by Peter Grant
Khanoum sat forward, frowning. “All you say confirms my impression. What I’m most concerned about is the internal security environment. We seem to be getting into a pressure-cooker situation, where all sorts of issues are occupying our peoples’ minds and keeping them agitated and worked up. At present we’re able to keep a lid on the situation, and we can continue to do that for the foreseeable future; but what about factors we can’t foresee? What if the rebels launch new attacks on Termaz and inflict severe casualties? Even worse, what if they use some of their newly-acquired ships – which appear, at least in theory, to be more capable than first thought – to launch attacks in this, our home system? What would that do to the peoples’ willingness to trust us to run Bactria as we’ve always done? Would it lead to a serious challenge to our authority?”
SS Colonel Arachosia said quietly, “That’s a growing concern of ours, Wazir. We see the same developments you’ve noted. We’re able to keep things under control at their present levels, but if they get worse, we’ll have to rely on the Army to provide troops for internal security.”
“We won’t be able to provide as many as you’d like,” Demetrias warned bluntly. “We can’t send conscripts into such situations. They’d be far too likely to side with their families and friends in the mob. We can only rely on our regulars, and as Colonel Fergan has pointed out, we don’t have enough of them anymore. Those left to us are spread thin across our forces to boost overall unit efficiency and train conscripts. They’re not concentrated in reliable units we can dispatch to a trouble spot.”
“That’s the nub of my concern,” the Wazir sighed. “In the past nobles could raise their own troops of guards, who were available to deal with local or regional security issues. However, after a series of conflicts with the nobles, Satrap Alexandros terminated that right three centuries ago. I know we daren’t start raising our own units again in defiance of the Satrap, but what if we were to make our country estates available to the Army to gather reservists into small ‘volunteer’ units, General? If we selected trustworthy individuals, we might be able to build up small, select security forces who would answer directly to the nobles when the time came. They wouldn’t be the equal of the regular Army, of course, but they wouldn’t have to be. We could use them to control unrest and whip the people back into line if necessary. What do you think?”
“The idea has possibilities,” Demetrias said slowly. “General Pamir, what do you think?”
“I see no reason not to do it,” his deputy affirmed stoutly. “We can form platoon- or company-size units under the auspices of existing Reserve formations, and issue them uniforms, weapons and transport on the same basis. They won’t be in full-time service and won’t be quartered in our regular bases, so they won’t require barracks and won’t be on our ration strength. By using existing units as cover for them, we can conceal the fact that they exist and operate independently.”
“That would be very useful,” his superior officer agreed. “Very well, Wazir. We’ll see what can be done, and get back to you within the week with concrete proposals.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. That will be –”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Major Kadeh slipped into the room. His uniform was disheveled, as if he’d been out of doors, and he was breathing hard like a man who’d been running.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said brusquely, “but there’s a crisis to deal with. It may affect all of us.” He crossed to his seat as he glared at General Gedrosia. “May I ask what the hell the SS thinks it’s playing at?”
The General sat bolt upright in shock, which rapidly changed to anger. “How dare you address a superior officer like that?”
“I dare because the SS has just precipitated a crisis, General! I repeat – what the hell does your organization think it’s playing at?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you didn’t know that one of your people was shot dead trying to infiltrate the Satrap’s Guard research facility this morning?”
“What?” The General goggled at him. “You can’t be serious!”
The Major slowly sat down as he stared at him. “You mean you didn’t know?”
“How could I? I never ordered anything of the kind!” He glanced at Colonel Arachosia. “Did you?”
“No, of course not, Sir!”
Kadeh sank into his seat. “In that case, Sir, I apologize for my rudeness; but I must also tell you that you have some sort of rogue element in the SS that you need to straighten out right now. A man wearing Guard uniform, with the correct ID, entered the Research Center this morning. It seems he sent spy flitterbugs into half a dozen buildings there, infiltrating via the roof or open windows. They were found in nooks and crannies, recording whatever they could for later transmission. We found out about them from a data chip on his body. He was detected while trying to do the same at a special project building. The security team there sounded the alert, and he was stopped at the gate. He tried to shoot his way out, and was killed.”
Everyone had listened with shocked, disbelieving expressions on their faces. “But this is madness!” the Wazir exclaimed. “How – why – I… I just don’t understand!”
“It gets worse, Wazir,” Kadeh said grimly. “His vehicle was found in the parking lot. It contained an SS identification wallet. What’s more, he carried a pulser and had several flitterbugs and a control console in his possession. I’m informed by my sources in the Guard that they’ve already traced the serial numbers on all that equipment to the SS. By tomorrow morning – maybe even later tonight – they’re going to be knocking on your door, wanting answers.”
General Gedrosia sat in stunned silence, shaking his head. Colonel Arachosia snapped, “Any such operation would have originated in our Central Bureau, but that’s my unit. I’ve never authorized anything of the kind. I don’t know what the devil’s going on here, but I think we’re being set up.”
Gedrosia shook his head violently, as if to clear it. “That would fit with other recent events. The first team we sent to Neue Helvetica were all killed in a so-called ‘vehicle accident’. We didn’t find out about it for some time, thanks to the closure of our Consulate there. We sent another team a few months ago, but they’ve vanished into thin air. We haven’t heard a word from them. Is it possible they’re dead too? Then there’s that report last month from our Ambassador to Marano. Our entire six-person team there was found dead in a burned-out van, along with a weapons broker, with all their ID’s carefully packed into a plastic bag and left on the ground, clear of the wreckage and fire, where the police could find them. It was clearly an assassination, but we’ve no idea who was behind it. Now there’s this – an intrusion we didn’t order, but which implicates us. The fallout is bound to disrupt our operations, not to mention cause further distrust of us in official circles. Put all that together, and what have you got?”
“Someone’s infiltrated us, Sir,” the Colonel said slowly, nodding as his eyes narrowed. “I don’t see any other possibility. Could it be the rebel Government-in-Exile?”
“How? They never displayed any such capability before their escape, and I don’t see how they could have developed it since then. More to the point, they’ve never had any operatives on Bactria as far as we know. No, I think this is internal. It’s got to come from another government agency; someone or some group that doesn’t like our influence. Remember, we used to be an independent Cabinet-level office. After Tapuria we were reduced to department level under the Ministry of War. Are these incidents designed to set us up to lose even more credibility?”
“But who, Sir? Who would have the ability to do that, and the facilities to set up everything?”
Wazir Khanoum snapped, “Isn’t it obvious? There’s only one possible candidate – the Satrap!”
“What?” Everyone goggled at him.
“His Guard has always had a confidential bureau for covert operations – not so, Major Kadeh?”
/> “That’s right, Wazir. I don’t know much about it, because I’ve never been part of it.”
“But it’s staffed by competent people, right?”
“I assume so, Wazir.”
“Very well then. The Satrap has his own spy service at his beck and call. He was responsible for subordinating the SS to the Ministry of War, and he’s refused to replace the equipment and agents you lost on Termaz, citing budgetary pressures as an excuse. It would suit him to reduce your status even further. Even your failures on other planets may not be so much failures as betrayals. After all, he benefits from them, because he can use them to undermine and discredit your leadership.” He looked directly at the two SS officers.
Dawning understanding crept across the faces of his listeners. General Demetrias gurgled, “But the intruder this morning was killed! How could the Satrap persuade an agent to accept death, merely to discredit the SS? No sane man would do that!”
Major Kadeh shook his head. “The man might not have known the Satrap was involved, Sir. He might have received his orders from a source he believed had the right to give them – perhaps someone pretending to be an SS officer, or even a genuine SS officer who’s been suborned and is working in secret for another agency – without being aware that he was being set up for death.”
Gedrosia cursed aloud. “That must be it! I’m going to…” He suddenly hesitated. “No. We can’t make accusations against the Satrap without overwhelmingly strong evidence, and we have none.”
“I’m afraid you’re right, Sir,” Colonel Arachosia agreed unhappily. “The Satrap can simply deny everything. In fact, if we tried to make a fuss, he could cite that as evidence that we were completely out of touch with reality, and use it as an excuse to remove us from our posts.”
“I fear you’re right, Colonel,” the Wazir agreed, his mouth tight. “This has been masterfully done. The SS is caught in a no-win situation – at least for now. I suspect the only possibility in the short term is for you to brazen it out and play for time.”
“But how much time do we have?” General Demetrias’ voice was plaintive. “You said yourself that pressures are building up in our society. They’re building externally, too. There’s that intruder ship reported from Termaz. Other rebel ships may come here in the same way – Rear-Admiral Stasanor spoke just yesterday of the danger from space mines.”
Khanoum sighed. “The situation might deteriorate drastically at any moment. We may not have the luxury of waiting a few years for the crisis to unfold, because neither the Satrap nor the rebels on Termaz may not give us that much time. We must be prepared for anything.”
He rose to his feet. “I won’t detain you any longer, my friends. Our SS colleagues have much to do to prepare themselves for the inquiry that’s about to hit them. I suggest we leave Major Kadeh to enjoy a well-earned supper, and get back to our responsibilities. I’ll send in a waiter with food for you, Major. Thank you very much for bringing us advance warning of this crisis. You’ve given us more time to prepare a response.”
There was a murmur of assent as the others stood. The Wazir escorted them to the lobby of the restaurant as a waiter wheeled in a trolley with a three-course meal for Kadeh. He was hungrily devouring a meat soup when his host returned.
Khanoum closed the door behind him and sat down. “That was exceptionally well done, my young friend,” he said quietly and very approvingly. “We’ve got all of them chasing their own tails, worrying that there may be traitors within their departments. All very satisfactory.”
Kadeh swallowed a mouthful of soup and grinned. “Yes, and they’ll look to you to be the steadying hand of experience, to provide leadership while their heads are spinning with the implications of unknown dangers.”
“Precisely. You’ve done everything and more that I asked you to do. You had no trouble convincing your man?”
“None at all, Sir. He really is – or, rather, was – an SS agent, one I’d worked with on another operation. I was able to persuade him to help me test the security of the Satrap’s Guard. He thought his pulser and the guards’ weapons were loaded with practice rounds for exercise purposes. The funds you provided helped, of course. I paid him lavishly for his assistance. He suspected nothing.”
“And now it’s too late for him to suspect anything.” They chuckled softly together. “What would you have done if he’d succeeded in his mission without being detected?”
“I’d have made sure he was detected, Wazir. If necessary he’d have ‘been killed while attempting to escape’. Fortunately, I didn’t have to intervene. A security team in another building spotted him first.”
“Very good. What about his pulser, flitterbugs and other equipment?”
“He provided everything from SS stocks, Wazir, even his pulser. I provided a charger of training ammo with which to load it for what he assumed to be an ‘exercise’. However, unknown to him I filled the charger with the real thing, so when he opened fire on the guards he injured one of them. Seeing that, of course, the other guards killed him, ensuring he could never talk.”
“You’re an uncommonly inventive, efficient and competent officer, my dear Major. I’m glad I decided to approach you privately to ask for assistance. I promise you, on the day our coup succeeds, you’ll wear General’s stars. I’ll need a strong right-hand man when I rule as Vizier, to control our Army and the SS while I direct our figurehead on the Satrap’s throne.”
Vesta: April 20-21 2852 GSC
“Plot to Command. Target Lima-One bearing 272:271, range one-zero-two kilometers, Sir.”
“Command to Plot, thank you. Break. Command to Navigation. Bring the ship to rest with Lima-One bearing precisely 270:270 from us at a range of one hundred kilometers.”
“Navigation to Command, aye aye, Sir.”
As the Navigating Officer began making tiny, precise adjustments to Laredo Ship Liberty’s position, her Commanding Officer glanced over his shoulder to where Dave was sitting in the Operation Center’s visitors’ chairs. “So far, so good, Sir.”
“So I see. I’m impressed by the way your crew’s come together. You’re satisfied they’re all performing at a suitable level for combat conditions?”
“Yes, Sir.” Captain Cullew grinned. “I’d have liked a couple more months to knock them into shape, but I suspect that’s been said by every warship captain since long before Nelson’s time.”
Dave couldn’t help smiling. “The missile cells?”
“All tubes tested correctly just before you arrived from Marano, Sir. They’ve put a second cell into another cargo hold aboard both this ship and LS Independence, Sir, so we each have a hundred target missiles. Fortunately that wasn’t a problem, given the number of cells they removed from the old Legion class battleships. We still don’t have any defensive missiles, unfortunately.”
“Yes, but I hope we can get by without them for this mission. We expect to have some by the third quarter, if another project goes well. Once we’ve calibrated your new laser turrets they’ll give you at least some defensive capability, and our stealth features and systems should enable us to imitate a hole in space long enough to duck out of the path of incoming fire. What’s more, our target missiles used to be battleship main battery missiles. They’re much longer-ranged than the smaller missiles used by Bactrian corvettes, and they’re faster, too. That means we can fire an initial salvo a long way out, before the enemy can realistically shoot back.”
“Yes, Sir, although that gives the enemy more time to dodge our fire.”
“But our missiles have enough speed and range to change course and follow them. It’s a complex equation, I know. We’ll run simulations on the way to Laredo. Fortunately we have a battleship’s fire control system, so we’re likely to have better electronics than they do.”
“Yes, Sir. The Legion class may have been obsolete by Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet standards, but that’s close to state-of-the-art as far as the warships of minor powers are concerned.”
“I�
�m not complaining! What happens when we’re in position?”
“We’ll begin by firing three rounds from each laser cannon, Sir, aiming at a target at point-blank range. That’ll allow us to calculate the calibration error of each turret. Our artificers will correct that, then we’ll fire another three rounds from each, and so on until every turret is spot-on at a range of one hundred kilometers. We’ll then repeat that at a thousand, ten thousand and one hundred thousand kilometers. Finally we’ll move half a million kilometers out and do it for the last time. At that range our lasers can’t deliver enough energy for a kill shot, of course, but they can blind the sensors on an incoming missile so it can’t see its target anymore.”
“It can still close in on a ballistic trajectory, can’t it?”
“Yes, Sir, it can, but you aren’t exactly going to hang around waiting for it to reach you.”
“I take your point. How long will the entire process last?”
“About a week, Sir. We’ll end it by going into deep space and having another ship fire a few training missiles set to pass close to us, to give our laser cannon a workout under combat conditions. Our sister ship, LS Independence, is doing that right now. After that it’s back to the dockyard for final adjustments; then we load ourselves to the max with stores and supplies, to give ourselves four months’ operational endurance.”
“Yes, I’ve arranged for everything to be ready to load. Cargo shuttles will be standing by. There’s a last-minute item to load into one of your smaller unused holds; a hundred empty plasfiber garbage compactor containers – the kind you use to offload your garbage or toss it into the nearest star if there are no processing facilities – plus some large plastic balls, glue, paint and stencils. Make sure the containers are evenly spaced to fill the hold and secured upside-down so their access hatches can’t be seen. During the voyage I want your crew to cut the balls carefully in half, cap each container with half a ball, then paint them all gray and stencil letters and symbols on them. I’ll give you photographs to serve as a guide.”
