She was the kind of person equally willing to tackle the menial stuff and unafraid to listen to the wisdom of noncoms with years of experience under their belts. And yet, she was one of the most taciturn people Gabe had ever known. She never used two words when one would do, and even those she doled out sparingly.
“Major!” Asha called out when she spied the woman.
Both sniper and medic had served under Reid; Thad, too, for that matter. The major had led SRU Team Five for a full decade prior to Thad taking over as Unit commander, a role he’d held prior to the formation of Task Force Blue.
Boone straightened in his seat. “Good to see you again, ma’am.”
The major nodded to them both, her expression virtually unreadable. Her gaze traveled past them and then landed on Micah. “So, you’re the game piece they’re putting in play on the local board?” she said as she came to a stop beside him.
Micah shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable, though whether it was because of her scrutiny or because of the assignment, Gabe couldn’t tell.
“Looks like it, ma’am. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, though.”
The major jerked her chin to one side, as if dismissing Micah’s words. “You forget; I’ve seen you work. You’ve flown us in and out of too many hotspots over the years for me to think this will be an issue. You’ll do.” She nodded decisively, as if by the strength of her words alone, she could wipe away his concerns.
Perhaps she can, Gabe thought, as he saw Micah’s shoulders settle.
As the major turned to take a seat, Harper cleared her throat.
“Major, I don’t believe you’ve met Doctor Travis or Chief Warrant Hyer yet. They’re our other two, ah, ‘game pieces’ that’ll be in play for this part of the mission.”
Reid nodded curtly to the two women as Hyer raised a hand.
“About that…. What’s my role, exactly?”
Harper tossed Katie the Douglass-Washburn ballcap she held in her hand. “You mean how will you go about planting that tracker on the starglider? You’ll be joining the pit crew for the prime minister’s exhibition race.”
“Gotcha.” Katie caught the cap, examined the logo on its bill, and then flipped it over her short blue curls. Tipping the bill of the cap back with one finger, she gave Harper a sloppy salute. “So I’m a grease monkey, then. Nothing I haven’t done before.”
Harper gave Katie a quick smile. “Keep an inside eye on Micah while you’re at it. If anything looks suspicious, find a reason to step outside the tent and alert the team.”
At Katie’s nod, Harper gestured to the major.
“Major Reid has SRU Teams One and Four assigned to canvass the fairgrounds, where the stands and the starting line will be set up. Major?”
Reid’s gaze swept the group. “Some of the team will be wearing drakeskin; the rest will be in plainclothes.” She turned to Micah. “I’ve not been to a Founder’s Cup. What are we looking at here, Captain? Top-level sketch on what to expect.”
Micah pulled his lower lip, expression thoughtful. “The regatta’s pretty much no different from any other major sporting event,” he said after a moment. “Each team participating has a tent set up along the taxiway, where their stargliders are hangared during the event. There’s also a large area set aside for vendors behind the stands. Fans can walk around and buy memorabilia from their favorite teams—you know, shirts, hats, posters, stuffed animals, things like that. Anything they can slap a logo on, they’ll sell. And then there are food trucks scattered all around, where you can grab the kind of stuff your mom never let you eat when you were a kid.”
Major Reid leaned forward. “Security?”
“I can answer that one.” Harper waved a hand at the room’s holoprojector, and it lit up with a diagram of the fairgrounds.
She pointed at a spot on the map. “Everyone enters through the registration tent, where security SIs will challenge each person’s ID token. On the days the prime minister or the president of An-Yang is in attendance, agents from Protective Services will be on hand to vet attendees, as well.”
The image altered.
“The tent housing the starglider that the prime minister will use will have around-the-clock protection, both from Parliament and the Navy. In addition, they’ve established a firewall inside the tent. No unauthorized signals in or out.”
“They don’t want to risk someone sneaking something in and setting it off remotely?” Micah guessed.
Boone was the one who answered. “SOP when top-level officials are in residence.”
Reid nodded. “Okay, then. We’ll double up the number of people in that location. You get in trouble, we should have someone there within thirty seconds.” She glanced over at Micah and Hyer. “When you’re inside that tent, though, you two will be on your own.”
“We have a workaround,” Gabe assured the major. He shot a questioning look at Harper.
A subtle shake of her head told him Reid hadn’t been cleared to know about the unique chiral connection Micah shared with his twin—something no firewall could defeat.
“They’ll have a way to reach us if they need our help,” Gabe stated simply.
Harper blanked the screen. “I’ve sent each of you data files with the details. Bottom line: they’re already expecting you out at the fairgrounds.”
Micah made a startled sound and shot up in his seat. “We’d better get moving, then.”
With a nod to Boone and Asha, Gabe stood. “So had we.”
PART TWO:
DEPLOYED
FAIRGROUNDS
Founder’s Cup Fairgrounds
Bezier Foothills
Ceriba
The event area reserved for the Founder’s Cup was awash in color, just like Micah remembered from years past. Bright flags adorned the tents that housed the competitors, proclaiming each team’s name and nationality.
Katie Hyer’s face was glued to the row of clearsteel windows that lined the sides of the spaceport shuttle as it pulled to a stop at the entrance. When its doors opened, the passengers were met by a cacophony of sound, organized chaos that rose from the park-like expanse.
The place was swarming with people, the purpose-filled strides of team members and pit crews slicing through the sea of spectators like a mako through a school of slow-moving fish.
“Busier’n a cat coverin’ crap on a marble floor.”
Micah wasn’t sure he was meant to hear Hyer’s words, as they were muttered sotto voce, but they surprised a laugh out of him anyway.
“Interesting way to put it, but yeah. It’s always like this right before the regatta begins.” He inclined his head, indicating the registration tent. {Go on ahead. We’re not supposed to know each other, remember?}
{Gotcha, Cap. No worries.}
She turned in that direction, her long legs and easy stride giving her a coltish look—Hyer dressed the part, too, straight down to her mechanics’ coveralls.
Micah took another long moment to visually scan the area, picking out the icons of racing teams he recognized. He spied a team from An-Yang clustered between a flashy Ganymede tent and one from the cloud cities of Venus.
“They’ll be the team to beat,” he heard a voice say, and turned to see a woman with a newsnet holobadge around her neck, staring in the same direction.
“Nothing like a pilot who’s grown up in the clouds to innately know how to handle an airframe,” he agreed.
The woman thrust out her hand. “Janet Provo, SportsCentre. You’re Micah Case, aren’t you?”
He smiled as he took her hand. “In the flesh.”
The reporter waved a hand around. “What’s a two-time Founder’s Cup champion think of our home teams’ chances this year?”
Micah let his brow lift. “On or off the record?”
She grinned. “Oh, you’ll know when I’m on the record, trust me. Wouldn’t be very sporting of me to waylay you the second you arrived.”
Micah let his gaze travel over the teams’ banners on
ce more. “They’re up against some tough competition this year, but I think the Sirius Gems might have an edge over the Atlieka Hawks.”
Provo shot him an assessing look. “Sounds like you’ve been keeping up on things.” Her gaze returned to the fairgrounds. “Any truth in the rumor that you’re here to help train Prime Minister Garza for that exhibition race An-Yang’s president has challenged him to? And is this an official Navy assignment, or are you taking a personal vacation?”
Micah couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “You people don’t pull your punches, do you? I think you’ve missed your calling. You should contact the NSA, see if they have any analyst positions open—you’d be a sure bet.”
The woman chuckled quietly. “Nah, where’s the fun in that? Besides, my passion is sports, not political intrigue.” She made a face at that last, but quickly pivoted back to the topic of Garza’s race.
She motioned to the tents. “You realize you’re walking into a feeding frenzy, don’t you? Press’ll be swarming all over you the minute you hit the fairgrounds.”
Micah gave an easy shrug. “Not much I can do about it. When the Navy senses a photo op and cuts orders for you to be somewhere high-profile, you salute, say ‘yessir,’ and show up on time.”
He let his eyes roam the tents once more as his tone turned nostalgic. “Not that I’m complaining. Been years since I’ve flown one of these babies. Can’t wait to go up in one again.”
Provo crossed her arms. “Is that really the wisest thing, then, to send in someone so rusty to train one of our star nation’s top leaders?”
Micah popped off a cocky grin. “You forget what I do for a living, ma’am. I’m a Navy pilot, and I fly billion-credit machines every day.” He nudged his shoulder in the direction of the tents. “You think a starglider’s controls are a challenge? It’s like riding a bike. Kinetic memory’s ingrained,” he tapped his forehead, “up here. And in here.” He waggled his fingers at her.
She paused as if weighing his words, and then nodded. “Guess you might be right about that.”
“Damn skippy I am. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear registration closes at five. I’d better hustle or they won’t let me in.”
Provo smiled and fell into step beside him as he strode off. When he slid her a sidelong glance, her smile widened into a grin.
“Don’t mind me. Just tagging along so I can see the dog and pony show.” She pointed her finger at him. “You can thank me later for warming you up with softball questions. I like the La Cygne Lager they have on tap at the main food tent, by the way. In a frosty mug.”
Micah tipped his head back, his laugh catching the attention of those nearby.
“I’ll remember that, ma’am.” He gave her a quick salute as he ducked inside the tent.
He moved to the back of a short queue just as Katie stepped up to a tired-looking woman at the registration desk and pulled out the papers she had tucked inside her mechanics’ coveralls.
Micah grinned at the official’s reaction when Katie handed over the old-fashioned document, then patted the pocket of his own flight suit, hearing the faint crinkle of his credentials.
“Ma’am?” he heard Katie prompt when the woman just sat blinking at the unfamiliar forms being held out to her.
Hyer began to reach for them, but then turned and frowned at the desktop SI when it beeped.
The unit had flagged the chief warrant’s ID token, yet its indicator light flashed green.
{Uhh, Cap?} Katie’s head began to turn, as if to seek him out.
{Don’t turn around! We’re not supposed to know each other. Let’s just see how these weird NSA credentials play out.}
The registration lady glanced at one of the security guards standing against the back of the tent and motioned him over. The people waiting for admittance in front of him grumbled at the delay, but Micah’s attention was fully on the interaction between the woman and the guard, as she asked the man to double-check Katie’s info.
The guard glanced over at the holographic display, and his bored expression changed to one of interest. He cast a swift, probing look at Katie before scrolling carefully through the information her ID token had provided.
After a close look at the papers, he stepped back, waving Katie through.
Micah felt a smile pull at his lips when the chief exhaled a mental sigh of relief. He stepped forward as the line began to move once again, and Katie exited onto the fairgrounds.
When his time came, and the SI flagged his ID, the registration agent didn’t look concerned; she merely waved the guard over.
Micah was subjected to the same intense scrutiny the man had given Katie, but moments later, he nodded and stepped back.
“Good to go. You can let him through.”
* * *
It bothered Katie somewhat that she wasn’t allowed to carry a weapon inside the fairgrounds. She’d become used to carrying a sidearm on her person at all times—something she’d not been expected to do as a pilot in the regular Navy, but with Task Force Blue, it was a requirement.
She catalogued her surroundings as she made her way to the tent housing the prime minister’s starglider. Just as Micah had described in the briefing, the fairgrounds were teeming with people, merchandise, food carts, and street performers.
Her unease at not having a weapon on her returned, but then Gabe’s voice rang inside her head, memories playing of the time they’d taken to the streets of St. Clair Township for a training session, and she’d wanted to know what weapon she’d be carrying.
He’d just looked at her, and then tapped the side of his head. “This, right here, is your most important everyday carry.”
‘Everyday carry’. She remembered thinking it had a cool, special forces ring to it.
The thought must’ve shown on her face, too, for the former NCIC agent had begun to laugh quietly.
“Don’t get romanced by the lingo,” he admonished. “It’s the weekend warriors who think they need to bring a lot to the party. For those in the field? That EDC list is very small.”
He’d gestured around him as they maneuvered their way through a busy lunchtime crowd. “Tell me what you see. What strikes you as a possible weapon?”
She’d looked blankly at him, but then dutifully glanced around.
There were street vendors, and an open-air café. A pair of stanchions were set up to handle the evening’s queue at a theater for a show’s opening night.
“I’m not—” she began, and he’d held up a hand.
“Loose brick.” He pointed down at the edge of the sidewalk. “Stanchions.”
She followed his hand as it traced an arc over to the open-air café. In a corner she hadn’t noticed, a garden rake leaned against a wall.
“That rake handle would make a fine bo,” he assessed, then pointed to a nearby chair. “And that’s light enough for you to swing, but hefty enough to make someone think twice about crossing you.”
“Yes, but—”
“All of these items are just tools that this weapon right here,” he tapped Katie’s forehead, “can use to defeat any enemy.”
I’m not unarmed, she reminded herself now. If the need arises, I’ll just get creative….
* * *
The familiar drone of aircraft reached Micah’s ears as he exited the registration tent, the sound mingling with the bright peal of children’s laughter and the call of street vendors. He’d half expected Provo to show up again, but he didn’t spot her anywhere.
The Founder’s Cup had a secured teamnet set up for participants, a localized, wireless network dedicated solely to those in the regatta. As Garza’s trainer, Micah was included.
He accessed it now and found himself routed directly into the combat net that the Unit teams already in position had set up.
{Welcome to the party,} Gabe’s familiar voice sounded inside his head.
Task Force Blue’s second-in-command was leading this part of the operation.
{Sitrep,} the former NCIC
agent ordered.
{Hyer and I are in, though our ID tokens garnered a bit more scrutiny than most,} he admitted.
{That was expected. It’s because you’re cleared to be around the P-M.}
Micah sent a mental nod as he pulled up a map of the fairgrounds. Comparing it to the map Cutter had given them, he frowned.
{Interesting,} he murmured. {They kept the tent with Garza’s ship off the list.}
{Smart move, if you ask me,} he heard Boone reply.
{World’s worst-kept secret, if you ask me,} a new voice countered, and Micah’s overlay identified its owner as Shawna, the demolitions expert from Team Two. {If the starglider’s number one manufacturer isn’t already at the top of everyone’s list, then the sheer number of security agents would be a dead giveaway.}
{Shit, Shade, why’n’t you jinx us while you’re at it?} another voice intervened.
{Shut up, Moog.}
Lips twitching in amusement, Micah let the team’s banter wash over him as he went back to the event map Cutter had provided. Locating the Douglass-Washburn Corporation’s aeronautics division’s tent, he angled his steps in that direction.
Shawna was right; the company was the premier maker of stargliders and had been chosen as the host of the exhibition race. It was in that tent the starglider Prime Minister Garza would be flying could be found.
With the newsnet reporter’s warning of the ‘feeding frenzy’ echoing in his ear, Micah kept a wary eye on his surroundings as he moved. He half expected to be ambushed by a horde of journalists waiting to jump out at him from behind every vendor’s booth.
Sucks to be you, bro.
Not even Jonathan’s teasing voice could cut through his dread at the thought of facing the people he knew were awaiting him.
Chiral Justice: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (The Biogenesis War Book 3) Page 11
