Thorarinn Gunnarsson - Tactical Error

“Commander Velmeran?” the warm, friendly voice, more like that of a used freighter salesman than a leader of worlds, responded a moment later. “You seem to have some complaint with your orders.”

“I have no orders,” Velmeran corrected him briskly. “As Commander of the carrier fleet, I am answerable to no orders except my own unless I receive special instructions from the Senate itself. I have received no such orders, but I do have people out on two very important missions. I must respond to a call from one of those missions immediately, or I might lose both my people and the important information they were sent to collect.”

“I know that it must seem very important to you, but something has happened here that will make all other concerns inconsequential,” Delike answered in that same cheerful voice, suggesting good news. “I would like for you to come over for a private discussion with myself and a couple of representatives of the Senate. It’s important for you to understand everything.”

Velmeran considered that briefly. “I have no choice, I suppose.”

“You will not be disappointed,” Delike assured him. “If you would like to come over as soon as you’re ready, I’ll have someone standing by to guide you at your main airlock.”

Valthyrra moved her camera pod closer, an indication that she had closed the channel.

Velmeran shook his head slowly. “This is about as strange as it gets, but Delike does seem agreeable enough, even eager. I will discover what this is all about, and then we will do something about Lenna even if we have to send another ship after her.”

“Another ship and crew would not know what to do,” Consherra reminded him. “Her mission is very important.”

“This had better be even more important, or certain members of the government of the Republic are going to find out why Donalt Trace fears the name of Velmeran,” he declared. “All the same, I have a suspicion that I am going to be very disappointed. It has always been my experience that they are the most irrational, excitable and socially disagreeable creatures in known space.”

“What, humans?”

“No, politicians.” He turned to Valthyrra. “What about it, old chips? Who is this Alac Delike?”

Valthyrra would have shrugged if she could, and she did a fair approximation as it was. “No information. Elections were a little over four months ago, and this — political creature — must have moved to the head of the class at that time. In my experience, I would predict that you are about to find that we have been used as a pawn in a tactical maneuver known as political grandstanding, an artificially generated crisis or overblown event designed to create favorable notoriety for the party perpetrating the hoax.”

Velmeran shook his head. “Sometimes you sound like Bill. If that is the case, then we embarrass them thoroughly and publicly and put them in their place, and then we go about our business.”

“And if it is a Union trap?” Consherra asked. Velmeran did not discount that possibility, which was why he went to this little meeting in white armor and cape, with both guns at his belt and a very impressive array of small but formidable weapons hidden about his person. He was met at the main airlock by a pair of security officers in the green-gray uniforms of the Senatorial Guard. They turned without a word, marching him smartly through the corridors of the station to a lift reserved for official use. This delivered the small group to the station’s government compound in a matter of minutes, an area richly carpeted and paneled in real wood.

This was an area of the station that Velmeran knew well from past visits, that portion of the command sector reserved for official use, mostly as the space-side extension of the Senate. The two guards delivered him to the wide double doors of a conference room near the lift, leaving him with the suspicion that he had just been shuttled through the station as quickly, quietly, and inconspicuously as possible.

The doors opened and Velmeran stepped inside. It was hard for someone as small as a Kelvessan to swagger, especially in the presence of tall humans of undegenerate stock, but Velmeran’s suit of heavy, white armor helped to make up for that. Even so, the three men seated in deep lounge chairs scattered about the room did not seem especially impressed. Velmeran could tell from the looks of detached appraisal he received that he was about to be told what was expected of him and sent away.

“Yes, Commander Velmeran.” A rather tall, lean man of middle years rose to greet him, but did not extend his hand. “I’m Alac Delike. I would like to introduce First Senator Arlon Saith, and Party Chairman Marten Alberes.”

“What party?” Velmeran interrupted, determined to prevent these people from putting him entirely on the defensive.

“The National Republic Alliance, of course,” Alberes replied. He was a short and rather heavy man who looked like he could find better things to do than talk to Starwolves. The answer itself seemed satisfactory enough; all Velmeran knew for certain was that it was one of the old, respected parties. The very concept of politics was a mystery to nearly all Kelvessan, since human politics were contrary to their own social instincts.

“I must conclude this business quickly,” Velmeran said. “I do have people out on very sensitive missions, and I must respond to a call from one of those parties immediately.”

“No, no. Your secret missions are no longer important,” Delike insisted, pleased with himself. “The war is over.”

Of all the nonsense Velmeran expected to hear, that was not it.

Delike began to pace slowly, as if unable to contain his enthusiasm. “Yes, it is quite true. We’ve only recently signed a treaty of peace.”

“We did?” Velmeran was still confused. “Who won?”

First Senator Saith laughed aloud. “Nobody won or lost, you little fool. The treaty calls for a mutual cessation of all hostilities and a return of normal commerce and political relations.”

“You have to understand that the Republic has never been entirely supportive of this war, and no one can deny that it has gone on too long,” Delike added quickly. “It is one thing to defend ourselves from aggression, but we feel that we cannot be in the business of protecting rebellious colonists and smugglers from prosecution for their crimes.”

“Those worlds are our allies,” Velmeran protested, although he recognized the futility of arguing with these three self-satisfied politicians.

“The terms of the treaty are clear,” President Delike said, now softly and sternly. “It defines for all times the boundaries both of the Union and of the Republic. All space and every world within that limit are their own, to govern according to their own laws and policies. We will no longer interfere in or question their internal policies.”

“I see,” Velmeran commented quietly.

“There is also to be a partial disarmament as a part of this process,” Delike continued, with the grace to look uncomfortable for what he had to say. “They will scrap their fleet of Fortresses, and we will remove the Starwolves.”

“Could I have a definition of ‘remove’?” Velmeran asked politely.

“The Starwolves are weapons of war, created for the purpose of war,” Saith explained without reservation. “The carrier fleet is to be scrapped. Those Kelvessan known as the Starwolves are to be destroyed, since they are trained in the habits of warfare and will always be dangerous. The rest of the race of Kelvessan will be sterilized to prevent continuation of the race, and they will in time be selectively sold to private concerns.”

“That means slavery,” Velmeran pointed out. “The Kelvessan are citizens of the Republic, not property.”