Freehold (11 page)

Once everyone was seated and looking his way, Stell stood and said, “First, let me thank all of you for coming on such short notice, but I assure you it is necessary. You are key people, and frankly all of us have some adjustments to make and not much time to do it in. For example, those of us who have just accepted Freeholdian citizenship must readjust to civilian authority.” His eyes swept over his subordinates as he remembered the scene an hour earlier.
Zulu
's huge launching bay had been pressurized and packed with troops, as were those of the other two transports. Kasten's melodious voice had tied them together via com beam as he led them in the oath of allegiance—and then the cheers, as he said, “It is my honor to invest each of you with the privileges and responsibilities of citizenship.”

Stell forced his thoughts back to the present. “And,” he continued kindly, “there are the members of Freehold's valiant Defense Forces who have fought bravely for their, strike that,
our
planet, and now find themselves part of a larger force with different traditions and methods.” The members of the Defense Force beamed at this praise, but a few still looked concerned. Stell knew what they were thinking. “I assure each and every one of you that we have no intention of absorbing your units or usurping your place. More on that later ... but for the moment, please remember that we are now citizens like you, and will obey orders just as you do.”

Then Stell smiled in Kasten's direction. “And last, but certainly not least, are those of you elected to represent the people. Suddenly you have a much larger army than before, and a good one, if I do say so myself. To you, and to those you represent, we have pledged our loyalty, and given our promise to do everything we can to earn our place among you. And now I believe President Kasten would like to say a few words. Mr. President?”

Kasten stood, his personal presence quickly dominating the room, his eyes moving to make contact with each person present. His words were serious and deliberate. “Everything we've worked for is in peril, The forces that would destroy us are gathering, and we must meet them with courage, determination, and above all else, a unified effort. To that end, the Senate has recognized Colonel Stell's present rank, and promoted him to General.” There was light applause, in spite of Roop's smirk and raised eyebrow. Ignoring Roop, Kasten continued, “Colonel Ivan Krowsnowski of our Defense Forces will serve as General Stell's Executive Officer.” There was more applause, and a stocky, middle-aged officer with bright, determined eyes rose and half-bowed to those present. Stell liked him, and knew he was damn lucky to get him. Of course, politics had dictated the selection—fortunately Krowsnowski was a professional soldier and well qualified for the position. By making him executive officer, Stell was sending a message to both the brigade and the Defense Forces: there must be no friction between them. He couldn't allow rivalries or competition. Soon they would be fighting side by side and each must trust the other.

“In a moment, General Stell will tell you more about our plans to defend Freehold,” Kasten continued. “But before he does, I want to say one thing more—let's make damn sure we win!” He took his seat to the sound of cheers, whistles and yells of approval.

Stell stood and grinned as the applause died down. “Let's start with an appraisal of our strategic situation. Both computer and common-sense analyses point up the same problems. Our first and overriding concern is our lack of tactical air support. As you know, all the raids so far have been quick hit-and-run affairs against isolated settlements. The local Defense Forces have been overwhelmed by superior numbers and firepower, and the pirates have lifted before reinforcements could arrive.” There was a growl of agreement from the Defense Force personnel. One crusty old noncom said, “Damn right ... we never had a chance.”

Stell nodded his agreement. “And on top of that,” he continued, “each time they come and go, the pirates knock bigger holes in our satellite network, making it that much harder to detect the next raid when it comes. If they decide to send a full-scale invasion force, we might not hear about it until they walk into our living rooms.” There was an appreciative chuckle all around.

“So what's the answer, General?” Roop asked, placing an insulting emphasis on the word “General.”

Stell smiled patiently. “I'm glad you asked, Senator ... because I know you'll love the answer. What we need is a full wing of fighter-interceptors that are capable of space
and
atmospheric combat.”

“Why not just wish for the Imperial Marines, while you're at it,” Roop suggested sarcastically. “Or do you intend to lure them here with an offer of citizenship?” Even Stell's officers laughed at that.

As the laughter died away, Stell smiled and said, “If I thought it would work, I would. Unfortunately it's going to take hard, cold cash. Or at least the prospect of it.”

“Brilliant,” Roop responded caustically. “Aren't you forgetting that we're broke?”

“No, Senator, I'm not,” Stell answered leaning back in his chair. “But like Bull Strom, an old friend of mine, used to say, sometimes you've got to spend money to make money.” The brigade personnel all smiled, remembering Strom and his many sayings. “Now, in order for us to make money—enough money to make this year's payment and avoid default—we've got to move fast. We've got, what—two months left until the deadline?” A murmur of assent ran around the table. “So let's be realistic,” Stell continued. “We've got one thing, and one thing only that could generate the kind of money we need in that time, and that's thermium. So, simply put, I suggest a crash program to produce enough raw thermium to make the payment. I know you would prefer to manufacture the final products yourselves, and I can see the long-term wisdom in doing so, but we've only got two months. Meanwhile, we try to recruit the wing we need on credit. It won't be easy ... but hopefully our ability to refine and market thermium will convince them we're a good credit risk. If it works, we'll have a wing here to fly air cover while we refine the stuff, and to defend our transports when we take it to Fabrica.” Fabrica was a heavily industrialized Imperial planet lying just inside the empire. It was an open secret in government circles that representatives from Fabrica had indicated they would take all the thermium Freehold was willing to sell.

A buzz of conversation started to circle the table and Stell held up a hand to silence it. “If someone's got a better idea, now's the time to get it on the table.”

A few heads turned toward Roop, but the Senator only smiled and said, “Who am I to stand in the way of democracy? If you want to put everything we've got into one basket defended by an imaginary wing of interceptors, who am I to object?”

“Who indeed,” Senator Bram growled. “Roop's just playin’ with himself as usual, so let's get on with it.”

Kasten cleared his throat and said, “General Stell's right. Thermium is our hole card, so let's play it.”

Most of the others nodded in agreement with the exception of Roop, his staff, and a few of the Defense Force officers. But the officers at least changed their minds when Colonel Krowsnowski asked for, and received, permission to speak. His bright-blue eyes swept the room like a laser. “As many of you know, I'm not much for talking. So I'm gonna keep it short and sweet. The General's right. If we don't make the payment, we're dead. To do it, we need air cover. And, personally, I'd sell my left nut to get it.”

He sat down to cries of “Hear! Hear!” and “I'd like to help but I can't spare any.” To which a female officer replied, “Hell, you can't give away something you don't have, John!”

As the good-natured commotion died down, Stell said, “Good, that's settled then. Now let's discuss deployment of the forces we already have. Colonel Krowsnowski and I have spent some time on the brigade's computer, and believe that a mix of brigade and defense force personnel will serve us best.” And help to homogenize the troops, he thought to himself. “I said earlier that we wouldn't try to absorb the Defense Forces into the brigade. And we won't. So it's with considerable pleasure that I announce formation of a battalion called the Free Scouts. Colonel Krowsnowski will command—in addition to serving as my executive officer.” There was loud applause from the Defense Force officers.

“Now,” Stell said, touching a button in the arm of his chair, “here's what we'll do on the ground.” The room darkened and a holo tank occupying an entire bulkhead swirled to life. It was linked with the brigade's computer and displayed surface maps, personnel rosters, unit names and much more. The ensuing discussion lasted well through lunch, and then dinner, finally ending amid a pile of used meal paks, crumpled printouts, and full ashtrays. All things considered, Stell was pleased with their efforts. Units of the brigade had been assigned to bolster the defenses of each settlement, especially those where the crash program to refine thermium would be centered. Each brigade unit would be accompanied by a contingent of Free Scouts. The Scouts would provide initial liaison with the civilian population, counsel brigade personnel on local customs, and teach classes on planetary ecology and geology. All of which would help if a massive attack ever came. But almost as important were the secondary effects of the plan. Through working and fighting together, troopers and scouts would come to know and trust each other. Friendships would be formed. Love affairs would blossom and follow their natural courses. Babies would be born, and eventually the Free Scouts would merge into the brigade, and the brigade would fade into the civilian population. And when that happened ... the brigade as such would cease to exist. But it wouldn't die. It would evolve, to live on as part of a culture it had saved, and for once it would all mean something. Stell remembered lowering Bull Strom's coffin into the ground. It won't be like the old days, Bull, Stell thought, but things change, and like you used to say, “If you don't bend, you'll break.” Well, we're bending, Bull, we're bending.

As the meeting broke up, Stell ran into Austin Roop near the hatch. “A very interesting briefing, General,” the Senator said. “Very well thought out. No hard feelings, I hope?” Stell shook the outstretched hand and plastered an obligatory smile on his face.

“Of course not, Senator. The loyal opposition is a good test of any plan.”

“We agree then, General. Good luck!” And with that, Roop disappeared into the swirl of bodies heading for the launching bay where the shuttles waited.

The next two days passed in a blur of activity. First there were meetings with Captains Boyko, Nashita, and Kost on the dispersal of the transports. If the pirates sent a full-scale invasion force, the lumbering old transports wouldn't last ten minutes, and they'd be needed later. It was decided that once the ground forces had been landed and supplied, the ships would take up positions a long way out from Freehold, where they could serve as early warning stations. That way, they'd help compensate for the damage to the satellite network. If attacked themselves, the transports could take a random hyperspace jump. There was some danger of coming out of hyperspace in the middle of an asteroid, or right on the surface of a sun, but the odds were on their side—especially when compared with certain destruction by the pirates. There were also logistics meetings, communications meetings, strategy meetings, and meetings on how to eliminate meetings. But finally it was over. Krowsnowski had his final orders, and with a sigh of relief, Stell climbed into a small scout borrowed from Captain Boyko and slipped off into space. Samantha was at the controls, her work as an intelligence agent having long ago required her to qualify as a pilot, and Sergeant Major Como occupied the third seat of the four-person craft. Like most of its kind, the scout was designed for speed, not comfort. Her huge drives left little room for the crew. Only that, and Stell's vehement protests, had prevented Krowsnowski from sending half the brigade along. Krowsnowski didn't seem to understand that recruiting an air-space wing was something you did quietly, not with a small army. Of course, both the Colonel and President Kasten had opposed his going at all, saying he was needed to organize the defense of Freehold—and what if there was an attack while he was gone? Which was a major part of why he'd decided to go. If Krowsnowski was to be effective, he had to gain self-confidence and earn the respect of the brigade—something he'd have a hard time doing with Stell looking over his shoulder every second. And besides, convincing a wing to enlist in their cause wasn't going to be easy. Based on the reputation of the brigade, Stell would have a better chance than anyone else. At least, that's what he told himself. Deep down, he wondered if he just wanted a break from all the logistics, meetings, and boring detail. It would feel good to be doing something for a change.

Having set their course in the ship's computer, Sam made her way back to the tiny lounge and dropped into the seat next to Como. She lit a dopestick and said, “Endo, here we come.”

“Endo?” Stell frowned. “Seems to me I've heard the name, but that's about it.” Weeks before, he'd ordered her to find out which wings were available and where they were based. He'd been so busy, and so eager to get away from all those meetings, that he hadn't asked her where they were headed.

“It's not exactly a major tourist spot,” Sam agreed. “In fact I believe Endo was originally called ‘Endo The Line.’ It was discovered by the empire but ceded to the Zords as partial settlement of some minor territorial dispute. It's not far from their home world. Anyway, they haven't done much with it so it's mostly undeveloped rain forest. The planet's got potential, if they ever get off their tentacles and get to work.” The Zords were bipedal and had four tentacles, two to a side, instead of arms. Smaller tentacles surrounded their oral cavities and were used to communicate via a very complex sign language, as well as for eating. They were not an aggressive race, apparently satisfied with a small, two-system empire, and specialized in banking rather than industrial concerns. However, their reputation as loan sharks, plus their insistence on institutionalized slavery, had acted to limit their overall success.