Chapter 3: Tuesday - Tribune William Whitefeather

The Fleet Auxiliary rating entered Tribune Whitefeather's office, bearing blessed gifts from ground-side. "One double-double... whatever that is... one black no sugar... one tea, bag in... and one sour cream glazed, one toasted whole-wheat bagel with butter, and one maple cream glazed."

As they thanked the woman, Major MacAllistor observed with a jaundiced eye the sugary delights his fellow officers were enjoying. "Healthy breakfast," he remarked sarcastically, biting into his bagel.

"This coming from a man from the land of the deep-fried Mars bar," countered Chan as he popped a piece of doughnut into his mouth.

"Alright, everyone," the Tribune announced, trying to get the meeting on track as he sipped his coffee-with-two-creme-two-sugar, "are we clear then? Anthony, you get to talk to any interested District Attorney. Jim, if I could have you talk to some of your contacts with the Royal Navy, and I'll hit up the North American side."

The other two officers nodded.

"As soon as we've finished our coffee, of course," Whitefeather added.

Tribune Whitefeather found himself being ushered into an otherwise anonymous office in the Pentagon, talking to an old friend, Admiral Richard Benson. The tall, handsome black man (CAP score 8.4) was in charge of the Bureau of Personnel.

"So, what do you want this time? Remember, active U.S. military are strictly off limits without permission."

"But retirees are not. And I need you to sort through your retiree list for the following: at least one, preferably four former carrier skippers, and at least one, preferably four, former submarine skippers. We'll also need four each with experience as ships' senior NCO. They'll have to have a CAP of at least 6.5, and for the submariners, instructor experience in the sub school at New London. We'd prefer it if they had a pre-pack ready to go. We need a list in 48 hours, and we need the chosen skippers and chiefs to be ready to go with their concubines on a moment's notice after that."

"I'll have to order them here... oh hell, that's not a lot of time, is it? Don't worry. You'll have the lot by Friday morning." The Admiral was intensely curious. "Why those particular skills? Is there some advantage when out in space?"

"Sa'arm don't like water. Note that, as it's possibly the best hint I can give you for your operations when they get here. You can take that to the Director of Naval Operations, and his opposite numbers around the planet." He made a face. "We still haven't delayed their expected arrival date by much, let alone persuaded them to go elsewhere."

Admiral Benson grimaced. "And how is the Diaspora Project going?"

Tribune Whitefeather was grim in his assessment. "Slow, and with the 'help' of the Earth Firsters and the religious nutters, getting slower. We keep losing perfectly suitable candidates for Confederacy Marines and Navy, and candidates to lead the troops here when the Sa'arm arrive, to their fellow humans. It's like the low-CAP idiots don't want the human race to survive."

"Anything you can do to help us mount our desperate last stand?"

"As far as equipment goes, I don't know so I can't say. But any tactics or techniques that these guys work out for my watery colony will be passed along to the navies of Earth. Just do me a favour: share and share alike. Don't hold any good or not so good ideas back from each other or from these admirals, and I'll keep the pipeline open back this way for what works for the Confederacy."

"How are you going to handle extraction?" the Admiral demanded.

Tribune Whitefeather considered for a moment. "We can always use the clinic ruse. Have them and their next of kin show up at a common clinic, and extract them as they show up. Doesn't even have to be the same clinic at the same time, although that would be easier. I guess we'll take it case-by-case."

"We'll see what we can do," Admiral Benson promised.

After seeing the Admiral, Whitefeather decided to see another old friend, retired U.S. Marine Corps Colonel and amateur historian Henry "Howlin' Mad" Hollister. Henry was, as usual, delighted to see a visitor at his humble apartment. He pumped Tribune Whitefeather's arm enthusiastically. "Bill, it's been too long! What are you here for this time?"

"Do I always need a reason?" protested the tall Tribune, looking down on his old mentor fondly.

"These days, you do. I know, I know," the grey-haired old man assured him as he led his guest into the comfortably overstuffed living room, "you have a real job on your hands what with the Sa'arm and all, which means you don't have much time to chat usually."

"I don't, you're right about that, but today I did have some business down at the Puzzle Palace and that means I'm in town for lunch."

"And that bullshit means you need to pick my brains." Henry regarded the younger man shrewdly.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I could use your advice and counsel." Tribune Whitefeather confessed, a trifle embarrassed at the Colonel's gentle teasing.

"All right, let me put the kettle on, you can tell me your horrible troubles over a nice steaming mug of tea."

As they sat and drank Henry's tea and ate Henry's homemade ginger snap cookies, William Whitefeather laid out his predicament.

"I've got a request for carrier captains, submarine skippers, and at least one officer experienced with amphibious landings."

"Hmmm, that last one would be difficult. The last amphibious assault was in the first Gulf War, and most of those officers are still unavailable under your current rules. You'd have to get permission to extract any of them...." Henry stood up and walked over to his battered old desk. He pulled out a PDA.

"Here's the man you want. He's long retired, they were actually prepared to remove him by force I suspect. Thinks outside the box, and you know how much the Marines hate mavericks during peacetime!"

Whitefeather transferred the contact information to his AI interface. "Think he'll volunteer?"

"If you can guarantee his daughter's family an exit. He dotes on his two grandkids."

"How many are we talking about here?"

"Eight year old twin boys, no husband - he bought it about three years back, when his F-18 ate a bird. Don't know her CAP score."

The AI did, and whispered in Tribune Whitefeather's ear that Retired Marine Colonel Raymond Bradshaw was an 8.7 and his daughter Constance Wynans was also sponsor-grade at six point seven.

"All right, then, can you give him a call for me? I need to know if he's willing, and if so if he or his daughter already have a pre-pack put together. Don't guarantee to him that he's going or say anything about when, just say that if he's interested then the Confederacy's interested and is willing to extract his family with him."

"Not telling him 'when' will be the easy part, seeing as you haven't told me."

"I'll see to it that you know, probably the same day that I do. Hell, I wish I could extract you."

"I know you can't, I'm beyond the age when I can make healthy babies. But I've had a good life."

"And you'll live on, in your history books. You DO know I've made sure they've been scanned and are available for anyone in the Confederacy to read?"

Henry patted William's arm. "Thanks, that does mean a lot. Me and Marsha never had kids. I regret that more than ever now she's gone. But there IS one more favour you could do for me."

Whitefeather nodded at him. "If I can."

"That Darjee medical technology, I'd like to have them regress my age, you've told me they can do this. If I'm going to be facing the Sa'arm here, I want to be able to fight and not shuffle around hunched over with old age."

The Tribune considered for a moment. "No promises... there's talk about setting up a defence force for Earth, training them on a colony world and shipping them back here just before the Sa'arm arrive.. I haven't all the details, but I'll ask. Worse comes to worst, I'll just use the medical facilities on one of my K'treel class explorer ships while I'm filling it up with gifts for the colonies, but if I can I'll get you into one of the training regimens."

He was actually a little sad as he emerged from his friend's apartment building onto the busy Washington street. He regretted not being able to extract his friend; Henry would have been an asset to any Marine unit.

Henry chose the restaurant; it was a family-run local establishment. The wife was handling the lunch-time crowd with another older woman, running the place with a friendly, practised efficiency.

Seeing as the place was located in a residential area and today was a normal business day, it wasn't terribly busy. William's eye ran over the customers and staff with an eye toward extraction: the AI let him know nobody in the place had a CAP score above 6.4, so there'd be no point in staging an extraction during a weekday lunch. The attire of the young and attractive females (and the no-longer-so-young and no-longer-so-attractive females) reflected the time: top-free with body paint, or a few scraps of nothing much. He felt some could probably have done better to cover up more, and thereby hint more than actually reveal.

As soon as they settled into the booth, the Tribune's AI let him know subvocally that he had a call coming through. "Just a second, Henry, business interrupts."

It was Sub-Decurion Chan, with a request for an emergency extraction of a family, at least one member of which fit with the Office of Special Extractions' requirement for a hydroponics expert for the colony at Atlantis. He had five K'treel Explorer ships available, each manned by 12 crewmembers from Fleet Auxiliary: his flagship Cabot, Christopher Columbus, Vasco de Gama, Vasco Balboa, and Sir Francis Drake. Each of these ships could haul nine pods with them. All had been sitting mothballed as uneconomical until his office opened up with a crying need for something nimble, fast, small and ridiculously long-ranged.

'OK, Anthony, we'll ship them up to the Balboa. Let her and the Drake know we should have cargo for each of them by Thursday night.'

As he cut the connection and apologized, he realized a situation was developing at the front door. Keeping his eye on the three somewhat wild-eyed gentlemen who just entered the restaurant with their hands strategically hidden behind their backs, he whispered, "Remember how to handle a handgun? AI, call 911, let them know we've got a robbery in progress at this location."

'Confirmed. Emergency dispatcher has just connected the call.'

The three whipped out decrepit Saturday Night Specials, aiming the cheap handguns at the cashier with shouts of "Hands up!" Whitefeather palmed his stinger, stood up and downed the first two before the third even had a whisper of a clue that things weren't going exactly as planned. The third creep whirled around just in time to lose complete muscle control as he, too, dropped bonelessly to the floor.

"Relax, everybody. They're just stunned. The police are notified and will be here shortly. No, this is not an extraction, I'm here on business."

The AI whispered in his ear. 'Emergency extraction recommended despite lack of sponsor-class individuals, due to both identification of yourself as a member of the Confederacy and for future planning, specifically the MIT extraction. Sir Caradoc has just returned from Atlantisat and is positioned to assist. Include Henry Hollister, we will assess and if possible test in orbit.'

'Thanks, and approved. Notify Major MacAllistor and get an extraction team here as soon as possible.' "Change in plan, everyone," he addressed the customers and staff as the grey interdiction field came down. "The Confederacy Marines will be here very shortly, to not only remove me but anyone else who wants a chance to go to the stars. We have a VERY high-CAP pickup coming up and will need concubines for it; almost everyone here is a potential concubine so those who want to go, we'll take with us guaranteed. Right now, everyone - and I very much DO mean everyone - will slooooowly remove any weapon they have on them and place it on the floor. Don't move, let's wait for the Marines. AI, have you notified the 911 operator of the change in the situation? And Henry, you're coming with me. They'll take a look at you medically and see what can be done."