Charles Gannon - Raising Caine

“I trained as a diplomat, in the most prestigious—”

“I was at the Parthenon Dialogues with you, gospodin Gaspard, and so have heard of your credentials from the Sorbonne. From your own lips. Repeatedly. But in point of fact, while you have served on numerous international councils and commissions, you have never worked as an ambassador between two human nations, nor have you ever been on a first contact mission. Correct?”

Gaspard had no ready response.

Sukhinin ploughed ahead ruthlessly. “Even more marked is your lack of specialization in military and intelligence matters. In short, Captain Riordan has exactly the experience and skills to assist you in assessing the full implications of any agreements you might make with the Slaasriithi. Actually, if I had the authority to promote him further, I would: protocol implies that a flag officer should be charged with these responsibilities. The rank above captain — commodore — at least occupies a gray zone between command and flag ranks.”

“So, Riordan may contravene my orders?”

Downing shook his head. “No, you have different spheres of authority. In matters pertaining to the security of the delegation and its operations, he makes the final decisions, although he must solicit and consider your input. Conversely, in diplomatic activities, you hold full authority, although, once again, Captain Riordan is obligated to offer his opinion on the military implications of your decisions, and you are obligated to take those into consideration.”

Gaspard stared at Caine. “Well then, Captain, I shall look forward to your military assessment of whatever information is conveyed to us by the Slaasriithi — or not — during my slumbers.” He rose. “I shall be preparing for relocation to the Slaasriithi shift-carrier and the commencement of my cryogenic suspension. As I understand it, you will make the final arrangements for the transfer of my staff, who are already in cold sleep. Good day.” Gaspard was out the door without a glance behind or even a nod of farewell.

Gray Rinehart looked at Downing. “So, does Caine get combat pay while traveling with that jackass?”

Downing sighed, smiled ruefully at Riordan. “If there was any justice in this universe, he would.”

Kozakowski had rolled back the blast covers on the Arbitrage ’s portside bridge windows to watch the intruder approach. It was no longer obscured by the wispy edges of V 1581.4’s cream-and-ochre atmosphere. “My God, they must mean to ram us.”

Ayana shook her head and glanced over Kozakowski’s round shoulders at the brilliant blue exhaust flares of the intruder. “No, Mr. Kozakowski, but they do not mean to give us much time to prepare or fire at them.”

“As if we had anything left to fire,” Jorge Velho amended. He finished activating the automated anti-intruder systems, then turned to the intercom, collecting himself to give an order that he never wanted, and never thought he’d need, to give: “All hands, this is the captain. The intruder is confirmed to be on an intercept course, with the evident intent of boarding us. They do not respond to hails. All security teams: confirm your readiness with the XO and secure for vacuum operations.”

“Vacuum operations?” echoed Kozakowski.

“Yes,” confirmed Ayana. “Although contested boardings are extremely rare, one of the most common tactics by a boarder is to create conditions of explosive or at least dislocating decompression. That is why we have sealed the bulkheads communicating with the hull-proximal sections and reduced them to zero point two atmospheres. Fortunately, even though we’ve cut rotation, we still have some gravity, due to the proximity of the gas giant beneath us. Combat in true zero-gee is extremely unforgiving to the untrained.”

Kozakowski nodded. “Some of my crew is trained for both low- and zero-gee operations. Let them help.”

Velho did not turn to look at Kozakowski. Yes, your crew was trained by the same megacorporation which sold us out to invaders just half a year ago. And with you in charge of that crew, we might have the same mysterious “difficulties” that kept us from getting the drones released from the autodeployable module in time. What should have been a twenty-second operation took over a minute — which was too long. But instead, Velho said: “Mr. Kozakowski, we have taken heavy damage to a number of key systems, systems with which your personnel have far greater expertise. We are going to need that expertise if, after this action, we hope to effect repairs. By holding back those experts, that reduces your available crew complement to twenty. Those remaining twenty are currently manning the essential systems in engineering and staffing damage control parties.

“Conversely, most of my prize crew are reasonably proficient with weapons and antiboarding tactics, and more than a hundred are defending the EVA ingress points in the engineering and cargo oversight modules. In short, we have the right assets in the right places.” Which also means I don’t have to worry about any megacorporate turncoats shooting my people in their backs.

“And if you really want to help,” Piet muttered, “you could decant a few dozen of those clone-soldiers riding in the freezer section.”

Kozakowski did not deign to face the pilot as he rebutted. “CoDevCo’s Optigene clones are not superhuman. Just like anyone else, they cannot be roused straight from cold sleep into operations. The biochemical reanimation requirements take forty-eight hours alone. It would require another thirty-six to forty-eight hours for full restoration of autonomic and voluntary muscular function, and perhaps yet another day for full mental function. I hope it is enough that I have granted you full access to their equipment lockers. And I am still willing to take my place among the defenders, even if you do not permit any of my crew to accompany me.”

Jorge considered the offer: it was too measured to be fully convincing. So, Kozakowski, the first time you’re eager to help us is when you could be killed doing so? Or rather, so you can sabotage our defensive preparations and curry favor with your true masters? Or am I just being overly suspicious? “No, Mr. Kozakowski, as the original master of the ship, I think it important that you remain here on the bridge.” Velho picked up one of the autoshotguns that had been liberated from the Optigene clones’ combat stores. “I will oversee the defenses personally.” As if I really know what the hell I’m doing. This was not part of the job description when the government came looking for civilian prize crews. “Now, before I go, let’s see if we can give our attackers at least one nasty surprise. Is Mr. Vindar off Deal Two?”

“Yes, sir. Remote piloting protocols are engaged.”

“Are the thrusters still hot?”

“Enough for one good burst, sir.”

Kozakowski looked from one face to the other among the three bridge crew.

Jorge suppressed a smile at the CoDevCo factotum’s perplexity. “Piet, do you have the controls routed through to your board?”

“Aye, sir.”

Jorge eyeballed the trajectory of the intruder in relation to where Deal Two was dangling, only half in its docking cradle. “She might not come out of the clamps cleanly,” he warned.

Piet shrugged. “We knew that from the moment we came up with this harebrained scheme. But it’s the only shot we have, Jorge.”

“It is as you say, my friend. And we will let your instruments and eyes determine when to—”

“Engaging now!” Piet interrupted.

He triggered Deal Two’s emergency umbilical release, slammed the thrust relays on his remote operations board to maximum, yanked the tanker’s flight controls up and then savagely over.