The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1)

by Sicoe, Veronica

  Commander Kempton considers his reply carefully. "A few well organized accidents at this stage are much better than martyrdom, sir. Not to mention cheaper. And the frail balance of ideologies in my colony remains untouched." He drops his stern mask. "I'm not eager to create a second Maican, sir."

  Franco Zhang Maican, the biggest thorn in the TMC's side. Hurst was still a lieutenant when Maican shocked the Confederacy with an open revolt against the Trust Military Corps. How he'd managed to rile up so many people—five million civilians, and quite a handful of influential TMC internals—was beyond comprehension. The TMC's set up contingents near every colony since and Hades became the largest TMC headquarters outside of Alpha Centauri.

  Hurst glares at the eager young man on his projector. Career dogs are precision tools, always careful not to make mistakes and thus perfectly suited to deal with 'delicate matters.' This specimen has a sense of politics, too. The commander reminds Hurst somewhat of himself, though he was already a colonel at that age. He'd long understood that politics brings temporary power, while the military is long-lived.

  Hurst nods at him. "I want you to deal with Preston quickly and quietly then, before he becomes a threat. Root out his network as well."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Inform the local governor that she is temporarily overruled in this matter. What's her name...?"

  "Juliana De Luca, sir."

  "Yes. Just tell her we're one step short of declaring martial law, and she'll cooperate quietly. You'll command all of Erano's forces, military and civil. Eliminate Preston and anyone he's contacted planetside. Use the Razers if you have to. Is that clear?"

  Kempton's eyes widen at the mention of Razers. "Yes, sir."

  "I'll hear from you again when you're ready to report your results." Hurst prepares to cut the connection.

  "Sir, one moment."

  "What?"

  "I have another matter to discuss. Several of our planetary surveillance drones in the Tau Ceti system have failed to send in their data. They seem to have been disabled."

  "What? Why the hell didn't you tell me that first?" Hurst leans forward. He takes another look at the commander. While he was assessing Kempton, the commander must have assessed him as well, checking whether he could trust him with this information. Hurst isn't sure if he should be furious or impressed.

  "All seven drones are in orbit around Maza, sir," Kempton says. "They'd normally send a surveillance report every thirty hours. They failed to do so two standard days ago. The technicians already checked the com; it's fine. Sometime within the last seventy-two hours something must have happened to the drones."

  Hurst tenses up. "Was it the Klackers?"

  "The cause is still unknown, sir." The commander looks lost for a moment, then his stern mien returns. "I can deploy a Milvus warship to Tau Ceti immediately. Fully armed."

  "How soon will it get there?"

  "Two standard days."

  "Good. Send it in hot. I want every bug on that rock accounted for." Hurst taps his foot nervously. "Anything else?"

  "No, sir."

  "Dismissed."

  The connection cuts out and Hurst flexes his neck and cracks his shoulders. A headache looms on the horizon, threatening to ruin the vague sense of accomplishment he's had from Begum's experiments with the Cyans.

  But this is much more pressing. Tau Ceti is his turf. His system. Those damn Klackers should be groveling under the moon's crust, not attacking orbital drones.

  Except... they couldn't have done it. Something else is going on. Maybe sabotage, maybe a full-fledged attack. Maybe even the Syndicate. Preston's appearance on San Gabriel can't be an accident, that's for sure. Nothing's accidental with terrorists. And the timing's too perfect. What if he's gotten things moving in more than one system?

  Commander Kempton needs to get things under control fast. If he so much as hesitates, Hurst will be breathing down his neck in person. He'd much rather be there himself. But he still has that blasted resource acquisition chart to complete. Three more systems to go. Feels more like thirty. He can't spend the next two months scanning rocks when terrorists are regrouping in TMC space and aliens are shooting down his drones!

  Aliens...

  Could the strange ship his swarms detected during the Cyan attack be involved in this? Have they flown to Tau Ceti?

  Hurst's headache is in full bloom now.

  He dials Level Seven and asks for the best IT technician to come in for an off-record data altering operation. That acquisition chart will have to do with a fake completion report. Hurst has more important things to take care of.

  -

  Commander Edric Kempton studies a 3D map of San Gabriel and Hades rotating over his tactical desk. He has fifty-four Milvus ships at his disposal, currently spread throughout the system. Thirteen Falcons are in cislunar space, overlooking the Confederate traffic to and from San Gabriel. He can send one of those to Tau Ceti. It should be enough. A few dysfunctional drones are no reason to be as paranoid as General Hurst.

  His first lieutenant commander, Graziano Bosco, studies the hologram with him, frowning at the patchwork of buildings and streets.

  Kempton straightens up. "Hurst wants me to smoke out Preston and 'exterminate' him. Think he's that dangerous?"

  "Hm." Bosco streaks his fingers over the projector, spinning the city around. He picks up the desk's mobile command console and highlights several shapes on the map. "We have seventeen hubs and ninety-three surveillance towers. Only fifty towers are manned and functional at the moment. The rest are inactive, damaged, or dismantled. We have to reactivate them, but manning them won't be enough. Need to upgrade the tech too, and order a full-spec check of all com relays and surveillance equipment, city-wide."

  Kempton frowns at his tactical officer. "Are you sure that's necessary?"

  "Terrorists are no trivial issue. Not here."

  "But is this man really a threat to us?"

  Bosco stares at Kempton from underneath his bushy eyebrows, making him slightly uncomfortable.

  "I mean, we've only got intel on a wanted individual entering the city and contacting old friends. Isn't Hurst overreacting a little, thinking of an impending full-fledged terrorist attack? Maybe we should just bring him in on a trivial matter, interrogate him, and deport him to the outskirts somewhere. It's not like the Confederacy cares about him. The big shots probably don't even know he exists."

  "What they know is irrelevant," Bosco says. "It's what General Hurst knows that's important. He's our superior. We follow his orders."

  "If things were always that easy." Kempton paces around the table. "There's a bigger picture we need to consider here, Bosco. One Hurst likely doesn't understand. I checked his record. He's prone to overreaction. It's what got him sentenced to resource acquisition duty—the Ceti fiasco was his handiwork. An entire colony lost, almost a million people deported, twenty thousand killed; not to mention the enormous material damage."

  Bosco shrugs. "And?"

  "He's not considering the long term benefits of alternative courses of action. All he cares about is maintaining control right now, staying in power, saving his own ass. He's not a visionary."

  "Sir?"

  "I don't intend to make the same mistakes, Bosco. Especially not in my home system."

  "We're not talking about xeno-politics here. These are terrorists."

  "Are they?"

  "Preston, going by his record, has a long history of altercations with the TMC. I don't blame the general for wanting him gone, along with everyone who might have his back."

  Kempton stops opposite of Bosco and leans over the desk, his forehead penetrating the projection. "An upgrade of the magnitude you're proposing is guaranteed to draw attention. We don't need that right now, not after all the riots and street fights. We need to tackle this subtly."

  Bosco stares at the map, chewing the inside of his lip.

  "What?" Kempton asks, a little irritated.

  "I still think we should send reinfor
cements and upgrade the surveillance towers. It's not going to get bad publicity. There was a big riot just last week. Four people killed and twenty injured, including two TMC officers. No one's going to question why we're reinforcing local presence."

  "Except for the unions who rioted because of our excess presence in the first place. No reinforcements. And keep all upgrades low profile." He resumes his pacing. "Make me a list of all the agents we have down there. I need someone who can get close to Preston quietly."

  "Fine," Bosco grumbles.

  "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you don't want to go about this discreetly, Lieutenant Commander."

  "It's not that, sir." Bosco falls into parade rest. "I'm just skeptical."

  "It makes you a good tactician, Bosco. But I'm still giving the orders here. Hurst has a personal reason to want Preston killed. We're going to act on sound reasoning, not personal vendettas. Besides, Hurst's a substitute. General Satou will be back in little over a month; he knows how things run here. We just have to keep it quiet 'til then."

  Bosco nods reluctantly and Kempton switches off the projector. He clasps his hands behind his back, and turns to Bosco. "That's all for now, Lieutenant Commander."

  Bosco salutes listlessly and leaves. Kempton sighs once he's gone. If they hadn't known each other since military school, he'd have had Bosco reassigned long ago. There's plenty of other tacticians waiting in line who'd never question his priorities. But then again, Bosco reminds him of where he's come from. And where he's going. He doesn't intend to spend the rest of his life following some general's orders. Kempton wants to be a public figure, someone important that people can look up to. For that, he needs to always think ahead—think of the people first, and see that he doesn't antagonize those who comprise his future electorate.

  As to the Tau Ceti matter, he just hopes the Dorylinae won't become a problem while he's in charge. There's no politically correct way to deal with aliens. Some think the Dorylinae deserve their own rights and a voice within the Confederacy, like Bosco, for all his bluster. But the majority is xenophobic enough to make it impossible for any encountered species to pass the Integration Tests. The TMC in particular has a very clear policy on alien sentients: if they can become a threat in the future, they're a threat now. Hardly a diplomatic tactic. Aliens can be a powerful campaign asset, as long as they're kept under control, and at a safe distance.

  But first things first: he needs to find out if Preston can be cleared off the board with as little commotion as possible. Then see to it that a satisfying explanation is found for the damaged drones in Tau Ceti, so he can keep Hurst the hell off his back.

  28

  On his flight toward Nobelanin, Kriahm's vessel continues to degrade and fall prey to the organisms infecting its hull. From loss of structural integrity over several sections, to loss of precision in the exterior sensors, the Kaluvian suffers from impairments of almost post-battle gravity. It can no longer navigate nebulae safely, cannot skim the coronas of stars to refuel, and can barely maintain its course. By the time he reaches his destination, Kriahm's patience is all but depleted and his anxiety soaring.

  The Ascendancy's star-complex headquarters are located near the center of the Grand Helix, built in the vicinity of what once was the Raimerians' home system. All of the Ascendancy's dominant species have been relocated here, in the armpit of the Helix's Second Wing. Now, the Nobelanin complex is maintained in a state of prosperous equilibrium and safety by the cumulative effort of hundreds of billions working within its gigantic constructions.

  The Kaluvian is forced to travel a good portion of its approach vector in physical space, the infection having rendered its superluminal flight capacity moot. Kriahm's already decided to discard the debilitated vessel as quickly as possible and acquire a new one better suited to his new goal. Since he first received the information about the humans' experiments, Kriahm realized that Amharr's uncharacteristic reluctance to act, and his eagerness to dispose of Kriahm when all common sense dictated he insist on his support, are undeniable proof of corruption. Somehow, Amharr has become an enemy of the Ascendancy, and Kriahm is the only one aware of the fact. And the only one able to stop him. An ideal chance.

  But first, he needs to convince the Ascendancy Council of his need for a fully equipped and crewed containment vessel.

  Kriahm will have to leave his infected vessel with the Ilkryp, the Ascendancy's engineers, and try to explain the presence of the infectious organisms. The Ilkryp will complain about his vessel's damage of course, severely. And probably demand he be investigated for liability. Kriahm must avoid that at any cost—the Ilkryp are notoriously bureaucratic, and nothing must delay him. So he ignores the various maintenance spheres he passes on his entry into the Nobelanin complex, and heads straight toward Enryasse, the Ilkryp resident system.

  As the Kaluvian enters Enryasse's outer shell—a loose crust of observation and coordination stations—he marvels at the number of slender klaar vessels dashing back and forth among the Ilkryp's monstrous machineries. The sight is more than welcome to Kriahm, indicating a good chance he be granted a containment vessel.

  The shell operators repeatedly request Kriahm's purpose of entry into Enryasse, but he dodges them all by declaring a state of emergency. He can't afford to waste time with formalities.

  Kriahm detests the Ilkryp. Invertebrates always make him uncomfortable, with their unpredictable muscular spasms and slithering movements, and their secretions and incomprehensible body functions. The Ilkryp would have been eradicated if he'd been commanding their integration at the time. He even suspects the Raimerians themselves simply tolerate the creatures because of their unmatched technological adroitness, and their obsessive care for artificials. All the same, he'll have to deal with them if he wants a new vessel, even if he despises the prospect of close contact with the slithering beasts.

  The Kaluvian reaches Enryasse's inner planetary system, and Kriahm takes course toward E-One, the largest of its eighteen inhabited worlds. The heavily mechanized planet grows steadily in Kriahm's view as he glances out through his quarters' transparent wall. Several sections of the wall quiver dark gray and black, turning cyan at the edges, as the parasitic organisms impair the klaar's functions. He rubs his palms against his robe impatiently, waiting, staring down at the Ilkryp world.

  E-One courts Enryasse's star in a very low orbit, fueling its dense maze of habitats through multiple solar converters and particle webs. A dense thicket of cyber-biotic conductors shifts along E-One's surface, always pointing star-wards, making it appear as though a constant breeze were blowing over its surface. The world is built around the original Ilkryp homeworld, transported here at their integration, and now nothing more than a relic at the center of an enormous machine.

  E-One's carapace is made of hundreds of overlapping layers, webs woven with connective channels and corridors, between which vessels of all sizes and even mobile cities travel unhindered. It has expanded by an extra layer since Kriahm saw it last, probably carrying a couple of billion more Ilkryp now, and holding as many vessels in concurrent service as the entire Emranti Empire used to possess before they were integrated into the Ascendancy. It's an impressive sight to behold.

  E-One immediately hails the Kaluvian, and an Ilkryp representative engages Kriahm in a tedious discussion about his passage rights and lack of appointment. Eventually Kriahm is permitted to secure the Kaluvian to one of E-One's emergency repair docks, and is called to the lead technician to justify himself.

  The moment he steps off the Kaluvian, an ambi-platform rushes toward him and starts spinning above his head, wrapping him in a forcefield cocoon. It generates breathable air, suited to his biochemistry, and guides the floor underneath him to generate the necessary amount of gravity suited to his physiology. As he walks toward the network passageway, Kriahm's environmental capsule shadows him, humming above his head like a mechanical parasite.

  The dispatch center is currently situated almost on the other side of E-On
e—its outer layers always rotating and readjusting. An insufferable, shifting maze that causes Kriahm much distress, but which he endures. Forced to use the public transportation to reach the center, Kriahm can't help fantasizing about ordering the destruction of E-One and all other Ilkryp worlds from the crux of his new containment vessel.

  He travels by automatic ferry through E-One's connective network. At the entry into E-One's subsequent layer, Kriahm steps out and into a public corridor, and walks to the next station by himself.

  Hundreds of Ilkryp crawl across the porous floors, like oversized ashen worms leaving slimy trails behind them. Dozens of long, engorged tentacles grow out of their faces, grope the floor before them and the bodies of their neighbors. With each touch, they transfer entire populations of the assimilated microorganisms that live, die and decay on their sluggish bodies, from one to the other. Their constant physical contact sends shudders of disgust down Kriahm's back, setting his sensitive nerves on edge. He hides his fists inside his robe, pressing them tightly together to stifle the burning stings in his palms. He tries to find his way through the mass of bodies, avoiding their filth as much as possible.

  He eventually reaches the next station and has to wait in line for an available ferry. With every passing moment he grows more irritable, and has increased difficulty keeping his tension in check. If he would allow his natural urges to take control a catastrophe would be inevitable. Killing so many Ilkryp in their own home would ruin his chances to get a new vessel.

  His queue advances bit by bit, and he eventually boards a small ferry together with two Ilkryp and a Kolsamal female, all heading for the same dispatch center. The ferry drops into the sphere and Kriahm has to hold onto the handrail as inertia acts on him. He lets go of the rail as soon as the acceleration steadies, rubs his hand on his robe, and hides it between the folds.

  The Kolsamal female stares at him with unbridled curiosity. Her small green eyes inspect him carefully, on the instinctive lookout for any hint of weakness. Kolsamal females are even more despicable than the males, which is why there's only the necessary minimum of them in every caste, and they are never used on out-missions. They're more aggressive, less able to take orders or work in teams, and a curse when carrying offspring.