Send In The Marines

The Mercy of Humans

Part Four

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“Madam Prime Minister, Senator Yves Archambault asks for a moment of your time.”

“Okay, Terri. Do I have anything on my schedule? Or at least anything critical? Yves would not ask me for time if it was not important.”

Being the Prime Minister of the Terran Federation was a challenge. Most days I feel like I am elbows deep in alligators and fighting them off with one hand tied behind my back. Yves was one of my few real allies in the Senate.

“You have a call with Defense Minister Ojibwe in an hour. Other than that, your schedule is empty until after lunch.”

“Good. Put him through.”

“Um, he is outside,” Terri replied sheepishly. She forgot to mention that. Not that it mattered. When the French Bulldog wanted a moment of your time, he was going to get it, by hook or by crook.

“Well, send him in,” I ordered.

Yves entered my office looking as dapper as ever in an expensive Thalian silk suit. He was always impeccably dressed and that suit likely cost more than her yearly salary.

“Prime Minster Magalhães.”

“Senator,” I replied. “Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, what can I do for you, old friend.”

“Well, Francisca, I got an interesting call from Donatienne Pierre a few hours ago,” he answered.

“And what does the head of Deschamps, Tremblay and Langlais shipping want today?” I waved the man to a sinfully luxurious chair by the window.

“Actually… nothing,” he answered as he sat. “It is what she is offering to do. And it surprised the hell out of me.”

“Do tell.”

“What are we doing about the Dal’tari System?” he asked.

“The Dal’tari System? You mean the Confederation system that is experiencing the solar incident?” I had no idea where this was going. But Donatienne Pierre was not a woman to ignore. More, the chairwoman of one of the five largest shipping concerns in human space was not a woman who wasted time with stupidity, either.

“A rather clinical way of putting the deaths of billions.”

I grimaced. He was right. I’d spoken like a politician and not a person. “As of now, we are not doing anything. The Confederation is not asking for our help and honestly, will not ask. Our relations are strained at the moment.”

“The Zygels playing pirates again?”

“Please,” I snorted in condescension. “Zygels are pirates. Why the Confederation puts up with them is beyond me. But that and their trade consortiums are trying to freeze us out of their markets. The Hloung-ti may not act against us militarily, but they burn the fuel to stab us in the back every way they can. But that is hardly news, is it?”

“No, it is not." He paused a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Donatienne finds our inactivity unacceptable. So much so, she is sending about thirty of her full loaded supercargo ships, Star Caravans or larger, loaded with relief supplies. Not to mention, she has strong armed the Captain’s Guild, the commerce leagues and a couple of dozen manufacturing cartels into joining in, starting with Erinle Pharmacueticals and Matsui-Mitsubishi-Denso.

“Good Morning, Sol will lead of tomorrow’s episode with an interview with her and the other corporate heads that are bulldogging this on their own dime. She has wrangled together at least a hundred trillion dollars in aid so far. The religious charities are on board as is the Interstellar Red Cross. The first wave of cargo ships will hit Dal’tari in about twelve hours,” he finished with a wry smile.

“Damn.” I was shocked and that rarely happened. “That woman does not mess around, does she? What brought all this on?”

I was having a problem wrapping my head around it. A hundred trillion in aid, and that was just the beginning?

“Two of her favorite grandsons are on a ship heading there right now after picking up medical supplies at New Damascus. It was their idea. But she thought it a good one.” Yves paused and shrugged before continuing.

“To be honest, that family is a rare thing in the universe. They really are good people. Their CFO is a grump about it, but Claude recognizes that what they do matters. Of course, that is after he takes the tax write-offs.”

“What does Mrs. Pierre want from me?”

“Navy ships. Mainly hospital ships and large landing shuttles. This kind of massive freight movement has never happened before. They have all the hulls to get the cargo there, but very little in the way of heavy landing capability. Which the Marines have in spades.”

“We cannot send Marines into Confederation space,” I retorted.

“Why not? The Galcons think humans are crazy. They are not wrong, but we can definitely use that to our advantage. Plus, if you think it is necessary, we can ‘privatize’ the shuttles. Rent them out to the shipping companies for a dollar apiece as long as they use our crews. We don’t do near planetary assault training. You can pitch this to Congress as the perfect opportunity to train the shuttle crews and it will not even look like it. Hell, it will not even be on our dime.”

“It sounds like you support the idea.”

“I do. I am a politician and normally see everything through the lens of votes and influence. But this time? Even my cold-blooded sensibilities take a backseat. We are talking billions of sentient beings that are dying as we speak. A hundred trillion dollars is a lot but that is a drop in the bucket compared to what the Dalutians need.”

“And this falls under the Prime Minister's authority to declare emergencies,” I observed. “And set foreign policy.”

“Donatienne pointed out another thing,” he added. “In all the time we have been butting heads with the Confederation we have made few friends. Perhaps it is time we tried a little harder.”

When I did not reply, he pushed further. They did not call him the French Bulldog for nothing. “But, politically, how would it look for your administration to be sitting on its hands while the biggest corporations are funding the largest rescue and relief effort the galaxy has ever seen?”

I had already made up my mind, which made that last comment sting a bit. He was right. We should have done something.

“Then I guess I send in the Marines.”