"It's good to meet you again, Lambrack." Harald fist-saluted over his side arm, then held out his hand.
Lambrack returned the salute but ignored the hand. "Yes, it's interesting to meet you again, Harald. You've risen in the world."
"Not entirely through choice," Harald replied, lowering his hand.
"You know, I knew Lieutenant Alun well, and last I recollect he would have laid down his life for Admiral Carnasus," said the Captain.
Harald was thoroughly aware that everyone else was listening intently.
"That was the appearance he liked to give, certainly. But Alun was attracted to power and wealth. He would have done nothing so drastic, I suspect, had not the Admiral found out he was passing information to Combine."
"And no doubt you, being so able with computers, discovered this?"
"As it happens, no. The Admiral found out through his own agents in Combine. I suspect Alun had been given orders concerning the Admiral that he was not following, and Combine wanted to push him into action. What I've since discovered is that Combine wanted the Admiral dealt with quietly—only Alun's ineptitude led to the shooting."
"You have proof of this?"
"I do."
"Quietly…like poison. Perhaps a potion similar to the one that made Ildris tear out his fingernails against the floor of his quarters?"
"What are you suggesting?" enquired Harald. "That I would know?"
Conversation had risen to a mutter, but it was now abruptly stilled.
"Far be it for me to suggest such a thing."
Harald stared at him for a long moment, until the man started to look edgy, then said, "I've had enough of such innuendo. If you have accusations to make, then make them. You can present your evidence, and a quorum can decide on it, and then we can move on." Harald paused, still unblinking. "Do you have evidence?"
"I have none…yet." Lambrack began to turn away.
"Do not turn your back on me," said Harald quietly.
"Believe me, that's not something I would ever feel comfortable doing."
"Very well," said Harald. "Thank you, Lambrack—you have made your position clear. And should Fleet come under the control of Orbital Combine, and they replace you with one of their own lackeys, I hope you will still be happy with that position." He turned away.
"And now you turn your back on me."
"I am prepared to trust honourable men, even if they refuse to trust me."
Lambrack found no reply to that.
Harald moved on through the crowd, working those in it like any groundsider politician. Two more Captains arrived and upon speaking to them he realised that, despite Lambrack's hostility, there would be no vote concerning his assumption of the Admiralship. He learnt in passing that, after the murder of Ildris, Coleon had returned to his hilldigger and taken it away from the station. He had run, and it did not seem likely he would be coming back any time soon. They were all scared, it seemed, scared of Harald, and only Lambrack possessed the nerve to show he resented feeling that way.
"It would appear that there is not sufficient objection to my assumption of overall Fleet command," he said later, addressing them all. "So let me give you a summation of the situation: it would appear there are those in Orbital Combine who feel ready to displace Fleet. They first attempted to sway public opinion against us by conniving with the Brumallians in the assassination of the Polity Consul Assessor, perhaps rightly expecting the groundsiders to blame us for this. They then beheaded us by murdering Admiral Carnasus, and around Sudoria have made their first direct moves against us. I suspect the destruction of the Blatant was also intended to remove another possible leader for Fleet. In such a situation Fleet definitely needs firm leadership." Harald paused and gazed at them all in turn, before continuing:
"My qualifications took me to the position of Captain-in-Waiting on Ironfist—the highest rank possible with a Captaincy as yet unavailable. Admiral Carnasus made it known that I was to be viewed as an Admiral Candidate. I would like to add that he was also prepared to demote one of you in order to give me such a position—which strategy I refused. Only Dravenik stood higher than me in the ranking system, and he is gone. So I have now assumed the position of Fleet Admiral. I understand that four of you, one now departed in his ship, have lodged objections to my claim. Under Fleet law, six objections are required. I am now Fleet Admiral, and whether you object to this or not, I expect your obedience, and hope in time to gain your respect." Again he paused, studying those captains he knew to have objected.
"Since Parliament reinstated our wartime prerogatives, Carmel has been brought back online and is now processing materials stored here for twenty years. Over those twenty years all our hilldiggers have depleted their stores of spare parts, weaponry and fissile fuels. My orders to you now are that you make your ships ready, suckle on Carmel and grow strong, for soon we will be going to Sudoria to bring Orbital Combine to account."
Applause followed, some overly enthusiastic, some desultory.
It was enough.
11
In the century before the War we were growing wealthy and most of that wealth lay in the hands of industrialists and agriculturalists. They used this wealth, and consequent power, to form their own 'parties' and thus gain representation in the Planetary Council. The old parties were pushed aside till the largest proportion of representatives belonged to powerful corporations—their voting strength coming from workers who had signed up to the corporate parties out of fear of losing their jobs or of losing the protection afforded by their corporation's security force. There were also other forms of coercion: "If you leave, remember that our fire service won't be able to help you should your house inadvertently burn down. If you leave, you'll have to find a school for your children and the best schools are those funded by the corporation. And if you decide to join another corporation, well, think again about that fire risk," Though we can criticise this unfairly coercive society now, it's well to remember it created the wealth to take us back into space. It was also this wealth that built the spaceship called The Outstretched Hand. And it was also the drive to acquire more such wealth that equipped it, and that worded the secret orders to its crew.
— Uskaron
McCrooger
I woke up suffering pain even worse than during the brief while I spent slung over Slog's shoulder. My mind seemed to be replaying a random selection of memories as if to entertain itself while I had been unconscious. Someone had enclosed my body in a lead suit and dropped it down into the dark hold of a Spatterjay sailing ship, where the motion made me nauseous—that, and the snakes writhing inside the suit along with me. A dark place loomed and I knew I just needed to relax into it and everything would go away, but every time I started to do that, something jerked me out, like that rasping snore which snaps one out of a doze.
"You are dying," someone said matter-of-factly. "The best analogy I can give is that the cold war inside you between the two viral forms has now turned hot. They are eating up your physical resources in order to destroy each other."
"Thanks for that," I slurred, my mouth sticky and foul, since a rat seemed to have crawled into it and died.
"Sprine seems to be the only answer."
I considered that often an answer that older hoopers retained as an option, but one they spent their very long lives avoiding. For some reason I remembered my mother calling up viral codon repair options on our house computer, since I was then of an age to decide whether I wanted to suffer the old genetic throwbacks of acne rosacea and asthma, to which I was prone. Of course I chose to be perfect—don't we all.