Persepolis Rising

Chapter Twenty: Singh

Santiago Singh spent a very unpleasant few days dealing with the fallout from his newly announced security protocols for Medina Station. One by one, every bureaucrat and functionary called him to express their concerns over how the crackdown might negatively impact morale and efficiency on the station. However the conversations were phrased, what he heard in them was always the same. The new rules will make people unhappy. They won’t work as hard. Sabotage will increase. Are you sure we want to do this?

His responses, however he put them, were also of a piece: I don’t care if people are unhappy about the new rules, if they fail to do their jobs, they will be fired, sabotage is punishable by imprisonment or death, yes, I’m sure.

In High Consul Duarte’s seminal book on logistics, he’d pointed out that of all the methods by which one can exert political and economic control over another state, occupation by military force was the least effective and the most unstable. The justification for occupation of Medina Station was that, as the checkpoint of all thirteen hundred colony worlds, it minimized the need for any further military action and let the imperial government move on quickly to economic trade and cultural pressure, which were much more stable long-term strategies for exerting control. And in fact, demonstrating to the people of Medina that the Laconian takeover would lead to better lives for all of them was the test case. If Singh could convince a station full of people bred for anarchy that imperial rule was desirable, the still-nascent colonies beyond the gates should be a piece of cake.

He understood all of this well enough. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d had to spend his afternoon explaining to stupid, angry people why attempting to assassinate the governor of the station carried consequences.

When he cut the connection on what he hoped was the last of those complaints, he yelled out for someone to bring him coffee or tea or whatever else passed for a potable on that festering armpit of a station. No one replied. Because Kasik was dead and he hadn’t yet brought himself to assign anyone new to his duties. As if by keeping the dead man on the roster, some part of him still remained that history hadn’t erased.

For a moment, the buzz of activity and conversation, irritation and confrontation that he’d cultivated since the incident slipped away, and he saw Kasik spitting raspberry jam that was really his brain and his blood and part of his tongue—

Singh lost a few seconds. When he became aware again, he was on his knees next to his desk, vomiting into his trash can. From the state of the bin, he’d been at it for a while. The smell and look of the mess set off a new round of vomiting that only ended when his stomach clenched up painfully on nothing and a thin trickle of bile bit at the back of his throat. Delayed shock. Trauma reaction. It was normal, he told himself. Anyone would go through it.

“I’m so sorry, Kasik,” he said, face suddenly covered in tears for a man whose first name he couldn’t even remember.

The comm unit on his desk politely beeped. “Leave me the fuck alone,” Singh yelled at it.

“Admiral Trejo is here for you, sir,” a carefully neutral voice replied.

“Here?”

“In the security lobby, sir.”

Singh cursed under his breath, soft but vicious. He grabbed the liner out of his trash can and stuffed it into the recycler. The air probably still smelled of sick. He turned the air recyclers as high as they would run to cut it.

“Put him through in one minute, please,” Singh answered, then used the sixty seconds to wash his face and rinse out his mouth. Trejo had returned to Medina. It could have meant a number of things, but all of them meant he wanted to have a face-to-face conversation instead of trading messages through the comparatively glacial security apparatus that surrounded official communications. And that meant talking about sensitive issues.

“Sonny,” Admiral Trejo said as he walked into the room. “You look a fright.”

“Yes, sir,” Singh agreed. “I’m afraid that recent events have shaken me a bit more than I expected. But I’m getting it secured. Shipshape and ready to sail, sir.”

“Have you slept at all?” Trejo asked. He sounded genuinely concerned.

“Yes, sir,” he said. And then, because it felt like lying, “Some, sir.”

“It’s hard losing someone. Especially someone you worked with closely.”

“I’ll be fine, sir,” Singh said. “Please, take my desk.”

Trejo’s smile was sympathetic as he sat. He took the offered desk. “I have good news for you, at least. I passed along your findings on the gamma-ray bursts through the rings, along with your recommendation about using a ship with an ultrahigh magnetic field projector stationed in the slow zone to control access and passage. Naval high command was very intrigued. They took it all the way to the top.”

The top meant only one person on Laconia. “I’m very flattered it got so much attention, Admiral.”

“He agrees with you,” Trejo said. His voice had a flatness that Singh didn’t entirely understand. His green eyes flicked up to meet Singh’s gaze and they stayed there. “They’re sending out the Eye of the Typhoon. It’ll take a bit for her to outfit. She wasn’t scheduled to come through for another four months, but you’ll have her with all deliberate speed. She’ll have Medina Station defense as her official mission, but holding the ring system using your new data will be part of her parameters.”

“Rear Admiral Song has that command, as I recall.”

“Yeah, that’s Song’s boat,” Trejo agreed. “But you’re still governor of Medina. You’ll have operational command over the defense of the station, and that includes determining when and if our new ring strategy is appropriate.”

“Yes, sir,” Singh replied.

“It’ll be heady stuff, knowing an admiral has to dance to your tune, Sonny. Just remember that this posting won’t last forever. Don’t make any enemies you can’t unmake.” There was a weight to Trejo’s words, like they carried more than just what they said. They landed on Singh’s chest like a gentle rebuke.

“Understood and appreciated, Admiral,” Singh said. “Will the Tempest remain here until the Typhoon arrives to take over?”

“No. We are moving up the timetable, per your analysis. The Tempest is leaving through the Sol gate in four hours. Unless you’ve reconsidered your position?”

Singh felt an offer in the question. This was the chance for him to say that he was out of his depth. That he needed backup and help. The temptation to claim perfect fitness was strong, but he couldn’t dismiss the fact that he was, in fact, compromised. The question was whether his own frailty was enough to risk giving Sol system more time to prepare. The most dangerous part of the Tempest’s mission in Sol system was the transit through the gate and the hours immediately after it. The longer the enemy had to exploit that period of vulnerability, the less the time he’d won with his discovery of the gamma burst would gain them. He didn’t want to undercut the advantage he’d just provided.

And still …

He started to reply, but stopped when the bitter-lemon taste of bile crept up the back of his throat again. Not now. He swallowed furiously, hoping this would be enough to hold off yet another round of vomiting into his trash bin. Trejo’s eyes widened with what looked like genuine concern.

“Sonny,” Trejo said, “have you seen a doctor?”

“Immediately following the attack. I sustained no injuries beyond a bruise on my knee and a bit of pride.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Trejo said.

“I’ll be fine,” Singh lied, but Trejo didn’t call him on it. “I know that the ring emissions were never part of the defensive strategy before, but I find myself worried about leaving such a powerful tool behind.”

“Understood. I’ll be honest, I’m not totally happy moving the timetable up. Slow and steady, that’s the strategy I like best. But there’s nothing so far to indicate the locals have made any breakthroughs we don’t know about. The high consul thinks we can afford to pull the Tempest out past the gate early. It does feel a bit like I’m leaving you here with your ass hanging out. But there is exactly one fleet in known space that poses a threat to our plans here. And it’s bottled up in the Sol system. You won’t need to worry about defending Medina from it at all, because I’m going to force them to fight me on their home ground. I don’t expect the colonies are going to cause you any trouble a destroyer can’t handle.”

“I agree, sir,” Singh said. “We’ll hold and wait for the Typhoon’s arrival, or word of your success in Sol, whichever comes first.”

Singh expected this to end the conversation, and waited for Admiral Trejo to stand. Instead, the old man stared at him with thoughtful eyes until the silence had become uncomfortable. Etiquette dictated that he not close the interview until his superior dismissed him, so he stared back and tried for a vague smile.

When Trejo spoke again, his voice was lower. “Tanaka filed her report. She’ll be boarding a shuttle shortly to take up a post on the Tempest.”

“Oh,” Singh replied, hoping it came off as casual.

“Don’t misunderstand me. She’s a fine operator, and her experience is more than welcome there. But if there are problems with her, I would like to know what they are.”

“I’m sure her talents will—” Singh started, but Trejo cut him off without raising his voice.

“If she’s going to take a command role on my ship, I’m going to need to understand why you removed her from yours,” the admiral said, his voice as gentle as though he’d asked for the time. “That’s what I’m asking you for.”

“Yes, sir,” Singh replied. If I understood it myself, he thought. The fury at everyone and everything that had followed the attack had faded, leaving behind only a vaguely unsettled feeling, like the adolescent fear of forgotten homework. Like there was something that needed to be done, something that would cause trouble if it wasn’t, but he had no idea what the thing was or even how to find out.

“Anytime, Sonny,” Trejo said.

Singh took a deep breath that stuttered a little. He hated that it did. “It was my feeling, at the time, that failing to respond to the attack on my person, and by extension on the authority of the high consul and the empire itself, would only serve to embolden any dissident elements here on the station. I felt that a strong response was needed to enforce the message that this was now our station, that we weren’t going anywhere, and that any attempt to hinder our work would fail. End the idea of a rebellion before it could begin.”

“And you believe Colonel Tanaka didn’t understand or support this position?” Trejo asked.

“She counseled a more conciliatory approach. I believe her experience in the Martian military guided her here, but that it was not experience that translated well to this new situation. She disagreed, and stated that she would not support the new security measures, deeming them too harsh. I relieved her at that point.”

“Why did her considerable experience not translate, do you think?” Trejo asked. The words could have been taken as mocking or rhetorical, but something in the old man’s voice made it seem like genuine curiosity.

If there’s no cover, the only thing to do is charge. How did he keep finding himself in these situations?

Singh cleared his throat. “Colonel Tanaka learned about rebel pacification by dealing with a belligerent but unaligned population. The Belters were not citizens of Mars, though they fell under Martian influence and regulation. To some degree, ‘winning hearts’ was always part of the mandate. She still thinks that way. She wants to approach this insurgency in that way. Crack down on only those involved in the attack, and attempt to win the cooperation of the rest of the populace through kindness.”

“You disagree with this assessment,” Trejo said.

“I do. By mandate from the high consul himself, all humans are citizens of the Laconian Empire. The people on Medina are not a neutral third party placed between us and an insurgent faction. They are Laconians, and the insurgents are not a foreign government resisting conquest, they are criminals. Any other reaction defies the imperial mandate and legitimizes them. I don’t need to win their hearts. I need them to understand that all the previous political bodies and relationships are irrelevant. We are not conquering new territory, we are enforcing the law in our empire.”

Trejo smiled. “That could have come straight out of a political theory class at the academy. I wasn’t asking for a book report, Captain. Do you believe all of that is true?”

It was a strange question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, Admiral.”

“It is certainly the official position of the empire, and accurately stated,” Trejo agreed.

“Sir, if that’s all, I—”

“Why,” Trejo asked, as if Singh hadn’t spoken at all, “did the high consul place you here, do you think?”

“Sir?”

“Your educational credentials are impeccable. I’ve read your paper analyzing Duarte’s theories on empire through logistical control. And I’d bet even he was impressed. You attributed some truly unique ideas to his text that I’m pretty sure aren’t actually in there.”

“Thank you, sir,” Singh replied, trying to keep it from sounding like a question and failing.

“But you did exactly one tour on a naval vessel prior to this posting. And there are probably a hundred more like me and Tanaka on Laconia who have actual combat-command experience. Why you and not any of them?”

Singh had wondered that himself. “I honestly can’t answer that, sir.”

“And that’s the only right answer, Sonny. No, you don’t know. But I’m going to give you a hint. Do you know how to polish a rock?”

“No, sir.”

“You put it in a tumbler with a lot of other rocks and some sand and you roll them around for a couple of weeks until all the edges are worn off and they’re nice and shiny. We’re taking control of thirteen hundred different worlds, and we’ve only got a hundred old farts like me and Tanaka, and a couple thousand university-educated greenhorns like yourself.”

Singh had no idea what a greenhorn was. It sounded like a Mariner Valley idiom. But the context was clear. And so was the point.

“Colonel Tanaka was placed here to—” Singh started.

“To rub some of the stupid off you. Tanaka’s been fighting insurgents since before you were born. She’s killed more people than you’ve met. But we’ve already got a Colonel Tanaka. Putting her in charge doesn’t create anything new. Hopefully this little dust-up has knocked some of your edges off, or this will be a waste of everyone’s time. Tanaka’s scheduled to fly out in an hour. I think you owe her a conversation.”

“Yes, sir,” Singh replied. It tasted like more bile in his mouth, but the admiral was right.

Trejo rose. The meeting was ended.

“Dismissed, Captain. Make sure Medina’s still here when I get back.”

“Understood, Admiral.”

The bravest thing would have been to go to the Tempest. The easiest thing, to record a message and send it through the Medina system where the security measures would forgive not having the conversation in real time. He split the difference.

The Belter whiskey that someone had left in his old cabin on the Storm tasted like acid and mushrooms, but Singh drank it anyway. The alcohol seemed to finally cut through the last of the bile in his mouth and throat. He kicked his boots off, propped his heels on his desk, and waited for the knot in his chest to loosen, even if only a little bit.

It should have been obvious from the start. Looking back on it, the only thing Singh had to recommend him for the governorship was his absolute commitment to High Consul Duarte’s vision. But that’s all they’d asked from him. They needed to take the inexperienced true believers like himself and drop them into the deep center of the lake, then hope they learned enough to swim back to shore. And everything about Tanaka: her arrogance, her contempt for his inexperience, her refusal to just accept his orders at face value. All of those were exactly the reason she’d been placed under his command. Throwing her out in a fit of pique was the sort of adolescent behavior they were trying to burn out of his system.

He had fucked it up.

The fact that Admiral Trejo understood that he’d done it in the blind panic that followed his first time under fire was both a relief and a humiliation. It was also probably the only reason he hadn’t been relieved of command. Trejo saw what had gone wrong and still felt like Singh had something to offer. That he wasn’t fit for the rubbish bin just yet. Comforting and humiliating, again.

He took another drink of the whiskey. It left his throat warm. That was about the best he could say for it. That was enough.

There was another trap ahead. Singh found that he could sense it. He could feel Trejo’s attention, waiting to see how he’d navigate his way out now that his mistake had been made clear. The admiral had practically ordered Singh to speak with Tanaka before she left, so that’s where the trap lay. He had a dozen different impulses about what that conversation would be, and he second-guessed every one of them as quickly as he recognized them. This was his command. So it was his to lose.

Maybe the right thing was to be willing to fail honorably. Even if he did get sent home to Nat and the monster, the disgrace would be less if he knew he’d done the fully adult thing.

He pulled the screen off his wrist and flattened it out on his desk. “Colonel Tanaka, video and voice,” he said to it.

“Tanaka here,” she said a moment later. On the small screen, her face was compressed down to only the most prominent features. Dark, heavy eyebrows. Wide jaw. Flattened, slightly off-center nose. It made her look dangerous and angry. She was probably both right now.

“Colonel,” Singh said, trying to keep his tone even and informational. He thought he mostly succeeded. A call to finalize some trivial bureaucratic details.

“Governor,” she said, actually achieving the emotionless affect he was only trying for.

“I spoke to Admiral Trejo about your transfer. He said he was happy to move you into a command position on the Tempest, and I did nothing to dissuade him from this.”

“Thank you for not attempting to torpedo my career,” she said, not sounding grateful at all. The fact that she didn’t say, Fuck you, little man, you couldn’t have hurt me even if you wanted to was as polite as this was likely to get.

“I want you to know that I recognize that in my heightened emotional state following the attack, I made some poor decisions, not least of which was removing you from your command.”

There was a pause. A fraction of a fraction of a second, but it was there.

“Really,” she said. The large eyebrows moved up a millimeter.

“Yes. And if I could take that back without compounding my error, I would. But the most important thing now, to both my staff and to the citizens of Medina, is the appearance of calm authority at the top. To make so drastic a move as relieving you only to rescind it would make us … make me appear weak and indecisive. So your transfer will be recorded as a move to put additional combat experience on Admiral Trejo’s staff, now that we’ve secured the station and he’s moving into the attack on Sol. It will not put a blemish on your outstanding record. Unfortunately, my apologies and regrets will have to remain unofficial for now.”

Tanaka frowned, though it looked more like surprise than anger. “I appreciate that, Governor.”

“Good luck and godspeed in Sol, Colonel. We will all be waiting for word of your mission’s success. Singh out.”

He closed the connection and drank off the last of the terrible Belter whiskey. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, but he felt like a weight he’d been carrying ever since landing on Medina was lifting. This was his station now. His command, to fail or succeed at entirely on his own merits. And now he felt that the worst mistake he was likely to make was behind him, and it hadn’t actually been all that bad.

Things could only get better from here.