s a
chef,
not the kind of slap-it-on-the-griddle-and-hope-it-doesn’t-burnbefore-it-dies kind of cook Big Barb usually hires. I’m sure the roc will be quite tasty—and the kwangduk, too, if you’d only give it a chance.”