by Daniel Gibbs
Fresh off a cabinet meeting in which his secretary of state accused his secretary of education of being a League sympathizer, and the same education secretary fired back that his opponent was a prime example of “shameless capitalist scum,” his head throbbed worse than it had in a long time.
“I would ask if you’d care for a drink, Justin, but I’m afraid I have first dibs on the carafe.” Eduardo Fuentes, vice president of the Terran Coalition, settled into one of the Oval Office sofas. He rubbed at the center of his forehead and sighed. “Perhaps our wishes of a grand unification were a bit far-fetched.”
“It’s still early.” Spencer did get to the carafe, pouring water for himself and Fuentes. “Here you go, Ed. Thanks for backing me up in there.”
“Not at all. I was the one reluctant to join a partnership with my political adversary, but you sold me on it because we share the same goal—the healthy growth and security of the Terran Coalition.”
“And the freedom of its constituent worlds.” Spencer clinked glasses with him. “I refuse to leave such a guarantee out of the equation. It’s why we fought the war. I won’t force a more centralized government on our people in the name of security.”
“Believe me, I understand. I’ve certainly heard it repeated ad nauseam.” Fuentes smiled. “But I’m glad you stormed out of the meeting. I’ve always wanted to make a dramatic exit.”
Spencer chuckled despite the lingering ache in the pit of his stomach from the infighting he’d just sat through. Maybe Fuentes was right—they should have fired their loyalists and brought more centrist cabinet members aboard. No—changing people’s minds had been his goal, to show them that differing opinions could exist on the same team when everyone had eyes fastened on the big goal—the continued freedom and prosperity of the Terran Coalition. The problem was, it wasn’t just Terran lives at stake.
The door opened, admitting Secretary of Defense Celinda Snow and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs General Andrew MacIntosh. From the sounds of it, they continued their own private debate from the cabinet meeting.
“It’s a matter of logistics, General. Their numbers are tiny compared with the overall population of the Coalition. Resettlement can take place in an orderly fashion without CDF involvement.”
“There’s no way you’re going to let millions of refugee Leaguers onto Terran worlds without a military presence,” MacIntosh countered, his Scottish brogue all the thicker with his mood soured. “And that’s even if they’re let in at all, which I think I made it pretty damned clear they shouldn’t be!”
“Andrew, Celinda, have a seat. Now.”
MacIntosh dropped into a chair to the right of where Spencer stood while Snow sat beside Fuentes on the couch.
She had a tablet nestled under her arm, accompanying a binder bulging with printouts, but when she spoke, it was evident she had memorized every bullet point she carried. “Mr. President, the border situation is becoming untenable. I suggest that, regardless of what we all heard in the cabinet meeting, it be given the highest priority.”
“I agree, which I why I tasked you and the general with finding solutions.” He raised an eyebrow. “I wish we still had the Lion to deploy. It, along with General Cohen’s approach to things, would do much to calm the situation.”
“I still miss him—all of them.” MacIntosh’s steely gaze faltered, and for the briefest moment, he choked up. “We’ll forever be in their debt.”
Spencer forced himself back to the task at hand. “Don’t tell me you’ve given up already. We haven’t even officially named the task force.”
“That hasn’t stopped the media from dubbing it the ‘Cypriot Crisis,’” MacIntosh grumbled as he recovered. “It’s not even the name of the planet. It has to do with a tiny, contested island back on Earth. They haven’t given us one week’s peace since the treaty was signed. Isn’t it good enough we avoided total annihilation and set back the League’s ability to conquer us or anyone else by a decade or more?”
“If it bleeds, it leads,” Fuentes replied. “As for the crisis—which I would say is a perfect word—let’s start by acknowledging those poor souls crammed aboard countless freighters, who are here for the same reason we are: security. They want what the Coalition has to offer.”
“Which is admirable, but the numbers aren’t as tiny as you’d like to portray, and we all know that.” Spencer shook his head. “Six million refugees? With shiploads arriving every day. Am I correct in assuming we could be looking at another million within a month?”
“My projections show as much,” Snow said. “Sir, as I was saying—”
“They’re not just a drop in the bucket,” MacIntosh cut in. “They’re six million security risks. Opening the floodgates and letting hundreds of transports jump to whatever planet they like would be an open invitation for League infiltrators to sabotage key facilities along the DMZ. It’s bad enough keeping up with the logistics, given the beating we took at the third Battle of Canaan.”
“You have no proof of that.” Snow consulted her files. “Any incidents have been minor and unrelated to each other.”
MacIntosh cleared his throat. “Which is why I need our forces there, to get to the bottom of whatever the mess is while simultaneously keeping them away from civilians.”
“With all due respect, General, there are plenty of ships for Frontier Enforcement to hold the refugee convoys in place. No need to send fleet elements. You’ll only cause a panic among the same people we’re trying to help.”
“Madam Secretary, I’m trying to help the people on the planets below all those transports wondering if they’re getting a city’s worth of new mouths to feed overnight. Sending a few carrier battle groups to the border while toeing the line at the DMZ is the best way for us to maintain control over the situation.”
“All right, that’s enough.” Spencer walked between them. “I have to say, I’m on the general’s side so far. We’re still far too hurt from the end of three decades’ worth of constant fighting. The people are drained. They deserve the chance to rebuild without extra burdens.”
“I don’t agree that the refugees present too heavy a burden for us to shoulder as a society,” Fuentes said. “Justin, you view this coalition of free planets as a light on a hill—or on a star—so to speak. We’re a beacon of freedom to the rest of the galaxy. I agree with you, but we have to recognize our role as victors means we have added responsibility to help others who look to us as their protectors. These people are seeking a new life.”
“Seeking new handouts is more like it,” MacIntosh grumbled.
“Doubtless some of them are used to a collectivist society, General, but I’m sure plenty have come to us seeking our emphasis on individual freedom. They will certainly need help from whatever safety net we can offer until they get on their feet.”
“It’s the size and strength of the net that concerns me, Ed,” Spencer interjected. “Our resources are stretched thin across the entire Coalition, with the bulk of our rebuilding efforts concentrated along the same border you’d have refugees inundate. We have no easy solution. Maybe we can look at a sort of quota system to bring in a few at a time. Others we could redirect toward the neutral territories.”
“Surely you’re not thinking of asking the Saurians to take any in.”
Spencer shook his head and grinned wryly. “Even if they were so inclined, I doubt anyone fleeing the League is looking to join a warrior race.”
“My counterparts among the neutral alliances aren’t willing to entice refugees who have already skipped their worlds to double back,” Snow said. “They’re concerned enough about the rumors of human trafficking.”
“I saw your report.” Spencer’s gut tightened, and he felt the urge to crush his glass between his fingers. Those who would trade in the suffering of others were the lowest of the low. “General, where are you on combatting the problem? Whether or not we admit refugees, no matter the amount, we have to put a stop to something so disgusting.”
“
On that much, I think we all agree.” Fuentes raised his glass in a salute.
“I’d be making better headway if I had more people on the scene.” MacIntosh raised an eyebrow in Snow’s direction. “CBI hasn’t been much help—they’ve got their hands full with Orbita again. It’s still seeping into the surrounding systems all up and down the border.”
“League agents? I thought we stamped them out.”
“Stamping out the cockroaches is never easy, and it takes a long time—and patience. Signs of League External Security involvement are cropping up again.”
“The general and I have put together as much intel as we can, but whoever is running this new trafficking ring is keeping things very quiet, very under the surface,” Snow said. “We don’t know yet how many ship captains are involved. Some refugees reportedly vanish without a trace, while others leak word of raiding parties boarding their transports with impunity.”
“Sending in the fleet definitely won’t work, then.” Spencer sat in another chair so he could face his advisors. He stroked his chin. “A task force appearing on the end of a Lawrence drive jump will send those cockroaches scattering for darkness. They need to be drawn out subtly.”
“Hmmm.” MacIntosh grinned for the first time since the meeting had commenced—and for the first time in a week, Spencer realized. “Madam Secretary?”
“It was your brainstorm, General.” Snow smiled and gestured he should continue.
MacIntosh handed Spencer a small tablet. It was blank until MacIntosh pressed his thumb to a corner and the words “CLASSIFIED ACCESS GRANTED – TS/SCI CAVEAT RIGHTEOUS ANGER – NO FORN” appeared on the screen.
Spencer gazed at the text that spilled onto the display. “An independent intelligence unit?”
“CDF Intelligence, combining small fleet elements, tier-one special operations units, and covert infiltration squads. We’re assembling the necessary rosters.”
“I see that.” Spencer flipped through the write-up. “And I like where this is heading. Celinda?”
“As you said, Mr. President, subtly is the key.” She tapped her binder. “We have several options we can activate, none of which will require an overwhelming military presence. The smaller and quieter we can keep their involvement, the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I recognize you’re not wholly comfortable with a military solution, Madam Secretary, so we appreciate your compromise on this matter,” Fuentes said.
Snow nodded, her expression relaxed but some tension still in her frame, from what Spencer could detect. She probably wondered if she would be shot down in favor of a carrier group or destroyer flotilla.
“Andrew, I presume you’ve got a top candidate to head this force.” Spencer smiled. “And if you don’t suggest his name, I will.”
MacIntosh chuckled. “Are you kidding? The secretary and I discussed it first thing. He’s the pick of the litter.”
“I would not be surprised if he’s already found out at least the whispers of this project.” Snow shook her head.
“Colonel Robert Sinclair,” Spencer said to Fuentes. “Of the CSV Oxford.”
“Ah. The spook ship, I believe you call it. It’s geared toward signals interception, isn’t it?”
“Among other things.” Spencer reached the summary. “Covert Action Unit 171. That’s an awful lot of those to enact. Have you two figured out the funding? Because Congress won’t pass it anytime soon.”
“Deliberate misdirection, Mr. President,” Snow said. “Only one unit has currently been proposed. The number is for our League opponents, should they be sniffing around.”
“Her idea,” MacIntosh said. “More spook stuff, but we need it more than a barrage of missiles, I admit.”
“Great.” Spencer finished his water and set his glass on an end table. “What do you think, Ed? We leave this new unit to flush out the traffickers and their possible League supporters while we grapple over the politics of the refugees themselves. For the time being, they remain in orbit until we’re able to find a solution.”
Fuentes nodded. “I think that will work. Thank you, Madam Secretary, General. We should contact the colonel immediately.”
MacIntosh shifted in his chair. “Actually… he’s waiting in the reception area.”
Snow locked eyes with him in an incredulous stare. “You’ve already spoken to him about it?”
“Only that I wanted him here today to discuss a possible new operation,” MacIntosh said. “It turns out you were right—he’d heard whispers.”
“It’s barely been forty-eight hours.” Snow sighed.
Spencer shook his head but chuckled the whole time. “I’ll have the sentry send him in.”
Colonel Robert Sinclair was pleasantly surprised to find himself inside the Oval Office, a place he’d only seen before in public images. Even though it was one of the most securely guarded rooms on Canaan—and quite possibly in all the Coalition—he still took pride in being able to identify the two concealed emergency exits, should the need arise.
It was rather a shock to stand before the four most powerful people in government, however. Sinclair saluted sharply. “Colonel Robert Sinclair reports as ordered, sirs.” He made sure his posh British accent carried as clear as a bell throughout the office.
“At ease, Colonel.” The reply came from President Spencer himself. The towering man with the signature booming voice approached and offered his hand. “Thank you for coming and for your service during the recent conflict.”
Sinclair suppressed a smile at Spencer’s curt descriptor of the war, which had dragged on several decades, but given the man was also a veteran, he didn’t begrudge him trying to put the whole bloody mess in the rear view. “Thank you, Mr. President. I must say I’m delighted to be here.”
“Good. Then maybe you can give us an assessment of Covert Action Unit 171, as the general and Secretary Snow have designated it.”
“Yes, sir.” Sinclair cleared his throat. “I became aware of the proposed operation a few days ago. Word was this new unit would comprise various tactical and intelligence units combined into one group, which would operate relatively free of the normal chain of command.”
“This information was not directed down the chain of command, Colonel,” Snow observed. “Where did you get this ‘word,’ if I may ask?”
Sinclair did smile then. “RUMINT, Madam Secretary. I daresay it’s far more reliable than standard channels in many, if not most, situations.”
“The colonel’s missions commanding the intelligence force on the CSV Oxford are classified, but I can tell you, if there’s anyone alive who knows how to ferret out League spies, it’s him.”
“Thank you, General.”
Snow nodded. “I don’t suppose RUMINT has filled you in on the details of this assignment.”
“Somewhat, Madam Secretary. Unit 171 would comprise one or two ships plus a few detached squads of intelligence operatives and special forces operators.”
“That’s pretty thorough for rumor,” Fuentes interjected.
“Colonel, more specifically, CSV Oxford would be the hub for this action unit,” MacIntosh said, “continuing its primary role of signals interception and decryption. The plan is to put CSV Tuscon, a stealth raider, aboard.”
Sinclair cocked an eyebrow. “Major Mancini’s boat, Growler-class if I recall. With all due respect, sir, Oxford lacks the necessary docking space for such a craft. She’s not much bigger than a light cruiser.”
“Which is why you and Oxford were recalled and refits are underway,” Snow said.
“Ah. Thus the extensive nature of those refits.” Sinclair nodded, a grin forming. “And here we’d surmised you were upgrading our weaponry simply because the fleet is short on able-bodied combat vessels.”
Spencer passed Sinclair a tablet. Sinclair kept control of his facial expression as he read the list of requirements and suggested units for the operation. In a few places, however, he noted “commander’s discretion” listed where there sho
uld be specific personnel. “To borrow an old expression, it seems I have a blank check for a few aspects.”
“That you do, Colonel,” Spencer said. “I’m deferring to the secretary of defense and chairman of the joint chiefs on this one. Specific officer selection is up to you, as you will be moved outside your normal chain of command. Approval from General MacIntosh and Secretary Snow will be required, however.”
My decision and yet not. A fine way to keep the powers that be disconnected from blowback, should we fail. Sinclair didn’t mind. His kind worked best hidden in the shadows or disguised in plain sight in a crowd. “Very good, sir. Then I can make recommendations as to the Space Special Warfare unit that would best serve as the scalpel in this operation.”
“As long as it doesn’t impact other ongoing ops, it shouldn’t be a problem,” MacIntosh said. “To be clear, we need you and your people to get inside whatever the League’s doing with these refugees. Moles or terrorists could be planted among them.”
“Don’t discount organized crime either,” Snow added. “We’ve seen enough evidence of the League partnering with cartels to introduce narcotics among our people to know it’s happening again.”
“Ah, the scourge that was Orbita. Yes, I see.” Sinclair gave the tablet back to Spencer. “I should like a copy of these new orders, sir.”
“You’ll have them after a fashion. This is as off-the-books as we can make it.” Spencer frowned. “I don’t like the idea of hiding the truth, but I understand the necessity in times like these. We’ve won the war, Colonel—not as thoroughly as we should have. Still, a victory. The questions are how do we maintain that victory, given our losses, and what kind of threat does the League pose in its reduced state?”
“One doesn’t have to have an armada of battleships to inflict damage, Mr. President,” Sinclair said. “One doesn’t even need to leave a physical mark. Fear, doubt, seeds so planted among the populace would do the trick nicely.”
“You understand what you’re to do, then, Colonel.” Fuentes leaned forward in his seat. “If the League is stirring up trouble by thrusting these poor people on our doorstep, the people will need our help, and whatever the League is doing to them—and to the Coalition—has to end.”
