by Daniel Gibbs
“Well, we’re about to undertake a different type of mission, and I wanted to make you aware of it.”
“Oh?”
“We’re being sent to Monrovia for a port call and consultations with their leadership.”
“Ah, one of the neutral planets that’s fallen out of our orbit. It makes sense to send the new symbol of Terran Coalition might to get them back into line.”
David grimaced. “That is not our intent. Simply to fly the flag and let them know we’re here and able to help defend their right to exist as an independent planet. As you know, we’ve pledged to uphold the independence of all neutral worlds, and that’s a promise we back up with force.”
“But one that isn’t always honored. There are certainly times when the Terran Coalition is unable to defend neutral planets… or our own, for that matter.”
“I’ll concede the point.”
“It also seems that planets with strong trade relationships with us or natural resources we need to build ships and weapons somehow jump to the top of the list for protection.”
“I’m sure the planners back on Canaan weigh all aspects when deciding how to allocate our limited military force,” David said neutrally.
“You seriously think we do what we do out here for altruistic reasons, Colonel?”
“I think that we generally do the right things for the right reasons as a people.”
“Rose-colored glasses, I see.”
“I could say that you’re needlessly cynical.”
“Goes with the job.”
David laughed. “You should have stayed in the service. You’d fit in well with the Marines.”
“Will there be any press availability when you talk to the Prime Minister of Monrovia?”
“If we get a formal sit down, of course. Not the initial contact, though.”
Angie nodded. “Is there anything else, Colonel?”
“I did want to discuss the interview you did with me after we destroyed the Tours.”
“I told you, I wasn’t going to give you input on it before I aired the piece, Colonel. I must maintain my impartiality.”
“I understand,” David said, trying to soften his voice. “I simply wanted to compliment you on it. I didn’t agree with every cut and take, but I thought you did a good job of presenting a fair and balanced look at the ship.”
Angie looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “In that case, I’ll take your compliment in the spirit it seems to be offered and thank you for agreeing to the discussion.”
“Maybe we’ll do it again sometime,” David replied.
“Once we do something newsworthy again, sure.”
“I doubt much will happen that’s newsworthy, as you put it, on Monrovia. But who knows… we’ll see.”
“That we will, Colonel. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready to file my daily update.”
“Of course, Ms. Dinman,” David said as he stood up.
Angie stood and made eye contact with him. “Good day, Colonel.”
David watched her walk out of his office and shook his head. Can’t figure out what her angle is yet, he thought. Maybe she’s just trying to do a good job and present the facts. That would be a very welcome change.
6
David had planned the Lion’s final jump to Monrovia for execution during the middle of the first watch, ensuring that he and the core bridge crew would be rested and prepared. He’d found that one of the harder things in ship operations was to time engagements so that the A-players were ready to go; while the second and third watch crews were competent, they weren’t quite to the same level as the first watch, which had more experience. A diplomatic mission, though, was far easier to plan out.
Space tore itself open in a shower of multi-colored particles and the Lion of Judah neatly glided out of the artificial wormhole it had created to bridge the points between its previous location and the planet. David still marveled, after all these years, at the technology required to make faster-than-light travel possible. So far, every race they had encountered possessed similar technology, but there was speculation that there were other ways to achieve FTL travel, none of which were yet proven.
“Conn, navigation. Emergence from Lawrence drive jump within five hundred kilometers of the target,” Hammond said.
“Good work, Lieutenant,” David replied, impressed with that level of precision across nearly fifty lightyears of space. “Communications, please signal Monrovia; they expect our presence.”
“Aye aye, sir!” Taylor said, going silent as he worked the controls on his console. “Sir, I have the prime minister’s office for you.”
“Put it on my personal viewer,” A moment later, the face and upper body of a neatly dressed human male popped onto the screen directly above David’s head.
“Colonel Cohen, I presume?” the man began, and in response to David’s nod, continued. “I am Sefton Garner, special assistant to Prime Minister Fitzroy, Unified Government of Monrovia. How can we be of assistance?”
“Thank you, Mr. Garner. I’m scheduled to have a discussion with the prime minister this morning via vidlink.”
Garner smiled widely. “Yes, Colonel. I have that all prepared. If you could wait a moment while I let the prime minister know you’re ready?”
“Of course,” David replied, his lips forming a smile on his own.
The video link snapped off, and David was left looking at a blank screen. “They seem pleasant enough,” Aibek said.
“Well, that’s his job, after all, XO.”
“Quite right. Perhaps the prime minister will be equally pleasant?”
“We live in hope.”
“Conn, communications! I have the prime minister for you, sir.”
David cleared his throat. “Put her on, Lieutenant.”
The smiling face of a human woman filled the viewer above David’s head. “Colonel Cohen! Such a pleasure to meet you, even if it is by vidlink. Welcome to Monrovia! Allow me to introduce myself; Prime Minister Colleen Fitzroy.”
“The pleasure is mine, Prime Minister,” David said, remembering his briefing from MacIntosh about the proper use of diplomacy. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
“How could we turn down a request to discuss the state of affairs in the galaxy from our friends in the Terran Coalition?”
“Well, I believe we can always improve relations... especially with the recent changes in the balance of power.”
Fitzroy laughed. “Is that an oblique reference to us moving closer to the League when it appeared they were going to win, Colonel?”
David smiled. “None was intended, Prime Minister.”
“It’s very true that the balance of power has dramatically shifted. It is also true that government policy takes time to develop and change. Monrovia has had a stated goal of no longer being under the thumb of either of the major human powers. We’ve made great strides toward that.”
“The Terran Coalition simply hopes to work with your people to help them in any way we can, or barring that, be a good neighbor.”
Fitzroy nodded. “A worthy goal, Colonel Cohen. But not one we can achieve overnight. Any steps toward that goal will be slow and steady.”
“I understand, Prime Minister. May I suggest that we meet in person to discuss the situation? I was hoping to avail my crew of your famous hospitality with shore leave.”
“I’d be happy to entertain you and your senior staff, Colonel. Unfortunately, we’ve had some civil unrest recently that will preclude shore leave for your ship at large. I’m sure you understand.”
David raised an eyebrow at the mention of civil unrest. “I wasn’t aware of those issues, Prime Minister, but of course we understand. Should I work with your assistant to determine a time and location for talks?”
“That would be great, Colonel. I look forward to meeting you in the flesh, so to speak,” Fitzroy said, giving off a radiant smile.
“Thank you, ma’am. We’ll be in touch; Lion of Judah
out.”
The screen went dark, and David relaxed in his chair. “How’d we do for our first mission not blowing up League ships, XO?”
Aibek snorted. “We’re not done here yet. Have I mentioned I detest politicians?”
“Only a few dozen times this week,” David said in a tone of mock reproach.
“I’ll try to work on that, sir.”
“You do that, XO. Communications, contact the prime minister’s assistant and let’s nail down a time for our next meeting.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Jacqueline Ericksen rolled out of bed as her alarm clock buzzed loudly, announcing that another day was upon her. A major in the Monrovian National Guard, she had a desk job on one of the largest military installations on the planet. Flying through her shower and putting on the uniform of the day, she was in the middle of making a bowl of cereal for herself when a soft vibrating from under the table jolted her out of the usual morning routine. She reached under the table and pulled the communication device from where it was taped to the bottom of the wood, lifting it to her ear.
“It’s a lovely day in the forest,” Erickson said into the comm.
“As it always is after a rain,” the disembodied voice on the other end of the call replied, the proper code phrase in return to hers.
“Do you have orders for me?”
“Yes. We’ve confirmed that the Terran Coalition vessel is in orbit. Your mission is to send the transmission to it, as previously agreed.”
Ericksen’s heart tightened in her chest. I always knew that this day would come because of my position, but I was hoping I’d have more time, or something would change and our leaders would see the light. Too late now for second-guessing. “I understand. Will I have any assistance?”
“We’ve got an asset on the inside that will help you. He’ll make contact in the communications room on base. We’ve manipulated the turnover schedule today, so they’ll be short by two technicians. Between the two of you, I expect you’ll be able to neutralize the remaining technician and send the transmission before the nearest military police contingent arrives,” the synthesized voice answered.
“Is there an egress route?”
After a pregnant pause on the line, the voice replied, “After getting the message out, take local transport off the base. Onsite security personnel should be confused enough not to realize what’s going on.”
That’s absolute BS, and we both know it. “Roger that. What time am I meeting my contact?”
“0930 hours. He’ll be in a green shirt and will use the code phrase ‘Nighttime is peaceful, isn’t it?’”
“I’ll be there,” Ericksen said, forcing the panic from her voice.
“I know this isn’t going to be easy. But it’s the only chance we’ve got left to get help. Good luck. Walk with God,” the voice said with finality.
“Make it count, whoever in the hell you are,” Ericksen said as she hung up the comm. Clearing the cache on the device and erasing its data while she walked to her kitchen sink, she retrieved two bottles of chemicals from under it and poured them into the basin before tossing in the communications link. Mixed together, they formed a highly potent acid that would break down the plastic and metal within to the point it couldn’t be pieced back together—nothing for the secret police to trace back.
Turning around from the sink, she paused in front of a picture of her husband Gordan and herself on their wedding day. A tear formed in her eye as she fought back emotion; she found a piece of a paper and a pen to write with.
Gordan,
Whatever happens today, whatever you hear, know that I love you more than anything and that what I do, I do to save us all. Destroy this note, and I pray someday I will see you again in paradise.
– Your loving wife, Jackie
The letter written, she left it on the spot that he always dropped his commlink and wallet, confident that he would find it. And it shouldn’t cast any suspicion on him if the secret police find it before he does. Before leaving the house, she retrieved her military-issued sidearm and put it into a holster on the small of her back under her uniform. The task completed, she walked out of the house she had shared with her husband for the last five years for what was likely the last time.
Ericksen slid into her automated car, punching in the military base where she worked as a destination. After backing the car out of the driveway and putting into autopilot mode, she sat back with nothing else to do but think. Monrovia wasn’t large enough to justify the infrastructure behind helicars, and so only the very rich and powerful had those. Ordinary citizens had to sit in traffic, and she was no exception.
Reflecting on the task ahead of her, Ericksen recited her favorite passage from the Bible as her electric car zipped through the streets. “Therefore, put on the whole armor of God,” she said, “that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, stand.” Closing her eyes, she finished with a prayer. “God, help me today, give me the strength to do what I need to do, the faith to see it through, and the ability to accomplish my goal if it is your will. Amen.”
She sat quietly in the car through the rest of the drive, fighting down nerves and second thoughts, until the car rolled to a stop at the front gate of the military installation she was traveling to. A young soldier held out a hand scanner as she lowered the driver's side window.
“If you would, Major,” he said in a respectful tone.
Ericksen placed her hand on the scanner, and a moment later, her identity was confirmed. As long as they aren’t actively scanning vehicles and see my sidearm, I’m home free. The private pulled the scanner back and quickly snapped off a salute, while simultaneously triggering the gate to open. She drove through the open lane, and the gate lowered down behind her, the next car’s occupant going through the same process.
The car stopped and parked itself in an open space; suddenly, it was time to act. Ericksen opened the door and stepped out of her vehicle. She walked with purpose into the building that housed the central communications systems and the uplink they would use to talk to the CDF ship in orbit. That’s the plan anyway.
A voice from behind her startled her, causing her to whirl around. “Nighttime is peaceful, isn’t it, Major?”
Ericksen sized up the man that stood in front of her; he appeared to be in civilian attire and wore a green shirt as her handler said he would. “Yes, it is,” she said quietly. “Are you ready?”
The man nodded. “Tanned, tested, and ready, Major. Staff Sergeant Ennis Fuller, at your service.”
Ericksen nodded herself and walked off toward the area of the building that housed the uplink. Fuller fell in beside her. “Don’t let the shirt fool you, Major. I’m special operations certified. Decided it might be suspicious to have two uniforms they aren’t expecting suddenly walk in. I’m your civilian contractor today.”
The smooth assurance in Fuller’s voice, if nothing else, calmed her. Tier one operators were like human machines; whatever else could be said about them, she knew he’d do whatever it took to get the job done, including the sacrifice of his own life if it was required.
It took a few minutes to traverse the distance between the entryway to the building and the communication room that housed the transmitter. Ericksen spent that time mute, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. Confronted by a security door that separated the wing they were trying to access, she walked up to it casually and pressed her index finger into the scanner; a second later, the door’s lock clicked open, and they both walked through.
“Uh, Major, tailgating isn’t allowed. That gentleman will need to scan in as well,” a young technician said to them as they walked in.
Ericksen smiled. “I’m escorting a contractor, Private.”
As the technician began to speak, Fuller brought his hand down on the man’s neck in a martial arts move, delivering a stunning blow. He quickly put the young man in a chokehold and squeezed until he stopped moving; i
t was over in a matter of seconds.
“He’s out cold,” Fuller said as Ericksen walked behind a console and got to work.
After keying in the proper commands and inserting the data drive containing the precious information the resistance had been able to gather, she was ready to execute. “Here goes nothing,” she commented with something approaching a smile, then brought her hand down and pressed the enter key.
All hell broke loose; alarm klaxons wailed, and a red light outside of the security door blinked. “Whiskey tango foxtrot, Major? Did you do it wrong?” Fuller asked while drawing his sidearm and racking the action.
“They must have changed the security protocols,” Ericksen said, her voice high-pitched and full of fear.
Fuller turned around and walked over to her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shook her. “Look, get it together, Major. You’ve got one job here: send that transmission. We clear on that?”
Ericksen nodded her head despite her hands shaking in terror. “Yes.” I was a supply officer, not a combatant.
“Now, you got picked because you had the right clearance, and you know how to use these things, right?”
Ericksen nodded hesitantly.
“Look, I’m a grunt. I’m going to stop the men coming here to prevent us from doing our task. You are going to finish this no matter what. Okay?” Fuller said to her in what she could tell was his attempt at being soothing.
“I’ll do my best,” Ericksen finally said, forcing herself to think about the problem and not the fear.
“Okay,” Fuller said, releasing his hold on her shoulders and turning back toward the door. “You stay put. I’m going to deal with the first wave, which ought to be a couple of rent-a-cop contractors that your dog could handle without breaking a sweat.”
Something about Fuller’s easy-going attitude, even in the face of what appeared to be certain death, disarmed Ericksen’s fear. I bet we’d be friends if we’d met before this. He seems like a decent guy. There was a trio of reports that sounded to her like a standard-issue sidearm. As she continued to input commands into the computer system, Fuller walked back into the room carrying a couple of rifles and a handful of magazines.
