by Jay Allan
There was uncertainty in the room, mixed with tentative understanding as those present began to realize what Stark was truly saying. However it had been achieved, Number One controlled the Naval Director. The implications of that were extraordinary.
“You may continue your report, Number Seven.” Stark was still looking out the window, contemplating his own thoughts as he listened.
“Yes, Number One.” Number Seven looked first toward Stark then out over the table. “As you are all aware, we dispatched a task force from our new Directorate naval force to blockade the planet Arcadia. The fleet commander has been ordered to provide any support General Merrick requires, though to date he has only requested the deployment of several spy satellites.”
“Indeed.” Stark voice betrayed moderate frustration. “General Merrick may be insufficiently ruthless to effectively crush the rebellion on Arcadia.” Everyone around the table was staring at the back of Stark’s head. “He is a gifted officer, which is why I chose him for the assignment. But there is more to breaking the will of the population than effective battle tactics.” The room was silent for a few seconds as he paused. “We may need to replace him with someone amenable to employing more drastic measures.” Stark paused again before turning to face the table. “Please complete your report, Number Seven.”
“Lastly, it appears we have a significant problem at Columbia.” There was a wave of groans and under-the-breath comments. Unlike everything else Number Seven had reported, this was new to them all. And the last thing they needed was a fresh problem.
“As you are aware, Admiral Garret dispatched a regular navy fleet to Columbia to support our anti-insurgency efforts there. Fleet Admiral Compton is in command, and he has orders from Admiral Garret to provide any support requested by the Planetary Governor.” He looked over at Stark.
Stark already knew what he was going to say, of course, but Burke wasn’t aware of that. “Go on, Number Seven.”
“Yes, Number One.” His voice was a little high-pitched, his nerves a bit more on edge. “Several days ago…a week, in fact…we received word that all contact with the Eta Cassiopeiae system through Commnet had been lost. This morning we have had a communication originating on Commnet from the YZ Ceti system. The transmission was sent from Commander Harrigan, who is our highest ranking operative embedded in Admiral Compton’s fleet.”
Burke cleared his throat and continued. “His report states that Admiral Compton has expressly refused the governor’s repeated requests for a nuclear strike against the rebel stronghold on Carlisle Island.” He panned his gaze across the room. “This means that Admiral Compton is in direct violation of a Priority One order.”
The room was quiet, eerily so. Burke remained standing, but said nothing further. Gradually, everyone looked over toward Stark, waiting for him to elaborate. But it wasn’t Stark who finally broke the silence.
“I counsel extreme caution in how we proceed.” Dutton’s voice was weak, so soft it was barely audible despite the fact that he was obviously struggling with the effort. “We clearly must take action, though every option is fraught with peril.”
Everyone looked at the ancient spymaster, and no one, not even Stark, interrupted. Dutton had already been an institution in Washbalt’s intelligence community when most of the people in the room were born. The true scope of his enormous inventory of contacts, information, and secrets could only be guessed at in the most speculative manner.
“It is entirely possible that Governor Cooper will be able to defeat the rebellion on Columbia without assistance from the fleet. He has been reinforced and now has over 50,000 Alliance army troops at his disposal. A direct, unsupported assault against the rebel stronghold on Carlisle Island would no doubt be a costly affair, but I suspect he has a sufficiency of force to prevail.” He paused, taking a long, wheezy breath. “Indeed, we may even be able to utilize heavy casualties to our benefit in terms of propaganda…demonizing the rebels through the Alliance media.” In the cold logic employed at Alliance Intelligence, the fact that an additional 10,000 soldiers could die was immaterial…especially if there were collateral benefits.
Dutton took a white silk cloth from his pocket and wiped his mouth. Stark had a doubtful expression on his face, but most of the others looked relieved, thinking perhaps they could simply ignore Compton for now.
“Unfortunately, this is not a workable solution.” Dutton paused, putting the cloth back in his pocket. “If we allow an officer as highly placed and well-known as Admiral Compton to simply ignore an order of this magnitude, we risk a litany of adverse effects. Not the least of these is the obvious fact that Compton is, at least the very least, suspicious of the integrity of the command structure. We can only surmise how far this goes or specifically what he knows, but we must assume the worst – that Admiral Compton is actively supporting the rebels. Indeed, this is highly likely since it is apparent that the admiral or his allies have seized or destroyed the Commnet stations in the Eta Cassiopeiae system.” He stifled a small cough and continued. “Whether this was the result of his initial predisposition or a reaction to this specific order and events related to it we cannot know.”
“So what do you suggest, Number Two?” Stark’s question was sincere. Dutton’s opinion was just about the only one in the room he valued…except perhaps Alex’s from time to time. Normally, he and Dutton would have discussed this in depth before the meeting, but the old spy had been in and out of the hospital for the last month. For years Stark had been dreading this, the loss of his only real friend. So often he’d dismissed the subject with a joke, unwilling to seriously contemplate the old man’s mortality. But he couldn’t fool himself any longer, and he knew, in all likelihood, he was watching he last Directorate meeting Jack Dutton would attend. It was an interesting anomaly. Gavin Stark was a soulless sociopath, utterly devoid of remorse for the thousands of deaths he’d caused, yet he was distraught over the impending demise of one old man. Even the dreaded leader of Alliance Intelligence had a touch of humanity, deeply buried as it was.
Dutton looked at Stark, trying to focus on his protégé through filmy eyes. “As I said, any option is dangerous. I believe we must utilize our…influence with Admiral Garret to issue an order relieving Compton of his command and ordering him to return to Washbalt at once.” He shifted in his chair. He’d given up on actually being comfortable, but he tried, with extremely limited success, to find an angle that minimized the constant pain.
“However, I feel the effect of such an order is highly unpredictable. Admiral Compton is a very popular officer…indeed, after Garret, he is probably the most respected and loved flag officer in the navy.” Dutton paused, catching his breath. “If he elects to refuse the order, it is entirely possible that some or all of his fleet will back him.”
“Perhaps we can simply eliminate the admiral.” Alex Linden hadn’t said a word until now. Her rise had been almost meteoric, and she’d leapfrogged many of the people sitting around the table. There was a considerable amount of resentment and bad feeling about the whole thing, so she had been trying to downplay her role since she’d taken the third Seat. But this was crucially important, and she was the highest ranked person in the room after Stark…and, of course, Dutton, though that was looking very temporary.
“My preference as well, Number Three.” Stark made sure not to smile as he agreed with her. She owed her advancement mostly to him, and everyone on the Directorate knew that. He didn’t really care what they thought, but it wouldn’t serve him for them to think he dangled on Alex’s sexy little string. The truth was, he enjoyed his collaborations with her – both professional and personal – but he was more than ready to dispose of her when her usefulness was at an end. Lovers were replaceable, even ones as delightfully skilled as Alex, and Stark wasn’t about to compromise his position over anything so quaint as affection. “Unfortunately, I do not believe it is feasible.”
“Why not?” She caught herself, but too late to stop the words from coming out. Da
mmit Alex, she thought, you know better than to announce your ignorance. Generally, she was extremely circumspect, but this time she’d let down her guard, left herself open to looking foolish.
“Because, Number Three, in order to get this communication to us, our senior operative embedded on Compton’s flagship was forced to blow his cover. Commander Harrigan stole a shuttle and escaped to YZ Ceti after Compton cut communications with Earth, preventing Governor Cooper from reporting his disobedience.” Dutton’s tone was scolding, as much as his weak and shaky voice could manage. Alex Linden was smarter than that, and she should have known better. “Without our key agent in place, any assassination attempt would be highly risky, possibly even likely to fail. Have you considered the ramifications of a failed assassination attempt against a fleet admiral? Especially if any of the operatives were captured alive and interrogated?” He’d gone a little further than he’d intended…past scolding to actually embarrassing her.
She looked across the table silently, with hateful smoldering eyes that bored right through him. Oh my God, she thought, will you just die already, you decrepit old relic? She had always viewed Dutton as being in her way, both on the Directorate itself and as Stark’s confidante. But every year that he continued his seemingly endless life, she came to hate him more and more. She would have been shocked to know that Dutton had told Stark many times he considered her a fine agent, and the most promising on the Directorate.
“I believe we all agree. An assassination attempt is out of the question, at least for the present time.” Stark’s voice was sharp, signaling the topic was closed to further discussion. “So let us proceed to the specifics of relieving Admiral Compton…or at least attempting to do so.”
Number Two started to reply, but a coughing spasm took him. Stark reached out and grabbed a pitcher from the table and filled a glass with water, sliding it across toward his friend. Dutton managed to quell the coughing and take a drink. He nodded a quick thank you to Stark before clearing his throat and continuing. “First, the order must be transmitted publicly. We cannot allow Compton and a small cabal of officers loyal to him to hide the communication.”
He cleared his throat again, fighting another spasm. “Second, the order must come expressly from Admiral Garret. We must create a situation where the officers and crew of the fleet have to directly disregard Garret’s orders in order to side with Compton.” Dutton paused and took a labored breath. “I cannot stress enough how important I feel this is. Compton is a revered leader…he will likely be able to convince his staff and ship captains to stand with him…only the prestige of Augustus Garret is strong enough to overcome his influence.”
Dutton looked as if he was going to continue, but he remained silent. “What is it, Ja..Number Two?” Stark caught himself; names were not used in Directorate meetings, only titles.
Dutton sighed. “Only that I am still concerned, even if the criteria I specified are met. There is still a chance that Admiral Compton could retain control of his fleet, or a considerable portion of it.” He hesitated, not sure he wanted to suggest what he was thinking. “I believe we need to consider dispatching a reliable task force to Columbia.” Another pause, then: “We may be compelled to engage Compton and whatever forces remain under his control.”
Every face in the room wore a shocked expression, all but Gavin Stark’s. “I agree, Number Two. The problem is not knowing what force concentration we will require.” He paused, calculating in his head. “If the bulk of his fleet sides with him, we will need virtually all of our sequestered naval units to insure victory. That includes the task force blockading Arcadia.”
“I believe that is an acceptable risk.” Dutton’s frail voice had become barely audible. “There is no immediate threat to Arcadia. Leave a squadron of fast attack ships to deal with anyone trying to smuggle in supplies, and send the rest to Columbia.”
Stark considered for a moment. He didn’t like leaving Arcadia uncovered, and even less did he relish the thought of moving the rest of the Directorate’s carefully assembled naval strength from Epsilon Eridani IV. He didn’t see any immediate threat to that system and its precious alien artifact, but he slept better knowing they had a major fleet there.
“Very well.” Stark had made his decision, and he didn’t even go through the motions of pretending the entire Directorate had a say. “I will personally handle the drafting and transmission of Admiral Garret’s order.” He looked down the table at Burke. “Number Seven, please send orders for our task force at Arcadia and the fleet at Epsilon Eridani to set courses for Columbia as soon as possible.” He pulled out his chair and finally sat down. “They are to arrest Admiral Compton and engage any naval units that resist. And they are to provide any and all support that Governor Cooper may request, up to and including nuclear bombardment of any targets he specifies.”
“Yes, Number One.” Burke’s expression was impassive. He wasn’t sure he agreed with the plan, but he was certainly not going to argue with Number One. “I will see to it immediately.”
Stark took a deep breath, exhaling sharply. “I believe that covers naval matters for the moment. Let’s move along.” He looked at the man sitting next to Rodger Burke. “Number Five, please report on the current status of our Directorate infantry program.” Stark already knew, of course, but he had to involve the rest of the Directorate in things…at least a little.
Troy Warren was always uncomfortable in Directorate meetings. The only member of the group who was not a Political Academy graduate, Warren had been a Corporate Magnate, and a very successful one…enough to take him all the way to a Seat on the Directorate. Nevertheless, he still felt like an outsider in a room full of career spies and politicians.
“Yes, Number One. As you are all aware, for the last several years we have expedited our efforts to produce a fighting force comparable to the Marine Corps.” He looked across the table. “Number Four has been extremely helpful in refining our training program, which has speeded our progress immensely.”
Number Four was present, as always, as a holographic projection. Only Stark and Dutton knew that the mysterious secret member of the Directorate was, in fact, General Rafael Samuels, now the commandant of the Marine Corps. The shimmering image nodded appreciatively, but did not speak.
“We currently have 18 battalions fully operational, with another 40 in training.” Warren fidgeted nervously in his seat. He had thought he was ruthless in his corporate days, but he’d never met anyone like Gavin Stark. The truth was, Stark scared the hell out of him. “They are fully powered infantry, armed and equipped almost exactly like Marine assault units.” He forced himself to meet Stark’s withering gaze. “They are well-trained, though not to the full standards of the Marine Corps. None of the units in the formation have any combat experience – you will recall that we elected to liquidate the forces that were repatriated from Carson’s World after the war.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I would still be hesitant to commit them against Marine formations, at least not without significant numerical superiority.”
“Let me worry about the Marines.” It was a cryptic comment of the type Stark so frequently uttered. Everyone present knew better than to ask for details. “Please prepare the forces for embarkation as soon as possible.” He looked right at Number Five, enjoying the way it made him squirm. “Please get back to me by tonight with a proposed schedule.”
Warren paused for an instant, surprised by Stark’s order. “Yes, Number One.” Then he added, “May I inquire as to your intended deployments?”
“Certainly, Number Five.” Stark’s voice was cold; he didn’t like being asked to explain himself. “I intend to dispatch these units to provide powered-infantry support to our Alliance army units engaged on the most troublesome colony worlds.” He ran his fingers over his ‘pad. “I am sending you a list of proposed deployments. The two worst trouble spots are Columbia and Arcadia. We will be sending a brigade to each.” Two six-battalion brigades represented two-thirds of the a
vailable strength. “We will also deploy a single battalion to each of the following worlds: Atlantia, Victoria, Sandoval, Everest, Killian’s World, and Armstrong.” Stark smiled darkly. “It is time this rebellion ends before it spreads even further.”
The meeting dragged on for another three hours as they systematically reviewed the status reports from each rebelling planet. Finally, Stark slid back from the table, his eyes panning up and down the assembly. “I believe that is all of our current business. If no one has anything else?” He waited a few seconds, though he knew no one would say anything – he’d already signaled an end to the meeting. “Very well, we are adjourned.” Then: “Number Five, don’t forget to get me those embarkation schedules. Tonight.”
Warren nodded nervously and scurried out of the room, followed by the rest of the Directorate.
“Are you sure I can’t have anything brought up for you? Tea? Broth?” Stark looked sadly at Dutton as the old man sat uncomfortably in the chair.
“No thank you, Gavin.” Every word, every breath was an effort, but Jack Dutton had lived his long life at the center of things, and there he was resolved to remain until the day he closed his eyes for good. “Perhaps we can just conclude our business swiftly so I can go home and lie down for a while.”
“Of course, my friend.” Then, into the communicator on his desk: “Please come in now.” Stark flipped a switch and a section of the paneled wall slid aside, revealing a door, an entrance to his office that few people knew existed. Rafael Samuels came through the portal…squeezed through was more accurate. Stark motioned toward an empty seat. God, he’s gotten fat, Stark thought. I hope he fits in the chair.
Samuels walked slowly across the room and dropped his bulk into one of Stark’s buttery soft leather chairs. The priceless antique creaked a bit, but it held fast. Rafael Samuels had always been a large man; when he was a young Marine, the armorers had to design a customized suit to fit him. Back then he was tall and enormously strong – he’d been called “The Bull” in his first platoon. In recent years he’d added fat to the list of adjectives used to describe him.
