Starfist - Flashfire. Part 3

They sipped the bourbon.

"My G.o.d, Rafe!" Wellington-Humphreys gasped, "it goes down like water and burns like fire!" She took another sip. "Ohhhh! Off with the shoes, my toes are on fire!"

"It really is d.a.m.ned good stuff!" Pieters whispered, holding his gla.s.s up to the light, admiring the whiskey. "I can see how Jenks Moody might've overindulged last night."

"Rafe, you've dealt with these people before, what are they really like?"

"Well, I've had contact with the 'Cob'uns' as the people from Hobcaw like to call themselves. A long time ago. That was during one of the Silvasian wars, I can't remember which, can't keep them straight anymore. I was a second lieutenant in the infantry in those days, yes," he smiled as Wellington-Humphreys raised her eyebrows, "the old economist, ah, the distinguished distinguished old economist, who now stands so humbly before you, was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned ground-pounding soldier once." The Old Snort was having its effect on Pieters. Eagerly he poured himself another generous dollop. "We had a regiment of Cob'uns with our brigade and I got to know some of their officers and NCOs pretty well. They were a hospitable and friendly bunch of guys. In many ways they were a lot like that b.u.m in the story Stutz told us, they liked to get drunk, talked all the time about things they'd hunt when they got home, kept a sloppy bivouac. But, Julie, in a fight you couldn't ask for better men to be at your side! d.a.m.n, those boys could shoot and maneuver! If we have to go to war with the Hobcaws it won't be a pushover, take it from me. I suspect some of the other worlds in that Coalition aren't far behind the Cob'uns in their fighting spirit, especially the Embatans and the Wandos." old economist, who now stands so humbly before you, was a G.o.dd.a.m.ned ground-pounding soldier once." The Old Snort was having its effect on Pieters. Eagerly he poured himself another generous dollop. "We had a regiment of Cob'uns with our brigade and I got to know some of their officers and NCOs pretty well. They were a hospitable and friendly bunch of guys. In many ways they were a lot like that b.u.m in the story Stutz told us, they liked to get drunk, talked all the time about things they'd hunt when they got home, kept a sloppy bivouac. But, Julie, in a fight you couldn't ask for better men to be at your side! d.a.m.n, those boys could shoot and maneuver! If we have to go to war with the Hobcaws it won't be a pushover, take it from me. I suspect some of the other worlds in that Coalition aren't far behind the Cob'uns in their fighting spirit, especially the Embatans and the Wandos."

Wellington-Humphreys held out her gla.s.s for a refill. "I hope we're sober enough to make the meeting tomorrow."

"If we keep this up we sure won't be," Pieters laughed, giving her another two fingers of the bourbon. He refilled his own gla.s.s but capped the bottle tightly and then set it aside.

"It's going to be war, Rafe, I can see that now. They will secede and we cannot let them do that. How bad will it be?"

Pieters did not answer at once but swirled the whiskey in his gla.s.s and sipped before saying, "They had a saying they liked to quote when in their cups. I always thought it was hyperbole for my benefit as an outsider. It went something like, 'Turn peace away, for honor perishes with peace.' What happened at Fort Seymour was the first fatal move, Julie, and we shall never call it back. If we have war with those people it is going to be bad, Julie, very bad, I am afraid."

But Rafe Pieters had no idea how bad it would really be and he was not half as afraid as he should have been.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Tommy Lyons lay dying.

"General, the tests are conclusive. Your son does not have pneumonia or any other form of upper-respiratory infection. It's a particularly virulent form of psitticoid tuberculosis that is very deadly in younger children if not treated promptly. And I have to tell you, it has not been."

"Bu-but the other doctors a.s.sured us he . . ." General Davis Lyons gestured helplessly at the tiny form on the bed, its chest heaving spasmodically.

The boy's mother, Varina, sat beside him, mopping the perspiration from the child's forehead, occasionally daubing at the blood the intermittent bouts of coughing brought up from his tortured lungs. She glanced imploringly at the doctor. "Can't you do anything?" she asked.

Dr. Ezekiel Vance, Ravenette's foremost specialist in communicable diseases, shook his head sadly. "We could, if we could get the proper medication. This form of TB is very rare in this quadrant of Human s.p.a.ce but it is endemic on other worlds. I've ordered a stasis unit from Mylex. Once it gets here we could stabilize Tommy and keep him alive until I can find the medicine I need. You know how backward we are in medical science, compared to other worlds in the Confederation. And we don't keep supplies of the medicine required to combat this disease on hand although there is a drug that can cure it, but-" he shrugged.

"But what?" Varina Lyons asked.

Ezekie Vance was a small, stoop-shouldered man, and the anxiety of the past hours was clearly etched on his face. As he spoke he twisted the hairs on his long white mustaches, an involuntary response to the frustration he felt at his helplessness in the face of the child's fading life. "But the embargo," he replied, looking at the two, surprise on his face. "Didn't you know that Merrick Pharmaceuticals's products are embargoed, and they are the only source for the drug that can fight this disease?"

"The embargo? That does not apply to the importation of medicines and food and nonmilitary goods, Doctor!" General Lyons replied. Little Tommy began to cough again and for agonizing moments the adults' attention was directed toward the child. White-hot anger surged through the general. G.o.dd.a.m.n the embargo! G.o.dd.a.m.n the Confederation for imposing it! G.o.dd.a.m.n the secessionists!

"Yes, General, the embargo. Merrick products are embargoed because some of them can also be applied to the manufacture of mind-altering drugs that have specific military applications. On Mylex for many decades there was a thriving industry in bootlegged prescription drugs. They used third parties to buy small quant.i.ties from companies like Merrick then replicated the ingredients and resold the stuff at vastly reduced prices. Often the stuff they sell is not as effective as the real drugs and people have died using the cut-rate imitations. So, when the Confederation put the embargo in place, Merrick volunteered to apply it to all their products. That's why Tommy can't get the medicine he needs to save him."

General Lyons, commander of Ravenette's military forces, a decorated veteran of many campaigns, had never felt such helpless anger and despair. Only days before, Tommy had been a healthy, active boy of eight, the light of the Lyons's life, the one bright spot the general could always count on to revive his spirits and restore his fading faith in the future of his world. And now-this? "Maybe somebody on Mylex has some of the stuff Tommy needs," he suggested, "it'd be better than nothing, doctor."

"Maybe. I'm trying to locate some of this drug, believe me, General, I'm trying. If we can get a stasis unit in time-and mind you, that might not work in this case because Tommy's condition is so far advanced-if I can find someone in our Coalition who has a supply of the drug, or contacts within the Confederation who can supply it, yes, I might be able to save your son. But time isn't on our side, sir. General, one more thing. We've got to find out how Tommy was exposed to the virus that causes this form of TB. The public health epidemiologists must be advised. They'll want to know what Tommy's been exposed to these last weeks. If this is the first case of an outbreak of the disease, we could be in for a lot of trouble."

"Then, G.o.dd.a.m.nit, let's get some specialists in from those worlds who can deal with this! I'll make a naval vessel available immediately! She can depart in-"

Almost in tears, Dr. Vance interrupted him. "General we can't! We cannot do that. Since the Ordinance of Secession was issued, the Confederation has also banned all travel to our sector of Human s.p.a.ce. I have already contacted my colleagues on Manazanares, to no avail. They are as devastated as I am, but any violation of the ban will be met with drastic sanctions. We're on our own, General. Let us hope that we can save Tommy and his case is an isolated one-or we could lose not only him but a whole generation of our children."

"And a whole generation of our young men and women," the bitterness in the general's voice was almost palpable, "if this secession movement leads to war with the Confederation. Their G.o.dd.a.m.ned Ordinance of Secession! The G.o.dd.a.m.ned Confederation!" General Lyons had never before put much credence in the commonly held belief of his fellow Ravenites that the Confederation despised them as second-cla.s.s citizens. But to have imposed the sanctions on their world was inhumane, worse than what the soldiers did at Fort Seymour when they fired on the demonstrators.

Dr. Vance said nothing, but as a physician he also deeply regretted the Coalition Council's decision to issue the Ordinance because it would mean the loss of many lives he was dedicated to saving. But he kept that to himself because speaking against the war fever that had infected the people of Ravenette and their allies could be decidedly unhealthy. General Lyons, a respected hero, could be a bit more outspoken, and Dr. Vance knew he was dead-set against secession, but the doctor was discreet enough not to express his own opinion in the presence of anyone else, not even Varina Lyons.

Lyons took a deep breath and tried to get control of himself. "Doctor, will you remain here with Tommy and Varina? I've been called before the Coalition Council. Those G.o.dd.a.m.ned politicians are preparing for war."

"Yes, General. As soon as my contacts find what I need, I'll have it rushed here, and I'll keep you informed of our progress," he extended his hand and they shook.

"Thanks for everything, Doctor, I know you have a lot of other patients who need your help."

"I've been alerted for call-up, General. I'm in the reserves, you know. I may soon have the honor of serving with you in uniform."

"I'm the one who'd be honored, but let's hope it never comes to that. Thanks again for everything you're doing for us."

Vance let a wry smile cross his face, "General, we're so backward here on Ravenette that we doctors still think we're obligated to make house calls like this."

General Lyons's Plans and Operations officer, Admiral Porter de Gauss, had been sitting impatiently in a staff car outside the general's home for over an hour, glancing repeatedly at his chronometer. The Council would have already started its deliberations and they weren't even on their way yet! He leaned back in his seat. Well, if his son were seriously ill, he might be late for a meeting too. But-dammit!- this was an important meeting! War was in the air, you could almost taste it! War would mean a command. Maybe he could get out of the headquarters and back into the fleet again!

General Lyons slid into the seat next to him. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Porter. Driver, take us to the Council hall." He put Tommy's sickroom behind him now, confined it to a remote corner of his mind.

"General, they'll have already started," de Gauss reminded him as he inserted a crystal into his reader. "How's Tommy, sir?"

"No change, Porter. Let's see your crystal." First up on the screen were several tables showing the readiness and strength of the military and naval forces available to the Coalition. Next, similar tables reflecting what forces the Confederation had at its disposal. There were many more pages of those figures than for the Coalition's forces. "The Council will just have to wait. Hmm, how reliable are these figures on what the Confederation has?"

"They're the most reliable we have, General, accurate we believe to within one or two percent. Considering how readiness in any military unit fluctuates almost daily, it's impossible for us to know how many s.h.i.+ps of the line they have ready for combat at any given period, how many armored vehicles, how many troops and so on. But all the Confederation units listed there are deployed in those places and in the strengths shown there. Personnel and equipment are according to their respective tables of allowances."

"Ummm. What I'm interested in is where they are, what they're doing there, and how quickly they can deploy to our sector if war is declared. I presume everything we have is ready?"

Admiral de Gauss nodded. "Since we'd only be deploying defensively we can concentrate our entire resources wherever they're needed in this quadrant."

"Good. Logistics? How are we on war materiel, production capabilities, spare parts, all the stuff we'll need if we engage in heavy combat?"

"It's all on the crystal, sir, but it'll take us a while to retool our industries for total war. We have planned to sustain material losses of up to ten percent in the initial phase of a war, personnel losses of about the same. Mobilization orders have been issued. Capture of the stores at Fort Seymour and the naval refueling base on Lannoy in the initial phase is crucial."

Lyons scrolled through the pages dealing with the Confederation's manpower status. Pressed, the Confederation could call up overwhelming numbers, but Lyons knew all the secessionists needed to do was defeat the regular forces badly enough to convince the Confederation's politicians that the cost of keeping them in was not worth it. "How'd you get these figures on the Confederation forces?" Lyons asked suddenly, grinning.

"Our intel boys have their sources, sir."

"I see old Joe Porter is Chairman of the Combined Chiefs. Related to you in any way?"

Admiral de Gauss blushed. "Distantly, yes, I think. One of my great-great grandfathers was a Porter."

"I played poker with him en route to planetfall during one of the Silvasian wars. Long, long time ago. All right, I've seen enough. You stay near me and keep this stuff handy when they call for my evaluation."

"What will you advise them, sir?"

"If we attack their garrisons on our worlds we'll throw them out, no question about it. And it'll take time for them to send enough s.h.i.+ps and men to retake them. But something's up, Porter, I don't know what. They didn't send that division to Fort Seymour to 'oppress' us! That's nonsense. You've seen the data. Consider some of those more remote stations in your tables. Not so long ago most of them were no more than way stations to support exploration teams, or to protect new colonies from pirates, that sort of thing. But the Confederation's increased the size of some of those garrisons tenfold. Why? Something's up, and if we force them to fight us over our secession, the only thing we have in our favor in the long term is that their forces are so widely dispersed. But not for long."

"But sir, we cannot forget what happened at Fort Seymour!"

"No, no, but Porter, who was the fool who organized that demonstration and let it get so far out of hand? Those troops were green to Ravenette and, as far as we know now, leaderless at the crucial moment. Mary Eddy's dried up old teats, Porter, what would you expect them to do under the circ.u.mstances? Some of our own citizens need to swing for what happened that day. The incident alone does not justify war." But, he thought, that incident at Fort Seymour and the embargo sure didn't dispel the hatred most people felt toward the Confederation. He thought of his son lying on his-he dare not even think of the word "deathbed."

"Then you're against any aggressive act against the Confederation of Human Worlds?"

General Lyons hesitated before replying. "Look, they're our own people, all of them! We know them, we've fought beside them, we're related to them, we speak a common language! Sure, we have our differences but the last two hundred years haven't turned us into another species, for G.o.d's sakes! Yes," he sighed, "I'm against war." But as he spoke he really did not know if he believed himself.

" 'I went to the animal fair, the birds and the beasts were there,' humdedum dedum." Preston Summers hummed the old ditty under his breath. Yes, they're all here, all right, all the "birds and the beasts," he thought. The hall was full of the delegations from the Coalition's worlds. They had been in session for days now, trying to form a unified government. Summers had been unanimously elected interim president, to preside over their deliberations. The delegates unanimously agreed Summers had represented them well in the failed negotiations with the Confederation and was the right man to preside over the Congress, perhaps even to lead the Coalition in the war all of them hoped would follow. A tentative cabinet had been decided upon, but they were about to hear from the military, whose testimony would be the final stone in the road to independence.

Tempers were running hot in the great hall. The Ordinance of Secession had been enthusiastically endorsed by everyone present on the first day and the Confederation's response had been immediate: Total embargo and boycott. In the many speeches that had followed, n.o.body bothered to point out that the Confederation's message announcing these economic measures had been conciliatory, not threatening, leaving the door open for further negotiations, apologizing for what had happened at Fort Seymour, the proximate justification for the Ordinance. The prevailing mood in the hall was for military action to expel the Confederation's garrisons from the Coalition's home worlds and n.o.body was willing to back down on that. Thus, General Lyons's forthcoming testimony would be crucial. Could they prevail?

"Where the h.e.l.l is Lyons?" Summers asked an aide for the umpteenth time.

"He is en route, sir. I understand there's sickness in his family and that's why he's been delayed."

"Humpf," was all Summers said. He went back to pretending he was listening to someone from Cabala who was droning on and on about how the Confederation of Human Worlds had persecuted the followers of some religious sect on that world by denying its ministers chaplaincies in its military forces, blah, blah, blah. Everybody had their grievances and over the past days they had all come out, interminably.

Heads turned at a sudden disturbance at the rear of the hall.

"Wall, Gen'rel, welcome!" Summers voice, magnified by the public address system, thundered and the hall went immediately silent. General Lyons, followed by Admiral Porter, walked down the central aisle, nodding here and there to some acquaintances, stopping briefly to shake hands with others. As Lyons approached the podium Summers permitted himself a sly grin. The general's entrance was grand and triumphal. As Lyons mounted the stairs to the podium, delegates rose and began to applaud and instantly everyone in the hall was on their feet and the place resounded with cheers and whistling. "See, the conquerin' hero comes," Summers snorted sotto voce. He shook his head. What was it someone had once said about the general? I studied dramatics under Lyons? The old boy sure knew how to play to his audience. Well, time to get on with the show.

"Remember, thou art mortal," Admiral de Gauss whispered in Lyons's ear and laughed. Lyons began to laugh too and immediately everyone in the hall was laughing. Lyons held up his hands for silence.

"Time's a-wastin'," Summers thundered. "Gen'rel Lyons, have a seat."

Lyons took a seat on Summers's right. Summers's face seemed more florid and blotchy than Lyons remembered from their last meeting. The effects of his Old Snort. Everyone knew Summers for a boozer. "I hope you're well, Preston," he said in a whisper.

"Tolerable, Gen'rel, tolerable," Summers whispered back. "Sorry to hear there's sickness in your fambly."

"Thank you, Preston."

"Wall, Gen'rel, lay it on. Do we or don't we have the muscle to toss these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds out?" Summers whispered.

For the next twenty minutes General Lyons presented a detailed a.n.a.lysis of the military readiness of the Coalition's forces as opposed to those of the Confederation of Human Worlds. During this time the great hall was completely silent. "In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, if military force is used against the Confederation's forces in our sector of Human s.p.a.ce we shall achieve initial success, but the possibility of a clear-cut military victory over the Confederation is highly doubtful. The best we could hope for after a very destructive campaign would be a negotiated settlement and, if I am not mistaken, Madam Chang-St.u.r.devant's message to us clearly offers that initiative as an alternative to war. While I realize it is not within my province to make such a recommendation, I urge you to take her offer. Thank you."

The great hall remained silent for a long moment. "General Lyons!" it was someone from Ruspina. "Sir, if it is the decision of this body to use military force against the Confederation, will you lead it?"

Lyons hesitated for the briefest instant. "No. If you go to war against the Confederation I shall resign. War would be a foolhardy and criminal act we could never justify with victory." That response was based on the undeniable facts he had just reviewed, not on how he felt as a man.

Again, total silence reigned throughout the great hall as the delegates took in these words. "No!" someone shouted at last and that started an uproar of protest.

"Order! Order!" Summers shouted, "The Gen'rel has given us his professional opinion," the way Summers p.r.o.nounced the word "professional" dripped with sarcasm, " 'n we must consider what he's told us. I hereby adjourn this session. You all have the Gen'rel's remarks, his tables and figgers, return to your rooms, and discuss them among yourselves. We will reconvene for a vote tomorrow morning at eight hours." He turned to General Lyons, "Guess you better be gettin' on home now, Gen'rel, see to your boy. I'll let ya know how the vote goes, 'less you want to be here when we do it tomorrow."

"Very well," Lyons nodded to de Gauss, who gathered up his briefing materials. De Gauss glanced out of the side of his eye at Summers and shook his head slightly. As Lyons walked out of the hall his pa.s.sage down the central aisle, in contrast to his splendid entrance, met with stony silence from the delegates.

"We're lucky we weren't lynched," de Gauss commented as they climbed into their car.

"I almost wish I had been, Porter," Lyons replied glumly. They sat in silence as the driver headed back to the general's home. The onboard communicator shrilled suddenly, causing de Gauss to start. Lyons

picked it up and listened intently. His face betrayed no emotion but he bit the inside of his mouth so hard it drew blood. He hung up without saying a word. "Good news, I hope?"

"Good news for someone," Lyons replied. "Driver, back to the convention hall." Lyons caught Summers just as he was leaving the hall. "Preston, does that offer of command still stand?" he demanded.

Summers paused and regarded Lyons speculatively. "Yeah. Why this sudden change of heart, Gen'rel?"

Lyons thrust his face into Summers's. "You want Ragnarok? Then I'll lead you there." "Wall, I always liked trips with dramatic endings, Gen'rel," Summers answered coolly. "Is that the only reason?" Summers couldn't help noticing a small drop of blood staining one corner of General Lyons's lip. His eyes were drawn to it for some reason.

"My son is dead," Lyons answered.

CHAPTER SIX.

"IG?" Lance Corporal Izzy G.o.denov shouted. "Why do we have to stand an Inspector General's inspection? Don't we have to be ready to go out at a moment's notice to fight the Skinks? How can we do that if we're wasting time on an IG?"

Sergeant Lupo "Rabbit" Ratliff, first squad leader, appeared in the doorway of his third fire team's room. "I heard that, Lance Corporal," he snarled. It was the end of Fifth Day's pre-IG preparations and the Marines were anxiously waiting for liberty call, when they'd be free until eight hours on First Day. "Look at this room," he said; the room was a mess with essential personal items spread about. "Just how long do you think it would take you to put all your s.h.i.+t in order, stow your personal belongings in the company supply room, and get whatever you're taking on a deployment ready to hump?" He stepped into the room and loomed over the seated G.o.denov. "It'd take so long you'd miss the G.o.dd.a.m.n Essay to orbit, that's how long!"

"I-I'd be ready in t-time," G.o.denov stammered.

Ratliff ignored G.o.denov's protest. "When you stand the IG, your personal s.h.i.+t will already be stowed away and the rest of your gear will be in such condition that you can have it all packed and on your back in less than ten minutes. That's not a waste of time!" He suddenly bent over and pulled G.o.denov's cargo belt out of his open locker box.

"What's this?" the squad leader asked, closely inspecting the belt. "It's frayed. Lance Corporal, do you intend to deploy with your gear on a cargo belt so frayed it will break and you lose something important that might save your life and the lives of other Marines? Well?"

"Ah, Sergeant, ah . . ."

"You won't have a frayed cargo belt when the IG comes through, G.o.denov. You will will go to the supply room and have Sergeant Souavi replace this defective belt. Now." go to the supply room and have Sergeant Souavi replace this defective belt. Now."

"LIBERTY CALL, LIBERTY CALL, LIBERTY CALL!" Staff Sergeant Hyakowa bellowed in the squadbay corridor. "Base liberty only!" The squadbay reverberated with the raucous cries and clatter of Marines anxious to get out of the barracks, even if they couldn't leave base.