Breakaway: A Cassandra Kresnov Novel (v1.1)

by Joel Shepherd

  The countdown hit zero, tac-net reception ... the new codings jarred when she accessed them, then unfolded in a rapid rush across internal visual, interlocking graphical lines and angles-her position, the flyer's position, SWAT Four's flyer, command uplinks-a good, solid matrix layout, everything she needed in a rapidly evolving situation. Of course, it was nothing as complex or multi-layered as the tacnet matrixes she'd used in Dark Star, straights couldn't process that much network information that quickly ... but when she overlaid her own matrix-reception over the existing centralised system ... a whole new level of complexity unfolded to her. The full Gordon layout, physical and network systems, all realtime in massive information overload. Her vision blurred, reddening in automatic combat reflex. Things seemed further away, time slowed. Central re-accessed her link, and the recognition codes seemed to take whole moments to access and unfold into an audible linkup ...

  "Snowcat, your uplink shows you receiving at a factor of ten beyond optimum ... are you having a difficulty, or is this standard?"

  "Standard, thanks, HQ." Her own voice sounded slow and ponderous to her ears. "Don't call every time you're surprised, I'll be busy." This, of course, was why Vanessa had given command over to her. She was made for it. Literally. Now she only needed to remember not to abbreviate her commands too much (that was always the reflex in this state), to keep them stringing out for what seemed like an age. Her old Dark Star team had understood her shorthand, too-CSA operatives would not. "Can someone get me that fire-grid feed, please?"

  Another flash of visual data as the feed came through, a massive, multi-layered system that she broke down and analysed with reflex mental speed ... it looked military, all right, a big three-dimensional gridwork with various interconnecting bits and pieces clearly intended for armscomp, separate parts for fire control and acquisition, sensory grid, target processing, spatial awareness and field coordination ... she raced through it, found and isolated the safety lockouts for closer examination ...

  "SWAT Four, this is Snowcat ... forget charging the emplacements on the ground, Ricey, they've overridden the old settings. Projectiles are still self-terminating at four Ks, so we have a safety range, but fire capability is now downward of horizontal, they can shoot up anything on legs or wheels now. The whole system is frozen, we're locked out-that's good in that it means they can't reset them again, but it also means no one from outside can get in and put them back."

  "So they've clearly got the fire-grid?"

  "It certainly looks that way. The one bit I can't see from this probe is how they're controlling it-I'm guessing a manual, realtime uplink to someone's portable, they can assign threat-ID-positive there from the sensor-grid, which will mean anyone they don't like the look of."

  "Can we hack that control link?"

  "Not a chance, it's buried, all the surrounding net infrastructure is frozen and we just can't break through what isn't interacting-that control point is connected between point A and B, we're at point C. We've no way of accessing unless we can hack their portable, and that's just not going to happen."

  "Will they target civilians as a hostage threat to hold off an assault?" Although not in command, Vanessa certainly knew how to ask all the right questions. Threaten to blow one of those civilian shuttles out of the sky? Jesus. It was the FIA, she wouldn't put it past them-not considering the damage Dali could cause if they got him to spill what he knew about their collusion in just about everything Neiland's new allies found so annoying about the Federation Government right now.

  "We'll put everyone into a holding pattern before we go in. First thing, someone get onto FS Mekong in geo-stationary communications orbit and ask them to begin the protocols for a live-fire mission, coordinates to follow." A brief pause.

  "Uh ... Sandy? You're not going to call down an orbital-fire mission on Gordon Spaceport, are you?"

  "Firebird OMS is a very effective piece of hardware, Ricey, as I've had the opportunity to see for myself from the wrong end ..."

  "It's also a military-graded weapon for use in times of war, Sandy, I'm not sure the protocols allow for ... "

  "That's why I'm asking now, to give them some time to think about it," Sandy said with forced patience. "Give me some credit, it's just the first option." It also occurred to her that FS Mekong was a Second Fleet cruiser, based in Sol System, and its captain may well owe his or her appointment to certain connections within the Earthbased Federation bureaucracy ... in the name of relocating which, she was now asking that same captain to open fire with an Orbital Missile System, against the interests of those who would surely like to prevent such a relocation. "Okay, Vanessa, options. We can't destroy the firegrid emplacements because SWAT don't have the weaponry from outside the four K safe-range. We could fool the sensor-grid into thinking we're friendly, there are civilian shuttles, ground traffic and the occasional official flyer or aircar on the main highways going through constantly as we speak, but the sensor-grid is good and we certainly shouldn't think the FIA's stupid."

  "We could land and catch the train?"

  "Takes a half hour from the nearest stop, they'll be gone in twenty minutes-the data-feed I'm getting shows engine start-up in Berth 15, we just don't have the time. Ditto commandeering a truck. I'm not going to ask local security to intervene on our behalf, they'll just get slaughtered and achieve nothing. I'd ask a local aircrew to land a flyer or aircar in front of the damn shuttle, but there's no fireshadow within fifty metres of that spot, the fire-grid will get them. And even if they landed, self-terminating projectiles allow for the precision destruction of a landed vehicle, the shuttle could just roll over the wreckage, there wouldn't be that much left, and we'd have just murdered our friendly civilian flyer-crew. I won't do it."

  "Me neither. Ditto any intervention from ground crew, they'll have armed personnel covering the shuttle's departure, anyone getting in the way will be dead. "

  Amazing they could do it in broad daylight like this, in a busy civilian spaceport. It just showed that if you had the right systems, and the ability to access and control them to your advantage, you could do anything. From the flyer's rear came the clack and rattle of heavy armour and weapons, the murmur of voices running through system checks ... even ordinary CSA personnel could operate in armour when needed, which was rarely. But she much preferred SWAT.

  "Aside from all that, there's a whole arms bank of jamming and cloak gear I've operated with that could work over these distances, but of course CSA has none of it. I change my mind, I'm all out of options. Any suggestions from anyone that don't involve us getting blown out of the sky?"

  A static silence on the com. The Tanushan outer perimeter was approaching-if she'd had time to look out the right-side porthole, she'd have seen nothing but green forest and the odd, winding river or transit route cutting through. Well beyond, the broad, open expanse of the mega-spaceport-airport complex. Now surrounded by a highly selective four kilometre exclusion zone that would cut them from the sky with the precision of a laser-scalpel if they crossed it. Above, a blue and sunny sky. That, too, was deceptive. At night, when the stations and ships went over in bright, metallic gleams against the lightwashed city sky, you could see just how deceptive. Now, beyond the bright, glaring blue, there was nothing.

  "Okay," she said, "get me a direct link to the captain of Mekong. Right now." Vanessa was right-it was a crazy option to be considering upon Tanusha's major infrastructural asset. But Sandy didn't care about that, all she knew was that it appeared to be her last option left, and she was going to take it.

  "Hello, Snowcat," came a new voice from HQ, "we appear to have another seven outbound bogies in the traffic grid headed for Gordon, five appear to be media-registered, the other two are SIB. "

  If it weren't for the response-deadening effects of combat reflex, she was sure she would have muttered several very choice phrases to inform all with ears of her very severe displeasure.

  "Highlight please," she said instead, and the tac-net matrix abruptly swung f
ocus back to mid-western Tanusha, and to several red dots amid the masses of afternoon traffic flowing there. Specific detail sprang to visual. She scrolled through fast ... five media and two SIB, like HQ said. Both SIB vehicles were breaking lanes on emergency protocols, very obvious and not the kind of thing she wanted to see with an opponent who wasn't supposed to see them coming ...

  "Someone please talk them into their lanes," she snapped, "or else I'll ..." The command-SIB was transmitting and she cut into the frequency ...

  "... this is an illegal operation," came the clear, female voice, "we monitor that Snowcat has been given charge of this mission, it is our duty to inform you that the individual `Snowcat' is presently under legal suspension from duty by direct order of Special Investigation Bureau ... "

  "I don't fucking believe it," came someone's unidentified response on tac-net. The SIB couldn't hear that, they weren't hooked into tac-net, no non-CSA personnel could be unless directly authorised to-they didn't have the software. How they'd monitored enough to know that "Neiland's GI" was in charge was anyone's guess-leaks in CSA command was her own bet, it was a common enough rumour, either among personnel or net-systems. And then another call was coming in ...

  "Someone deal with them," Sandy announced, "I'm busy." And linked onto the other, broader, encrypted channel ... "Hello, Captain Reichhardt." The accompanying text message on internal visual informed her of the captain's name and other details. "I'm sorry to disturb you, have you been following the present situation down here?"

  "Yes, Yes I have." With that faintly tinny, static-wrinkled interface that spoke of greater distances and many relays in between. "Your Director Ibrahim contacted me personally, and I am fully appraised of the situation regarding Governor Dali. I understand I am speaking to the famed Tanushan GI, and that you are in command of this operation at present. "

  "That is correct, sir." Scanning text furiously-the captain's age, marital status, university, degrees, military record (an accumulated twelve years' frontline service against the League as captain, another fifteen as a lower ranked officer) ... anything that might give her an idea of the man's leanings. It was of course a political decision she was asking. In this environment, everything had a political ramification. What this particular ramification would be for herself if it happened, she had no idea. "Our present situation is that Dali will escape our custody if we cannot stop him. The FIA have now acquired complete control of the Gordon Spaceport fire defence grid. If we venture within the four kilometre exclusion zone, we will be destroyed, and we have only perhaps nineteen minutes before the shuttle leaves its berth. I am asking you, sir, to commit an OMS launch against the five defensive fire-grid emplacements to allow us to prevent Dali's unlawful escape from justice. As you will know, I am an ex-Dark Star captain. I am well versed in the operation of such weapons systems, I can safely act as your fire-control officer at this end to ensure zero collateral damage. I await your prompt reply, sir." A brief pause. Too long to be transmission delay. Then a faint, crackling sound that sounded like ... a chuckle.

  "Ma'am, in Texas where I was born, we call that cahones ... no matter your gender, it's still cahones." Texas. USA-or Los Estados Unidos- people from there were called LEUs for short. Lots of Spanish slang. Far more LEUs in the League, generally speaking. LEUs weren't generally known for their love of political chicanery, either. Her confidence level abruptly leapt ... she might, MIGHT just have a chance here, because the USA had been one of the most vocal in speaking out against Federation centralism precisely because of FIA heavy-handedness ... independently minded, League-sympathetic if not exactly friendly, and still sometimes accused of isolationism, the USA remained somewhat suspicious of their bigger Chinese and Indian partners that dominated the Federation Grand Council alliance, and most recently, it seemed, with damn good cause ...

  "Now I do suspect, ma'am, that you are as well aware of the Federationwide regulations against the operation of such military-grade weapons systems in a civilian environment as I am, particularly as it's now peacetime and all. "

  "Yessir. There will be no peace if Dali is allowed to escape, his removal will hide from the various off-Earth governments of the Federation much of the truth about the degree of the Grand Council's complicity in covert, illegal FIA operations ..." And she decided to take a great, great chance, ". . . operations, sir, that I greatly suspect have caused you and your colleagues in Fleet command much anger and frustration for many years past. I'm sure many Fleet captains who served against the League were greatly outraged by many instances of the FIA's conduct in that conflict, and feel the greatness of their cause diminished by those actions. If you want to let yet another of those illegal acts fly straight off this planet and into the black hole of Grand Council justice, you can simply do nothing. Or you can assist in their lawful apprehension, for the greater good of all the Federation, and in the hopes of the smooth and democratic operation of Federation democratic political process, and launch the OMS on my fire mission. I'll make sure they only hit what they're supposed to, it will not be in any way a dangerous or reckless act. What is your response, sir? We're running out of time."

  "I make no comment to you upon my feelings toward the FIA, Ms. Kresnov. " Ibrahim had told him her name. Her hopes sank. "Except to say that I've already had the fire mission locked in from the moment I understood the situation, launch will commence in approximately twenty seconds from now, and y'all go have y'rself a good next half hour down there, y'hear? Fire-control observer protocols will follow, Mekong out. "

  She didn't even hesitate. "All units, this is Snowcat, fire mission is on its way, I have observer protocols, please now take all measures to clear all civilians away from the fire-grid points. If I do need to detonate a round short of the targets, all units be prepared to improvise advance-and-evade flightplans around the surviving fire-grid point."

  It was messy, this ad-hoc collection of civilian units and operating procedures ... communicating in a language everyone could understand was a challenge, and a long way from the jargon brevity of Dark Star familiarity. But if people misunderstood, they were going to get killed. ETA showed three minutes now until the kill-zone ... and if the shuttle's start-up sequence was where she thought it was from the displays, they'd be rolling in about eighteen. Somewhere up in high geo-stationary orbit, Mekong was now firing, high-V shell-casings accelerating at bone-crushing Gs, hitting atmosphere in two minutes, shell-burnoff for another two, flight activation, target acquisition ... they'd come straight in at many times terminal velocity, a mere five minutes twenty-three seconds from first firing. Giving them about twelve minutes between now and the shuttle departing. Well, at least they could get close enough then to wing the shuttle while it was still on the ground ... although that too could prove tricky, given the variables.

  "All units," she announced, "switch lanes to a kill-zone parallel." With a quick flash of mental illustration to show what she meant, flightpaths selected that ran alongside the kill-zone perimeter, attempting to look innocuous. She didn't think it would work, but it might keep them guessing. "We're going to get about twelve minutes once the grid goes down, I'll get you your landing points when it happens. It's a fluid situation, be prepared to improvise."

  "Copy that," came Vanessa's reply, calm and unworried. And she suffered her first flash of worry-"Don't trust me too much, Vanessa, I'm not perfect. I can't monitor everything you're doing realtime like I would a Dark Star team-mate through direct neural linkups, I'm relying on you to use your own brain." But she knew she couldn't waste time worrying about that, for everyone's sake, so she forgot about it, realigned the tac-net channel to remote, unplugged herself, unbelted and swung up from the chair into the cramped aisle and headed for the rear ... the data-flow was less intense, without the direct linkup, but only marginally, and the complete, stable, tac-net picture remained constant in her head.

  The four security agents were already arming up, a tight cluster of armour harnesses, light gear in various pieces and stages
of attachment, nothing like the heavy grunt-gear SWAT used, just enough for light protection with full augmentation ... She flattened herself past Odano and one of the sec agents, keeping balance in a rough piece of air with practised ease, double-handle twisted the grips on the first available locker and the doors swung open ... there were six basic sizes of suit, precise fits were superior but it looked like everyone was going to find a size close enough. Hauled off her jacket and hung it, sent the shoulder holster after it-a tight wriggle as an armoured body squeezed past toward the front-and took calm note of the ongoing tac-net conversation with the SIB, who had neither adjusted lanes, nor slowed down. Nor, just as alarmingly, had the media vehicles. And more were highlighted ... like carrion birds headed for a fresh carcass, they grew to a swarm by following each other's lead.

  She got a hold of the overhead handles and slapped herself backfirst into the torso armour. A quick, reflex fastening of straps, feeling the auto-measurements rearranging for her size and shape, and snapped the chestplate down, then worked her way down to stomach, pelvis and thighs, each time the familiar snap-whine of connection, and the tightening adjustment to a firm fit. The sec agents cleared the rear, leaving room for Ari, Kazuma and Odano, who scrambled into their gear with somewhat less than her own rapid grace. Bank as the flyer continued course along the kill-zone perimeter. The SIB didn't seem to be slowing ...