“Good.” Thomas sucked more scotch into his bulb. “You’re a great pilot and a smart kid. All this leadership stuff will come to you in time.”
“So I’ll grow out of my incompetence, then?”
Thomas laughed. “You care, Jack, and that’s the most important part of leadership. It means you’ll watch out for your people and you’ll find the smartest way to accomplish your missions.” He reached for Jack’s bulb and refilled it.
Jack took another pull. The scotch was going down smooth, now. He glanced around at the racks of trooper gear. It was a world he’d never wanted to see again, after his obligatory summer of strike training at the Astral College, but his career as a pilot never seemed to take him far away from it.
“Do you think Katja cared?” he asked suddenly.
Thomas looked up at him in silence.
“As a strike commander,” Jack persisted. “Do you think she cared about her troops?”
Thomas stared at his bulb for a long moment, then blinked a couple of times.
“Yeah, I think she cared. Way deep down.”
“I miss her. She was kind of crazy, so I guess I’m not surprised she died in combat, but I still miss her. Terra could use a few more like her.”
“You guys were good friends, after all that, weren’t you?”
“Yeah, we were.” He looked down at Thomas. “How come you two never got together?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
Jack laughed out loud. “I’m pretty sure that’s what she always thought I was. I guess she didn’t understand my boyish charms.”
Laughter rumbled from Thomas’s chest. Jack took another sip, enjoying the warm peace and quiet. Through the bulkhead he could faintly hear the last of the damage control equipment being stowed.
Thomas must have heard it too. He gestured toward the distant sounds.
“Now the XO, he’s struggling because of incompetence. He’s overwhelmed, but he won’t accept any help.”
“I didn’t think XOs were allowed to ask for help.”
“Anyone can, Jack. Even captains. It’s just a matter of knowing how and when to do so.”
“When I was in DCC earlier, I saw the XO ask Chief Ranson about the impact on the ship of my Hawk being grounded.”
Thomas rolled his eyes.
“That’s proof right there that he’s overwhelmed. Even Chen would have known that a Hawk parked safely in the hangar is completely irrelevant to damage control.”
“Well, at least he asked, and the chief gave him a good answer.”
“Ranson’s smart, even though he’s an asshole, but he chews officers up for breakfast. I bet he’s telling all the chiefs and POs right now what an idiot the XO is.”
Jack never thought much about the politics aboard a ship. The flight department mostly kept to itself and as a pilot he’d never had to worry about anything beyond his own job. He considered the incessant mockery that took place between the line officers on the bridge.
“I think the XO’s making it hard on himself,” he suggested, “by sticking to all this peacetime routine stuff.”
Thomas shrugged. “It can have its place… sir… but Perry just clings to it because he understands it and feels like he’s in control. He doesn’t seem to get that the rebels don’t give a shit if it’s time for our evening briefing.”
“You heard, then?”
“Oh, yeah. Chen came all the way down here just to gossip. There were troopers around so I shut him up and sent him packing, but he wasn’t wrong.” Thomas closed his eyes. “The XO’s over his head and he doesn’t know how to swim.”
“How did he even get the job?”
“Because we’re taking losses and people are getting promoted quickly.” He opened his eyes and stared at Jack’s rank insignia. “Wouldn’t you say, Wings?”
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“You’re right, sorry—and besides, the Astral Force also has a counter-plan to tactically bury senior officers in junior positions, waiting to pounce.” Thomas lifted his bulb in salute again. “And here I wait.”
“You’re our ace in the hole, Thomas.”
“Way, way, waaaaay down in that hole. Yup.”
11
Katja sat back in her chair, suddenly uneasy under the stares of her colleagues. Neither Chang nor Korolev displayed much emotion, but the new intensity of their gazes was discomfiting. Operatives Shin and al-Jamil failed to hide their new interest in her.
“Oh, the tangled webs we weave,” Korolev said mildly.
The Terran attack on the Centauri homeworld, Abeona, was an experience Katja would never forget, even if it seemed like a lifetime ago. She and Chang had led their platoon on a mission to pinpoint the enemy’s forward artillery spotters and the resulting battle had seen Katja nearly killed by orbital bombardment, and Chang’s first true taste of military command. Their mission had succeeded in destroying the spotters, and had been a significant turning point in those early hours of the invasion.
It had also had other consequences.
“How well did you know Kete Obadele?” Shin asked, her eyebrow arching.
“Not well,” Katja replied. “He was supposedly a journalist, and the boyfriend of some bitch, so I didn’t make much time for him until I knew he was a Centauri spy.”
“And then you shot him.”
Katja felt a rush of anger.
“I’d have done the same,” Chang rumbled. “He was an enemy spy leading an attack against Earth.”
“I just thought,” Shin said, and she shrugged, “that being able to interrogate him would have been more useful.”
Katja took her anger and honed it into a weapon. No one was allowed to question her judgement, not anymore, and not even another operative.
“There was no other option,” she stated flatly, staring at Shin and willing her to argue. “I made the call.”
Shin shrugged again and dropped her eyes.
“Obadele is dead,” Korolev said, “and is no longer our problem— but his friend Valeria Moretti very much is our problem.”
Katja’s eyes flicked up to the wall screen beyond her commander, and the collection of images that had been captured of this elusive Centauri woman. Coupled with the visuals captured in Goldberg’s office, they told the ASF exactly who to look for. An all-consuming search of the Terran visual records for the past six months had revealed less than half a dozen hits anywhere in the solar system. These included a single glimpse from the Inverness pub, captured by a random personal device sweeping the room and then posted to social media.
Middle height and slim build, she usually wore her hair brown and styled unremarkably. Her face was long and angular, not particularly attractive or memorable. But Katja had stared her down. Moretti was betrayed by her large eyes, and the intensity of their gaze. It was unmistakable.
“She likely has muscular augments,” Chang said, “which would have been easy to create when they regrew her limbs.” Moretti was another casualty of the attack on Abeona. She’d been Obadele’s neighbor, and her family had been killed in the battle.
Until then she’d been a support worker in Centauri intelligence, but after the battle she’d applied and been accepted for a field agent role. Any reliable information on her ceased at that point, but threads of anecdotal evidence suggested that in the space of a year she had become one of Centauria’s most effective spies. Katja had followed the links created by her colleagues between more than a dozen unexplained, highly improbable attacks which had been pulled off by enemy agents. Now that the ASF had a positive visual on Moretti, it was child’s play to search security footage from across Terra and catch glimpses of her.
Child’s play to search, Katja noted, but actually finding Moretti’s image was proving exceedingly difficult. The small collection of images displayed before her represented the bulk of what they had.
“Her list of successful missions is worrying,” Shin said, “and we assess that another attack is imminent.”
&n
bsp; “Too bad I didn’t kill her, as well,” Katja muttered. “Or would you prefer that she has another shot at us?”
“Dead agents garner zero intelligence.”
“Dead agents do no damage.”
“What do you think our job is?” Frustration twisted Shin’s features. “We’re trying to win a war, not a schoolyard scrap. Centauri intelligence is a hydra, and for every agent you kill without interrogation, two more slip into place unseen. Then we have to start all over again, searching for random clues, guessing at patterns, trying to predict where the next attack will be.”
“Centauri agents don’t play nice,” Katja said. “I’d rather they die instead of me. Or even you.”
“There are ways to subdue them without killing them—or did you skip that section in combat training?”
Katja sensed a voice in the Cloud, but it wasn’t directed at her. She guessed it was al-Jamil, based on his intent gaze toward Shin. The woman’s expression tightened. Her glance flickered then returned.
“You do not have a free hand, Katja, to just kill whoever you feel like,” she pressed. “We have a very specific job to do, and it is for the good of Terra.” Her finger suddenly stabbed out toward Chang. “And I don’t want to hear one fucking word from you.”
Chang stared back stoically.
Katja started to rise from her chair, every muscle tensing.
“Enough,” Korolev said.
Katja pressed down her anger. Under Korolev’s firm gaze she retook her seat.
“We have a mission to plan,” he continued. “Against the most dangerous threat we’ve yet faced. Get your heads in the game.”
A long moment of silence hung over the table.
“I suspect Moretti’s still in Terra somewhere,” al-Jamil said. “She’s clearly a master of avoiding surveillance, and once she’s inside the net it would be easiest for her to stay inside.”
“So we’ll have to find her,” Katja said, mind already racing as she assessed hunting strategies.
“If her next target is indeed Christopher Sheridan,” Shin said, “we get close to him. That way we don’t need to find her. She’ll find us.”
“But just to be sure,” Korolev added, “I want you, Katja, to be at Sheridan’s side at all times.”
“Why?”
“It’s pretty clear that Kete Obadele had a personal vendetta against you, and I’m sure Moretti does, too. She knows you’re not dead, despite the official records, and no doubt she’d like another shot at you.”
“You think she’ll come after me?”
“Probably not directly, but if Sheridan is her target and Moretti finds you right next to him, it might rattle her judgement—she might make a mistake.”
“So I get to be bait?” Katja felt the slow burn of anger and aggression rising in her again. Let the foreign bitch come. She’d die just like her buddy Kete had.
“Yes, and you three”—Korolev indicated Chang, al-Jamil, and Shin—“are the trap.”
* * *
It helped that she was small. At thirty years old Katja was still young by Terran standards, but even so her battle-hardened skin had long ago lost that baby-smooth quality of youth. Anyone truly perceptive would be able to spot the wisdom in her eyes and the confidence of her movements. So while she could play the role of innocent intern to some degree, spending all day every day with smart, ambitious young colleagues would make it challenging to come across as ten years younger than she was.
No, being short and petite was her best weapon in not being taken too seriously. The politician for whom she now “worked” barely even noticed her among the herd of interns. Christopher Sheridan was the new leader of the Federalist Party in Parliament, the largest political group outside of the ruling government, and therefore the official leader of the Opposition.
Unusual for a leading politician in being of only average height, Sheridan made up for his lack of stature with a lightning wit, a commanding voice, and a force of personality that washed over any room like a tidal wave. He was very busy making waves all across the Terran networks as he established himself publicly.
Like any politician, Sheridan preferred to have a backdrop of beautiful people whenever he gave an important speech, and as one of the interns on staff Katja dutifully stood in the front rank behind her boss while he orated for the cameras. Her hair was black and cut in a short bob, but she knew that Centauri recognition systems would identify her facial features easily.
Political speeches bored her, but she forced herself to listen as Sheridan thundered away against the policies of the current government. At times his words struck her as openly treasonous, until she reminded herself that he was himself a senior member of Parliament, and that it was his job to demonstrate to the people the healthy debate over policies.
This Denver speech addressed the war against the rebel colonies. Public opinion wasn’t as supportive of the war as once it had been—despite the fact that Katja and her colleagues had snuffed out various dissident groups. Sheridan’s words echoed the vague unease felt by many. He was quick to praise the courage and dedication of the Terran Army and Astral Force, but he openly criticized the strategies employed by the government.
Sheridan criticized the use of violence against colonial populations, and demanded a return to focused, military-on-military engagements. He decried the rebels as a small group of armed dissidents, led by the criminal leaders of Centauria, and claimed that the vast majority of colonists were victims of the war, as much so as Terran civilians.
“Strike at the heart of terror,” he said again—it had become his catchphrase, and his target was the Centauri government. He called for a withdrawal from the far-flung colonies, and a concerted attack on Centauria itself.
No matter how eloquently he delivered this message, Katja found it ridiculous, yet he gave voice to that certain sector of Terran society that was frustrated by Parliament’s policies, and made those people feel heard. It was the classic role of the leader of the Opposition, and Sheridan played it beautifully.
Following the inevitable question-and-answer period, Sheridan was whisked away from the stage by security, the broad, suited form of Suleiman Chang among them. Sheridan’s recent election as leader of his party had been the perfect excuse for additional security, and if Centauri intelligence recognized Chang as Special Forces, then his presence would seem perfectly natural.
What Valeria Moretti and her colleagues wouldn’t recognize was SF’s hidden presence—Shin Mun-Hee as a researcher and Ali al-Jamil as a driver.
The entourage of interns followed Sheridan to his waiting transport. The big bus hid heavy armor beneath the bright outer paint of the Federalist Party, and an array of sensors tracked movement all around. Armed guards waited discreetly inside the main doors, away from the media. A security scanner interrogated Katja’s embedded ID chip as she stepped up into the transport’s interior, and she offered a nervous smile to the motionless guards.
The vehicle was large enough to comfortably carry four dozen people, and had served as the leader’s mobile ground headquarters during an election campaign. Terra was years away from the next election, and the interior seemed cavernous for the small staff it currently housed. Katja couldn’t see al-Jamil up forward in the cockpit, but she sensed him easily in the Cloud.
Shin sat at her research terminal and didn’t glance up as the interns moved past, but Katja heard a voice in her head.
Since the mission began, Shin had been pure professionalism. Katja, however, was struggling to shake the effects of their heated exchange. Anger wouldn’t serve her here, as she had to maintain a polite, pretty facade for the civilians, and Shin was an ally—one of the few she had in this universe. Fighting w
ith her was the last thing Katja wanted, but the words from the briefing room haunted her.
Did the other operatives disapprove of Katja?
It was an idea that threatened to bring tears to her eyes, and she pushed it down firmly.
Sheridan retreated to his private office toward the rear of the bus. Katja took one of the soft chairs in the central lounge and pulled her Baryon from her purse. Every intern was expected to jump on social media in the wake of a major political speech, and she dutifully sent out messages echoing the thrust of her boss’s agenda. The other interns did the same, and she idly tracked their transmissions for any suspicious patterns.
Although she’d only had three days on the team, thus far all seven interns appeared to be legitimate, over-privileged kids eager to jump-start their careers. A perfect mix of racial and planetary backgrounds, each one of these four men and three other women was smart and savvy enough, but their social media patterns revealed an identifiable lack of experience. None of them had yet dared to approach Sheridan himself, but the jostling for position within the herd had already started.
Katja played it cool, giving the impression of a cute but empty-headed dilettante who posed little threat.
With a slight lurch the transport departed for Atlanta. Most politicians would have headed for the nearest skyport, but Sheridan’s message hinged on his very visible ground travel. It gave the impression that he was a man of the people, and it made his Federal Party bus into a physical presence as it zoomed along the public highways. It also created a unique security challenge, but even this weakness was part of the plan.
The bus left Denver behind and headed out onto the great central plains of North America. It was several hours of uninterrupted travel to Atlanta and a busy work day for all. Katja watched as several senior advisors came and went from Sheridan’s office, and by linking into Chang’s audio feed she could listen to the conversations. It was typical administrative details and political speculation, but it gave her a sense of Sheridan’s mindset.
Shin sent her a preliminary report, and Katja quickly scanned the effect Sheridan’s recent speech had made on the Terran networks. The results had been positive, and Katja looked forward to being the bearer of good news.
March of War Page 11
