The Ethos Effect, page 28
“Because the oversize shields keep our EDI emissions to a lower profile?”
Desoll nodded. Now...follow me on the control net.
Van did, noting the protocol, and also noting that it was hidden under the “housekeeping” functions, and innocuously labeled as DT monitor. Well hidden.
There’s always the possibility that we might need outside maintenance or repairs. No sense in making things obvious.
Within two minutes, Van could see the change in the Elsin’s EDI signature. Had he seen the new signature, he certainly would have considered the ship—at least, initially—as a commercial vessel.
You have the conn. See if you can sense the difference in responsiveness.
I have the conn. Van tried upping the acceleration slightly.
Desoll was right. There was a difference, subtle but measurable.
Then he concentrated just on being the ship, sensing all of the systems, in a way that hadn’t been possible with his “old” implant.
I’ll take the conn and jump, Commander, Desoll said.
Van hadn’t realized how much time had passed. You have the conn. He had already assumed that Desoll would take over either before the jump to Behai—or immediately after.
Eri, Commander, strap in tightly. We’re going to null gee, and we might have some high-gee maneuvers. I hope not. But we could Van frowned to himself as ship gravity dropped to nil. With artificial gravs and shields? High gee meant more than a little stress on both vessel and crew.
Stand by for jump.
Standing by.
Everything went black, inverted into white, and time stretched and compressed—and then they were on the outskirts of a system with a G-5 star, and a planetary system more compact than most inhabited systems, angling down toward the fourth planet.
EDI track at our zero two zero, plus fifteen, one thousand emkay.
The EDI was Revenant—Van caught that immediately— and about the size of a large corvette—what the Revs termed a frigate, big enough to take everyone else’s corvettes, but without quite the shields and power of a true light cruiser.
Coming for us. Not a question in the world.
Van noted that Desoll had left the shields on standard, and had not increased acceleration, but instead had the photon nets at full extension, sucking in mass and diverting power to the oversize accumulators. They were still too far away for standard comm. As the time passed, Van checked the closure rates. The Rev was continuing to accelerate outbound.
Eight minutes to closure. Desoll retuned the drives, and within minutes, Van could feel the additional power. He won’t even notice, think it’s a desperate trick by a Keshmaran courier.
True to Desoll’s prediction, the Rev frigate continued to accelerate toward the Elsin. Four minutes to closure. Two minutes.
Abruptly, a pair of torps flared from the Rev frigate, orange-dashed lines on the netplot, arrowing toward the Elsin, and then the Rev began a steep full-power turn, accelerating enough that Van could see the overtone freqs that indicated the Rev was on the edge.
Didn’t like what he saw. Desoll poured full accel into the Elsin, turning it to chase the Rev, even as the Rev torps screamed toward the Elsin.
At the last moment, Desoll diverted all power, everywhere, into the shields.
Van’s mouth opened. That degree of power cross-connection and flexibility was unheard of in any ship he knew.
Both torps flared into energy, and the shield indicators never left the center of the green. Desoll returned the forward shields to normal, cut the trailing shields to minimum. The acceleration jammed Van back into his couch as the Elsin seemed to leap across the netplot toward the Rev.
The Rev had no more power to spare, but another set of torps flared outward, circling toward the Elsin. Once more, the shields handled the flood of energy, and although the Rev had momentarily gained some, it was less than a fraction of an emkay.
In another two minutes, more torps flared toward the Elsin, and they too were shrugged aside.
Van wondered why Desoll didn’t use his own torps, but he had the feeling that the older commander knew very well what he was doing. Van just wished he understood what. Another set of torps, followed immediately by two more, flashed toward the Elsin. This time, on the second set of detonations, the shields’ integrity indicators dipped slightly, but only slightly. Then the overtones of the Rev frigate’s drives became even more ragged, and the Elsin began to close more rapidly.
Van watched as Desoll began to flex the photon nets, much the way Van had in dealing with the unknown cruiser off Scandya.
Suddenly, Desoll contracted the nets and cut them momentarily, effectively launching the accumulated mass still in the nets and not fed to the fusactors straight at the faltering Rev.
Torp one away.
Van watched through the shipnet monitors, understanding exactly what was coming, knowing it would happen even as Desoll turned the Elsin away from the Rev frigate.
First, the compacted and charged gas and interstellar dust slammed into the Rev’s shields, with enough force that the shields went amber, almost red. Then the single torp struck.
Full shields, desensitizing.
The outer monitors all went blank, cut off by the damped shields.
After two minutes, Desoll released the shields.
Van blotted his steaming forehead with the back of his arm. He studied the EDI and the monitors. Outside of a slight rise in the ambient temperature, one that was almost undetectable, and certainly would be so in hours, if not minutes, there was no sign of the Revenant frigate.
Desoll blotted his own damp face. Do you understand?
Van did. We’re torp-limited, with the territory we cover. Each torp has to count. I’ve used something like the net trick myself. Not quite that way. He still wondered if the Rev’s destruction had been necessary, with the frigate’s screens and drives going.
“You’re wondering, aren’t you?” Desoll asked out loud. “Or you should be. Why I just didn’t avoid them?”
“I was,” Van admitted.
“What happens if they report that there’s a ship like the Elsin? Within weeks, they’ll start plotting where we’re headed. We might stand off a cruiser, and we’ve got the speed to escape a full battle cruiser or a dreadnought... but then what? Also, there’s the ethical problem. They destroyed one essentially unarmed courier that we know of, and possibly a number of other ships, to try to isolate Behai. And they would have kept doing it. A frigate carries about thirty torps. How many did they have left?”
“I counted ten.” Even Van didn’t like those implications.
“This way, the frigate vanishes. No one knows for sure what happened. The EDI records, if they even keep them at Behai orbit control, will show three different drive signatures in that area of the out-system, and they’re not that precise from their baseline.”
“So Rev intelligence, if there is any, will think that Keshmara sent a cruiser?”
“That’s the general idea. Either that, or they won’t know what actually happened, which would be even better.”
“Don’t they suspect... or won’t they?”
“Just how is an unarmed commercial ship going to take on and destroy a full Revenant frigate?” asked Desoll.
Van nodded slowly.
“Now, we can deliver the goods to Behai...”
“With all that accel, they’re all right?”
“They were packed to handle twenty gees. Minister Sahid knew there was a possibility of evasive maneuvers.”
Evasive maneuvers? Van choked back laughter, inappropriate as it was. Then he checked the systemwide EDI. There was no sign of any other warships, and only a few in-system vessels, clearly involving in belt mining or resource transportation. Behai was definitely a developing colony world.
“And this pays for IIS?” Van asked.
“It also helps keep the peace for the smaller systems, and we do it in several ways. This was just one way.”
“How does destroying a Rev corvette keep the peace? Couldn’t it just make things worse?”
“The destruction is only part of the effort. First, we don’t tell anyone. That means that the Revs can’t say much, because the corvette wasn’t supposed to be there. They have a reputation for that sort of thing, have had for centuries. Second, it creates uncertainty, because they don’t know how they lost the ship. Not for sure. Third, it helps the weaker systems remain independent, and the more diversity there is in the Arm, eventually, the better that is. Fourth, over time, it weakens the warlike systems. They have to account, one way or another, for ships and training costs and crews.”
“Wait... why is diversity important? Every time I’ve seen diversity conflicts in a culture, it leads to unrest and warfare.”
Desoll smiled. “You’re making an assumption that diverse systems and diversity within a culture are the same. Even so, do you think it’s a good idea that everyone be culturally pressed into the same mold?”
After his worries about Sulyn, Van had an answer, but he didn’t feel like voicing it. “But... how does IIS stay in business? Who pays for the torps and weapons. You can’t very well invoice Keshmara for those.”
“We just submit an invoice for transport costs—even so, our services are cost-effective. We also get a large portion of our revenues from retainers. No one retainer is that large, but spread over a hundred systems and more than a hundred years, they do add up, enough to support the small planetary offices and the two main offices. There’s the one in Cambria and a smaller one in Santonio. They come up with the business and information strategies. What we do is simple in theory. In practice, it gets harder. On any given world with an indigenous or local culture, we seek out organizations and businesses rooted in that culture, but especially those that are competing against—and losing to—larger institutions funded outside the culture. We provide information, technology transfer, and strategies. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. Our records show that we’re very successful about twenty percent of the time, and moderately successful around fifteen percent. Five percent of the time, the business survives when it wouldn’t have. We take a large equity position in return, plus a long-term retainer. Either party can break the agreement without cause at any time. They usually don’t, because that would free us to go to a competitor. We usually don’t because, if it’s worked, why should we invest all those resources again? But, if a client sells out our ideals, we won’t hesitate to break them. And we have.”
Van shivered. “And... you think this is... ethical?”
“No one is ever forced to take our services.” There was a pause. “Do you think the alternative is more ethical? The military or commercial takeover of system after system by out-system entities with greater resources.”
“Are you—is IIS the principal backer of the Nabatan Trust?”
Desoll grinned, almost sheepishly. “We ended up in a strange position there. We hold large minority positions in both the Candace Bank and the Nabatan Trust. That’s unusual. It’s only happened a handful of times, usually due to the local regulatory structure.”
Van shook his head.
Enough. We need to get to Behai, then to Perdya. You have the conn.
I have the conn. Van checked the fusactors, then the accumulators. Unless there’s something I’ve missed, I’ll bring the gravs on-line.
That’s fine.
Van brought up the artificial gee to ship-normal, a full gee for the Elsin. He continued to monitor the entire system as the Elsin proceeded in-system.
Again, he couldn’t dispute that Desoll was right about dealing with the Rev ship, which had been acting like a true pirate or renegade. Desoll was making the Revs pay for their actions. That was clear enough, and it was effective. Was it right?
What was right? Merely telling the Keshmarans and the rest of the Arm wouldn’t have stopped the Revs, and doing nothing and turning a blind eye avoided making a real choice. Still... Van couldn’t help wondering what he had gotten into and where it would lead.
Chapter 47
Perdya—the world that directed the Eco-Tech Coalition— had three orbit stations. One was strictly military. One was Eco-Tech commercial, and one was non-Eco-Tech. Non-Eco-Tech military vessels were allowed at the military orbit station—provided they were corvette-sized or smaller. Larger foreign military vessels were simply prohibited.
The Elsin locked in at orbit control two—the commercial station. An IIS maintenance crew was waiting, and a tug-tender was easing up to the IIS ship even as the crew of three left, with enough clothing for a week.
“Does this happen every time you dock here?” asked Van, as they walked the corridor of the station toward the down-shuttle terminal.
“Every time.” Desoll grinned, then explained. “It’s been almost a year. Nine months before that. Heavier work, that has to be handled at Aerolis.”
Van understood the torp strategy even better.
“We’ll have to stop at immigration control,” Desoll added. “Everything’s been taken care of, but they’ll need a parametric scan to put with the file.”
“Parametric scan?”
“Everyone who enters an Eco-Tech world gets scanned. If you’re not in the files, you’re detained until your situation is resolved.”
Immigration control was just after the end of the ship locks, before the shuttleports. Van glanced farther along the corridor.
“That’s right,” Desoll said. “There’s another control point on the other side of the station. Two-thirds for docking ships, one-third for shuttles, and you can’t get to the shuttleports without passing immigration. No one makes you stop, not until you get stopped at the lock screens and sent back.”
Van nodded as he followed Desoll to the first console—the one labeled secured employment.
The older man extended a datacard. “I’m Trystin Desoll of IIS. Director Albert is our new senior director. The information is in here, and it should be on file.”
“Thank you, ser. I’ll need his datacard as well.”
Van stepped up and handed the woman his card.
She scanned both cards and waited. Then she nodded. “The employee bond is in order, Director Desoll.” She turned to Van. “Director Albert, you’ve been granted residence status in the Coalition for so long as you are an employee of Integrated Information Systems. If you remain an employee continuously for five years, you will be granted permanent residence status. If you terminate your employment before then, unless you find other approved employment, you must leave Coalition territory within six months, or be approved for some class of immigrant status.”
Van nodded.
“If you would step over here, to the scanner, please? Stand right in the blue box.”
Van followed her instructions. He didn’t see any equipment, but assumed it was in the overhead. His implant sensed the scanning. He tried not to frown, because, again, he thought that the protocols were almost elementary.
The woman placed his datacard in a reader of some sort, then waited. After a moment, she retrieved the card. “That should do it.” She handed Van back the datacard. “Your information is in the Coalition system. If the card is damaged or lost, you can go to almost any financial institution and have a replacement issued.” A pleasant smile followed. “Enjoy your stay on Perdya.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh ... and you are in luck. The down-shuttle to Cambria will be loading in forty-three minutes.”
“Very organized,” Van said, as the three moved toward the shuttle.
“Organization doesn’t always solve the problems,” Desoll observed. “Sometimes, it just makes things worse because people equate it with understanding.”
“They think they understand, and feel they can deal with the problems because they’re organized.”
“Something like that.”
They only waited about twenty minutes before boarding began for the down-shuttle. Van sensed the scanning and comparison, and understood what Desoll had said. With only a little effort, he felt he could have used his improved implant to bypass the system and pass him through as green. The shuttle was only half-full, and the three of them had a row to themselves, Van and Desoll on one side and Eri on the other.
Once the shuttle delocked, Desoll added, “You and Eri have penthouse quarters in the IIS office.”
“You have a home here, I assume?” asked Van.
“My family home is out beyond Eastbreak. I don’t see it that often these days. But we’ll get you settled.”
“Eri?” Van turned to the tech, looking across the aisle.
“I have family here, but my sister’s house is small, and my mother lives in Sytka. That’s one of the southern continents. My mother’s research took her there, and they liked it so much that they stayed.”
Less than an hour later, the shuttle landed without announcements, and they carried their bags off. There were no officials waiting, although Van did sense the screening as they walked through the corridor from the shuttle to the terminal foyer.
Once they stepped through the last set of portals, and into the late afternoon sunlight, and a warm and fragrant breeze, Desoll turned to Van. “We will have to carry our own gear. Groundcars are frowned upon, and most transit is by the subtrans—or walking.”
“You don’t have a groundcar?”
Desoll laughed. “I have one small one. It’s at the house. The annual usage taxes are almost what it cost.” Van winced.
“The Coalition uses the market system to ensure the environment remains protected. You can own anything you want, but, for some things, the environmental taxes will bankrupt you.”
“Do they tax foundations and multis the same way?”
“Mostly. We do have a multiperson groundcar at the office. If we have more than four people going somewhere we can use it” Desoll walked briskly toward a low portal, with ramps and steps downward.
They waited ten minutes for the induction tube train. Although it was mostly full, there were seats. As the subtrans approached a station announced as Westbreak, Desoll stood up and motioned. The three took the ramp up from the underground station, coming out in a gardenlike plaza.
