by Jay Allan
“Five minutes, John.” Winton’s response was immediate. “I just checked with them. We’re in the loading area, ready to go.”
“Good.” Marek was leaning over, typing on a keyboard. “I made a few changes to the manifest. Sending it to you right now.” He punched the last keys, zapping the document to Winton’s workstation in the loading dock. “I want this stuff on those trucks at lightspeed, Jack.” He paused. “The Feds will be back, and in much greater strength. And they won’t be so foolish next time. I want us out of here before that happens.”
“Yes, John.” Marek could hear noise in the background. “We’re already bringing the first palettes out to the bay.”
Marek sat down on the hard metal chair of the workstation and let out a long, deep breath. He knew they had gotten lucky, very lucky. Next time, he thought, things are going to be a lot tougher. He was right.
Chapter 8
Tranquility
Cluster 11, Western Alliance Zone
Lunar Surface
Tranquility was booked weeks in advance. In Washbalt or London or New York there were many restaurants where the political and corporate elite met and enjoyed the perks of their privileged status. But there was only one truly five star eatery on the moon, and it was considered a must for anyone of consequence to eat there when visiting.
Hendrick Thoms masqueraded as a Corporate Magnate of moderate wealth and power, a junior Director of the megacorp GDL. His true job, however – the one that got him the GDL gig - was even more extraordinary, a high-ranking operative for Alliance Intelligence, specifically one placed to monitor activity in the senior naval command structure. GDL was the biggest defense contractor dealing with the navy, which put Thoms in an ideal position to monitor the top officers from outside the command structure.
But there were layers upon layers to Thoms – Magnate, spy, debauched libertine - and the bottom one, the one virtually no one saw…double agent, a mole working for the Martian Security Department. MSD had flipped Hendrick years before, using a fairly standard combination of bribery and blackmail. The relationship had been a mutually satisfactory one – Hendrick had found a nearly inexhaustible and highly untraceable funding source for some of his more expensive and private vices, and MSD had an information conduit highly placed in the Alliance Intelligence structure.
He was on the moon to meet with Roderick Vance, one of the richest men in the Martian Confederation. Vance-controlled interests owned and operated mining franchises all over the Sol and Alpha Centauri systems. They were set to discuss a major deal for GDL’s shipbuilding operation to purchase inexpensive ores from one of Vance’s companies. But that was just a cover - they had other topics to discuss as well, ones far more private. In addition to Vance’s many public pursuits was one other known only to a select few…running MSD.
Vance’s great-grandfather had been one of the founding fathers of the Confederation, a former American general who had settled on Mars in one of the early waves of colonization and later helped lead the independence movement. The Earth powers had blustered and threatened when their former colonies declared themselves an independent nation, but there was little they could do to stop it. The Unification Wars were raging, descending into the last horrific stages, when the coalescing Superpowers were throwing whatever they could at each other. There was little left – manpower, weapons, industry – to deploy against the Martian separatists.
While the Earth Superpowers fought each other to exhaustion, and nearly to extinction, the new Confederation grabbed most of the solar system’s useful bits of real estate and built a substantial navy to hold on to it. By the time the Treaty of Paris ended the wars on Earth, the Confederation was a formidable force in space and controlled most of the resources of the solar system. It was effectively the ninth Superpower, despite its vastly smaller population.
The Confederation wasn’t a true republic, but it was far more democratic than any of the nations of Earth. Influence was based on lineage, with greater representation given to the families that had been on Mars when independence was declared. But even recent immigrants had substantial rights, and the Confederation was almost completely without a destitute underclass like those so prevalent in the Earth Powers.
The Confederation generally remained neutral in the conflicts between the Superpowers. Its small interstellar holdings consisted of a few well-selected resource worlds and three major extra-solar colonies. The Martian military was small, but extremely well-trained and equipped, and none of the Powers wanted to make an enemy out of the Confederation. The Treaty of Paris forbade space combat in the Sol and Alpha Centauri systems, but the Confederation was not a signatory to that century-old document. It’s adherence to these constraints was entirely voluntary, and it could easily cause major problems for any of the Powers that provoked it.
Mars had also become somewhat of a haven for the upper classes in each of the Powers, a place where wealthy exiles were generally welcomed and strict secrecy laws governed banking. The major Martian financial institutions did enormous business with the political and corporate elites of the various Powers, allowing them to safeguard funds that might otherwise be subject to question or confiscation. In a world of constant paralyzing government oversight and rabid infighting between elites, privacy was a rare and valuable commodity. It was one in very short supply on Earth, and the Martian bankers were happy to provide it…at a price.
MSD didn’t operate with quite the unrestrained aggression of the other intelligence services, but it did try to keep an eye on the various Powers. The Confederation liked the balance of power, and its foreign policy was based on maintaining it. During the recent war, it had come close to entering on the side of the Alliance when it looked like that Power might be overwhelmed and crushingly defeated. But the Alliance turned things around and, in the end, won a decisive victory. Now the Confederation Council was concerned about the Alliance’s place in inter-power relations. Its recent victory, combined with its discovery of an ancient alien artifact of potentially incalculable scientific value, threatened to permanently shatter the balance of power and put the Alliance in a preeminent, and perhaps dominant, position over the others. That was something the Confederation considered unacceptable.
There was another scenario, however, of equal concern to MSD and the Confederation Council. The Alliance was experiencing considerable unrest in its colonies, and widespread rebellion was a serious possibility. If the Alliance lost its frontier planets it would be crippled; without the resources pouring in from those worlds, its economy would collapse almost immediately. A desperate and dying Superpower would be even more dangerous than a dominant one. A fatally wounded Alliance could react in disastrous ways, possibly even repudiating the Treaty of Paris and triggering war on Earth and in the entire Sol system. Total war between the Powers would be a humanitarian catastrophe of incalculable proportions; it was unthinkable to allow it to happen.
The Alliance colonies would fare no better in this scenario. They were populated mostly by a hardy breed of adventurers, but they would stand no chance as an independent entity, not yet at least. The firebrands even now standing up to federal encroachments tended to underestimate the role Alliance Gov had played in supporting colonial growth and defending the worlds themselves. If they hadn’t been part of a nation as strong as the Alliance, they would have been conquered long ago by the Caliphate or the CAC. It would take years – decades – to develop enough industry for them to stand alone without the support of an existing Power. And they were unlikely to get those years before the other Superpowers were picking their bones in an unrestrained feeding frenzy.
The Council had authorized MSD to ramp up its intelligence efforts. The Confederation was prepared to intervene in the developing situation to avoid an unacceptable outcome. But first they had to determine exactly what that course of action would be. For that, Vance needed much better information than he had. That’s why Thoms was here.
The two of them sat alone in a private
dining room, a small dome attached to the main restaurant by a short access tube. Just outside the clear hyper-polycarbonate dome was the reconstructed image of the first extra-terrestrial landing site…part of a vessel that had been called the Eagle, and a flag that a history buff would recognize as that of the United States in the mid-20th century. All of it was fake; the original remains had been destroyed by CAC forces during the Unification Wars, though that was not general knowledge, and most visitors believed they were looking at actual history.
The two of them spoke freely, if still in hushed tones. Vance’s jamming device was the best Martian technology could produce…which meant it was better than anything the other Powers could make to counter it. If there were listening devices near them, those at the other end would be disappointed.
“Do I understand you correctly?” Vance usually had a great poker face, but he was stunned at what Thoms had just told him. “The Augustus Garret currently occupying the office of Alliance Navy Director is an imposter?”
Thoms took a sip from his wineglass, savoring the deep flavor of the Pinot Noir. He fancied himself an expert on wines, and he was sure this was a natural Burgundy, though he’d never tasted one before. He couldn’t imagine the cost of this bottle – the Burgundian Pinot Noir grapes were extinct, killed off two generation before by a parasite mutation…another vestige of the bacteriological weapons used in the later Unification Wars. Genetically-altered hybrids had successfully replaced the natural species, but connoisseurs tended to feel the newer wines lacked the same depth. The few remaining bottles of pre-extinction vintages sold for thousands of credits, when they were available at all.
“Yes.” Thoms put down his glass and looked across the table. “He is a surgically altered agent. A double.”
Vance inhaled deeply. He tried never to underestimate Gavin Stark, but this was audacious even for the Alliance’s spymaster. “What happened to the real Garret?”
Thoms had just taken a large bite, but he answered anyway, earnestly, if not with commendable etiquette. “I can’t say for sure.” He paused to swallow. “My guess is they have him somewhere in Alliance Intelligence HQ, but I am not privy to that information. I only know about this at all, because I am supposed to be a backup contact for the operative.” He scooped up another forkful, but hesitated before he put it in his mouth. “It is possible Garret has been liquidated.”
Vance looked down at his own untouched plate. “No, I don’t think so.” His eyes panned up, focusing on Thoms. “Stark is too meticulous. He may need information or something else from Garret. He’ll keep him alive, at least as long as this masquerade continues.” After a brief pause he added, “Though once he accomplishes whatever he wants I suspect both Garret and the agent will find themselves buried in some swamp.” His face was impassive as always, but his voice betrayed a hint of sadness, a nuance noticeable only to someone more perceptive than Thoms. His thoughts were somber - Augustus Garret deserves better from the nation he’s served so well.
Vance was silent for a minute before he continued. “I need more information. Specifically, what is Gavin Stark up to with this imposter?”
Thoms looked up at him with a large mouthful of food, chewing quickly so he could answer. “I suspect he wants more effective control of the navy.” Thoms hadn’t managed to swallow everything he’d shoved into his head, just enough that he could speak intelligibly.
Vance sighed impatiently. “Thank you for that amazing insight. Is this why I’m paying you a not-so-small fortune every year?” He paused, staring right at Thoms for an instant before he continued. “Obviously, he wants control over the navy, but I want to know exactly what he wants to do with that. He knows he can’t keep a charade like this going indefinitely. Sooner or later a friend will visit Garret or he’ll meet with an officer who knows him well - something will blow the cover. And Alliance Intelligence can’t afford to get caught on this. The navy would go crazy.” He was thinking as he spoke, trying to imagine what his opposite in Alliance Intelligence was planning. “Stark knows there’s an expiration date on this scheme, so he must be planning specific operations he wants done soon.” He stared silently across the table as his own thought formed. “Or things he wants to keep the navy from interfering with.”
Thoms stared blankly across the table. “I don’t have that kind of access to Stark. How am I supposed to figure out what he’s trying to do?”
Vance’s eyes bored into Thoms’s. “You don’t get paid what you do because what your job is easy. I suggest you think of some type of business matter you need to discuss with the Naval Director. Perhaps you can get something out of this fake Garret.”
“That is a dangerous game.” Thoms’s expression had become nervous, tentative.
“You’re not paid because what you do is safe either.” Vance’s impatient expression turned predatory. “And your situation will still be less hazardous than if we lost our, ah, discretion about some of your activities. Wouldn’t you agree?” Vance generally lacked the malicious ferocity of his counterparts in the other Powers, but he disliked weasels like Thoms. They were a necessary evil in the trade, and he used them as he needed to…but he enjoyed making them squirm when he could.
Thoms looked over, weakly returning Vance’s gaze. “I will try to get what you want.” His voice was higher pitched, stressed.
“Try hard.” Vance scolded himself for enjoying this as much as he was. “And here…” He slid a data chip across the table. “This is an agreement to provide the ores GDL requires at an extraordinary good price. It should make you quite a hero in the company.” Vance frowned. “Another cost of this whole affair, and one I bear personally.”
Thoms reached over and took the chip. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, and he just nodded.
“Now I suggest you get an early start back. You have a lot of work to do.” Vance looked down at his plate. Business concluded, he wanted to eat…and he wanted to do it alone.
Thoms realized he’d been dismissed, and he got up quietly and walked toward the access tube with considerable regret for the half of his extraordinary lunch he was leaving behind. Tranquility deserved every bit of its reputation, he thought as he made his way through the main dining room and out into the corridor. “Now, how am I going to pull this off?” he muttered softly to himself.
Chapter 9
Planetary Assembly Hall
Arcadia (City)
Arcadia – Wolf 359 III
General Isaac Merrick walked across the polished granite floor of the Assembly Hall’s lobby, his footsteps echoing loudly off the high ceilings. The building was nothing compared to the government facilities in Washbalt or the other major cities of the Alliance, but he had to grudgingly acknowledge it was an impressive effort for a colony world. He knew from his briefing it was only a couple years old, yet somehow it looked as though it had been standing there for a century, massive and proud. Now it was scarred from battle and vanquished, the Arcadian colors that once flew from its pinnacle torn down, leaving only the Alliance flag flapping in the early fall breeze.
His troops had spent the last week securing the city of Arcadia, an effort which had proven to be more difficult than he’d expected. These colonists were tough and, even worse, determined. The few times he’d been called upon to suppress unrest on Earth all he’d had to do was fire a few shots and the protestors would panic and flee. But these Arcadians had decent weapons and they fought like hell. Whenever he beat down one group, another rose in its place.
Now that the city was secured he would use it as a base to move out and pacify the rest of the planet, a job he was approaching with trepidation. The Arcadians were not what he’d expected, not what conventional wisdom made them out to be. They were defiant and stubborn, and a significant number of them had combat experience. And what the hell did these fool colonists have in mind anyway, he wondered, naming their capital the same thing as the entire planet? Are they all crazy?
Merrick w
as glad, at least, to have solid ground under his feet again. He and his force had been unceremoniously loaded onto transport vessels and shipped out here, but they were Earth-based military, not those crazy Marines. They didn’t belong in space, a fact underscored by the prodigious amounts of vomit the ships’ maintenance crews had to clean up every time they went into freefall.
His troops had been sent here to back up the Federal Police who’d been attempting to assert control over the planet…with extremely limited success. Arcadia seethed with discontent; rebellion was in the air everywhere. The first series of arrests made by the police triggered a wave of terrorist attacks and ambushes of federal patrols. The police didn’t have the strength to deal with the situation, so Merrick’s soldiers were dispatched.
His orders were clear. Assume the military governorship of the planet, secure all installations of strategic significance, and disband the local militia and any armed colonists. He was also to determine if there was any truth to intelligence reports suggesting that the locals had secretly begun production of weapons and high tech gear without the knowledge of Alliance Gov. He was to seize any such facilities and arrest all involved. He hadn’t gotten any hard leads on weapons production, but based on the way the rebels were armed it was obvious they were getting guns from somewhere.
He had one other directive – to avoid trouble with the Marines if possible. The Corp’s officer training facility was on Arcadia, and he was to give them a wide berth. He’d already sent the commandant of the Academy his respects, along with his assurances that none of his forces would interfere with their operation. However, if the Marines intervened on behalf of the rebels, he was authorized the wipe the Academy off the map with an orbital nuclear strike. Stark himself had issued that last order, along with the assurance that Merrick could trust the naval forces supporting him.
