First Principles: Samair in Argos: Book 3 (86 page)

              “That is completely different!” Koton hissed, slamming a fist on the table.  “We sent in ships to protect our tradeships, not an invasion force!”

              “We do not have any evidence that this actually
is
an invasion force,” Nikolas pointed out, coming to sit back down at his desk.  He held up a hand to forestall the argument.  “I get that there are warships and potentially a support train or troop transports coming in, but we’ve got our own patrol watching and escorting them.  In the meantime, pull all the warships from the rest of the system but leave one of the frigates at the shipyard.  I do not want that uncovered, unless absolutely necessary.”

              “Mister President,” Koton protested, “If we leave one of the frigates there at the yard, if the worst happens, that ship won’t be able to get into position to help until it is far too late to make any difference.  I say we should leave the four pinnaces and two cutters and pull
all
of the other ships, including all of the frigates there.”

              “I’m forced to agree,” Shayenne replied.  “If we pull everything, that will give us…”  She consulted her datapad.  “Eight corvettes, six cutters and five frigates.  Not enough against what they have, but it should give them pause.”

              Nikolas considered this.  “All right, you have my approval.  Get a message out to those ships.  What is the status of the cruiser that’s in the yard?  How close is she to being finished?”

              Shayenne shook her head.  “A ways yet.  A lot of the support systems haven’t been completed and she still has no weapons, no hyperdrive.  Digby over at the yard says there’s at least another month and then there will be time needed for trials and shakedown.”

              “And if we really need it?”

              The woman sighed.  “I don’t know.  I’ll talk with Digby, see what he says, but I suspect the ship won’t be available to come riding to the rescue.”

              “That’s what I was afraid of.”  He sighed, rubbing his eyes.  “All right, let’s get the council together.  We’re going to have to at least consider that they’re here for what they say they are.”

              “This is outrageous!” Koton said nearly shaking in rage.  “This is an invasion!”

              “I agree,” Shayenne put in.

              Nikolas nodded.  “I’m not sold on this whole trade summit concept,” he admitted, “which is why I’m issuing the recall order for our space defense forces.  And, I want to get all branches of the military on full alert.”

              Shayenne smiled.  “If nothing else, we can get the army out of their barracks and start earning their meager yet undeserved pay.”  She chuckled to herself.  “Should we start bringing some soldiers up to the orbital?”

              “Immediately!” Koton demanded.  “Get a regiment up here right away!”

              “Do it,” the president said after a moment’s consideration.  “And if nothing comes from it, the army gets some good training out of it.”  He rolled his neck around to try and loosen up tense muscles.  “All right, let’s get to it.  We have a lot to prepare for both this summit and for military preparations.”

              “We’re actually going through with this farce?” Koton clicked.

              “Yes, Koton, we are.  Because if there’s even the remotest chance that this could be the truth, I don’t want to look like an unprepared fool.  The markets in Seylonique have been lucrative so far and the goods they’ve brought here in cargo ships have been snapped up by businesses here.  If we can cement some sort of trade relationship, that could only be good for both of us.  But I want to be sure that this system gets the best deal we can, assuming they’re actually interested in that.”  He scowled as neither of them looked in any hurry to get up.  “Move!  Let’s go!”  He clapped his hands sharply.  Koton hissed, but the translator didn’t speak, but they both were up and moving.

              “Captain, we have more ships coming our way,” Garidhak piped up, her ears lying flat against her head.  She was running near-continuous sensor scans of the surrounding area, vacuuming up every bit of information that the ship could possibly see.  So far there wasn’t much to see, a lot of the important stuff was out of
Mondragon
’s sensor range, but as they moved closer in system more and more interesting things popped up on the screens.

              “How many?” Leicasitaj fidgeted in his chair.  This ride into the system had taken far longer than he was comfortable and with the thought that they might be going into combat in the near future didn’t fill him with happy, fuzzy feelings.  He was doing his best to maintain his composure, because a warship’s captain did not panic.

              “Three more, sir,” the Severite reported.  “Two corvettes and a cutter.”

              “That brings the total to what, nine?”

              “Yes, sir,” she replied.  “Two frigates, four corvettes and three cutters.  Except for the three that are still in escort formation with our flotilla, the others are holding position one light second off our portside and low.”

              The Romigani checked the sensor display.  “Yes, I see them.  They’re holding course relative to us?”

              “Yes, sir.  I’m keeping a sharp eye on them.”

              “Good.  Sing out when they do anything.”

              “You expecting something, sir?” she asked, looking over to him, blinking slightly in consternation.

              He shook his head.  “No, Garidhak, I sincerely hope that we get to the planet’s orbit, the councilors do what they came here to do, we get the agreement signed and we’re on our way out of the system and back over the hyper limit.”  His facial tentacles wiggled a bit.  “But I also believe in being prepared.  I’d rather be paranoid for now and lose a bit of sleep than get caught by a riptide.”

              “Approaching the planet, Colonel,” Paxton reported, several hours later.  “So far so good.”  The XO was doing an excellent job of maintaining a level, controlled tone, of which Gants heartily approved.  He knew that his own stress level was through the roof right now, what with the potential for misunderstandings growing with every ship that joined the local SDF formations.  But, they were keeping their distance, five light seconds, and for now were just watching the Seylonique contingent.  There hadn’t been any threatening transmissions from the surface, on the contrary, the local government and the Seylonique delegations were shooting messages back and forth almost constantly and had been ever since the
Leytonstone
got into easy comm range with the planet.

              “It seems as though this might actually work out,” Gants said and then immediately cursed himself for thinking it.  Paxton looked over at him and he shrugged.  “Put us into a high orbit,” he ordered.  “Make sure that we’re out of the regular traffic lanes, but within a thousand kilometers from the orbital station.”  The helmsman acknowledged and the ship continued to move along without hindrance. 

              “Incoming transmission from the orbital,” one of the comm-techs called. 

              Gants pressed a control, activating the monitor on his chair.  A pompous-looking man appeared before him, wearing the uniform of station officials.  “This is orbital traffic control to Seylonique battlecruiser
Leytonstone
.  Are you the Marklan of the vessel?”

              Gants blinked, not understanding the foreign word.  “I am the commanding officer of the
Leytonstone
.”

              “Good.  You need to pull up to the orbital at docking port 297, power down your shields and keep your weapons locked down.  Prepare for to be boarded by armed inspection teams.”

              Gants raised an eyebrow and smirked.  “Excuse me?  No armed individuals are stepping one millimeter onto my ship, sir.  And the
Leytonstone
will not be docking with the station.  We will maintain parking orbit right here and the delegation will be sent over by shuttles.”

              “What?” the man spluttered.  “You are in Ulla-tran sovereign space,
Captain
.  You will comply with my orders or our defense ships will open fire.”

              The colonel sighed.  “Put your supervisor on the line,” he said.  “I can assure you that your superiors have no desire to start a war over traffic control.”

              “You will comply-…”

              “You will put your superior on the line,
now
,” Gants barked.  “I will not be responsible for the destruction of any of your ships and the death of your crews because some pompous button pusher has decided to see how manly he is today.”  Gants leaned forward, his eyes blazing with molten lava.  “The
Leytonstone
far outclasses any of your ships that are currently in range.  I don’t want to use my weapons, but I will, if you push me.”

              The other man just sat there, breathing heavily, his face turning a dark shade of purple.  “One moment,” he growled and the connection ended. 

              “Colonel?” Paxton asked, stepping over to tactical, his intentions clear.

              But Gants shook his head.  “Do not power weapons, XO.  Not yet.”  He considered the situation for a long moment.  It would figure that some ass decided to try and throw his weight around, thinking that the outsider rube of a commander would just bend over and take it.  But thinking about it for another moment, Gants came to a decision.  “But… better safe than sorry.  Sound general quarters, but take us to condition two. 
Do not
power up weapons unless I give an express order.  Make sure that is clear.”

              The klaxons sounded and red lights replaced the regular illumination.  Gants pointed one finger at the display on his chair, expectantly.  Sure enough, just as his finger was properly extended, the indicator light activated.  He sighed, pressing the control.

              Sebastian Chakrabarti’s face appeared.  “Colonel, I don’t want to get in the way, but can you tell me what’s happening?”

              “There is a situation brewing, Councilor,” Gants admitted.  “One of the station traffic controllers ordered us to heave to and dock with the station, and to prepare to have armed boarding parties come aboard for inspection.  I told him that we would not comply with his request.”

              The man nodded.  “I understand, Colonel.  I can’t say that I would disagree with you on that issue.  Are we under attack?”

              “Not yet,” Gants hedged.  “But I’m bringing the ship to general quarters and I’ve ordered that, for the moment, the weapons stay powered down.”

              Chakrabarti let out a breath.  “That was a good call, as you say for now.  I’m on my way up to the Flag Bridge to assist with speaking with the authorities.”  He started to get up from a seated position.

              “Fast is good,” Gants replied, cutting the connection.  In less than ninety seconds, the Councilor burst onto the Flag Bridge.  He was adjusting his clothing, his official sash of red silk and gold embroidery, looking as though he had dressed in a hurry.  “That was fast.”

              “I hadn’t gotten undressed very far,” Sebastian replied.  “Any change?”

              “No.  I demanded to speak with someone in authority and the traffic operator who had contacted us looked as though he was going to pass my demand up the chain and then disconnected.”

              Chakrabarti nodded.  “Do you think he’s going to respond?  With something other than weapons fire?”

              “I truly hope so.”  Gants didn’t look all that confident.  “But the way that idiot just came at me on the call, he sounded as though he really meant to order the defense ships to open fire.”

              “Can you put me on with the Station master on the orbital, please?” the councilor asked, looking from the colonel to the comm-tech.  Gants nodded to the tech, who pressed a few commands. 

              “You’re on, sir.”

              Chakrabarti straightened his sash one last time, then looked forward.  “This is Councilor Chakrabarti on board the
Leytonstone
and I’m trying to reach the Station master.”

              The large display activated and the image of a wide, blocky Secaaran appeared.  The alien spoke.  “I was told that your Marklan has refused to dock at the station.  He has also refused to allow our inspection teams aboard your ship.”

              “That is correct, sir.  And his title is Colonel, not Marklan.”  Chakrabarti clasped his hand in front of his body, the picture of serenity.  “I apologize for any misunderstandings and if Colonel Gants might have been abrupt in his refusal to allow your inspection teams aboard his ship.”

              The Station Master eyed Chakrabarti for a moment.  “Then
you
are going to allow our inspection teams aboard.”  It wasn’t a question.

              “No, sir, I am not.  I apologize for any misunderstandings,” he repeated.  “But I’m afraid we cannot allow foreign soldiers aboard our ships.  But I can assure you, sir, that we did not come here to attack your people, or to invade your lands.  But this is a combat vessel, so if you were thinking that you might find weapons and explosives, you would.”