She stood and made her way to the data center, waving over her shoulder. “Can you stay and keep watch on the radar?”
“Yep.” He settled deeper in the chair. It was starting to break in nicely. He contemplated the blackness outside, and what it represented. It was enough—ten red blips materialized on the radar.
“Alex, I think they know where we went.”
“They must be alerted when we open portals. Will you fly while I work this out?”
No way had he heard her right. “Care to repeat that?”
She appeared beside his chair, rotating it until he faced her then leaning in to run a hand along his jaw and place a soft kiss on his mouth. “Fly my ship for me.”
He murmured against her lips. “I can do that.”
Then she was gone. He spun back to the HUD beaming like an idiot, desperate circumstances be damned. “So I’ll put some distance between us and these guys, but if they get too numerous I may need to traverse another portal.”
“Warn me first.” The plea sounded like it came through gritted teeth.
Creating distance from ships which were significantly faster than the Siyane wasn’t as easy as it sounded. The only factor in his favor was the pursuers didn’t know precisely where they were—a fact which would surely be causing their enemies much consternation had they possessed emotions.
It took time for their numbers to increase, but eventually this lobby grew thick with enemy vessels and his room to maneuver shrank to an untenable level.
“Jumping.” He drew as close as he dared to the location of the chosen portal before opening it then flew straight through.
“Oh my god that sucks!”
He stifled a chuckle; it would be mean to poke fun at her genuine distress. “Got an ETA back there?”
“An hour or two.”
“What?”
“Forty seconds, if you’ll quit interrupting me.”
“Gotcha.” He had never slowed after exiting this time, creating a fair degree of distance before the first vessels began to follow them. And follow they did, relentlessly tracking prey they could not see.
“I’m jumping one more time so we have room to maneuver once we know where we’re headed.”
The warning elicited a distracted grumble. “I hate you.”
He smiled to himself. “No…no, you don’t.”
He braced himself and slung the ship through another random portal, choking down the bile forcing its way up his throat. His equilibrium wouldn’t be steady for days.
“Ugh…0.0449 Hz….”
“Great, but I’m—”
She fell into her chair and strapped in. “Never mind. I’ll find it. Keep flying.” The spectrum analyzer bloomed to dominate the left side of the HUD. “Head a bit to starboard, it’s at bearing N 12.3°. Maybe I should take over now.”
He removed his hands from the controls with dramatic flair. “The ship is yours.”
“Thank ya.” She meandered around until they located the desired TLF wave and settled atop it.
“You realize what we’re about to do is geometrically impossible unless we’re traveling through more than three dimensions.”
Freed of duties for now, he shrugged. “The notion did occur to me. It didn’t seem relevant at the time.”
“Fair enough.” She eyed him without turning her head. “So when we get to our lobby I have a plan to get us past not only the ships here, but also those presumably waiting for us on the other side.”
“Am I going to like this plan?”
A corner of her mouth curled up. “Not in the slightest.”
61
FIONAVA
EARTH ALLIANCE COLONY
* * *
LIAM HAD A RAGING HEADACHE minutes after departing the transport. Or had the headache been plaguing him for hours now? He found he had trouble recalling.
The trip had been interminable, and he’d lost track of the hours passing somewhere around the mid-way point. A portion of the trip he spent considering his plan, then planning the steps to follow. But long after all productive work was completed there had only remained the endless waiting to land.
And now that he at last stood on Fionava, the headache throbbed painfully against his brow. The planet was sickeningly pretty, painted in lavender and baby blue and plum. Oversized flowers and colored fauna were planted in every available space of the burgeoning city and a white sun shone so brightly he was forced to squint every time he dared glance out the levtram window. Hence the headache.
It was everything Deucali was not. This supposed beauty was purportedly the reason it had been chosen to host the Alliance Northwestern Regional Headquarters, but he couldn’t imagine any soldier worth their salt enjoying this place.
At least he wouldn’t have to tolerate it for long. He expected to be on a ship—a real ship—within the day. And he did not intend to return to this atrocious planet henceforth.
The levtram slowed as the base came into view ahead. It was built in the middle of a God-damned meadow. If he saw a soldier frolicking through the tulips, he was going to shoot them on sight.
He closed his eyes to block out the meadow, and to ready himself. A vital facet of his plan consisted of him projecting absolute authority and a demeanor which brokered no questioning.
Then the doors opened and he walked brusquely forward. Passengers, mostly military, instinctively moved out of his way while tossing salutes in his direction. He ignored them to march purposefully to the security checkpoint.
The Warrant Officer looked through him without really seeing him as Liam placed his palm on the scanner. Presumably recognizing the identity which flashed on his screen, the officer’s gaze darted up, eyes wide. “Sir! General O’Connell! Apologies, sir. I wasn’t notified of your arrival. We…” the man frowned at the screen “…uh, sir, the system says EASC is requesting you report to Earth immediately.”
“Your orders are old, son. Everything’s been taken care of.”
“Yes, sir. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll see to an escort for you.”
“Not necessary. I know the way.” He had never visited NW Headquarters before but had memorized the floor plan and layout on the eternal trip from Earth.
His first destination—before his presence began to stir everyone up—needed to be the Communications Center. While individuals handled most of their communications internally via the exanet, such a large volume of data flowed into and out of a Regional Headquarters that physical servers and specialized ware were employed to control, route and store the bulk of it.
Bitterness ate at his gut like a festering ulcer. He didn’t trust ware or the nuts who created it and the necessity of using it peeved him to no end. But there were more important matters at stake now. Matters like duty. Pride. Vengeance. He would use whatever tools were required to further them.
An officer sitting at the monitoring station in the front room of the Communications Center scrambled up to snap a clumsy salute, noting the bars on the uniform but not him. It was for the best.
“Sir…uh…General? How can I help you?”
“I need access to your control room.”
“Yes, sir. What is this in regard to?”
“That’s classified, Lieutenant.”
The skinny young man screwed his face up, then worked to tamp down the expression. “Understood, sir. Do you require any assistance? The setup can be tricky and—”
“Negative.” He walked past the lieutenant and stood at the inner door in a manner indicating he expected it to open immediately. And so it did.
The small crystal disk he fished out of his pocket had cost him half a year’s salary paid to a woman so morally abhorrent he had showered twice after leaving her company.
Her instructions were straightforward: locate the rectangular box, probably constructed of a brushed black metal and around two meters in length, with the most cables connected to it.
He found it along the left wall behind a bewildering maze of server racks and
strange quantum cubes. Find the oval depression on the top and press it to open a physical data port. Somewhat to his surprise, it worked.
Place the disk inside. When the screen pops up asking if you want to run the ware, select yes. Wait for the screen to state the routine has completed.
Ironclad military discipline enabled him to stand at parade rest while he waited, forcing the violent urge to beat his foot or trod in circles into submission. Seconds ticked by at a rate slower than glacier flow.
He occupied the seconds by thinking about his father, about the shell-shocked, panicked look in his eyes when they laid his mother to rest. It was a look which had gradually hollowed over the months and years until it became an empty void.
The screen flickered as the words it displayed altered. Routine complete.
Remove the disk. Press the depression to close the port. Leave. Leaving he could most certainly do.
Foster’s office was located in the left rear corner of the Command building. He proceeded as rapidly as he dared, for under no circumstances should he seem panicked or draw attention to himself beyond what his uniform and physical build did. Even so, he was stopped twice on the way by officers he marginally knew. He spat out the prepared cover story and urged them on their way.
Two turns before Foster’s office he entered the Security Center and glared over the counter. “I need two MPs to accompany me.”
The sergeant on duty looked as if O’Connell was expected; likely the checkpoint officer had commed ahead to alert her of his presence. “Yes, sir.” She tapped the comm panel. “Jenkins, Ramirez, up front now.”
Seconds later two men appeared. Thankfully, they weren’t overly young. It increased the odds they wouldn’t wet themselves when ordered to take the action he intended to command. He nodded sharply. “Men, with me.”
They fell in on either side of him as he traversed the final two hallways, and the entourage arrived at their destination before the MPs were able to inquire as to what was going on.
The secretary gave a weak salute. “General O’Connell, welcome to Northwestern Regional Headquarters. General Foster is in a conference, but he—”
“I’m afraid this can’t wait. Open the door.”
“Sir—”
“Open the door. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door slid open to reveal a visibly startled General Foster. He dismissed the holos above his desk. “O’Connell, this is most unexpected. I was under the impression you had taken a leave of absence.”
And that was the key. The military leadership’s abhorrence of public scandal had led them to issue a cover story concerning his replacement on the EASC Board. The official word said he had resigned from the Chairmanship for personal reasons and taken an indefinite leave of absence from active duty; the request to return to Earth was ostensibly to wrap up technical matters.
He believed solely Brennon, Solovy, Lange and Navick—and possibly Rychen, since the man had tied himself in knots kissing Solovy’s ass for the past two weeks—knew of the charges filed against him under seal. But he’d had no way to be certain until now whether the other Board members had been informed.
“Not any longer. They sent me out here to get this disgrace of a Regional back into shape. You are relieved of command pending a summary hearing. Officers, escort General Foster to a protective custody cell.”
Foster’s face flooded beet red until his jowls appeared as though they might burst. “You haven’t the authority—”
“But I do.” The MPs’ eyes veered from Foster to Liam and back again, wavering. “Don’t ask me to repeat myself, officers, lest I make an effort to remember your names in an unfavorable manner.”
The taller MP moved toward Foster. “I’m sorry, General. I’m afraid I have to take you into custody.”
“This is an outrage! I have a right to notice and a defense!”
The other MP succumbed to the peer pressure and joined his colleague at Foster’s side. “Sir, please come quietly or we’ll have to place you in restraints.”
Liam sneered malignantly. “Yes, Foster. Think of the morale of your men and women. It wouldn’t do for them to see you being dragged through the halls like a common criminal, now would it?”
Foster snarled at him ineffectually but acquiesced to the MPs urging him toward the door. As he passed, Liam clasped him on the shoulder.
Foster shrunk away, but it didn’t matter. The purpose of the gesture was to place a small nanoweave on his uniform, one which scrambled the man’s outgoing comms so long as the jacket remained in a five meter vicinity, ensuring they never reached their intended audience. The garment would stay close to Foster for long enough, Liam hoped.
After they departed he roamed around the office, counting down the seconds until Foster would be far enough away to not trouble him further. When his mental timer hit zero he pivoted and headed back out, waving to the stunned secretary on his way by. “You’re dismissed. Go home for the day.”
He allowed no one to distract him on this traversal of the Command building and was out the back door and headed to the hangar in less than thirty seconds.
Despite being surrounded by meadows, the sprawling hangar complex did present an impressive sight. The paint had barely dried it was so new; it made the forty-year-old complex on Deucali look regrettably drab by comparison.
It was also a hotbed of activity, with soldiers bustling around hauling in gear and supplies and foodstuffs and mechanics effecting repairs. Most of NW Command had been recalled in anticipation of shipping out east. The Second Crux War was over and there were aliens to fight.
The chaos was going to aid him, though the notion of Solovy throwing the entire Earth Alliance military at a bunch of aliens irritated him greatly. He shuddered to think of how the Southwestern Headquarters was surely being stripped bare and left a ghost town. Were he back on Deucali he’d put a stop to it, but there were more important matters at stake now.
Five cruisers were docked end-to-end along the far left side of the hangar. The Akagi hung at the front of the line. But first things first. He sent a message to the captain of the Yeltsin and began making his way down the long double-row of frigates.
The XO of the Yeltsin was reviewing stocking reports with the master sergeant beneath the hull. He caught Liam’s approach out of the corner of his eye and snapped a salute, which Liam returned.
“General O’Connell, it’s an honor to see you again. I didn’t realize you were on-base.”
“Good to see you, too, Major.” Major Peltski had been stationed on Deucali four years earlier, doing a two-year stint in Space Logistics. He was a competent officer and Liam had gotten along with him as well as he was capable of getting along with anyone. More importantly, Peltski was a follower. He could carry out even difficult orders with efficiency and skill but displayed little in the way of initiative or ambition.
“Peltski, I’m here with good news. Your captain received a reassignment as XO of the Brandenburg. You’re receiving a field promotion to Lt. Commander. The Yeltsin is yours.”
“Sir, I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you, sir.”
The other key facet of his plan was very simple, and the most basic of all rules in the military: subordinate officers did not question the orders of generals. It had been true for millennia and was no less true today.
“You deserve it, Lt. Commander. When will you be ready to ship out?”
“Another hour, hour and a half tops.”
“Excellent.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m here on top secret orders from the Prime Minister and EASC Board. I need the Yeltsin to accompany the Akagi on a secret mission. You’ll receive the details once we’re spaceborne.”
Peltski regarded him solemnly. “I understand, sir. It will be an honor to serve with you.”
“I appreciate it. Now if you’ll excuse me, much to do and little time to do it in. Make sure you are out of dock by 1430.”
He pivoted and continue
d down the row, grimacing from the effort being so hideously cordial for such a length of time and from the thought of having to do it a second time in mere minutes.
Liam barreled up the ramp to the Akagi. The captain of the Chinook had been dispatched to the third cruiser and a sympathetic XO, Major Charlton, similarly promoted. Now for the final step in this initial phase.
He was met at the hatch by a female officer, though it didn’t appear intentionally so. The woman was traversing the hall and spun in apparent shock at finding a general in the entryway.
“Name and rank, Marine.”
“Captain Brooklyn Harper, 1st NW MSO Platoon, on loan to the Akagi, sir.”
He reminded himself to be polite. Those serving on the ship would be under his command in tense circumstances, and it was best to not actively encourage disloyalty or disobedience. “Captain Harper, can you show me to the Commodore?”
He saw her mouth twitch, though she quickly squelched it. Special forces types weren’t generally accustomed to being relegated to escort duty, but that was not his problem. “Yes, sir. Follow me.”
Commodore Tinibu met him at the door to the CO office, clearly having been alerted to Liam’s approach—presumably by Harper. His salute was grudging. “General, welcome to the Akagi. We’re busy getting ready to ship out, but what can I do for you?”
“I’m commandeering this ship for a special mission. You can go see General Foster about a reassignment.”
“Excuse me? Sir? We ship out in half an hour. It’s rather late to be changing mission parameters now. What is this mission regarding?”
“The details are above your pay grade, Commodore. Now, as you said, we are shipping out in half an hour. So if you’ll excuse me, I have a ship to captain.” With that he brushed past Tinibu and headed for the bridge.
Tinibu would ping Foster. Receiving no response, he would head to the Command building. No one would know where Foster had gone or why he couldn’t be reached.
Aurora Rising: The Complete Collection Page 89
