Q-Ship Chameleon

by Glynn Stewart

  “I don’t have that kind of discretion, Pakhan,” Glass said respectfully. “I could perhaps offer as much again, but no more.”

  “We both know that’s a lie, Mister Glass. One and three quarters.”

  “One and a third. And only because you’ve always come through before.”

  Ostrowski smiled. It was a very predatory expression, one that made Kyle very glad he had three black-ops cyborgs in the room with them.

  “One and a half, then,” he suggested. “Roughly. Call it an even trillion of your stellars.”

  Kyle couldn’t conceal a wince. That was a chunk of the cost of a starship and a not-insignificant fraction of a percent of a star system’s GDP. Just how much money was changing hands in this quiet little meeting? And for that matter, how much did Glass have available to spend?

  This time, instead of a briefcase full of bearer bonds, Glass removed a single data disk from inside his suit jacket. He tapped a finger on it, linking the disk to his implant and loading something into it, then passed it over to Ostrowski.

  “There are seven account numbers and access authorizations on there,” the spy said calmly. “All told, they add up to one hundred billion Commonwealth dollars: one trillion Federation stellars.”

  “I will trust you, Mister Glass,” the crime boss told him, taking the disk. “You know the consequences of lying to me.

  “Your first piece of information, and Maria will provide me a file of details in a moment, is that the Commonwealth has finally begun forward deployment of a seventh-generation starfighter: the Katana type. I’m not certain on what the specifications mean, but we have them. You should not encounter them at Aurelius, as Walkingstick has claimed the entire first production run for the Rimward marches.”

  Kyle managed not to swear aloud. They’d known their one-on-one fighter superiority couldn’t last forever, so they’d been leveraging it as hard as they could. If that intel didn’t make it back in time, more than a few Alliance ops could run into an unexpected buzzsaw.

  “Secondly, the Commonwealth has been developing an entirely new type of starfighter,” Ostrowski continued. “Several, from what I can tell. An eighth generation of starfighter, but also something entirely new.

  “I don’t know what they are thinking, but I do know that the specifications, plans, test results and prototypes are all scheduled for delivery to the Terran Commonwealth research and development center at Tau Ceti on June tenth.

  “All of the information my network has on both of these items is on this disk,” he finished, gesturing to where Maria had emerged once again, this time holding a single small disk identical to the one Ostrowski had given them himself.

  “It is always a pleasure to do business with a professional,” he noted to Glass. “And I must confess that, quiet as he has been, it has also been a pleasure to meet Captain Roberts. It is rare that one sits in the presence of a living legend.”

  Kyle sighed.

  “I am no legend, sir,” he said quietly. “Just one man.”

  “One man,” Ostrowski agreed, chuckling. “One man that Walkingstick was prepared to trade his entire Twenty-third Fleet to kill. You’ve made an impression on the good Marshal, Captain.”

  The crime boss smiled.

  “I’m a fan of anyone who can piss off the Commonwealth Navy that badly.”

  #

  Chapter 14

  New Edmonton System

  14:00 May 26, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  Chameleon

  Russell Rokos stood patiently behind the shoulders of the staff in Chameleon’s Primary Flight Control. Unlike the Q-ship’s bridge, the flight control center was in the hidden portion of the ship and built to a proper military standard.

  It was also a Terran military standard, which had required some getting used to. A Federation warship would have used more in terms of individual screens backing up implant feeds, leaving each of the sensor techs working their stations with a unique view and requiring the supervisor to mirror people’s feeds to their implant to follow an individual tech’s work.

  The Commonwealth standard used large screens and shared holograms to make sure that everyone knew what everyone else was doing. There were arguments in terms of teamwork, Russell knew, but a number of small things about the layout and design told him that the designers had been more concerned about officers knowing what their subordinates were up to at a glance than intra-team efficiency.

  Right now, it was mostly allowing the Wing Commander to track every spacecraft near Chameleon with relative ease. Even out in the rings near the Nexen Cloud—an unusually marked concentration of hydrocarbon gasses used as a waypoint—there were a surprising number of them. A dozen prospecting spaceships, barely larger than the four-thousand-ton starfighters of his wing, disappeared and reappeared as they dove through the cloud itself, hunting the same precious radioactive materials that made them hard to see.

  Another starship also hovered near the cloud. It made a convenient anchor point for negotiating with the locals for fuel and other supplies. The locals knew that as well, which was why two hundred-and-fifty-meter, three-hundred-thousand-ton gunships orbited just above the Cloud. They seemed to be there as much to play tender to the dozen older Cataphract fighters orbiting with them.

  The local mercenary guards seemed content to keep an eye on things from above, however, and Russell’s link to Chownyk on the bridge hadn’t warned him of any contact from them. He had Li and his Bravo squadron in their birds, ready to deploy if they were required, but Roberts’s orders were to keep the fact that they had starfighters under wraps here.

  Which is why he was not expecting the notification that one of the launch tubes was cycling. Chameleon was built around ten-ship squadrons and had the tubes and transfer systems to launch one such squadron every fifteen seconds. With just one Federation eight-ship squadron in the tubes, two were empty—and one of those tubes was now charging to launch.

  “Launcher Nine is initiating an unauthorized launch cycle,” a tech announced across the mental network linking everyone in the room together, far faster than any of them could speak.

  “Override,” Russell ordered. “Do not let it launch.”

  “The system is refusing my override,” the operator replied, panic edging over his mental voice. “I’m completely locked out on Launcher Nine.”

  Russell cursed aloud as he linked into the system and hit the fighter launch tube with his own high-priority override—a code that should instantly cut power to the tube as an emergency measure.

  The launcher happily continued cycling before sliding open its covering hatch and firing the starfighter it contained into space in a blast of gravitational force.

  “Who the hell is in that bird?” the Wing Commander demanded.

  “Starfighter is refusing IFF ping,” one of his subordinates replied. “Checking who’s still aboard.” The man swallowed. “It’s Echo Actual, sir. All other starfighters are aboard and properly responding.”

  Chownyk chose that moment to link in to Russell’s implant.

  “CAG, what’s going on?” he demanded. “I thought we were supposed to be hiding our starfighters.”

  “So did I,” Russell replied grimly. “Are the condottieri responding at all?”

  “No,” Chownyk said. “It’s your bird, CAG. What do we do?”

  “Stand by.” He turned to his own people. “Get me a channel to that bird. I don’t care if she’s replying; just make sure she can hear me.”

  Despite the surprise and confusion, his staff were still moving competently and without chaos. He had his channel in under a second, a tightbeam radio trained directly on the starfighter.

  “Flight Commander Cavendish, you are in violation of our standing orders and your launch is unauthorized. Return to ship immediately. That is an order, Commander.”

  He waited.

  “Is she responding?” he demanded after a moment.

  “No, sir. She’s received the message, though I
can’t guarantee she’s listening to us,” the tech replied.

  “XO, how long until she’s out of lance range?” Russell asked Chownyk grimly.

  “Four minutes,” the cyborg replied instantly. “If she starts evading, our hit probabilities start dropping off in about two minutes.”

  “Void,” Russell spat. “XO, clear one of the secondary lances and paint her with the targeting systems.”

  “Done,” Chownyk said grimly, turning his attention away to snap orders to the bridge crew.

  “Channel still ready?” Russell asked to a nod from his staff.

  “Commander Cavendish, you are now in violation of a direct order in a potential combat zone,” he said flatly. “If you do not turn back in the next thirty seconds, we will shoot you down.”

  Silence for several seconds, and then she finally responded.

  “Are you fucking nuts, Rokos?” Cavendish snapped. “I’m operating under orders. Get the stick out of your ass and get out of my way.”

  “The only person authorized to give you orders is me,” he replied. “The only person able to give you launch authorization is me. You also hacked our systems, so you’re about two steps past mutiny, Commander. You have twenty seconds to turn back.”

  Silence. Five seconds. Ten.

  “XO,” Russell said quietly. “Please have Commander Taylor destroy that starfighter when the deadline is up.”

  “Lance is charged and ready to fire,” Taylor informed him, her voice subdued. “Active sensors online, target is locked in.”

  Then, with less than a second to spare, Cavendish finally flipped her bird and began slowing down to return to the carrier.

  “Finally,” Russell snapped. “Taylor, keep her dialed in the whole way back. If she tries to pull a fast one, fire one warning shot.”

  “Understood, CAG,” Taylor said quietly. Technically, Russell couldn’t give her orders—but he was also the only one who could authorize shooting down one of their own birds.

  “Have the ship’s marshal meet me in the flight deck,” he ordered grimly.

  #

  Russell had forgotten that, since Chameleon didn’t have a military police detachment, it also didn’t have the ship’s marshal that would command that detachment. In the absence, however, Gunny Ramirez had stepped up to fill the role where needed and he met the CAG on the flight deck with a fire team of four Marines.

  In powered battle armor.

  “A little excessive, Gunny?” Russell asked, eyeing the five hulking suits of metal and ceramic.

  “Lieutenant Riley warned me that the pilots are immune to stungun beams,” Ramirez replied, the normally wiry man looming over the CAG’s broad but short bulk. “But internal augments can’t match armor muscles.”

  “Fair enough,” the CAG allowed, turning to watch as the automated system landed Cavendish’s starfighter exactly on its point. For a moment, blasts of supercooled air covered the nine-meter-tall cylindrical craft, then the exit ramp popped out.

  Flight Commander Cavendish stormed off the ship like an avenging supernova, charging down the ramp to stop directly in front of Russell. If she noticed Ramirez and his Marines, she gave no sign of it.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re planning?” she snapped. “Glass will break you for this stunt—threatening me for following orders?”

  “Glass has no authority to give you orders,” Russell said mildly. “Once you were seconded to my Wing, you were under my command and, through me, Captain Roberts’s command. You are familiar with the chain of command, aren’t you?”

  “You just blew off a contact we’d had scheduled since we left Castle,” she told him. “And I don’t know if the bastard will agree to meet with us again.”

  “Any flight ops are to be cleared through me and the Captain,” he replied. “If Glass had a contact, he should have been working with us instead of against us.”

  “You didn’t have need to know, Commander. Now, if we’re done here, I need to see if I can reach out to our contact and fix your fuck-up.”

  “No,” Russell said flatly. “You hacked into this ship’s systems and shut down the safety overrides to carry out an unauthorized launch and then defied a return-to-base order. Gunny Ramirez, take Commander Cavendish into custody.”

  The Marines moved forward to grab the woman, their massive armored forms entirely out of scale with the small officer.

  “You can’t be serious!”

  “Deathly, Commander. Because last I checked, mutiny can still carry the death penalty even if we’re not in combat. Take her to the brig, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  #

  Chapter 15

  New Edmonton System

  16:10 May 26, 2736 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time

  Chameleon

  Kyle carefully settled the shuttle back down on Chameleon’s deck as he received a feed from Chownyk updating him on the events while he was gone.

  “Oh, Gods,” he muttered as he considered the fallout that was going to land on his plate as soon as Glass was updated.

  “What do you want us to do?” Chownyk asked over the mental link.

  “Nothing,” Kyle ordered. “You made the right call. I’ll deal with Glass.”

  Inhaling deeply, he rose and joined the spy and their bodyguards as they exited the shuttle. A maintenance crew was waiting to take over the spacecraft behind them, but otherwise the deck was empty.

  “Good to be back aboard,” Glass declared, patting the suit pocket he’d concealed Ostrowski’s data in. “Please let me know as soon as Commander Cavendish returns from her mission, then we’ll need to prepare to move on the Aurelius system.”

  “I didn’t authorize any mission by Cavendish,” Kyle said carefully. “Since she’s under my command, shouldn’t that have been run through me?”

  “Technicalities, Captain,” the spy snapped. “I run this mission, and I needed Cavendish to take care of something you didn’t have need to know for.”

  The spy stopped, turning to stare at Kyle.

  “What did your thugs do?” he demanded.

  “Flight Commander Cavendish is under arrest for mutiny,” Kyle said flatly. “My office, Glass. Now.”

  “Mutiny? She was operating under my authority!” Glass snarled, ignoring the black-ops troopers and maintenance crew around them.

  “We can discuss this in my office, Mister Glass, or you can join her in the brig,” Chameleon’s Captain told him.

  #

  Glass barely managed to contain himself until they reached Kyle’s office near the bridge, clearly fuming the entire way.

  As soon as the door slid closed behind them, he exploded.

  “What kind of clusterfuck are you running, Captain?” he shouted. “This mission was always going to have components you couldn’t be fully briefed on. Interfering in my orders is unacceptable—I demand that Cavendish be released and Rokos be relieved immediately.”

  “No,” Kyle said quietly, his back to the spy. “Mister Glass, right now I am deciding whether or not you will be joining Commander Cavendish, not whether Commander Rokos was correct.”

  “What? She had orders and authorization; he was out of line.”

  “Flight Commander Cavendish and her squadron were placed in Chameleon’s fighter wing,” Kyle pointed out. “That meant they were under Rokos’s command and, through him, mine. You, Mister Glass, are not in that chain of command.

  “You are, in fact, not in the chain of command of any military personnel aboard Chameleon. What you promised me was that I would have full command of Chameleon—a promise you have now repeatedly broken.

  “You are a civilian.” Officially, at least, though Glass’s habit of failing to act like one was making Kyle suspicious. “You have no command authority here—and hence cannot protect Cavendish from the consequences of her obeying orders you had no authority to give. Do you understand me, Mister Glass?”

  The office was very quiet for a long moment. The spy looked contemplative, his anger swept away in
an instantaneous shift Kyle found mildly creepy.

  “I do,” Glass said finally. “My understanding, Captain Roberts, was that I remained in command of this mission.”

  “You are in charge of this mission,” Kyle pointed out. “You are not in command. Even if you were, you would still need to run flight operations by any of your personnel by me and by Commander Rokos. I understand, Glass, that you have been preparing this mission for a while.

  “I have accepted a frankly intolerable lack of transparency so far out of that understanding,” he continued. “But flight operations without my approval? In opposition to standing orders? I command a warship, Mister Glass. I cannot permit you to undermine the chain of command. Commander Cavendish’s actions were unacceptable and illegal. Her career is over and she could spend the next three decades in military prison for them.

  “I can’t levy the same punishment on you, and it was your bloody stupidity that put her in this position. So please, Mister Glass, give me a good Godsdamn reason why I should keep trusting you?”

  The spy sighed.

  “I…apologize, Captain,” he said slowly. “It is very easy in my line of work to default to lies, deception, and a lack of trust. Where possible, I prefer to rely on people I have worked with in the past. But I understand your point on chain of command.

  “I made a mistake,” he allowed. “Commander Cavendish, based on that previous relationship, followed my orders. I am responsible. But…”

  He drew one of the data disks Ostrowski had given him from his suit pocket. “May I, Captain?” he asked, gesturing to the wallscreen.

  “Go ahead,” Kyle said, his implant authorizing the other man to link in. He was curious what the spy had that he thought could dig him out of this hole.

  The image of a tactical plot appeared on the screen. A single ship sat in the middle, most of its details included. A Volcano-class heavy carrier, it was a sixty-three-million-cubic-meter warship massing twenty million tons, one of the most powerful warships in the Terran Commonwealth Navy. A dusting of icons noted a defensive perimeter of the new Katana-type starfighters, though much less data was included on those.