“I’ll ask. After we take care of business here.” Geary tapped an internal comm control, bringing up windows showing Rione and Charban. “Madam Emissary, General Charban, please contact the senior Syndic CEO in this star system and make whatever arrangements are necessary for our pickup of the Alliance POWs here. We’ll use our own shuttles to lift them off the planet. We won’t need any Syndic assets or assistance beyond making the former prisoners available and providing any relevant records on them.”
“We’re on it, Admiral,” Charban announced as if he were still on active duty and working with Geary on a military operation. “The peace treaty obligates them to turn over the prisoners without hindrance, so there shouldn’t be any trouble.”
Rione simply inclined her head toward him in wordless acceptance of the task, her eyes hooded.
“Thank you,” Geary said. “Let me know if any problems do develop.”
“Admiral,” the maneuvering watch called, “if you intend maintaining point one light speed, systems recommend the fleet come starboard one five degrees and down zero four degrees for an intercept with the second planet.”
Geary checked the system recommendation himself, seeing the long, smooth curve of the fleet’s projected path arcing through the star system. They were intercepting a moving object, the inhabited planet, so the actual path they would have to take was much longer than a simple straight-line distance. “A bit less than six light hours to where we’ll intercept the planet in its orbit.”
“Yes, sir. Two days, eleven hours’ travel time at point one light speed.”
“All right.” He called the fleet. “All units, come starboard one five degrees and down zero degrees at time two one. Maintain current formation and current velocity.”
Two and a half days’ travel time to the planet, maybe half a day around the planet while the fleet picked up the prisoners, then another two and half days back out to the jump point. Allow some time for unexpected delays. Call it six days. The government and headquarters didn’t want me to delay another two weeks, but their little rescue mission here has delayed our transit to alien space by about a week. Add in the transit times through Hasadan and the jump times to get to Dunai and back, and it totals a lot more than two weeks. At least we’re doing some good by picking up those prisoners.
The images of the two emissaries were wearing poker faces when they called Geary back. It had been ten hours since the fleet arrived in Dunai, with forty hours’ travel time left to get to the primary planet. “You asked us to call you if any problems developed,” Rione said, displaying some of her old fire.
“What problems do we have?”
“Perhaps,” Charban suggested, “you should view the reply we received from the Syndic CEO in charge of this star system. Dunai is still nominally loyal to the Syndicate Worlds, by the way.”
Another window popped open in front of Geary, and a moment later, the image of the Syndic CEO appeared, looking disturbingly like almost every other Syndic CEO he had ever seen. The CEOs weren’t actually cloned, and they had the usual physical variations between different men and women, but every one of them wore suits that seemed cut identically from the same material, all wore similar perfectly cut hair, and all of them had the same range of practiced and meaningless expressions. It was as if a wide variety of persons had been forced into molds that eliminated most of their individuality.
The Syndic CEO flashed the standard and obviously insincere CEO smile that must require considerable practice to master. “We are happy to deal with Alliance forces operating under the treaty approved by the Syndicate Worlds. Since the prisoners have constituted a significant burden to our world, one we have gladly shouldered to ensure the prisoners had access to adequate housing, food, and medical care, we trust that the Alliance is prepared to compensate us for those expenses incurred by Dunai. We’re certain that the Alliance will not shirk its own obligations. Once we’ve agreed on the sum for compensation, we’ll discuss arrangements for the turnover. I’ve attached our accounting and a preliminary figure for payment as a starting point in our negotiations.”
The window faded away, and Geary looked back at Rione. “How much?”
She named a figure that made him stare in disbelief. “It’s a common Syndic negotiating tactic to open with something too one-sided to be acceptable, then bargain for a lesser deal,” Rione explained, as Charban listened silently. “He doesn’t expect us to agree to that, but he does think we’ll settle on some lower figure.”
“He’s thinking wrong. Even if this fleet had access to funds like that, I wouldn’t agree to such a thing.”
“Then we will inform the CEO of that,” Rione said, “and tell him there will be no negotiations for payment. However, he is very likely to continue to insist upon it since he holds the prisoners on his world.”
“Despite what the treaty says.”
“Yes.”
“In that case,” Geary said, “you might remind him that I hold an entire fleet of warships in this star system.”
Charban frowned slightly. “We need to be careful about implying a willingness to use force.”
“I’m sure that two emissaries of the grand council of the Alliance are able to imply not only carefully and but also ably.”
That made Charban’s frown take on a puzzled aspect, as if he wasn’t certain whether to be upset at Geary’s statement, but Rione smiled sardonically. “We’ll see what we can do, Admiral,” she said.
Desjani waited to comment until the images of Charban and Rione disappeared, then a grunt of disbelief escaped her. “That CEO is shaking us down. The arrogant little bastard actually expects us to pay him for letting us have our people.” She turned a pleading look on Geary. “Now can we blow up something? Just to show him we mean business?”
“Sorry,” he told her. “Not yet.”
“Peace sucks,” Desjani grumbled.
But her suggestion had gotten him thinking. “Which doesn’t mean we can’t demonstrate how we might blow up something, or a lot of somethings, if he keeps trying to impede our pickup of those personnel.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe a warning shot?”
Geary paused. “More like a demonstration shot, hitting some worthless real estate.”
“We need to hit something they care about.”
“We can’t,” he insisted. “Not without a lot more provocation. I’ll have our emissaries inform that Syndic CEO that we’re conducting a weapons test and see if that helps get our point across.”
“A weapons test. Aimed at nothing. But at least those two emissaries will be doing something to earn their keep,” Desjani said in a voice just loud enough for him to hear, looking seriously irritated as she kept a fixed stare on her display.
She needed to be mollified, and there was one thing almost guaranteed to make Tanya Desjani happy. “Why don’t you pick out a target? I’ll let you know when to launch the rock.”
“Just one rock?”
He sighed. “All right. Two rocks.”
“Three.”
“Okay, three. But make sure your targets are nowhere near any Syndics.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tanya . . .”
“All right! But I’ll pick spots where plenty of Syndics can watch the fireworks and worry about our next volley coming down on them!”
EIGHT
ANOTHER twelve hours had passed. One of the moons orbiting a gas giant planet had three more craters, and Rione had a glint of anger in her eyes. “We have another reply from the Syndic CEO.”
“And?”
“I can let you watch if you have the stomach for it. But to sum up a long message, the CEO says he has regrets but is unable to comply with our requests until we have made mutually acceptable arrangements for compensation.” Rione’s lips moved in a humorless smile. “It appears that our weapons test wasn’t persuasive enough.”