by Daniel Gibbs
“Better than yours, I’d bet.”
“Mandatory training.” Gina sighed. “How I let you talk me into these things is a mystery.”
“Not half as much as our new assignment. Have you heard anything they haven’t told us officially?”
“Brant didn’t tell you?”
“He didn’t have much to go on. Even Sinclair’s formal rescindment of my leave was vague. All I know is we’re headed out to one of the megacorps the Coalition keeps at arm’s length.”
Gina’s playful expression melted into one of genuine concern. “Word is that one of your own got killed, Jack. A captain with Intelligence.”
His guts twisted. No wonder no one was talking. He hadn’t heard of anyone dying in the line since the war. “League?”
“League, megacorp, some new criminal faction, who cares?” Gina closed down her tablet as the mag-tram raced into the station. “It’s always the most fun when we spoil their plans.”
2
CSV Oxford, in Orbit
Canaan—Terran Coalition
6 November 2464
* * *
It seemed as though Jackson had never left the wardroom aboard CSV Oxford. For him, the room was as much a home as the apartment he semi-frequented in Lawrence City when he wasn’t deployed. He certainly had a greater level of comfort wash over him when he took his seat around the long table, more than when he found himself back at the Adams ranch.
Lieutenant Brant Guinto glanced up from his endless streams of data spilling across his tablet screen. “The fearless leader returns. Vacation was that bad, was it?”
“I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore, Brant.”
“Not a problem. You spilled enough in your messages.” Brant lowered his voice. “Speaking of which, if you have any password problems with the old family comms—”
“I didn’t, thanks.” Nice to know his XO and friend had his back, but Jackson had retained access to the family messages, which meant it was simple to find the deleted notes the Castillo clan had sent Mom and Dad about a formal partnership. He’d stored copies in his personal account. Maybe he would get the chance to speak with Abby again soon. Who knows? His ownership percentage gave him some legal rights. “What’s RUMINT have for us? Gina tells me an officer was killed.”
“The colonel has all the data. I’m still locked out.”
“Locked out? Or choosing to stay locked out?” Jackson grinned.
Brant’s face flushed. “I do a lot of sneaking for this job, but I think the Holy Father would frown on me snooping into my superior’s files.”
“I was kidding, you know.”
“Well, in this line of work, one can’t be sure.”
A chief warrant officer clad in a standard-issue flight suit dropped into the chair to Jackson’s left. CWO Ehud Dwyer smelled of sweat and plastics, fresh from a cockpit no doubt. “Evenin’, Cap’n. Good flight back? Hope Gina didn’t bounce you off a bulkhead or two on her way through Oxford’s hangar.”
“My landing was flawless.” Gina sniffed. She leaned around Brant, her curls brushing the tabletop. “I’m sure we can pull up security footage if you’re going to sully my good name.”
“Sakes, no, ma’am. No need to put the LT to work this early.”
“I take it the Florio meets your standards, Warrant?” Jackson asked.
Dwyer let out a long whistle. “She’s a missile when flat-out burnin’, sir, and corners like a scared cat. Ken Lowe’s been stuffing her full of goodies for the next trip, plus sharing stealth plating I think might make even CSV Tuscon jealous.”
“Roger that.” Jackson turned at the sound of the wardroom door opening. Colonel Robert Sinclair strolled in, the veteran Intelligence officer as nonchalant as if he were off to his first round of tea. Captain Alon Tamir and Chief Warrant Officer Miranda Eldred followed, taking chairs to either side of him at the head of the table.
Jackson, Brant, and Dwyer stood and came to attention.
“Colonel on deck,” Jackson said sharply.
“As you were, gentlemen.” If Sinclair was irked by Gina’s lack of decorum, his precise British accent didn’t reveal any frustration. “Your seats, ladies and gentlemen. I trust we’re all well rested after a needed respite?”
“Some of us,” Gina murmured.
“Come now, Ms. Wilkes, surely a civilian contractor of your talents wasn’t unduly stressed by the required refresher training.”
“Easy.” The deep monotone came from Sevastopol Rast, the other civilian member of Covert Action Unit 171. He leaned against the bulkhead in the corner of the room opposite Jackson, his faced shadowed.
Jackson wondered how many people Sev would consider targets in his way if he needed to make a swift exit, not that Jackson would begrudge the man such cold calculation. If I’d grown up in the League’s harsh surveillance state with everything drained from my family for the good of society, I’d be suspicious of everyone too.
“He can speak for himself,” Tamir said. “I’m still sore.”
“You and me both, Captain.” Eldred winced as she shifted in her chair. “We’d better make those sessions more frequent if we’re going to stay hunched over our monitors for the rest of our careers.”
“I’ll pass the recommendation up the chain.” Sinclair toggled his tablet. “Speaking of said chain, that is from whence our next assignment originates.”
The holographic projector at the center of the table glowed, forming a huge, three-dimensional image from pale-blue light.
Jackson grunted. “It reminds me of a toadstool.”
“If one were grown to a diameter of ten kilometers, that would be an apt descriptor.” Sinclair gestured, shrinking the image into the context of a star system. “Bellwether Logistics and Supply Station, wholly owned and operated by Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies, is the center of commerce for the entire Caeli star system, orbiting a blue giant located twenty light-years outside Coalition space and twelve from the Saurian Empire.”
Jackson frowned. The specification made it sound like it was within neither nation’s boundaries, which made sense, given it was a megacorp. The Terran Coalition forbade their existence inside its space. “The Alvarsson Wedge?”
“Correct, Captain. This length of space was left untouched after the last round of conflicts with the Saurians led to our present informal alliance. Neither side wanted the flotsam within the few dozen systems in its length. Nosamo, though, was already in place, building the station as its seat of authority and monument to corporate power.”
“An idol,” Brant mused.
“In a sense.” Sinclair zoomed in again to the station. Indicators sprang from various levels as the computer highlighted slices. “Nosamo fabricates the most efficient atmospheric regulation towers in known space. Rumor of Matrinid technology incorporation abounds, but then again, one hears such talk about any advanced project these days. We do know many planets have long relied on their regulation towers to tame unruly planets for terraforming.”
“How does CDF Intelligence fit in, Colonel?” Brant asked.
Sinclair looked to Eldred, who took over the presentation by adding the face of a Hispanic officer to the display. “Captain Nelson Garza, Covert Action Unit Two Two.”
That caught the attention of everyone on Jackson’s side of the table. Even Sev uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. He seemed transfixed by the officer’s smiling visage.
“I knew there were more.” Brant tapped the table next to him. “Everyone said the existence of more teams was classified, but—begging your pardon, Colonel—spotting communications patterns similar to ours between Oxford and Intelligence HQ, not to mention other ships—”
“Quite astute and enough, Lieutenant.” Sinclair’s tone wasn’t less jovial, but there was no mistaking his desire to quash the line of the conversation—or, at minimum, redirect it. “Continue, if you would, Warrant.”
“Yes, sir.” Eldred cleared her throat. “Captain Garza was undercover on Bell
wether, investigating Intelligence’s long-held suspicion that Nosamo rose to prominence in the past thirty years by systematically undercutting its competitors, specifically homegrown companies from Coalition planets.”
“Are we talking bribes?” Gina asked. “Because I would think that was the only chance they’d have to curry favor with Coalition officials. I thought one of the biggest areas of agreement across all political parties was not dealing with megacorps.”
“What we’re talking about is intimidation, blackmail, and privateering,” Captain Tamir said bluntly.
Warrant Dwyer scratched at his chin. “I’ll be.”
“More and more interesting,” Gina murmured to Jackson.
He ignored them both and leaned forward. “Did CBI or CIS have any input into this investigation? It seems more of a criminal matter.”
“It would be, but atmospheric regulation towers were classified as essential war materials, hence CDF involvement.” Sinclair raised an eyebrow. “Plus, our branch has maintained scattered assets within the Alvarsson Wedge, whilst the other two agencies did not.”
“It wasn’t considered a priority, sirs,” Eldred said. “During my time with CIS, the focus stayed on the League to the detriment of all other operations, but you can’t really blame the service when we were decades into a grinding war.”
“What happened to Garza?” Jackson dreaded the answer because it could easily be his worst nightmare.
“He indicated to his team his cover was breached in some way,” Tamir said. “They were attempting rendezvous and extraction when he was killed. Vector Two—his partner and fellow CDF officer—attempted to intervene but was nearly killed himself. You’ll find everything we have from Vector Control in the mission packets.”
Eldred distributed plastic printouts to the entire team. “They’re body heat sensitive. Read them, then administer your handprint.”
Jackson skimmed the brief before committing it to memory word for word. All those years of theater training paid off when it came to storing whole reams of text in his mind. Of course, that was but the first step in preparing to play a new role. By the time they arrived at the Caeli system, he wouldn’t be Captain Jackson Adams, CDF Intelligence.
“As you can no doubt see,” Sinclair continued, “details are few and far between. We don’t know who the contact is between Tactisar and the rivals who wish to steal Nosamo’s product. Nor do we have a proper sense of Nosamo’s internal safeguards, the ones surrounding the new project itself.”
“Has anyone notified their board of directors?” Jackson asked. “They’d be happy to get a warning, I’d imagine.”
“Repeatedly.” Eldred brought up a new portrait to which Jackson took an immediate dislike—a long, narrow face with Middle Eastern features and a distinct air of arrogance. The man looked like he couldn’t even be bothered to stand still for the image capture that created the portrait. “CEO Ardalion Noor. He’s run Nosamo for the past eight years, more or less unimpeded. The board is in his corner. When they’re not busy groveling to him, they’re running interference.”
“Which is what the brass encountered when they tried to tactfully warn Nosamo of an impending robbery,” Sinclair said. “If derision had a signal strength, one would be able to hear the board and the good Mr. Noor halfway across the galaxy.”
“So, we’ll need to be inside the company to get straight answers, assuming we don’t have any from Captain Garza’s team.” Jackson scratched his chin. “We’ve gone in with less intel before.”
“I’d like a closer look at all signal intercepts from their mission, sir,” Brant said. “It could be that they’ve missed something.”
“Quite likely. Did you have anything specific for which you’re hunting?”
“Uh…” Brant adjusted his tablet, as if he could find the answer in the edges of the frame. “It’s an ongoing project, sir.”
“I see.” Sinclair glanced at Jackson, who did his best to keep his face studiously neutral. “I take it this is related to the findings of the Aphendrika mission?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Well, gentlemen—and Ms. Wilkes—”
Gina winked at him.
“We have no indication as of yet pertaining to League involvement. That being said, I am quite aware Lieutenant Guinto commandeered Oxford’s resources in the hunt for this unknown contact, which Captain Jackson encountered last summer.”
“Vasiliy,” Jackson said. “It’s the only name we’ve had to go on, but I’m convinced he was behind that operation. Our contact was no mistake and wouldn’t be easy to do. Only someone monitoring comms to the same extent as CDF Intelligence in those sorts of operations would have shown the same know-how.”
“I understand. I’ve seen the psych profile.”
Cool, calculated, unwilling to move with haste in the long game, but willing to sacrifice assets to preserve his own skin. Given how many times Jackson had found 171 stymied by unseen forces behind the visible actors in that mission, Vasiliy was not a man to be underestimated. “If he or anyone else with the League’s External Security Services is even peripherally involved, Colonel, we’ll want to stop them quickly.”
“Quite right. Which is why we’ve been cleared for departure in twenty-four hours.”
Talk about expedited. Jackson gave the printout a final look before he placed his hand upon it. The words fizzled, like text on a screen disappearing behind static of a garbled transmission, before vanishing entirely. The white sheet turned transparent.
Sev crumpled his blanked sheet into a ball and tossed it onto the table.
“Am I the only one raising a literal eyebrow at this line?” Gina was, in fact, making a face to match her comment. “The one in which ‘Target data and/or prototypical components must be removed to secure holdings,’ presumably outside Bellwether Station. It sounds like you’re asking us to steal Nosamo’s new tech before their own private security army can help someone else infiltrate the company and do the stealing.”
Sinclair nodded and smiled in response. “As fine a summation as I’ve heard, informal language apart. Perhaps I should have had you write it.”
Gina snorted. “No offense, Colonel, but I didn’t sign on to Intelligence—even from a contract standpoint—to push paper. I just want to know what I can get away with to help our mission’s success, especially if it’s criminal in nature.”
“We’ll keep that to a minimum.” Jackson made eye contact with his team members in turn, partially to make sure they were on the same page but also to divert the officers’ attention from Gina. “All clear on the basics? I’ll contact Tactisar and, through them, whoever is planning the theft. Gina will infiltrate Nosamo to give us a sense of their security. Warrant Dwyer and Sev are assigned the docks to scope out whatever we can about the missing Vector Two.”
“Roger that, Cap’n.” Dwyer jerked a thumb in Sev’s direction. “He ain’t much for chit-chat, but if push comes to shooting, I’d rather have him at my back than any of y’all.”
“I’m beginning to think you don’t like me that much, Sparks.” Gina pouted.
“No offense, darlin’, but you’re second place.”
Jackson shook his head. “Brant, you’ll coordinate from our base of operations, though Sparks can stand by to whisk you out to Oxford if things get too hot.”
“I’d rather stay on the station. It’s easier to hardwire into restricted systems that way.” Brant shrugged. “But I’d also like to avoid getting shot.”
“Pass the blanked briefs, folks.” Eldred tapped the table.
Three more empty pages joined Jackson’s and Sev’s. Eldred gathered them.
Jackson thought back to one of the details they hadn’t yet discussed. “Colonel, the brief mentioned there are a handful of Coalition companies developing the same kind of advanced atmospheric regulation towers as Nosamo, but they’ve been unable to deploy them.”
“Correct,” Sinclair said. “Publicly, you’ll find news networks speculatin
g the Coalition companies are having a hard time recovering from the damage inflicted on our territories and shipping stocks during the war. Captain Tamir, however, will make available our files on piratical raids occurring not only around the Wedge but as deep inward as the core systems. These raids have resulted in lost materials and personnel critical to these other companies achieving the same level of success Nosamo enjoys.”
“It doesn’t take much of a jump to surmise Nosamo has a hand in those raids,” Jackson mused. “Something else we should prove.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny the suggestion has been put to me by individuals of much greater rank,” Sinclair said smoothly. “However, if your investigation takes you in such a direction, well, we would be obliged to act upon such information and share it with our CIS colleagues.”
Message received. Proving the connection between Nosamo and the raids was part of the mission, only it was being given with less direct an order than the briefing they’d just read. “Understood, sir,” Jackson said.
“Cap’n? If I could?” Dwyer seemed to be puzzling over something by the way he gazed down at his interlaced fingers, his frown deepening. “What sort of files do we have on Vector Control and Vector Two? It sounds like Control is a fellow pilot.”
“Right you are.” Sinclair gestured again to Eldred.
Two new pictures joined the swirl of information dancing around the center of the table. One was a black-haired Japanese woman wearing a flight suit similar to Dwyer’s. The other was a young man, smiling, with close-cropped hair. The lieutenant bore enough resemblance to Captain Garza that Jackson knew they were related before Sinclair spoke the names.
“Chief Warrant Officer Ixora Sakuri, pilot and Vector Control. Lieutenant Duncan Garza, infiltration and Vector Two,” he said. “The roster aside, you can see why we are so keen especially to affect Lieutenant Garza’s safe return. He and Nelson Garza are two of six siblings.”
A somber pall fell across the room. Sev was the only one who moved. “Ready,” he replied then left the briefing room.
