“It’s no secret that we want to discover to what use the System is putting the unitium, and we’d like to know why the Systies are kidnapping Taka from Andrion 2. They also know our own psychers will be present. And they certainly know we’ll be looking for our missing trooper. We’re taking what measures we can against hostile psych, but we don’t think it’s critical if they discover who’s doing what. Without a long-term psych interrogation, they’re not going to extract more than surface knowledge. Some of you are even performing missions that are designed solely to deceive the System as to our real intentions, although you all think your individual missions are real, and will be doing your best to perform them. Obviously, we don’t even mind if the System knows this. They’re still not going to know what’s real and what’s not. Just rest assured that we know what we’re doing and that all your activity is necessary and being coordinated here on Spawn. Those of us who do have the full story can’t go downside for obvious reasons. But I can tell you our hearts are with you.”
He paused, and looked around again. “The first one to get a positive ID on Valkyrie is to call it in immediately. We must coordinate everything we’re doing. I don’t want any Lost Squad heroics. It’s not necessary and it could endanger your comrades. The entire Second Company is at your disposal. And I assure you, we’re going to accomplish all of our classified missions.”
Cubes let his eyes roam over the wardroom and it was like a little flash of ice when his gaze rested on me for an instant. “I want you all to listen very carefully,” he said. “And remember this. Don’t even try to hide this from any Systie psycher you may run into down there. We’ve gotten some very nervous messages from Fleetcom, about discretion, and prudence, and the necessity of avoiding another interstellar war. I suspect that kind of vocabulary came directly from ConFree, word for word. But Legion doctrine always gives the Mission Commander the discretion to handle the mission according to his best judgment as the officer on the scene. That has not changed. I am the Mission Commander for this mission. I am the officer on the scene. I have three priorities for this mission. First, recover Valkyrie. Second, accomplish all our other classified missions. And Third, avoid another interstellar war. In that precise order. And if the Third interferes with the First or the Second, the Third will be discarded. And if the Systies have any doubts at all about that, they are going to be very…very…surprised.”
Then he rose and saluted us, the Commander’s traditional salute to the troops, just before combat. “Soldiers of the Legion, do your duty. To the death.”
We all snapped to attention and roared out the response: “Death!”
I swear, they heard us on Coldmark. I had a feeling that this was no ordinary diplomatic mission.
Chapter 14: Coldmark
The United System Alliance’s covert construction of a hard-sited base on Andrion 2 and the covert exploitation of the mineral resources of that planet, which is in ConFree vac, is clearly a violation of treaty as defined in Para 18 of the USICOM-ConFree Interstellar Agreement on Sectors and Trade, as well as a violation of all accepted norms of common interstellar law. The Confederation of Free Worlds regards this incursion into ConFree space by DefCom forces as unprovoked military and economic aggression by the System, and we warn USICOM and the System itself that the severest consequences will ensue. The people of the Confederation of Free Worlds will not permit aggressors to launch military adventures into ConFree space, to kidnap natives of ConFree worlds, or to introduce dangerous animal species from another world. The System’s reckless actions in this case reveal its cynical contempt for all civilized norms of interstellar conduct and for solemn interstellar treaties signed by its own representatives.” Commander Two Three One, Val, our downside chief exec, was reading a demarche from Starcom. Lowdrop, the downside mission commander, sat beside him. I suppose we were showing contempt by having our exec read the demarche instead of Lowdrop. The negotiations had begun, and we were stating our position. It was not diplomatic, but it was certainly clear.
“The System’s attempted seizure of ConFree territory endangers the current suspension of hostilities between the System and the Confederation. I am authorized to state for Outvac Sector Command that force will be met with force, and that further aggressive acts by DefCom forces will meet with immediate reaction. It is entirely up to the System whether or not its aggressive actions will escalate into another interstellar war. I only wish to assure the United System Alliance that the Confederation of Free Worlds will react immediately to all attacks on its sovereignty.”
I studied his face as he continued. It was a stony mask, no emotion showed. Val was a tall, rangy, handsome Outworlder with curly, reddish-brown hair. The Systies despised Outworlders; they hated having to deal with us. They would have preferred exterminating the Outworlder race, but they had tried that once and it hadn’t worked. Now we were strong and free, and hostile to them. It drove them right into the Sun.
We faced the Systies across a massive oblong table in a Coldmark conference room. Our side was lined with black uniforms. The various Systies races wore khakis and blues and whites and dark reds and greens, depending on their unit. We Outworlders had pale eyes and light skin burnt dark by the stars, and bronze Assidic skin, the mark of the Conqueror.
Across the table, greenish, pale-skinned Mocains dressed in DefCorps khaki regarded us through hooded eyes. Beside them, in USICOM blue, were Ormans from the Inners, a stunted race from a lost world, clinging to life and power like parasites, surviving by guile and deceit, riding to the stars with the Mocains. They controlled USICOM, and functioned as reliable political advisors to the Mocain.
Also present were a host of mortals from conquered worlds: Luytenians and Pherdans and Dardans and Elidians and many others, wearing DefCom khaki and USICOM blue and STRATCOM red and Starfleet white and Alliance gold.
Coldmarker USICOM officials refereed the encounter. The racial tension in that room was palpable.
“We demand a public apology from the System for this blatant act of aggression, and an immediate explanation for these unprecedented actions. We also demand reparations from the System for all damage done to Andrion 2 as a result of its aggression, and an immediate exchange of prisoners.” Val hated the Systies. He was from Angaroth, a world savagely brutalized by past Systie atrocities, and that was all the reason he needed.
We sat on steeply banked rows of seats opposite each side of the long conference table. The room was packed. Information flunkies from both sides snapped away with their solscans, and vidmons recorded the procedures. After today, we would all have files opened on us by DefCom Information. I did not care; I was only there for one reason.
I glanced over at Gravelight, a pale princess clad in black, with hair like golden sunlight. Some of the Legion girls had worked on her prior to the meeting. Gravelight normally did not worry much about her appearance, but the conference was a big psywar opportunity for us. Our delegation was projecting immortal youth and beauty and raw, confident Outworlder power. We were everything the System desperately wanted to crush, a direct threat to the corrupt, dead heart of their petrified interstellar empire. We wanted to make sure the message got out. Oblivious, Gravelight coldly glared at only one person, a sallow Orman girl with stringy black hair and a weary face. That would be one of the Systie psychers, and a silent battle would be raging between those two as the negotiations continued.
“Take a good look, Thinker,” Coolhand said softly. “We don’t often get to see these people so close while they’re still alive. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” He smiled cheerily.