“Nolotov is former Navy, sir,” the analyst spoke quietly over the feed as the ship’s captain repeated her initial transmission. “Captained the destroyer Audacious out of Puller-Moore in Sirius. Twenty years served, excellent record.” He pulled up Nolotov’s Navy record on an adjacent screen.
Addy had been stationed on Puller-Moore for one tour. The Naval base was attached to Heliodore, the McKendree cylinder that orbited the dog star.
Cutter nodded to the analyst. “Thanks, Mack. Now I need your opinion. Can we speak candidly with Nolotov?”
Mack’s gaze swerved to the holo. He stared consideringly at the woman pictured there for a few beats before he nodded. “Yessir, I believe we can.”
Cutter blew out a breath. “Good.” His gaze cut to Toland and then Valenti before ordering, “Keep this feed scrambled. As of right now, it’s need-to-know. I may need those Novastrike pilots to relay some hard messages going forward. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Mack’s face may have paled slightly, Addy couldn’t be sure. But the man’s mouth firmed, and he nodded.
“Perfectly, sir. Here are the tokens for the feed. I’ll leave them with you.”
Cutter sat back as the analyst exited the situation room. The feed paused, and the director looked first at Toland and then at Addy.
“Am I ready to hear this?” he asked them.
Toland shook her head. “I suspect none of us are, sir.”
Cutter stared back unblinkingly, and then turned to face the holo.
As Nolotov’s message began to play, Addy felt sick. She didn’t need the appended files from the ship’s doctor to tell her what this was. The images of the dead and dying told her in clear, certain terms. Still, she took her time studying the viral samples the doctor had obtained for them.
Her jaw worked as she saw what the virus had been reassorted into.
“Sargon Virus,” she said quietly.
Cutter turned his head, brow lifted in silent question.
“A particularly virulent form of Sargon,” Toland qualified.
Addy pointed. “And they added an accelerant.”
Cutter looked at them both. “What does that mean?”
“It’s a gene-modified variant that causes the infection to spread more rapidly.” Toland’s voice was curt. “It’s essentially digesting its victims from the inside out. When it’s done, it seeks another host for it to replicate.”
She saw Cutter blanch at Toland’s raw words. He dropped his head for a moment, absorbing what she’d just told him.
“Bottom line?” he asked, his eyes meeting theirs once more.
Addy commanded her wire to run a few simulations on her overlay, altering the parameters in various ways, hoping against all hope that she could find a way to save at least some of the people on that yacht. Each model continued to show an aggressively exponential spread that gave her the same outcome every time.
That ship was quite literally a floating death trap.
Toland’s low curse told Addy she’d come to the same conclusion.
“I….” Addy’s voice broke. She cleared her throat and tried again. “We can get the CID’s mainframe to run the models again. We can’t just doom almost fourteen thousand people to their deaths without double-checking these models.” She turned her head, seeking to deny what the simulations told her.
“Doctor?” Cutter’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “Addy, look at me.”
You’re a Captain in the Geminate Navy, she told herself fiercely. For stars’ sake, grow a frickin’ spine, Moran!
Her mental pep talk didn’t alleviate the churning in her gut, but it did allow her to turn and look him in the eyes.
“Addy, we aren’t dooming anyone to their deaths,” he said. “Don’t lose sight of who has done this to them. Akkadia just declared war, and these people….”
He faced the holo once more, the grim cast of his features evident even in profile. “These people may be our first KIA.”
KIA. Killed in Action.
Addy shuddered but did not disagree.
“I’ll need you to be absolutely sure.” Cutter directed his words to both Addy and the admiral, his tone quiet but resolute. “But once you are, you need to let me know. Let me be clear, that is an order.”
It was the admiral’s turn to stare at the holo, expression fierce. She nodded. “We will not allow them to suffer.”
DEADLY SHIPMENT
Akkadian Base
An-Yang Dust Belt
Proxima Centauri
Che watched Bijin’s test from his office, Dacina at his side. His eyes were glued to the holo with morbid fascination. One thing was clear: the deaths on Hawking would be dramatic and not easily forgotten.
Rin Zhou would be most pleased.
Shortly after the experiment’s successful conclusion, his wire pinged.
{The doctor has successfully concluded his field tests,} Colonel Marceau told him. {He has officially signed off on the bioweapon being ready for real-world use.}
{Excellent. Please extend my congratulations to the citizen doctor,} Che responded.
Marceau sent him a nod. {He is packaging the weapon into smaller payloads at the moment. Once that is completed, we will bring you the trigger, and then I will personally supervise the weapon’s transfer to the shuttle. It should be ready to depart within a few hours.}
The connection dissolved, and Che turned to his Dagger. “And what do you think of the weapon?”
Dacina’s face was blank as she stared at the feed from the isolation room. “It is… difficult… to see the honor in such a kill,” she said finally.
Her words startled Che.
“Do you know,” he said slowly, “this is the first time I have ever heard you voice a criticism of a tactic of mine?”
Dacina’s dark eyes met his steadily. “But there you are wrong, my general. This,” she indicated the holo feed, “is not your tactic, but the minister’s.”
Che’s attention sharpened. Had there been a thread of disdain in Dacina’s voice?
Her expression remained as impassive as ever, and she offered nothing more on the subject.
He dismissed her odd behavior, turning instead for his office door. As it opened, he saw Li snap to attention, and realized that news of the test had probably spread throughout the base like wildfire.
With great ceremony, he bowed to Li. The citizen commander returned it.
“Prepare the message,” Che instructed quietly, and Li nodded.
In order to provide Rin Zhou with complete deniability, it had been decided that a single encrypted burst would be sent, informing her they had completed their first task and a viable bioweapon was now in their hands. As previously agreed, a second message would not be forthcoming.
The events would unfold on Hawking in a very public way, the news nets flashing the attack across the settled worlds within minutes of it happening. Rin Zhou would learn of it at the same time the rest of Akkadia did—and it would provide her with an extra measure of deniability.
Che waited while Li relayed the instruction to the comm officer, and he felt the electric thrill that ran through the room at the citizen commander’s words.
With great ceremony, Che turned to face those within the CIC. “The weapon has been tested. Our mission here is a success.”
Cheers went up through the room, and Che allowed it to continue for a beat before bringing the command center team back in line.
“Our work is not yet complete,” he warned them. “Only diligence can prevent success from slipping past on the edge of a breath.”
Those assembled bowed their heads and then turned back to their workstations, the ancient Akkadian proverb weighing heavily on their shoulders.
The process of replicating enough viral material to fill the cylinders that would become weapons took another few hours. Finally, Marceau signaled when the task was complete, and Che exited the CIC to see the shuttle off.
Marceau and Li were standing by
the ES field, observing final flight preparations, when he and Dacina arrived in the hangar bay. Through the ES field, Che could see the pair of Hydra Mark IV fighters that would accompany the shuttle. When he dropped a pin on his overlay to query each ship, a readiness report showed their pilots already on board.
He came to a stop beside Marceau, and the man straightened into parade rest.
“Well done, Citizen Colonel,” Che said.
The man dipped his head as he accepted the praise, and then handed him a small clearsteel container. Inside, Che could see a small canister.
“What’s this?”
“Your trigger,” Marceau told him. “It holds the mirror version of the bioweapon.”
Instinct had Che thrusting it away from his body.
The other man shook his head. “That is entirely safe. Bijin explained—and Travis confirmed—that it is impossible for this to infect a human.”
“Then how do I arm the weapon?”
Marceau’s lips pulled back in a feral grin. “Oh, the weapon is already armed. To pull the trigger, all you need to do is twist the lid until it clicks.”
Li looked on. “Impressive,” he murmured. “I suppose now, as they say, it’s all over but the shouting.”
Che grunted, not entirely sure where Li’s words came from, but getting the general gist of their meaning. “There is always work to be done in the shadow of success,” he agreed.
“You will find none of the men slacking, I assure you, Citizen General. We will wrap the operation, and those who come after will never know we were here.”
Che nodded as the hangar’s warning klaxons sounded and the great bay doors began to slide open. “Very good, very good,” he said absently, his attention on the three ships that had begun to maneuver on thrusters toward the black.
“How would you like to dispose of the Alliance scientists?” Marceau asked, drawing Che’s attention once more.
The general pursed his lips, thinking. “Cutter’s niece will return to Eridu with us. I’ve been assured the memory of her time here can be wiped. We will use her as a bargaining chip to obtain concessions from Cutter. As for the rest?” He shot Marceau a hard look. “We leave no witnesses. You know this.”
“Indeed. It will be as you say.” Marceau bowed once more and then paused, his eyes on the departing ships as the bay doors sealed once more. “Bad ba shoma ba shed,” he said, rendering the traditional farewell-into-battle. “May the winds be with them.”
STRIKE FORCE
Calabi-Yau Gate
An-Yang Heliopause
The Proxima Centauri gate flashed with brilliant color as it disgorged a small Alliance diplomatic ship. Cutter had arranged for it to pay an unscheduled visit to the Geminate embassy on Shang that day.
He’d also arranged to have the gate’s operations room locked down so that only those with high security clearance would be present for the ship’s transition from Procyon.
Jonathan knew that those who programmed the gate had to be aware that the smaller vessel had invisible tagalongs. Each gate passage was carefully calibrated based on each transiting vessel’s tonnage, calculating the amount of energy required to keep the gates’ apertures open on either end,. Ships either submitted to a gate’s weight and balance check prior to entry into the gate lanes, or risked not making it to the other side in one piece.
Yet their passage was seamless.
Then there was the courier ship’s captain. She hadn’t said a word about the three stealthed ships that were tucked uncomfortably close to her ship’s outer skin, yet Jonathan knew the courier’s proximity alarms must have been going nuts. The woman had to have muted her ship’s SI, or she would have surely been deafened by its warning klaxons.
By previous agreement, the ships sheared away from the courier the moment they cleared the gate, thrusters pushing them well clear of the smaller vessel before it exited the no-wake zone and lit up its fusion drive.
As the two Novastrikes formed up alongside Wraith, Yuki flushed a constellation of small, equally stealthed drones from various ports along the ship’s length. They encompassed the formation in a sensor shell she controlled. The perimeter they formed would augment Wraith’s own impressive sensor suite and that of her fighter escort.
All three ships turned toward the rich buildup of hydrogen that had accrued along Proxima’s heliopause. They had a bit of time to kill, and the dense wall of gas would allow the Navy vessels to top off their fuel reserves before the upcoming engagement.
As the ships plowed through the hydrogen cloud, their MXene coatings worked as sieves, funneling the gas into each vessel’s respective storage tanks.
Jonathan watched the Helios’s gauges and waited patiently while Will pulled up the activity of the red dwarf at Proxima’s core. They’d timed the jump to coincide with a medium-sized CME that would be accompanied by an X-thirty-five solar flare event. The emission would easily obscure the flares brought on by three Casimir bubbles dissipating fifty meters from the asteroid that was their destination.
{Thar she blows,} the flight engineer sent. {It’ll reach here in four hours, seventeen minutes, mark.}
{Blackbird One copies,} the Novastrike on Jonathan’s left wing sent.
{Blackbird Two copies,} came the echo from the Novastrike on his other side.
{Scharnhorst flight time to destination,} Will’s voice pierced the ship’s net once more, {is three hours, ten minutes, mark.}
Jonathan switched over to Wraith’s ship-wide combat net, relaying to Thad and the teams what Will had just calculated. {Seven-seven minutes to translation, folks,} he informed the men and women seated in the Helios’s cabin.
Thad grunted. {Heads-up, amis. Gear check at thirty minutes from the pocket. Set your chronos.}
A flurry of double-clicks hit the combat net, and then the channel went silent, the warriors doing whatever it was they did prior to an op.
Jonathan had seen over the years how varied that could be. Some grabbed additional shuteye, others played poker. Still others meditated, read a book, or watched an entertainment vid. He glanced over at Yuki, whose hands were buried in the cockpit’s holo but whose eyes were closed in an almost zen-like state as she directed the drones that surrounded the ships.
He knew without looking that Nina would have a light mental touch on ship’s weapons, ready to go live at a moment’s notice—at least until they entered Scharnhorst space. With nothing able to penetrate a Casimir bubble, she would be able to stand down during the three-hour-plus transit.
The time passed without incident, and all three ships jumped from realspace into their respective bubbles as the chronos zeroed out. Travel through Scharnhorst space was an exercise in isolation. Nothing could get to them, and they couldn’t interact with anything outside the bubble.
The mechanics of the transit were best left to the ship’s SI, so Jonathan unwebbed and stretched.
“Coffee?” he asked Yuki as she yawned.
“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, reaching for her own webbing.
As they left the cockpit and entered the crowded cabin space, Jonathan’s blue eyes met Thad’s deep brown ones. Jonathan made a drinking motion with his hand, and the Marine’s chin lifted in a silent yes.
“Geminate Navy at its finest, hoss,” Thad’s voice rumbled behind him as he stepped into the galley.
Yuki snickered quietly at the comment, and Jonathan grinned. “Yeah, man. Hurry up and wait.”
The time seemed to creep by, but finally, they were thirty minutes out from the base. Everyone was back at their stations and webbed into their cradles.
Jonathan could hear Thad’s deep voice delivering terse orders as each soldier checked their loadout. He flipped Wraith’s internal feed up onto one of the smaller holos in the cockpit, and he and the flight crew watched as the four SRU teams geared up.
Spare batteries and extra magazines were stuffed into pockets. Flash-bangs, frags, and sticky grenades were tucked into tac-vests alongside carbyne-jacketed rap
pelling lines with nano-coated grappling hooks. Cylinders with LockPik and Crowbar hacks went in alongside the larger Bravo Charlie breaching canisters.
{That’s quite the arsenal.} Will’s thought floated to him on their isolated cockpit channel.
Nina grunted her agreement. {And may they rain down a helluva lot of whoop-ass onto those Akkadian bastards for what they’re trying to do to us.}
{Amen, sister,} Yuki murmured.
There was one addition each team carried with them: a compact L4-containment glove box.
Jonathan’s brain shied away from the thought of carrying a contagion that volatile back with them to Ceriba, but he knew the alternative was far worse. He was also well aware of the portable decontamination unit sealed to Wraith’s aft cargo hatch.
His mind returned to his duties as the chrono once more neared the zero point. He saw that the teams had formed into clusters by insertion group, and the first one stood ready beside the ship’s portside hatch.
{Entering realspace… now,} Jonathan called out, and he felt Wraith shudder slightly as the Helios shed its Casimir bubble.
Blackbirds One and Two appeared on his overlay, the Novastrikes peeling off to hold station on either side of the asteroid while Jonathan moved the Helios toward the first vent identified by Daz the day before.
He sank deeper into the merge, his eyesight now one with the ship’s SyntheticVision system. The asteroid grew slowly before him, Wraith’s predictive systems highlighting the indentation that hid the first vent, its opening little more than a slit tucked deep within the shadows. He used thrusters to feather Wraith to a stop a mere half-meter from the indentation.
{We’re a go for insertion,} he told Thad.
TF Blue’s leader sent him a two-click, and then a notification flashed on his overlay telling him that the Marine had cycled the hatch open. Jonathan split his view so that he could see the harnessed figure of a drakeskin-sealed soldier being spooled carefully out, a Bravo Charlie held in one hand.
The Chiral Protocol – A Military Science Fiction Thriller: Biogenesis War Book 2 (The Biogenesis War) Page 25
