by Kal Spriggs
The cadet officers and commissioned officers treated me different, too. Second Class Cadets in the fall semester were only a short distance from being seniors. Cadets First Class were focused on finishing up their classes, licensing exams, and jockeying for position. Almost all of them had come back from assignments elsewhere in the Militia and they were totally focused on their duties, on doing everything they could to graduate on time and with the highest rankings each of them could manage.
Some part of me had to wonder, if it came to war, if it came to an invasion by the Drakkus Empire, how many of them would die.
Reuniting with my friends was a relief. Kyle filled them in on what we could tell them, but we couldn’t actually mention the Alexandria shipyard, only that we’d been working on a classified project. Alexander Karmazin and Sashi Drien had returned from their stint with an Active Planetary Militia unit that had operated at Century Station and both of them had been involved in the patrols following up after the Summit Station attack.
“There were a lot of people talking, a lot of rumors at first,” Sashi spoke up, after Kyle had finished detailing what we knew. We’d moved to one of the rooms in the lower corridors where I’d disabled the security monitors and Karmazin had tapped into the network to ensure no one came along the seldom-used corridor.
“Most people thought it was some kind of renegade human force, maybe even the start of an invasion or something. Some people even were talking about the Culmor attacking... but then nothing happened. The investigation just sort of fizzled out... everyone knows something happened. Officers, enlisted, everyone either knew someone assigned there or someone who knew someone assigned there. There’s a lot of anger.”
Karmazin nodded, “They all wanted someone to hit back, but there’s no target. Half the Militia wants to go after the people responsible, but no one claimed the attack and the investigation has been kept quiet.”
“It’s Drakkus,” Kyle grated, “it’s got to be. And Charterer Beckman is hip deep in it.”
“I think--” I broke off, though, as I caught motion in the corridor. It was a slight thing, I barely picked it up on the monitors... but it was there.
I zoomed in and amplified the image as much as I could. There it was: a drone, so small I nearly couldn’t see it, coming close to the doorway. Someone was trying to overhear us.
We have a problem. I sent the message to the others via my implant, along with an image of the drone.
Karmazin moved first, quietly moving to the door, waving his hand at Sashi, who started talking, “So I think Viper Company has the best odds, given the performance of their Candidates during Prep School and how well their plebes this year performed.”
Kyle raised one eyebrow at her, but he nodded as he realized what she was doing, “No, I still think Dust Company is doing pretty good.”
Karmazin had moved to the doorway and I saw him glance out, almost as if he were just looking out to make sure no one was out there, but he sent us a relay of his vision. It was peculiar, seeing the corridor from his perspective, his height, and the way he looked at the world threw me off... but I didn’t miss the glint from the tiny drone, hovering up near the ceiling. It wasn’t bigger than a coin and it barely caught the light.
“You guys can’t be counting out Sand Dragon Company,” I protested even as I moved over near the door. “They did pretty good this year, maybe not best, but their company score is still high enough that their commander is likely to come out well.”
I sensed Karmazin reaching out with his implant and I joined him. Sure enough the tiny drone sent and received data, encrypted on a frequency that even my implant could barely pick out, and then only because there were almost no signals in the lower levels.
We couldn’t tap into the encryption, it was too complex and since it probably controlled the drone, we didn’t want to give the person on the other end any warning.
“I dunno,” Karmazin grumbled, “I was expecting better of this year’s plebes, some of them were a bit disappointing as Cadet Instructors.” Even as he said the words, we followed the signal back down the corridor. Someone had bounced the tight-beam transmission around the corner, using a second drone. Our implants couldn’t “see” the signal past there. But what we could do was tap into the corridor’s monitors. That section of the hallway had cameras and audio. Those monitors had been hacked, someone had deactivated them... but it was easy to reactivate them.
The person who’d shut them off must have had some kind of warning, because as soon as I turned them on and looked at the bottom of the stairwell, the person controlling the drone looked up, directly at the camera.
Cadet Third Class Beckman stared up at the camera with an expression of shock, then she threw down the drone controller and raced up the stairs.
***
We weren’t able to catch her, not before she got up into the upper levels. When she’d thrown down the drone controller, she’d triggered some kind of destruct protocol. Both the drones had exploded, the tiny frames incinerated, and the controller had melted into a pile of fused plastic and circuits. We’d scraped what we could into a box and Karmazin was going to take that to Doctor Schoeffelk to pass on to the Admiral.
This is serious, I sent the message through our private network. It meant I couldn’t share it with Kyle, his implant wasn’t capable of tapping into that network, but I should be able to fill him in on what we’d discussed, sometime when we weren’t as paranoid about being overheard. That’s not the kind of drone you pick up at a hobby shop, these things destructed.
It could just be Beckman being a pain, Sashi replied. I could sense the reluctance in her message, though. Our quicksilver implants were fully integrated with our thoughts and emotions and we all had plenty of emotion about Cadet Beckman. In a way, the network was almost like telepathy, we sent the thoughts, concepts, even images and emotions, directly to one another’s minds. She hates all of us, you especially, she might just think we’re conspiring about something down here. Snooper drones like that are available to buy, they’re just expensive.
That made me snort. Fine, then, she just happened to buy one and have it on hand when she saw us come downstairs? We’d already reviewed what we could of the monitors. We hadn’t seen exactly how Beckman known we were downstairs, but she’d come to the stairwell about ten minutes before we’d spotted the first drone. It had taken her a few minutes to deactivate the monitors in the upper corridor and stairwell, after which time she’d presumably come downstairs and to launch her drones.
I just hope she didn’t overhear too much, I sent. It was stupid of me to discuss all this outside of a safe room.
Don’t blame yourself. Karmazin’s thought was stern. We needed to know what was going on, so we can help you to counter it here. Besides, her snooper drone didn’t get close enough to hear our conversation, not before we saw it. And now we’ll be more careful.
All the same, I’ve already warned my grandmother, I replied. And while knowledge was power and we now knew to watch out for other methods of spying, that didn’t make me feel any better. Rear Admiral Fischer might or might not be part of Charterer Beckman’s conspiracy and he had full access to the Academy’s monitoring network. That was bad enough, but if we had to worry about teachers and students spying on us as well, then avoiding unwanted attention was going to be nearly impossible.
For one thing, they’d be able to tap into the Academy network and see the increased message traffic from us. The Admiral had done that to identify that something had gone wrong with Project Quicksilver. They wouldn’t be able to see what we were doing, just like the Admiral hadn’t, but they’d know we were doing something.
Rear Admiral Fischer had fronted the Honor Board investigation on me based of the “possibility” that I was cheating and one upset instructor. I had a nervous feeling that he’d do far more if he thought he could make a case for some kind of conspiracy.
My class is starting, Karmazin sent, I’ll talk later.
Sam
e here, Sashi and I sent. As I stood to attention for the instructor, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I’d bitten off a bit more than I could chew.
***
As a Cadet Second Class, I had plenty to keep me busy besides the threat of conspiracy and invasion. I rotated through several more regimental positions, then secondary company positions. I even spent time in the logistics element where we tracked ammunition, food, and fuel expenditures and requirements. All of it was aimed at making us better officers when we graduated.
Classes became just a repetitive grind. I didn’t have time to enjoy the subjects or even really to think. We’d done the basic theory in the first two years, now we were going through every minute aspect, every detail of every system. We rehearsed military tactics, we went through every ship system, detecting faults, navigation for larger ships, and diagnostics for system failures. It was at once mindless and at the same time, requiring a massive attention to detail. I didn’t need to remember those details, I just had to absorb them on a lower level so I could react with the proper response.
Half the time, my drill positions and my classes actually blended together. Such as when I was assigned as the Flight Operations Cadet Non-Com. I spent three consecutive drills plotting attack runs on notional attacking ships and coordinating those fighters as they conducted their drills, then briefing at the Regimental level on their performance and attack measures. After each drill, I’d be back in class and I’d use those scenarios as part of my project as a way to cut down on my workload.
I stopped even seeing faces, the various Cadet and Commissioned Officers I briefed had just become blurs, people who asked questions or required more of my time and effort.
That was why I got blindsided as I wrapped up one of my briefings and stood, for a quiet moment deciding if I had time to go back to my room and sleep or if I needed to get things ready for my next class.
“Cadet Armstrong, a moment of your time, please,” Rear Admiral Fischer asked as the other cadets and officers slipped out of the briefing room. I hadn't even consciously recognized his plump, energetic presence.
Oh, great, I thought to myself, turning to face him. A polite request like that might as well have been an order. “Sir, what can I do for you?” I asked. I kept my expression and tone as neutral as I could, even as I tried to think of anything I’d done in the briefing that he could determine as being incorrect.
He didn’t answer, his gaze going to the door as the last cadet filed out. He waited until it closed, and then, to my surprise, he walked over to control console for the briefing table and flipped it to the secure setting.
A red light went on over the door and my implant crackled a bit as I felt a privacy field crackle to life around the room. Rear Admiral Fischer took the chair at the end of the table. “I have a few questions for you, cadet, about Summit Station.”
My heart started beating fast and the first thing I did was look for potential weapons and exits. I put the briefing podium between me and him, even as I wondered if I could make it to the door before he drew his holstered pistol. He’s working for Beckman, and they know I survived...
“Relax, Armstrong, you aren’t in trouble,” Fischer’s plump face creased in what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. “Let’s just put it this way: I’m not on the side trying to kill you... or at least, I don’t think I am.”
“What’s this about, sir?” I asked, crossing my arms and still keeping the podium between us. My rifle was in the rack just outside the door to the briefing room. If I could get to it in time...
“I know you were assigned to Summit Station,” he answered. “In fact, I know that someone made a change to the Academy Summer Assignments, using an older access code that allowed them to change a few of those assignments. I noticed because I was keeping an eye on you as part of the ongoing investigation with Commander Siebert.” He shrugged, “I’ll admit some of that was self-interest. I’d supported Siebert initially and then, as the investigation proceeded, I realized that was a mistake. I didn’t want anything to come back on me if she tried to punish you using the system.”
I didn’t say anything as I considered that information.
“Given the type of intrusion into the assignments and how they changed things, I could only assume it was your grandmother that was behind the assignments. Normally I’d blow the whistle on that kind of... patronage,” he grimaced as he said the word.
“Sir?” I asked in surprise.
His gaunt expression grew pained, “Cadet, you may not realize it, but certain military families have dominated the Century Planetary Militia for generations. If you don’t have a patron within those families, it is very hard to progress. Even harder if you lack a mentor who can guide you in your career... or if you make an enemy of one of them.”
I filed that explanation away, even as I wondered if that was why he’d fallen in with Charterer Beckman. The Admiral had said that she relieved him of command when he was a junior officer...
“But the assignment to Summit Station is hardly what anyone would consider a career booster. So I let it go, especially after I did a little digging into the circumstances of your family’s deaths.” He shrugged, “The Admiral had been instructed to leave such things alone, but I imagine, had I found myself in similar circumstances, that I’d be annoyed by how the investigation has floundered.”
“So in theory, Admiral Armstrong sent her surviving grandchild to investigate, because she didn’t trust anyone else. Which I could accept, even understand...” He waved a hand, as if throwing away something inconsequential. “But then, Cadet Armstrong, came the news of the attack on the station. There were no reported survivors. I assumed I’d be having to brief Admiral Armstrong and Commander Regan on the deaths of two of my cadets. Only both of your orders were changed, again, using that same access code. Neither you or Cadet Regan were on the list of casualties.”
“Now, there are two routes I could go with this,” he said thoughtfully. “I could assume that this was some kind of sabotage, that the Admiral wanted to take revenge on the personnel of Summit Station for failing in their duty and that she sent you out there to be their executioner.”
I gasped at that, “Sir, that’s--”
“Highly improbable,” his lip curled up in a sneer. “While I may have personal disagreements with Admiral Armstrong and her methods, I’ll not argue that she holds herself under a code of conduct that I can admire, even if I don’t follow it entirely myself.” He cocked his head, his lips forming into a thoughtful frown, “But that then leads to the other side. That you or Cadet Regan uncovered something at Summit Station, that the two Firebolts that fled the station carried the pair of you, that your enemies, Century’s enemies, destroyed Summit Station as a result, and that the destroyer that picked them up was sent on a years-long mission to get it out of the system and keep the secret of your survival.”
I stared at him, unable and unwilling to confirm anything he’d said. I was alarmed at how closely to the truth he had guessed, but he must have spent the past months putting it all together.
“That leads to a variety of interesting questions about who was behind those attacks... some of which come back to me, Cadet,” he said quietly. His eyelids drooped and I wasn’t sure if he even saw me anymore. “Because only one person I know has shown any interest in preventing Admiral Armstrong from conducting further investigations. Only one person I know of has shown any interest in what you might be doing. And if that person killed an entire station of Militia personnel to keep her secrets, then she’s guilty of treason.”
I didn’t answer. I could tell that he’d put together Beckman’s involvement. But I still wasn’t sure how he planned to proceed. I didn’t trust him, though. He’d tried to run me out of school, he’d nearly destroyed my faith in the Academy in his first few blundering weeks.
“You’ve faced combat, Armstrong, you’ve had people fire real bullets at you,” Rear Admiral Fischer murmured. “And you and your grandmother have th
at same expression as you look at me. She called me a coward, you know, when she relieved me of command.” His hooded, hollow eyes stared at me. “Did she tell you that?”
“No, sir,” I answered. I was shocked at that, but I didn’t know the circumstances so I wasn’t going to say anything more.
“Maybe I deserved it at the time. It just hadn’t seemed worth it, worth the sacrifice, worth the cost... that damned Armstrong valor always has a cost...” His eyes went distant again for a second, and then his gaze locked on my face. “A cost in lives and blood paid by the people under and around them as often as not. Like the men and women at Summit Station.”
My back went ramrod straight and I clenched my teeth against an acid reply.
“Hmmm, maybe you’re not as headstrong as your grandmother, she’d have ripped into me already, junior or no,” Fischer said thoughtfully. “In any case, your expression has told me most of what I need to know. Pass something on to your grandmother, through whatever means you’ve devised in your spying for her: Tell her that we need to talk, she and I... and that I’m willing to testify, for my part, on what I’ve seen.” He swallowed and seemed to slump, “And, God help me, I’ll do it without any guarantees of clemency.”
“I’ll pass that on, sir,” I said, still not sure whether I could trust what he said or not.
“Good,” he straightened, flipping off the privacy screen again. My implant crackled into life... just as alarms began to sound.
“All companies, report to your assembly points, all companies, report to your assembly points, this is not a drill.”
***
Chapter 21: Sometimes You Never See Things Coming
I tapped into news feeds as I raced back to Sand Dragon’s barracks. The reason for our alert was easy to find. Charterer Beckman’s political rally at Nashik. A huge crowd had gathered outside and after her speech, that had escalated into riots.
