The Privateer (29 page)

Mong was gone for nearly four hours. He had gone out to the asteroid belt, and attacked and shot up several ship-sized asteroids. He came back grinning widely, an enthusiastic convert.

While he was gone, the government had carried on a lot of discussion in private, while Cale and Zant fidgeted in
Minetoo
's lounge. When Mong returned, he was quickly shanghaied into the impromptu meeting of the Government of Ilocan in Exile.

Two hours later, Mong crossed to
Minetoo
alone. He joined Cale and Zant in the lounge
cum
messroom.

"All right," he said, "Tell me about the third ship." He watched their reactions carefully.

Zant smiled at Cale, who shrugged. "We found that we actually had too many gunboats for the two Din-class ships to carry. So, we had a third ship fixed up, and she's an interesting one. She's a
Chata
class with a planetary defense laser and a bunch of other weaponry installed. We had a couple of ideas for her. One was to use her to ferry additional boats to the two recal systems. We also thought about trying to sneak into Ilocan's system, and either resupply your guerillas, or at least shoot up some of their surveillance. Trouble is, we have no way to establish communication with the ground. Most of the effort would be wasted.

"My personal favorite, though, was to use her and my own
Cheetah
to raid Santiago. I'd bet nearly all of their warships are on station at Ilocan, and the last thing they would expect would be an attack on their home planet. I thought we could hit a lot of their support facilities with
Cheetah
and the boats, maybe even snatch a ship or two as prizes, and then drop off a bunch of mines at the jump point as we leave. That Chata-class could do some serious damage to an orbital factory. We could even leave her there, hidden in the asteroid belt, and use the boats for ongoing raids. But we'd need an experienced combat skipper and some really ballsy boat pilots to carry that off."

Mong nodded. "Sounds like fun. Do you have
any
idea of the diplomatic and legal hooraw your 'Letters of Marque' are going to create?"

Cale's smile was slightly wicked. "I think so. As the President said, it may take a century or two to work through the courts. Frankly, I don't care, and I don't see why you should care, either. Certainly no Interstellar court jumped forward to stop the Santies."

He shrugged before continuing. "I've had a while to think about this. My own suggestion would be to issue the letters, get operations underway, then send copies of the letters to Angeles, and tell them what we're doing. They're the big pirate hunters in this sector, but they have a massive bureaucracy. Their pirate hunters won't jump our people until His Majesty's government tells them to, and by the time every department has had its say and done its research, and the government figures out its "position" on privateers, the war will be long over."

"Uh-huh," Mong replied. "And when it
is
over? What happens to your fleet then?"

Cale shrugged again. "Letters of Marque are only valid during wartime. If they continue raiding, they're no longer privateers, they're just pirates. And we know what happens to
them
. Besides, all the ships and boats are mine, and they can go back into my yard." He hesitated, and then continued, "There
is
another option, one less controversial."

Mong looked like a man who just discovered an insect in his soup. "Oh? And what would that be?"

Cale kept his face impassive. "The government could lease my ships and boats for, oh, three million Alliance credits, and put the crews on the government's payroll. All legal, and nobody's hanged for piracy. Of course, there's no income for the
government
that way; no 'prizes', or 'prize courts' to decide the shares.

Mong grinned tightly. "And just what kind of 'shares' would you consider fair?"

"That's negotiable, of course. I'd guess in the neighborhood of fifty percent."

Mong looked shocked. "
Fifty
percent? Of the value of the ship
and
its cargo? Ridiculous. Of course, a small, suitable reward . . ."

Cale shook his head. "Fifty percent of what the government gets for it at a sale or auction, which will be nowhere near the true value, and split among the boat pilots and ship's crews. Sir," he added urgently, "do you realize you are haggling over what to pay people who do
not
work for you, to encourage them to risk their lives to capture ships and people instead of simply destroying them? And that you are talking about shares of a vessel the government will not possess unless the privateers take that extra risk?"

Mong reddened. "I . . . I guess from that point of view I sounded pretty officious and mercenary. But the shares
do
have to be discussed, and there are other factors involved, too."

Cale nodded. "Of course, sir. However, neither you nor I am a negotiator. I suggest the details can be ironed out. We are dealing with the major decisions, here. Policy. Isn't that what governments do?

Mong chuckled. "More often than is perhaps good for us. Well, I guess I had better get back to the arguing and the horse-trading. It
is
nice to actually have something important to discuss, though." He paused as he suited up. "I'd suggest you two come back across to the mine. This meeting ought to be over in an hour or two." He clumped into the airlock as Cale and Zant reached for their suits.

On the trip back to Torlon, they carried three crews qualified to fly Din-class ships. They also carried four "Letters of Marque and Reprisal," flowery-looking documents, one of which would be carried on each Din-class, the
Chata
-class, and one for
Cheetah
. They gave each Captain the authority to "search out and capture or destroy shipping bearing the beacon or flag of the Republic of Santiago, whether warship or merchant vessel". A separate contract, executed by each Captain, entitled them and their crews to 40% of the salvage value of any ship and/or cargo captured in space while bearing a beacon of the Republic of Santiago, to be distributed among the crew in accordance with the attached schedule.

Before they left, Cale sought out Jessica. "Madam President," he began, having to consciously restrain himself from calling her 'aunt Jessie', "I have a problem that will require your help."

Her eyebrows went up. "Oh? And what might
that
be? I thought you were supposed to be the miracle man with all the answers?" A smile and a twinkle in her eye removed any offense."

He grinned. "No ma'am, I have no experience with miracles. However, I
do
have a problem. Sire Mong is Secretary of Defense. As such, of course, he represents the Ilocano government, which issued the letters of Marque; this puts him firmly in control. He has become very excited about that Chata-class fortress. He says he wants to christen her
Ilocan's Revenge.
Apparently, he has assumed that he will Captain her, and he does have the necessary qualifications.

"But he is starting to make noises like a general, wanting to set up chains of command and such. I do not consider this wise. Our people are atmosphere miners. They do not have military training or discipline. Besides, these ships and boats actually belong to
me
, not to the government of Ilocan. The contract under which you chartered the Chata-class does not provide for Ilocan to appoint a Captain.

"What I need is for you to make clear to sire Mong that if he accepts the captaincy of
Ilocan's Revenge
, he will do so as Ster Mong, private citizen, not sire Mong, Minister of Defense. And that he will
not
have any military or government authority while he's aboard."

Jessica nodded. "That makes sense. Ster always was something of an armchair admiral. All right, Cale, I'll have a talk with him."

Apparently she did. Mong suddenly became distant and surly with Cale. He did, however, make it clear that he knew he was not in overall command.

Still, Cale expected at least one confrontation with the captains of the base ships, who also assumed they would have some sort of military authority. He planned to use the occasion to clarify their status, and to inspire the boat pilots, as well.

As he expected, the Captains demanded a meeting to discuss resources and strategy. Cale insisted that all the boat pilots, as well as the captains, attend. The captains had turned a stores room into a conference room, lacking only a large table. Instead, the chairs were arranged in a large circle, with a lunch table on one side. Zant took one look, conferred with Cale, and kept everyone outside while he rearranged the seating, with the table and two chairs along one wall, and the other chairs arranged facing them. Cale and Zant entered first, taking the two chairs behind the desk. A glowering Mong, accompanied by two other equally unhappy older Captains, took seats in the first row, whispering to each other as the boat pilots entered and took seats.

As soon as everyone was seated, Mong sprang to his feet. “
Sire
Rankin,” he began, “We, the Captains, feel that we need to establish a chain of command, appoint leaders, and plan strategy and tactics . . . “

He paused as Cale waved a hand. “I’m sorry, Captain Mong. Are you under the impression that you are establishing some sort of military organization? If so, you are sadly mistaken.” He again waved a vague hand. “This is
my
ship, Captain, as is
Cheetah
, and the ships we will be crewing. You will be flying
my
ships. The situation is akin to being hired by the owner of a fleet of merchantmen. There is no need to establish a chain of command or appoint leaders. You are simply being contracted to operate merchant ships that happen to be armed.”

Mong looked scandalized. “But if there’s no military organization, you’re no better than
pirates
!” Mong had to know better; as Minister of Defense, he had voted to issue the Letters of Marque. Whatever his motivation, though, it provided a perfect setup for Cale.

Cale’s smile was mild. “Not at all, Captain.” He turned his attention to the rest of the room as Mong, ignored, dropped into his seat. “How many of you read history?”

Nearly all the hands, including Mong’s, went up. The long periods between scoop runs, and the long hours on the runs themselves, gave plenty of opportunity for reading and study, and history was a popular subject both for serious study and as the setting for many thriller holos.

Cale nodded. “All right, then. You captains, I suggest you stop trying to consider yourselves officers in a military force. Commanding a crew of three on a Din-class does not make you the equal of an Alliance Navy Frigate skipper. We are relatively untrained in military matters, and we would just make a hash of it.

“No,” he continued, “Instead you,
all
of you," he waved his arm to include the boat pilots, "should consider yourselves present-day privateers; a ‘company of gentlemen adventurers’ operating under Letters of Marque and Reprisal issued by Ilocan, and financed by me.”

Babble broke out, along with quite a few grins and nods. The idea of becoming the modern-day personification of one of the most popular historical images was appealing.

Mong, sensing he was losing support, sprang to his feet. “But we must
plan
! Develop strategies . . .”

His voice trailed off as Cale shook his head. “We do not even know for certain how many and what types of ships and boats we will have available, Captain. It is pretty difficult to plan when you have no idea what force you’ll have. When the time comes, rest assured that I will brief you sufficiently on your duties.”

He sighed theatrically. “I’m sorry, gentlemen. I know it is difficult and boring to be passengers on someone else’s ship, in jump and in recal systems. But there really is very little that can be accomplished until we reach our base.”

Mong jumped up again. “Yes. That’s another thing
sire
Rankin. Where the Sheol are we going? Where
is
our base?”

Cale frowned. “I prefer to keep the location of
my
base as secret as possible for reasons of my own. The ship’s jump comps will be slaved to
Cheetah
’s, so you will not need to know. If you are astrogators, or an astrogator is assigned to your ship, you are ordered to make
no
effort to learn its location. Consider it another mystery surrounding the mysterious Privateer Force.”

He then reviewed what privateers were (and were not), what the letters were, and why they were necessary. Then, to an enthusiastic reception, he reviewed the concept of 'prizes'; that in a war, enemy merchant shipping was considered a legitimate target, and that the Letters of Marque and Reprisal made the privateers temporarily an instrument of the Ilocan government, with the authority to capture or destroy enemy shipping. Captured enemy shipping (prizes) would be inspected by a "prize court," and either taken for use by the government, or sold at auction. The last part of his briefing resulted in cheers: that if the government sold a prize at auction, the crew of the privateer capturing her received 40% of the sale price, to be divided among them according to a set schedule. Thus, every member of a crew involved in a capture received a share of the "prize money."

Cale finished by reminding them that captured ships also meant captured crews, and that any suspected mistreatment of Santie crews would be investigated and punished as a war crime.

The meeting was an unqualified success. The crewmen and the boat pilots, especially, developed a bit of a swagger, and went out of their way to refer to each other as 'privateers'. Mong, passing Cale in a corridor shortly after the meeting, give him a smile and a wink, and said, "You're welcome," with no further explanation. But then, no further explanation was necessary.

The senior Captains did not waste their time on the long trip to Torlon. Led by the indomitable and abrasive Mong, they interviewed and discussed the prospective crewmen and boat pilots aboard, and made a number of agreed-upon choices.