The ethos effect, p.5
The Ethos Effect, page 5
“Are any of them angry or determined enough to assassinate a military attaché?”
“They all are. Whether they would, that’s another question. Except for the Keltyr—and, of course, Scandya system itself—we’re the weakest of those affected by what happens here. I’ve suggested to the ambassador that Commander Cruachan’s death was a message.”
“Or an attempt to raise tensions so that someone makes a mistake?” asked Van.
“That’s another unfortunate possibility.” Hannigan frowned. “I have to say that your posting here worries me. The marshal understands the ministry’s concerns about an officer... of your inclination...”
Van managed to smile, hard as it was. “My reputed inclination, perhaps?”
“Unfortunately, Commander, your reputation is why you are here, and your reputation may be far more critical than your actual and present inclinations.”
“Should I ask who you want destroyed?” Van let an edge creep into his voice.
Hannigan laughed, warmly. “We don’t want anyone destroyed. Also, the senior military attaché ranks as a first secretary. So I couldn’t order you to do anything, especially anything like that, and that would be the last thing Ambassador Rogh would want He believes that any problem can and should be solved diplomatically.”
Van nodded. Hannigan had delivered another very clear message.
“You won’t have much time to get abreast of the situation, because the summer social season is about to begin.”
“Summer social season?”
“In most systems, things get social in the winter. Here, the winters were so brutal that the opposite social customs evolved. Summers are most pleasant here, you’ll find, if warmer than one would think from the winter.”
Van nodded.
“We don’t have an intelligence network here, as such, except for you, and the rest of the professional staff, but there’s an in-net where those who are inclined can post data and observations.”
That didn’t match the background information Van had studied, but he did not say anything.
“Let’s go see the ambassador.” Hannigan rose.
So did Van.
“Once he’s seen you, I’ll have your briefing materials, and have Sean show you to your quarters in the north wing. They’re quite nice.”
“And yours are where?”
“In the north wing on the opposite end.” Hannigan laughed, then opened the door. Van picked up his gear once more and followed.
The ambassador had an actual assistant in his outer office, an older blonde who smiled as the two men entered.
“You must be Commander Albert. I’m Meg MacDonagh, the ambassador’s personal assistant.”
“Ah... that means you’re the one who runs everything?” Van replied with a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“She runs everything except the ambassador,” Hannigan added.
“Just this little office,” she demurred. “The ambassador is waiting for you, Commander. He said he’d see you at fifteen hundred, Doctor.”
Hannigan nodded, then slipped out, closing the door behind him.
Once more, Van set aside his duffels and followed Mac-
Donagh, who opened the inner door without even knocking. “Commander Albert, Ambassador.”
The ambassador’s office was far larger than that of the first secretary—a space a good ten meters from side to side and eight in depth. The desk was faced out from the east wall, so that the ambassador could look to the door on the north wall or the wide window overlooking the formal garden below. Closer to the door, on the west wall, was a replica hearth with two armchairs, upholstered in green leather, facing it, a low table between them.
“I’m very glad to see you, Commander.” Ambassador Rogh had faded red hair, a cheerful smile, green eyes, and a deep and reassuring voice, the kind that suggested that he was eminently trustworthy.
Van distrusted the voice and the man, but that wasn’t new. After the Regneri incident, he’d come to realize that trusting any politician, civilian or military, was foolhardy and dangerous, if not usually occupationally fatal. “I’m here, Ambassador Rogh. Dr. Hannigan has indicated that we may be in for most interesting times.”
As Meg MacDonagh stepped back, slipping out and closing the door, Ambassador Rogh nodded to the chairs before the hearth, with its replicated fire. “We need to chat, Commander.”
Van waited until the older man eased into the chair facing the closed door before be seated himself.
“Your ultimate superior—the marshal,” the ambassador began, “he believes that the best remedy for the uncertain situation here in the Scandya system would be a full RSF squadron orbiting Gotland and another orbiting Malmot. He doesn’t have one squadron to send. So he sent you.” A wintry smile crossed Rogh’s face. “Just by arriving here, you delivered a message. The only problem is that we don’t know who the recipient is.”
“Message, ser?” asked Van politely.
“I know all about the unidentified cruiser you took out. Doubtless every embassy in Valborg knows, and certainly Marshal Kenaal does. Kenaal won’t be displeased, because you did what he’d like to have done but doesn’t have the resources for. Making you the senior military attaché sends a second message, but it’s one we can’t back up. That leaves you—and me—in a very exposed position. Commander.”
“Can you tell me what happened to the Collyns, ser?”
Rogh frowned, an expression of considerable annoyance.
Van continued to smile, politely, waiting.
“I would... if I could. The marshal has not seen fit to inform me. Not so far. I had thought you might know.”
“The Fergus was ordered here to replace the Collyns, but we received no information beyond that.”
“We’re in the same ship, then, Commander.” Rogh laughed again, but the laugh faded quickly. After an interval of silence, he spoke again. “I’m sure that Ian told you about my preference for diplomatic solutions, or solutions that involve methods other than military might.”
“He did.”
“Part of that reflects Ian’s own preferences. I feel we must avoid a military approach, not because I am philosophically opposed, but because a military solution is impractical for two reasons. First, it could only destabilize an already polarized local government. Second, we cannot raise forces anywhere close to the size of the Revenant and Argenti forces that could be brought to bear here—or against us. That means we must tread with care, using your expertise... and reputation ... as an implied statement of position, and not as a direct threat or confrontation...”
Van nodded.
“You will be working more closely with Cordelia Gregory than with the other secretaries. She is the second secretary, and she is an expert in trade and economics. Unlike poor Ian, she understands both the military capabilities and limitations. I will warn you, however, that she is not the greatest supporter of the RSF.”
“Oh? Why would that be?”
“It would be better if she told you.” Rogh stood. “It’s good that you’re here. We’ll need to chat in more detail, in a day or so, once you’ve struggled through all the briefing materials and have a better understanding of the situation. But I did want to see you as soon as you arrived.”
Sean Bulben was once more waiting for Van in the outer office, although Van had not sensed any messages being sent to the fourth secretary.
“I’ll show you your office... then we’ll set up your security codes and passes... and do the same for your quarters.... Once you’re settled, of course, you’ll take control of the embassy security systems and codes. I had to do it, because ... well... no one else wanted to.” Sean smiled apologetically.
Van had no doubts that the afternoon would be very long, as would the days that followed.
Chapter 8
By the end of eightday, four days after his arrival in Valborg, Van’s head was splitting. Learning the procedures and systems on a new ship was simple compared to all the economic, local military, and related cultural and political information he’d been expected to assimilate. He’d reset the embassy security systems and made some changes to the operating parameters. Those changes had been met with amused tolerance by the professional staff—and he hadn’t told anyone about the overrides that only he could use. The worst part was that so much of what he’d had to study contained equivocations and qualifications that made him cringe.
He also doubted that anyone truly understood the conflicts and the seesaw balance of power between the two political parties of Gotland—except perhaps Premier Gustofsen.
He glanced around his office—almost a mirror duplicate of Hannigan’s, even to the placement of the table desk and chairs and the built-in wall bookcase, although there were far fewer volumes, and some shelves were totally bare. After taking a momentary break, he looked back at the words on his office console screen....
... while ostensibly an open society, the Scandya system planets have consistently denied access to alien species. Most puzzling was the immediate and adamant denial of relations with the Farhkan Colloquy following independence, since the Farhkans have had a long history of disinterested study and noninvolvement in human societies... later analyses suggested that Scandyan leaders were concerned that the observational program agreed to by the Eco-Tech Coalition during the war between the Coalition and the Community of the Revealed had resulted in fundamental and undesirable impacts upon Eco-Tech culture and that Scandya did not wish to suffer a similar fate. This tentative conclusion remains unproven, but whether unproven or not, the position of Scandya with regard to nonhuman aliens remains unchanged, although the Farhkans have not made any effort to reopen the question...
Van rubbed his forehead. Could the ship that had attacked the Fergus been Farhkan? No ... the observed characteristics had been human. Also, no human ship had ever successfully survived an armed confrontation with a Farhkan vessel. While every one of those confrontations had been far earlier and begun by a human vessel, human arms technology still did not appear to have attained the same level as that of the Farhkans.
So ... who had been directing the attacking cruiser? And why?
In some ways, the “why” was simpler. Whoever controlled the Scandya system gained a strategic staging point and leverage. If the Revs controlled it, they nearly encircled the “lower” systems in the Argenti sphere. If the Argentis did, they had a straight jumpshot at two of the major Rev military missionary/staging bases. If the Keltyr gained control of Scandya, they’d have enough of a technological base to challenge Tara. The RSF was in a position where whatever it did in Scandya, it couldn’t gain—only lose. And that didn’t help.
Van continued reading for another half hour, when there was a discreet tap on his door. “Yes?”
Sean Bulben opened the door and peered in. “Commander? You asked me to let you know when Dr. Gregory returned. She’s in her office now. It’s the one right off the ramp.”
“Thank you, Sean.”
As Hannigan had intimated, Cordelia Gregory had made a point of avoiding Van, and for several days, he had let her. Enough was enough, however. Van used his implant to flick off the console, then stood, making his way out through his empty outer office and into the main corridor. The second and third secretaries did not have outer offices or sitting rooms. So Van knocked on the door.
“Come in.” The woman’s voice was firm, resonant with only the slightest hint of the melodic.
He opened the door and stepped inside, bowing slightly as he did.
Dr. Cordelia Gregory was dark-haired, with pale white skin and deep, dark green eyes. Her lips and eyebrows were thin. She rose from behind her desk.
“Dr. Gregory, I’m Van Albert. Dr. Hannigan had indicated that it was likely we’d be working together, and I thought I should introduce myself. I’d left several messages, but it seemed as though we were always missing each other.”
“It is most likely that we will be working together.” Her words were polite, even, and without the slightest hint of warmth. “There is often a correlation between economic and military data and their implications.”
“I fear that you have far more experience in such correlations than do I.”
“That is to be expected. The RSF usually considers economic and social concerns as of far less import than military ones.”
“And the diplomatic corps is often known for the reverse,” Van pointed out. “Which might be why it would be advantageous to work together.” He wondered why she was clearly so hostile to him. He’d never even met the woman before.
“I’m certain that is what is expected, and I’ll offer any professional assistance you may find necessary, Commander.”
Van didn’t know what to say. He’d effectively been dismissed by someone subordinate to him, but he wasn’t in a military situation, and a quiet reminder or reprimand wasn’t appropriate. Yet, accepting such an attitude from the doctor wasn’t wise, either. “Without more than your passive assistance, Doctor, I doubt that we will meet anyone’s expectations, and that would not be advantageous for you, for me, or for the Republic.”
“I stand corrected, Commander.” Gregory’s tone was even more chill.
Van offered a smile, rueful and as warm as he could make it. “I wasn’t offering a correction, just an observation.” He paused. “I’m not a diplomat, trained in the observation of human nature to read entire motivations from subtle gestures. It’s clear even to me that either who or what I am displeases you. Yet unless I’m hopelessly mistaken, we’ve never met”
“You’re correct, Commander. We have not met” Gregory offered a tight smile. “And I’m sorry to say that who and what you are is hard for me.”
“A commander in the RSF?”
“Not just a commander.”
“Then what?” Van could sense the tension in both her posture and her words. “My older sister was on the Regneri.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am most certain you are. At least, as sorry as any officer devoted to violence could be.”
What could he say to that? After a moment he bowed his head slightly. “I also stopped eating babies a good twenty years ago, Doctor.”
Her face paled, and she stiffened.
Before she could speak, he added, softly. “I am sorry for your loss. I’m also sorry for all those who lost loved ones on the Regneri. No one could have predicted what happened, and nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, such a freakish event would not have occurred. That doesn’t make it any less painful for you, or your family. I am not sorry for those who died aboard the Vetachi, and, faced with that situation again, I would still have to try to stop the Vetachi. The renegades who commanded that ship had already killed over a thousand innocents on Freya and on Culain. They would have killed more, had I let them escape.”
“You’ve obviously rehearsed that answer.”
“No. I’ve thought about it, and for what it’s worth, I still have nightmares about it, Doctor. But you might recall that the Vetachi was effectively a cruiser, and I had a corvette, far smaller, with shields easily crushed by such a large ship in any protracted fight. Either way, the situation was far from optimal. I knew there was a good chance that my corvette might not survive, but I had to take that chance. That was what we were there for, although none of us on the Eochaid was undertaking a suicide mission. No one ever could have anticipated that a successful attack would release a torp that would home in on the Regneri. The Board of Inquiry established that such an event could and did happen only because of improper weapons control on the renegade, and even so, the odds of something like that happening were infinitesimal.”
“That’s the problem with force and violence, Commander.”
“I agree, Doctor. It is a problem. It has always been a problem. The concomitant problem is that sometimes the other answers are worse. Letting the Vetachi escape would only have condemned more innocents to die, perhaps many more.”
“I know that my sister died. You don’t know that letting the Vetachi go would have led to more deaths.”
“No. I don’t.” Van refrained from noting that the doctor didn’t know the opposite, either. “Not with absolute certainty. But ships from three separate Arm governments had been looking for the Vetachi for two years. During that time, they plundered a colony ship and three orbital outposts and killed over four hundred people.”
“Commander... I don’t think that you will ever convince me, and it’s probably even less likely that I’ll convince you. You have convinced me of one thing, and that I can live with.”
Van waited.
“You’re not entirely the monster I envisioned. I think you were wrong. I always will, but it’s clear you made a reasoned decision under stress and tried to do the best you could. It’s also clear from every word you’ve said, and in the way that you’ve said it, that it will always remain with you. I’m glad for that. It’s not something that should be forgotten.”
“No. And I won’t.” Not with nightmares for ten years.
“I sincerely hope that is so, and I hope that you still have occasional nightmares. I do.”
Van wasn’t quite certain what to say to that.
“I will work with you, Commander. I cannot say I will ever be more than cordial. I loved my sister.”
“That... would be helpful.”
“Did you have something in mind?” she asked.
“Not yet. No ... there is something. Could you do a rough analysis of the cost and resource commitment of maintaining a cruiser on station in the Scandya system for a month without access to any local orbit facilities?”
“Such as the unknown cruiser that attacked the Fergus? I can do that.” Gregory nodded, a curt movement.
Van hadn’t told anyone, but Gregory knew. “The ambassador told you?”
“Just me and the first secretary.”
“The ship didn’t match any profile in the RSF databanks. I just wondered if there might be any sort of social or economic analysis that might help with identification.”
She pursed her lips. “Just in a general sense. Building and operating that large a deep-space vessel would show in the stats of any of the smaller systems, even in the Republic’s stats, and in the Keltyr stats. But the economies of the major Arm governments—the Argenti, the Revenants, the Coalition—are large enough that even a multilateral could build or convert such a ship without its showing up.”
