by Nick Webb
He was in a room. Small. A few more tables, some unfamiliar medical or technical instruments scattered on workbenches by the wall.
The strain was too much. He let his head fall back against the table, and just stared at the lights. Hours seemed to pass. Days? But when he lifted his head again he knew there were people in the room. Friendly people? Or enemies? It was all so hazy. The faces indistinct.
He fell asleep again, and when he awoke, he realized he could move his limbs—they were finally mobile. The pain had gone.
But he felt someone in the room behind him. He lifted his head to get a better look.
Chapter 17
The Waypoint, Near Sirius
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Captain Granger bolted upright in his bed, gasping, hands clutching at his chest. The tumors … the cancer … the wilting pain—was it back?
He breathed deeply. Then whirled around to glimpse the person he knew stood behind him.
But the room was empty. It was just his bedroom on the Warrior, after all. The nearest people were the two marines standing guard outside his quarters.
It was a dream. Just a dream.
But it seemed like more. It felt so … real. So immediate and tangible and….
He shook his head. Was it possible? Was he remembering his ordeal? His vacation, as gossip on board called it? The dreams were occurring with increasing regularity. Always the same. Always hazy and incomplete and distant, like he was watching a film through blurred glass.
But they were becoming clearer. They were becoming memory, not dream. Dammit, he had to remember what happened to him. He felt like their lives depended on it.
“Sir, just a few more q-jumps away from the coordinates,” said Ensign Prucha over the comm.
He shook his head again to clear it. “I’ll be there in a minute, Ensign. Thank you.”
There’d been no reason to change out of his uniform when he slept at night—there was never the need. The Swarm incursions happened with such regularity that he found it far more convenient to only change when he showered. And so minutes later he settled into his chair on the bridge as a yeoman brought him his morning coffee. Was it morning? He glanced at the clock and realized he’d only slept two hours.
The ISS Warrior snapped into existence in an unremarkable area of space, just two and a half lightyears away from Sirius. The star shone brightly on the viewscreen, easily the most luminous object visible. Granger cocked his head toward the sensor station.
“Anything?”
Ensign Diamond shook his head. “Nothing yet, sir.”
Granger stood up and nodded. “Very well. Looks like we wait.”
“Just like Avery. Always keeping people waiting,” said Proctor.
Granger eyed her wryly. “You don’t like her, do you?”
Proctor shrugged. “She’s my commander in chief. Doesn’t matter whether I like her or not.”
“But you didn’t vote for her.”
“I … decline to answer.” Proctor tapped her console and changed the subject. “Admiral Zingano should be here momentarily. He was going to make a brief pass through the Proxima System just to review readiness there, but that shouldn’t take him long.”
“We need all the time we can get to make these repairs.” Granger examined the reports on his command console. “How’s the hull repair coming?”
“The main hole on the bow has been patched. That blast took out two whole mag rail guns and a laser turret, so we’ll have to completely replace them. We’ve got a dozen of each in storage, but it’ll take crews a week to install them. The rest of the hull damage is lighter, but will still take us about a week.”
Granger shook his head. “Too long. We need to be on the move. The next engagement could come in a week or it could come tomorrow.”
“If we get in a fight tomorrow we may not last long, sir. Especially not if it’s thirteen Swarm carriers like today.”
She was right, dammit. They’d have to lay low for a bit, or at least choose their engagements more carefully. Nearly three weeks of almost daily skirmishes had taken their toll. In fact, they were due at Churchill Station in the Britannia Sector to pick up replacement fighters and pilots. The losses were harrowing: thirty-five more pilots gone, including their birds, along with some support staff that had been standing in the wrong place when that enemy bogey slammed into the fighter bay.
“We’ll try to keep a low profile the next few days. Besides, I think I have an idea about what we’ll be doing, and it hopefully won’t involve flying into the middle of large formations of Swarm ships.”
She nodded, and before she could question further, Ensign Diamond called out. “Sir, the Victory just q-jumped in.”
Ensign Prucha added, “Admiral Zingano on the horn, sir.”
“Patch him through.”
The admiral’s voice blared over the speakers. “Long time no see, Tim. Avery should be along any minute now. Had a few last minute meetings on Earth. You heard about the latest attempt on her life?”
Granger leaned forward. “No, I hadn’t. Who’s trying to kill her? Swarm? Do they have agents on Earth?”
“That’s what we’re trying to get to the bottom of. And that incident with the Dolmasi at New Dublin—well that just confirmed what we suspected. That the Swarm are able to manipulate and control. How the bastards do it as a damn puddle beats me, but Avery’s not leaving things to chance. She’s left the capital and is running things from a series of secret command centers.”
“Is it the Russians? Could they be controlled somehow?”
It was a dangerous question in a way. It reminded everyone that he, too, had been in some sort of mysterious contact with the Russians, during his disappearance. And if the Swarm could control, and if the Russians were under their influence, then he had to tread carefully—what if he were under their influence? It was unthinkable, but it was something to consider.
“Don’t know, Tim. We’ve made diplomatic progress recently with Malakhov to get more support with the war effort. At first they tried to pull the neutrality shit, but we reminded them of what happened last time they tried to sit out a war.”
Granger shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re thinking about trusting them.”
“Look around you, Tim. We’re in a bad place. We can use all the help we can get.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but I don’t have to like it.”
The arrival of Interstellar One and the two escort missile frigates interrupted them. The three ships blinked into place, the stately, sleek presidential ship hovering in between two equally sleek, but deadly-looking military vessels, packed to the teeth with weaponry. Granger knew they were basically mini-Constitutions, almost solid blocks of tungsten, but about one hundred times smaller and with a crew of fifty. The hulls were so thick and the mag rails so numerous that there was only room for that many. One captain and forty-nine gunners. The president took her safety seriously.
“Incoming transmission from the president’s ship, sir. Conference call to both us and Victory. Visual.”
“Patch it through.” Granger turned to the viewscreen and smiled at the two people who appeared. Fleet Admiral Zingano, and President Avery.
Except she looked odd. A little more haggard. A little different. Had she changed her hair? No, that wasn’t it.
“Admiral, Captain,” she nodded. “Shall we meet aboard the Victory?”
Admiral Zingano grunted. “Not quite finished building the ship yet, Madam President. We’ve got a hull and weapons and that’s about it. We’ll come to you.”
“Very well, Admiral. See you soon.” Her half of the screen blanked out.
Zingano gestured up at the screen. “She looks tired, don’t she?”
Granger raised an eyebrow at Zingano. “Tired? More like a different person. She needs to get out into the sunlight more.”
“So do we all. You’d look like an albino, Tim, if it weren’t for your scruff. Don’t you shave anymore?”
; Granger grumbled. “Been a busy week. Killing cumrats takes precedent over my grooming.”
The admiral chuckled. “Well, when this is all over I’ll have time to court martial you.” He thumbed to his side. “Come on. Let’s get over there.”
The image blinked out, replaced by a view of Interstellar One and its escorts.
And then the escort ship to the left of President Avery’s vessel exploded.
Chapter 18
Atlantic Ocean, Earth
Subsurface Presidential Bunker Eight
An actual, live, honest-to-god Swarm world. At least, that was what General Norton had claimed last night. The scout ships had found the impossible. An entire planet, imaged at a distance from the edge of its solar system. No resolution, of course, but spectrographic analysis indicated the definite presence of Swarm matter. Isaacson shuddered—at least that hypothesis was confirmed. The Swarm was in fact, liquid.
“More coffee,” he said absent-mindedly.
Conner jumped up and poured out another cup, and Isaacson paged through the stack of security reports his new contacts at the secret service had given him. Reams of paper detailing illegal activities among the staffs of several key senators, a few of which he knew very well from his many meetings with them planning Avery’s demise.
His own chief of staff, Hal Levin, sat across from him. Isaacson tossed him a piece of paper. “Look at that. Senator Quimby. The Service caught him embezzling campaign funds.”
“So?” Levin asked lazily, glancing over the paper. “Everyone does that.”
“Yes, but look at where the money came from. Avery’s own fundraising operation donated a sizable chunk toward his reelection. She thought she could sway him over on the Eagleton Commission decision. In return he not only voted against it, but spent her money on a new mansion in Hungary. Idiot.”
Levin scanned the paper while absentmindedly holding his mug out to Conner, who refilled it. “Quimby looks like he’s hit some hard times. Most of his businesses were folding even prior to the war, and now to add insult to injury they’ve drafted every single one of his kids. All five of them.”
Isaacson snorted. “His fault for having kids.” He sipped his coffee. Too hot. No sugar. Dammit, Conner. “Plus, everyone’s kids have been drafted.”
“Yes, but he’s a senator. He could’ve pulled strings.”
“True,” Isaacson said, spooning sugar into the coffee slowly, looking over the next document. “But they’ve been clamping down on that. It’s total war, Lev. No one’s exempt.” He stirred. “Where’d they get drafted to?”
Levin scanned the page. “One’s in IT production, three in IDF….”
“And the fifth?”
Levin turned the paper over, scanning. “Doesn’t say.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t say?” He snatched the paper from Levin and found the paragraph. Sure enough, it was very clear where four of the five children of Senator Quimby had been drafted to. But the fifth, the oldest, Quimby’s daughter that had just graduated … nothing.
“Maybe she hadn’t been assigned yet when they pulled the file?” Levin browsed through another stack of papers. “Tell me again what it is we’re looking for?”
“I told you,” Isaacson began with a sigh. “Someone’s trying to kill Avery. Someone on the inside. She wants me to help track the assholes down.”
“But doesn’t everyone hate the bitch? I mean, come on, Eamon, it could be just about anyone,” Levin said with a wry grin. Isaacson debated telling his chief about his involvement with Volodin and the Senate faction that wanted Avery out, but in spite of how much he trusted the man, that was one bit of information that needed to remain unspoken. Especially with Conner hovering.
He swiped the stack of papers aside in frustration. What the hell was he doing? He had to produce a few culprits for Avery, otherwise she’d suspect him. Which one to finger? Quimby? Senator Smith? Senator Patel? House Speaker LaPierre? Hell, he should just expose all of them and then start from scratch.
But in the background, underneath it all, Isaacson knew where to look: there was Volodin. What the hell was the man up to?
Damn. Dammit. “Conner,” he said, looking up. “We’re leaving. Pack my bags. Get yourself ready.”
The kid nodded. “When?”
“Now.”
Levin clucked his tongue. “Prison break? And just where do you think you’re going without Avery’s permission? She wants you in this bunker twenty-four seven. You’re only to be let out for the occasional troop inspection.”
“No, she just wants my location to remain unknown. The easiest way to do that is, of course, to stay here. But I can go wherever the hell I want.”
“And where do you think you’re going, Eamon?”
Isaacson stood up and pointed to the stack of papers, then motioned at his aide sitting over by the wall so that she’d put them away in the classified cabinet. She sprang to her feet.
“Moscow,” he said, halfway out the door.
Chapter 19
The Waypoint, Near Sirius
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Granger couldn’t believe his eyes. “Hard about! Get us clear of the blast!” He couldn’t tell what type of explosion it was—power plant failure, or capacitor bank overload. But if it was an anti-matter leak they needed to move. It looked bright enough for it.
The ship lurched as it accelerated away, and lurched again as the blast front washed over them. Granger bolted toward the tactical station and gripped Ensign Diamond’s shoulder. “What the hell was that?”
“Looking over sensor logs now, sir.” The man swiped through data and radiation image maps before glancing up. “Anti-matter leak in the engines. There was a gamma emission spike at reactor four right before the blast. Somehow all their anti-matter was injected all at once.”
Granger spun toward the comm station. “Get them back.”
A moment later Zingano and Avery reappeared on the screen, the admiral with a face of shocked anger and the president with her mouth still hanging open.
Only it wasn’t the president. It made sense now. He pointed at her. “You’re not Avery, are you?”
The woman slowly shook her head, still speechless.
Zingano punched his console, sending plastic shards flying, composite pieces cutting into his fist. “Shit!”
“I’m one of her doubles,” said the woman, who, on further inspection, looked less and less like Avery.
“Then where is the president?” Granger asked, knowing exactly what she’d say, but he still had to ask. It couldn’t be. How?
Their troubles were far deeper than he’d imagined.
“She was … she was on that ship, Captain….”
One of the president’s aides came on the screen, stepping in front of the double. Congresswoman Sparks. Avery had decided that having one of her aides be a member of congress would get her better access, contacts, and results in the petulant legislative body. “Captain, Admiral, can you explain this?”
“No, ma’am.” Zingano was picking pieces of the console out of his fist, still swearing.
Sparks buried her face in her palms. “Shit,” she said. Words seemed to be failing them all.
She looked back up. “Get over here. Both of you. It looks as though we have even more to discuss.”
Chapter 20
Moscow, Russia
Yuri Volodin’s Office, Diplomatic Complex
The flight over the Atlantic went quickly, and Conner seemed to have overcome his fear of flying—at least temporarily. Isaacson kept him busy with menial tasks and busywork. Something to occupy his mind so he wouldn’t focus on the clouds rushing by dozens of kilometers below at over ten times the speed of sound.
Landing in Moscow, half his secret service detail exited first, securing the path he’d take to the United Earth embassy. The last minute nature of his trip precluded finding any secure hotels or official government residences, and besides, he wanted to stay in a place where he knew not only tha
t he was being bugged, but exactly where the bugs were and who was doing the bugging.
“Take my things to the room, and get the usual ready for me.”
Conner nodded. “The usual?”
“Coffee, masseuse, some good Russian porn, and maybe a girl or two. Clean—I don’t want to catch anything. Go to Marco’s place—tell him I sent you. He has the best ones. Oh, and feel free to grab one for yourself—it’s on me.”
“Coffee?”
Isaacson rolled his eyes. “Right. The coffee’s on me. Go on, see you in a few hours.”
The secret service escorted him to the embassy just a short walk away, and from there he got in an embassy ground car that would take him to Volodin’s office downtown.
Moscow had changed since he’d started meeting with Volodin a year ago. Gone were all the western shops and vendors. Anti-United Earth hysteria had gripped the entire Russian Confederation during the past two months, or so his sources told him. Anyone who was not a Confederate citizen was not allowed to work, and many had been expelled. Why Confederate society was shunning United Earth citizens was beyond him. Maybe they felt that by distancing themselves from the west the Swarm might take it easier on them when they returned to Earth.
Fat chance.
The ground car pulled up to Volodin’s office, and the ambassador stood outside to receive him. “You’ve come back, my friend, my friend,” he said, greeting him with a firm handshake.
“Hello, Yuri. How’ve you been?” He let the ambassador lead him into the building. The three secret service officers followed close behind.
“Oh, you know. Just assisting President Malakhov with the war effort. While we’ve kept more of our freedoms than you people out west—no draft, for example—we’re still doing our part. Entire industries have been retooled and we’re even selling our surplus off to IDF to help out.”
