Ghosts of the Vale

by Paul Grover

  “I saw her, Jon, in the machine.”

  “Xander told me.” A shadow crossed his face.

  “She was like we remember her… the Amy we both loved. If she had lived, she would have come back to us.”

  Jon Flynt put his hand to his eyes.

  “I like to think so, Mira. Amy had so many issues for which I must shoulder the blame. I could see your relationship was toxic. Like a fool I sat back and thought it would sort itself out… I’m sorry Mira, I failed you.”

  “No,” she replied. “I failed myself, but things are right now. I said all I needed to say in the machine. I have made my peace, you should too.”

  A fleeting sadness crossed Flynt’s face.

  “Mira… you are my family now; never forget that.”

  It was the sole reason she agreed to the crazy plan.

  Alex, Barnes and Tish were waiting by the ramp of the Second Chance. The Navy Crew in their colour coded overalls were busy completing repairs on the ship. Tish kept a watchful eye on them as they swapped out drive system components.

  “See I told you we’d put everything right,” Flynt said as they walked.

  Mira’s attention was drawn to the bow where a paint crew were stencilling the name Second Chance below the viewports.

  “Your idea?” she asked Tish.

  “It’s not often you get a free dry dock. So I thought I’d make the most of it. I had them flush the cooling system. It will smooth out the ride. We also have clean scrubbers and a full tank of fresh water.”

  “Tish, we are going to Mars.”

  “I knew you would agree,” she replied.

  Alex shrugged. Tish held up a credit disk and Alex tapped his own against it.

  “You had a bet on it?” Mira asked, feigning shock.

  “Yep.” Tish smiled. “Think of it as a measure of my faith in you.”

  “Ten bucks,” Alex added.

  “That’s a lot of faith, Tish!” Mira slipped an arm around her. “So what do you make of this bucket?”

  “Nice ship, old school, but not bad. I’d take her into a fight.”

  “You’re with us, Rich?” Mira asked.

  “Yes, Ma’am. I requisitioned a field support pack from the stores,” Barnes added. “You have a hold full of guns and equipment… just in case.”

  A young officer joined them. Mira recognised her from the flight deck. Flynt introduced her as Lieutenant Commander Samantha Clark. She carried two fleet uniforms. She gave one to Mira and the other to Tish.

  “This is an Admiral’s uniform.”

  “When I made you a reservist, I bumped you up a rank or two. I figured you do what you want most of the time so why not give you a rank to suit?” Flynt said. “Besides it will get you on the floor, hopefully close to Meyer.”

  “Okay…”

  Tish studied her uniform.

  “I'm an Ensign? That’s like the opposite to an Admiral?”

  “But the perfect rank for a Yeoman,” Alex said.

  “Admiral’s dogsbody… sorry assistant,” Mira added.

  Sam Clark wished them well and left.

  Flynt gave Mira a folder containing movement orders, fake ID for Tish and other supporting documents.

  “Tish Gallagher…” Tish read off the document. “I have Mizarman Citizenship! Not sure on the name though.”

  Mira turned to Barnes.

  “Has Tish got you stowed? You have a cabin?” Mira asked.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Okay, we have a 36 hour run to Mars. Let’s haul arse,” Mira said.

  She hugged Alex then Flynt before marching up the ramp into the ship.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DAVID Conway tapped on the open door of the President’s office. He tapped louder when the short, bald man failed to hear.

  Dieter Schmitt glanced up from his datapad.

  “David! Come in,” he said, standing. “Can I get you anything? Scotch if I remember correctly?” The President spoke with a heavy German accent.

  Schmitt changed the room’s lighting. The panoramic window cleared to let in natural sunlight. The Hudson River glinted in the setting sun as the city skyline lit up.

  “No, thank you, Dieter. I am due to fly to Luna in an hour and I think it wise to keep a clear head,” Conway replied.

  “I understand. Booze and the Luna run are poor bedfellows,” the President replied with a good-natured laugh. “You don’t mind if I do?”

  The Luna run was a fast single orbit ascent on a spaceplane at maximum burn. Even the best inertia stabilisers Sirius Dynamics could produce did little to ease the stress of acceleration on the human frame.

  The President of Earth and The Terran Federation poured a large glass of 18-year-old single malt. He turned to Conway.

  “I’m glad you stopped by. I wanted to congratulate you on your handling of the Mizarma incident. Your relationship with the Frontier Company is no doubt why they have been so open with their records,” Schmitt said, taking a sip of his drink.

  “Galen Royce has been cooperative. I suggested he implement several changes to their officer’s evaluation program to bring the Honourable Company more in line with our own Navy. The more I learn of Admiral Parker’s behaviour the more I am disturbed.”

  Schmitt sipped his whisky.

  “After the ceremony I intend to offer Mizarma a substantial aid package to assist with rebuilding. I would like it very much if Galen Royce were to match fund it.”

  “I will talk to him. He is not an unreasonable man; it would be good PR for the Honourable Company at a difficult time.” He paused. “I feel it is important our offer exceeds Damien Lightfoot’s contribution.”

  “Agreed, there is talk of secession on the Frontier, rumours that Lightfoot is talking of an Alliance of Free Worlds. I am not prepared to see the Federation fall apart,” Schmitt replied

  Conway had heard similar rumours. His sources told him Mizarma would secede within a month. He also knew a domino effect would follow. An independent Frontier would be detrimental to the interests of the Core Systems. The Frontier was the primary producer for the Federation. Cheap labour and plentiful resources meant the Core System’s residents enjoyed a higher standard of living. Losing the Frontier or the emergence of a strong and united government would unbalance the terms of trade; power would shift away from Earth.

  “You know Vanessa Meyer was on Mizarma just before the incident?” Conway ventured.

  Schmitt shrugged.

  “It does not surprise me. She speaks for the Frontier and Mizarma is a key player amongst non-corporation colonies.”

  “Yes, but it strikes me as unusual that these rumours of an Alliance appeared so soon after the attack… it is as if they were already under discussion.”

  Schmitt stared at him. Conway stared back. Neither man shied from the building tension. Conway knew Schmitt had an allegiance to Meyer’s faction in the Senate. Less so than the former Vice President but still significant.

  “I will meet with Vanessa after the ceremony. I will raise the question with her.”

  “I suspect it is as you say, a routine visit.”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “David,” Schmitt said. “Talking of rumours... there are those linking your name to the attacks on Tarantella and Mizarma.”

  Conway laughed.

  “I have heard them. They amuse me. Most of it is fake news and UniNet conspiracy nuts bending facts to suit their fantasies. I suspect my predecessor’s supporters have been fabricating stories to undermine me.”

  Schmitt took a sip from his glass.

  “Good, you have my full backing. We leave rumours and tittle-tattle to the press, yes?”

  Conway checked his watch. “Mr President, please excuse me. My flight is due to leave.”

  Schmitt drained his glass and placed it on his desk.

  “And mine. David once the ceremony is over we will meet again. I believe there is much we can do to make the Federation better, don’t you?”


  “I do, Mr President. Thank you and have a safe trip.”

  “And you, David.”

  Conway turned and left the office. He summoned an elevator to the ground floor, crossed the lobby and walked out into the cold February air.

  A short air car ride took Conway to a military base in upstate New York. His car skimmed the bare trees and set down on a pad close to the main apron. A Bombardier Series Three Spaceplane waited on the runway. A pair of General Electric Firefly Scramjets were slung beneath the sleek craft’s delta wings. The Fireflies would propel the plane on a fast sub orbital trajectory, increasing altitude until they achieved escape velocity. When the Spaceplane cleared the atmosphere, the Scramjets would shut down and the ship would begin a traditional ion burn toward The Moon. A single lunar orbit would act as a brake on the ship’s relative velocity, allowing for a sedate landing in Armstrong City.

  Otto Hofner, leader of the Centrist Faction in the Senate and fair-weather ally to Conway’s corporate faction, held the record for a lunar ascent, two hours and thirteen minutes. Conway did not care much for records or the bragging rights they brought, but the thought of setting a new benchmark had a certain appeal. It would be another way of stamping his authority on the Senate.

  A pair of marines greeted him as the gull wing door of the air car opened. It was almost dark and Conway blinked as he stared into the bright spotlights surrounding the pad.

  “This way, Mr Vice President. Your ship is prepped and ready for immediate departure,” the marine sergeant said.

  Conway followed the sergeant who took up station at the foot of the boarding ramp. He saluted as the Vice President boarded.

  A steward ushered him toward a seat configured to his exact specification. If he were embarking on an intra solar flight, he would use the flight time to work but the duration and extreme nature of this trip made it impossible. Instead Conway settled into the firm leather seat and closed his eyes; rest was his priority now.

  The steward sealed the outer hatch and strapped himself in as the engines spooled. The plane commenced its take off run. The rapid acceleration pushed Conway into his seat. The force increased as the engines hit full power and the plane rotated off the runway.

  Thrust gravity pushed down on his body. Conway watched the G meter climb to 4G. The acceleration felt like a hand pressing on his ribcage, pushing him into the seat and holding him there. Several minutes passed and, as the ship broke free of the pull of the Earth, the G meter counted back to 1.5G. The spaceplane stabilised itself and transitioned to its Ion Engines.

  Conway breathed as his body recovered and gazed out at the blue arc of the Earth. They were passing over the Indian Ocean, heading for the Sea of Japan and the Pacific beyond. A storm raged off the coast of Africa and lightning danced in giant thunderheads. India passed beneath him and he drew his gaze from the window.

  All of this endeavour is for Earth, for the betterment of humanity. One day they will understand.

  He closed his eyes and braced for the next round of acceleration. This time it was less and easier for his body to manage.

  David Conway was an enigma. No one really knew who he was or what he stood for. His rise had been rapid. Ten years ago he had been a lobbyist working in the Federal Senate for Regina Enterprise. His move into politics had been swift, entering the service of Nicholas Webber, the deputy leader of the Corporatist faction. Within three years he was doing Webber’s job and a year later he was chairing the Faction.

  Conway had been appointed Commisioner of the Board of Trade by Dieter Schmitt and it had cemented his position in the coalition formed in the wake of the Martian War. His corporate connections were reported in the press as both a benefit to the Federation and as a conflict of interest. GNN, the Galaxies primary news network, always treated him favourably. His critics were swift to point out GNN was wholly owned by Regina Enterprise.

  Under Conway’s guidance more functions of the Federal Government had been contracted to private sector organisations.

  Until Hofner and Meyer colluded against him, Conway had experienced few failures during his government career.

  His recent defeat had been a setback and his efforts to fix the problems it caused had presented him with an opportunity. In two days’ time he would be unopposed; until then it was business as usual.

  The force of the acceleration abated as the ship entered its braking phase. The Moon’s gravity pulled the spaceplane into a descending orbit. Below him he could see the lights of Farside and the industrial outposts surrounding it.

  The ship dropped low over the Sea of Tranquility. Conway’s weight disappeared as the spaceplane came to a hover and used its vertical lifters to descend onto a landing pad. The pad lowered to a subsurface dock and weight retuned as the city’s network of gravity generators supplemented The Moon’s own gravity.

  The engines shut off and the steward opened the hatch. Conway released his belts and walked forward.

  “Do you require help, Mr Vice President?”

  “No. Have my luggage sent to my residence.”

  Conway exited the spaceplane and boarded a travel pod.

  Conway walked into his office with a purposeful stride. The flight had tired him but his background in Corporate PR taught him not to let any weakness show, especially to junior staff.

  “Good evening, Bethany,” he said. Bethany Frost, his assistant, stood and greeted him.

  “Mr Conway, the gentleman is here to see you,” she informed him. The Gentleman could only refer to one person. “I allowed him to wait in your office. I trust this was acceptable.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Bethany Frost was one of the few people Conway trusted. At 58 she had assisted three presidents and four vice presidents. She would take secrets and scandals to her grave. Conway trusted her with all of his affairs.

  Legion stood at the panoramic window on the far wall and gazed over the lunar surface.

  The old man wore his usual garb, an outmoded black frock coat and dark pencil thin trousers. He rested his weight on a silver capped cane. His white hair was combed backward from his tall, wide forehead. Rheumy dark eyes hunkered deep in his skull. His skin was paper thin and sallow.

  “Mr Legion, a pleasure as always; it has been some time since we spoke.”

  He extended his hand and Legion shook it, his grip firm and cold. Conway suppressed a shiver; it was like shaking hands with a corpse.

  “The night before the swearing in ceremony, much has happened since then.” Legion said, as returned his gaze to the window. The blue marble of Earth was rising above the far horizon.

  “Yes… we did not have quite the success we expected. We neither took out Lightfoot nor Meyer.”

  Legion turned and smiled; it was something David Conway was unaccustomed to seeing.

  “No matter, David. The event served our aims. Remember we have our own objectives that do not correlate to yours. My associates and I are happy with the outcome.”

  “With respect, Mr Legion, the Federation is split and questions about my involvement are being asked on UniNet. The Senate is demanding an investigation and The Frontier Company is struggling to contain the contagion.”

  “So deal with it. The Martian operation will provide you with an opportunity to silence the Senate and the Navy. You will have supreme power in the Federation; be sure to use it wisely.”

  Conway breathed deeply. Legion always seemed to have the upper hand. Every time he tried to assert himself he always found himself in debt to this curious being.

  “There are many unknowns. I am relying on allies I do not trust.”

  Legion moistened his thin lips. His manner changed; becoming animated and filled with childlike zeal.

  “Do not worry, old friend, I have your best interests at heart. I have… what is the correct term… an inside man. He will ensure the operation is a success and clear up the mess afterwards.”

  “Am I permitted to know who?” Conway asked.

  Legion liked to
play his cards close to his chest; sometimes he was free with information, other times guarded. Today the unusual man was in a forthcoming mood.

  Legion walked to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky and then a second for the Vice President. He looked at Conway over the rim of the glass. “Karl Manson.”

  “Manson? He died on LDC-132…”

  Legion gave Conway his glass. It was cold despite the absence of ice.

  “He did, but we wield a certain power over life and death. I told you of our need to recruit a free operator? Manson is the ideal tool; he is physically strong and not overly bright.”

  Legion raised his glass.

  “To success, to the future and to friends,” he said, clinking his glass against Conway’s.

  David Conway drained the whisky in a single swallow. It burned his throat. He shuddered and blamed it on the booze.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE uniform was a poor fit, too tight in the waist and uncomfortably narrow across the shoulders. Max Von Hagen breathed in and pulled the zip up. He winced and backed it down a notch as it snagged the skin of his belly.

  “Looking good, Max,” Karl Manson said. He lounged on a tired synth-leather couch on the other side of the bedroom. Like Von Hagen he wore a Detachment 37 uniform, a better fit than Von Hagen’s but still short in the arms.

  “Do you think we’ll get away with these?” Von Hagen asked. This operation was Martian Dawn’s only opportunity to break the shackles of Earth domination; there were no second chances.

  “We’re D37, even the President’s security team fear us.” Manson grinned. Detachment 37 were an elite division of the Federal Security Forces charged with sensitive, deniable operations.

  Manson stood and pulled the crease on his trousers straight.

  “Don’t worry it will be fine. It’s dark and tomorrow it will be too chaotic for anyone to notice,” he replied. “Finish up, we leave in an hour.” He left the grubby bedroom and walked down the stairs, his heavy footfalls echoing off bare walls.