Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 17

  Belloc turned to her superior, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

  “With my position, I'm privy to certain information that the rest of you are not,” Wyburn explained. “I'm afraid the ministry plays certain accounting tricks with the official numbers to make them look more favorable. If you see the real numbers behind the propaganda, the picture doesn't look quite so rosy. As officers, we all grew up in upper class wards which get priority for rationing, so we haven't seen the effects of Chalice's embargo on our hometowns. Outside our sheltered safe zones, the vast ghettos are already falling apart for lack of resources. That might not be of much concern to us as long as our families are safe, but,” Wyburn shrugged, “unfortunately, we rely on the industrial support of those ghettos to keep our own neighborhoods standing. Once the ghettos fall, the wards won't be far behind. Not to mention, once the slum dwellers get sufficiently annoyed, all the security forces in the world won't be enough to hold them back from swarming over the wards in search of food and clean water.”

  That got their attention. The entire bridge crew had their eyes fixed on Wyburn, and even the hardcore loyalists were looking worried now.

  “I should clarify one point,” Providence's distorted voice interjected into the silence. “I'm not proposing to abandon Thera altogether, merely to set our priorities straight. Once the crisis on Chalice has passed, we can lift the embargo and provide aid to Thera. Not enough to prop up the bloated Union empire, but at least enough to prevent Thera's civilization from completely collapsing. Of course, in order to prevent the elite from claiming all the resources for themselves, the aid would have to be provided on our terms.”

  “So Thera would be reduced from the center of human civilization,” Belloc said, “to a backwater protectorate of the colonies.”

  “That was its inevitable fate as soon as it became dependent on the colonies for resources,” Providence replied. “It's been in the offing for centuries. We just happen to be the generation that lives to see Thera's fall from glory finally come to pass.”

  The momentum was now clearly in the insurrectionists' favor. Wyburn decided it was safe to continue pursuing the negotiation without risking a mutiny from his crew.

  “I'm willing to hear more,” he said. “What sort of mutual cooperation did you have in mind?”

  Providence manipulated a console in front of him, bringing up several diagrams which flashed as he gave his explanation. “Chalice possesses many vast subterranean settlements, constructed by the first settlers before the surface was terraformed. Some of these settlements have been converted into emergency shelters. They have stores of food and other provisions, and by transferring surplus supplies from Chalice's warehouses into the shelters, they could be equipped to house large refugee populations for an extended period—up to nine months, if necessary.

  “We've already begun the process, but due to shortages of manpower and equipment, not to mention constant danger from rioters, Concord saboteurs, and your own forces, our progress evacuating the citizenry has been inadequate. My proposition is to call a truce so we no longer have to dodge your forces while we provide humanitarian aid, and to requisition your assistance in filling the emergency shelters to capacity. Your forces could also provide valuable security to prevent looters and Concord guerrillas from raiding our shelters and stealing supplies. Then we simply wait until the outbreak burns itself out, emerge from our shelters, and rebuild.”

  Wyburn's expression furrowed into a thoughtful frown as he considered the plan. “What is the maximum capacity of these shelters?”

  “We don't have definite numbers,” Providence said. “In terms of habitation, the former subterranean settlements have enough space and facilities to house about 20% of the population, but many of these are unsafe due to neglect. If those we've flagged as acceptable emergency shelters were filled to capacity, they could hold about 5%. But when we factor in supply needs, that figure isn't realistic. Our estimate is that, assuming full support of your forces, we could provide shelter and supplies to house about 2% of the population for six to nine months.”

  Wyburn's frown deepened. “Is that really enough to rebuild society on Chalice?”

  “Eventually,” Providence said. “Of course, we'd rather not have to wait several generations to restore civilization to its previous state. According to our simulations, we can expect the Messenger pandemic to inflict over 50% losses to those not in emergency shelters. Many of the casualties would come from secondary effects like starvation, poor sanitation, and looting, of course.

  “That figure might sound disheartening, but with a survival rate of up to 50%, the true objective of those emerging from the shelters would be to rally the survivors on the surface and restore order. The combined military might of SLIC and Spacy should be more than enough to suppress any petty fiefdoms that arose during our absence, and to quell any ongoing looting. Then rebuilding would take a matter of years instead of decades.

  “Of course, while the drama plays itself out, your fleet would be sitting safely in orbit, ready to provide support once the survivors come out of the shelters. You've got all the fuel you could need from the Saris gas mines, and we can provide you with other provisions to carry you through a nine month period.”

  So far, this looked like a well thought out operation. Wyburn asked, “What about establishing order after the outbreak has passed? It will be necessary to set up a new government to get Chalice back on its feet. We'll want the lull in production to be as short as possible so we can begin providing aid to Thera.”

  Providence leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “That's where things get messy. For a brief period, military rule will be necessary to stamp out all the petty warlords that will inevitably arise during the period of chaos. But under no circumstances will we allow Chalice to be crushed under the heel of another military dictatorship. As soon as security is restored, we will institute a civilian council with representative leadership. SLIC and your Reclamation Expedition will then be integrated as the security forces of the new government.”

  Wyburn's brow wrinkled in confusion. Surely a SLIC commander would not be so naïve as to—

  “Of course, there is one obvious flaw with this plan,” Providence said. “There is nothing to prevent you from betraying us and taking power for yourself.”

  Exactly. Wyburn didn't think a chief of intelligence would be that stupid.

  “Which is why we will need countermeasures in place,” Providence said. “Your fleet will be provided with enough provisions to survive until we emerge from the shelters, but no more. You will be dependent on us to keep you supplied. In order to facilitate this arrangement, you will agree to turn over control of the orbital elevator to SLIC immediately, and to provide us with full control over the ground communication system.”

  Wyburn considered the alternatives. He could tell Providence to go stuff himself and seize control of Chalice anyway—but then, without a plan to rebuild, the fleet would be reduced to piracy and face the constant danger of running out of supplies. He could stick to High Command's directives and funnel what was left of Chalice's tortured resource production back to Thera, but that carried a whole host of risks. He faced the prospect of being recalled to take the blame for the Messenger outbreak, which would probably get him sacked at best, thrown in a prison camp or even standing before a firing squad at worst. Plus, he feared that the scenario Providence had outlined for Thera's fall was exactly what would come to pass, and in that case staying moored to Thera would mean tying himself to a sinking ship.

  None of those options seemed as attractive as what Providence was offering—provided he could haggle some extra benefits out of the deal.

  “I'll need some reciprocation,” he said. “For starters, I want a guaranteed place in the new government. Promotion to Fleet Admiral, and Secretary of War.”

  Belloc objected, “Admiral, you can't mean—”

  Wyburn silenced her with a wave of his hand.

 
; After a pause, Providence said, “That's quite a bold demand, Admiral.”

  “It's called a negotiation because both sides are supposed to get something out of it,” Wyburn replied. “Do you want my help or not?”

  “I suppose it can be arranged.”

  “I also want payment,” Wyburn said. “The Theran Union writes our paychecks. If it's going down the tubes, then the financial pen passes to you.”

  “Naturally,” Providence agreed. “There is a long and sordid history of what happens when troops don't get paid.”

  “That's not all,” Wyburn said. “For the duration of this operation, myself and every sailor and soldier under my command gets paid as if they were two pay grades higher. From the lowest spacer apprentice all the way up to me. Naturally,” he grinned, “payment can be deferred until the new government is up and running, but at that time we expect to collect in full.”

  Providence let out a metallic sigh. “Very well.”

  “One more thing.” Wyburn paused for dramatic effect. “My people have families back on Thera to worry about. In return for our cooperation, it seems only fair that you reciprocate once the shoe is on the other foot. In other words,” he spread his hands in a gesture that included the entire bridge crew, “I want my forces' families to receive first priority in all relief aid orchestrated by the new government.”

  From Providence's pause, Wyburn guessed that the rebel leader had not expected this demand. Finally, Providence replied, “I will agree to that condition.”

  “Excellent,” Wyburn said. “I'll need to contact my senior officers to get them on board with the plan. In the meantime, transmit a way to get in contact with you, a full written agreement, and the particulars of your plan to be vetted by my analysts. If the details check out, then we can go ahead with this alliance. I'll get back to you about any changes that need to be made. Wyburn out.”

  Providence's robotic countenance vanished, replaced by the glowing orb of Chalice as Ferrari terminated the transmission. She looked over her shoulder and smiled awkwardly at Wyburn.

  “Um, Admiral, did you just agree on behalf of the entire Reclamation Expedition to be bribed into helping the rebels?”

  “Hardly.” Wyburn met the gazes of his bridge officers, fixing them with his best commanding stare. “Let me make one thing clear. We are not violating the directive from High Command. Indeed, this is the only way to secure a stable, long-term resource stream on Chalice. We will save Thera by these actions.”

  “As stooges for a new government established by rebel forces?” Belloc said.

  “For now, my dear Belloc.” Wyburn waved a finger in her face. “For now. But their flimsy attempts to rein us in don't change the fact that we've got all the big guns. When the time comes, we'll be the ones pulling the strings.”

  “I doubt High Command will see this as anything other than an act of treason,” Belloc replied with one arched eyebrow.

  “And what can they do about it?” Wyburn said. “I'm the one with the ships. Those old men can push paper around on their desks all they want. When the time comes, they'll be answering to me. As new supreme commander of Spacy, I'll absolve myself—and my subordinates—of all crimes. And those who rise to the top with me will find themselves very well positioned indeed.”

  Wyburn was just blowing smoke. He knew Providence was right: the era of Theran dominance was over. Why would he bother returning to the seat of a ruined empire when instead he could command the military of the most powerful of the colonies? But in order to secure the cooperation of his subordinates, he would have to maintain a pretense of Theran loyalty.

  He flipped his cape and swept out one arm in a dramatic gesture. “This is the only way to save Thera,” he declared. “We can either rule undisputed over a wasteland and spell doom for our home world, or we can cooperate with the Sarisan Liberty Coalition to save what's left and restore Thera's line of supply, thus buying her enough time to develop another colony to take Chalice's place. I choose the path of salvation. If anyone wishes to challenge me, let them come forward now.”

  No one moved. The only sound was the faint hum of the climate system.

  “A wise decision.” Wyburn sat down in the captain's chair and rested his head in one hand. “Now, it's time to start making plans.”

  Fourteenth Escalation

  in the throes of a supernova

  The Aqualung cell served as the main source of SLIC's naval operations. It was also, under the leadership of Lieutenant Colonel Amos Lane, one of the few cells that had refused to be absorbed into the Concord's military arm under Premier Demir. For a time, Amos had tried to maintain a pretense of loyalty so that he could attempt to steer the Concord onto a less totalitarian path. Unfortunately, it had soon become clear that he lacked the power to influence Demir and his inner circle in any meaningful way, and orders had started trickling down for Aqualung to participate in crackdowns on elements of the civilian population that refused to recognize the new government.

  Once his hand was forced, Amos had escalated from passive disobedience into open rebellion. He had been joined by Orochi, the intelligence cell under Providence; remnants of the decimated Greenwings cell; and a smattering of smaller cells that likewise balked at Demir's despotic approach to governance. With their formal withdrawal, the line dividing Concord loyalists from the continuation of the Sarisan Liberty Coalition had been drawn. Thus the resistance traded one tyrannical enemy for another, the new one composed largely of former comrades.

  Of course, a mere handful of resistance cells, even led by the relatively powerful Aqualung and Orochi, was no match for a Concord military composed of the entire remainder of SLIC reinforced with newly integrated equipment and personnel from the defeated Peace and Security Agency. Rather than risk being surrounded and annihilated by this unholy alliance, Amos had directed Aqualung to abandon its former headquarters in a repurposed marine research laboratory at the bottom of Inverted Sound and make for the open sea. With their rapid evacuation, they had narrowly escaped being caught in an envelopment by an entire Concord division led by Demir himself.

  Once free of Demir's trap, Aqualung had plotted a course to a backup facility revealed to them by Providence, previously unknown to anyone outside the intelligence cell. It was the husk of an old pirate spaceship called the Esperanza that had been defeated long ago in an orbital engagement and crashed off the coast of northwestern Artair County. Upon their arrival, Aqualung had completed the work that Orochi had begun of converting the submerged wreck into a viable base, sealing breaches in the hull, pressurizing the interior, and restoring vital systems which they jerry-rigged to draw power from surrounding heat vents on the bay floor. Camouflaged by layers of detritus and underwater plant growths that rendered it invisible to satellite scans, the Esperanza had become the perfect hideout for the rogue cell, continuing to enable illegal activity even after its death.

  The repurposed wreck wasn't without its quirks. The ancient parts failed as fast as they could be fixed or replaced, so there was always some part of the old vessel that wasn't working properly. And the entire thing was tilted slightly, which was uncomfortable both physically and psychologically until one got used to it. Not that becoming completely comfortable in such an unstable and claustrophobic environment was really possible, as evidenced by the constant stream of requests for shore leave coming in to the personnel department. Even the empty hinterlands, which had more cows than people, started to look attractive after enough time spent in what amounted to an immobile, slanted submarine.

  *

  Within this strange environment, the stocky, curly haired Amos sat at the tilted table in the old captain's conference chamber, arranging reports on holoscreens. Although he hated to frame things in such callous terms, the Messenger pandemic represented an opportunity. All vestiges of the old order would be wiped clean by the raging disease—the oppressive Union, the despotic Concord, all up in smoke. If a dedicated cadre of survivors could wait out the disaster and then rise f
rom the ashes to rebuild, they could start from a clean slate and finally institute a government that realized Chalice's potential as a frontier of freedom and independence.

  That was the scenario that Providence had outlined, anyway. In a desperate bid to find a reason for optimism, Amos had been running simulations and data analysis for days; but no matter how he ran the numbers, he could not come up with a better outcome than the one outlined by Providence. He probably should have known better than to think that he could devise a better plan than SLIC's chief of intelligence.

  Finally, Amos closed the reports in frustration when someone knocked on the hatch and then entered the conference room. It was Sergeant Celeste, a former Spacy augment who had overridden her programming and defected to SLIC in the latter days of the Insurrection. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and her otherwise pleasant features were marred by a burn scar that covered half her face. She walked with a limp and had difficulty moving her left arm, the legacy of injuries that she had sustained in the final battle. Her augmentations had proved a double edged sword in that regard. Without them, she would have succumbed to her injuries before she could receive medical attention; yet because SLIC lacked the facilities to treat augmented physiology, they had been unable to complete the healing process, leaving her crippled. Although she was no longer fit for combat duty, she was desperate to be of use, so Amos had appointed her his adjutant and kept her busy with secretarial duties.

  “Colonel Lane.” Celeste held out her electronic clipboard. “A courier drone just arrived with an urgent message from Providence.”

  In his excitement, Amos snatched the clipboard more forcefully than he intended. It read, “Initial stages of negotiation with Spacy forces complete. Rear Admiral Wyburn has agreed to all conditions, but in exchange, he has demanded high payment for his forces. It will be extremely costly, but worthwhile since Reanimation cannot succeed without their cooperation. Details of local evacuation procedures are attached. Nearby Spacy unit has been placed at your disposal. Officer's roster and comm codes follow.”