“The Solar Flare and its crew are wanted for trafficking in Authority space under more than one fake identity. Doesn’t matter how many false transponders we have, if the captain of all those ships shares striking similarities, they’ll put the pieces together. We change things around to weaken the trail. Rinko was the captain not long ago on a trip to Horus.”
“The ship never ran so smoothly,” Rinko asserted.
“But I won’t take chances in Balor. Kyla has the bridge whenever we’re accosted by customs or security agents. You do as she tells you, and I won’t brook dissent on that score.”
“Confederacy space is your territory.” Harun’s voice held an oddly capitulating tone, though perhaps he was finally willing to acknowledge the merits of an idea not belonging to him. “I can play second fiddle while we’re in public.”
“Third fiddle, as it happens. I’m Captain Moyaert’s first mate. You’re…whatever the hell you want.”
“We’ll revert to our previous arrangement once we return to interstellar spacelanes.”
“Wouldn’t want you to feel unneeded.”
Alexis unraveled her fingers from Rinko and lifted a hand. “I have a question.”
“For me or him?” asked Taylor, turning his gaze toward Harun.
“I’m not really sure. But the thought and its implications have bothered me since we left Tethra. What happened in that system to Clara’s squadron? Delbaeth didn’t need to shut down a listening post to keep their assault quiet. I can’t figure out a reason for being on Erimon at all. If anything they risked alerting your navy to a danger before invading. Why take that chance?”
“I wish I had the answers to your question,” answered Harun. “Flight Lieutenant Aylett, you mentioned you’d never encountered these hostiles before.”
Clara lifted her gaze from an untouched mug of coffee and struggled to focus, as though her eyes had trouble noticing details. “Huh?”
“The starfighters who ambushed your squadron. You’d never seen them before?”
The uncertainty vanished behind a wall of military competence, and Taylor wondered whether the reaction hurt Clara. She was forcing aside legitimate grief in an effort to remain stern and professional. It seemed terribly unfair.
“No, sir,” she clarified. “And our ship computers had nothing in their databases either. The hostiles were phantoms.”
“Were you able to gather useful information?”
“Trace amounts relating to velocity, maneuverability and weapons systems. All the data is stored in my flight helmet’s archives. I’ll provide authorization protocols for you.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Harun remarked.
Clara slumped deeper into the chair and pulled her blanket tighter around both shoulders. “They weren’t Delbaethi.”
“I’m sorry?”
“I don’t believe those starfighters came from Delbaeth, sir. We’d have known about their development, or at least heard rumors. Starfighter Command has schematics for every starship in Delbaeth’s arsenal smaller than an assault frigate. And they don’t have anything like what I saw.” Clara waved her hand in Alexis’ direction. “The blonde girl is right. If we’d escaped the ambush, it would’ve put our entire military on high alert. Delbaeth wouldn’t commit such a foolish mistake after every other aspect caught us so wholly unprepared.”
“Do you have a hypothesis for where they came from?”
“No, sir.”
“Then we’ll avoid basing assumptions on estimations and hunches,” Harun affirmed. “Our priority remains reaching Milesian Station without further incident.”
Taylor unfolded his arms and glanced at their navigator. “Alexis, chart us a course to Balor. Preferably one that doesn’t swing us too close to a Confederacy world. We don’t need the additional scrutiny these days. Rinko, you have eight days to guarantee our false identifications are infallible.”
“They are,” she promised.
“Then you’ll have no difficulty going over them twice more. No half-measures or complacency on this venture, folks. Our margin for error is the slimmest we’ve known. Make the first chance count, because we won’t be getting a second one.”
Chapter 8
A stunning medley of colors resolved to distant stars as the luxury starliner Dreamscape exited faster-than-light travel and arrived in the Heliades. Winston Vanderlin reclined in his private cabin and sipped brandy from a snifter, observing traffic in the congested star system through an expansive glass viewport. Freighters, shuttles and passenger starships cruised in designated staging areas, monitored by ubiquitous warships from the Confederacy Ascendant Starfleet.
The Dauntless-class super-dreadnought Gagarin blotted out a section of stars and Winston watched while a squadron of starfighters launched from its ventral hangar bay and performed maneuvers in a tight formation. The kilometer and a half long battleship bristled with cannon emplacements along its sleek hull, interrupted only by the command tower midway down its length. Razor-straight wings extended from the stern engine compartment in four directions, each the length of an assault frigate and mounted with additional maneuvering thrusters.
Turning away from the vista, Winston glanced at a mirror adorning one wall and leaned closer wearing a frown. Subtle wrinkles etched the skin around his eyes like unwanted cracking in a building’s foundation. Winston scowled at the unbecoming reflection and tapped a button on his chair arm with one thumb.
“Evie?”
His personal virtual intelligence shimmered to life on one screen in a haze of iridescent violet and soft blue. “How may I be of service, Mr. Vanderlin?”
“Schedule an appointment for telomerase therapy with Dr. Aboukir on my return to Turan. I won’t tolerate the unseemly sight of wrinkles.”
“At once, sir. Your assistant has also sent a message to confirm he succeeded in booking the Tarchon Banquet Hall for your upcoming one hundredth birthday celebration. Invitations will be distributed tomorrow.”
The occasion was still two years away, though the most coveted and exclusive banquet halls catered to its clientele long in advance. Winston also spent his life among the rarefied elite of humanity, and their social calendars were notoriously overcrowded. Fortunately few dared to earn his displeasure. His invitees would all no doubt respond positively and attend regardless of personal commitments. Many viewed such occasions as an opportunity to petition him for favors and seek to win his patronage. He would need his wits to be sharp that night, and reveled in the thought of adroit sparring matches denied to him on a regular basis. Hungry vultures would be especially prevalent for a momentous birthday milestone, clutching at the scraps he deigned to offer his supplicants.
“Excellent,” Winston said.
The viewport to his right brightened with fiery orange and engulfed his vision, until the tempered surface darkened to compensate and the intensity softened.
“Communication signal received from the bridge,” Evie noted.
“Put it through.”
A private screen materialized in the cabin, displaying his pilot as she navigated the Stella-Astrum Consortium RX-964 corporate starliner Dreamscape. “We’ve entered lower Jiaolong orbit, Mr. Vanderlin. Estimated time to arrival is fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you, Margaery.”
She reached beyond the camera and flicked a switch. “Weather conditions are ideal. You can move about your cabin if you wish.”
“I do, indeed. Perhaps one final drink before we land.”
“I’ll let you know when we touch down in Alishan.”
Her image faded and Winston unbuckled his seat restraints, crossing the cabin to a cabinet. He selected a fine red wine cultivated in the vineyards on Inari Okami and poured vivid crimson from the decanter to his crystal glass. Sniffing the fragrant drink, he stood at his viewport and watched various craft numbering in the thousands gather on assigned vectors in an orderly fashion. Margaery piloted their starliner past these vessels without hindrance, causing more than one enviab
le stare he suspected.
Starships landing on Jiaolong typically waited an hour or longer before receiving clearance to approach, though Winston held priority arrival status and did not need to pass through customs and immigration. Nor was he subjected to laws governing search and seizure, an immunity normally reserved only for parliamentarians and diplomats.
Gentle clouds parted beneath the Dreamscape and revealed the glittering cites of Jiaolong, capital for the Authority of Confederate Systems and home to the six hundred-member Parliament. One of five habitable worlds in the sprawling Heliades system, Jiaolong was the wealthiest and most populous planet in the Astraea Cluster, dwarfing any two other worlds combined in both categories. Skyscrapers ascended kilometers above a surface of cobalt seas and snow-capped mountain peaks, their silver exteriors reflecting sunlight as though a carpet of jewels.
As Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of the Board for Triaxus Corporation, the largest mining and manufacturing company in existence, Winston Vanderlin considered relocating his head offices to Jiaolong. Yet Triaxus originated on Turan from humble beginnings, and Winston wanted to honor that legacy. Though Triaxus owned numerous facilities on Jiaolong and possessed exclusive rights to mine on the Qu Yuan continent, his company remained among the few with a head office elsewhere.
His private starship passed beneath the highest structures and descended alongside airspeeder traffic crisscrossing between residential penthouses and commercial towers. Margaery guided their vessel toward a landing pad jutting from the two hundred and sixty-eighth floor of one complex and decelerated at such a smooth rate that the final mouthful of wine in his glass scarcely shifted. Winston felt a slight reverberation through his legs when their extended landing struts made contact.
A red light illuminated on one screen and Winston signaled to receive the incoming communication.
“Yes, Margaery?” he asked.
“The Honorable Minister for Trade and Development has arranged for an airspeeder to collect you after disembarking. Ms. Sima is awaiting you in her office.”
“Tell her I’ll be arriving on time.”
“At once, sir.”
Winston finished his drink, placed the glass on a counter and fastened the gold cufflinks on his sleeves. A brief glance in the mirror confirmed his jet black hair remained immaculate and no unnoticed blemishes marred his navy suit. He exited the private cabin and found his Vice-President of Operations waiting alongside two security officers.
Alessandro Caravallo wore an unreadable expression that confounded and infuriated those wishing to determine his mood through facial cues and body language. Privy to all the negotiations and dealings Triaxus conducted, Alessandro was a trusted confidante and essential partner who long ago earned the right to help manage the corporation’s affairs, whether legitimate business ventures or otherwise.
“Our transportation awaits, Mr. Vanderlin.”
Winston tightened his tie and smoothed the collar. “Time to secure the future of Triaxus.”
*
Winston was ushered through mahogany doors into Sima Jiaying’s sprawling office, decorated with abstract statuary and meticulously trimmed bonsai trees. Polished wooden floors lined the chamber, while a bank of windows on the far side overlooked the sprawling city of Alishan.
Jiaying stood in front of one window, staring at airspeeders passing in a tapestry of colors. “My people tell me you have a human pilot. I thought all business leaders of your stature preferred automated systems.”
“A human can’t be hacked or reprogramed,” responded Winston.
“Our sole immunity,” she conceded. “I do not know your companion, Mr. Vanderlin.”
“This is Alessandro Caravallo, Triaxus’ Vice-President of Operations.”
“Is his involvement in this warranted?”
“You’ve trusted my judgment this far.”
“That I have, and to my benefit. Mr. Caravallo may remain.”
Jiaying removed her gaze from the window and paced across marble tiles, beckoning with one hand toward a rectangular arrangement of black and gray couches positioned between slender columns. Unlike most individuals in an era of unsurpassed technological achievement, when a centenarian could resemble university graduates, Jiaying chose to let traces of gray creep into her hair and for the faintest imperfections to touch her cheeks and forehead. She wanted peers and adversaries alike to know of her experience, along with the decades of service she had devoted to the Confederacy. No one was permitted to undervalue her seniority or mistake her contributions.
Winston and Alessandro claimed a couch opposite the Minister for Trade and Development, whose scarlet blazer contrasted vividly with her black furniture and the silver-white cityscape beyond.
“Delbaeth launched a planetary invasion against Elatha yesterday,” Jiaying announced. “Our media conglomerates will learn of these details by this evening, at which point all citizens of the Confederacy will become aware.”
Winston felt a flash of exhilaration course through his veins as the culmination of their machinations was realized. Those quarrelsome, obstinate independent worlds were finally at war with one another, beginning the next phase in Winston’s ambitious strategy.
“What about Parliament?” inquired Alessandro.
“Our membership knows of the war,” Jiaying answered. “I requested an emergency session for tomorrow morning, during which we’ll discuss what can be done about the conflict. Eventually I’ll petition for a motion to dispatch Authority warships to the Tuatha system.”
“Many in the Confederacy will not want to be drawn into an independent war,” Winston noted. “Are you certain you have enough votes to carry the motion?”
“The influence I hold in my voting bloc will be sufficient, though I’ve taken great pains to ensure the margin is close. My allies and clients will carry the day without appearing too ambitious or eager, and the navy will commence preparations to deploy a token force.”
“What will their mandate be?”
“To monitor the conflict from orbit around Ollathair, the system’s sixth planet. They will be under strict orders not to engage, but to submit an offer for mediation and ensure the conflict does not spread to Confederacy space.”
Alessandro crossed his legs and rested one arm on a knee. “Should we risk sending a proposal to arbitrate at all? If either belligerent accepts, you run the risk of derailing our strategy and failing to trigger the War Measures Act.”
“You forget the degree to which independent worlds distrust our government. Delbaeth and Elatha will not accept mediation unless all other avenues were exhausted, and they’d be more likely to request another independent planet act as intermediary rather than us. The offer we’ll submit is no more than a pretense, to cast the illusion of our sincerity in concluding hostilities. I have every faith it will be declined or ignored.”
“Do you have a candidate in mind to lead the force?” Winston questioned.
Jiaying regarded one fingernail and flicked a speck of grime from its glossy surface. “Captain Letourneau, a promising officer now holding her first command. Her task force is conveniently stationed near Arinna at the edge of the Tasian Sector, closer than any other Confederacy vessels. She also has a clean service record untainted by scandal, misdemeanor or insubordination. No one will question her report when it arrives.”
“Is she on your payroll?”
“No. She’s an idealist, regrettably ill-suited to bribery or coercion.”
“Would it not be better to dispatch an officer who owes their allegiance to us?”
“Those most susceptible to blackmail and intimidation are also prone to committing misconduct elsewhere. I needed an officer whose career is pristine and whose word will never be in doubt. Though we cannot control Captain Letourneau’s decisions, we can anticipate her reactions. It is for the best this way.”
“I’ll trust your expertise,” Winston conceded.
“What of Echo Flotilla?” questioned Jiaying. “D
id construction proceed on schedule?”
“Ahead of schedule, as it happens. Training exercises for the pilots and bridge crews were conducted recently, and the fleet is readying for travel. Our staging area will be Magh Tuireadh, the closest system to Tuatha not claimed by either Delbaeth or Elatha. I’ve had squadrons of our latest Berserker-class starfighters carefully probing defenses in neighboring systems and feel confident Echo Flotilla won’t be detected when it arrives.”
“You’d better hope not.” Jiaying leaned back on the couch and neatly folded both hands in her lap. “We’ve discussed my contributions in our mutually beneficial endeavor, but what of yours? My bid for the position of chancellor will be a prohibitively expensive campaign.”
“Your war chest will receive anonymous donations from several thousand unaffiliated sources in the coming weeks.”
“They’ll raise no red flags with Internal Revenue?”
“The shell corporations were all conceived with care. They have the appearance of brokerage firms, charitable foundations, trust companies. Donations will also come from a range of wealthy and concerned citizens employed by Triaxus and other legitimate corporations who believe in your vision. These citizens are of course fictional, but they won’t cause suspicion. I daresay you’ll have the funds to launch any campaign you want.”
“Finances are only one element in this game. My sources tell me no less than eight other parliamentarians are considering bids for the chancellorship. Six lack enough support among their peers and do not concern me, but the other two could pose a problem.”
“Who are they?”
“Andronico Balotti, President of the Treasury Board, and Jeong Seo-hyeon, Speaker of the House. Both are admired politicians and veterans of Parliament. Their support will be considerable. It would be most timely if they were removed from the board.”
“Political assassination is a dangerous request, even for a person of your stature.”
“I make no such request, Mr. Vanderlin. Opponents can be eliminated as threats without bloodshed. Whispered rumors of financial indiscretion can be deadlier than any blade. Consider the political fallout if a parliamentarian were found to have dealings with a particular corporation before they voted to grant favorable concessions to that same business.”
Outriders Page 11
