Chiral Justice: A Hard Science Fiction Technothriller (The Biogenesis War Book 3)

by L. L. Richman

  She pointed to Jonathan and Thad. “You two, with me. Ship’s XO is waiting for us in the boat bay.”

  Thad nodded and then paused to look at Ell. “You want to come along, cher? Despite what the captain’s message said about officers, your NCIC credentials will open any doors you like.”

  The former sniper shook her head, her hand sinking deep into Joule’s scruff. “I’ll stay here with the ship.”

  Her quiet voice just barely reached Jonathan as he came to a stop in front of the Marine.

  Thad reached over and squeezed Ell’s shoulder. “Do me a favor and keep her out of trouble, will you?”

  “Captain.” Valenti’s voice had both men turning to face her. She looked pointedly down at Joule, and then back up at Thad. “That’s a trained working cat. She gets into trouble, it’s the handler’s fault, not the cat’s.”

  Jonathan heard the other man stifle a sigh as he followed the Marine toward the hatch where the colonel waited.

  “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

  Thad’s muttered “Damn cat” had Jonathan biting off a laugh as they descended the ramp to the boat bay, but it was quickly forgotten as he took in their surroundings.

  This was his first opportunity to see inside the new, Hauptman-class light cruisers. His first impression was that it was big; the bay alone was as spacious as their hangar back on Humbolt.

  He saw the ship’s placard as they approached the doors that led from the bay into the ship’s lower passageway, and made a mental note to get a better look at it on the way back. If he recalled correctly, Invictus’s keel had been laid at the Sirius shipyards above his homeworld more than a decade ago, but the titanium crest adhered to the bulkhead just inside the bay’s entrance would confirm it for him.

  After a quick greeting, Hinckley, the ship’s XO, launched into a brief explanation of how Invictus was laid out.

  “I know you special forces types don’t spend a whole lot of time with the regular Navy, so forgive me if I’m stating the obvious,” the man said, pointing to a color-coded strip that ran along the port side wall.

  Over Mirage’s shipnet, Nina quipped, {Remedial Navy 101 for the Marine, coming right up.}

  Thad responded with an inaudible subsonic growl.

  Valenti shot them a repressive look before returning her attention to the XO, who, thankfully, remained oblivious as he continued his spiel.

  Jonathan let the man’s words wash over him as he looked around.

  Alliance Navy ships were laid out in a uniform manner fleet-wide. Passageways running tip to stern were numbered, while cross corridors were given an alpha designation. Colors were used to designate different levels.

  For example, the coordinates of Delta-Seventeen-Yellow would tell any naval personnel, as well as the small squadron of Marines assigned to the ship, exactly where an individual was on Invictus at any given moment in time.

  They were currently amidships at India-Two-Blue.

  “Invictus doesn’t go all the way through on all levels, so if you need to make your way from here to the bridge,” Hinkley was saying, “you need to make note of which color you’re on. Green goes all the way through. Red is restricted to Engineering. Seven is the central passageway that runs the length of the ship on every level except Red, where the driveshaft for the weapons bays and the tokamak are accessed.”

  They stopped at a lift, and the XO’s security token ID allowed them entrance. Jonathan saw a quick ‘Denied’ flash over his own overlay when the lift challenged his ident and the SI operating ship security didn’t recognize him as part of the crew.

  The XO eyed him knowingly. “Caught that, did you?”

  He nodded.

  “Access to this level and this particular lift is only for ship’s personnel. You’ll have access to the boat bay, the D-FAC, and your temporary quarters,” he told them, using Navy shorthand for the dining facility.

  They murmured acknowledgment as they boarded the lift, which delivered them in short order to the ship’s CIC.

  The Combat Information Center on board Invictus was small but serviceable, with a large battlespace holotank taking up much of the room’s center.

  As he entered, Jonathan saw that the captain, Hemry, had their destination pulled up on the display: a customs staging platform in a section of space nearly four AU from the planet Eridu. Merchant ships from every star system converged there to begin their journey through Akkadia’s extensive security checks.

  After introductions were made between those in the CIC, Valenti turned to the holotank, and then shot Hemry a questioning look.

  “I thought it might be worth discussing your plans, in case you find you need backup from the garrison,” the captain explained. “Our anti-drone and anti-platform capabilities—”

  He stopped when the colonel raised a hand.

  “This job requires stealth and precision strikes. That’s why we brought the direct-action ships with us. We’re not authorized to start a war—which we could easily provoke, if a ship of this class were to show up unannounced and uninvited. If Mirage is detected, we’ll send the Helios and Novastrikes in first.”

  “Very well, then. In that case, I’m sure you’ve reviewed this information, but a new report just came in I thought you might like to see.”

  Hemry manipulated the image, widening the field of view until a diamond-shaped pattern emerged, surrounding the space platform at the ten-million-kilometer mark.

  Jonathan moved closer to study the placement of the stealthed sensor drones, then gave the captain an appreciative look. “I’m not sure how you managed to get specs on those listening stations, but thanks. This takes all the guesswork out of it for us.”

  Hemry smiled. “Griffins, Captain Case. The garrison in Alpha Centauri received permission to send a pair of them through on a fast fly-by.” He indicated the image. “Data’s about an hour old.”

  Jonathan nodded his understanding.

  Griffins were stealth reconnaissance drones with small but mighty fusion reactors hidden behind layers of high-performance electromagnetic shielding. Their cross-sectional return was so small, even Alliance ship scans would dismiss them as a blip from a system’s heliospheric current sheet.

  He opened his mouth to ask how close the drones had managed to approach, when the XO held up a hand to forestall him.

  The man’s gaze grew distant, indicating he was receiving an incoming ping, and conversation halted as he listened to the message.

  Seconds later, he turned to Hemry after flashing the group a smile.

  “Good news. Leavitt STC has us priority routed. As soon as we arrive, we pop to the head of the queue.”

  Hemry chuckled. “Bet that pissed off some of the merchies. They’ve been waiting in line for hours, and we just jumped to the front of the list, and we haven’t even arrived yet.”

  “Do you have an ETA for transit?” Jonathan asked.

  The XO nodded. “I’ve forwarded it to your flight crew.”

  “Well, then.” Valenti straightened. “Thank you for the tour, Captain. We’ll get out of your hair and let you be about your business.”

  Taking the colonel’s unspoken cue, the XO led the way out of the CIC to show them to their assigned quarters.

  Thad looked over at Jonathan as they strode down the corridor. {Smooth sailing, hoss. Wonder how your counterpart’s faring.}

  SIMULATOR RIDE

  Douglass-Washburn Tent

  Founder’s Cup Fairgrounds

  Bezier Foothills, Ceriba

  Micah stood very still at the tent entrance as two very lethal weapons were shoved against his skull. The security agents holding the weapons looked like they meant business.

  “Name’s Micah Case,” he told them calmly. “I was ordered to report here—”

  “We know who you are. Don’t talk. Don’t move.”

  Micah remained frozen in place while the agents confirmed his identity. His wire pinged as their security tokens challenged his own.

  He’d lo
st the area network connection to Ceriba’s planetary net the moment he stepped foot inside—Cutter had warned them to expect this. It was why Jonathan was on standby. His mirror twin was the only person Micah would be able to contact if things went sideways.

  As if conjured by his thoughts, Jonathan’s voice filtered through his head.

  How’s Hyer settling in?

  Kinda busy here. Two agents holding me at gunpoint, and I’m cut off from the network.

  He sent Jonathan a mental image, and then belatedly added, Hyer bailed on me the minute the vultures descended.

  Can’t imagine why. His twin paused. Are they going to give you network access?

  Whatever connectivity Micah was allowed would be provided behind a secured, monitored, and fully encrypted firewall.

  I’m about to find out.

  Seconds passed, and then one of the agents nodded and stepped back, his weapon snapping into the high ready position.

  “He’s clear.”

  Before moving further into the tent, Micah turned to the first weapon-wielding agent.

  “I’ve been instructed to let you know that I need to report in periodically to my superiors. I understand I need to go through the firewall to do that?”

  The agent looked at her partner, and wordless communication passed between the two. The woman nodded, and stepped back, holstering her weapon.

  “We’ll submit your ID to the list,” she told him.

  In the next instant, a secured network token appeared over his wire.

  “Everything you say, send, or share will be recorded and scrutinized,” she warned.

  Micah nodded. “Understood.”

  He had his wire handshake with the encrypted channel, and saw the message, ‘Limited Connectivity,’ flash on his overhead.

  He lifted a brow at that.

  One side of the agent’s mouth curled up into a non-smile. “The minute your security token has been cleared, you’ll have full connectivity.”

  He nodded and moved past them, stepping more fully into the tent.

  Tell Gabe I’m in.

  Will do, Jonathan responded, then paused for a beat. Done. They expect to hear from you as soon as you’re free to contact them. You see the chief?

  Micah’s steps brought him more fully inside the tent and closer to the ship at its center. His eyes traced the ship’s lines as he walked toward it.

  He nodded silently to the two mechanics standing beside a workbench, his eyes shifting to take in Katie Hyer’s presence as well. She was kneeling beside what looked to be replacement spars. He didn’t let his gaze linger, continuing his inspection of the tent that was their temporary hangar for the regatta.

  Yeah, she seems to have integrated with the pit crew no problem.

  He stopped in front of the starglider, hands on hips as he looked up at its fuselage.

  I have eyes on the ship Garza’ll be flying. It’s a newer model than the one we flew, but the airframe’s the same.

  So, you think you can teach a jarhead how to fly?

  Jack was one, Micah reminded Jonathan. Marines do have pilots in their ranks, you know.

  Yeah, but Garza wasn’t one of them.

  Micah sent a mental shrug. The operating system on his starglider will have an autopilot. I’ll also be tied into the system and can take over at any time.

  Unless they manage to hack the system and boot you out.

  Dude. Stop it with the cheerful thoughts.

  Micah began a slow, cursory walk-around, at a distance calculated to ensure none of the agents got antsy.

  He’d requested and received permission to fly a test run of the exhibition match’s course ahead of any real hands-on training he might give the prime minister—but not with this ship. Douglass-Washburn agreed to provide an identical unit for him to use.

  The fairgrounds were set between Montpelier and St. Clair Township, on a flat plain just at the base of the Bezier Mountain range. All of the ships would take off from a dirt strip marked off through the center of the fairgrounds.

  The Founder’s Cup was a three-heat race that blended triathlon with regatta, and was set to run for three consecutive days.

  The stargliders that competed were unique vessels. The air-breathing, magneto-plasma propulsion system gave them both atmospheric and non-atmospheric capabilities, while a secondary, ducted, multiple impeller drive allowed them to dip below the surface of Ceriba’s oceans.

  In addition, the ships each had a variable-geometry surface that could be reprogrammed to work optimally with the fluid dynamics of each of the three legs of the race.

  {Which course will they fly for the exhibition?} asked his mirror twin. {I’m guessing it’s the first leg.}

  The first leg was atmospheric and was held on day one. Its course wound through some of the most beautiful terrain the planet had to offer. Stretching ten kilometers along the Bezier Foothills, the terrain funneled into a long, chute-like gulch. The gorge walls that rose on either side were a mere kilometer apart.

  Micah shook his head. {Nah, too many twists and turns. With another ship alongside, jockeying for position within that same one-kilometer-wide, narrow chute? Too risky.}.

  Surprise coursed through their connection. {Well, it can’t be day two.}

  The ships taking off from the fairgrounds for the second heat would arrow straight for the coastline, dipping into the Marianas Ocean, the course running straight through the Carcassonne Trench.

  Micah sent Jonathan a second mental head-shake. {Nah, they’re not going to send novices through a protected sea life preserve. One miscalculation, and they’d be scraping their hulls against coral walls. And before you ask, it’s not the third leg, either. Well, not exactly….}

  The final day of the race, the ships would shoot skyward, guided between holographic flags projected by microdrones hovering in the air, creating a corridor that led past the planet’s stratosphere. From there, a series of pylons had been set in nearspace, a course each starglider must maneuver through before returning to the planet’s surface.

  {So…?}

  Micah laughed quietly at his other self’s impatience. {It’s a variant of day three, only atmospheric. Simple oval racetrack, pylon drones. Very straightforward.}

  Jonathan made a disappointed noise. {Boring.}

  {You sound like Pascal when you say that.}

  Still, Micah understood his twin’s sentiment. He envied those flying the regatta; it was much more fun than the racetrack he’d be setting up for Garza.

  He hadn’t flown something as small and maneuverable as the starglider in ages. It was criminal to use such a fine flying machine for such an easy course, but given the pilots involved, simple meant safe.

  He stopped at the nose of the craft and looked over once again at the two mechanics. Hooking a thumb in the direction of the starglider’s cockpit, he asked, “Mind if I take a look inside?”

  The engineer standing beside Katie reluctantly set aside the part he was working on, grabbed a rag, and began to wipe his hands as he ambled over.

  Micah saw the moment recognition flared in the other man’s eyes. His footsteps increased, and he closed the distance more rapidly, all reluctance shed.

  “Hey, aren’t you that —?”

  “Yeah,” Micah nodded. “I’m that guy.”

  A chuckle rumbled in the man’s chest as he tipped his chin toward the vessel. “They wrangle you into this party, too, then?”

  Micah barked a short laugh. “Yep. Falls under ‘and other duties, as assigned.’ That’s the Navy way. We go where they tell us to.”

  The mechanic cocked his head. “Not a bad posting for a few days’ work, though,” he observed.

  Micah turned back to the starglider and let his eyes roam its surface controls. “Can’t argue that. Sure beats deployment out on the front, or at one of the gates.” He tilted his head to indicate the cockpit. “Mind if I take a look?”

  The other man stuffed his rag in the back pocket of his coveralls and turned tow
ard the hatch. “Not at all. Come give her a once over.” He shot a look over his shoulder. “Just keep your hands off the controls, mind you.” His eyes flicked over to where the prime minister’s protection detail stood. “Don’t want to give those folks any more reason to feel antsy, know what I mean?”

  Micah gave him an understanding nod. “That’s a good copy. Hands off.”

  The mechanic hoisted himself up inside the glider, and Micah followed, his optical augments automatically adjusting for the dimmer interior.

  He took in the clearsteel nose shield and the holographic control panels and gave a low whistle.

  “I see you guys have made a few improvements since I’ve flown.”

  The mechanic squinted at Micah. “My guess is the model you used likely didn’t have any kind of autopilot SI installed either, did it?’

  Micah grinned over at him. “Not hardly. Unless the rules have changed, no Founder’s Cup participant would be allowed to use one anyway.”

  “That’s true,” the man allowed, “but this isn’t for the regatta. This is an exhibition race between two major political figures, and the bosses made it clear there were to be no accidents under my watch. So, SI it is.”

  Micah tipped his head in the general direction of the pit, outside the ship. “How many people are on the team’s pit crew, anyway? I was lucky to have one, and that was only because regulations required it.”

  The mechanic shot him a sardonic look. “Three from Douglass, on-site at all times, and then your Navy has sent some young upstart to check over our work, make sure we don’t do anything stupid.”

  Micah grinned at the man’s peeved tone and jerked his chin in the direction of the pit. “That girl out there? Looks awfully young.”

  She’d kick your ass if she heard you calling her a girl.

  Micah sent Jonathan an annoyed mental grunt. Shut up. I’m playing to the audience here.

  Unaware of the mental exchange going on around him, the mechanic scrubbed at his stubble, considering Micah’s words. “Those were my first thoughts, but she’s already elbow-deep in grease. Girl knows what’s what, too. Have to admit, she’s the first Navy mechanic I’ve ever seen who’s that capable at that age.”