“If you need backup, let me know,” Kyle told him. “I want you in the planning sessions this afternoon, but having your Wing combat-ready is more important.”
“We’ll see,” the CAG replied.
“Let Chownyk know.” Kyle glanced around the room. “Dismissed, people. Glass, if you could stick around for a moment?”
#
Kyle waited patiently for the last of his subordinates to leave the room and sealed the door to block sound behind them. Then he turned to Glass waiting calmly in his chair and released some of the self-control he’d been holding.
“What kind of fucking monsters did you bring aboard my ship?” he demanded. “One of your ‘operators’ apparently thought she could get away with murdering my CAG—and the other would rather carry out a questionably legal surveillance than report that she thinks someone is about to do so?”
“You just admitted that Sandra wasn’t the problem,” the old spy replied. “We all had our concerns about Laura and none of us actually expected her to attempt to murder Commander Rokos. Sandra was worried about her friend—and I’ll point out, had to shoot her friend last night.”
“Do not mistake letting a junior officer off the hook because I don’t expect her to know better for her not having fucked up,” Kyle snarled. “Your people were supposed to bring skills and expertise to this mission that regular Navy and Space Force personnel couldn’t. I haven’t seen much evidence of that yet!”
“Despite my best efforts, we have yet to end up in a circumstance where Riley’s people’s skills would be of value,” Glass admitted. “I will also confess that I expected better from both the stealth coatings on Cavendish’s fighter and from her crews.”
“Those crews stood and died at Aurelius to protect their comrades,” Kyle admitted slowly. “They fought like soldiers, I could have expected no better from the Space Force.”
“Indeed, but I will freely call myself their partisan and I saw no special skill, no unusual experience, present in my black-ops crews,” the spy replied. “They were veterans, yes, but hardly the unstoppable juggernauts of skill and violence Cavendish and her superiors paint Federation Intelligence’s black fighter group as.”
“No one is unstoppable in a starfighter,” the ex-starfighter pilot in the room said. “Modern weapons do not respect skill or violence. How did someone that on the edge end in command of a squadron in the first place?”
Glass coughed delicately.
“The criteria to command a black-ops squadron are not the same as those for a regular squadron,” he pointed out. “We ask people to sign on for long tours, far away from home—often deep into enemy territory. They must wear personas that allow them to mix with mercenaries and strangers, but be ready to kill those around them in an instant if the order comes down.
“It’s not a job many are good at and it’s a job fewer want,” he concluded. “Officers are selected to command those squadrons based on skill and charisma and, bluntly, the willingness to do whatever is asked of them.
“Cavendish had carried out missions that could not have been asked of Space Force squadrons. Not necessarily war crimes but gray areas—the kind of mission you don’t ask a soldier to complete.
“Is it any surprise, Captain, knowing that, that Cavendish and our other squadron commanders are not stable individuals in the main?” Glass asked with a shrug. “She was a specific type of tool, one we know can turn on us. I didn’t expect quite so…dramatic an action on her part.”
“Unstable,” Kyle questioned. “You mean you put starfighters, with weapons that can devastate continents if not worlds, in the hands of psychopaths?”
“Basically,” the older man admitted. “But be honest, Captain; we both know there are psychopaths in any organization. Modern mental health and nanite chemical rebalancing do wonderful things. We just…found them in the ranks of the Space Force’s pilots and…nurtured them.
“Intel’s black-ops forces are shadowy and vicious tools, never meant to see the light of day. But they weren’t enough for this mission—that’s why you’re here. Why Rokos and the rest of your crew are here.”
“And Riley?” Kyle asked. “Is she…‘unstable’?”
“No more than you, Captain,” Glass told him. “Like you, she compartmentalizes the violence in her life away from her ethics and sense of being a ‘good person’.
“We all tell ourselves lies about what kind of people we are. Riley is good at believing hers.”
“You are not making me comfortable with this,” Kyle replied.
“You are a soldier, Captain. Do you expect to be comfortable with your job?”
#
Russell stood at the edge of the flight deck, watching his people exit the starfighters after another grueling round of exercises—exercises that would not have been made easier by wondering just what the hell had happened last night.
It only took a few seconds for the crews close enough to him to see him and start crowding toward him, a cacophony of questions following only moments behind.
“Please,” he told them, raising his hands, “give me a moment for everyone to get here.”
The sound had served the purpose of attracting everyone’s attention, and Russell hopped up onto a nearby pile of sturdy-looking hardware as the rest of the Wing gathered around. The muttering only increased as his people gathered around and got a look at the bandages covering half of his face and hand.
“I’m sure the rumor mill has done its usual job of attempting to turn simple facts into grand conspiracies and dramatic tales,” he said loudly as the last few men and women trickled in. “It’s relatively obvious, though, that something did happen, as this is a little big for cutting myself shaving!
“The sad truth is that Flight Commander Cavendish attempted to murder me last night,” he explained, his words cutting the last few muttered conversations to silence. “She succeeded in murdering Junior Lieutenant Gianna Cavalcante and badly injuring Junior Lieutenant Rauol Alvarado.”
He felt absolutely no qualms at blaming Cavendish for Alvarado’s injuries. It had been her bullets he’d thrown the younger man aside to protect him from.
“Rauol will recover in time to fly and fight at Tau Ceti,” he promised everyone. “But Commander Cavendish refused to surrender when Marines intervened and was killed.
“So were a Marine she’d co-opted and Junior Lieutenant Carlisle,” he told them. “Four people died aboard Chameleon last night. Our people, killed by our people.”
He paused to let that sink in.
“Half of you were with me and the Captain on Avalon at Alizon and Barsoom,” he said softly. “This isn’t the first time we’ve seen someone turn on our own for reasons we don’t understand. It’s not easy to deal with and it’s not something we should have to deal with, but we’ll do it.
“In less than ten days, this starfighter wing goes into battle,” Russell reminded his people. “We can’t afford to get hung up on the whys and wherefores. We have to do our job.”
The message wasn’t sinking entirely home, he could tell, but he had good people. They’d step up.
“First off, it’s looking like our plan in Tau Ceti is going to involve the starfighters pretending to be Commonwealth birds until the rocket goes up. The Commonwealth’s Starfighter Corps uses a ten-ship squadron.
“To fake being them, we’re going to do the same.”
That it was also helpful in making up for his suddenly lacking squadron commander went unspoken but understood.
“We’re also going to start running through some Terran scenarios we’ve acquired,” he warned them. “Their policies, procedures, and default tactics are different than ours—and the last thing I’m going to put up with is blowing the Captain’s nice shiny plan because one of us answered the radio ‘Roger’ when Terran pilots use ‘Understood’.
“Do you get me?!”
#
Chapter 37
Deep Space, Under Alcubierre Drive
13:00 June 12, 2736 Earth S
tandard Meridian Date/Time
Chameleon
“You really do seem to pick up the crazy women who want to kill your CAG, don’t you?” Mira Solace said with a grin Kyle could tell was forced. “Is Rokos okay?”
“I think he’s more shaken than he’s letting on,” Kyle admitted, glad that Mira’s ship was sufficiently clear of active operations—for the moment! —for them to have a live conversation. “His wound was pretty significant. It’ll regenerate quickly, at least, but he also lost one of his flight crew. That’s…that’s hard for starfighter people. Our crew are family.”
“I can think of a certain ex-starfighter officer who didn’t lose that attitude when they picked up a much bigger ship,” the elegant black woman teased. “How are you holding up?”
“Pissed,” he answered. “Not much I can do about it, though. She’s dead and we’re going into action.”
Chameleon was only about twenty-four hours from going into full communication lockdown herself. This would be the last time they spoke before he reached Tau Ceti, and there was so much he couldn’t say. He couldn’t, for that matter, even tell her when he was going in communications lockdown.
“Things are quiet here,” she told him, clearly following some of his thoughts. “Intel says Walkingstick is playing at keeping us busy all along the front until he gets the reinforcements they figure he’s been promised.”
“I don’t trust that man to be doing what it appears he’s doing,” Kyle told her. The last time they’d thought they’d known what Walkingstick was doing, the Terran Admiral’s local commander had sucker-punched an entire system’s defenses out behind them.
“Neither do I,” his lover agreed. “And neither does Alstairs, which is why I’m spending six hours a day making sure Camerone is ready for war and another six in strategy-planning meetings.
“At least I get to talk to my sister and occasionally you to break the monotony,” she said with a smile.
“How’s your sister?” he asked.
“She is very bright, very enthusiastic, and very fifteen,” Mira replied. “She mostly understands what being on deployment means, but she still keeps asking when I can bring you home to meet her. She has a bad case of hero worship going on for the Stellar Fox.”
Kyle sighed.
“I keep revisiting the potential plan of beating journalists up in dark alleys until they stop using that name,” he noted.
“It’s entered the popular mind now; you’re doomed,” she told him. “What about your family?”
“I can talk to you because you’re a Navy Captain and are presumed to have a sense of discretion,” he said quietly. “The Navy is not so generous in its assumptions when it comes to neural physicians and twelve-year-old boys. We get to trade letters when I’m this deep.
“That said, they’re doing fine. Like most of his generation now, Jacob is Navy-mad and wants me to sign his models of every ship from Seventh Fleet when I get home.” Kyle shook his head, the thought bringing up something of a smile.
“I can’t quite get myself past just how inaccurate the ‘official licensed models’ are,” he told Mira. “Proportions are off, numbers of visible weapons are off; Gods, I don’t think they gave the Ursine-class carriers flight decks.”
“You, my dear Captain, are a purist.”
“And you clearly don’t understand how bad a portrayal of our poor ships these models are,” Kyle pointed out. “I mean, I understand it’s for security, but they could have at least tried.”
She was laughing aloud at him now and he gave her as big a grin as he could manage.
“I look forward to introducing you to them,” he told her. His was a strange life, where not introducing his new girlfriend to his ex was basically impossible. Unless he wanted to remove Jacob from his life again—which he did not—Lisa Kerensky was also going to be a part of his life.
“I look forward to it,” Mira told him. “Even meeting Lisa. From the sounds of it, I’m in more trouble if I don’t live up to her standards for you than if I missed yours.”
“She went and found herself a Member of the Federation Assembly to date,” Kyle pointed out. “What’s a ‘mere’ Navy Captain?”
She shook her head, glancing away as she did.
“My next meeting is rushing up on me,” she admitted. “Kyle…take care of yourself. I’ll be pissed if you don’t come back.”
“Orders received and understood, ma’am,” he told her with a crisp salute. With that and a blown kiss, he let the channel close and considered his desk.
Time to work on making sure everyone came back.
#
Edvard gestured Riley to a seat across from his desk, trying to assess his subordinate’s mood as she sat. Her face was locked down again, hiding her thoughts from everyone.
“How’s your platoon?” he asked. Ostensibly, this was the same check-in meeting he was having with his other two platoon commanders, but they both knew it was more than that. After rearranging things, all of his platoons were down half a squad—and his twenty-trooper headquarters section was only thirteen strong.
“Pissed at Assam,” Riley said flatly. “But they’re on the job. This kind of shit is…” She sighed. “I’d say a lot more common in black-ops units than regular Marines, but let’s be honest: it happens in black-ops units and doesn’t in the Marines.
“The kind of guys and gals you put in a unit like mine are not good people, Edvard,” she warned him. “My job is as much to keep these idiots from stabbing everyone else in the back as it is training or pointing them at the enemy.”
Edvard shook his head, trying to envisage any unit that was that…difficult.
“How do your units even function?” he asked.
“They keep it out of the unit, in the main,” she replied. “They work together in action, follow orders, do what they’re ordered. And then, when we’re off duty, they turn into a bunch of prima donnas who’ll stab anyone outside the unit who looks at them cross-eyed.”
“Like Cavendish,” Edvard noted. “How are you holding up?”
“I fucked up and had to kill one of my few actual friends because of it,” Riley snapped. “How do you expect me to be holding up?”
“Like shit,” he said frankly. “It’s not your fault.”
“Bullshit. The Captain said what a Captain says when he’s letting a junior officer who shouldn’t know better off the hook,” Riley replied. “I was pulled from the Corps for black-ops when you were in boot, Hansen. I know what kind of psychopaths we have in unmarked uniforms.
“I knew what Cavendish was. Chilling sign of how used you are to people who kill at the drop of a hat when most of your close friends fit that bill, isn’t it?
“I knew what she was. I knew she wouldn’t let it lie at complaints, but I said nothing because she was a friend,” Riley said bitterly. “I let my personal feelings compromise my professional judgment and I should have known better.”
“So did I,” Edvard snapped. “You told me you had suspicions. It was my job to yank you up short and order you to act on them. I didn’t because of our frankly dangerous feelings toward each other.”
That admission shut her up. It was the first time either of them had admitted anything aloud to the other, but he knew and he knew she knew, and so on and so forth.
“Yes, you fucked up,” he told her gently. “But if I’d assessed the risk differently, I would have pressured you to come clean. I didn’t. A lot of people had to misjudge Cavendish’s limits for it to go this far.
“I need you on point, on duty, and one hundred percent, so that we all get to come home alive. I do not need you beating yourself up for your failures. Can you do that for me, Sandra? Can you let this go and do the job?”
She inhaled sharply, the mask cracking into unshed tears for a long moment before she nodded and inhaled again.
“I think so. Just…promise me one thing, sir.”
“This isn’t a negotiation, Lieutenant,” Edvard pointed out.
; “Not that kind of promise, Edvard,” she replied. “Promise me you’ll live through this too.”
“I have no intention of dying this far from home, Sandra. It’s war, and we won’t all make it home, but I plan on bringing as many of my people home as possible.”
#
“Our target in the Tau Ceti System is threefold,” Kyle summarized to the gathered officers in the planning room. A massive hologram filled the center of the room, showing the two habitable worlds and heavy spaceborne industry of Tau Ceti.
“Firstly, we need to board the TCN Central Research Station here.” An icon flashed in orbit of the second gas giant. There was slightly less traffic around the ninth planet than around the larger eighth, but it was a relative matter. The massive Navy facilities orbiting Tau Ceti H more than made up for the much-reduced civilian traffic.
Tau Ceti H was the quietest part of the system. It was still busier than anywhere Kyle had ever seen except the Castle System itself. Dozens of cloudscoops provided a constant stream of fuel for the slightly safer fusion plants that fueled the massive shipyards and the civilian support infrastructure.
“The Central Research Station is now our primary objective,” he told his people. “We will do our best to insert Riley’s people without compromising our cover. Every minute we can give them to operate on the station without triggering a system-wide security alert increases our chances of retrieving the data we’re after.
“To help distract everyone from Riley’s attack, we will be using Rokos’s starfighters to launch as covert a strike as we can manage at Shipyard Alpha.”
A second station, this one a massive agglomeration of yard slips, construction gantries, and half-assembled ships, highlighted in the hologram. It formed a rough spindle shape, a wide circular top hosting the shipyards and their incomplete children, with a sharp spike “hanging” down to link to the pontoon-like hexagon of pods with stabilizer thrusters that held the whole structure up against Tau Ceti H’s gravity.
Q-Ship Chameleon Page 25
