Trail of Evil

by Travis S. Taylor

  “Yes, sir,” DeathRay added. “We force them from a ball to a bowl and the fight breaks down into a close-quarter knife fight. The tankheads and AEMs would love that.”

  Alexander understood the mecha jock lingo and it was in essence his point. And perhaps that was the key to space navy battles. One needed to maximize the benefit of being in a ball or bowl type engagement. Moore filed that for further thought.

  “The other piece, sir?” Nancy asked.

  “Well, the Persians found a secret pass around the bottleneck and sent an overwhelming force to sneak in behind the smaller force. The Spartans were trapped between two larger forces in a perfect kill box,” Moore explained. “So, how the hell do we set that up against an overwhelming and technologically superior force? How do we create a bottleneck in space? How do we lure the enemy into it? And how do we find a secret passage around the bottleneck to trap them in a kill box?”

  “Well, sir,” DeathRay pondered out loud. “They don’t have QMTs. There’s our secret passage right there. We can outrun them anywhere. We can go three light-years in a second. Using the jaunt speeds, the Chiata can only travel about a seventh of an AU per second. It would take them about seven seconds to go from Sol to Earth or between Earth and Mars, for example. And to go all the way out to the Oort Cloud at that speed would take about five to six days.”

  “That is brilliant, Boland.” Nancy was impressed by her husband. “Our QMT snap-back and sling-forward algorithms would certainly give us a serious advantage there even if we were outgunned.”

  “This is very important,” Alexander rolled strategies and tactics around in his mind for a brief instant. His years of combat experience and military training were coalescing into at least the spark of a strategy for their initial target. “We need to get the seniors into a strategy meeting and flesh this out. I want to include Madira and whoever her seniors are as well. Hold one.”

  Alexander held a hand up and thought to his AIC. Abby, set up a full on strategy and battle planning session with the seniors from CDC, the bridge, and air and ground segments. Have the Chief of Staff send an invite for the Madira and her counterparts to attend. No later than twelve hundred tomorrow.

  Yes, sir.

  “You two, keep thinking on this.”

  “We will, sir.” Jack replied to them both.

  “We also need to think of this as a long-term engagement with a bunch of rapid short-term ones. I doubt there will ever be time to get ground down in a long-term infantry fight like on Mars,” DeathRay added. “Do we believe we could ever hold a hill, sir?”

  “I don’t know, Jack. I just don’t know.” Moore stood and adjusted his UCU top. “Thanks for the hospitality. But I think I need to think on this even more. We need a very sound plan before I can go to the White House with this. Keep at it, you two.”

  “Sir,” Nancy stopped him before he could QMT back to the Madira II.

  “Yes?”

  “Have you considered Sienna Madira’s request to man the fleet with her AI clones? We could really improve the numbers game and I’d like to have a minimal crew over here.” Nancy said.

  “I think it is time we address that elephant in the room,” Moore said. Her being a civilian made it difficult for him to order her to do anything. Her not being a military fleet captain but in charge of a fleet ship added even more issues. On top of that, now the ship would seriously be needed for combat and she was wanting a military crew. Moore wasn’t sure what to do about it. “I think we need to consider having a military captain for this ship.”

  “This is my ship, sir. And with all due respect, sir. This is my ship.” Nancy stood. She didn’t take her gaze from Moore. He knew she would react this way, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter.

  “It would be different if you had some previous military training in your background that we could point to. But, as it stands . . .” Moore shrugged. “I’m at a loss. I know I promised you this ship and the fleet when we were finished with them, but you must see that we need every weapon we can grasp our hands around right now.”

  “Sir, what was the first order that you as president signed following the end of the Seppy War?” Nancy asked him.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Moore was growing impatient, but he also knew that Nancy did things almost as planned-out as Sienna Madira had. She was up to something.

  “The first major order you signed, sir?”

  “It’s in the history books, Nancy. You know it as well as almost everyone does.” Moore was confused about where she was going with this. “The Tau Ceti Accords. That is the first thing I signed into law upon my return to the White House.”

  “Yes, sir. And what did TCA 45678.22 say, sir?” she asked, still standing and still staring him down.

  “Uh, 45678.22,” he paused.

  Abby?

  Tau Ceti Accords line 45678.22 put into law the joining of the Separatist military with the U.S. Military, sir. Specifically, it brought any current enlisted, warrants, or officers into the military with full rank and privilege to the same or an equivalent if they desired and could find a job. Otherwise, the provision allowed for full honorable discharge from their equivalent rank and all rights and responsibilities accompanied with them.

  Right, I got it. Moore thought. Thanks.

  “I can see from the expression on your face that you have consulted Abigail and that you know the provision I’m addressing?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes, I do, but I’m not certain how this applies,” Moore said.

  “Allison, upload the specifics of the last five years of my mission on Tau Ceti to Abigail, please,” Nancy said. “Sir, please note that the upload is an official mission brief as submitted and filed upon my return to Sol space. The mission documents are available if you need to verify them.”

  “Okay, stop.” Moore didn’t have to go through all of this. He trusted Nancy with his life. Even more, he had trusted her with his daughter’s life on several occasions. “Just cut to the chase. I trust you dotted the I’s and crossed the T’s.”

  “Very well, sir. As my last mission on Tau Ceti before the rescue of your daughter from Elle Ahmi, I was Separatist Navy Mecha Pilot Ensign Bella Penrose of the Separatist Nation Contingent, New Tharsis Division. The Separatist records show I was trained in military flight school and was commissioned as such. After the battle at Tau Ceti, Bella was assumed MIA and likely KIA and was posthumously given the rank of lieutenant junior grade. As that was over twenty years ago, my service and record should have been corrected and updated to present military status. From considerations of back pay and other promotion potential being missed, sir, I estimate that I should be at a minimum the rank of Navy commander if not captain, sir. I could also point to other missions where I was other military ranks as well. I’ve been trained, sir. I can do the job.”

  “No shit.” Alexander couldn’t help but laugh. He had signed the law himself that would let him slay his elephant. If she wanted it slain. “Nancy, are you asking to have your rank reverted and to be activated?”

  “This is my ship, sir. Nobody is taking it from me. If I have to take a Navy rank to help you complete the mission I promised I’d see through with you and your family, then that is what I will do, sir.” Nancy said.

  “Nancy, are you sure you want to do that?” DeathRay looked at the two of them. Moore could tell by his expression that he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Alexander wasn’t concerned if Nancy could soldier up or not. He’d been with Nancy in a fight and she was damned good at it on the ground, in a suit, in mecha, hell, anywhere. But Nancy was a free spirit, a lone wolf. Alexander’s biggest concern was if she would take orders.

  “If it is what I have to do to keep this ship as mine and to see this invasion through, then that is what I will do.” Nancy was serious, dead serious, and Moore could see it in her face.

  “We’ll make it happen.” Moore smiled and then tapped his wristband. “Thank you for the hospitality. I’ll see the
two of you tomorrow at noon.” The room flashed and buzzed, and he was gone.

  Deanna was glad to have a few moments off. She had been wargaming and flying maneuvers pretty much around the clock since they had entered the 61 Ursae Majoris system. The SEAL, on the other hand, had been mostly hanging out with AEMs discussing tactics for fighting on asteroids, Kuiper Belt objects, comets, and moons. Mostly, he had nothing to do. Dee had seen to it that he had plenty to do, to her, for the previous hour or so. Their time together had been both physically demanding and relaxing. For the most part they both had just needed to be there for each other. The past month of devastating injuries and recovery and then back to mission business as usual had made the two of them even more dependent and familiar with each other.

  Deanna was sitting up and leaning against Rackman’s strong Navy SEAL shoulders and unconsciously rubbing his chest with her right hand. The two of them were in bed looking out the portal in her quarters at the myriad of mecha gyrating and spinning about the fleet. Her grandmother—who nobody knew was her grandmother but “family”—had deployed her entire system navy out to their original rendezvous location. There were seventy naval vessels, with more than thirty of them supercarrier class. Others were frigates and scouts used for smaller, faster, and more tactical activities. Her father had brought in the rest of the fleet from the outer base. Presently, the 61 UM system was a flurry of activity with over a hundred ships moving about and learning how to fly with each other. The number of mecha swarming the larger ships seemed uncountable.

  The AICs of the 61 UM system and the master-slave system on the Penzington fleet ships, as they had been calling them, made the multiple-fleet ship orchestration simpler than it sounded. Dee watched it all with amusement and amazement. There was something very Zen about it all. It was a cacophony of motion, like the ballet, only with the potential to be much more violent. And to Deanna Moore, it was much more exciting and beautiful.

  “I was offered a promotion, Dee,” Rackman said out of the blue. They had been mostly quiet basking in the afterglow of lovemaking and watching mecha. The sudden talk disrupted Dee’s mellow contemplation of it all.

  “What? A promotion? About time. When do you get pinned on?” Dee said, only half paying attention to him. She was paying more attention to the energy lines the AI clone-driven mecha were making compared to the ones with human pilots. She was tracking them in her DTM mindview. The clones seemed to pull the curves tighter and push the reverses faster. It was almost as if they could handle more g-load than the standard mecha jock. One of the Maniacs, Popstar according to her DTM tracker, was dead to rights bullseyed by two of the clones but then she did a Fokker’s feint. The mecha went to bot mode and then looked as if it had passed out, falling head over heels, all the while rolling about its body axis. Once the mecha turned upside down to face the two clones on its six, Dee could see the cannon in the mecha’s hands tracking the two clone fighters. They quickly dispersed in opposite directions at g-loads that must have been crushing. Somehow, Dee noted from the Red force tracker, the two were not hit and managed to get away. She made a mental note to herself that she needed to think on her attack strategies to allow for those types of maneuvers.

  What if the Chiata can fly like that? she thought.

  I will begin running some response tactic simulations, Dee, her AIC responded.

  Good. Tie DeathRay and Candis in on that as well.

  Will do.

  “Tomorrow, when I report to my new station,” Davy said. That got Dee’s attention. A new station meant somewhere else other than the Madira. Her father must have had something to do with it.

  “Where!” Dee said. The Zenness had gone now. Her attention was fully on Rackman. Anger was slowly starting to percolate. “Daddy did this.”

  “Maybe he did.” Rackman added, “But I’m gonna take it.”

  “You didn’t anser my question. Where?” Deanna turned and looked him in the eye. If she had to, she’d go toe-to-toe with her father if this was some ploy to separate the two of them.

  “I was asked to be Mrs. Penzington’s XO. She’s a tough sheila. It’ll be fun.” He smiled as best he could at Dee. She could tell it was a tough choice for him to make, but as things presently were situated she could pop over to Nancy’s ship anytime.

  “She’s not military,” Dee replied. “Why does she need an XO? And, you’re a SEAL, what the hell do you know about being XO of a supercarrier?”

  “She is captain of her ship. And she requested that she be given a crew to fight alongside the rest of the fleet,” Davy said. “And, hell, I grew up in Sydney, mate. I lived on sailboats, that’s why I went into the Navy. I like boats. I was nav on a frigate before I got accepted into BUDS. I’ll do fine with or without your overwhelming confidence in me.”

  “Uh, yeah, well, who knew?” Dee looked at Davy. She hadn’t really thought about what he was before he was a SEAL and before they had met. She realized that they had been together a long time but she had never really opened up to him and gotten to know him. “If it is what you want to do then I guess it makes sense. I’m still surprised that Nancy is going to be captain of a military crew.”

  “Well, I think there will be some sort of announcement tomorrow about her military status. At least she hinted at such when she spoke with me this evening while you were still out flying.” Dee was surprised. She thought she knew everything the “family” was doing. But she had been working hard and had been out of touch. In fact, she and Jack had only talked flying over the past several days. Dee realized that she had no idea what was going on with him and Nancy at the moment.

  “Hmm, sounds like an unusual move for her. You would think I would have heard before you would have.” Dee nudged him a bit and resituated herself against his chest. “We’re kind of, well, close. She’s like my big sister, sort of.”

  “Maybe not. You’ve been flying so much lately that I hardly have gotten to see you. And, I just got these orders a few hours ago.” Rackman ran his fingers through her hair gently. Deanna truly enjoyed the feel of his hands ever so softly tugging at her long, straight black hair like a coarse comb. There was something about the warmth of his hands and the firmness of his body against her that she would never be tired of.

  “Well, who knows, maybe she was military before we were born or something. You never know with people, especially those who’ve been undercover spies most of their lives.” Dee purred softly and melted deeper against Rackman’s firm chest. “I’ll find out when I’m supposed to, I guess. That’s how my father arranges things. For now, I’m off duty for ten more hours. I just want to lie here and, uh, meditate with you, for a while.”

  Chapter 39

  June 6, 2407 AD

  61 Ursae Majoris

  31 Light-years from the Sol System

  Tuesday, 9:35 PM, Expeditionary Mission Standard Time

  “There is something kind of Zen about it, wouldn’t you agree, sir?” Firestorm said quietly to Alexander as he looked across the hangar turned briefing room at the sea of senior officers from the U.S. Fleet and the equally large group of AIC-controlled clones from the 61 UM Navy. The executive officer of the U.S.S. Sienna Madira II stood beside General Moore flanking his right while the leader of the clones and bots stood next to him on his left. On the front row sat Vice Admiral Walker and her bridge crew and seniors.

  Moore could see his daughter sitting amongst the mecha jocks. DeathRay was sitting next to her. U.S. Navy Captain Nancy Penzington sat beside him. Lieutenant Commander Davy Rackman, her XO, sat beside her. The AEMs lined the back of the room all centered about Lieutenant Colonel Francis Jones and Master Gunnery Sergeant Suez right behind him. The Army teams were just in front and to the left of the Marines. Brigadier General Mason Warboys sat in front of the Army tankheads and behind him flanked the Warlords.

  There was little talking for that many people to be sitting and waiting. This was a sign of discipline, perhaps, Moore thought. Or more likely, an air of urgency and intensity in th
e room. There was certainly permission tension and jitters being dealt with by all. Moore was certain he could have heard a pin drop when the sizzling sound started and then white light flashed on the makeshift stage.

  “Attention!” Firestorm commanded. “Ladies and Gentlmen, the President of the United States of the Sol System.”

  The buzzing and sizzling sound of bacon subsided and President Rene Upton stood before them, flanked by Secret Service guards on either side. She looked across the room and then turned to Moore and shook his hand. She then turned to Sienna Madira and looked as if she had seen a ghost. Then she shook the former president’s hand as well. Moore found the uncomfortable motion of the president almost humorous. If she only knew that not only was this the revered and thought-long-dead president, but that she was also the most hated terrorist in human history, he wondered how she would react. But as it stood, the Moores and Madira herself had managed to fabricate a history leaving out the fact that she had been Elle Ahmi. In fact, they used Elle Ahmi as part of the story. Madira had been thought to be killed by one of Ahmi’s terrorist attacks, so they used that as an excuse for Sienna Madira to take to the stars and begin secretly stealing technology from both sides of the war to prepare for the pending invasion that only she knew was coming. The story held up well. Madira was good at creating stories to cover the truth. She’d been doing it for centuries. Moore and his family managed to create just the right amount of cover where they needed to. This meant that Madira, Sehera, and Deanna had to be careful about calling each other by family monikers like mother, grandmother, daughter, and granddaughter. For now, Moore was glad that the cover story was solid. Humanity had more to be concerned with right than a checkered and very bloody skeleton in its closet.

  President Upton raised an eyebrow at Alexander as if to ask if they were ready for her. He nodded and motioned toward the microphone. Then she turned to the podium and cleared her throat with a light grunt.