“So far, things have been relatively safe out here,” Barrington said, once he’d satisfied his hunger. “But we’re expecting that to change. The Commonwealth is doing what it can, but there simply aren’t enough ships on patrol to make a difference. We’ve already heard of a couple of worlds that were forced to supply food and drink”—he nodded at the jugs of water and juice—“to pirate ships. It won’t be long before more pirates start making their way into the sector.”
“Assuming you have anything they want to take,” William pointed out.
“Our industrial base is small, but quite flexible,” Barrington told him. “We could supply a pirate with quite a few components, if he demanded our compliance at gunpoint.”
William lifted his eyebrows. “And the Theocracy didn’t?”
Gellman smirked. “Most of our engineers went underground as soon as we realized what was coming our way,” he said. “And they took quite a few things with them.”
Barrington dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. “Your role, Captain, as Tanya told you, is threefold. First, we want you to protect this system against pirates and . . . die-hard fanatics. Second, to eventually link up with other worlds in the sector and provide protection for convoys and suchlike. And third, to create a training school for our young men and women. Do you foresee any difficulties?”
William took a moment to consider his answer. “A great deal, Mr. President, depends on factors beyond our control . . .”
“Please, call me Richard,” Barrington said. “I’ve been assured that my head is already too swollen for my own good.”
“Yes . . . Richard,” William said. He couldn’t recall ever having such an informal dinner with a planetary president. He’d joined Kat and her late father for dinner, once, but even that had been absurdly formal. “There are several issues that need to be addressed. The first, put simply, is that we only have four destroyers. We can be reasonably sure of handling any pirate ship, should it decide to press the issue, but diehards might be harder to handle. And if we lose one of the destroyers, our ability to meet our commitments will be greatly reduced.”
“We understand the limitations,” Barrington said.
He used to be a smuggler, William reminded himself. He probably understands the limitations of our technology better than the groundpounders.
“Second, we cannot send away a destroyer, even for a short period of time, without being unable to recall her if there are . . . developments back here,” he added. “We don’t have a StarCom node here, let alone access to the interstellar communications network. A destroyer on escort duties will be out of reach until she returns. Nor will we know what happened to her if she just . . . vanishes.
“Third, training crewmen to operate the destroyers will take time. We did purchase simulators and suchlike, and they’re on their way, but there are things that can only be learned by doing. The newbie crew may take years to learn their role, particularly if you want them to be more than . . . well, more than Theocratic crewmen. Training them to repair damaged components in the machine shop is not something that can be done quickly.”
“But it can be done,” Gellman said quietly.
“Yes,” William said. “However, there’s also a problem with employing the trainees once they have gained their certifications. There may be no positions for them to use their newfound skills.”
“I plan to bring my remaining freighters here,” Barrington said. “Given time, we may be able to turn this system into an interstellar shipping hub. There will be no shortage of work for the graduates.”
William frowned. “What do you intend to ship?”
“There’s quite a growing market for all sorts of mass-produced items,” Barrington assured him. “And we can get in on the ground floor.”
“I have a different question,” Ford said suddenly. “We were promised that the Commonwealth would provide support to rebuild our economy, but the funds have . . . unaccountably failed to materialize. Do you believe the Commonwealth will keep their promise?”
William hesitated. “I am not in a position to speak for anyone on Tyre,” he said after a moment. “But my impression is that the king overpromised. The Commonwealth was having problems even before the war, problems it was ill-equipped to handle. I think that Parliament put the brakes on the first payments before they could be made.”
“Bah,” Ford said. “And so we are on our own.”
“You are not badly off, compared to some of the other planets in this sector,” William pointed out.
“What do you think of him?” Gellman leaned forward. “The king, I mean?”
“I only met him once,” William temporized. He would have shared his opinions with someone he knew well, but not a man he’d only just met. “I wasn’t privy to any of his innermost thoughts.”
Barrington cleared his throat. “We’d be happy to give you accommodation on the surface for the night,” he said. “Or you can go back to your ship . . . ?”
“I’ll go back,” William said, glancing at his wristcom. “I have a lot of work to do.”
“Your crews are more than welcome to visit the surface,” Barrington said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
“I’ll show you back to the shuttle,” Tanya said.
She didn’t say anything else until they were back on the streets. “It feels strange to be back,” she said quietly. “This is my home, yet I barely remember it.”
“That will change,” William told her. “I was a grown adult when I left my homeworld.”
He looked up at the darkening sky. “You won’t ever feel like you fit in here,” he added, recalling his one visit to Hebrides during the war. “But you may carve out a role for yourself anyway.”
“Part of me wants to go back home,” Tanya said. She let out an odd little chuckle. “Tyre feels like home.”
“Choose, but choose wisely,” William said.
