Fifteen

High orbit over Tarbos

The Cachalot’s Captain was not happy.

“Say again, Tarbos Ground,” she barked into the wand mike on her command console.

“Permission to leave orbit is denied.  You are to remain in your parking orbit until released by Tarbos Ground Control.”

Control of all ship traffic in the Tarbos system was, by Company regulation, completely subject to the planetary ground control department, but this was an unexpected reach beyond the normal exercise of jurisdiction.

“Tarbos Ground, we are due back at Earth in six weeks.  The Director better have a good reason for keeping us here.”

“Cachalot, I cite OWME Shipping & Container Division’s General Order Four.”

That set Captain Benton back in her chair.  General Order Four was quite simple:

No OWME starship will leave a designated parking orbit when there is a clear and present danger to ship and/or crew.

Tarbos Ground Control’s use of GE4 meant that they suspected a danger somewhere near the planet – somewhere close enough to be a risk before the Cachalot could travel far enough to jump to subspace.

And OWME had lost three ships in three years to unknown attackers, presumed to be the warlike and hostile Grugell.

“As you were, Helm,” Captain Benton ordered.  “All stations stand down from under-way status.  We’ll be staying in parking orbit for a while.  Exec, get a shuttle ready – we’re going to the Skyhook and down to talk to someone in the Director’s office.”

The K-101, Fifty kilometers above and behind the Cachalot

“Homely ships, Commander, are they not?”

Kadastrattik XII opened his eyes lazily.  The huge off-white disk of the human ship had dominated their main scanner screen for three revolutions of the planet below, and he’d gotten sick of looking at it.  He ignored his Sub-Commander’s remark.

“Have we received any more messages from the surface?”

His Signals watch officer didn’t even look up.  “No, Commander.  Nothing since the initial code.”

“He’s taking his time, this renegade,” Kadastrattik muttered.  “Order an inspection and diagnostic routine on all weapons systems.  We’d best be prepared for the second option.”

Tarbos, the Convention Center

Mike Crider stood once more at the podium, concluding his description of the Battle of Crider Meadow and the Battle of Settlement. 

“That, delegates, is why the Bill of Basic Rights must contain a guarantee of the right to bear arms.  When the Grugell came to Forest, we fought them of with hunting rifles.  Now I know, the main reason we’re here, the main reason we’re forming this association of free planets, is to raise and equip a Navy.  Some of you are no doubt thinking, ‘if we’re to have a Navy, why do we need a Constitutional right to bear arms?’  I’ll tell you why.  In fact, I’ll give you three reasons why.”

He paused for a moment, looking out over the assembled Convention.  They were openly calling it a Constitutional Convention now, and the soon-to-be-born government had a name – the Confederated Free Planets, or simply the Confederacy.

Some of the expressions Mike was seeing were skeptical.  Most were not.  The Grugell invasion of Forest was too recent for that.

“One.”  Mike held up one finger.  “Numbers.  It’s a big galaxy, and this Navy won’t be able to be everywhere at once.  It might be weeks before a ship or ships could get to a planet in trouble.  Now every planet can and should have their own armed force, but let’s look at Tarbos here for an example – Tarbos has four million residents, and only four thousand security troops.  But based on figures I’ve been provided, roughly half of Tarbos’ population owns at least one firearm – which yields a standing militia of two million.

“Two.”  He held up two fingers now.  “It’s not just about the Grugell.  We don’t like to talk about it, but you all read the news-screens.  I’ve been reading them every morning in my room, before we come over to the day’s sessions.”  He extracted a notepad from his pocket.  “In the last ten days here in Mountain View, there have been three muggings, two armed robberies, one rape, and one attempted murder.”  He dropped the notepad back in his pocket and glared at the group.  “That’s a pretty low crime rate for a city of three million, like Mountain View, but it won’t get better.  It will get worse.  The Company screened the emigrants from Earth pretty well, but they can’t screen the people who are born on these planets, and as the generations go on, the demographics will shift to be more like Earth normal – and that means you’ll have criminals.  And we learned long ago on Earth, the best way to deter criminals is an armed citizenry.

“Now, that brings me to three.”  He held up three fingers.  “And three is the biggest one of all.”

Mike stood still for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

“We all come from a place that has one thing in common.  At least it does now, after millions of people died fighting to make it that way.  That thing is a word, just one two-syllable word, but it’s an important one, because it stands for an idea.  It’s an idea that eighty million people died for.  That word, that idea, is freedom.

“There are two kinds of freedom.  There is freedom to, and freedom from.  What we’re talking about here deals with both kinds.  Free people, as I see it, should be free to do as they please, as long as they don’t hurt their neighbors.  But when there are people out there, and there will be, who will try to hurt their neighbors, then free people should be free to defend themselves, and free to own the means to do that.  That’s where we come to the freedom from.  Free people should be free from fear.  Free from subjugation.  Free from invasion.  There’s only one way to guarantee, absolutely guarantee, that a free people will remain free, and that is to have the guarantee in our Constitution that every free citizen who chooses to be armed shall be free to be so.”

Without waiting to gauge the group, Mike stepped down.  Murmurs floated through the hall as he walked slowly back to his seat.  Hector Gutierrez was waiting for him.

“That was good stuff, Mike,” the Vice President observed sotto voce.  Harvey’s Project Director Annalee Fadzen was at the podium, arranging her notes to speak on another issue.  “Just between you and me, I think the Right to Bear Arms will pass.  I make it twelve yes votes, three no, one I can’t call.”

“It would be nice if we had an odd number of delegates,” Mike whispered back.  “Think how confusing it will get with tie votes.”

“We’ve been really lucky so far,” Gutierrez agreed.

Mike frowned.  “Doesn’t it seem a little, well, odd, sixteen people deciding the form this interstellar government is going to take?”

“Wait until tomorrow.  You’ll feel a lot better about it.”

Tarbos Security Headquarters

The eyepieces of the human’s microscope weren’t adjustable for Clomonastik’s narrow face, and so he was required to squint uncomfortably into the device with one eye or the other.  Three technicians and Colonel Perkins waited impatiently for him to finish.

“Well.”  Clomonastik stood up straight, massaging the small of his skeletal back.  “If only you’d put your benches a little higher, I’d be much more comfortable.”

“Sir?”  Colonel Perkins wasn’t a man gifted with patience.  “What do you think?”

“Colonel, I’ll want to see the results of your metallurgical studies to be sure – mind you, that never was a specialty of mine.  I went to Command School, not the science and engineering academy.  But I know enough to give you an answer.  On the surface, though, I’d say that you’re looking at fragments from a Grugell device, yes.”  He gestured at the microscope with a thin, clawed hand.  “The fragments are distinctive, and your analysis of the explosive residue is even more so.  It’s a Grugell high explosive.  We called it,” he chattered out an unintelligible Grugell word, “which, unfortunately, has no real translation.”

“Any conclusions, sir?”

“I can only offer you my opinion, Colonel, with the qualification that what I offer is a uniquely informed opinion at this time and place.  You have a cloaked Grugell frigate very near this planet, very likely in high orbit, and they are sending landing craft down to liaise with someone on the surface.  The trick of fooling the conspirators using a bomb fused to detonate – that’s an old, old trick, first documented in our history in an incident called the Night of Seven Blades.  An assassination attempt was made on Emperor Ignostak III in the same manner.  The Emperor survived, of course, but most of his family was killed in a series of incidents during that same night.  The Emperor’s reaction to those attempts led to the complete militarization of our culture.”  Clomonastik looked reflectively at the ceiling.  “I would suspect, Colonel, that you have a student of history up there.”  He scratched his pointed chin.  “You know…”

“Yes?  What?”

“Colonel, do you think it would be possible to have a Grugell Navy uniform tailored for me, were I to provide the specifications?”

“Certainly.  Won’t it be kind of an old uniform?  You’ve been out of touch for twenty-some years.”

Clomonastik laughed.  “No.  The Grugell officer’s uniform has not changed in over three hundred Grugell years.  We are not as – how shall I say it – capricious as you humans.” “Very well, sir.  I’ll look into it.”

To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.