Converge Chapter 2
"I know you're waiting for the little joke, the punchline that'll release the tension, and put everyone at ease. That's what I do, right? But not today. A few months ago, I was asked to speak at the SDF-1 memorial, and I refused. I said that I was the wrong person, that it was too important. Today, it's too important for me to not speak. The simple facts are that at five seventeen AM yesterday, an F-16 piloted by an officer of the Central Commonwealth of York, under direct orders from General Carter, commander of York's Air Defense Fleet, fired two anti-ship missiles at the independent freighter Hamilton, just a few kilometers outside of New York Harbor. The Hamilton was carrying approximately eleven hundred Zentraedi and Terran refugees attempting to escape York's blockade of Manhattan, and the captain of the Hamilton, Susan Etienne, informed York's military of this, when challenged. We'll have a playback of the decoded intercepts in a moment. Both missiles struck the freighter amidships, and the ship capsized and sank minutes later. Five hundred eighty six refugees and crew are confirmed dead, and that number is expected to rise as search and rescue operations continue.
"Inspector General Bron Nantes is currently interviewing survivors and collecting testimony, after which he will be flown to Manhattan itself to investigate conditions there. Other than authorizing this visit by UEG observers, York has confirmed that their blockade remains in force. No refugees will be allowed to leave, and no humanitarian help will be allowed to enter. So the question now is, what will this assembly do about this atrocity, and this newest escalation of the Manhattan Crisis?"
Rico Dosel, report to the UEG Assembly, meeting in closed session.
"…when the blockade was announced, we knew we had to get out…"
"…tried to build a settlement near the ruins of Rochester. Then the planes came and dropped fire on us…"
"… mass graves and hunter squads. We hoped we were free of it, but now this…"
"…thought the ship had run aground, and then there was smoke filling the compartment…"
"…anyone seen my husband? His name is Kradel! He has green hair, like our baby! Please…!"
Bron had never felt old before. To the world, he looked like a young man, and he felt like one too. Perhaps a personnel file survived somewhere in a database on Breetai's flagship that contained answers, but between multiple campaigns and unknown periods of time demobilized and placed in cryostasis, Bron had no idea how old he was, either physically or chronologically. For the first time, though, he felt ancient. The voices, the haunted faces of the survivors, were with him whenever he closed his eyes.
Bron, as a former soldier, had seen far too much of war and death, but now he realized he had been naive about the nature of cruelty. Certainly the Rain of Death was a terrible crime, a burden of sin that many Zentraedi still consciously carried on their shoulders, and an unhealed wound between the two branches of humanity. There were a few Zentraedi, such as Khyron, or Dolza, that had confronted the violence and bloodshed that was part and parcel of Zentraedi existence with open relish, but most took no more than the pride that came from victory, survival, and a completed objective. But the stories told by the Hamilton survivors, many of whom had escaped York's closed borders before they fled Manhattan also… the Masters and the Terrans truly were estranged cousins.
"Two minutes to the heliport," the pilot of the VTOL transport announced, startling Bron. He shook his head and peered through the glass, out into the growing twilight.
"Where are all of the lights?" he wondered aloud. Manhattan should have been at least as well lit as Monument. He knew from the movies and TV shows he and the others loved so much that it had been home to over a million people before the Rain of Death.
"Manhattan was almost finished evacuating when the Rain of Death hit," Mary explained. "Then there was a cholera outbreak three months later, and many people left the city. A lot of Zentraedi entered from the countryside, especially after the junta took power in York, but they never made up the numbers. It's practically a ghost town now by comparison, and on top of that, the government has instituted a total night-time blackout in case of air raids by York."
It was one of the strange miracles of the Rain of Death, that the narrow strip of land that constituted the borough of Manhattan had been spared even one direct hit when the four million ships of the Zentraedi armada, holding position in geo-synchronous orbit, opened fire on the Earth. Whether by incompetence, equipment malfunction, or divine intervention, the energy beams and reflex cannons that had reduced the surrounding boroughs and tens of millions of people to flattened ruins and wind-blown ash missed the heart of the Northeast Megalopolis. Sadly, fewer than fifty thousand people remained to give thanks for their survival, and the newborn city-state had still suffered the secondary effects of the apocalyptic bombardment. Bron could see where the great skyscrapers, including the Empire State Building, sprawled across lesser buildings or leaned against each other like tumbled dominoes, their monolithic shapes silhouetted by the fading purple sunset.
The transport landed at the Pier 6 heliport, within sight of Battery Park. Standing on the tarmac, where the chill wind blew dust, ash and the smell of sea salt, Bron, Mary, and their attendant recording crew were met by a small delegation of Manhattan officials. Their eyes glittered in the dark as they approached.
"Inspector General Nantes," the first man said, reaching out a knobby-knuckled hand to shake Bron's. "I'm Gerald Carstein, Director for Foreign Policy. This is Commander Ztren, who leads the Manhattan Borough Defense Unit," he added, gesturing up and over his shoulder.
The woman's colossal figure was almost lost in shadow, but he saw her nod in acknowledgement. Bron could see just well enough to tell that she was wearing an old Zentraedi officer's uniform. He nodded back. The introductions were kept short both because of the darkness and the possibility of attack. They boarded an immaculate white limousine and drove north, Ztren following with long, earth-shaking strides.
The pleasantries were stiff and formal. Bron could tell that there were some measure of good feelings toward him personally, but the Manhattanites were cautious of Mary and of the UEG in general. His attention was drawn to the view out the window during the short trip to New York City Hall. Old and New Macross, as well as Monument, were crowded, vibrant, constantly building and expanding. Manhattan was like an empty crypt. The streets were clean and clear of vehicles. Wall Street was entirely deserted, serving no purpose in this new world.
They passed the forty story bulk of the Manhattan Municipal Building, which Carstein explained was unsuitable for the meeting, due to it being unable to accommodate full sized Zentraedi, and stopped instead at nearby City Hall Park. To Bron's surprise, the park showed every sign of being carefully maintained. Although the ornate lanterns surrounding it were unlit, he could hear the babble of flowing water from the grand granite and bronze fountain. In the green space around the old New York City Hall, a much smaller two hundred year old French Renaissance-styled building, an area had been cleared for mixed Zentraedi and micronian meetings. It was into one of these partitioned areas of scaffolding, plywood, and canvas, that the delegation was led.
Bron blinked as he entered the meeting area, his eyes adjusting to the first fully lit space he had been in since taking off from the UES Persephone. He and the other officials gathered around a polished hardwood conference table, where he met the president of the borough, Victor Abhram, an aging man who wore a neatly trimmed silver beard and a razor-creased gray suit coat. Bron was again reminded of how awkward he felt in his own maroon suit. It still seemed like a strange sort of uniform for him to wear, as if he was play-acting. Mary had told him just to be glad that he had been tailored a fitted suit by their friend, Larry Patel, or he might be truly miserable in the formal attire of the diplomatic corps.
"Welcome to Manhattan, Inspector General," Abhram said in a thin but firm voice. He had amber eyes that were fading toward a creamy tan, but his gaze was still sharp.
"Thank you, Mister President," Bron answered with a nod.
"Let us be seated. I know there is a great deal to talk about." Abrham directed him toward the table, and they arranged themselves around it. Ztren had an odd sort of bench that had been assembled out of large pieces of cast steel, perhaps from a rail yard or shipyard. She was joined by a squat Zentraedi man in one of the garish gray and yellow jumpsuits worn by most demobilized giant Zentraedi. Abhram introduced him as Ravan, Director of Resource Allocation.
"Time may be very short, Inspector." the president continued. "York's armed forces could attack at any moment, so I'm going to get right to the point. We can't allow Army of the Southern Cross troops inside our borders as peacekeepers, even if the UEG decided it was willing to do so. The people of Manhattan are not willing to risk our freedom. What we need is for the UEG to open up a supply corridor, and provide us with heavier weapons - missiles, destroids, even just Valkyrie gun pods that the giant Zentraedi in our defense units can arm themselves with. Anything that can deter York from attacking."
Bron shook his head, regret plain on his face. "I'm sorry, Mister President, but it's important you understand my role here. I'm not authorized to negotiate with Manhattan or York. My role is to investigate, take testimony from officials and witnesses, provide oversight of the actions of the UEG and United Earth Forces, and report back to the UEG Assembly."
If the situation hadn't been so dire, Bron would have been proud of himself for sounding like he knew what he was doing. But the Manhattan officials all shared looks of consternation and worry. A rumble of dissatisfaction issued from low in Ztren's throat, sending a vibration through the bones of everyone in the room.
"You're not going to do anything?" Carstein asked. "Surely the UEG understands that it's in its own best interest to keep Manhattan free and contain York." The worry was clear beneath the director's challenging tone.
"No, I'm not saying nothing will be done," Bron assured them, "I just mean it has to be through the Assembly. They'll act in part on my observations and recommendations."
"Inspector," Abhram said, shaking his head sadly. "We may not have that kind of time. The junta in York wants control of Manhattan. You have to know this isn't about their security. They won't be satisfied by a blockade or concessions."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"Don't get us wrong, York's leaders are a bunch of paranoid bigots," a woman wearing a green pantsuit put in. Abhram had introduced her as Pauletta Jones, Director of Economic Development. "Look, they really do fear and hate the Zentraedi," she said, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. "And their demands are outrageous - expulsion of all Zentraedi in Manhattan, allowing York security forces to search the city and arrest supposed 'criminals and insurgents', and complete disarmament of our own defenses, just to start. But even if we gave in, they wouldn't be satisfied. This whole situation is really about greed and ambition. Think about what Manhattan has to offer."
She began ticking back her fingers. "An almost intact urban area. Functioning infrastructure and municipal government facilities. Wall Street and the old United Nations headquarters are abandoned, but they are important symbols that could be put to use. We have substantial stockpiles of Protoculture, brought by the Zentraedi who have emigrated here. And perhaps most important of all, New York Harbor, now the largest functioning natural harbor left in the world. If York conquers Manhattan, they go from a regional power to a global power overnight. Nowhere near as strong as the UEG, mind you, but the potential…"
"Leaving aside pure geo-politics, the humanitarian cost would be catastrophic," Abhram added with a sour glance at Jones. "Manhattan's population is forty percent Zentraedi. York is more interested in the land than the people. The Hamilton atrocity is just a taste of what will come if York is not stopped."
"Please, Mister President," Bron said,"the UEG is sympathetic, but we have to handle this the right way. Nobody wants to jump into another war-"
"Except for York," Ztren muttered in a voice that could be clearly heard by everyone.
"- so we need to be careful, and collect all of the information we need to form a plan to defuse this crisis."
"Why bother with this farce?" Ravan grumbled, scowling beneath a thicket of dark bushy eyebrows. "If your UEG doesn't have the stomach to oppose York, surely you have communication channels you could use to reach Lord Breetai. The fleet could settle this in hours. Why not-"
"Stop." The flat voice cut across the room. All eyes turned to Mary Brennan. The curvy, round-faced woman was the shortest person in the room, and wore an unassuming black blouse, blue herringbone jacket, and slacks, but her expression was stern.
"If you persist in trying to compromise the Inspector General's mission, this meeting will end immediately, is that clear?"
Bron lifted a hand. "Mary, it's ok, they just-"
"No, Inspector," Mary interrupted, "I'm sorry, but we can't afford for there to be any question. We could easily go from a regional conflict to a new Global War, if there is any proof of impropriety."
"Forgive us," Abhram said, placing his palms together in front of him. "We're-" He cut himself off, searching for the right word.
"We're afraid," Carstein admitted for him, and the truth of it was written across his sallow, clean-shaven face. "We've all suffered and lost so much, and just when it feels like we might be recovering, coming together and creating new homes and families, it looks like we may lose everything we have left."
"If you are here to observe, Inspector General," Ztren said heavily, "then perhaps, in the morning, I should take you to see what we are up against."
Vanessa looked with trepidation at the faces of the three subordinates and friends she expected to rely on the most in the days ahead, as each expressed a different emotion. Allison May seemed disturbed, Jose Reyes, confused, and Straza Pentiet, angry, perhaps even distrustful. They all waited expectantly in the hastily erected field tent; a metal-framed and polymer covered dome four meters across and just tall enough for Straza to stand up straight in. Between the darkness outside the sealed window flaps, and the yellow-tinted illumination of the LED lantern sitting on a folding table, it would be easy to imagine that they were outdoors on Earth, perhaps on some sort of field exercise. In reality, the training cohort had quickly put together a simple camp on the pair of Zentraedi-scaled rolling carts that had brought them to a disused cabin on the Sal-Dezir. They finished shortly before the third watch cycle began and the overhead lighting shut off. Two of their Valkyries waited outside in guardian mode, their noses hanging over the carts. The rest were back in the launch bay, under the supervision of two of Reyes's pilots.
Reyes had a steaming mug of coffee, which he had filled from the self-heating carafe outside. He held it in both hands, and looked a bit chilled, in spite of the glowing ring of orange cast by the tent's space heater. The veritech leader spoke up first.
"So, did that seem a little strange back there? I feel like the Captain is maybe on a different playing field than us? All that hardware for training exercises? Not that my team would go down easy mind you..." he added, trying and failing to summon up a cocky grin.
"Ma'am, what exactly is going on?" May asked Vanessa. "Command completely upended the schedule, and rushed us onto a shuttle with nothing more than camping gear and field rations. I understood they were planning to set up temporary quarters on the Kardis, and send faculty, supervisors, and liaisons - a month from now. There's not even a curriculum in place. And Jose is right, when you stepped out of the shuttle, you looked… worried?"
"I need to talk to you about why we're here," Vanessa began, uncertain of just what to say. Officially, they were aboard the Sal-Dezir for orientation and inter-service training with the Allied Zentraedi Fleet. Straza, however, cut straight to the point.
"You know something!" she said accusingly. She stopped just short of tapping Vanessa's chest. "Something has happened on Earth that we are being kept in the dark about. Something that has changed our orders, put this ship on a war footing, and caused you to ask those strange questions and react with fear when we landed. What are you keeping from us?" Straza demanded angrily.
"Straza…?" May called out softly, but she was ignored.
Vanessa lifted her chin. She was sympathetic to Straza's feelings, but she wasn't about to be spoken to that way after all the heartache she had gone through arguing against Lisa's orders.
"As you were, Lieutenant!" she snapped, not realizing how much she sounded like the absent admiral at that moment. Straza abruptly seemed to remember herself. Her face colored, and she stood to attention, jaw clenched.
"Something has happened on Earth, and it hadn't been made public yet when we left the Factory Satellite. Word will have gotten out by now, and I'm going to need your help." Vanessa briefly outlined what she knew of the attack on the Hamilton.
May and Reyes became grim-faced and quiet at the news, but the anger in Straza's eyes became hotter, only it was no longer directed at Vanessa.
"I see. Forgive me, Commander. I should not have doubted you. A clever subterfuge, to place us with the fleet so that we can help coordinate our combined counter-strike. York will pay."
Vanessa felt a jolt in her chest. Is that what Captain Gotta thinks our mission is about? she wondered. Is that why he greeted us the way he did?
"Straza," Vanessa said carefully. "There is no plan for a counter-strike yet. The UEG is still deciding what to do. That's why Bron has been sent to Manhattan to investigate."
"Investigate?" Straza hissed. "More inaction? Is no one willing to stand up for the people who York is murdering?"
"Hey, Straza, it's not like that-" Reyes said in a calming voice.
"Be quiet!" Straza snarled. "I was burning cities to ash before you were born! After the Rain of Death, I swore I would never allow it to happen again, either by my action or inaction. It seems I have joined with cowards and fools."
"Please stop," May begged, her voice filled with distress. "We fought in the war, just like you did, even if it was on opposing sides. We know what it's like to have the people we love taken from us." Tears ran down her cheeks, unnoticed by the young officer. "We hate this too."
"She's right Straza," Vanessa said, and the Zentraedi's gaze snapped back to her. "I haven't talked to you all before now because I disagree with the UEG's position, and with our orders, and I didn't know what to tell you yet. We're here to continue the training program as best we can, but also to be present in case Captain Gotta, his crew, or another ship in his battle group decides to break away and make a strike against York on their own."
"And then do what, exactly?" Straza asked, her voice harsh.
"I don't know." Vanessa raised her hands helplessly. "Admiral Hayes swore it's not her intention that we act as spies, or try to manipulate or sabotage Gotta."
"It's not like we could take out the whole ship with one Valkyrie squadron," Reyes said, stroking his chin. "Well, maybe if we-"
"Not funny, Jose!" May interrupted.
"Sorry, sorry."
"I don't want another Global War, or to see retaliation against the Zentraedi, and that's what the admiral has been telling me will happen if the UEF or the Allied Fleet intervenes right now," Vanessa told them. "I'm still hoping that there can be a peaceful outcome, that maybe Bron will be able to do something before things get too far out of control."
Straza frowned. "York's leaders deserve to be punished for what they did to the refugees on the Hamilton, and to many more people within their borders."
Vanessa swallowed. She knew Straza was right. Even if York were to lift the blockade today, that would be no justice at all.
"I don't know how to stop Gotta from doing what he's planning. I'm not sure we should stop him, until I understand what he really intends to do, and that's why I said I need all of you to help."
"But how?" Straza wanted to know.
"First, we're going to need to salvage what we can of the training program."
"At a time like this?" May was incredulous.
"We have to keep preparing for our mission, even though I agree it's hardly the highest priority right now. It's important for appearances, and I'm not talking about tricking Captain Gotta."
"Earth," Straza breathed.
"Right. You can be sure the fleet is being closely watched, because everyone is wondering what the Zentraedi will do about York. We have to keep everything as normal as possible."
"Well, I can try my hand at organizing the mecha exercises," Reyes suggested uncertainly.
"And I'll get with the ship's XO and talk about the warship operations side," May said with an approving nod to the squadron leader.
"You will need someone to make introductions," Straza said, reluctantly. "I am well known to the ship's crew."
"Thank you, everyone. And I want to talk to all of you about how to deal with Captain Gotta, and his plans, once we know what they are. These events are much bigger than all of us, but it's become our responsibility, here, and Bron's, on Earth."
She feared for Bron, for the danger he had placed himself in, but she had no choice but to hold on to her faith in him, that somehow he could find a path for everyone between all-out war and inaction, between 'peace at any price' and destructive revenge. The officers all nodded to her, clearly uncertain, but also relieved to have tasks to carry out.
"I'll say this, though," Vanessa added, looking particularly at Straza. "Admiral Hayes asked me if I would choose to resign over my orders and the UEG's stance on the Manhattan Crisis, and I said no. But if York invades Manhattan, and the UEG still refuses to get involved, I will resign my commission."
Next time… stand-off, hostile shores, and Pyrrhic victories…