The ethos effect, p.12
The Ethos Effect, page 12
Again, Murikami was saying more than what his words conveyed.
“I don’t think anyone would,” Van replied.
Murikami smiled politely. “If you don’t have any more questions, Commander...”
Van rose. “I appreciate your time, and your information. Thank you.”
“My thanks to you for your courtesy. I wish you the best.” Murikami also stood, as if following Van’s lead.
Once outside the Coalition major’s office, Van walked toward the foyer. The door to the IIS office was closed. Van could sense that it was empty. He had to wonder about the foundation. As he left the building and headed toward the groundcar, Van couldn’t help but frown. Murikami didn’t at all fit the profile of an Eco-Tech officer. He was far too direct and forthright, but did that mean that he was unusual, or that the Coalition trained the liaison officers to step outside their cultural profiles? Either way, that bothered Van. The man had wanted something from Van, and he’d gotten it. What? That Van was ignorant of something about to happen? That also worried Van.
The other, and even larger worry was what Murikami had suggested about the RSF. The Coalition was worried about the RSF. The RSF was worried about the Revs, and so were the Argentis. The Scandyans were worried about everyone, and who knew what the Revs were worried about?
And Van didn’t really have the faintest idea what was about to happen, only that something was, and that he’d probably be blamed in some way or another.
He squared his shoulders as he neared the groundcar.
Chapter 18
Another long week came and went, and before Van knew it, it was sixday night once more, and the opening diplomatic reception for the Scandyan independence celebration was at hand. The lower south level of the Taran embassy was decorated and open to hundreds from the diplomatic community and from the ministries of the Scandyan government. Van had checked the security systems three times, after the staff had set and adjusted them and hoped that he hadn’t overlooked anything, especially considering what Major Murikami had suggested.
Van wore formal greens and the handful of medals he’d been awarded—the ones all officers got for surviving. Holding a nearly untouched pale ale, he stood in the second drawing room, his chosen unofficial station, since he didn’t like the crowded larger main reception room Emily Clifton appeared at his elbow, wearing a matching pink jacket and trousers. “You look very distinguished, Commander.”
“You look far better than that, Emily. In fact, you look very beautiful.” After he said them, Van worried that his words were too personal, but he still wouldn’t have taken them back.
“I should make certain that you wear that formal uniform more often.” She glanced toward the archway to the main reception room. “I need to keep close to the ambassador.”
“Good luck.”
With a smile and a nod, she slipped back into the crowd. Van watched until she disappeared into the main room From among the swirl of unfamiliar and half-familiar faces emerged another that Van recognized—Rafel Petrov.
“Commander Albert.”
“Commodore.” Van inclined his head. “How are matters? I saw that the Liberal Greens are insisting the Scandyan Space Defense Forces are too large. They were almost rioting.”
Petrov smiled tightly. “The premier called it an overexuberant display of feelings.”
“The SDF isn’t exactly a massive force, and all the analyses indicate it’s efficient. Why are they so against it?”
“They believe that the funds would be better spent here on Gotland. On what, they cannot agree, but they all feel strongly that they should be.”
Van laughed sympathetically. “I’m sorry. We don’t live in that kind of a Galaxy.”
“No, my friend, we do not.” Petrov paused. “You have not met the Revenant military attaché, have you? Sub-marshal Brigham Taylor?”
“The sub-marshal has been otherwise occupied,” Van said dryly. “For weeks now.”
“A pity.” Petrov grinned, an almost maniacal expression. “Then you must meet his ambassador. Come with me.”
His ale still in hand, Van followed the commodore into the main reception room and to the southeast corner, beside the shelves that held Ambassador Rogh’s collection of ancient manuscripts, some dating back to prehistory on Old Earth.
The commodore eased up in front of a slender man in a brilliant white dinner jacket, with matching trousers having a gold stripe on the outer seam. He had striking white hair, watery blue eyes, and a slightly rounded face.
“Commander,” offered Commodore Petrov, “I’d like you to meet Ambassador Jared Dane of the Revenants of the Prophet, the Community of the Revealed.”
The ambassador nodded slightly.
“Ambassador Dane, this is Commander Van Albert, the new military attaché for the Taran Republic. He is the former commander of the cruiser Fergus and former commander of the corvette Eochaid. Since he has had some difficulty in reaching Sub-marshal Taylor, I thought you should meet him.”
“Most kind of you, Commodore Petrov,” replied Dane. “Good to meet you, Commander.”
“And you, ser.” Van took in the smiling visage of the bearded diplomat, offering his own smile in return, one he scarcely meant.
Petrov slipped away into the crowd, but Van could see Hannigan moving closer to them.
“Great tan you’ve got Commander.” The ambassador guffawed.
“It comes with the genes, Ambassador. All of us black Tarans have good tans.”
“You good with your fists? That come with the genes, too?” asked the ambassador, his tone open and genial, as if asking about a pleasant day.
Van smiled, if coolly. “All RSF officers can take care of themselves. That’s true of officers in all forces, I’m sure.” Van had been forced to learn that a long time ago, as had his ancestors, ages back when the Deseretists—one of the precursor faiths of the Revenants—had stamped the mark of Cain on them. “I’m sure your officers can.” He paused briefly. “I met one of them coming down on the shuttle. Impressive-looking young officer. Very conscious of his heritage and duties, too.”
He could sense the wince from Hannigan, standing to his left.
“He must have been. You Tarans aren’t easily impressed.” Ambassador Dane smiled.
Van returned the smile once more, adding calmly, “No, we’re not. Some call it Taran humor. We tell things as they are, and everyone laughs because they can’t believe anyone can be so direct.” Then Van laughed gently, even as he noticed the woman with white-blonde hair slipping up to the ambassador’s shoulder. Her green eyes and pale white skin confirmed her Revenant background. She did not look at Van.
“Pleased to meet you, Commander.” Dane gave a last smile. “I see that I’m being summoned.” With a nod, he turned and eased away.
As the Revenant departed, Hannigan stepped up beside Van. “You were ... rather direct with Ambassador Dane,” he murmured.
“Only truthful, Ian. I suppose that’s too direct for senior diplomats.”
“I suppose so.”
Van could sense the unease behind Hannigan’s humorous tone. “That’s why there’s only one military attaché. Two would be too many.”
Hannigan shook his head, then abruptly turned. “The ambassador wants something.” With his words, he was gone.
Van looked out over the faces, none familiar except for those of the Republic embassy staffers.
“Greetings, Commander.”
Van turned to see Colonel Marti holding a wineglass, almost full.
“Greetings. I didn’t see you come in.” Van answered in Hispyn.
“I was late. I noticed you had only recently appeared yourself.”
“I was in the second room,” Van explained. “How are matters going for you?”
“Less eventfully than for you, from what I have learned.” Marti smiled sympathetically.
“The local constabulary wanted to find me at fault for defending myself.”
“Always ... that is the way of it. The victim is at fault, and the Lord help him if he actually turns matters the other way.”
“Like poor Byrnedot and the Argentis?” asked Van lightly.
“There is a... rough similarity.” Marti pursed his lips, then moved closer and lowered his voice. “You should be among the first to know. I’m being ordered back to Silvium for assignment to the general staff.”
“That sounds like quite an honor. Congratulations.”
“I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow. I had to send my wife yesterday. There aren’t that many commercial vessels, you know.” Marti’s smile turned ironic, as he extended his hand. “I did want you to know.”
Automatically, Van took it, and found a datacard pressed into his own hand. He managed to palm it and slip it up his sleeve. He hoped he wasn’t too awkward. “I wish you the best.”
“And you, also.” Marti inclined his head, then drifted away.
“Commander?”
Van turned to find another figure in uniform—a black-haired, black-eyed woman commander in the formal blue-green of the Keltyr. Her skin was milk white. Only the fine lines radiating from the corners of her eyes—and the rank insignia—betrayed her age.
“Yes?” he replied.
“Ayrllis Salucar, Commander, KSF—and defense attaché to our embassy here.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Commander,” Van replied with a smile. “I would have been in touch with you sooner, except...” He gestured around the room. “And the fact that there were huge numbers of reports to catch up on.”
Commander Salucar nodded. “I’d hoped to meet you. For professional and personal reasons.”
“You have me at a loss,” Van confessed, finally taking another sip from his glass of very warm pale ale.
Salucar smiled faintly. “You wouldn’t know. My oldest brother was commander of the Aixenpax research station.”
No matter where he went, the Regneri affair followed him. Aixenpax had been the planoforming operation that the Vetachi had raided—killing all the military personnel and half the scientists—immediately before Van had destroyed the renegade vessel. He inclined his head to Salucar. “I am sorry, Commander.”
“You couldn’t do anything about Aixenpax,” she replied. “You did stop the Vetachi, and I don’t see what else you could have done. If you hadn’t, who knows how many others would have died or suffered?”
Van glanced sideways, briefly, to see Cordelia Gregory and Emily Clifton easing away. He wondered what Gregory had heard, before be answered. “I’ve told myself that for years. Sometimes, it even helps for a few minutes.”
Salucar glanced after the departing pair, raising her eyebrows.
“The dark-haired woman’s sister was on the Regneri. She thinks I was wrong.”
“She’s never seen the carnage, then.”
“No.”
“It’s the same with some of ours. Unfortunately.” Salucar tilted her head, not flirtatiously. “You’re cautious, aren’t you?”
“In my position, wouldn’t you be?”
Rather than laughing, as Van might have done in her position, she nodded. “I would be very cautious.”
“We should have that meeting before long,” Van suggested.
“Call me on oneday,” Salucar suggested.
“I will,” Van promised.
Then the Kelt commander was gone, and Van went to find a fresh pale ale, although he had drunk less than half of the first one.
The reception dragged on. It was near midnight when Van retreated to his office. Not once had he seen either the Eco-Tech major or anyone who had looked to be from the Coalition liaison office. Nor had he seen anyone from the Hyndji consulate. Had he just missed them?
Back in his office, he slumped into his chair and looked at the card he’d gotten from Marti. Finally, he disconnected the netsystem line, put his console on local, and inserted the card. No face, no image appeared, just text, lines and lines of text, and the text was in Old Anglo. It could have come from anywhere, and that was doubtless what Marti had intended. Van read carefully and slowly. Certain phrases jumped out at him, although they were in no way highlighted.
... continued inability of Premier Gustofsen to create an infrastructure bridging the differences between the militant Conservative Democrats and the isolationist Liberal Commons ... Without Gustofsen, the return of civil unrest is highly likely, but the Conservative Democrats (CDs) would retain power in the Scandyan parliamentary assembly, and the militant isolationist faction would dominate... compromise with the isolationist LCs would ensure no outside alliances...
CD ministry heads have been holding meetings with Trans-Scandyan Microtronics on a continuing basis... far more often than with SNI... also a number of the purported TSM “officials” arrived at Gotland orbit station in Revenant couriers. The official explanation was that no commercial transport was available and that the Revenant space forces made space available to facilitate more open trade arrangements, which would reduce the possibility of conflict in the mid-Arm region...
The independent system of Aluyson has accepted through a plebescite “a closer union” with the Community of the Revealed. The plebescite reflects the near-total control of the Aluyson economy by Revenant institutions. The process began over two decades ago with the assassination of then-dictator Charleston Browne and the ensuing collapse of an already-shaky economy... Through an earlier military agreement, Aluyson has already been a basing point for Revenant fleets, and moral reeducation institutes have been established for close to five years on all major continents...
“Moral reeducation institutes?” That was a term Van hadn’t heard before, but it certainly squared with what he did know about the Revenants.
... plebescite was monitored by military officials from several systems, including General Diego Salazar of the Argenti Space Forces, Sub-marshal Jon D. Vickry of the Taran RSF, and Overmarshal Prasad Ghandi... Vickry was the officer in charge of liaison with the Revenant military, quoted as saying, “The Revenants have been quite professional and impartial...”
Van frowned. Why would Marti have included an item about the Revenant takeover of yet another independent system—and quoted an RSF sub-marshal? He read on, but the rest of the article shed no light on why, and from what he’d seen of Colonel Marti, what Van had received was all that Marti was prepared to offer.
... the location of the RSFS Collyns remains unknown, and the Taran Republic has repeatedly stated that the Collyns is “engaged in sensitive operations” and that the RSF is unable to comment further at present... sources indicate that the RSFS Fergus will be replaced on station in Scandya by a cruiser of the Addams class ... vessel close to dreadnought capabilities...
Van nodded slowly. Marti had known, and probably Major Murikami had known about the pending transfer of the Fergus, yet there was nothing in the embassy system that had told Van. He could only speculate on what else he didn’t know, and he didn’t have enough information to speculate accurately.
While there was not a single item in the text reports that by itself made a definitive prediction on what might happen in Gotland, the assemblage was chilling to Van. And he couldn’t see that there was much that he could do—except watch. He could have reported the information on the Fergus, but his gut told him that would be counterproductive—and most unwise.
Chapter 19
Van did not sleep well sevenday or eightday night, and was up early on oneday, scanning the news summaries, the RSF briefing items, and following what he thought was the least biased Scandyan all-news stream: UpNews.
... timed for Independence Week celebrations, yesterday’s demonstration in Government Square sent thirty people to the medcenters, including an eight-year-old girl who had been playing in Independence Park. She was struck by a rock thrown by one of the demonstrators when it was caught by a constable’s malfunctioning shield unit... broken arm, but expected to recover... Whether the Conservative Democrats will recover from the public outcry against the demonstration is another question. The CDs had staged the event to protest the effort on the part of Liberal Commons members to extend debate on space defense funding...
Floor Leader Haarlan had this to say. “Less than a month ago, there was a space battle at the fringe of our system. No one reported it, not even the commander of the victorious vessel, who was promptly transferred—to a diplomatic post right here in Valborg. This transfer also concealed, or at least no one had the courtesy to inform us, a certain sign of lack of respect Without an adequate defense force, how can we maintain our independence, let alone hold the respect of other Arm governments ...” Rebutting this was Liberal Commons line whip Svensen. “The space force being pushed by the CDs is well beyond the economic and financial capabilities of Scandya. Long before those ships were ready, we would be bankrupt and once more purchased hectare by hectare, manufactory by manufactory, by the Argentis, who have already purchased thousands of enterprises driven to the wall by excessive CD taxation...”
Absently, Van lowered the volume. The problem seemed insoluble everywhere. Prosperity and social stability rested on high levels of education and research, and high levels of spending on those resulted in innovation and progress— making a system attractive for takeover, either economic or military—unless it maintained a solid defense force. But... for a system to maintain enough power to protect itself, it had to levy higher taxes. That meant lowering levels of social and medical services, and increasing social unrest. And with lower levels of educational and research expenditures, the defense forces tended to lag behind others in capabilities, and that led to less ability to hold on to economic and military advantages.
A larger government—such as the Argentis or the Revenants—could funnel funds from many systems into concentrated research, and since, once discovered, knowledge was easily transferable within a political structure, it was far easier to maintain both an increasing technological and knowledge base and a military structure. Scandya—and to a lesser degree, the Keltyr and the Republic—had a much harder time balancing that. With system or planetary governments largely controlling interstellar travel, it was far easier to restrict technology transfer than in the ancient days when all humankind had lived on one planet.
