The Halls of Montezuma

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  “They’re moving the commissioner to the shuttle,” Phelps said, pressing his helmet against hers. “I think we should ride along.”

  Rachel nodded. The high orbitals were glowing with everything from active sensors to radio and radar beacons. The corprats were clearly very aware of the danger of cloaked ships. She thought they could remain undetected, if they jumped ship and headed for the nearest asteroid habitat, but it wasn’t a sure thing. Riding on the shuttle would be easier and safer, particularly if it headed straight for the anchor. Rachel was fairly sure it would. The sensors suggested, very strongly, that there were no shuttles heading to the planet itself.

  Odd, she mused. But not important at the moment.

  She felt a thrill of excitement as they performed one final check of the suits and what remained of the blister, then opened the hatch and stepped out onto the hull. There was nothing left to alert the enemy to their presence, if - when - the searchers opened up the depressurised section and investigated. What little evidence they’d left over the last week had already been disintegrated or hurled into space. By the time it was found, if it ever was, it would be too late.

  They communicated using hand gestures as they made their way across the hull to the enemy shuttlecraft. They’d picked the transport with malice aforethought - the hull wasn’t remotely smooth, making it harder for motion detectors to pick up on their presence - but she knew better than to take it for granted. The shuttles were standard designs, copied from the Imperial Navy. She hoped the corprats hadn’t made any improvements. The analysts had suggested the corprat designers had reserved the really advanced technology for themselves, for the day they’d declare independence, but Rachel doubted they were that clever. It was far more likely the Grand Senate and the Imperial Navy had refused to pay for pure research that might or might not lead to usable technology. They’d been at the top of the heap. They wouldn’t want something that might upset the order of things.

  And Earthfall did it anyway, she thought, as they reached the shuttle. Her sensors warned her the craft was already powering up its drives. The corprats wanted their answers yesterday. She felt a flicker of sympathy for the poor commissioner, even though she was ... well, a commissioner. The woman was at the mercy of superiors who wouldn’t want to hear the truth. They wanted to hold everything in stasis ...

  The Pathfinders attached themselves to the hull, concealed themselves out of direct eyesight and waited. The shuttle disengaged and spun away into interplanetary space. Rachel waited, her mouth suddenly dry. They might have to jump off in a hurry if the shuttle headed towards a shuttlebay, rather than a docking port. There was no way to know. Rachel would have preferred the docking port herself, if she was transporting dangerous prisoners, but ... it wasn’t as if the prisoners were physically dangerous. It was what they knew that made them so dangerous. She assessed the radio chatter as best as she could, trying to determine what - if anything - had leaked out. It was impossible. The chatter came in fits and starts. It was difficult to tell what was important and what wasn’t.

  She tensed as the shuttle approached the giant anchor. Space elevators were normally attached to asteroids, but the corprats had thrown together a giant space station and attached the elevator cable to that instead. She puzzled over it for a long moment, wondering why they hadn’t used an asteroid. Was there some advantage to the design? Or hadn’t they wanted to take the risk of bringing another asteroid into orbit? It wasn’t as if they hadn’t already brought a number into orbit ... maybe they’d had some idea that hadn’t quite panned out. Or maybe she was overthinking it. The corprats might have simply wanted to put an elevator anchor together as quickly as possible.

  Phelps caught her attention as the shuttle reduced speed. It looked as though they were heading towards a docking port. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Jumping ship so close to the giant station risked detection ... they might be taken for space junk and fired upon without the enemy ever knowing what they’d done. She kept her eyes open as the station grew larger and larger until it dominated the horizon, noting how many different structures had been woven together into one. There would be plenty of room to hide on the hull, she told herself. They’d just have to be very careful when they tried to find a way in.

  The shuttle slowed, then docked. Rachel felt a shudder running through the craft as its gravity field merged with the station’s. She stood, disengaging her maglocks and jumping through space to land on the station’s hull. The horizon seemed to shift, a twist in perspective that had never failed to make her head hurt. She gritted her teeth as she crawled over the hull, feeling naked and exposed. The rest of the unit followed her, looking for a place to hide. They’d have to hang out on the hull until they got inside and blended into the local population. Thankfully, there were so many people on the station that no one could hope to know them all.

  As long as we can fool the security monitors, she thought as they found an exposed sensor node and started to work, we can fool everyone.

  Her lips curved up. People tended to believe in technology, even though they shouldn’t. It was easy, with the right training and equipment, to insert anything into the files and have it believed. The corprats had devised one hell of a surveillance system - she still shuddered when she thought how easily it had been misused - but they rested far too much faith in it. She had no doubt it could be turned against them. If nothing else, they could hack themselves new identities within the system and be taken for Onge personnel ...

  Concentrate, she told herself sharply. If this goes wrong, we’re doomed.

  Data flowed into her HUD as she linked into the enemy system. The sensor node wasn’t tied to the main datanet trunk, but it didn’t matter. Someone had melded the two systems together, probably out of a desire for convenience. Her lips curled into a cold smile. One could install the most advanced security system in the known universe and some yahoo would still do something to weaken it, even if it was something as minor as setting the password to ‘password.’ Whoever had rigged the system had created a back door into the main datanet and probably didn’t even know it. She guessed he was no WebHead. Most people didn’t even begin to understand what went on inside their datapads, let alone how easily they could be hacked and turned into enemy spies. The corprats probably saw that as a feature, not a bug. They’d see a great many advantages in spying on their people.

  Her smile got bigger as more and more data opened up in front of her. The high-security files were still sealed - and there would be datanodes that were physically isolated from the datanet, unless she missed her guess - but she already had enough access to start building false IDs for them. It helped, she supposed, that the corprats were already scrambling to deal with a major crisis. People were being moved around so rapidly that none of them really knew what was going on.

  Good, she thought. We can use that.

  Phelps brushed his helmet against hers. “Can we get in?”

  “Yes,” Rachel assured him. She’d done it before under far more challenging circumstances. She might not be able to create completely new cover identities, but she could hijack a handful and put them to work. “Just give me a few hours to put together the fake ID codes.”

  “Hurry,” Phelps advised. “We can’t hang out here forever.”

  Chapter Nine

  Instead, our lumberjack sells his trunk to the carpenter. The carpenter pays ten credits for the trunk, therefore turning the lumberjack’s potential wealth into actual wealth, thus allowing the lumberjack to buy whatever he wants to buy.

  - Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism

  Julia felt ... awful.

  Her minders - she tried not to think of them as guards or prison wardens - had allowed her to shower, then subjected her to a long series of security procedures that were designed to ensure she posed no threat, humiliate her or both. They’d gone over everything in cynical detail, pressing sensors against her skull to monitor her brainwaves and then inserting smal
ler probes into each and every of her orifices. She’d expected to be asked questions, not poked and prodded like ... a piece of meat. She felt sick and violated by the time the ordeal was finished, with the minders throwing a shipsuit at her and ordering her to dress before she faced the next challenge. Julia was tempted to plead for food and a nap, even for a simple nutrient drink, but she had enough dignity to keep her mouth shut. If they couldn’t tell she was hungry, their medical probes needed work.

  They escorted her into a dark room and pushed her into the exact centre, then ordered her to wait. Julia knew what was coming, but it was still a shock when beams of bright light flared around her. The chamber was designed to intimidate, to leave her feeling naked, alone and facing a handful of shadowy questioners. She knew the procedure, but she’d never faced it before. Not like this. She wondered, not for the first time, if she’d made a terrible mistake in returning home. Someone had to be the scapegoat. Someone ... that someone was probably her.

  “Julia Ganister-Onge,” a voice said. It was completely atonal. It could have come from any of the figures or none of them. Hell, some of the figures might be nothing more than holographic illusions. She knew better than to touch them. “Your report is neither complete nor conclusive.”

  Julia said nothing. They were trying to unsettle her. She knew the drill as well as they did. They’d fire charges at her, in hopes of getting her to say something they could use against her. Clearly, her status within the family was in doubt. They wouldn’t have treated her so badly if they’d considered her a full member, with full voting rights. And yet, they’d addressed her by her full name.

  “You were sent to restore order on Hameau,” the voice said. “What happened?”

  “We lost,” Julia said, bluntly. They’d had hours to read her report, along with whatever Captain Arbroath had submitted. They knew what had happened. “We were defeated by the marines.”

  There was a long chilling pause before the voice spoke again. “Why?”

  Julia took a breath, then started to go through the whole story. The arrival at Hameau. The first engagement with the enemy fleet. The landings. The ground engagements, against both the marines themselves and the local insurgents. The final desperate push against the marine positions, broken by a tidal wave of water; the engagement with the enemy fleet, ended by boarding parties storming the battlecruiser and her escorts. And the surrender ... her surrender. She felt her heart sink as she finished outlining the story. She should never have headed home. Someone else could have reported to the family. She should have stayed on Hameau and hoped for the best.

  “And you decided to come home,” the voice said. “Why?”

  “Because someone had to report,” Julia said. She put as much lipstick on a pig as she could. “I had to make sure you knew what had happened.”

  The voice said nothing. Julia couldn’t keep herself from peering into the darkness, even though she knew she wouldn’t see anything. The holograms wouldn’t offer any more detail than a vague report from a subordinate hoping desperately his boss wouldn’t look too closely and see the problems ... she winced, inwardly. She was too close to that mindset for her peace of mind. Not that it mattered. She was in deep shit. The odds of her being allowed to retire gracefully were terrifyingly low.

  She kept her voice under tight control as the voice threw question after question at her, often forcing her to repeat herself. She tried to hide her growing tiredness - and fear and frustration - as they went over the same points time and time again, perhaps in hopes of catching her in a lie. They wouldn’t want to believe, she knew. They’d sooner believe Admiral Agate had turned traitor and set off to carve out an empire of his own than accept they’d lost to an outside power. A few weeks ago, the shadowy men facing her had known they were the heirs of empire. Now ...

  “The invaders claimed to be the Terran Marine Corps,” the voice said. “Do you believe they were telling the truth?”

  “Admiral Agate believed so,” Julia said, carefully. She wouldn’t know a marine from a civil or corporate guardsman. “I have no reason to doubt him.”

  “And yet he could be wrong,” the voice said. “Or lying.”

  “I have no reason to doubt him,” Julia repeated. She felt her voice start to crack. “And, whoever they are, they won.”

  “Yes.” There was another pause. “Did they give you any hint of their future plans?”

  “No,” Julia said. “They did hint they might be open to discussions, but ... nothing too concrete.”

  “Understood,” the voice said. “We will have more questions for you later. Until then, you can get some rest. We’ll bring you down to the planet shortly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Julia said, relieved. She wondered, again, who was hiding behind the holographic masks. Her father? Her uncle? A relative she’d never met? It was possible. “I ... I thank you.”

  The holographic images vanished. The lights came on. Julia heard the hatch opening behind her and turned as the minders entered. This time, she was almost pleased to see them.

  ***

  Director Thaddeus Onge watched through a small array of sensors as Julia Ganister-Onge was escorted out of the interrogation chamber and down the corridor to a luxury suite that doubled as a holding cell. Julia had no way to know it, but her body had been under constant monitoring from the moment she’d been transferred to the anchor station. The slightest hint she’d told a lie would have set off alarms right across the system, providing more than enough excuse to subject her to an even more thorough interrogation. She hadn’t shown any hint she was lying, although it had been clear she wasn’t sure of a few things. Thaddeus didn’t blame her. Indeed, it was a good thing. If she’d been trying to construct a false narrative, one based on a misinterpretation of the truth, there would have been fewer holes in her story.

  “It is impossible,” Vice Director Hayden James McManus said. “The marines are a small military force. They couldn’t invade and occupy an entire planet!”

  “They have.” General Gilbert spoke quietly, but firmly. “There’s no way to avoid the simple fact that that’s exactly what they’ve done.”

  Thaddeus looked at Gilbert’s holoimage. “I take it there’s been no time to interrogate the others yet?”

  “No, sir,” Gilbert said. “We’re still unloading the transport and providing urgent medical care. However, we have had time to scan their reports and compare them. There’s a lot of ass-covering in places, I think, but the general gist is pretty much identical. The marines came, saw and conquered. And then they defeated Admiral Agate and captured most of his fleet.”

  “Through a deep-space boarding action,” Thaddeus said. “Why didn’t Admiral Agate see it coming?”

  “Unknown, sir,” Gilbert said. “The later interrogations might shed some light on the question, but right now ... sir, we have to assume the worst.”

  “They hinted they might be interested in peaceful discussions,” Vice Director Vincent Adamson said. “The galaxy is big enough for both of us.”

  “Diplomacy is another word for playing nice and making honeyed promises while you assemble a big stick,” General Gilbert said. “We don’t know how much war materiel the marines have hidden away, but can it match us?”

  Thaddeus made a face. He knew just how many trillions of credits had been invested in settling a cluster of star systems and secretly developing them into first-rank worlds without setting alarm bells ringing right across the empire. He knew just how many ships he’d dispatched to collect trained personnel, willing or not, and bring them to the cluster, trading safety for service. The marines had a small fleet - as far as the official records were concerned - and they clearly had more ships that had never been officially registered, but ... how many? He couldn’t imagine it was that many. The Terran Marine Corps had always been short of manpower.

  But they might have kept half their manpower off the books too, he thought. His lips curved into a faint smile. Someone should lodge an official complaint.r />
  He put the thought aside and leaned forward. “General, what do you think they’ll do?”

  “I think they’ll come here, as soon as they feel they can win,” Gilbert said. “They may not know it, but they have a window of opportunity right now.”

  Thaddeus grimaced. Two-thirds of the navy was on collection duty. Half of the remainder had been dispatched with Admiral Agate and was now either destroyed or in enemy hands. It wasn’t clear if the captured ships were still usable - the reports had been vague on that point - but Gilbert was right. They had to assume the worst. Onge was armed to the teeth, with powerful orbital and ground-based defences, but there was no way they could take the offensive again until the remainder of the navy returned. He cursed the irony under his breath. The steps they’d taken to safeguard their worlds, the seed of a new empire, might have weakened them instead.

  “Do they know?” McManus seemed unimpressed. “They can hardly count on us exposing ourselves.”

  “They will have interrogated the prisoners,” Adamson said, quietly. “Admiral Agate would certainly have had something to offer.”

  “Traitor,” McManus growled.

  “He might not have been given a choice,” Gilbert pointed out. “There are plenty of ways to extract information from an unwilling donor.”

  “He was supposed to be immune to them,” McManus said. “Or was I misinformed?”