Honor Bound

ripping them apart in flares of fusion fire.

“Shipbusters have detonated against the field,” Pirelli announced. “Sensors are back online. Oh, damn,” she said mildly. “Sir, we have two ramships coming in at 20g’s. They’re using Eysselink drives.”

“They must keep most of their pirated antimatter here in their home system,” McKay guessed.

“They have to be running on computer control, too,” Patel deduced. “The crew must be in g-sleep.”

“If they have a crew,” McKay countered, remembering Vinnie’s idea from earlier. “It would be just as easy to give the computer a target and say ‘hit that,’ then let them go. Shipbusters with Eysselink drives.”

“Now that’s disturbingly innovative of him,” Patel grumbled.

“They’ll intercept us in less than an hour,” she said. “Sir..” she said hesitantly to Admiral Patel, “I don’t think we can use the emitters to destabilize their fields like we did before. They’re coming in too fast… we won’t have time to target them.”

Sweeny blew a breath out through puffed cheeks and looked up from his station’s readout. “Admiral, to outrun them, we’re going to have to go into the tanks.”

“Commander Devlin,” Patel pushed the indicator on his command console for Damage Control, “what’s the status of the antimatter fuel canisters we brought in with the shuttles?”

“On the way to engineering now, sir,” Devlin told him.

“Get it locked down, then get your people to the g-tanks,” Patel ordered. “Engineering,” he switched channels. “When the antimatter canisters get there, I need them powered up and locked down immediately. We are going to be in the g-tanks within the hour.”

“Will do, sir,” Kopecky replied

“Mr. Sweeny,” Patel said to the Helmsman, “I need a subroutine drawn up to get this ship through the last gate we came through without pulling us out of g-sleep. You and Ms. Pirelli tie it in with the emitters to get that gate open, cut the drive field, launch a spread of Area Denial missiles, then punch us through on the plasma drives before reactivating the Eysselink field, then waking us up. Correction: have it wake up just the bridge crew. That way if the rammers are still following us, we can do the same thing with the next gate then get back into the tanks quickly.”

“Aye sir,” the Helmsman and Tactical officer chorused.

“We’re going back the way we came, Admiral?” McKay noted.

“We know we can at least get back to Peboan that way,” Patel said with a brisk nod. “I don’t trust Mironov’s word on the route back to Earth from here. Lt. Mandel,” Patel said to the Communications officer, “sound a shipwide alert: all personnel to report to the g-tanks in forty minutes.”

“I guess we don’t get an observation run on Novoye Rodina,” McKay said wistfully as the alarm klaxons began to sound throughout the length of the Sheridan.

“No,” Patel agreed. “But perhaps I was being greedy to try it anyway… at least we know where it is now.”

“Why would he have risked that?” McKay mused, shaking his head. “Mironov… Antonov, whoever or whatever he was. Why would he risk bringing us here? Sure, he intended to sabotage us, but he couldn’t be certain he’d succeed. And if… when as it turned out… he failed, he’d risk letting us get home with the location of his home base.”

“I can’t say for sure, of course,” Patel attempted to answer, “but I think you being on the ship made it personal; he probably figured he’d have a better chance of killing you and destroying the ship here, where his forces are the thickest. And he damned near did.” The Admiral shrugged. “We’re not out of the woods yet, McKay. Get to the g-tanks and make sure your people are secure. I’ll be down with the bridge crew as soon as they have that program finished up.”

“Aye, sir,” McKay unstrapped and headed out of the bridge. “See you on the other side.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Daniel O’Keefe put on his most polished politician’s smile as he rose to shake Kevin Fourcade’s hand. Svetlana Zakharova shut the door to the office behind them, trying unsuccessfully to hide a look of distaste.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice, Mr. Fourcade,” O’Keefe said as he leaned over the desk, pumping the man’s hand. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” the lobbyist said. “And believe me, it’s my honor to be called here, especially with everything that’s been happening. Sir, you have my deepest condolences on the death of your son-in-law. I hope there’s been progress in finding your daughter, the Senator…”

O’Keefe examined the Fourcade’s well-designed face and was impressed by the way the man was able to fake sincere concern. Of course, maybe he was concerned about Valerie’s whereabouts, given the fact that his people hadn’t heard back from their hired assassin.

“The Investigative Service is following up some promising leads,” he told Fourcade, neatly segueing from Cordial Politician to Concerned Parent. “We’re confident she will be found soon.” He took a breath, pretending to collect himself and his thoughts. “But I’m afraid that I have been neglecting the affairs of state for too long due to my personal family tragedies. There are things that must be dealt with, and the future of our economy is one of them.”

O’Keefe sat back, clasping his hands in front of him on the desk and pursing his lips gravely. “Mr. Fourcade, I have given much thought to our last meeting. Finance Minister Zakharova and I have discussed these matters exhaustively with our scientific and business advisors; it is no exaggeration to say that we have agonized over them, in fact. There is still great disagreement about this among my advisors, but as President, I have to take a public position on the matter of biomech research.”

Fourcade nodded, sighing theatrically, his hands forming a resigned half-pleading position. “Sir, I know you have some personal experiences that make this a difficult issue, but…”

“I’ve decided to support the bill,” O’Keefe interrupted him, fighting to keep from laughing as the man’s expression fell apart in clear shock. Of all the things Kevin Fourcade had been expecting from this meeting, that clearly wasn’t one of them.

“Well, I…” the lobbyist fumbled with the words, hands still frozen in mid-gesture. “Sir, that’s… that’s very good to hear.”

Svetlana Zakharova obviously disagreed; she was still scowling from where she sat beside Fourcade. O’Keefe had tried to explain his position to her, but was hampered by the fact that he didn’t really believe in it. Finally, he’d told her she could accept his position or he could accept her resignation.

“I will be brutally honest with you, Mr. Fourcade,” O’Keefe admitted, “on a personal, visceral level, I still find the idea of us using these… things… for cheap labor to be a distasteful and frightening prospect. But I’ve come to realize that we are faced by nothing but distasteful prospects.” This part was easier to be sincere-sounding about, since it was patently true. “We can either return to sending political malcontents into what is basically indentured servitude or retreat from the stars and face an economic collapse that will rival the Crisis after the Sino-Russian War.” He shook his head. “Or we can take a leap into the unknown with the biomech bill. There’s only one possibility that doesn’t abrogate my responsibility to the citizens of the Republic whom I serve, and I have come to terms with that.”

“I respect your devotion to the Republic, sir,” Fourcade said, having regained his composure. “When were you planning to go public with this position?”

“Well, that’s why I wanted to talk to you in person, Mr. Fourcade. I had in mind a sort of a ceremony… I’d like to announce this from a setting appropriate for a decision that will affect our economy for decades to come. And it should happen immediately. So, I’ve decided to reschedule my speech to the Senate this Wednesday and instead have a live news conference meeting with the executives from the multicorps Executive Council in their headquarters in the Greater Houston Development Complex.”

It was harder this time. O’Keefe actually felt the corner of his mouth tugging upward and had to cough to keep the laugh from bubbling up inside him at the way Fourcade’s eyes widened.

“Sir, that’s… very short notice,” he stammered. “I’m not sure we can put something appropriate to the occasion together in such a short time…”