by Rick Partlow
Then it was there, the finish line…with just one other female in front of her, only twenty yards ahead. Screaming hoarsely, Joyce threw herself forward, pushing past the other woman and crossing the finish line, then stumbling and nearly collapsing, limping painfully towards a table with water bottles, trying to catch her breath. She opened one and downed it in one gulp, then threw it down and snagged another before sinking to the grass.
“Did you really,” a voice asked from behind her, “run the whole Hokkaido marathon?”
She turned and saw a man in a black uniform walking towards her, seemingly out of nowhere. He was a young man, but with the look of experience, his brown hair cut short, grey eyes framed by a lean, strong-jawed face.
“I run it before every long patrol, McKay,” she nodded. “Hard to find time for this when we’re under way.” She looked up and spoke loudly and clearly. “Authorization Minishimi, simulator off.”
The image of the Hokkaido morning vanished, replaced by the bare walls of the RFS Decatur‘s simulator bay and the shifting treadmill that made up its floor. The only adornment in the room was the small plastic tray with water bottles and a few towels.
“You know,” she said, wiping the sweat from her neck and toweling down her short, dark hair, “when they started building this ship three years ago, I thought it was ridiculous to install a rotational drum just for recreational and medical use. After all, we spend most of the trip in the g-tanks anyway. But I have to admit, it’s handy having someplace to get a good workout at one gravity when we’re not using the drive.”
“You’re looking good, Joyce,” he told her, squatting down on the floor beside her. He smiled as she started. She hadn’t seen him in years and it took her a moment to remember that they were of equal rank: a Fleet Captain was equivalent to an Intelligence Service or Marine Colonel. “I thought I’d call you that while I still could,” he explained with a chuckle. “You’ll be an Admiral soon enough.”
“Knock on wood,” she banged her knuckles against the side of her head. “So, you’ve shanghaied my ship for a trip to the frontier…Jason. Care to tell me why?”
“That’s why I’m here,” he nodded, waving around him. “Here and not on the bridge, I mean. This is for your ears only, for the moment.”
“Oh you spooks and your secrets,” she laughed, a surprisingly girly sound from someone he knew to be tough as nails. “You’ve changed since the war,” she estimated, looking at him sideways. “You seem less…naive, somehow.”
“Five years dealing with politicians will do that to you,” he allowed. “But let’s cut to the chase. Antonov’s back.”
Her eyes widened and he saw her glance around instinctively to make sure no one had come into the room. “You’re sure?”
“An observation post was destroyed on the frontier. Looted, even the bodies stolen. They cleaned up after themselves but we found some brass cartridge casings. I don’t know who or what else it could be.”
“Well, you always thought it would happen eventually,” she shook her head, arms resting on her knees. “So, you’re going out there in person then? Isn’t that a bit risky?”
“Not as risky as missing something because I’m months away. I’m bringing Vinnie and his best Alpha Team with me, along with two platoons of Marines and half a dozen assault shuttles. Hell, if I could get approval, I’d take a couple more cruisers along. I don’t want to do this by half-measures.”
“Yeah, that was never one of your failings,” she snorted. “Jesus, Jason…I need to get my people ready. How long do you need a lid kept on this?”
“Till we’re out of the Solar system,” he told her. “I don’t want this news spreading to the general population until we know more. We have enough problems right now without adding a panic to them.”
“I can live with that.” She checked her watch. “We leave orbit in three hours and I need a shower. I’ll see you on the bridge…how about you come brief my officers just before we hit the g-tanks?”
“Works for me,” he nodded, standing and offering her a hand up. “See you on the bridge, Captain.”
* * *
Shannon was silent as she watched the mountain of nickel iron that was the RFS Decatur leave orbit. Reality warped away from the ship in shimmering waves of disrupted space-time and the ship began to move, slowly at first, almost imperceptibly…but then with increasing acceleration and within minutes it was little more than another star in the projection in the viewport on the wall of Jason’s office.
“Damn,” she muttered to herself. Then louder, “Dammit!” She thumped a fist against the wall. It wasn’t just that he was going to be gone for months and that she was going to miss him…and it wasn’t just that he was flying blind into what could be an incredibly dangerous situation. There was just a feeling in her gut that she couldn’t shake that there was something wrong about this. It felt like a trap.
The problem was, they couldn’t not investigate it…and if it was a trap, there was no one better than Jason to sniff it out. But she wished she could have been there.
“Major Stark?” A voice came over the room’s intercom.
“Yes, Lt. Franks?” she said, looking up instinctively.
“You have a call from Senator O’Keefe-Mulrooney.”
“Put her on,” Shannon said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Colonel McKay’s desk display.”
The holographic projector in McKay’s desk lit up and an image of Valerie O’Keefe-Mulrooney sprang to life. She looked good, Shannon reflected inwardly. Her brown hair was shorter than Shannon remembered, and there was a glow to her heart-shaped face. The last few years had added a look of maturity and responsibility to her green eyes.
“Hello, Senator,” she nodded.
“Good morning, Shannon,” Valerie said. Shannon supposed it must be morning wherever she was, because the phrase had little meaning on a space station like Fleet HQ. “How’ve you been?”
“Doing well,” Shannon said, trying to hide the loathing she had for meaningless pleasantries. What the hell had Jason been thinking leaving her in charge of dealing with people? “I can see motherhood agrees with you. I hope Glen and your daughter are doing well.”
“Natalia is great,” Valerie smiled warmly. “She’ll be two years old next week. Glen is doing fine, but…well, first of all, I need to know, is this a secure line?”
Shannon blinked, then reached out to the desktop and hit a control. “It is now, ma’am. What’s wrong?”
“Shannon, as father’s chief of staff, Glen, well…” She hesitated, for the first time in the conversation seeming nervous. “He hears things in that position…rumors. Many of them turn out to be nothing, and this one might too, but…”
“…but it’s something you thought we should check out,” Shannon finished for her. “What’s going on, Valerie?”
“Glen has been trying to mediate some of the disagreements between Daddy’s administration and the Southbloc,” Valerie explained. “The end of forced emigration has handed some of their nations a lot of political problems…and the inflation and unemployment increases haven’t done anything to help the situation. He was consulting with a friend of my father’s, Senator Friere of Brazil, and Friere mentioned hearing rumbles from Brazilian officers high in the Colonial Guard about a possible mutiny.”
Shannon blinked. It wasn’t entirely shocking…there was a lot of dissatisfaction in the Colonial Guard, after all. But if it was gaining enough momentum that the Senator from Brazil had heard of it, it could be serious. “Did he have any details?” she asked.
“Just one…that’s the reason I’m calling you and not my father. He said that the mutiny was designed to coincide with an attempt on the President’s life.”
“What?” Shannon exclaimed. “But why? It’s not as if the Vice President will reverse the policies just because the president is killed. That makes no sense.”
“I don’t know anything more.” Valerie shook her head. “It might all be just ridiculous
rumor-I know that’s what Daddy would say if I brought it to him. That’s why I’m bringing it to you.”
“I understand, Senator,” Shannon said. “I’ll look into it. If there’s anything to it, I’ll let you know…and I’ll see it gets dealt with.”
“I knew I could count on you, Shannon,” Valerie said, smiling. “I hope you find that it’s just barracks rumor.”
“Me too.” Shannon whispered as the transmission cut off. She ran her fingers through her hair tiredly. “As if there wasn’t enough going on already…” She hit the intercom control. “Franks.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Contact Captain Shamir. Tell him I need to meet him in Colonel McKay’s office as soon as he can get a shuttle up here.” She didn’t even register Frank’s reply…her thoughts were wrapped around what Valerie had told her. There had never been an attempt on a president in the history of the Republic…and now she was finding out about one just after learning that Antonov was back. She wasn’t sure she believed that heavily in coincidences.
Something, she reflected again, was wrong about all this. Time to get to work and find out what.
Chapter Four
Jason McKay sat back in his chair and waited for the last of the group to file into the conference room. He was enjoying the Earth-normal gravity while he could. In just hours they would be immersed in the g-tanks, hibernating in the cushioning, aerated fluid while the ship accelerated at a warp-analog of hundreds of gravities for weeks, and when they arrived at their first stop, he’d be back in zero-g until planetfall.
Vinnie and Jock were in the room already, along with the other men and women of their Alpha Team, all looking quite relaxed and deadly in their black combat utility uniforms. Also present, though making a point of sitting apart from the special operations squad, were the platoon leaders and platoon sergeants of the Fleet Marine Reaction Force units on board. Even though Vinnie, Jock and McKay himself were all former Marines, the Fleet Marines had developed a resentment of the new Special Operations units.
They were still waiting for the Fleet personnel-the only one present was the flight commander of the assault shuttles, a tall, slender woman with high cheekbones and a face that hinted at Asian ancestry. She was typing something into a small notepad, her expression all business, ignoring the others around her.
Finally, after another ten minutes of waiting, Captain Minishimi strode into the room with her executive officer in tow.
“Captain on deck!” McKay barked, bringing everyone to their feet.
“As you were,” Minishimi waved a hand, leaning against a table near the center of the room. “We don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll get right to the point. We are heading to Loki to pick up a passenger, then we’re going straight for the inner frontier. There was an observation post there until a few months ago. It was destroyed and looted, the troops manning it either taken or killed and their bodies taken. Evidence found on the scene suggests that the culprits are our old friends, the remnants of the Russian Protectorate.” A chorus of murmurs went through the assembled officers and NCOs, some of them glancing at McKay.
“At ease,” Minishimi’s XO barked and the talking ceased.
“We have been tasked to aid Colonel McKay in his investigation of this incident. I will turn the briefing over to him.”
McKay stood, nodding to the Captain, then touched a control on the wall and a star map was projected near the ceiling. “We’re heading here,” he said. “The system doesn’t have an official name, but the Scouts have been calling the habitable there ‘Peboan.’ It means…”
“Winter spirit,” the ground support shuttle flight leader spoke up, her contralto voice clear and piercing. “From the Chippewa myth.”
“Yes,” McKay nodded, raising an eyebrow. “The planet’s a bit on the cold side most of its year. Our surveys have indicated that Peboan is rich in petroleum, fissionables and other resources, as are a couple other habitable worlds in close proximity. We are working on the theory that Antonov doesn’t have enough ships to do extensive space-based mining, so he will choose to get his resources onplanet where possible.
“The only reason for Antonov to attack the outpost is that they had either already spotted his activities or he thought they were about to and wanted to buy some time. So, we probably won’t find him anywhere in the immediate area, but I am hoping we can find a lead as to where he’s going and what he’s up to. We are prepared in case we do run into his forces, however, as you can see by looking around you.” He surveyed their faces, seeing total attention in every one. “I do have to tell you, there is the possibility that we could be out here more than a year, depending on how far the search takes us. I’m sorry you weren’t allowed to send out messages to your loved ones indicating this, but I have direct orders from the president not to let news of this get out until we get confirmation as to whether this is Antonov’s work and what his next move might be.” He paused. “Any questions?”
“What evidence do we have that this is Antonov or his people?” The question came from one of the Marine platoon leaders, a sharp-edged young man with cafe aux lait skin and dark hair that was little more than stubble on his head. The name Dodd was stenciled on his shirt.
“We found brass rifle casings in the wreckage of the destroyed base, Lieutenant Dodd,” McKay answered. He hit a control and a video of the Marines holding up the brass casings played for them.
“That’s all we got?” asked his platoon sergeant, her puffy, schoolteacher’s face screwed up in a frown. “Ain’t that a little thin, sir?”
“If you can tell me another solution more likely, Gunny Dzvonik,” McKay shrugged, “I’m all ears. We have to postulate an enemy that has star travel independent of the established cargo and passenger runs, that has a motive to attack one of our remote observation posts and loot everything not nailed down and that uses gunpowder weapons firing from brass-cased cartridges marked with Cyrillic writing.”
“Yeah, guess you got a point, sir,” she admitted.
“I have a question,” the shuttle commander raised a finger.
“Yes, Commander…?”
“Villanueva, sir,” she told him. “As I understand it, the Protectorates use some sort of artificial wormhole gateways to travel FTL…so why are you concerned about the planets in the systems around Peboan? Couldn’t they be just as easily jumping somewhere dozens of light years away?”
“They could,” McKay admitted. “But we know they’ve pirated some of our Eysselink drive ships…it’s possible they make use of them. And frankly,” he sighed, “it’s all we got. If we can’t find them this way, we’re basically going to have to sit on our ass until they decide to attack us.”
“Understood, sir,” Villanueva nodded.
“All right, if there’s nothing else…” No one spoke up, so McKay nodded to Captain Minishimi.
“Thank you, Colonel McKay,” she stepped back into the center of the conference room. “All right, ladies and gentlemen…get yourselves and your people squared away for g-sleep.” She grinned tightly. “See you in a month.”
Vinnie hung back as the rest filed out of the room, seeing McKay’s frown.
“What’s wrong, sir?” he asked.
“It’s times like these I wish we had access to those wormholes, Vinnie,” McKay said. “I don’t like the idea of spending weeks asleep. God knows what’s going to have happened by the time we wake up…”
* * *
Ariel Shamir didn’t recognize himself in the mirror. The face he was used to was that of a young, clean-shaven, hawk-faced Israeli of European Jewish heritage, with short, black hair, dark brown eyes and a light olive skin. The one that stared back at him now was darker-complexioned, the nose broader and slightly more hooked, the eyelids heavier, the hair thicker and the face adorned with a neatly trimmed full beard. Good thing the cosmetic implants weren’t permanent…there were a few girls back in Tel Aviv that wouldn’t approve of the changes..
He nodded with satisfactio
n and checked the fit of his uniform-the two-piece, precisely tailored grays of the Colonial Guard rather than the black Fleet Intelligence utilities he was used to. It felt odd wearing a uniform that was cut more like a business suit than a set of fatigues, but that was the CeeGees for you.
Smoothing down his tunic once more, he turned, shouldered his duffle bag, and left the solitude of the empty bathroom to re-enter the buzzing chaos of the Buenos Aires Transportation Hub. Throngs of people moved through the huge complex of buildings, dragging luggage behind them, embarking and disembarking from suborbital transports, boarding subways and maglev trains, renting flyers or being picked up by groundcars or buses. In the center of the giant auditorium that was the hub of the Hub was a huge statue worked from a single piece of granite, twenty meters tall. It was a copy of the city’s iconic Obelisk and the wave of humanity seemed to break upon it, spreading into streams and rivulets to one of the many exits.
He knew exactly where his ride was waiting…he headed out one of the Hub’s north-facing exits, leaving the cool, conditioned air of the building for the broiler of a South American February afternoon. Ari began sweating almost immediately, but ignored it as he took in the view of the city.
Ari had spent a lot of time in Capital City in his career and he had grown used to the Old City that used to be called New York within sight of the New City, the interconnected megalopolis that had been built after the Crisis period after the devastating nuclear exchanges of the Sino-Russian War. But Buenos Aires was different…rather than the old being abandoned as it had been with Capital City, or being razed over and replaced as it had been in Asia, Buenos Aires seemed like a city of the previous millennium had magically been merged with a modern one. Stretching from the western shore of the Rio de la Plata to the Riachuelo, the city was patchy now, with stretches of old architecture-modernized on the inside of course-interspersed with more modern designs in places, and then suddenly whole districts of nothing but newer buildings, usually in areas where the old sections had been destroyed by fire or torn down in one improvement project or another. It wasn’t as energy efficient or convenient as the megalopolises like Capital City, Cleveland ‘Plex, or Nuevo Rio but it had a certain charm to it. Very European in a way, Ari thought.
