First Principles: Samair in Argos: Book 3 (79 page)

              The two males exchanged a look which gave Tamara all the confirmation she needed.  “Oh, you bastards.  I did not tell my freight crews to resist inspection teams.  They boarded the ship without provocation and when my crew complied they shot one of them to prove a point.  I need you to do something about this.”

              “And what exactly would you like us to do, Tamara?” Kozen’ck asked, sounding tired. 

              “I want to set up some sort of formal trade arrangement.  Something official so that the ships from this system can be protected.”

              “You sent in one of your corvettes as escort, didn’t you?” Chakrabarti asked. 

              “Right and that didn’t stop them from attacking my cargo ship.”

              “We have four ships leaving for Ulla-tran in short order,” Kozen’ck said, putting his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands.  “I don’t want them going there is there’s going to be a serious problems with the locals.  And if something
does
happen, our cargo ships are not going to want to go there ever again.”

              “That’s a ton of revenue lost,” Chakrabarti said, putting a hand to his forehead.  “And that’s a lot of opportunity lost as well.  We have people counting on this new market.”

              “Maybe you need to send an ambassador, someone with clout who can make decisions and speak for the government, and give them enough of a hammer to crack heads if need be.”  Tamara gave a one shouldered shrug.  “Or at least enough of a threat to make them listen.  The governing council at Ulla-tran is probably no different than governments everywhere, but I have no idea.  I’ve never met with them.”

              The two councilors looked at each other.  “We would need some sort of cake to go with the stick,” Kozen’ck replied.

              “Yes.  Something that’s going to make them want to open up dialogues and want to continue sending their ships here.”

              Tamara sighed.  “And I suppose you’re going to tell them all about the gadolinium stockpiles I’ve got.”

              “We’ve bought some of it off of you,” Kozen’ck pointed out.

              “At vastly inflated prices,” Chakrabarti grumped.

              “Oh, please, you really want to play the game of who got the better deal?  After those prices I let you talk me into for the destroyer deal?” Tamara countered.  “But you’re right.  If they find out there’s gadolinium to be bought or traded for here, they’ll want to set something up.”

              “They might try to attack us and take it.”  The human councilor didn’t like that idea.

              Tamara pulled up information about Ulla-tran defense ships on her implants.  The information was ready in a second.  “Check your datapad there.  I uploaded everything my ships managed to pick up about the defense ships in that system.”

              Kozen’ck linked the datapad to his desk console.  A moment later he pulled up the information.  “A lot of ships.”

              “Five frigate-sized ships like the ones I have, looks like six or so of the corvettes, and about a dozen gunships.  I can’t quite tell what it is they’re building in that shipyard, but it’s a cruiser of some sort.”

              “Well then we definitely hold the edge!” Chakrabarti crowed.  “With all of our ships we could crush them.”

              “We’re no trying to crush them, Councilor,” Tamara replied calmly.  “I should think your priority would be to open up lines of business, avenues of trade.  They’re the only other really industrialized star system around here, aside from any that are under Verrikoth’s control.  We need to cement a relationship with them, so that if that pirate bug sticks his face around here, we’ll be ready and secured.”

              “I agree,” Kozen’ck said.  “And the more you’re talking, the more I like what I hear.”

              “We’ve been doing things on our own for so long,” Chakrabarti said.

              “But those days are over,” the Triarch shot back.  “Because of Ms. Samair here and her associates, we don’t have the luxury of being bunkered up.  We’ve had traders from outside systems, even Republic ships coming through here.  We aren’t isolated any longer.”  He turned his face toward Tamara.  “But if we can set up some sort of trade agreement, perhaps that could lead to something more.”

              “What are you suggesting?”

              “I’m suggesting, Sebastian, that you and a group of people that you select go to Ulla-tran and hammer something out.”

              “You… wait, what?”  The man sat back, stunned.  “You want
me
to do this?”

              “Why not you?” Kozen’ck asked.  “You’re a member of the admin council; you’ve negotiated a few deals before.”

              “Nothing like this!  I’ve never done anything this huge.”

              “No one here has,” the zheen pointed out.  “You are the one I trust to get this done.”

              The man flicked his eyes to Tamara.  “You know we need to discuss this with the rest of the council.”

              Kozen’ck nodded.  “Yes, of course we will.  Thank you, Tamara, for bringing this to us.  If we need to speak with you any further on this, we’ll contact you.”

              Tamara nodded.  “I’ll be on the station for a while, I’m thinking about setting up some corporate offices here.  Having everything outsystem made sense at first, but I need to have offices here as well.”  She stood.  “You have my comm codes.  Thank you for taking this meeting.”

              “Of course.  And I want to thank you for bringing this to our attention,” the zheen replied.  “I want to assure you that this will be given the highest consideration.”

              Tamara looked at him for a long moment, then she nodded again and headed for the door.  Once she and her guard were outside and the door closed again, Sebastian spoke.  “Are you really going to consider this?”

              “I am.  She made some good points.”

              “What, about that nonsense concerning her cargo ship?” Sebastian demanded.  “She’s just covering for her people!  They tried to push back against what was probably just a routine customs inspection, somebody got belligerent and the customs people had to fire.”

              “Tamara uploaded the warship information from the Ulla-tran system, but she also uploaded all the security footage from her ship’s internal cameras.”  Kozen’ck pressed a command on his desk and the display activated so that the both of them could see.  “Those soldiers boarded the ship and it looks like they were pretty rough,” the zheen commented as they saw them pin the woman at the airlock against the bulkhead and cuffed her wrists.  Similar scenes played out throughout the ship as the soldiers went through and secured every compartment.  Finally in the engine room, they saw them struggle with what they assumed was the engineer.  The fight, the grabbing of the gun, the other soldier opening fire. 

              “All right, I see it,” Sebastian said, rubbing his jaw.  “And you’re right, the man there didn’t do anything to deserve to get shot.  But a full on delegation to Ulla-tran?  Over one incident?”

              “Do you want more incidents?  This time only one person was injured,” Kozen’ck pointed out.  “Next time someone might be killed, or several someones.”

              “They’re FP employees, Kozen’ck.”

              The zheen just stared at him, his antennae moving in circles.  “Is that what we think of them now?  They’re either working for Samair or they aren’t?”  He pointed one blunted finger at the display.  “Those are not foreign agents, those are
Seylonique
citizens! 
Our
citizens!  And yes, while I dislike some of the tactics that Samair uses and I dislike how much power she has accumulated, this whole… revival we’re going through is because of the people she brought into the fold.  Our people.  Our citizens.  And we have a host of ships that are going that way shortly.  I don’t want to see any of them hurt or killed.  I don’t want to see our ships interdicted.  I want to see our system continue to grow and prosper.”  He buzzed a sigh.  “I want to go ahead with this.”

              Sebastian was nodding, chewing his lips.  “I’ll admit, I was not for this idea.  I still have doubts.  But after seeing that footage and…  You made a good case.  So did Samair.  If these pirates she’s been banging on about really are out there and they really are looking in our direction, having a strong ally next door can only be a good thing.”

              “Good.  Then let’s get the council together.”  He paused.  “And I’m going to recall the
Leytonstone
to the orbital.  I’d like to get Colonel Gants’s opinion on all this.”

              “Gants?  You want to bring
him
in?”

              “I’m thinking his ship is going to be instrumental in whatever we decide.  It only seems reasonable that we bring him in on any discussions.”

              Sebastian narrowed his eyes.  “You’re planning something,” he accused.

              Antennae flicked.  “I’m the Triarch of the administratory council.  Of course I’m planning something.  I have lots of plans going on in my head.  You should know that by now.”

              Colonel Gants looked at the recall order.  “Recalled?  What the hell is this?  We’re not due for maintenance for another fifteen days.”  The patrol around the system real estate had been going well, uneventful.  Getting used to flying around the system had taken time.  For the longest interval, years, a decade,
Leytonstone
had been tied up to the dock, slowly decaying, slowly dying.  They’d rushed her into service for that abortion of an attack on FP’s gas mine, and the humiliating trip back.  But then once the repairs and overhauls had been completed, his baby shone.  The last several months had been a series of wargames with the FP people, tactical training, shipboard drills; it felt good.  He was in a true military ship again.  He had purpose; he was protecting the system, not just sitting on a rusting derelict counting down the endless, frustrating days until he could retire.

              What the hell could they possibly want from him now?  His ship was in good order, morale was high and while the patrols themselves had done little but show the flag, he was fulfilling his mission.

              With a heavy sigh, he pressed a control to contact the bridge.  “Bridge, this is the Colonel.  Set course for the orbital, best speed.”

              “Colonel, what’s going on?” Lieutenant Commander Paxton asked. 

              “Just get us turned around.  We have a good trip back to the orbital station and we need to get started.” 

              “Aye, sir,” the XO replied, and the conversation stopped for a moment.  Gants could hear him barking orders to the bridge crew.  “All right, we’re heading back.”

              “My ready room, Paxton.  Now please.”

              “On my way, sir.”

              In under a minute, the man entered the ready room, the hatch sliding shut behind him.  “Colonel, what’s going on?  Why are we headed back?”

              Gants gestured to one of the heavy plastic chairs and the man sat, holding stiff, military posture.  “I don’t have much in the way of details, XO.  We got the recall order from the admin council so we’re high tailing it back.”

              Paxton waited.  When Gants didn’t continue, he said, “That’s it?  Just ‘come back’?  That doesn’t make much sense.  They must want us for something.”

              Gants gave a tired grin.  “I knew I picked you as my XO for a reason.”  He sobered.  “Whatever the council wants us for must be big.  You don’t send the system’s largest and most powerful military asset back to the orbital long before it’s necessary for no reason.”

              “Well, sir, I would normally say you’re correct, but this
is
the council we’re talking about.”

              Gants grimaced.  “Ever since the refit, the admins have actually been good about giving orders.  We haven’t actually had much in the way of conflicting orders or stupid orders.  Only that one resupply clusterfuck that was out by the FP shipyard.”

              “I can’t believe that they actually thought that doing a package drop and recovery was the best way to do a resupply.  The FP people were going crazy over that.”

              Gants smiled, reliving the memory.  “And when the crate tethers came undone and crates spilled all over.  I thought the chief was going to lose it.”

              “A routine resupply that should have taken ten or eleven hours that ended up taking three days?” Paxton grimaced but the smile peeked through.  “At least the shuttle crews got some flight time.”

              “I know flight ops was pleased with that.  But getting everything cleared up was a bitch.”  Gants chuckled.  “I wonder how many idiots lost their positions over that little fuck up.”

              “Probably some poor underling who had told his bosses in Supply this was an incredibly stupid idea…”

              “And who was then told to just shut up and do it,” Gants finished.  He sighed.  “And his upper level supervisor got yelled at and the underling got fired.  In fact, look into that, would you?  I think I’d like to find out what asshole might have put my ship in danger from flying debris.”