Shadow Strike

by P. R. Adams

  “No.” The younger woman’s brow creased, as if she wasn’t so sure about what should have been an obvious answer. “But sacrifices matter. I think. If a father makes a sacrifice for the greater good, that would mean something. Wouldn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Once again, Benson had the sense she was being hypocritical or at least misguided in feeling so deprived by her lack of relationships with her parents; it seemed like Stiles might have had it worse. “Can you tell me one thing?”

  “Maybe.”

  “This intelligence we’ve gained—will it get to the right people? The politicians who are supposed to be making decisions about our future?”

  “Remember what I said about corrupted elections and blackmailed politicians?”

  “Don’t tell me the intelligence community suppresses information—”

  “For the good of the Republic.” The young woman bowed her head. “Sometimes. Same as those politicians might not be able to share that intelligence with their constituents. Or a commander might not be able to share information with her crew.”

  The notion seemed to run counter to everything Benson knew about government, but the point about a commander having to shepherd information wasn’t lost on her.

  Nuance was difficult.

  Benson’s stomach gurgled. She wanted something creamy and sweet, something that could comfort her in the disquieting moment. “At least tell me the right people are winning in this struggle. Tell me SAID is doing what’s good for the Republic.”

  “They believe they are.” The lieutenant’s eyes met Benson’s. “Is that enough?”

  It was going to have to be.

  2

  Benson found McLeod in the Clarion’s officers’ fitness room. The area was probably three times the size of what the entire Pandora crew had shared. Same as the rest of the ship, the place had been gutted and refitted with new equipment. It was bright and spotless and still smelled clean and fresh, at least as fitness rooms went, and the equipment had a nice shine to it.

  McLeod’s eyes drifted over to her as she pulled down a treadmill. His face was red and wet with sweat, and his white hair was plastered to his skull. He smiled, and his treadmill slowed. “Commander.”

  It came out in a desperate huff, words squeezed in between gasps.

  “Colonel.” She tried one of the flirtatious smiles Stiles always used, and McLeod’s glance hung around until it bordered on a stare. He blinked rapidly.

  Maybe sweat had gotten into his eyes. Or maybe the flirtation worked.

  For once, Benson didn’t feel old and broken down. She needed to work out around older men, that was all. They probably didn’t care about how she seemed to be aging so quickly.

  Or maybe they knew the difference between aging and what she imagined.

  The colonel seemed to find his pace again. “Thought you might…seek me out.”

  Benson got her exercise machine up to speed, limping along at a slow jog to warm up and work the soreness out of her healing knee. “Why’s that, Colonel?”

  “Lieutenant Stiles.”

  That made the commander’s heart beat a little faster. “She talked to you about Agent Patel?”

  McLeod huffed for several seconds, then nodded. “He’s a problem.”

  She twisted to look the colonel over. “No bug detectors and searches?”

  “Did that…when I came in.” He put on a miserable smile. “Don’t need anyone seeing me like this.”

  So he has a sense of humor. “I want the issue resolved.”

  “We’ll…be back on…Kedraal—”

  “I want it resolved today, Colonel. Agent Patel seems to be undermining me.”

  “That sounds…unlikely.”

  She stared straight ahead. “I need to repair the damage done with this crew before it’s too late. If Agent Patel is allowed to spread lies, that can’t be done.”

  There weren’t any more protests from the gasping GSA officer. He continued on for several minutes more, then powered the equipment down and stepped off. A robotic arm descended from the wall, misted the entire surface area, then wiped it down with a towel.

  McLeod went through a few rotations on a weight machine, then stood at the center of the room, hands on hips, catching his breath.

  Benson lowered her breath, sensing the old man’s presence.

  After a few racing heartbeats, he coughed. It went on for several seconds before he got it under control. “I’ll call a meeting. Dinner.”

  “I’d appreciate having Scalise there, too. And Gadreau.”

  “The ringleaders?”

  “It’s important to get this under control.”

  He exited with a grunt.

  The invitation came through before she was done.

  When they met in the galley two hours later, the colonel still seemed wiped out. A hint of red remained in his cheeks, and his breathing seemed unsteady. But his uniform was sharp, and his eyes seemed alert enough. They had almost ninety minutes before dinner officially began. McLeod had sealed off the entry for everyone but the participants, and he’d had the staff set up a private area in the same corner that apparently caught everyone’s attention for exactly that purpose.

  Benson took the seat to McLeod’s right. Patel would sit across from her, Scalise to the right. Gadreau would be at the SAID agent’s side, across from Scalise.

  Surprisingly straightforward, Benson thought.

  Much less surprising was the way the others arrived: Scalise several minutes late, Patel almost immediately after, for the first time in memory wearing civilian clothes—a tailored ochre turtleneck and brown slacks. The Marine captain arrived almost fifteen minutes late.

  Gadreau pulled out his chair, head bowed. He wore a dress uniform, same as Scalise, but the Marine seemed even more uncomfortable in his. “My apologies, Colonel. We had a training injury.”

  McLeod studied the tabletop. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The colonel didn’t meet Benson’s challenging gaze. That told her that he knew more about passive-aggressive behavior than he let on.

  He drummed his fingers on the tabletop, glancing from wine glass to empty plate. “I don’t think this will take long.”

  Patel glared at Benson. “What’s the purpose? The invitation said this was urgent.”

  “We…need to clear the air.” McLeod nodded at Benson. “Right, Commander?”

  He punted. Just like that, he punted. Fine. Benson exhaled—long and slow. “That’s right, Colonel. We’ve got a little more time together, and I thought it would be most productive if we all talked through some things.”

  The SAID agent plucked a wine bottle from the tabletop, sniffed the cork, then set the bottle down and stood. “I don’t see any value—”

  Benson stood as well and squinted hard at the shorter man. “Sit down, Agent Patel.”

  He blinked, and for an instant, he seemed confused, then a smirk slithered across his lips. “Commander Benson, I think you might be operating under—”

  She rapped a knuckle on the tabletop and leaned toward him. “Sit down. Please.”

  McLeod anxiously nodded and waved the SAID agent down; that seemed to settle the matter.

  Patel leaned back in his chair, legs crossed. “Do make it quick, Commander.”

  Rather than hurry into the matter, Benson waited for the serving robot to deposit the food trays on the table and roll away. The SAID agent did a good job hiding his annoyance, but it was there. And forcing McLeod’s involvement to establish the power dynamics? It brought just enough of a rush to Benson to overcome the jitters brought on by the confrontation in the first place.

  She stayed on her feet, amplifying the message: I’m in charge.

  “Please enjoy the meal Colonel McLeod arranged for us. I’ll keep this brief.”

  Scalise dug in almost immediately, scooping from the trays, creating a green and orange mountainscape with the processed vegetables, then a slightly lower plateau of brown paste with the protein mixture. She lad
led the almost black gravy into a lakebed separating the two sections, then went at it all with a fork. Gadreau and Patel exchanged a glance before taking a slice of bread from one of the trays and focusing on tearing the crust off.

  McLeod quietly helped himself to a small plate while mumbling about how tasty it all smelled.

  And it did.

  But Benson’s stomach was too unsteady to eat. “We have a few things to iron out personally, so I want to start there, but what should worry us goes far beyond the personal.”

  Patel crunched the crust of his bread. “Go on, Commander.”

  “Thank you, Agent Patel. Since you seem to be in a hurry, we can start with our mutual problem.”

  He smiled—cold and condescending.

  “You need to stop your program of undermining me, and you need to stop it now.”

  “Undermining? I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Then I’ll make it clear enough that even you can understand. Stop asking me for information I don’t have. Stop demanding that I cater to your requests; I don’t work for you. Finally, stop spreading lies about what happened on Jotun and afterwards. You didn’t have the balls to put your life on the line on that moon, so you don’t have the authority to talk about any of it.”

  The SAID agent brushed breadcrumbs from his fingertips. “As I said before, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I’ll take that as ‘message received.’” She twisted around to Gadreau. “Captain Gadreau, unlike Agent Patel, you know what went down on Jotun. We might disagree on some of the tactical decisions made—” She paused to let him chuckle. “—but what matters is that the mission was a success.”

  The Marine captain stared at his plate. “Leaving Marines behind is never a success, Commander.”

  “That was certainly a tragedy, but the greater threat we face presents the likelihood of worse.” Benson turned to Scalise. “Which brings me to you, Commander Scalise.”

  The chubby woman’s dark eyes came around, and her fork froze in front of her open mouth. “What?”

  “I realize there’s justifiable resentment about someone else getting a promotion you feel you should have received. It’s time to move past that. The Navy needs officers with your experience, but it also needs you to actually learn from that experience.”

  “I am learning. I have learned!”

  “Good. I’m sure you’ll have many more opportunities to learn, too. Let’s all invest our energies in doing just that, okay? Learning. Sharing. Coming together against the real enemy.”

  Gadreau crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “I know I see the Azoren as the enemy, Commander. Do you?”

  “Actually, I do. I see their stealth technology as a threat that should terrify all of us, and I don’t understand why it doesn’t.”

  The Marine and SAID agent exchanged a glance again, then Patel shrugged. He inspected his fingernails. “We’re all obviously concerned.”

  “Concerned isn’t enough. This is an existential threat.”

  The SAID agent snorted. “Hardly.”

  “You don’t think so? We had Azoren soldiers inside our perimeter in that crater, and we only discovered them because of advanced sensors that didn’t need to see them to target them. We had ships that couldn’t target an enemy cruiser.”

  “And the cruiser couldn’t target your ships, either. Don’t be so dramatic.”

  Benson set a hand on Scalise’s shoulder. “Commander Scalise might take issue with your desire to downplay the threat, Agent Patel. It was her job to keep the task force alive. I don’t think she would consider it dramatic to say the task was a great challenge.”

  Scalise’s eyes darted around before settling on McLeod, who nodded. She cleared her throat. “We did well enough. I guess. For that situation, I mean.”

  “Could you have destroyed the cruiser?”

  “Well, no. The Marie Belle had systems failing. The Pulsar wasn’t much—”

  “They both had numerous systems failures. Old ships. Old technology. Right?”

  “Of course!”

  “Like most of our fleets.”

  “No! They were pulled out of the graveyard.”

  “Captain Gadreau, you said something about Representative Benson before. About her being a danger because she—?” Benson cocked her head. “I think you said she was in favor of cutting the military too deeply, wasn’t it?”

  From the moment Scalise had started to argue, there had been a smirk on the Marine captain’s face. It disappeared, and his cheeks went red. “She is a threat.”

  “So the fleets are at full readiness in your eyes, or they’ve been weakened by cuts?”

  “They’ve been weakened, obviously.”

  “To the point the difference between what we took into the DMZ might be considered a fair representation of our capabilities, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The Marine didn’t catch the slight head shake Patel made. Instead, the captain pushed his chair back. “You know damn well our fleet is at half strength, and that’s only if you close one eye and squint with the other, Commander!”

  “Then you’d agree we’re in no position to stand up to an Azoren attack? After what we saw on Jotun?”

  Patel clanked his wine glass on his plate, then brought the drink to his lips but didn’t drink immediately. “Commander Benson, is all of this truly necessary?”

  McLeod set his fork down and leaned back but stayed out of the conversation.

  Benson’s brain seemed to be pressing against her eyes. “By any reasonable measure, Agent Patel, we attacked the Azoren.”

  “Hardly.”

  “We entered Azoren space.”

  “The odds of them proving that are quite slim.”

  “We put Marines on the ground on one of their worlds.”

  “Technically, a moon that shouldn’t have had a military presence.”

  “We killed Azoren soldiers.”

  Gadreau rolled his eyes. “In self-defense!”

  Benson rapped her knuckles on the table softly. “What I just described would be classified as an attack if presented to our own parliament. They would have to consider granting war powers to the prime minister if it happened to us.”

  Patel held a hand up. “You lack an appreciation for the nuances of the armistice agreement, Commander.”

  “Actually, I don’t. We violated the terms.”

  “We did no such—”

  “We did, Agent Patel. And now we’ve given the Azoren grounds to declare war. And it would be irresponsible to assume they wouldn’t capitalize on it.”

  McLeod cleared his throat. “It is a matter that will be taken up by the appropriate people inside parliament and within Prime Minister Igarashi’s office.”

  Benson was relieved to finally hear the colonel speak up. “And what do you think they’ll do about this technological advantage the Azoren have, Colonel? Is there some explanation for why they’re so far ahead of us?”

  She barely caught the look the Marine and SAID agent exchanged.

  They’re running their own little operation. They know something they won’t share.

  “Well…” The GSA officer studied his wine glass. “Obviously, not everything can be discussed openly. Perhaps there’s a solution in the works. Or perhaps research is necessary.”

  “Chief Parkinson has been studying the suits we took from Jotun. He says they’re the same principles we’ve been experimenting with but more refined.”

  “Yes. Well, maybe they cut some corners.”

  “They cut all the corners, Colonel. It’s a circle, not a square.”

  McLeod took a sip of wine. “Regardless, we all obviously have to accept that after what happened on Jotun, the last thing the Republic wants right now is war with the Azoren.”

  Patel got to his feet. “That would be enough. I believe we’re done here?”

  The colonel nodded. “Thank you, Samir.”

  Gadreau followed the SAID agent out without a
sking for permission. It was something Benson was going to have to put a stop to, the lack of respect for protocol. And for her.

  She sat back down and scooped some of the protein and vegetable pastes onto her plate. “Colonel, you said the last thing we want right now is war.” Her mouth watered as she chewed on a small scoop of protein. It was flavorful—garlic, several other spices she couldn’t place, and some sort of green herbs flecking the chunks. “Are you saying war would ever be a solution?”

  “Well…” He took another sip of wine.

  “When I was a teen, I went around and around with my mother over her claims that the Azoren threat was propaganda that bordered on dogma.”

  “It’s not propaganda to say they’ve succumbed to a cult of personality. They worship their leader and their disturbing eugenics philosophy.”

  Scalise scraped up the last of the gravy-soaked paste diorama with her fork. “I’m not sure they’ll ever know.”

  Benson waited until the other commander was done with her food, then raised an eyebrow. “They’ll ever know about what?”

  “The Azoren. I doubt they’ll know about the attack.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I had our comms people check—nothing was ever transmitted from that moon about our arrival.”

  “The cruiser took an aggressive approach. They knew we were there.”

  The hefty woman grunted. “They knew something was there.”

  “Because we were detected in the DMZ.”

  “I doubt those sensors picked up the sort of data that would give away who we were. I’m willing to bet Gulmar ships are still a lot like ours. Probably Moskav and Khanate, too. If they even have a fleet anymore.”

  McLeod took a sip of wine. “She’s right. The proof’s sketchy at best.”

  “We had to leave those shuttles behind. We came in from Kedraalian space.”

  “There won’t be enough left of them to implicate the Kedraalian Navy. And no one believes the DMZ is an infallible detection system.”

  “The corpses—”

  “Unfortunate, but not a problem. You retrieved their tags. The Azoren can’t prove they’re ours.”

  The words, the confidence behind the way they were delivered… “You expected this?”