by Paul Grover
“Since then, we took a chance and stopped officially operating in the Vale,” Lightfoot added.
“You pulled out?”
“Absolutely not!” he replied. “We used wildcat survey teams, small operations the MegaCorps would ignore. Five or six well-funded and directed expeditions are more productive and less conspicuous than a single corporate one.”
Lightfoot took a deep breath. His tone became serious.
“One vessel, the Torrence, was investigating an anomaly; they described it as large and non-human,” Lightfoot said. “We have not heard from them for six weeks. We have a rough idea of their last position. An area of over 1200 cubic light-years.”
Flynt digested the information.
“So even if we had the cube, you don’t know where this facility is?” he asked.
Kramer sighed.
“The Vale is a big place, Admiral. Were we to launch a rescue mission it would attract the wrong attention.” He shrugged his heavy shoulders. “The Torrence could be suffering communication problems… or just be on their return leg.”
They fell into silence. Flynt made a spot decision.
“Without concrete data we are chasing phantoms. I suggest we wait until Xander returns and see what light he can cast on it. The Verani may have answers.”
A resigned smile brightened Lightfoot’s face. “Jon, this is the same conclusion Chloe Song and I came to. I am sorry Franz, right now is not the time to chase around the Vale. We don’t have enough data…”
Before he could finish the door opened and Mizarma’s President, Lucy Anderson, entered.
Flynt had never met Anderson. He knew she was in her early fifties and was a first generation Mizarman colonist. She carried herself with a quiet elegance, embodied by her on-trend suit and sculpted platinum blonde hair. Anderson reminded him of Ruth, both in looks and no-nonsense manner. He sipped his coffee, hoping it would hide the twitch of his lip.
He put down his cup and stood.
“I am sorry I am late. Our rebuilding programme is proceeding well, but the demands on my time remain,” Anderson said.
Flynt stepped forward and shook Anderson’s hand.
“Madame President, it is an honour.”
“Admiral Flynt, I am pleased to meet you at last. I would like to thank you on behalf of Mizarma and its people.” She motioned for them to be seated before taking a chair opposite Lightfoot.
“I assume you had much to talk about in my absence? Damien will brief me on it on our return to Delain. Assuming it is relevant, I don’t want to overstep my position.” Mizarma’s President spoke with quiet authority, maintaining eye contact with everyone present. Her tone was dry, borderline acerbic.
“The galaxy has changed far faster than we expected and it has certain implications for the new alliance. As you know when Damien and Senator Meyer discussed the idea it was to protect the Frontier Worlds against an external threat.” She paused. “I have read the reports on the Viola Prime Attack and we have been receiving refugees from a number of systems. All have similar accounts. I am in no doubt these Blackened are real.”
Lightfoot leant forward.
“I have already requested the shipyards on my portfolio worlds give me details of spare capacity. We need to build vessels: warships and auxiliaries.”
“I agree, Damien, but I fear the primary reason for your Alliance is no longer our most pressing concern. Conway’s move against the Navy has given him the excuse to use the Frontier Company to fill the vacuum. He will not stand for what we are doing here. We have to be prepared to meet the threat he poses. Admiral Flynt, how many fleet vessels are in system and how many more do you expect?”
In the days since Conway had invoked Article 43, Mizarma had become the destination for disaffected Naval crews.
“We have 46 warships in system, including two carriers and nineteen cruisers. More are arriving day by day. Damien’s vessels bring our total number to 68.”
“I have seen your operational brief and agree with your method. We need to refine our plans as we expand our sphere of influence. I received confirmation this morning of Yashira and Nuvala seceding from the Federation.”
Anderson glanced at Lightfoot.
“Onto other matters,” she said. “As you know when this venture was first discussed Senator Meyer and Damien thought of appointing Xander Rhodes to the role of interim President.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I vetoed this idea as soon as I heard it mentioned. Xander is a smart man but his brand is toxic. We are fighting a media war and a military one. GNN will use Xander’s past to portray us as insurrectionists. Let us not forgot the shiploads of weapons Xander smuggled to Mars. I know he did it because we supplied them.”
After an awkward pause Lightfoot spoke up. “At the time I proposed Rhodes I was unaware of his connection to Senator Meyer. Much as I respect Vanessa there are those who could view his appointment as Meyer exercising power by proxy.”
Flynt did his best to hold back a laugh. He was the only one outside Meyer’s family who had known the truth.
“Do you have any other potential candidates in mind?” Flynt asked Anderson.
“Several…” she replied. “Trust me Damien they are not from Mizarma, nor do they have any corporate connections. This will be the subject of future discussions.”
The meeting continued to discuss overall strategy and planning until President Anderson brought it to a close.
“Admiral, would you do me the honour of seeing me to my ship? I always was a sucker for a man in uniform,” she said, standing.
“It would be a pleasure, Madame President.” He stood and walked to the door and followed Anderson out of the room.
Lucy Anderson linked arms with Flynt as they walked through the Angel and back onto the Valhalla.
“Admiral, we are very much in your debt. The rescue and recovery operations would not have been as successful as they were without the help of your people.”
“It’s our job Madame…”
“Lucy,” she interrupted.
“Jon.”
She gave a thin, genuine smile.
“I am in possession of unfortunate news. I did not want to discuss in the open meeting; especially given how tight we are on ships. It concerns Thorn.”
“Mira?” Flynt replied. His heart rate quickened.
“The Frontier Company issued a bounty. They are blaming her for the destruction of the Berlin. A source within the company tells me they identified her on the Phobos Orbital Platform.”
“I see, she is returning now… but she will need to re-supply,” Flynt replied.
“She will be vulnerable. It may come to nothing, but without knowledge of the bounty she could be in trouble.”
Flynt was familiar with the methods of bounty hunters. They would stake out stations between the Frontier and the Core Systems, and wait for fugitives to fall into their grasp.
“I wonder if I might use your planetary array? If I can fire a fast burst message, we can warn her off and look at other options.”
“Jon, this is a complicated situation; warning Mira off would be a red flag to FRONCO. We have a source deep in their senior management; I cannot risk exposing them… don’t tell me you don’t have a few of your own.”
If only you knew, Madame President.
“We must do something,” Flynt said. His mind was running scenarios, contingency planning and performing an ad hoc threat assessment.
Anderson squeezed his arm. “Jon, Mizarma owes Thorn a great debt and we always make good on our debts. My media office is disseminating information to undermine the contract. It will still be in place but will be too toxic for anyone to pick up.”
“It’s too long term, Lucy. Mira needs help right now.”
“I have a prototype ship in orbit. It seats two people, is technically advanced but lacking in comfort. I know the fleet cannot spare ships but I am sure you could spare one person to deliver the warning.”
“That I can do.”
> “There is something else… it is possible Mira was shot during the rescue operation. Her condition is unknown.”
Flynt’s heart skipped. Barnes had sent the message… not Mira.
“I’ll send Monica Garret and Alex Kite.”
“I would like to meet Mira when she returns.”
“I will mention it.”
Anderson paused, making sure others were out of earshot.
“Now Alliance business… I hope you do not think I was railroading the meeting. I am unapologetic about my views. I am adamant the Alliance should not be an extension of the Lightfoot Corporation, neither should it fall to Mizarma to run the whole damn show.”
Flynt considered his response but before he could answer Anderson continued.
“What do you make of Asha Malik?”
“Asha?” Flynt stopped puzzled.
Anderson’s expression was neutral, giving no hint to the motivation behind her question.
“Asha is a wise head on young shoulders… she is organised, determined and the only person I know who can keep Xander in line… she would be my choice for Alliance President.”
“Mine too. I saw a picture of her and Lightfoot during the attack. She covered a dead child with her coat. She was barefoot and bleeding. Images like that resonate with people.”
Flynt was familiar with the image. It had a power not unlike the picture of Mira being cut from her ship.
Flynt considered his response.
“Asha and Xander were making Tarantella work. I see no reason why she should not do the same with the Alliance. She’s an outsider and no politician,” he replied.
“That’s what we need, someone to take the people with them. Asha will have Senator Meyer and me to guide her. The role is interim; we can replace her when necessary.”
Flynt winced at Anderson’s blunt language yet understood her reasoning and respected her approach.
“We should keep Xander on board. He can be unpredictable but he understands how the galaxy works. He wants to make a real difference,” Flynt said.
Anderson agreed with a curt nod.
“I would like you to talk to Asha before I do; she trusts you.”
Asha’s wounds were all but healed; she grew stronger every day. Flynt had seen her work out in one of Valhalla’s gyms. She was pushing herself hard, perhaps too hard.
They entered the hangar. The President’s Mantis class shuttle was spooling its engines.
Anderson disengaged from Flynt.
“Jon, I would like you to visit me on the surface. We are playing a dangerous game and I feel it important to know the players.”
“I will arrange it. I’ve spent too long on ships and it will be pleasant to spend time under a blue sky.”
Lucy Anderson bid him farewell and climbed the ramp to the shuttle. Flynt turned and left the hangar.
He made his way back to the Valhalla. He strode through the warship’s busy corridors and onto the flight deck.
Sam Clark provided a status update. Another three vessels had arrived while Flynt was aboard the Angel.
“One is a troop carrier, Sir. The Galipoli,” Sam reported. “She has the Fighting 458 embarked.”
He had been wondering when the Corps would turn up. He thanked her.
“Mr Kite,” he said, turning to Alex.
“Admiral?”
“Ask Doctor Garret to come up from the surface. I want both your arses in my office as soon as she gets here.”
“Aye, Sir.”
Before Kite could say anything else Flynt turned and walked to his ready room. He poured a coffee and sat hiding in his thoughts.
Flynt woke with a start as the buzzer to his door sounded.
“Come,” he said into his com-link.
The door slid open Alex and Monica entered.
Monica pushed in front of Alex. Her blonde hair was loose. Her grey eyes told the story of someone who had been running on too little sleep for too long.
“Admiral, what’s happening?” Alex asked.
“Are Mira and Tish in trouble? I saw what happened on Mars,” Monica added.
Flynt sighed.
“Maybe.”
He stood and ushered them both to a soft seating area surrounded by contemporary holo-art.
“Frontier issued a bounty on Mira. They have footage of her leaving the Phobos Orbiter. They are calling her a terrorist,” he explained. “This comes directly from Lucy Anderson. She has… sources.”
“We have to do something. Mira is walking into a trap,” Alex said.
“We have matters in hand, Mr Kite. Anderson’s media people are working on clearing Mira’s name.”
“It’s bullshit, Jon. You know it and I know it. They’ll have her disappear.”
Flynt recognised the defiant fire in Monica’s eyes. He and Monica were old friends, lovers in a different life.
“President Anderson has arranged for a ship…” he checked the time. “I expect it has docked by now. I want you two to get to Baikonur and get Mira off the station.”
“I assume the ship is fast?” Alex asked. “A Mercury or Nova would be my choice.”
Novas were high speed executive transports. They were small, comprising a flight deck, a single cabin and a pair of Rolls Royce Void Spirits. Aside from the Norse class and Xander’s Nemesis they were the fastest vessels in human space.
“We’ll see what the President has sent us,” Flynt assured him.
“There is one more thing… the message I received came from Rich Barnes. Lucy Anderson believes Mira was shot during the extraction. It is why I asked you to come aboard, Monica. I take it you are agreeable?”
“You should have sent me with Rich.”
He had wanted to but knew a surgeon of Monica’s skill and experience was more valuable to the aid mission.
He checked his datapad; it confirmed a vessel had docked.
“Alex, head down to the main hangar and prep.”
He turned on his heel and left.
Flynt waited until the door closed. “Monica, how is Asha?”
“She’s fine. I gave her a weekly check-up yesterday. The repair to the blood vessel in her brain is healing well and inter-cranial pressure is falling to normal limits. She is weak, as one would expect.”
“How soon before she could… start work.”
“She would start tomorrow given the chance. She wants to aid the humanitarian programme we are running in the Southern Continent. She needs more rest but she could handle a couple hours of light duties. Did you have something in mind for her?”
“I’m asking for a… friend. It’s a long story.” He shook his head. “You best catch up with Kite.”
She turned to leave.
“Thank you, Monica.”
Flynt watched her go. There was little else he could do. Once Alex and Monica were on their way, he would speak to Asha.
Alex met Monica in the hangar. He took her kit bag from her and carried it to the ship. “You look tired Doc,” he said.
“I was looking forward to my first eight hours in weeks. You woke me after three.” She paused.
“What the hell is that?” Monica asked.
The ship had similar lines to a Nova, but they were rounded, less precise. The hull was shark skin grey with honeycombed panels integrated to the plates. The view ports were moulded. The ship had no angular surfaces.
Flynt and Sam Clark arrived. Sam carried a datapad.
“Stealth Tech?” Alex whispered.
“State of the art… with the exception of Nemesis. She’s also got a compression factor of fifteen and is armed with a rail gun. She could take out a cruiser sized vessel.” Flynt replied.
Alex whistled and walked around the ship. She was impressive; maybe not as advanced as the Nemesis but she still represented the pinnacle of human tech. He wasn’t alone. The Navy turnaround crew occasionally shook their heads and commented as they prepped the vessel.
The name Emerald was etched beneath the cockpit.
“Mizarma has quite an arms industry. This is a tech demonstrator; expect little in the way of comfort…” Flynt said.
A loud pop followed by a hiss of escaping coolant interrupted him. Over the noise, Alex heard the crew chief shouting.
“Shut it off! Shut it off!”
The ship fell silent and the vapour dispersed, leaving a pool of green fluid on the deck.
“Mop that shit up, before someone slips and cracks their dome,” the crew chief said. He raised his goggles and turned to Flynt.
“Cooling system has popped a gasket. This ship is a ticking bomb.” He shook his head. “I pity the fool who has to fly it.”
“Chief Daniels,” Flynt said. “I’m sure your expertise will make it as safe as it needs to be. How long before we can launch?”
The Chief rested his hands on his hips.
“Nine hours for a good crew. We’ll have her ready in one.” He glanced at Kite. “Get your gear stowed, Mr K, and we’ll have you in the black before you know it.”
Sam handed Alex a datapad.
“I prepped a course for you; just upload and you’re good. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it would save you time. I have also uploaded Xander’s tracking algorithms; just in case.”
“Great, thanks Sammy.”
A faint glow warmed Sam’s face.
“Hurry back, Alex. Finding a good XO is harder than you think,” she replied.
Alex said his goodbyes and headed for the ship.
“You have to watch the quiet ones,” Monica whispered to him.
He blushed as he stowed their gear.
The Emerald’s interior was finished in polished steel and brushed aluminium. Everything about her was functional and minimalist, from the sparsely populated panels to the thinly padded seating.
“I hope the accommodation section is better,” he whispered, slipping into the pilot’s chair. Monica took the gunners seat.
“This ship was designed by a man,” she said. “It couldn’t be more phallic if it had balls instead of star drives.”
Alex prepped the ship. Chief Daniels reported in, confirming the Emerald was fit to fly. Alex thanked him and fired up the sublights. The deck crew disconnected the umbilicus and evacuated the bay.
