Tears of Kerberos

by Michael G. Thomas

  “Yeah, a bloody business. Bet you’re glad you’re not on the exchange programme with Prime, right?” he laughed.

  “You’re right there!” replied Petoskey as he turned back and walked along the open plan office.

  Johnson glanced again before returning to his computer screen. Luckily the data was hidden but a small icon bobbed up and down along the corner of the screen. He gave a quick glance around the office before tapping it to expand a message from one of his old contacts in the Defence Department. He didn’t waste time with extended niceties, he’d sent his contact a message almost an hour ago saying he needed to call in a favour. This was it. With a twist of his right hand he selected positions of the encoded data and dropped it into an encrypted container and sent it to his contact. A single message popped up telling him to wait. Johnson didn’t like this part. The longer it took, the longer there was for somebody to notice what he was up to. Voices came from further inside so he increased the volume on his screens and turned to watch the news from Prime. Along the scrolling ticker it said the video link was from a fishing vessel moored half a kilometre from the shoreline of Avagana. The camera zoomed in to show lines of people in their hundreds waiting to be taken away by small boats. Two strike aircraft blasted past and a cry ran up through the passengers as they ducked to avoid the backwash and possible fire. Nothing happened and the craft simply rushed out along the horizon before disappearing from view.

  Beep. A low tone indicated another message had arrived, it was his contact. According to the message it said the data was an agenda for a meeting due to take place on one of the stations along the Rim. Only one person was named.

  “Typhon?” said Johnson below his breath, he had heard of this man, though from memory there was little known outside of his almost mythical status.

  Johnson brought up a secure terminal screen and checked his security database for all information relating to the man known as Typhon. The first page to be found was related to the most recent mention of the man at a rally on Prime. Supporters of the Church of Echidna had placed a plaque at a bombsite in honour of the man bit it had been removed almost immediately. The name appeared to have been mentioned at several other terrorist sites on the planet where it had been used as a chant.

  He scrolled through the information till he reached a file from an informant in one of the state owned mines on Avagana. It said a meeting had been attended by known members of the Crimson Brothers, a left wing radical organisation with links to trade unions throughout the seven colonies of Prime. They had originally been one of the smaller unions but after the riots they had split off and become radicalised. The meeting had been convened to plan an attack on the rail system in the name of Typhon and his holy mission.

  “Holy mission?” asked Johnson before realising how loudly he had spoken. He looked around, no one was paying any attention.

  He refined his search parameters but could find nothing related to the mission, other than some snippets about the darkness beyond the Rim and something else about preparing for the mission. A series of death threats had been received five months ago to the Trade Ministry from a group purporting to be the Yama Defence League. He pulled up another page that described the group. They were a far-right street protest movement which opposed the spread of the Church of Echidna, Church law and Zealot extremism on Prime and Kerberos.

  Johnson leaned back in his chair. It was odd, there seemed to be a good number of groups on Kerberos, some with grievances against the state with others more interested in interfering with each other’s business. Prime had become the physical battleground of the troubles but it looked like Kerberos was becoming much the same only in a more clandestine and sinister way.

  A message popped up, indicating that the rest of the data had been decrypted. He read it carefully. Most of it made little sense as it contained several quotes from scriptures but one but was of great interest. There was mention of a meeting between the factions, and even more importantly, it stated it would be held by Typhon and his children.

  “Holy crap!” exclaimed Johnson as he nearly fell from his chair.

  If what he was reading was correct, he had discovered a datapad with information relating to a meeting off-world between the leaders of multiple factions and the quasi-spiritual leader of the revolt, known as Typhon. He grabbed his datapad and hit the options to request a secure feed to his contact on the CCS Crusader. Before his pad would connect to the communication system he had to work through the fractal encryption subroutine, an add-on that was fitted only to the equipment used by members of Naval Intelligence. With the correct code entered it connected to the Naval Intelligence subsystem that was piggybacked onto the primary communication channel from the security headquarters.

  “If I’m right this meeting could be between all the major players in the crisis,” he said quietly as he waited for the system to connect.

  Looking at his screen he dragged the icons of each of the factions, groups and people until he had a small group surrounding Typhon in the middle of the screen. He looked at it thinking how many different people and links there were. This group could hold the key to the war and maybe even a peace in the System. They also contained people at every level of government and society throughout Proxima. He turned to his left checking the status of his datapad, it was taking longer than expected. He just hoped there weren’t any issues with the monitoring of his signal or data traffic. It was still interrogating the servers and checking for a secure channel. As he waited he re-looked at the groups mentioned in the message. It implied many more would be there but their names were in code.

  “Who are Typhon’s children?” he asked as his datapad connected to the CCS Crusader.

  With a flicker the screen changed on the pad as it transformed to a writing surface ready for him to communicate through. Normally he would use visual and audio communication, but with something this sensitive he could not afford to risk himself or the person he was speaking with directly.

  * * *

  “Sir, message from the surface from an unknown source, it says it is an urgent priority communication,” said Lieutenant Nilsson.

  “It’s okay, let it through,” Commander Anderson ordered.

  He had been waiting for a signal for some time now and he was beginning to think Admiral Jarvis had been a little too optimistic to expect important information so soon. He checked his datapad and selected the correct codes to establish a secure text link with the intelligence contact on the surface. The icons jumped around and then lined up as the cipher was confirmed. The code for the Admiral’s agent was valid and the first piece of information to arrive stunned him. It stated that Typhon, the almost mythical religious figure of many of the religions and cults through the System, would be attending a meeting of major organisations in the next forty-eight hours.

  As he read the message it occurred to him that it could be no coincidence that he had picked up a signal to a site out on the Rim that referred to The One. He remembered reading a report some months ago that linked the term along with two of the most extreme organisations on Kerberos. If this intelligence was correct, this could be the breakthrough they had been waiting for. Maybe the meeting and the signals to the Rim were connected.

  “I’ll take this in my sea cabin, XO, you have the bridge,” he said as he marched out of the room.

  As he left he walked the short distance to his sea cabin. It was located close to the bridge so that he could be called from sleep or attending to administration instantly. He opened the door and quickly went inside, closing it firmly to ensure he was alone. The cabin was sparsely equipped, containing just a bunk, desk, toilet facilities and a computer terminal on the wall. It was an improvement over the accommodation used by most of the crew, but only marginally so. The Captain of the ship also had access to far more civilised quarters at the in-port cabin further aft. When he had the time this area was more lavishly furnished, with a separate bedroom and combination sitting room and office.

&nb
sp; He brushed his hand across the computer system and selected the options that would initiate a connection with the Fleet at Prime. As the system went through its connection protocols he poured himself a glass of water. The purification system on the battlecruiser had sustained heavy damage, so like everyone else he had to make do. In the corner of his quarters was a plastic container with four litres of lukewarm water. It wasn’t great but it was better than going thirsty. Like most of the vessels in the Fleet, this one was capable of displaying the exterior as though the wall was a window. He could see the dark side of the planet below as well as the glint of light from the orbital shipyards just a few hundred kilometres away. In less than an hour the ship would be docked and the injured crew taken away for treatment. The repair work on the ship could take months, maybe even years.

  A tone from the computer display signalled the connection was complete. He moved in front of the screen where the image of Admiral Jarvis awaited him.

  “Admiral, I have transmitted a copy of the intelligence received from your contact in Yama. The data indicates a high level meeting between multiple enemy assets in the next two days. I feel there may be a link to the previously intercepted signal with regards to something taking place out on the Rim.”

  There was a pause as the signal travelled the massive distance. As he waited he checked the intelligence from the previous message. The indicators were all there, a number of high-level delegates, mentions of both the One and Typhon, plus an undisclosed location.

  “Commander Anderson, your concerns confirm the analysis conducted by my own team here. There are strong links between Typhon and several pseudonyms that we believe refer to him. This meeting is of great interest to me. We have never been able to infiltrate any of the insurgency cells far enough to obtain top-level intelligence on the command structure of the enemy. Please pass on my orders to our contact at Yama and monitor the situation. I will take care of the operation in the Rim personally. Good work, Commander.” The display went black.

  The Commander took another sip of water before pouring the rest of it back into the container. There was no sense in wasting such a valuable commodity when the resources of the vessel were so limited. The voice of the XO sounded from his cabin’s intercom.

  “Commander Anderson, I have the pilot tug requesting permission to lead us into the shipyard.”

  “I’ll be on the bridge shortly, give them permission.”

  “Sir,” came the reply.

  Anderson straightened his uniform and opened the door to leave his cabin when his video communication unit started up with an urgent communication. He shut the door and moved back inside to check the message. The video lit up to show the face of the Admiral again.

  “Commander Anderson, I have just checked your data and it correlates directly with the intelligence from our other units. I think you know how significant this is to current operations. I need you to finish up your work on the Crusader immediately and arrange to get our contact out of Yama. You need to take the fastest shuttlecraft you have and rendezvous with this ship at the attached co-ordinates. I have already started to assemble a team to join you. I will forward a full briefing pack along with the latest intelligence for you within the hour.”

  The Commander said nothing as he digested what she had just said. He already had masses of work to do with the Crusader and this sounded like a mission unsuited to his skills.

  “I, I don’t understand Admiral. The Crusader needs my attention and I fail to see how my knowledge will be of use in a small intelligence operation.”

  There was a delay as before and while he waited he stood patiently waiting for the details. The images of the Admiral continued to move but he knew he was looking at a feed that was transmitted minutes ago.

  “Commander, this mission is of the highest priority. The location is out on the Rim and you are the most experienced officer in this sector for that region of space. This isn’t a request, I need you in the team!”

  He understood immediately what she was saying. The intelligence had pointed to the Rim and with the rest of the data he was obviously going to be continuing the investigation in the murky waters of the Rim. It was some time since he had been there and he was well aware of how dangerous it could be to anybody that was inexperienced.

  “Understood, Admiral, I will make preparations to leave immediately.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Contrary to most people’s expectations, the use of close quarter weapons was never anticipated until the uprising was well underway. In the decades since the Great War it had become clear that armour and firepower were the highest priority for the valuable marines and soldiers of the Confederacy. In the confines of spacecraft and the underground caverns around the Bone Mill on Prime, the use of high quality edge and thrusting weapons turned the battle into something that hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years. A war, that relied on martial prowess and skill as much as ranged weapons and training.

  Edged weapons in the Emergency

  Teresa lay in her bunk watching the ships through the virtual window. There were very few marines left on the ship, most had been shipped off and only two companies had stayed back as a reserve. They had already been called out four times and on the last mission she had assisted in what could have been a very ugly one. She had finished writing her section for the after action report, something she was not normally expected to do. On this particular occasion there had been a problem with a diplomatic envoy. It had occurred when the team boarded the civilian liner to find a colonial security unit blocking their access to the rest of the ship. Now technically there was nothing wrong with this as a diplomatic vessel was normally granted full privileges by all Confederation vessels. Due to the heightened security in the crisis however, the Fleet under Admiral Jarvis, had full jurisdiction over any vessels in Confederation Space. Luckily they had been able to force their way inside, but two marines had been slightly injured and it was the violence on a non-military vessel that required her input on the operation.

  Teresa looked over at her datapad and the report she had just added her information to. The last section had been written in haste and she was starting to regret the language she had used with regards to the official on the ship. She rolled over to grab the pad and inadvertently hit the send button by mistake.

  “Oh…great, just what I need!” she muttered to herself at the rather unfortunate incident.

  As she lay there considering the chewing out she could expect when her report arrived, she thought about how Spartan and the others were doing on Prime. She had not seen him for some time now and the last she heard his unit had been dropped into the heaviest fighting around New Carlos. The news on the battle was that it was going well, but she wouldn’t be able to relax until she knew the marines were on their way back to the Santa Cruz. It was weird being alone on what now felt like a ghost ship.

  She turned back to her window display and looked out to the planet and spacecraft. One of the newly arrived frigates drifted by and she watched in awe of the mighty ship. Teresa had been reading about the ships, along with lots of other military hardware, during her rest and recuperation aboard the Santa Cruz. From memory she knew it was only a fifth the size of her own craft and was built for combat whereas hers was both a training craft and troop transport. The armour was thick and she could see the multiple layers of thick slabs draped over the more vulnerable parts of the ship. She was far from an expert, but from the reading she had done the armour was a mixture of multiple layers as well as ablative and reactive armour. The frigate was equipped with a number of railguns as were most of the warships in the Fleet. She was also configured with the new, much smaller phalanx weapon systems, a variant of the normal point defence turrets. She understood these turrets could track and hit targets from a railgun with a range of over kilometre. In theory the ship could actually stop kinetic shells before they could hit the armour. Even more importantly, the frigates could provide massed defensive firepower for the larger ships. This
was something very new and until the last month had been a very low priority. With the epic battle around Kronus, Admiral Jarvis had pulled in every frigate she could find to help protect the vulnerable transports and capital ships. They had yet to be tried in battle but they were needed none the less.

  She shook her head, thinking that she was starting to act like a spaceship spotter, one of those pasty nerds that sat at spaceports taking down the names of ships and their registration numbers to store and check with their friends. She shuddered at the thought, that was not her!

  She looked back outside where a number of civilian ships were waiting as security teams checked them before being allowed to the leave the planet’s orbit. There was something different going on and the movement caught her attention. As she watched, a military shuttle with a Thunderbolt escort of fighters manoeuvred alongside the hulk of the marine warship. She realised it must be somebody of importance to be coming aboard with such a number of people.

  A loud buzz echoed through the cabin as the officer on duty announced the departure in one hour of another boarding party for a civilian liner. As Teresa watched the ships moving past, her video display activated to show an image of Commander Malone, the XO of the Santa Cruz.

  “Private Morato?” he asked.

  Teresa stumbled out of her bunk and stood up firmly.

  “Sir,” she muttered as she tried to look a little less haphazard.

  “Your presence is required urgently in the briefing room in ten minutes,” he said before cutting the feed.

  Teresa relaxed for a moment before looking around her bunk for the rest of her clothes. She found her blouse quickly trying to put it on and then pulled on her combat boots. As she dragged on the second boot she stumbled and then reached out, catching the side of the bunk just before she crashed to the floor. She managed to avoid hitting anything major she did knock her datapad off the desk. It crashed to the floor with a sound that suggested something not so good had happened to its internals. She straightened herself up and lifted the unit, noting the scratches and marks down the one side. She turned it around to see three cracks along the screen along with a service error on the front.